~ Side: Tyllian (2) ~
You know, he really shouldn’t have laughed.
Their relationship, once formal and bound by strict roles, rapidly grew closer, a subtle shift Tyllian was acutely aware of.
Ash was a person seemingly without boundaries, even going so far as to make playful, yet fundamentally true, statements like, “You’re the escort and I’m the lord.”
It was a stark contrast to his own family dynamic; Ash wasn’t particularly close to his relatives, and Tyllian himself wasn’t even that interested in his own younger siblings, making this burgeoning closeness all the more unusual.
The more he observed Ash, the more Tyllian found himself wondering if this unconventional young man was truly suited to ascend to the prestigious position of Duke.
Truthfully, Ash wasn’t a bad person, not in the slightest. When Tyllian thought “not bad” in this context, he meant it in a purely human sense, indicating Ash’s inherent decency as an individual, rather than his suitability as a ruler.
Ash possessed a soft, almost tender, personality, easily hurt by unkindness.
His thoughts were often a jumbled maze, making him difficult to follow, a quality that could be charming in a friend but potentially disastrous in a leader.
While unpredictability was often considered a characteristic of nobility, Tyllian had a strong premonition that Ash would have been just as unpredictable regardless of his elevated status.
‘It’s a good thing this person was born into a ducal family,’ Tyllian often thought, a sigh of relief mixed with a touch of exasperation.
There was, however, a glimmer of hope: a possibility that Ash could mature into a wise ruler who genuinely listened to his vassals.
Tyllian was practically the only one who consistently followed him, offering sincere and often unsolicited advice, and crucially, Ash did pay attention to Tyllian’s reactions, a small but significant sign.
‘No,’ Tyllian corrected himself, mentally adjusting his perspective.
What kind of talk was this, a powerful lord being mindful of his mere servant’s expressions?
Ash was… yes, Ash was simply a lord with an uncommonly open mind, willing to accept sincere advice, even from a subordinate.
Whether he would extend this attentive ear to others’ words as readily as he did to Tyllian’s genuine counsel remained an open question, but for Tyllian, that was enough.
Wasn’t it sufficient if Ash only listened to him?
There was certainly no possibility that he would ever offer Ash bad advice.
Tyllian himself was something of a phenomenon; he was the undisputed genius born into the Manor family in over a century.
His striking appearance, which remarkably resembled the family’s venerable founder, his inherently loyal character, and, above all, his truly outstanding swordsmanship skills set him apart.
—”If His Majesty saw your martial prowess, he would covet you! You are truly the reincarnation of Sir Taylor Manor!”
Duke Mills had once exclaimed, filled with genuine admiration, upon witnessing Tyllian’s abilities.
This fervent praise came after Tyllian, still just a boy, had faced ten of Duke Mills’s experienced knights, one after another, in a rotating duel, and defeated every single one of them.
The format meant there were no concerted attacks or unfair advantages. Tyllian, ever humble, didn’t think it was something truly boast-worthy, certainly not “an achievement of defeating ten knights,” but Ash, it seemed, held a very different opinion.
He grumbled incessantly that it was utterly wrong for Tyllian to spar with him, and he pouted, asking what good it did them to even attend class together.
“Am I not going easy on you?”
Tyllian asked, a hint of weariness in his voice.
“Going easy on me doesn’t help!”
Ash retorted, his frustration evident.
“It’s like an adult fighting a child; how does that help me? Is it even improving my skills? It just makes me not want to learn swordsmanship.”
“I will go even easier,” Tyllian offered, suppressing a sigh.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much have you been holding back so far?”
Ash demanded, eyes narrowed.
“10?” Tyllian said, a question in his tone.
“Then how much more can you hold back!?”
Ash exploded, his face contorted in a burst of anger.
As he splashed water on his sweat-soaked face, his clothes clung to his skin, revealing the contours beneath.
They were, after all, sparring with wooden swords, and Ash’s body hadn’t yet fully matured, so he wore no heavy equipment during training.
Tyllian’s skill was so vastly superior to Ash’s that the swordsmanship teacher had confidently judged that Ash would not be injured, no matter what.
Ash always attended class in light clothing, and those clothes, especially when damp, did little to conceal his form.
‘Ah.’
Tyllian’s gaze inadvertently swept across Ash’s pale neck and his chest, where the wet fabric clung revealingly.
He quickly averted his eyes, a strange warmth rising within him.
“Tyll? Aren’t you going to wash?”
Ash called out, snapping Tyllian from his momentary distraction.
“…I am washing,” Tyllian replied, his voice a fraction too stiff.
“You’d better at least wipe off the sweat before you go,” Ash continued, oblivious to Tyllian’s internal turmoil.
“No matter how popular you are with the servants, a man reeking of sweat isn’t attractive. A cute person who was about to confess might run away, you know.”
“I don’t need such confessions,” Tyllian stated flatly.
“Oh, right. So, only someone who confesses their love despite the smell can win you over, is that it?”
Ash teased, his grin wide and full of mischief as he toweled his own damp hair.
“Please stop thinking such strange thoughts. What kind of books have you been reading lately? Romance novels are all fantasies,” Tyllian said, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory.
“You lack imagination because you don’t read novels or poetry,” Ash countered, his eyes twinkling.
“That’s enough,” Tyllian muttered, once again averting his gaze.
Ash had skin that, instead of tanning in the sun, simply turned a delicate reddish hue.
Tyllian didn’t see what shape the wet fabric clinging to his small chest and prominently rising nipples made.
He didn’t imagine it.
He didn’t need imagination…
That night, Tyllian had a wet dream.
‘Crazy bastard,’ he cursed inwardly, his face hot with shame.
He desperately wanted to think of nothing.
Then, inevitably, the unthinkable happened.
The Duchess committed suicide.
The first person to discover the Duchess’s lifeless body was Ash.
He fainted on the spot, his young mind unable to cope with the horror, and didn’t regain consciousness for several days. Tyllian was only permitted to visit him after receiving news that Ash had finally opened his eyes.
Ash, sitting up in bed, was a little paler than usual, his youthful vibrancy somewhat diminished.
Tyllian expected that he might be utterly exhausted from crying so much.
Or perhaps he wished to see no one.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, he longed for someone’s warmth, for comfort in the face of such profound grief.
In that last case, Tyllian decided he would readily stay with him.
He was Ash’s escort, after all. He was the one who was meant to share everything with him, through thick and thin.
But Ash was none of those.
He was staring blankly into the empty air, lost in a daze, but when his eyes unexpectedly met Tyllian’s, his face brightened with a sudden, almost disconcerting, flicker of recognition.
“You’re here? Untie me. I’m not in pain, but they keep telling me to lie down. Doctors are all untrustworthy. I’ve never seen them make a proper diagnosis. My father’s personal physician is the worst of them, but my father believes only him and treats me like an invalid.”
He grumbled, a childish complaint escaping his lips.
Tyllian stood there, frozen, utterly unsure how to respond or how to even approach him.
“Are you alright?”
Tyllian finally managed to ask, his voice hesitant.
“You too? What exactly is ‘alright’ about this?”
Ash asked, his expression one of pure bewilderment.
A hint of annoyance even crept into his voice.
He seemed upset, perhaps even irritated, at being arbitrarily forced into rest without fully understanding the situation around him.
Tyllian suddenly realized with a sharp pang of understanding, ‘He doesn’t remember.’
Ash had completely erased the moments just before he fainted from his mind.
Whether it was a profound act of self-preservation or some other unknown mechanism, Tyllian couldn’t say for sure.
While Tyllian fully comprehended both the ducal physician’s judgment and the Duke’s clear orders, he found himself saying something entirely different.
“Because you suddenly collapsed. It’s natural for His Grace the Duke to be worried, isn’t it? You should have exercised regularly. I recommended that you run twenty laps around the training ground every day for physical training, but you didn’t, did you? Consider this the consequence.”
“Twenty laps around the training ground? What, only aspiring knights run that much!”
Ash exclaimed, exasperated.
“Do you think I want to get a knight’s title?”
“You didn’t, did you? That’s a relief,” Tyllian responded, a hint of dry humor in his voice.
“That’s a relief?! What does that mean?! Are you saying I can’t get a knight’s title no matter what I do?”
Ash demanded, his voice rising.
“I didn’t say anything…”
Tyllian replied innocently.
“Your face is saying it! You’re nagging!”
“Now you’re reading my expressions too?”
“And you’re not even trying to hide it!”
To the utterly bewildered Ash, Tyllian simply reached down, pulled the blanket up, and carefully covered him.
“I collapsed because I lacked stamina? I’ve never done that before. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been able to sleep lately…”
Ash muttered, his brow furrowed in thought.
Before he could delve deeper into his memories and potentially stumble upon the harsh truth, Tyllian skillfully cut off his thoughts.
“Why haven’t you been sleeping, then? You said you were going to catch up to my height. Is that even possible now?”
Tyllian pressed, changing the subject.
“When did I give up on that goal? You’re too uninterested in me,” Ash retorted, a playful pout on his lips.
“How can I possibly keep up when you’re growing like a bamboo shoot? Besides, Father and Sir Manor are already a head taller than each other, so my goal of being as tall as you was unrealistic from the start.”
“It’s surprising to hear the word ‘unrealistic’ coming from you, Ash, sir…”
Tyllian remarked, a small smile playing on his lips.
“What do I do with this disloyal knight?!”
Ash exclaimed, frustrated.
“What’s rest? You’re just annoying me!”
“But seriously, why couldn’t you sleep?”
Tyllian persisted, his tone becoming more serious.
He wondered internally, ‘Were there signs of suicidal tendencies in the Duchess?’
Ash might not have been able to sleep due to overwhelming worry about his mother.
Even if he didn’t appear to be, he was, at his core, a deeply sensitive person.
“Because I was catching up on my studies…”
Ash mumbled, almost sheepishly.
“Pardon?”
Tyllian asked, genuinely surprised.
“This is… something to commend, not to nag about. I tried hard not to skip my homework too,”
Ash said, rolling himself up in the blanket like a small, protective shield as he made his excuses.
“What do you do during the day?”
Tyllian inquired.
“I have classes then,” Ash replied simply.
“In the evenings?”
“Homework.”
“And you still don’t finish?”
Tyllian probed, his skepticism evident.
“Do you know how many classes I’m taking?”
Ash demanded, glaring at Tyllian as if he couldn’t believe he was so ignorant.
“I’m putting in this much effort! So stop with that nonsense about running twenty laps or whatever!”
“Yes. You definitely couldn’t run twenty laps,” Tyllian conceded, a wry amusement in his voice.
“What a surprise? It’s suspicious how easily you’re letting it go…”
Ash murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“You are too busy,” Tyllian replied, his tone sincere.
He truly meant it.
He couldn’t spend all his time with Ash right now.
He had his own rigorous training schedule to adhere to if he was to become a full-fledged knight.
While staying at the ducal castle, he also diligently learned essential cultural knowledge like proper etiquette, the art of falconry, and the intricate web of noble relations.
He even gained invaluable experience by serving as a squire to other knights, gradually learning about the practicalities of a knight’s challenging life.
Tyllian gazed at Ash, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Why?”
Ash asked, hunching his shoulders, a flicker of unease crossing his features.
Was this person not too small, too inherently frail, to bear all those immense burdens that awaited him?
He couldn’t even handle the crushing weight of the Duchess’s death.
Tyllian felt a deep, pervasive worry for Ash.
He knew what he had to do.
He went to see his father.
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