Chapter Text
Someone was watching him.
Dilan pushed Aeleus back and signalled quickly for a pause. The other Guard frowned as Dilan glanced around the training room.
"What is it?" Aeleus asked.
Dilan shook his head, returning his attention to the taller man. "It's nothing."
A raised brow told him what Aeleus thought of that, but his friend only shifted back to a combat position. At Dilan's nod, the two men resumed their match.
* * *
In the vents, Tseng carefully exhaled. When Dilan stopped the exercise, he swore the jig was up — but the Guardsmen began sparring again, and the boy let himself relax.
He'd been sneaking out of bed to watch the Guards practise for nearly seven weeks now, especially Dilan. If asked, Tseng couldn't say why he was so drawn to the grumpy guard — maybe because down here, with people he liked and something he loved doing, Dilan wasn't grumpy at all.
What Tseng loved more than watching Dilan spar was watching him practise his spearwork. Power and grace informed every move, slide, thrust, or guard; his feet barely seemed to touch the floor.
Servant's boy he might be now, but Tseng was determined to join the Royal Guard. Still, there was much to be learned from watching Dilan and Aeleus, and Tseng drank it all in — from the rituals prefacing each match to the way they spurred one another on.
He waited until Aeleus and Dilan finished and moved on to cool-down exercises, then inched carefully backwards.
Neither man seemed to notice his retreat; once he was far enough away, he turned around and made his way to his room. Once there, it was a simple task to get ready for the day.
So long as he began his chores on time, nobody would suspect a thing.
* * *
Once he and Aeleus were done, Dilan searched the room for anywhere someone might hide. He was positive that they had been observed — but who, and why such secrecy? He'd never banned spectators, so long as they remained silent and a safe distance back; neither had Aeleus, to the best of his knowledge.
It was a mystery, and Dilan didn't care for mysteries.
With a muffled groan, the Castle's ventilation system shuddered to life, and Dilan smiled as he felt the air start to circulate—
In an instant, he realised what he missed. It was well-known to palace residents that the vents served as another means of traversing the warren that was Radian Garden's castle— at least for the children who could fit within them.
Of course: it would be literal child's play to watch the sparring matches with which he and Aeleus began their day. But which child was it? Was it even worth looking into?
Dilan sighed as he left the room. He really didn't care for mysteries.
* * *
Tseng watched the guards almost every day. There was so much he could learn, just from observation, like dedication to duty. He couldn't imagine a warrior such as Dilan actually liking to stand at the doors for hours at a time, but he took his turn without any complaint Tseng had ever overheard.
Tseng's was not a complaining personality, but he did sometimes drag his feet on completing his homework, or cleaned his room by means of shoving everything into his wardrobe. Now, when he caught himself at it, he imagined his idol's disapproving frown, and went to his work with a will.
Weeks passed in this fashion: Tseng woke before dawn, crept through the vents to the practise rooms, and watched Dilan spar — or, on occasion, practise alone with his lance. Afterward, he returned to his room before his parents could wake and find him gone, then prepared himself for yet another day in the life of a servant's boy.
His eighth birthday came and went with no variation in the routine he'd crafted for himself— until the day he found a broken broom in the trash.
Possibilities occurred to him almost at once, and he promptly absconded with the longer end of the broomstick. After all, if he was going to join the Royal Guard in eight years, he needed to start preparing.
Now, in his free time, he snuck off to the deepest corner of the gardens, where even the Guards rarely patrolled, and, using his prize as a makeshift lance, he began to copy the basic moves Dilan used in his solo practise sessions. When he grew tired, he sat with his back to the palace wall and did his homework.
The only downside to his new hobby was that he couldn't reach his secret place by the vents. While there was an opening to the outside, it was a good five feet from the ground — too high for the boy to reach on his own.
By and large, however, Tseng was content.
* * *
Dilan was not content.
The child who watched him almost daily stayed back far enough that they were all but impossible to identify. The best he could judge, based on size, was a child between six and ten — and Light knew there was no shortage of those in the schoolroom.
Dilan not only didn't know who, but he also didn't know why, and both questions were starting to bother him. He finally broached the subject one night when Braig dragged him and Aeleus out for drinks. "Have either of you felt like someone's watching when we're sparring?"
Braig took a long swallow of his beer as he considered the question. "Sometimes," he said, ignoring the frothy, white moustache now gracing his upper lip. "Usually when you get me up at oh-fuck-hundred because Farmboy's on family leave."
Aeleus drank his own beer, an unpronounceable microbrew that looked to be about thirty percent head. As if proving a point, he drained the whole glass and wiped the foam from his face before answering. "I've noticed it too," he said softly." Always in the morning for nearly six months."
"It's probably some of the brats," Braig added carelessly. "Not like we don't have a good few dozen running around underfoot."
"It's always the same one," Dilan said with confidence. The air around the child always took the same shape. "And always in the vents."
Braig snickered into the remnants of his drink. "Sounds to me like you've got yourself a fanboy, Dilan."
Aeleus failed to hide a smile. "I agree."
"I do not." Dilan scowled at them both.
Braig shrugged. "Deny it all you want, but the common denominator here is you."
"The common denominator is the early hour," Dilan snapped. "I do not have fans."
The sharpshooter grinned. "Suit yourself." Tossing back the rest of his beer, he made a grab for Dilan's, was thwarted by the taller man raising it over his head, and signalled the bartender for another round.
As the evening wore on and Braig and Aeleus continued to tease him, Dilan strongly considered switching to whisky.
The next morning, Dilan was alone in the practise room.
After a moment's consideration, he decided it was for the best. If Aeleus were to continue last night's teasing, it might scare the child off, and Dilan didn't want that.
Because he'd never know who was watching him— watching the Guards, that is. There was no other reason why it mattered.
For a moment, he considered reaching out to his alleged fan, but no. Braig was wrong. Why would anyone, even a child, take time from their day to watch him?
It had to be the early hour — children rose early, didn't they? The early hour, and the forbidden feeling of traversing the vents. The entertainment value would soon depreciate, at least, and his early-morning visitor would find better things to do.
The thought certainly didn't cause a pang in Dilan's chest.
The day continued on as normal until about mid-afternoon, when the breeze brought the sound of laboured breathing to his ears. For the Light's own sweet sake, if it was that blasted redhead and his blue-haired friend again…
Moving silently, Dilan followed the wind towards the deeper gardens tucked up against the rear of the Castle, his ire growing with every step. If those town boys evaded Braig and Aeleus, he would never let them live it down.
He passed a hedge, and for just a moment thought he'd found a mirror to the past.
A slender, dark-haired boy stood with his back to Dilan, a long pole clasped in his hands. As Dilan watched, he shifted his grip on the pole and thrust it forward as though he was using a spear.
Dilan knew then, without a doubt, that this lad was his morning audience.
As he watched, the boy — Shin? Cheng? Tseng, that was it — completed a fifteenth thrust, then carefully laid the pole aside. Dilan drew back instinctively as Tseng turned, settling down with his back to the castle wall. He picked up a textbook from the bag Dilan had only just noticed, frowning at it with the intensity of one who anticipated a boring assignment.
Dilan realised he was smiling like a fool, and hastily withdrew before Tseng could notice him. He'd need to speak to him — but not now. Tseng was clearly not neglecting his studies for his fascination with the Guard, and Dilan was still on duty. He did not want to endure the inevitable 'I-told-you-so' from Braig and the knowing glances from Aeleus. Evening would be a far better time for discussion. They both would have eaten, and Tseng's schoolwork would be finished. Thus decided, Dilan returned to his patrol.
* * *
It was quiet time, the hour or so between dinner and bed when Tseng could do as he pleased so long as he wasn't noisy. Curled up in his favourite chair, he eagerly read the latest issue of The Oracles, a series about five animals who wielded keys as weapons. He still wasn't certain how a unicorn could do so, but Acornis was a new character, and Tseng had certainly accepted Cephallon's ability to wield despite his being a snake.
Late as it was, neither Tseng nor his parents expected to hear a knock. After shooting his wife and son a confused look, Tseng's father got up to answer the door. There was a murmur of male voices, and then Father led the man in.
Tseng went pale.
"Guardsman Dilan wishes to speak to you, Tseng," Father said sternly.
To Tseng's surprise, Dilan smiled. "It's all right, Mister Li. Tseng isn't in trouble." …He wasn't? His confusion must have shown on his face. Father's eyes narrowed, but rather than contradict a Guard, however, he and Mother went to bed. Mother shot Tseng a look that said he'd best do the same once Dilan left.
Nervous, Tseng glanced up at the Guardsman, nodding when he asked if he might have a seat. To his surprise, Dilan sat on the floor, folding his long legs into a tailor's seat.
Tseng hesitated a moment, then laid his comic carefully on the end table before sliding down to join Dilan on the floor.
Despite his reassurance, Tseng still looked nervous. Perhaps he oughtn't reveal his knowledge of the morning visits. Instead, Dilan said gently, "I saw you in the rear gardens this afternoon. How long have you been practising back there?"
Now, at last, colour returned to the boy's face, and Dilan relaxed. Yes, this was the right tactic to take.
"About two months," Tseng admitted, "Ever since I found that broomstick in the trash."
Dilan's brows rose. The object he'd initially taken for a pole was a broken broom? He couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's resourcefulness. "And you've been keeping up with your schoolwork. Impressive."
Tseng flushed at the compliment. "It— it isn't that hard," he said quickly. "I haven't been tested for magic yet."
Interesting… most children were tested for affinity by five. Perhaps the Lis hadn't wished to overload their young son. But that wasn't for him to interfere with. Instead, he added, "You're very dedicated to your practise."
It was a baited line, and Tseng bit immediately. "I want to join the Royal Guard when I'm older."
…Well.
Dilan had half-expected a remark about a favourite character, given the comic Tseng had been reading. "The Royal Guard, hmm? Any particular reason?"
Tseng studied Dilan's face intently for a long moment, as if trying to see if he was being mocked. Dilan made a mental note to speak to Braig before implementing any of the plans forming in the back of his mind.
He must have decided Dilan was sincere, because he quietly said, "I want to be like you."
Poleaxed, Dilan stared at Tseng.
Like him?
He almost, almost asked Tseng if he hadn't meant Aeleus — but the boy's face was entirely earnest. He would cut his own tongue out before saying so much as a discouraging word to him.
Since when could he be considered a role model?
He said the first thing that came to mind. "Would you like me to teach you how to use a spear?"
Tseng's face lit up as though his birthday and Midwinter had come at once. "Really?" he breathed.
How could Dilan retract the offer after that? "Really," he answered.
"I'd love to!" Tseng blurted, his black eyes shining. Then the light in them dimmed slightly. "Oh…" The look he turned to where his parents had vanished wasn't quite apprehensive, but it was enough to confirm Dilan's first impression of Li Qiang as a strict parent. "I should ask Father first."
Dilan nodded, offering Tseng a reassuring smile. "Of course. And if he wants to discuss it with me, I take breakfast at 0730. He's welcome to speak to me then."
He was pleased to see the light return to Tseng's eyes. "What time will you teach me, Guardsman?"
Dilan grinned. "If you think you can get up before dawn, I'll meet you at 0600 in the practise room." He deliberately didn't mention the room's location, adding instead, "Assuming your father agrees, we'll start Monday morning."
That way, if he was mistaken about Tseng being his morning observer, the boy still had plenty of time to ask directions.
"Okay!" Tseng agreed.
As the excited boy showed him out, a single thought occurred to Dilan: Braig would never, ever let him hear the end of this.
Strangely enough, however, he didn't mind.