TYND 8

TL: Motokare

Theon simply gave Ultje a blank, almost apathetic look when he let out a sigh of frustration.

“Didn’t you say he’s easier to look after than me?” 

“He listens perfectly well, except when pestered about magic stones and Lord Yolone. But given Your Grace’s sheer size and intimidating look, I reckon the child’s terrified to sit here with you.”

“He shouldn’t have been allowed to eat in bed to begin with. Bad habits take root fast.” 

“You’re blaming me for this?”

“Get Chungnip in here. A familiar face might help.”  

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Theon realised his mistake the moment Ultje left the room. Now it was just him and the child, alone. Rothy had cocooned himself under the deep navy blankets, his fluffy white hair standing out starkly against the dark fabric.  

“……”

Theon considered calling for Heinz, who was stationed outside, but quickly dismissed the idea. He stood and walked over to the bed, moving silently out of habit from the battlefield. With a swift tug, he pulled the covers back.  

“Eeep!”

Rothy squeaked like a startled animal, quickly clamping both hands over his mouth in shock at his own voice. Now exposed, his small, frail form was curled up like a prawn—so tiny that Theon thought he could almost lift him with one hand. As he reached out his pot-lid-sized hand, Rothy squeezed his eyes shut and trembled, bracing for a blow. But Theon simply placed his hand on the child’s bony shoulder. 

After a brief pause, he lifted it only to place it down again, repeating the motion several times. 

“……”

In his own way…… Theon was patting him.  

He’d never patted anything besides horses and hunting hounds, so he frowned as he gently thumped the child with an almost solemn focus. To an observer, it might’ve seemed more like a reprimand than comfort, but nevertheless, he tried. Perhaps it had some effect, as Rothy’s tightly shut eyes slowly opened, revealing brilliant emerald eyes framed by long lashes. 

Aware of the intensity and imposing nature of his own gaze, Theon kept his eyes on the boy’s bony neckline, avoiding direct eye contact.  

“People will treat you very roughly if you continue to behave like this.” 

“……”

“You need to stand tall and carry yourself with confidence so that others won’t treat you lightly. If you keep shrinking back like this, even those who mean no harm will unconsciously start to push you around. It’s like how the sight of gold can tempt even the humblest person.”

“……”

“No one can keep spoon-feeding you soup and bread while you hide under the covers. You won’t find courage that way. Instead of letting others feed you, pick up the fork and knife with your own hands. Cut your own food and bring it to the mouth yourself. That small act will sow the seeds of confidence within you.” 

It was rare for Theon to speak at length like this. 

Rothy mightn’t have realised it, but Theon almost never tried to persuade anyone by talking. If someone disagreed with him, he was far more likely to assert his will through intimidation and sheer force. But that wasn’t an option with this mistreated child. 

He’s listening. 

Theon could tell Rothy was absorbing every word. He stopped the awkward patting and held out his palm. After a moment’s hesitation, a small, scarred hand gingerly settled into his. Theon winced—the wrist was so thin he could feel the bones beneath, yet the fingers weren’t slender or delicate; they bore signs of repeated fractures that’d healed over. The back of the hand was marred with burns, while cuts and scrapes crisscrossed the palm.  

“Stand up carefully.”

“Mhmm…”

With Theon’s support, Rothy successfully slid off the bed. By the time Ultje returned with Chungnip, they were already seated at the table, facing each other.

The meal was a painfully awkward affair.  

“Oh, these noodles are incredible! I haven’t had noodles this springy since I left my hometown. Your Grace, is there any way we could steal the imperial chef for ourselves?”

“……”

“Haha…… just joking, of course. Haha…”

Chungnip’s attempt to lighten the mood fell flat when no one responded to his chatter The atmosphere wasn’t tense, just deeply uncomfortable. Theon’s eyes remained fixed on Rothy, who was clumsily holding a knife, attempting to cut his bread.  

“Keep your back straight.”

“……”

“Why do you keep glancing between me and the bread? Your wandering eyes make you seem restless. Focus on one spot.”

“……”

“Not at me, at the bread.”

Rothy flinched but obediently snapped his eyes to the bread, glaring at it as if it were a foe to be conquered.

“Now cut it into small pieces with the knife, then spread some butter on it before eating.”

“……”

Ultje watched in quiet amazement as Rothy diligently followed Theon’s instruction. The child’s quick grasp was impressive, but even more surprising was Theon’s willingness to teach him at all. His tone was stern, but even that was a small miracle in itself. 

“Chew thoroughly before you swallow.”

The moment Rothy brought the bread to his mouth, Theon gave another directive. With his serious expression, the instruction almost came across as a threat: ‘I’ll have your head if you don’t chew properly.’ 

Ultje watched with some apprehension. 

Rothy will probably ignore that and swallow it straight down… I wonder how long His Grace’s patience will last.

Theon had spent more time on battlefields than anywhere else, slaying far more demons than he’d eaten loaves of bread. He was the kind of man who’d explode over even the smallest flaw in his squire’s armour maintenance and replace him without a second thought. A cold and exacting lord who never overlooked his subordinates’ mistakes—that was Theon. No doubt he’d treat Rothy the same way…  

Theon was terrifying when angry, and Ultje worried that the already skittish boy would shrink even further. But his worry was completely unfounded. 

“……”

Rothy began to chew the bread, little by little. Ultje felt a flicker of disbelief. He’d probably told Rothy at least twenty times not to gulp his food, to chew slowly, to avoid choking… The child had never even pretended to listen—until now, that was. 

“Looks like he listens well when told, Ultje.”

It was a subtle yet clear reproach to Ultje, as if questioning why this supposedly obedient child had been allowed to swallow his food whole under Ultje’s care.

Ultje let out a deflated laugh. 

“It seems so. Though I’d say perhaps Rothy finds you quite intimidating, Your Grace.” 

“I say this is the result of our Chief Steward’s patient efforts, finally. He’s worked tirelessly to get him to this point.”

“Lord Chungnip, you certainly have a way with words. I do wish our dear lord could learn a thing or two from you.”

“Now, now, that’s a terrifying thing to suggest.” 

Chungnip stood out as the only mage in Theon’s otherwise knight-filled retinue. Unlike the knights who were either stoic or abrasive, mages were typically slick-tongued—and Chungnip was the slickest among them.

Ultje made a show of pouring wine only for Chungnip, but Theon didn’t even seem to care. 

Theon usually ate quickly, but this time, for the child’s ‘education’, he slowed down and took his time, chewing slowly and swallowing deliberately. Across from him, Rothy was nibbling bit by bit, chewing cautiously until he finished a single piece of bread, then quietly placed his fork down. 

“Why’re you putting your fork down?”

The child glanced up nervously before replying, 

“I’m…full……”

“Just from that bit?”

Ultje quickly interjected, fearing Theon might force the child to eat more. 

“Your Grace, if he eats too much too soon, he’ll get sick. The physician advised increasing the portions gradually, so we don’t overwhelm his digestive system.”

“Even so, that’s hardly enough. A sixteen-year-old boy should be able to polish off half the food on this table.”

“But is Rothy really sixteen? Your Grace, couldn’t you verify his physical age with your aura perception?”

Though Harrié Geelin had confirmed the child’s age through magic, Ultje still found it hard to believe; he’d never seen a sixteen-year-old this small. 

“I did. He’s indeed sixteen. At least, physically.”

“Unbelievable… he really looks so much younger.”

“We’ll be sure. Rothy, do you know your age?”

Rothy flinched dramatically at Theon’s question. Like a spy being pressured to reveal classified information, he bit his lip, fidgeting anxiously. 

“What’s the problem?”

“I… I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell anyone……”

“Why wouldn’t you be allowed?”

“Master told me to be careful about what I say……”

He seemed genuinely unsure if his age counted among what he could or couldn’t say. 

“In that case, don’t say a word. Just nod if what I say is right. Are you fifteen?”

A thoughtful look crossed Rothy’s face as he pondered the question. 

“Sixteen?”

This time, he gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod. His lashes quivered, and he chewed his lip, shoulders hunched, trembling in sheer fear. 

“Is this some kind of backlash from a silencing spell?”

“No, Your Grace. No magic binds him. This is purely psychological.” Chungnip explained and feeling sorry for Rothy, he comforted him. 

“Rothy, your master’s gone now. No one can hurt or torment you anymore. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“It’s not……”

Rothy trembled as he denied it. His voice was barely a whisper, forcing Chungnip and Ultje to strain to hear him. Theon, of course, caught every word. 

“I’m going to PLEIN, right……? If I go there…… I’ll be hurt again, a lot.”