“I said no, dad!”

A loud whisper-shout rang out from second floor of Gaspereau’s inn, attracting Mican’s attention away from his reading.

The voice was slightly loud, enough for Mican to hear it through his door, but not enough for it to not be drowned out by the sounds of the cheerful drunkards and residents outside of the building, in the city square.

Nine times out of ten, Mican would have ignored the shout, but he rose from his bed this time as he recognized the voice.

Silently pulling his door open a crack, Mican was greeted with the sight of the father-son duo of the Ashleye family staring at each other from across the corridor. Harold stood by the door to their room while Duarte had a hand on the staircase leading down to the main floor, a foot already lowered onto the steps. It was obvious to Mican that the teenager was intent on leaving.

The whisper-shout that Mican had heard had come from Duarte, who was staring at his father in obvious irritation. It was evident that the two were arguing, but Mican noted that neither of them looked truly angry.

“You don’t have anywhere else to go, Duarte. Stop being stubborn and come back inside, this is an issue we have to discuss at some point in time, so it may as well be now.” Harold gestured towards his son, shaking his head in disapproval. “If you keep shouting like that, you’re going to wake Sarah.”

“I’m nothing like you father. Just because I’m not against it does not mean I’m going to give up on my dreams. Put yourself in my shoes for once. I’m not even close to giving you an answer.” Staring at his father, Duarte’s face wrinkled in increasing frustration as he made his stance clear.

“You’ve been saying that for years now. You say that because you’re young, you’ll soon realize that it’s much better to have started sooner than later, I’m simply making you a decision that you won’t regret.”

“I may be young, but I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself!”

The back-and-forth continued on for a little while. Duarte’s face continued sinking as the argument went on, getting increasingly annoyed, or even depressed. As it continued, the teenager’s voice began rising to a level that could no longer be masked by the sounds of the festival.

Watching from an open crack in his door, Mican quietly observed the situation. While he did not want to get himself involved, he felt a slight obligation to help the two in their dispute, as they were willing to share their carriage and tools with him.

“Harold, Duarte.” Before anybody could get involved, Mican called out to the two by name, attracting their gazes to him.

“Mican… I apologize to have disturbed you.” Looking over at Mican, the gentle blacksmith gave him an apologetic look.

“…” His son on the other hand only crossed his arms and turned away towards the side, his brows furrowed in obvious anger.

“Duarte, how could you not own up to your mistakes? Apologize this instant!” This action only earned him the ire of his father. “You want to be treated like an adult, and yet you act like this?!”

With his face growing slightly flushed, he angrily pointed at the boy, demanding his attention.

“It’s fine, Harold. I’ve only come to tell you that you’re disturbing the other guests.” Interrupting the blacksmith before he could continue any further, the young man gestured around to their surroundings.

Looking around, Harold noticed that several doors on the floor had been opened without his notice, heads peeking out of the doorway and watching them in irritation. Seeing the sight, the middle-aged man put his head down in shame.

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Upon seeing his father like that, Duarte only seemed to grow further agitated, as if he was unwilling to see his father bow his head.

A snort sounded out from the teenager before he grabbed the railing to the stairs, steps thudding out as he began walking down.

“Duarte, wait!” Calling out to the boy before he could make it any further, Mican gestured to the open room behind him. “If you have nowhere to go, how about staying in my room for the night?”

Duarte was clearly surprised by the unexpected offer, glancing at his father before looking down at the ground in thought. His face was still furrowed in anger, but his thought process and emotions were clearly controlled.

“Fine. I will stay in your room for the night.” After a pause, Duarte looked at Mican, walking back up the stairs and crossing the hallway towards him. “…thank you.”

It was only for a slight moment, and the words had been spoken very hurriedly, but Mican heard a word of gratitude sound out from the teenager as he crossed the doorway beside him.

Giving a quick glance to the boy’s father, Mican could see Harold giving him a smile of gratitude. Taking the smile as permission, Mican quickly stepped back into the room and closed the door, unwilling to attract any further attention.

Stomping his way through the room Duarte pulled out the only chair in the room from the table, dragging it towards the window and facing it outwards, sitting down on it with a thud. After a slight pause, Mican began walking towards the desk. He carefully lit up the extra lamp on it with a small match that had been set aside by the inn’s owner, lighting up a large portion of the room with a dim orange light.

The lamp light was soft and gentle, not harsh enough to not be able to stare at the flame, yet bright enough to see properly. It filled the room with a sense of peace and harmony, and the growing silence calmed the previously irritated atmosphere.

After that, Mican leaned his back on the wooden wall near the door, picking his book up from the table and picking up where he last left off.

Duarte sat motionless in the wooden chair with his arms crossed. His back was fully straightened, and he was staring out at the scenes behind the window. Although he seemed calm, the sound of his quickened breathing told Mican that he was fuming. The muffled sounds of singing and cheering sounded out from outside, unable to fully bypass the inn’s thick wooden walls, and the bright flares of fires and lights flashed through the stained-glass window that Duarte was looking out of.

Along with the muffled sounds of the festivities came the occasional flipping of pages in the room, as Mican read his book silently.

Perhaps the constant rhythm was soothing to the teenager, as after a while, his back loosened from its straightness, and his rough breathing slowed down into calmness.

“Mister Mican…” After a few moments of calmness, a hesitant voice called out from the side, attracting Mican’s attention.

Turning his gaze upwards from the book he was holding, Mican looked towards the still figure sitting by the window. Duarte’s back was slouched as he stared outside of the window, and it gave Mican the sense that the teenager was conflicted and tired.

Standing straight up, Mican placed his book down on the table and walked towards the bed, sitting down on it and facing Duarte’s back.

Duarte looked to be in his early teens, somewhere at around thirteen to fourteen years old. He looked as if he was still going through puberty, his voice still high and his height still short. These were not emotions a child of his age would usually carry. Mican understood that the family had problems, which was why he held back from saying anything and kept his patience, knowing that it would only cause unnecessary problems. It was even despite being uninterested in the Ashleye family’s struggles.

“I’m listening, Duarte.” Leaning down, Mican propped himself up by his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry for the trouble I brought you. I was much too loud, and far too inconsiderate.”

“Hmm.” Mican tilted his head slightly. “I forgive you, Duarte. It was of no trouble.”

“Also… Thank you for sharing your room with me, I had nowhere else to go.” After finishing his sentence, Duarte stood up from his chair, turning around and sitting down to face Mican.

The teenager’s brows were no longer furrowed, and his face looked apologetic. Hearing these words and seeing this scene, it came to Mican that Duarte was likely very well raised.

Despite being slightly hot-blooded, he knew to apologize and show gratitude, and it slightly surprised the young man. It was not something he would have expected out of a child raised in a travelling caravan, nor in such an era. The scene raised Mican’s respect for both Duarte, for being a teenager with well-formed manner, and Harold, for raising his son with clearly fair principles.

“If you aren’t against it, I’m willing to hear you out if you’re having a problem.” Mican nodded at the teenager, giving him a soft smile.

It was only after several moments of clear thought before Duarte responded, facing his head up to look Mican square in the eyes.

“Well… I have accepted your help, so I’ve basically involved you in it anyway. If you’re willing, please hear me out.” Nodding in reply, Duarte once again straightened his back as he looked at Mican.

Mican smiled at the teenager, and the two began talking deep into the night.