Alex's father loved football. He had hazy memories of a time when he had gone with him to visit his family in New Dehli, and watched him play a friendly game or two with his siblings and cousins. He was quite good and fairly competitive. Alex was pretty sure the angriest he had ever seen him was when he lost a game after his brother missed what should have been an easy shot.
Alex was horrid at football. His father had been teaching him, and he enjoyed it enough when it was just the two of them. But after his father started to get sick and was more often than not confined to his bed, Alex lost any motivation to keep up with it. Now he only ever even stepped on a pitch if he had to for a PE lesson. Playing was also a bit of a strong word for what he did when he was forced to join. He just tried his best to stay out of the way and pray his schoolmates wanted to win more than they wanted to embarrass him.
That was the case with most sports, though football was the only one he felt self-conscious about. Rugby. Basketball. Tennis. Golf. His cousins even bullied him into playing polo once. The fact that he didn't kill both himself and his horse was miraculous. For a while, he was convinced the only physical activity that he could manage was jumping rope.
When he was eight his French tutor had mentioned during a practice conversation that his son was participating in an archery competition that weekend, and it led to a bigger conversation about the sport.
"Tir à l'arc? " Alex parroted the word that he didn't understand.
"Archery," Monsieur Abbey clarified in his accented English. "Tu aimes le tir à l'arc? "
" Non. I mean ... Je ne sais pas. Je ..." Alex trailed off, trying to figure out how to say he had never tried it before. He was sure he knew how. Monsieur Abbey waited patiently for a few moments while he visibly struggled, then chuckled and patted his head.
"You can say it in English, Sacha," he said around his smile.
"I've never done it before. I watched Robin Hood, though. He looked cool."
"My son is even better than Robin Hood."
"Really?"
"Of course! I'm the one who taught him after all." Monsieur Abbey rubbed his right hand with his left. "My arthritis made me stop a long time ago, but in my day, I could have contented with Olympic-level athletes."
"Did you?"
"I got close, at one point, but other things in life ended up taking precedence. My son was the same. A shame, he's even better than I was. But don't tell him I told you that. He has a daughter about your age. We're waiting to see if she wants to pick it up. Hopefully, she'll be better than her father too."
As much as he always hated all his extra language lessons, Monsieur Abbey was a bit of a bright spot in it all. He was about his grandfather's age and wildly different than any older person Alex had ever met. He was funny and kind, usually able to make Alex forget he was in lessons by telling stories and cracking jokes along the way. He was pretty sure his mother hadn't known about that when she hired him. She just saw his linguistics credentials and sufficient enough family pedigree. He wasn't even technically a tutor when she hired him, just a recently retired professor. Alex remembered her bothering him with constant phone calls and higher monetary offers until he relented and accepted the position.
Alex had always wished he could have a grandfather like him. Any family member like him, especially after his father was getting worse by the day. So, when he spoke passionately about his archery and his family, Alex couldn't help but want to be a part of it. If only a little.
"Could I come?" Alex asked, his voice quiet. He wasn't sure if it was okay to ask. They weren't friends, after all. Monsieur Abbey was just his mother's employee, his tutor. To him, Alex was just a job he never really wanted in the first place.
"To the competition?" Monsieur Abbey looked surprised but not offended.
"Yes."
"Hmm. If your mother would be alright with it, I see no problem. It's this Saturday."
Alex looked down thoughtfully, doing a few translations in his head. " Je vais à la compétition de ," he started, pausing at the term he had just learned , " tir à l'arc ce samedi. "
Monsieur Abbey smiled warmly. "Oui Sacha," he said, nodding encouragingly. "Très bien ."
Alex was slightly concerned his mother might say no. Even back then he was wise to her always finding a problem with something he wanted. She allowed it though, without hesitation. It could have been because of a few things, but it probably wasn't a coincidence that that very weekend his mother was slated to host a fundraising party at their estate. Better to have the moody and unrefined child out of the way.
The competition was held at a Sports Field in Huntingdon, about a thirty-minute drive from his family's estate. His nanny at the time took him. Her name was Pamela, and she had been there about five years at that point. The woman before her was Joanna, who had worked for his family since his mother was his age. Alex tried not to think too much about how after working for them for so long she decided to retire three years after being stuck with him. Pamela seemed to not mind him that much after all. She was a Scottish woman in her 30s, with curly brown hair and light freckled covered skin. Alex remembered how in the beginning she was pretty friendly but after a few months dialed it back to be more distant. He wondered later if it was because his mother had said something to her. Joanna had been strict and cold in demeanor, and Margaret Conrad preferred Pamela to be as well.
The two found Monsieur Abbey pretty quickly. He tended to stick out in crowds, with his wild grey hair, matching beard, and deep voice that carried. He smiled and opened his arms up in welcome when he saw them.
" Bonjour Sacha!" he said. "Miss Hardy. So glad you could make it out today."
Alex noticed Pamela stiffen when Monsieur Abbey used the nickname. She had called him Alex one time and was corrected by another staff member to only say Alexander or Sir, on the chance that another Conrad could be within hearing range. Alex was pretty sure Monsieur Abbey had been told the same thing, but he ignored it. He wondered if maybe it was because his tutor could tell how happy the name made him.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Abbey," Alex said, a little shyer than he usually would have been. His tutor was surrounded by strangers, all friendly looking enough but still intimidating.
Monsieur Abbey noticed his discomfort and bent down beside him to put an arm around his shoulders. "Would you like me to introduce you to some of my friends and family?"
"Yes."
Monsieur Abbey guided him into the group, gesturing for Pamela to follow. Most of the adults he introduced Alex to were wyverns who knew exactly who he was. They shifted into an overly polite and formal way of speaking when they addressed him. Some of the adults were humans and so didn't make the connection right away, but they noticed the way others were treating him.
"He a prince or something?" One of them whispered to another.
"Might as well be," they answered, their voice only slightly bitter. "He's Alistair Conrad's grandson."
"Oh, that Conrad?"
The human said it as they understood, but they had no idea. To humans, his mother's family was just old money rich. To wyverns, they were about the closest thing to royalty their kind still had.
"My son is just about to compete," Monsieur Abbey said after he started steering Alex away from the adults and their gossip. "But my granddaughter and daughter-in-law are right here."
He led Alex to a woman with dark brown skin and black curly hair that was neatly tied back in a bun. A little girl was bouncing on her toes beside her. She had light brown skin and curly hair that was half pulled back with a scrunchie while the rest cascaded down her back. She was dressed bizarrely, in a blue football jersey paired with a yellow tutu and red rain boots. She beamed at Alex when he approached, showing off one of her missing front teeth.
"This is my granddaughter Manon," Monsieur Abbey introduced. Manon started bouncing in place, and the woman smiled and put a hand on her head as if to keep her in place. "And my daughter-in-law, Stephanie."
"It's nice to meet you, Alexander," the woman said with a very light Northern accent. "We've heard a lot about you."
"Papy says you're really smart," the girl added, speaking loudly even though Alex was only about a foot away from her.
Alex felt his face go warm. "Not really," he said, unconsciously speaking softly to compensate for her volume.
"Don't be modest, Sacha. You're a very capable young man."
"Thank you."
"Do you like bugs?" The girl suddenly shouted again. Her bouncing could no longer be contained by her mother, and she hopped forward to close what little distance was between them.
"Bugs?"
"There are so many bugs in this park this time of year! I'm here to catch them. Want to help?"
Alex froze at being so close to this child. At this point, the only people his age who got to close him were his cousins and Jack, and usually only when they wanted to hit him or knock him down in a game.
"Manon, remember what your teachers told you," Stephanie said gently. "The bubble?"
"Oh! Right." Manon stepped back a couple of paces and then placed arms out to her side. She turned around in a circle like that a couple of times, hitting her mother's hip in the process. Stephanie just rolled her eyes and got out of the way while Monsieur Abbey chuckled. Once her bubble was carved out Manon stopped spinning and grinned. "Sorry," she said, stumbling slightly. "Do you still want to come bug hunting? I have a net so you don't have to touch them if you don't want. Even though that's the fun part."
Alex was still frozen, now at the prospect of being anywhere with hordes of insects. Before he could figure out how to say no, Monsieur Abbey saved him.
"I think he wants to watch the competition, Manon. Is that right?"
Alex hesitated for a moment before slowly nodding. Manon pouted for a whole second before smiling again. "Okay! But if you get bored tell Papy and he can help you find us."
"Okay. Thank you."
Manon started bouncing off towards a section of the park free from the competition activities. Stephanie shook her head and followed after her, nodding her head at Alex as she went.
"I'm sorry if she scared you. I hope you enjoy your day."
"Thank you."
Alex felt his face go even hotter as Stephanie left, realizing he had managed to say little more than five words since he got there, and two of them had been 'thank you' over and over.
"Don't feel too bad, Sacha," Monsieur Abbey said, reading his embarrassment. "Manon tends to have that effect on most people the first time they meet her. She has that effect on her parents from time to time too."
"What about you?"
Monsieur Abbey let out a hearty laugh. "No, the fact that I can't be so easily dumbstruck by an eight-year-old is something I take great pride in. Come on, you want to see the archers, right?"
"Yes."
"This way then, sir."
Monsieur Abbey led Alex and Pamela further through the crowd until the range was in sight. Other spectators moved aside to let them through, though Alex could tell that was for Monsieur Abbey's sake rather than his. In the clearing, there were two men lined up next to each other, positioned about 40 meters away from their colorful targets. A man in an official-looking uniform was positioned nearby those. The bows were different than Alex was expecting. Complicated-looking metal contraptions that were nothing like the simple wooden ones Robin Hood used in the movie. They were also outfitted with a lot more gear, things on their hands and arms, and chests.
"My son, Paul, is right there," Monsieur Abbey said, pointing to the second man from them. He has his father's wild hair, though he was light brown instead of grey. It was just long enough to be pulled back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck. It would have looked a little silly if the bow he was holding didn't make him look so intimidating.
"He looks like you."
"No, I think lucky for him he looks more like my wife did. Got her brains too, bless."
"You're very smart too, Monsieur Abbey."
"Well, that's very kind of you to say."
"What are all those things on their bows for?"
"A little bit more complicated than Robin Hood, huh?"
"Yes."
"Your man in tights uses a longbow. These are recurved. Those pieces that look strange are stabilizers."
Monsieur Abbey stopped talking as the closer archer prepared to fire a shot. Everyone fell silent, though Alex was sure he could hear Manon shouting about dragonflies in the distance. The archer drew back his bowstring, lined up his shot, then after a few seconds let his arrow go. It flew towards the target and landed with a thump, then the official called out the number nine.
"Ten is about the best you can do," Monsieur Abbey explained as the crowd applauded the shot.
Alex nodded in understanding and watched as Paul then drew his bow and took aim. From what Alex could tell it landed closer to the center, but the official still called out nine.
"Wasn't that one closer to the middle?" Alex asked.
"Yes, but it doesn't matter unless you're in a shootout. And see those lines that separate the colors?"
"Yes."
"If it lands on the line it defaults to the higher number."
Alex continued to watch as the two archers went back and forth. It became clear Monsieur Abbey's son was slightly more skilled, or at least more consistent that day. The other archer started landing more sixes and sevens, while Paul never dipped below an eight. Before long, their match ended and Paul was the winner.
" Bon travail mon fils," Monsieur Abbey when his son approached them after shaking hands with his opponent.
" Merci papa," he said, though he was looking at Alex when he did. "This is your student, yeah?" His French was spoken like a native speaker, but his English was spoken with a London accent.
"Yes, this is Alexander."
"Thanks for coming out, lad. We didn't bore you too much did we?"
"No, not all," Alex insisted, looking at his bow with wide eyes. "You're very good. It was nice to watch."
Paul noticed him looking and held the bow out to him. "Want to take a look? Careful, it's heavy."
Alex took the bow he offered, careful not to touch any of the delicate-looking pieces. He tapped the string and was surprised that it felt firmer than he was expecting.
"Want to try to draw it?" Paul asked with a smirk that turned into a grin after Monsieur Abbey smacked his shoulder.
"Don't tease him, Poivre," he chided.
"Hey, he might be able to do it. You don't know."
"Is it hard?" Alex asked, tugging on the string. It didn't budge in the slightest.
"You'd cut your fingers before you could do it, I think," Monsieur Abbey said. "How would you like to explain that to Margaret Conrad, huh?"
Paul seemed to remember himself and his smile started to slip away, but it vanished completely when Alex said, "Don't worry, she probably wouldn't notice it."
The two men looked at each for a beat, a silent conversation exchanged in a couple of seconds. Paul knelt to be at eye level with Alex and gently took his bow back. "You know if you wanted to give this a go," he said softly, "I could help get you set up with your bow. The club that sponsors this tournament runs a shop just down the road from this park." He glanced up at Pamela who had been silently observing. "Do you think that would be alright?"
Pamela chewed on her lip for a second. Her expression looked softer than it had been in a long time. "I would have to call Madame Conrad," she said slowly, "but if it's what Alexander wants then she may not have a problem with it."
"Do you, Sacha?" Monsieur Abbey asked.
"She'll probably say no."
"We can't know until we ask, right? Besides, it's good for a young boy to have hobbies. Especially one like you, who excels in his studies so much. You deserve a bit of leisure, right?"
"I guess."
"Only if this interests you, of course."
"I... It does." Alex looked up at Pamela. "Could you call her? Please."
Pamela nodded with an uncommon smile. "Is there a phone booth nearby?"
"Yes, let me show you the way," Paul said, leading Pamela away from the crowd and back towards the car park.
"If I get a bow, could you teach me?" Alex asked Monsieur Abbey once they were gone.
"I could give you some advice, but I think you can manage to find a better archer than me to teach you."
"But you said you were the best."
"Back in my prime sure," Monsieur Abbey said with a chuckle. "I'm at the age where it's time to start handing things off to the next generation, though."
"Like your son?"
"You want him to be your instructor?"
"He seems nice."
"He is a fine man. I'm glad you can see that. And if you ask him, I'm sure he would be more than happy to teach you."
Alex's mother ended up not having a problem with buying him a bow. Monsieur Abbey had tried to pay for it and said he wanted to give it as a gift, but Pamela insisted that wouldn't be a good idea. Alex had a feeling that his mother had only half listened to whatever Pamela told her over the phone, agreeing as soon as she was told the conversation could end if she bought something. Once they found the proper bow for his size and figured out that he should be drawing with his left hand, they went back to the park. The competition had mostly cleared up, but the range was still set up and Paul and Monsieur Abbey gave some introductory lessons. Well, mostly they argued amicably with each other over techniques. Monsieur Abbey threatened to disregard his arthritis and pick up a bow once or twice. Stephanie and Manon reappeared from their bug hunting in the middle of one of their arguments.
"This happened when they tried to teach me to shoot last year," Manon said, holding up her mason jar filled with ladybirds. "That's when I figured out there were lots of more interesting things to do out here. Guess how many I caught?"
Alex looked over the jar for a few seconds before taking a guess. "23?"
Manon looked at him with wide eyes. "How did you know?"
It got dark before long, so Pamela and Alex had to leave before Alex got a chance to try out his new equipment. When they got back to the estate his mother was by the front entrance, seeing off some of her party guests, though the noise from the garden indicated it was still going on.
"What is that?" She said when she saw Alex carrying the bow and small quiver it had come equipped with.
"The bow," Alex explained, slightly disappointed that his assumption was correct.
"Right," she said, clearly only half remembering the conversation. "You're serious about that then?"
"Yes."
"I'll see about getting you a proper trainer then."
"Monsieur Abbey's son said he would teach me."
Alex's mother looked at Pamela. "Is he good?"
"He won his competition," Pamela said. After a moment's hesitation she added, "And he was good with Alexander. He has a daughter his age, so-"
"It was an amateur competition, right?"
"I believe so."
Alex's mother frowned. "Why waste your time with an amateur when I could easily find a professional?"
She walked off after that, clearly not interested in what their answers could be. Pamela looked at Alex with an expression that was probably meant as an apology.
His mother ended up hiring a man named Ferdinand Lugo, a top-ranked professional. Based on his disposition towards coaching an eight-year-old, Alex figured he had been recruited in a way similar to Monsieur Abbey. Courted until the money offered was too great to pass up. He was very skilled and a rather good instructor, but strict and cold. He even doubled down on that when he realized Alex wasn't the type to complain about it. Alex was used to that treatment by now, but it did dampen the enthusiasm for the sport that had been formed when he saw Paul compete.
Two things stopped him from dropping it right away. One was knowing he would have to face his mother's ire if he proved himself incapable of something else. The second was the time he spent bonding over it with Monsieur Abbey. When he came by for French lessons, on the days the weather permitted they would have them out at the range set up by the stables. As Alex practiced what Ferdinand Lugo taught, Monsieur Abbey would add his pointers in between French vocabulary and grammar. It had been hard to tell when Ferdinand was the one doing the coaching, but Alex did enjoy the sport. It was also hard to tell Ferdinand if he was doing well since he wasn't the type to give out praise even if it was due. Monsieur Abbey was a different story.
"How many lessons have you had yet?" Monsieur Abbey asked the first time they went out there together. Alex had been shooting from only 10 meters, and the arrows were scattered around the 8-ring.
"He comes every Tuesday and Thursday," Alex said, doing the quick math. "So, 6? So far."
"Really?"
"I try to practice outside of the lessons too."
"You're doing very well for someone still so new."
"You think?"
"Je sais."
"Merci."
"And because I know you're thinking it, I'm not saying that to be nice. I mean it."
Alex smiled at how easily his tutor could read his mind. "Je sais," he said, trying to sound like he meant that.
Monsieur Abbey kept tutoring Alex until he was thirteen. By that point, his mother decided he was proficient enough in French for his school lessons to be enough. His other extra language lessons would be increased to take French's place. For their last lesson, the two were out on the range, their only real pretense for it being a proper lesson being that they spoke in French the whole time.
" I'm surprised it's taken this long for your mother to fire me," Monsieur Abbey was saying as Alex was lining up his shot, 60 meters from his target. "Your French is almost better than your English at this point."
"Funny," Alex responded as he waited for the wind to die a little. "That's what she said too, but I think she meant something different by it."
"She expects too much from you, Sacha. Don't let it discourage you."
Alex didn't respond to that right away, using his need for focus as an excuse. He waited a couple more seconds before he let his arrow go. When it landed, Monsieur Abbey shielded the sun from his eyes and whistled.
"That looks dead center to me," he said. "You shoot better when you're upset, don't you?"
"What makes you think I'm upset?"
"How many years have I known you? Eight? I think I can tell when you're upset by now."
"People who have known me longer than that can't," Alex pointed out, his throat tightening. He tightened his hold on the grip of his bow and titled his head away from his tutor.
"You can cry, Sacha," Monsieur Abbey said. His voice was sympathetic but not patronizing. "I'm sad we'll be parting too."
Alex swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. "You're... You're the only one I know who cares about me. I mean, truly cares."
"I don't think that's true."
"I know it is."
Alex felt a hand on his shoulder. A gentle squeeze. Alex tried to compose himself before looking back at Monsieur Abbey. His wild hair and beard were white by this point. His face is more wrinkled and spotted with age. His bright brown eyes were now behind-rimmed glasses, and the man that once towered over Alex was now almost a whole foot shorter than him.
"Watching you grow over the years has been one of the greatest joys of my life," he said. "Not being able to see you grow even more will be a great sadness. Because with or without me you will become even more extraordinary than you are now."
Alex clenched his teeth to stop his tears. Even though Monsieur Abbey had told him it was fine, he was determined not to cry. Alex wanted to say this wouldn't mean goodbye forever. Monsieur Abbey lived just over in Cambridge, more than close enough to visit at any time. But he knew that wasn't the problem. Every day Alex had more responsibilities to his mother and his family. More things he was having to learn and social obligations he would inevitably mess up, proving he needed to be spending more time under his family's thumb. He knew that if he ever asked for a spare day or even an hour to see his old tutor, his mother would glare down at him with a challenge in her eyes. Why should I let you waste your time with that old man when he no longer serves a purpose?
So instead of parroting out a meaningless lie, Alex composed himself enough to return Monsieur Abbey's sentiment.
"Knowing you have been a joy for me too," he said. "You've been like a..."
He hesitated, but only because he wasn't sure whether he wanted to say, father or grandfather. He knew which one was true, of course, but it was also the one that made him feel slightly ashamed to admit.
Monsieur Abbey smiled. Alex wasn't sure if he was able to tell why Alex was hesitating, but he did seem to understand that he couldn't finish the thought. "Thank you, Sacha. You've been like a son to me," he whispered, aware that maybe he shouldn't say that too loudly.
Alex let another shaky breath, but this time it seemed to act as the release of his tears rather than a deterrent. Monsieur Abbey's hand tightened on his shoulder, and after a moment he carefully pulled Alex in for a hug. Alex dropped his bow and hugged him back, feeling like a child for the first time in years as he wept into the old man's shoulder.