Chapter Text
In another universe, Sylvia was delicately hand-standing upon a tightrope pulled taut up in the dizzying heights of the big top. Should he stumble, nothing would catch him; heckling crowds and a pit of flames were all that lurked below.
Oh, how he envied that other Sylvia, right then.
Instead of a thin length of wire, his trembling steps fell upon gleaming tile; instead of a swirling fire waiting to swallow him whole, there was a beautiful spread of Puerto Valor’s finest dishes waiting to be swallowed.
Sylvia could taste every flavor on his tongue right there and then. The sight alone brought steadfast memories of his childhood, back when Cervantes’s fastidiously prepared meals were one of the few comforts Norberto held. Grilled shrimp skewers with a side of corn, mofongo and tostones fried to a perfect golden hue—a little more on the crunchier side, as he and Papi preferred. And at the center of it all? Their famous lechón asado: a succulent pig roast, a meal so painstakingly grandiose that Valorians of generations past deemed it fit to serve upon only the most special of occasions.
To think that Cervantes and his father had gone out of their way to prepare such a meal, well, it did Sylvia’s already long-suffering heart no favors. All of this for his arrival home? For silly old him? Sylvia’s stomach lurched, his vision watered—as if suddenly blinded by dazzling stage lights.
The poor, delicious husk of meat that had once upon a time been a sweet little piggy stared at him with an empty gaze—oh goddess, Sylvia knew that brooding stare all too well. For a moment, it was Hendrik’s head poking out from a hole in the table, blue eyes watering in an insufferably adorable way, bottom lip pouting between an apple forced down its maw.
Bestow upon them the truth, Sylvia!, implored the little Hendrik piggy. A knight’s word is his bond, his kingdom his master! Oink!
Sylvia knew what needed to be said, and yet?
Suddenly, he had no appetite.
How many tense meals had he shared with his father at this same table? How many questions had young Norberto escaped by stuffing pastelitos in his mouth at just the right time?
How many times would he have to shove one in Henrikito’s troublesome maw today?
“¡Ándale, chicos! Don’t just sit there with your maws gaping like fish—you must be starving! Eat, eat! ¡Buen provecho!” The sound of his father’s booming voice crashed through Sylvia’s malaise like the cannon-fire of circus and knightly training drills alike.
Sylvia snapped to attention with a performance-perfect smile, steadfastly deciding not to look Hendrik’s way but feeling his love’s sulk piercing the back of his head all the same. “Oh, yes, Papi! Aren’t you just a silly sweetie pie, setting all this up just for little old us!”
“Yes, this is so very generous, especially since you did not know I was coming along,” Hendrik muttered.
Sylvia felt his eye twitch—used to be the only situation that inspired that in him was the stress of pre-dawn drills, back when he was a boy. His Papi seemed to notice, too, as his head tilted at him and his mustache shifted just so, in the way it did when he was scrutinizing a problem he couldn’t quite figure out.
He was quick to divert his father’s attention, clearing his throat and hurriedly taking a seat at the table. He made a good show of flapping out a folded napkin and placing it on his lap.
“A-anyways, Papi! Ah, how are your latest batch of recruits performing?”
“Those boys of yours, mijo! I understand why you left them in my care… but now that the world is saved, I do not know why they insist on staying here with me! They won’t leave me alone!” Rodrigo rubbed at his chin, looking contemplative. As chiding and harsh as his words sounded, there was not a single speck of malice behind them. They were more akin to the inane ramblings of an old man. Complaining for the sake of complaining. “Aye, they’re soldiers in name only. I keep trying to whip them into proper caballeros—but these chicos, all they do is dance! I fear they’re starting to attract… ugh…” His father shuddered, face blanching behind his mustache as he hissed, “…Tourists.”
“Do my ears deceive me? Since when did the Great Don of Puerto Valor turn into such a whiner!” Sylvia delicately dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “Surely you’ve been faced with harder challenges. You whipped our Henny into shape, after all!”
“Ha!” Don Rodrigo’s bark of a laugh was a notice of challenge, as always. “If you’re so insistent, Norberto, why don’t you take a try at it?”
Norberto. The name flashed across his minds eye, as if it were something to reach out and grasp instead of an intangible word. He’d been told decades ago it meant shining, bright, but it was almost as foreign to him as everyday Valorian phrases spoken with Hendrik’s heavy accent. Norberto. Nor-ber-to. That was him, wasn’t it?
“Me?” Sylvia giggled, batting his father’s dare away. ”Oh, I could never—I didn’t inherit your skills, I’m much more of the jack-of-all-trades type!”
The boorish drone of a certain knight interrupted them. “Oh Sylvia. You need not doubt yourself.”
In truth, he’d nearly forgotten that the man was sitting there—glaring holes into his dinner plate and all—but once Hendrik caught his attention, Sylvia dared not yank it away. He had assumed that his teeny Drustian darling was prepped to ignore him for the duration of their trip, but it seemed that Hendrik’s self-imposed silence was merely the result of more trademark brooding.
When Hendrik continued, however, it became obvious that he hadn’t just been preparing to become a Soldier of Scowl—he had also been juggling his options. “Why so eagerly dismiss something you have yet to even try? That is not like the knight I know.” Hendrik swallowed down a lump in his throat, as if he would’ve otherwise choked on his next words, “…Yo se que tu puedes.”
“Hendrik… you…” Sylvia swore he felt a little puff of dust enter his eye—that had to be the only reason his vision began to water. Sure, Hendrik’s pronunciation was butchered worse than the pig they were feasting upon, but his words stirred open the wings of his heart, sending it soaring higher than a songbird.
“¡Bueno!” Demanding their attention returned to him, Rodrigo too cleared his throat and smacked a hand down upon the table with enough force to make the pig roast wobble. “While I am sure that was a meaningful throwback to an earlier conversation, I have no idea what you two are blathering about. Regardless! I’m sure my chicos would love a word of encouragement.”
“Your chicos?” Sylvia cooed, his vision glimmering anew with fresh… dust-induced tears. “Am I hearing things right? Since when did they become your chicos? Aww, Papi, you really are just a big teddy bear aren’t you?”
Rodrigo steamed under his fawning, wriggling just out of reach from Sylvia’s sticky fingers as they pinched at his grizzled cheeks.
“Ey, ey! Knock it off, Norberto! Quit speaking nonsense!”
After tormenting his father throughout their meal with tender proddings and the unrelenting cheek pinches of an adoring abuelita, Sylvia faintly decided that maybe things weren’t too broken between Papi and him after all. At the very least, things weren’t as broken as Norberto’d left them all those years ago. Maybe he overreacted; it wouldn’t have been the first time.
However, Hendrik’s frowning, brooding face, marring the corners of Sylvia’s vision from across the table, reminded him that as much as his father loved Norberto… Papi still had much to learn about Sylvia.
✿❀✿
It was never too late in the day for a bit of cheer. The end of his little lunch date with Papi brought Sylvia back to his old stomping grounds: the training grounds right outside the villa. No doubt blessed Norberto took his first wobbling steps here as a baby, soon after holding a sword—add a few years here and there and you had a prodigy, mopping these same floors with the faces of Hendrik and other studious knightlings alike.
Speaking of Hendrik…
They stood silently side by side, looking outward toward the expanse of trainees and ocean. His sweetheart’s face was flushed from exertion, looking a little worse for wear. And that wasn’t from their current lovers quarrel…
“Poor Henny, I almost forgot to thank you! It was so nice of you to take my things upstairs to my old bedroom! Why, you’re so strong and manly, I feel faint just in your presence!” Sylvia sighed, sugar lacing his words. “But you really didn’t have to do all of that hard work! I could’ve just asked Cervantes, you know.” To add a point to the end of his sentence, he batted long, black eyelashes.
A few days away from home or not, Sylvia was never the type to pack lightly. …A super-star always has to be prepared! Or so that was the tried and true excuse. Hendrik struggling to drag their bags upstairs provided ample entertainment, if only for the impossibly grand spectrum of frowns the other made.
In fact, he was still wearing one of those frowns.
Hendrik crossed his arms, and said nothing.
“Fine!” Sylvia snapped, “Be that way, you sourpuss!”
That was enough to awaken the bear, and Sylvia was caught holding the stick that prodded it.
Hendrik’s frown became an outright scowl, “Do you seriously think I have any intention of speaking with you?” Seeing him so petulant reminded Sylvia of their childhood days, when Hendrik was nothing more than a sulking teenager up to his eyeballs in hormones and acne. “It is one thing for a knight to join the circus, but to tell a lie? And worse, to bind me in your web? Have you no shame!”
“It wasn’t a lie!” Sylvia protested, though he knew a lie was all it was. “I am helping you find a wife! Me!” And for good measure he threw his arms around himself and twirled on a heel, as if he were some grand, sparkling treasure made of gold and jewels. But Sylvia knew in his heart of hearts, any jewels that made up his skin and blood were likely all counterfeit anyway.
“Then tell your father the truth and we can put this ugliness behind us.” Hendrik said. As if it was so easy… Sweet, simple, stone-headed Hendrik!
His hair might as well’ve been standing on edge, for Sylvia was now more hissing tiger than clown. “Easy for you to say! You’re not Papi's son!” came his hissed retort, “You have no idea what I’m going through, and how could you? You’ve never had to…” The words ‘You’ve never had to tell your father who you are!’ caught in Sylvia’s throat; he couldn’t speak them aloud—but that’s what he felt!
“Never had to what?” Hendrik asked, darkness roiling in his voice and lining his face alike.
Before Sylvia could scramble to catch himself on the high-wire, grasp at a plausible explanation to save him from plummeting from thin air to thick ground, their attention was stolen by the sudden crunch of metal rolling on gravel, followed by a familiar voice.
“Sylv, hermano! Is that you over there?”
Of course, it had been years since Sylvia had last seen his old friend. Far too many years, in fact… But dear Elio was hard to mistake for anyone else, with their tight black curls and modest smile. At the sight of them, the pout on Sylvia’s lips plucked upwards into a grin.
“Elio, I can’t believe it!” Sylvia cried. His exuberant greeting not only expressed his excitement, it also gave cover to a snarling sneak attack from Hendrik: “We are not finished discussing this.”
“I thought you weren’t speaking to me, hmm!” Sylvia simpered back in the same low tones, before cheerily carrying on: he all but hollered in delight, “Elio, darling! It’s been too long! What brings you here?”
The rustle of wrapped flowers mixed with the sound of Elio’s wheelchair coming to a stop, as Sylvia’s old friend presented him with a bouquet of yellow daisies.
“First, I must give you this—for all of the shows I missed.” Elio proffered the flowers with a bashful look, their hands fumbling to pass over the gift. “And especially for missing your greatest show of all! It’s not every day your old friend saves the world, eh?”
Sylvia blushed, for once actually taken aback by another’s lavishing praise. “Ehh, say what? I couldn’t possibly take credit for something like that, honey! I was merely part of the hero’s supporting cast!”
Regardless, he relieved his friend of their burden, if only to give the bouquet a sniff—upon which he found that the scent carried long ago memories with it. “Gerberas? You still remember my favorite flower after all these years? I don’t know how to thank you, darling!”
“Think nothing of it!” Elio grinned, evidently proud of their gift going over well, before their attention was stolen by the surly other man in their company. They took in the sight of Hendrik with astonishment. “Goodness, is that… are you him? ¿El luminario?”
“What, ¿el luminario?” Sylvia’s head swiveled this way and that, confusedly searching their surroundings for a shiny brown bob or a flash of plum corduroy before realization struck. “…Wait, you mean Hendrik?”
Oh, now that was just about the funniest thing he had heard all day! Sylvia couldn’t help his giggle from spilling out, try as he might to do so by clapping a hand over his mouth (and ignoring the deepening glower he felt burning a hole in the back of his tunic). ”Elio, don’t be silly! Henny’s not our Luminary, but something more along the lines of a glorified guard-dog.”
“Lo siento, my friends!” Elio looked a little sheepish, Yggdrasil bless him. “I’m afraid word has spread far and wide of the Luminary’s deeds… Apparently not all of them are as truthful as they seemed. You see, I have heard tales of his strong, seven foot frame, with his long silky hair, and affinity for pot smashing.”
Judging by that thoughtful expression, Hendrik was probably trying to imagine Eleven standing at seven feet. At least something, at long last, proved able to cool that fiery glare!
“Two truths and a lie, I suppose,” he mused, tapping his chin with a finger, before extending his hand out to Elio; they beamed in turn, and grabbed his hand with their own to eagerly shake. “I would inquire after what other tall tales have spread, but I fear Sylvia has yet to introduce us.”
It was surprising how quickly Hendrik was able to resemble someone normal: someone completely unperturbed by the storm they’d just narrowly managed to avoid with a strong turn of the helm, but he supposed it shouldn’t be. This was Hendrik they were dealing with, after all…
Sylvia snapped up like a sailor tossed overboard into the wake, shaking his mind free from the salt-sting of fear and iciness of regret as he scrambled for a life preserver. “O-Oh, right—silly me! What was I thinking?” Sylvia cleared his throat, glancing back and forth between two of the most important people in his life.
The sailor was back on deck, to be certain, but the choppy waters still beat ceaselessly against the hull, keeping him off-balance and ever trepidatiously closer to the edge. “Hendrik, this is my old friend, Elio. Elio, this is Hendrik, my…”
“Sylvia’s very special friend.” Hendrik finished for him. “It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”
If Elio was perturbed by such an answer, they said nothing about it, their breezy smile all the while unruffled. “The honor is all mine. I’ve heard many a great thing from our special friend!” Elio’s warm eyes, the shade of deep molasses, shifted to the man in question. Their gaze was friendly as ever, yet for some reason, Sylvia suddenly felt like he was being studied like an ant under a child’s magnifying glass. ”Sylvia has written much about you in his letters to me!”
Hendrik paled, even as a paradoxical flush crept up his neck just over the cowl of his yellow sweater. A lump in his throat bobbed just slightly as he repeated, “Letters? …A-Ah, yes, certainly… If I may ask, in just how much… detail, precisely, did he write to you?”
His dear little Henrikito was likely scarred for life after the last mention of letters ousted him from Sylvia’s heart. Oopsie!
“What do you mean?” Elio looked between the two of them, blinking owlishly behind their thick glasses. It was quiet for a moment, save for the chirping of crickets nearby. Just as the ambience of nature was punctuated by a shrill crow’s cry (that sounded remarkably like laughter)—caw-CAW!—their eyes widened in apparent realization. “…Please forgive me! I didn’t mean to tell Cervantes about the salty cake incident! It just slipped out one day!”
Shocked dumb by his theretofore unrealized powers of interrogation, Hendrik swayed backwards. “Cake? What? I meant…”
“Eheheheh… Aaaactually…” Sylvia’s giggle was coquettish even for him, as he busied himself with kicking at a pebble on the ground. As much fun as the thought of letting this torture of his beloved go on was, only he could quench these flames before they blazed out of control. “Elio knows the sweetest secret of my soul. Including the secret regarding my, ah, roommate… But do go on about the cake, darling. I was just getting hungry.”
“What’s this about secrets? You mean to tell me the don doesn’t know?” Elio asked—not even pretending to be interested in indulging Sylvia’s latest diversion, damn them! “Oh Sylv… not again!”
“He would be the only soul in the entire world not privy to this so-called secret, it seems,” Hendrik interjected, before stepping just out of reach of a sly trickster’s slap upside his head.
The trickster in question pretended no such attempt at an attack had ever been made, having the offending hand go instead to twist at a curl in his hair, complete with an innocent, perfectly-timed giggle. Oh, his simple knight… didn’t he know games were all the more fun when two were at play?
Sure, he could avoid a physical challenge from his opponent—but Hendrik couldn’t avoid the ultimate rogue’s ploy of pretending the target was invisible, Sylvia thought smugly. He very pointedly ignored Hendrik’s petulant little comment and charged forward to engage what he hoped—no, he knew!—would be an ally in Elio.
“Again? Say whaaat? I have noooo idea what you’re talking about!” Sylvia simpered, batting such a ludicrous notion away before pivoting in conversation. The lessons of his father from childhood still instructed him from somewhere deep within his memories: Dispatch the enemy and rescue the ally, mijo! Then escape the battlefield before the enemy can regroup! “How about we go make ourselves some dinner, hmm? I’ll bet you your weight in gold that Cervantes would love to try a salt cake made by the one and only baker of legend!” Satisfied with his routing of the dastardly love of his life, Sylvia began to skip off to sweet, creamy oblivion: “Come along, my darlin—errk!”
…or he happily would have skipped off, if not for his dearest pulling him back with a strong grip around his collar.
“Elio, if you would please enlighten me to the situation. You would be doing me a great kindness.” Hendrik bowed his head in shame on Sylvia’s behalf, and then tilted his head to the side in curiosity. Meanwhile, Sylvia’s own frantic wiggles did nothing to relinquish that boulder of a man’s hold.
…Wait a minute! If he didn’t know any better, Hendrik was actually eager to hear another embarrassing childhood tale. Sylvia’s heart withered: oh, what an unjust world…It was so much more fun the other way around.
Forced to admit defeat, Sylvia ceased his struggling and prepared to retell his sad and sorry tale.
It had all started right after he entered his fourteenth summer. Guided by youthful curiosity, Hendrik and Norberto found themselves beneath the kaleidoscopic canopy of a circus tent. For one blissfully ignorant soldier, the experience was but a one time spectacle—but for the other? Naturally, it was the start of a decades-long love affair.
Hendrik’s eventual departure did nothing to snuff out the spark of passion that had been lit in the comrade he left behind. Rather the opposite: he might as well have thrown an oil-soaked rag over his shoulder on his way out especially when Norberto discovered a kindred flame in Elio. Hidden by the cloak of nightfall and a sea of stars, the two boys were frequent lurkers, sharing in their secret zeal for everything under the big top. It was a secret that required hiding from everyone, even—no, especially—from Papi.
The true extent of such a romance was blinding and deep, so woven into his heart that it might as well have been the very lifeblood that made it beat. And yet, for those first few clandestine weeks, the flowerbud of such love rooted deep and grew unnoticed even by Norberto.
That was, until the time came to stand by his resolve not only under the cover of night, but exposed to the harsh light of day.
His fate had been sealed. Unfortunately, like most sources of happiness in a young teenager’s life, the circus was fleeting. It had not been long after Hendrik’s departure that so too did the circus begin packing their tent. That was when Norberto ultimately decided to toss aside his knightly disguise, and finally begin life anew—as the clown he had always been destined to be! So it was that when the colorful troupe left Puerto Valor that very night, a youth now called Sylvia snuck away with them: no longer a knight fated to certain destiny of laurels and valor, but a humble stowaway fitted with nothing more than a name and a dream, an architect of his own future.
Or so the legend went…
“I see. So Elio helped you hide that secret from your father.” Hendrik rubbed the end of his beard thoughtfully. “I have always been curious regarding what events transpired that fateful night…”
“It’s not something I like to think back on, if I have to be honest.” Sylvia looked down, toeing a line in the dirt
“Then instead of looking back, let us move forward,” Elio suggested with a smile. “Now that you’re here, it’d be nice to have an extra pair of legs around the stables! I’d get my work done all the more sooner…”
As expected, Hendrik perked up upon the mention of stables. Where there were stables, there were horses, and Sylvia had the sneaking suspicion that their love affair wasn’t the sole concern weighing on Hendrik’s simple mind. Be they apart for minutes or months, the amount of time passing made no difference to his anxieties over Obsidian. His sweetheart had likely been plagued with worries over his beloved steed all afternoon. So it was that within a matter of a seconds, Hendrik—the infamously terrible-at-socializing-Hendrik!—had made up his mind to follow Elio off to the stables.
Even after so many years, Elio still somehow managed to know what Sylvia was thinking. It warmed the tips of his ears, sent another piece of evil, tears-inspiring debris into his eyes… It must’ve been horse hair! As soon as they had another chance to chat, a proper thank you was well in order, Sylvia decided. Above all else, he was grateful for Elio’s particular knack for weaving the perfect distraction, something that clearly hadn’t changed between the past and the present.
Let Henny play with the pretty ponies—he’d skip off to have a heart-to-heart with Papi! At least one of them would be content: who better for it to be than Hendrik himself? Particularly after the agonies a certain mincing jester had been putting him through thus far on their little headache of a trip.
The thought inspired Sylvia to quickly reach out for the cuff of Hendrik’s sweater, before he was out of reach physically as well as emotionally. “While you go and do that, I’ll go check on Papi. See you soon?” A nauseating mixture of hope and fear steeped in Sylvia’s words. To be certain, it wasn’t technically an apology, but he hoped his friend would hear it as the promise of such, all the same.
There was a moment, then, where Hendrik was far too quiet, the bright teal of his eyes stormy and scrutinizing; luckily for Sylvia, his love gave his hand a firm squeeze back—and added into his grasp an unspoken plea to not hurt his heart again, that was as roughly hewn and honest as the calluses on his fingertips were—before letting go.
“…Yes, Sylvia… I hope you will.”
Sylvia gulped, suddenly rooted in place by the weight of all that had gone badly, and all that was about to go worse. All he could do was remain there for a long moment, watching the retreating backs of his dear friends, as the two wandered away to the stables.
There was still a bright side, Sylvia supposed, albeit a touch melancholy: no matter what happened next, at least his sweet Henrikito would be in good hands.
✿❀✿
The walk back to Papi’s study was as long as it was stomach-churning. Memories of marching up those same terracotta steps brought Sylvia back to the days of when he was just a carefree fourteen-year-old, with training sword thumping against his hip and blue cotton robes still warm on his skin from Valorian sunlight and sweat alike. He stopped right at the edge of the staircase, where he took a moment to quietly remind himself he was no longer a child. He wasn’t in any trouble; he was merely on his way to talk to his father, de hombre a hombre, and any gathering storm clouds of parental scoldings or punishment was solely the product of his melodramatic imagination.
Sylvia laid the bouquet of gerberas upon the table just across from his sweet mama’s portrait. Their petals felt parched, likely a fair bit dehydrated from their long journey back to the villa, but seemed to be thriving otherwise; he made a mental note to put them in some water after he finished up with Papi. One poor gerbera wouldn’t be helped by water, however, hanging dejectedly from where it had become half-snapped off of its stem; with an absent murmur of apology to the poor little bloom, Sylvia gingerly finished the job.
With blossom gently held in his open palm, he gazed longingly at the painting of his mother, imploring her for a round of motherly advice. As always, her replies couldn’t reach him, so Sylvia settled for screaming his woes into the void instead.
“Oh mama, forgive me! Your bouncing baby boy is but a sad clown!” he cried, tucking the despondent bloom behind his ear, and wistfully imagined it was actually his mother reaching out to soothe him: in his mind, the tickle of petals at his ear became her soft palm cradling his cheek, complete with a soft coo of “esta bien, mi tesoro”.
He heaved a sigh, stroking the gold filigree of her portrait’s frame. “…A sad clown…! Have you ever heard of such a terrible thing?”
Being back home made everything feel far too sentimental! Looking upon the other portraits and tintypes that lined the foyer’s walls, those frozen moments of his youth served as fodder for a grand revelation: it occurred to Sylvia, then, as he stared at the past and the past stared back, that he had been an utter menace as a child. Always up to something, whether it was torturing young knights or putting frogs in places where they absolutely shouldn’t be… The fact that Papi wasn’t the one running away and joining circuses, that was the true wonder!
It really was amazing that little Norberto had lasted in Puerto Valor as long as he did, Sylvia thought, feeling rueful and nostalgic alike as he began to ascend the stairs towards his childhood bedroom on the second floor. Oh, if he and Hendrik were ever lucky enough to raise a child, how he hoped the poor babies wouldn’t take after himself… But Yggdrasil herself would likely see it a delightfully fit punishment, to return upon him in droves the same trouble he once rained down upon his poor Papi!
…and the same trouble he now was raining down upon his poor Henrikito… Sylvia grumbled to himself, while his light steps became frustrated stomps on the last few stairs up. Thinking about children was like counting chicken eggs before they hatched! It was awfully presumptuous to assume their relationship would ever brood some little pollitos, let alone see the sunrise after everything he had pulled that day…!
He had reached the landing, and his bedroom door was a few mere steps away, but the sight of his father’s door on the opposite side caught his eye. Papi’s door was open, if only just a crack, and before Sylvia himself even knew it, he was pushing through the door without offering so much as a knock…
The study was as fastidiously kept as the very mustache on Rodrigo’s face. Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be, be it books or pens or the many swords peppered along the walls. Some of them were purely decorative, but only a few, Sylvia knew: all the rest were the blades of long-dead dons and doñas.
How would those walls look covered in feathers and knick-knacks from his travels across Erdrea, instead? Sylvia wondered, idly, but then shook such foolishness out of his head. Right then simply wasn’t the time for such silly thoughts! After all, there was still the pressing matter of… well… everything!
“¡Mijo! Just the man I wanted to speak with.” Rodrigo’s voice scattered the menagerie of Sylvia’s daydreams; startled, Sylvia turned abruptly on his heel to face his father, and had to stop himself from automatically giving him a salute. How devilishly strong were the spirits of the villa, that Puerto Valor’s most famous clown could nearly fall back into their long-ago eager-student-and-stern-commander routine without so much as a second thought?!
Whether or not Papi noticed his skittishness, he did not know: with shoulders high in his usual perfect posture and his back facing his son, Don Rodrigo was keeping a knight’s pensive vigil. All that was missing was a pommel for his hands to rest upon. “Are you alone? I have been meaning to ask you something, something important.”
Sylvia couldn’t help but audibly swallow. “¡N-no problema! What’s on your mind, Papi?”
Just behind his expansive desk was a large window that oversaw nearly the entirety of Puerto Valor—or, at least, anything a don might want to see. As Sylvia sidled closer to join him, he could see Rodrigo’s gaze fixed on a point beyond that window, somewhere in the area of the barn.
“I never expected that boy to stick around for so long.” Puzzled, Sylvia followed his father’s line of sight… to who else but Hendrik? Ah, of course! “How long has it been? It must have been over twenty years ago, now, since I first found him staring up at that portrait of tu madre hermosa.”
As his father spoke, Sylvia watched alongside him what was going on out in the stables. Elio was tending to Rodrigo’s horse, while, for some reason not even Sylvia could guess, Hendrik was lifting up the same bale of hay over and over again.
“I do not fault him for his curiosity. Who wouldn’t want to know of the beautiful, mysterious woman in the painting? If you think of it that way, I can understand…” Rodrigo gave a deep exhale, and continued. “That night I told him the two of you are the loves of my life. That’s still true,” he chuckled, “But of course, you know I do not care to talk about such sentimental things.”
“…Papi?” Sylvia ventured, hesitantly. It wasn’t like his father to talk so much, or at least not without a bit of screaming thrown in between. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Pah! Of course not, Norberto! It is I who needs to know but one thing.” Rodrigo crossed his arms, trying with all his might to play the gruff, no-nonsense father, but Sylvia already knew his true nature. “Hendrik—he treats you kindly, no? This… smiling obsession of yours… carajo! You’ve spent all of your life trying to make others smile, or so you say. A knight is destined to serve their people, but I have to wonder… Have you yet to find your own happiness?”
Finally, Papi said something he could make sense of! Sylvia wasted no time in answering, particularly given that it was as easy a question as ‘how is hello said in Valorian?’ or ‘how many forms of juggling are there?’. “Me? What can I say? The Deliverer of Smiles is always happy!” Sylvia was just about to squeal in delight and toss some of the glitter he’d been carrying in his pocket to prove it, but stopped short of doing so when he saw Papi wasn't looking at him. (No use in wasting good glitter!) “What is it?”
Rodrigo was staring at Hendrik and Elio. “You know… Elio is an excellent groom, and a fine young man.” He tilted his head, mustache twitching from the beginnings of a hidden smile; Sylvia could practically see a candle popping into the air over his head, its wick exploding into the flame of a bright and undoubtedly dangerous idea.
Oh, no… Sylvia didn’t much care for that expression. He didn’t care for it at all! His suspicion blossomed into gut-wrenching horror as soon as his father mused, “Just look at those two… they seem happy together, no?”
“W-who? What are you looking at?” Sylvia pretended to scan the horizon. Simultaneous to his quickening heartbeat, his nerves flared like the frayed ends of a cannon fuse about to be set aflame. “Oh, you mean Hendrik and Elio? Uhh… what makes you say that?”
The cannonball exploded out as soon as Rodrigo whipped back around, and Sylvia nearly leapt straight out of his skin when Papi glared sharp daggers at him. If Hendrik and Jasper made up The Two-Headed Eagle, then Rodrigo was a Flinty-Eyed Hawk!
“I know you aren’t telling me the whole truth, Norberto.”
“Papi…” Oh, he should’ve known! His Papi was one of the few people in the world who could see right through his lies—why did he ever tell himself differently? Why didn’t he just tell the truth from the start? Now the only choice left to him was to throw himself on his sword! Barely holding back his tears, Sylvia bowed his head in shame, clasping his hands together and begging, “I-I promise, it isn’t what it looks like! I’m so, so, so, so, sooooooo sorry!”
Inexplicably, it seemed Rodrigo either hadn’t heard all of that wonderful whimpering or simply chose to ignore it.
The answer became clear with his next words, but the reality was no less horrific—if anything, it was worse. “Norberto, for goodness’ sakes, I already know! Hendrik, he prefers… the company of other men? You cannot convince me otherwise! I could see it in his face: the big lug practically withered every time you mentioned finding him a wife! And so much sulking during our meal, bendito, he really has not changed at all!” Rodrigo clucked, shaking his head, before he finally seemed to notice Sylvia’s distraught state. Before Sylvia could fall to his knees and wail to the heavens, his father waved an impatient hand in front of his face. “¡Oye!, what’s gotten into you? Do you not believe me? Ha! Challenge my verdict, I dare you!”
Sylvia simmered behind the ears. For Papi to speak so bluntly about such things…! It certainly made the matter of hiding his secrets astoundingly more difficult!
The swordsman’s endless slashes steadily frayed the acrobat’s one saving grace, and with that final swing of his father’s words, at long last, the tightrope had snapped: there was no other escape. As Sylvia finally plummeted to the pit of flames below, all he could do was shield his eyes from the cinders.
“Uh… yeah, yeah! Hendrik! He’s suuuuper gay! Oh, what fantabulous detective work, Papi!” Sylvia cried, his voice becoming sing-songy even as tears blurred his vision and he felt the full impact of that cannonball in his chest. “…But, ah, how about we don’t mention this to ol’ Henny just yet! It would be so, sooo embarrassing for him if you brought it up!”
”¿Mande? Foolish boy! I’ve had all afternoon to think about this, and I have the perfect plan to get Hendrik off your shoulders!” Rodrigo mistook Sylvia’s barely-hidden grief for being born out of the sadness of his own meager situation: being Hendrik’s roommate. “You cannot be shackled with babysitting him forever—no, no son of mine will resort to such a menial task! Not while I still live and breathe, eh?” Rodrigo thumped Sylvia on the back, in a gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring but only ended up lurching him bodily forward into just narrowly avoiding the desk. “Just let your old man take care of the rest… je je, it’ll be perfect….”
Truly, the Goddess must’ve handpicked this blessed day to be the worst one of his life!
Granted, she held enough pity in her heart to spare Sylvia’s ears from hearing Papi’s plan… but even then, he would’ve been stupid not to garner the suspicion it had something to do with Elio.
Elio.
And Hendrik.
Oh, sweet Yggdrasil, why couldn’t he just confess!
“Papi, ¡por favor! While it’s adorable how eager you are about this, you really have no idea what you’re dealing with!”
“Nonsense, Norberto!” Rodrigo scoffed. “I’ll have you know I know exactly how to deal with this sort of thing, Your mother kept all sorts of eccentric friends... Why, did you know? Back in her day, she used to perform for these old ladies who were in lesbians with one another!”
Sylvia, having been about to interrupt him on their original subject, suddenly found himself at a complete loss for words. He gaped stupidly at his father for a moment, before finally managing out a weak, “Papi… You realize that’s not… that’s not how that word works, right?”
“Je je! Says you!” Rodrigo bristled, then, evidently remembering their main topic, couldn’t help a cackle. “…You! The same man who didn’t even realize his roommate was into men! Ahh, Norberto, you know… Sometimes, a child must follow his father’s lead—no matter how grown he is!” Apparently satisfied with their discussion, he began to push his son out of his office, as though he were not an adult man, but instead an ungainly chair that had gotten in the way of redecorating. “Now, how about you get some sleep, hmm? You had a long day of travel, and tomorrow you will have a longer day still—of helping two hopeless souls with romance! ¡Hasta mañana!”
Sylvia tried to ignore the not-very-subtle winks his father punctuated each sentence with; on Rodrigo’s grizzled face, it looked almost like he was in some sort of unspeakably horrible pain. As if he had stubbed a toe.
Or had a horse hair in his eye.
That made two of them.
“Good night, Papi…” Sylvia mumbled as the door closed behind him, suddenly filled with a mix of exhaustion and dread that he had not known since the fall of Yggdrasil. “…Y este osito de peluche se va para su estuche…”
By the time he had dragged his limp, shambling body into his old childhood bedroom and shut the door behind him, the only thing he could focus on was the sweet escape of sleep. Ultimately, the discussion with his father had served to snuff out the last remaining spark of Sylvia’s energy. On any other day, such a feat might’ve been considered utterly impossible to anyone who had ever so much as met him.
Yet there he was, having collapsed into a heap upon his old childhood bed. A few stuffed animals had become crushed under his weight: the heart-wrenching casualties of an embattled lover’s war! How sad, how tragic!
But for the time being, there was no room in Sylvia’s heart for anything other than his own pain. He sniffled, unable to summon the energy to so much as wipe his tears away, and resigned himself to his fate. He was the star attraction of the Pitiful Players’ Circus: the Saddest Clown in All of Erdrea.
With exhaustion and self-loathing overtaking him, Sylvia eventually drifted off. He dreamt of Hendrik and Elio frolicking in a golden field of endless gerberas. In the dream, he could only watch them from afar, though he was always running towards them, always crying out in apology—but he was never able to close the distance, and the sound always became caught in his throat. Little visions of his Papi—each one in a frilly pink tutu and wheeling precariously upon a unicycle—began to flutter around his head, chuckling and taunting him, over and over again, in discordant harmony: They were in lesbians, in lesbians, in lesbians!
Sylvia sobbed.
✿❀✿
Eventually, Sylvia was stirred from his cavalcade of nightmares by perhaps the most wonderful sound he knew: Hendrik’s lumbering footsteps. He played up his sorrows—though it took no work at all, admittedly—cricking his neck and gazing up at his sweetheart with watery eyes and wobbly lip.
Hendrik merely looked down at the snivelly sight of his supposed beloved, evidently not swayed to console him whatsoever. No comforting kisses to the brow, no lengthy monologues to serve as bedtime stories, not even a hug goodnight? Goodness, that was just cruel! What did Sylvia ever sow to reap such bountiful heartlessness?
“Your father suggested I… Ahem… Sleep in the barracks with the other soldiers.” Hendrik fixed him with an unimpressed glare, arms crossed over his chest, as if he was barricading his very heart. “I cannot fault him for that decision—he had no means to know of my arrival. Thanks, in no small part, to your endless cunning.”
Sylvia, deigning to ignore that bit of sass, chucked an old teddy bear off the bed and patted the newly-empty space beside him.
“There’s always room next to me, Henny Boo. That is…” He fluttered his eyelashes and idly traced the shape of one of the pink slimes patterned on the bedsheet. “…If you still have a spot for me in your big, meaty heart…”
Sylvia’s upper lip trembled, a dastardly move on his part; there was no way Hendrik wouldn’t fall for the boo-boo lip routine, especially since he had just swiped his tongue over his lips to give them an extra bit of shine beforehand. (His lips? They sunk ships, baby!)
“Hennyyy…” he whimpered, putting on his very best baby bear act. “You know how much I can’t stand to see you mad at me! And sadly I’m too pooped to keep up with your ravishing hard-to-get act tonight—so, pretty please, say you’ll forgive me? With sugar on top? I super duper pinky-promise I’ll tell Papi everything tomorrow!”
Hendrik’s eyes flashed a cold blue, sharp and icy enough to inspire frost to creep into his heart, and Sylvia couldn’t help but recoil in fear. “You mean to tell me you still have not told Don Rodrigo? I thought that was the entire reason you went up to speak with him!”
Oh, dear. If Hendrik wasn’t impressed with that fine trick, then he really, really wasn’t going to like what he had to say next.
“I, uh… might’ve gotten distracted.” Sylvia forced out what was supposed to be a breezy laugh, but at best, it sounded like an incredibly wavery and strained chuckle. “D-Did I mention that I’m preeetty sure he’s going to set you up on a date with Elio? …And, um, that I’m so, so over-the-moon with joy for you both?!”
“Sylvia… You told me you would fix this, not make it worse. Dare I say it?” Hendrik stared down at him, his brows knitting in frustration. The sour expression only emphasized the creases of stress that had begun to furrow in his forehead, Sylvia noticed absently, and felt guilty anew for knowing he was the cause—even as he felt increasingly, impotently angry when Hendrik’s scolding continued.
“I cannot so much as even feign disappointment, Sylvia. After this, I am purely impressed! There, how does that sound? Another captivating performance by the Stupendous Sylvia! Are you happy now?” Hendrik pressed two fingers to his temples, likely rubbing away a headache. “In either case, I care not for any more excuses you concoct. I suggest you leave at once.”
“B-But this is my room!” Sylvia protested, resolutely not giving into the far more childish impulse within him that said to blow a big fat raspberry in Hendrik’s stupid face.
Instead, he gave into the less childish option: he got on his hands and knees and clung like a naughty little monkey onto his sweet, forgiving knight’s leg. What a sight it must’ve been, for Hendrik to still somehow manage gallant steps to the door with Sylvia’s sticky limbs still wrapped around him!
Alas, trying to hold on for dear life proved fruitless, as Hendrik shook him off with all the effort one put into flicking away a pesky bug.
“Indeed it is. Which is why it was ever so generous of you to offer it to me for the duration of my stay.” Hendrik was unfazed by that night’s theatrics, instead pushing Sylvia away with a single sock-clad foot when the jester dared to desperately scuttle towards him again. “We will speak to your father in the morning, of that I can assure you… Until then, I recommend you procure at least a few hours of sleep.”
And with that, cruel Hendrik locked the door behind him, leaving Sylvia sitting on his rear and gaping like a fish. Did that really just happen? Him—The Stupendous Sylvia!—on the other side of a trick?
Were his current situation not a masquerade of unfamiliar horrors, he might’ve laughed himself into a fit of hysterics.
Unable to accept his fate, Sylvia scratched at the door, resembling more anxious puppy than proud performer.
“Good one Hendrik, very funny. You got me! Now let me in!” A startling noise shook the entire house, then—though it was merely a crushing boom from Sylvia throwing himself at the door. But alas, it didn’t budge, and neither did his sweetheart’s resolve.
So it was that the defeated jester slid onto the floor in a piteous pile of clown.
“Henny Wenny, please open up! Baby Bear wants to cuddle!”
Deafened to his pleas, Hendrik refused to answer.
“Hennnyyyy!!”
✿❀✿
He awoke to his father’s prodding—not to imply that Sylvia had slept much in the first place. Being banished to the couch like this, it was a crueler fate than deserved by even the most nefarious of evil-doers! And it was a miracle from Yggdrasil herself that any amount of sleep had been granted, since Hendrik knew Sylvia required at least eight hours of shut-eye on a nice, soft bed! Otherwise, things would always threaten to take a sour turn the following morning... Oh, he hadn’t even had the chance to wash up yet, but Sylvia could already feel the sagging skin, the dark bags drooping dangerously beneath his eyes!
His beloved Soldier of Scowl would pay dearly for these crimes, he vowed, feeling very much like a fellow conscript in that fate, right then. It was still early… Perhaps hunting around for some frogs was in order! He’d stuff them all down Hendrik’s stupid yellow sweater, then sit back and watch in delight as the other cowered, maybe even shed some tears.
Yes, yes, that would be an adequate start—unfortunately, his nefarious dreams were dashed by a healthy dose of his father’s nagging, which abruptly served as his alarm clock.
“¡Carajo! How sweet of you, Norberto, to give up your own bed all for the sake of your fellow caballero! I always knew Hendrik was a bit on the delicate side… but what he needs is a firm hand, not you coddling him some more!”
At least Papi still had faith in him… Nothing could shake that resolve!
…Or so he hoped, anyways…
“You know me, Papi!” Sylvia yawned delicately, blinking away the last sand sprinkles worth of fitful sleep. That was easier said than done, because tucking the blanket back over his head was far preferable to dealing with the chaos that awaited a fresh day for The Great Sylvia! He coughed delicately, smoothing down some wayward curls. “So generous, as always… You can’t blame for me treating that dumb-dumb like an overgrown baby!”
Exacting his frog-flavored revenge hadn’t been the only thought weighing on Sylvia’s mind. Midnight hours had been wasted tossing and turning in agony, trying to think up some way to get Hendrik and himself out of this mess.
There was the possibility they could perform an illusionary magic show: just cram Hendrik in a box and then zoom themselves outta there, easy-peasy! Except that it wouldn’t be an illusion, but a perfectly executed escape plan!
…But Sylvia’s spell casting still needed a bit more work…
Alternatively, maybe Elio and the Soldiers of Smile could help them build a parade float-shaped catapult that’d shoot them straight back to Zwaardsrust!
“That’s enough lazing around, boy! I have prepared brunch for our special guests.” Rodrigo gave a few of those winks again—the painful-looking ones that had haunted Sylvia’s brief, nightmare-filled respite earlier—just as he yanked his son’s blanket right off of him.
Sylvia hissed at the sudden flood of cold. “¡Nooo, Papi! ¡Cinco minutos mas!” Were they still at home, he would’ve awoken to Hendrik sleeping beside him, his snores shaking the entire house, but his warm body like a campfire, keeping Sylvia safe from the harsh winter of having to get up and touch bare feet to the cold floor.
Unfortunately, yearning for those days was all he had at the moment, as Papi did not give him another five minutes; soon, Sylvia was dragging his feet behind Rodrigo to the dining room.
Just two things were on his mind: Hendrik and coffee, but the latter took far more precedence…
…Wait, the former! He meant the former!
He was shocked to find a spread of food already laid out on the table: freshly squeezed orange juice, fruits cut into little hearts, pancakes—wait, was that a chocolate fountain?
“Papi…” Sylvia managed on just the other side of a squeak, nearly forgetting about the horrible future that the sight before him foretold. “D-did you make all of this yourself?”
“Don’t be stupid, Norberto!” Rodrigo laughed heartily, slapping a heavy hand against Sylvia’s back and causing what little air was left in his chest to be expelled in a startled wheeze. “I had Cervantes cook the meal! Took him hours, it did, but it was allllll worth the wait—if I do say so myself!”
…Okay, at least that part of the horrible, warped reality he had wound up in still made sense. Where was their steward, anyway…?
The answer to that question was soon spotted in the form of an exhausted-looking Cervantes stationed near the table, playing a tooth-achingly romantic tune on a giant harp.
Heart-shaped food, harpistry, and enough sugar to kill a man: three perfectly beautiful things on their own, but an utterly foul concoction of chaos when smashed together—let alone when done so by his own father! Such a spectacle was brilliant if one asked Sylvia, especially considering it took only a few hours to prepare, but then he remembered who and what this was all for, and his stomach twisted. Oh, Hendrik hated spectacle! That would only mean one thing: this lovely display would end in tears—maybe even death… or even worse: the destruction of chocolate fountains the entire world over!
There had to be a way to stop this, and pronto! His eyes scanned the room for a giant, two-headed-eagle-crested coffin, but Hendrik was right there, very much not in a coffin. Alive.
Breathing.
Sitting at the center of it all along with Elio.
They sat behind an angel slime-shaped ice sculpture, the two looking as frozen as the romantic decoration itself as they refused to so much as even risk a chance at glancing at one another. Even their food remained untouched.
No one said a word—
“¡Qué lindo! Aren’t the lovebirds adorable? Quickly, now! Go, go refill their mimosas!” Rodrigo shoved him, hiding just around the corner with his head in his hands. “I can’t stand to look—you know what all this mushy-gushy stuff does to my blood pressure! Ándale mijo, and make it fast!”
There was still time, Sylvia thought, definitely not panicking as he made the beeline of a particularly heated little bumble towards their table. He could still fix this!
”¡Buenos días muchachos! How are you handsome gentlemen doing this fine morning?” Sylvia cried out in a single breath, snapping up a nearby napkin and throwing it in Elio’s face. “Hey, need another napkin? Now you don’t! Some more water? Come on, Henny, big boy like you’s gotta get his fill! Open wide, here comes the horsie!”
The horsie—merely a fork-full of fluffy pancakes—came galloping toward Hendrik by way of Sylvia trying to hand feed him a bite.
Alas, the horse reared upwards in fright, as Hendrik’s firmly pressed lips refused to clear the path ahead. What was that thing Papi had mentioned about coddling…? “Aye pobrecito, you clumsy thing! Now you have a bit of strawberry syrup on your beard….” He licked his thumb and moved to wipe it, but Hendrik grasped his wrist and squeezed. Hard.
”Tell… him… the truth… Or… I… will…” His snarling knight grit his teeth, tightening his iron grip further with every dramatic pause in his words. It was super threatening—which definitely got the point across—and not funny at all.
…Save for the pink bib that had been lovingly tied around Hendrik’s neck.
Alright, so it was a little funny.
”Okay, okay, owwie! Fine! Sheesh! You don’t have to be such a grouch…” Why the rush? Was breakfast no longer the most important meal of the day? “Un momento, por favor!”
There was no point in letting perfectly good pancakes go to waste, so Sylvia stuffed the forgotten horsie—er, forkful—in his mouth, and chewed while strategizing. He had to make a daring escape and execute a worthwhile plan if Hendrik and Elio were ever to be rescued from Rodrigo’s romance-happy clutches… but how could he save their poor souls when Papi was so vigilantly watching over them?
Seriously, what kinda bug had crawled up his butt? He never knew the man to be so over-the-top, so sentimental! Maybe the grizzled old teddy-bear really was going loco. Before Sylvia could contemplate their mortality, the meaning of life, and how delicious the pancakes were, an escape plan finally struck him.
There was no way Papi could reign them all in.
And so it was, on the heels of the most brilliant realization he had ever had in his entire life, that Sylvia immediately dove out of the window.
Such a simple, unexpected trick was more exhilarating than a lifetime of over-the-top circus routines; Rodrigo’s subsequent shriek of terror was more adrenaline-boosting than the roaring cheer of a whole tent-full of spectators that had come to witness him from the world over. This! This drama? This action? This was what he lived for!
He wished he had more time… Surely, Papi could’ve waited until dinner to pull out all the stops. That seemed like the proper meal for theatrics, if one asked him... But no! He supposed it really was just like the old saying went: a new leaf never bloomed far down upon the family branch on Yggdrasil.
Sylvia quickly popped up from the rose bush that had caught him and dashed back up the stairs, brushing off petals and plucking out thorns and feeling remiss that he hadn’t managed to secure his trusty emergency wardrobe within his heavy suitcase. He really was off of his game, wasn’t he? For hours the night before, he had sleeplessly poured over idea after idea, yet no matter how hard he had combed through his brain, nothing had felt right!
Until, just as he had been attempting to stuff his secret beloved’s face with pancakes the way he would a stubborn horse with oats, a distant memory had flashed before his eyes. That was his calling card, tried and true: something no audience would ever expect, unless they had seen the show before and already knew exactly where to look!
There was no such thing as true failure, so long as one had a good foundation to build off of—and needless to say, Sylvia found exactly the building blocks he needed. In fact, it had been there all along!
…In light of the circumstances, though, it occurred to him—as he swiftly changed into his showstopping disguise and ran back towards the dining room, as fast as his costumed shoes would take him—that in all truth, he didn’t know what sort of reaction to expect. It would’ve been too bold to anticipate the appropriate amount of joy; Hendrik had always hated when he acted out for attention, after all, and Goddess forbid he upset that man again, especially after everything else he had done on their trip thus far. Perhaps an equal mixture of shock and hysteria would do nicely for the time being.
…with a pinch of chaos, just to get the day going—lest his efforts be all for naught!
“Everyone! I have an announcement to make!" shrieked Sylvia with showmanly flair, as he burst in through the doorway, covered head-to-toe in a cuddly bear ensemble.
Of all the possibilities that had been running through his head right before he opened his mouth, complete silence… was certainly a new one. Even poor, tired Cervantes ceased his harp playing, leaving naught but a discordant string of notes echoing through the air.
So it was a tough crowd—no matter! Hard years on the road as a fledgling clown had taught him how to thrive underneath far worse scrutiny. There was still time to steal the show… and steal the heart of one particular, stone-headed audience member!
His voice, now the proud roar of a bear, sent shockwaves pulsating through the dining room: “Paws off my man, Elio darling!” Sylvia gave a quick wink, his words softening momentarily as he sheepishly added, “…Pretty please? Thank you very much! So, so sorry for dragging you into this mess—!” He cleared his throat with a nervous cough, before he was yet again a daring hero, “—but a bear’s gotta protect their honeypot!”
Innocuously, Elio rolled a few paces backward… narrowly avoiding colliding into Rodrigo while he was on the warpath, stomping over to his son in utter disbelief.
“Ey, ey, ey! What do you think you’re doing in my old costume, Norberto?!” Rodrigo sputtered, spittle practically flying from his mouth. “Your mama made that for me and me alone! I will not stand to witness another wear it!”
“I’m sorry, Papi!” Sylvia stood at attention, the very picture of a fluffy recruit to the cutie-pie knighthood that was seemingly full of respect for his commander, even as he continued with words that suggested otherwise. “…But actually… I’m not sorry—because I left my bear costume at home! The same home, in fact, that I share with my sweet little Henrikito! That’s right, don’t look at me like that! I speak the truth: Hendrik and I… we’re in love! Our love is true… and pure… and perfect in every way!”
Rodrigo snorted, surely in anger and disbelief at Sylvia’s deception! “I know, mijo.”
“You don’t have to approve—I understand that a lie is a lie, no matter how small, and for that I am sorry!” Sylvia bowed feebly, an apologetic ball of fur, before his chin rose up with pride once more. He placed a fuzzy bear fist over his heart, mimicking one of Hendrik’s trademark salutes. “But this is who I am, and if you don’t like it, well, you can kiss my big, fat, fuzzy-wuzzy—!” His father’s words finally hit him, much too late. Sylvia dropped his proud stance, eyes popping wide open as he squawked at Rodrigo, “…Wait a minute! You WHAT?”
His father crossed his arms, ever the steadfast soldier—but instead of anger marring his old face, Papi looked decidedly pleased with this entire situation; he was the only person in the room who did, in fact.
“I know,” Rodrigo repeated, his grin particularly smug. “Foolish son of mine, I have known the entire time you’ve been here!” He shook his head wisely, as if he were some sort of grand sage up in the mountain peaks of Angri-La. The effect was rather undone by salt and pepper curls dusting briefly across his tawny cheeks. “No—I knew even before your return! …Norberto, come now: did you really think you can keep secrets from your old man?”
Elio peeked their head around from behind Rodrigo, shyly intervening by the way of clearing their throat. “About that, actually… This is all partly my fault…” They nervously fumbled and twisted the table napkin—the very same one that Sylvia had pelted them with before, in fact—in their lap. It was an apology for… well, Sylvia wasn’t quite sure what, but that was just before Elio’s spectacled eyes snapped up to gaze at their friend with clear intent. “…This may have slipped out around the same time I mentioned nuestro amigo’s salty cake, but… Your father only knew of your relationship because of my big mouth. Lo siento mucho, Sylv, I didn’t know it was a secret.”
Sylvia unleashed a scandalized gasp (that had previously been bated breath). “…Elio! You cheeky little gossip—so much for my number one secret-keeper!” In truth, he was only mad for the sake of the show, the theatrics of it all! Looking at Elio’s sweet face, there was no conceivable way Sylvia could carry out the role of scorned friend seeking vengeance, even with decades of flawless performances under his belt.
His father, on the other hand… Sylvia whipped around fiercely. The effect evidently hadn't been undercut at all by his cuddly costume: Papi’s shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he sneakily crept up the stairs, like a spooked feral cat. If he seriously planned on creeping away and holding himself up in his study, the old codger would need to work much harder than that! Was Papi really trying to sneak around him? Worried about being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, was he?
Goodness… What a strange turn of events!
“You! Just where do you think you’re going, mister?!” Sylvia's cry echoed through the villa—nay, through all of Puerto Valor, louder than the crash of ocean waves—as he pointed an accusing finger at his father. Wrapped up in his performance as Sylvia was, he half-expected a spotlight to suddenly, blindingly illuminate his target and a rush of gasps from an audience. Perhaps he wasn't the only one imagining such showy effects, given how Rodrigo immediately halted, sweating the way one might under the heat of a spotlight, and could only mumble something indiscernible.
“Papi! We’re not finished here yet!” Sylvia bellowed. Rodrigo squeaked like a mouse snatched up by his tail, and tried to scramble up the stairs backwards. “Running off so soon? Is it time for abuelito’s afternoon nap-nap? Well, too bad! It’ll just have to wait! ¡Ven acá!” Instead of giving Papi a chance to flee further, Sylvia dashed to stop him where he was halfway up the stairs, and addressed the wretched man with that ever-accusing finger now waggling. Rodrigo surely would’ve bled mercilessly underneath its point were it not for the bear paws softening Sylvia’s judgemental jabs!
“You planned this whole thing?! Even after Elio told you what was going on?" Something occurred to Sylvia, then, and his scrutiny shifted to the other three, who had remained where they were. "…Who else knew about your stupid little scheme?”
“I was aware, señorito,” answered Cervantes, solemnly. His harp playing had resumed shortly after Sylvia-Bear’s glorious grand debut; even now, his fingers strummed a beautiful tune that better belonged in an orchestra, not the Puerto-Valor-Familia-Circo.
”Me too.” Elio sheepishly rubbed their arm.
Hendrik coughed delicately into his hand. “…I knew as well!”
Everyone whipped their heads around to glower at him, not a single one believing that. In turn, the imposing knight shriveled up like a mushroom left to dry under the Valorian sun for too long, and amended his declaration with a croak, “I… T-That is… There is a… slight possibility… I may not have known.”
Within the blink of an eye, Sylvia practically flew back to his poor Henrikito’s side. “Of course, honey, of course. I know you tried your best to follow along, and that’s all anyone could ever hope for.” He patted Hendrik’s arm in reassurance.
While he was certain the two of them had… much to talk about after this affair was over, all things good and a few things ugly, Sylvia’s pitter-pattering heart couldn’t help but drum with joy when Hendrik’s warm hand finally came back to envelop his own. After all, it had been a matter of hours since the other last held him so warmly!
A kind, crooked smile tugged at the edges of Hendrik’s lips, a smile that Sylvia adored. Their brief time apart had, to Sylvia, felt like aimless wandering underneath a dark sky without sunshine.
Their reunion was almost perfect… but just as his lips sneaked a kiss up to Hendrik's, complete with one fuzzy foot popping up off the ground, he suddenly recalled the pesky matter of his sneaky Papi. Sylvia's sentimental smile immediately transformed into a determined frown.
“…Wait a second! You!" Sylvia swung a still-accusatory pointer finger in Rodrigo's direction. "You still haven’t answered my question! If you knew the whole time, why go out of your way to set this whole thing up?!”
“Have I not always told you, boys?" At the beck and call of opportunity, Rodrigo straightened out: once again playing the part of chivalrous master glaring down at his attentive students. "A knight does not do what he wants, but does what he must!”
“…I do not seem to recall that part of the pledge,” Hendrik mused, stroking his beard. “Though it has been many years…”
Sylvia scoffed. “Don’t you even bother indulging my Papi and his delusions, Henny!” He crossed his arms and waited, daring his father to make the next move, before he finally took matters into his own hands. “This is all very cute, daddy dearest—not to mention migraine-inducing! Now quit it with the dramatic speeches and tell us your real motives!”
They were but two knights locked in battle—two clowns in the same circus ring! Though it would have outright killed Sylvia had anyone mentioned it, at that very moment, as he and Rodrigo stood ready to face off—they were the spitting image of one another.
So long as one forgot that Sylvia was dressed as a bear, that was.
“Is it not already obvious, Norberto?!" Evidently impressed by his son's defiance, Rodrigo allowed his steely gaze to soften, and that salt-and-pepper mustache twitched up in the beginnings of a sly grin. (Sylvia desired nothing more than to rip it right off of Papi's smug mug!) "I did it because I like to mess with you! I must admit that it… looks fun, watching you pull off those tricks on others. You are almost… good at it, even.”
He chuckled, his mirth serving to sand down his prickly edges. “A true Soldier of Smile, one might say… but! Before my praise gives you an even bigger head, you must always remember one thing! And that thing is: Your father always knows best!”
His Papi became awfully bashful as he continued, looking down at his feet with a blush. “And besides, how else was I supposed to get the truth from you, hm?! I know I am not the… most approachable man in the world. But you have to realize… If I did not have you…” That fierce gaze wobbled with the faintest touch of tears, before Rodrigo quickly swiped a hand over his nose, clearly sniffling but pretending for all the world it was an itch. “Just know, mijo… I am so very proud of you, and nothing will ever change that. Eres la luz de mi vida, Sylvia.”
Were his heart a flower, Rodrigo’s admission was the sun itself: bright and fiery, endlessly burning, yet capable of gentle warmth. Those balmy rays served to coax out a little bud—one that had been so frightened of the possible blaze from above, it had ignored the rich soil and nourishing water of his love and friends that had brought him from lifeless seed to sturdy roots to magnificent stem.
But now, that little bud proudly unfurled its petals.
“Do you… Do you really mean that, Papi?" It may have been the heat of the moment, but Sylvia swarmed his Papi with a great, big, teary mess of a bear-hug. "Oh, that makes me so happy to hear!”
“Ey, ey! Cut it out!” Rodrigo blustered under his son’s unadulterated affections. “I do not want the trainees to see me like this!” Despite his doggedly-guarded reputation as a steely, valiant, no-nonsense soldier which Papi swore his life to protect, one of his arms wrapped around Sylvia just as fiercely.
Sylvia tortured him with one more squeeze (just for good measure!). Words alone failed to paint the canvas of his emotions, but there was an overwhelming spread of pinks, yellows, oranges—the colors of a gerbera daisy blooming against the sun.
After a long, delightful moment of hugging and cheer between father and son, father and future son-in-law, son and best friend, future son-in-law and future butler-in-law—among many other combinations—and his figurative petals sparkling with joy, Sylvia had almost forgotten the real reason behind their visit.
Thankfully, a shy, pointed cough of reminder from a certain other supposedly no-nonsense soldier helped him remember.
“Oh, yes! If we’re gonna stand here and pour our hearts out… There’s… something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He stroked Papi's head with a big, fluffy paw, patting him in the same way one consoled a lost puppy. “What have we got to lose? I’ve got to ride out this rainbow to the end!”
The snap of his fingers reverberated like thunder.
“Henny darling, assume the position!”
Were he not so absolutely elated, Sylvia might’ve feared losing his father’s unconditional love with this next trick. He broke apart their tender reverie with a daring cartwheel, soon flipping into the air as if carried by the arch of his aforementioned rainbow. With a nervous stumble, Hendrik set down his just-sneakily-acquired plate of pancakes and caught Sylvia-Bear just in time for the other to land upon his sturdy shoulders.
“Papi…!” Sylvia shouted, pausing for applause. All he heard was his lovely assistant wheezing under his weight.
“Will you…!” They had practiced this very routine hundreds of times, over and over and over again until it was perfect, but with their luck, this would be the first time Sylvia fell flat onto his face…
“…JOIN OUR CIRCUS?!”
A storm of confetti rained down from the heavens themselves. Sylvia stood perched at the top of it all, grinning from ear to ear. His arms raised over his head, bear-head crowned by a halo as bright as the source of joy and love alike.
Somehow neither blinded by the beauty of their formation nor the confetti in his eyes, Papi gave a steadfast answer.
“Absolutely not.”
As simultaneous calls of ‘B-but, Paaaapi! Pretty please?’ and ‘By your orders, sir. We apologize for bothering you, sir.’ chimed out like the songbirds from the villa’s garden, Sylvia and Hendrik hung their heads low in defeat.
Was that the way it was going to be? Sylvia’s heart sank, but he wasn’t about to feel dejected over a little bit of rejection. This was only the beginning, after all. Clearly, Papi's refusal was merely a call to arms—another chance to prove themselves!
However, his beloved was quicker yet, if only to rub salt in the wound. “I warned you of his refusal.”
Sure, that’s what his darling said. But was this not the very same Hendrik who always proclaimed how much actions spoke louder than words? No one but Sylvia would’ve been able to tell otherwise, but Hendrik displayed a subtle, kindred sadness to match the jolly jester’s own disappointment. The most blatant tell of such a fact was the blue, rubber clown nose now fixed squarely in the middle of Hendrik’s face—diosa mia, not all hope was lost! It seemed the stubborn man had finally taken his advice of always carrying it in his pocket for emergency situations just like this one.
“Oh hush, you! Before I shove another load of pancakes down your trap!” He hopped off from Hendrik’s shoulders, his feather-light steps finding safety in the faint push of air magic. There was no stopping the petulant pout marring an otherwise glorious start to their day, but nevertheless… Whether Papi chose to join their circus or watch helplessly from afar (his loss!), Sylvia would take it all in stride.
“Good luck convincing me that you’re not the least bit sad my Papi won’t be joining our merry band. Perhaps not for now, to be sure… but I see this as a wonderful opportunity! This is just the beginning of something beautiful!” With a devilishly coy look in his eyes, Sylvia gave himself a moment’s respite by at last removing his bear-head. His hair clung to his skin in sweaty curls. “Failure or not, you wouldn’t oppose to a high-five for all that hard work, would you, bonito?”
“Very well, darling. If you insist.” Hendrik offered his palm. “Up high!”
As the sound of their high-five shattered eardrums all across Erdrea, the little gerbera that was his heart reached ever skywards, as the sun of his Papi's love became all the warmer.
Now, that little bud could truly bloom.
❀