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Guillermo walked into Nandor’s room at 8:30, drawing clothing out of his wardrobe. He could never guess what his master would want for the day, all he could guess was that he’d go through three possible outfits before deciding on either the first or the second.
So, per his routine, he fished an armoured waistcoat and long, gold-embroidered coat from his closet, along with a deep blue waistcoat with an off-white cravat, and a brown waistcoat and burgundy coat. He laid them out on the wardrobe chest pressed flat to the wall, arranging them so his master could see them properly assembled.
Once he was done with his exercise, the coffin’s lid creaked, falling down to the floor with a rapturous rattle. He’d had a bad dream.
Nandor rose, looking utterly exhausted as he stepped out to greet his familiar.
“Hello, Master. Would you like to wear any of these—” He began to gesture to the outfits, but he didn’t say anything. He grabbed the brown waistcoat and the gold embroidered coat, gesturing for Guillermo to turn around.
It was normal for him to change his underwear and his blouse, Nandor just didn’t want Guillermo to see him naked and vulnerable. He faced the other wall, thinking about any errands he’d been asked to run.
When he turned around, Nandor’s blouse was only half-buttoned, and two dark scars were visible on his chest. Guillermo didn’t register what they were at first, he simply looked down, quietly apologising for looking at his master in a state of undress.
Nandor did his buttons quickly, pulling on his waistcoat hurriedly and trying to get this interaction over with as soon as possible.
“Please hand me my coat, Guillermo,” his voice was small in an already tiny room.
He picked it up, only looking at his face with a look of regret on his own features. He tugged it on, buttoning his waistcoat and stumbling to get his trousers.
“If it’s not rude, what are those scars?” Guillermo swore at himself after asking the question, but he didn’t turn angry at him.
Nandor’s face fell a sullen grey, and he avoided Guillermo’s gaze for a moment. His expression only made those dreadful feelings stir, if he saw him trying to empathise or feel like he was picking up on how breaky-breaky he was becoming, he’d shatter. So, he watched the candelabra flickering just behind his head, warm light bouncing atop the wax pillars.
“Back in Al Quolanudar, things weren’t easy. I know I’ve told you about how women were treated, how disobeying any rules would have you executed in the village square. I know I like to portray it as very progressive,” he rambled, dating to look back over at Guillermo. His eyebrows were cocked.
“ Yes, I remember that, Master. Please, go on.” His face, the way it looked like he was the one telling this story, not Nandor.
But, his chest tightened. His throat didn’t want any words to escape it, it constructed like a constricting snake and held his thoughts hostage. He had to get them out, vomit the words up with centuries of stealth silence holding them back. It was rare, but he could see Guillermo’s brain working out what he would say.
“So, I’ll tell you the story of a young boy. He was very self-assured, he’d play fight with the boys in his village and get scuffed up and bloodied, but he’d always beat them. From a young age, he was a skilled battle strategist, and he knew that when he grew up, he wanted to lead his own army into battle.” His voice took on a little warm intonation, and a blurry Guillermo smiled gently.
“But, there was only one problem with the little boy. His God had made him a girl. He was doomed to be one of many wives for a sultan, or a battle strategist that wasn’t half as good as he was.” He swallowed, his eyes wandering to his familiar’s clasped hands. His own were starting to quiver, he didn’t want to show it.
Nandor breathed an unnecessary, jilted gasp, his eyes burning. He bit back this stupid, irrational display of emotions, disgusted by the thought that they were getting the better of him.
“So, the boy ran away to Al Quolanudar, donning a new identity and leaving his old life behind. He knew he was risking his life even leaving, but there he became the greatest leader the country had ever known. He was happier than his wildest dreams, he was finally who he was supposed to be. When medicine got better, he altered himself, made himself who he was meant to be.” He choked up slightly.
Guillermo’s face reflected so much hurt, though he did smile, and it stirred Nandor.
“And for centuries, nobody knew his secret, and nobody ever did.” He looked at Guillermo, whose glistening eyes told him everything.
“I had no idea,” his voice quivered, and three tears escaped from his tear ducts. That inspired Guillermo to get up from his seat, hugging him gently. “Thank you for telling me.”
For a moment or two, he couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands. When he placed them round his middle, it felt…natural. He relaxed into Guillermo’s touch, feeling his, at the very most, lukewarm blood rush to his face.
Guillermo’s heartbeat was soothing, it momentarily gathered his emotions into one space and executed them with flaming arrows and gunpowder.
“You know I was talking about myself,” he started, before Guillermo tightened his grip.
“I know, Master. I know.”