Chapter Text
The summer days grew longer just as winter wheat and barley were prepared for harvest. Lingering skylines only emphasized the yellows of Zwaardsrust’s sprawling fields, painting her already golden sheen deeper shades accompanied by the oranges and purples of sunset. It was this splendor Sylvia and Hendrik watched from astride the backs of their horses. To Hendrik, it was a bittersweet sight, almost painfully reminiscent of the last time he’d left home.
Much had changed since then. No longer would anyone look out across desecrated fields, nestled into the back of a crowded army caravan bound for Heliodor, with no more than a name and the clothes on his back. Perhaps the most vital difference? Hendrik’s return would come far sooner than the last thirty year absence he suffered.
As long as everything went according to plan, they would reach Puerto Valor by the time sunset came tomorrow. A visit to Sylvia’s father, their old teacher, was long overdue—but in truth, a part of Hendrik grew tense upon the eve of reunion. As much as he upheld a knightly mantle of indifference, in the past year Hendrik shaped into a man who much preferred to wear their heart on their sleeve… Or, for all anyone knew, he had always been that sort, a secret hidden even from himself.
His worries were permitted to speak for themselves. “Do you think we will arrive on time?” Hendrik fretted. “What if the boat somehow departs without us? We still have much ground to travel until then…”
Call it stupid, crotchety grumbling (that’s what it was)—what if the stables they selected provided inadequate care for Obsidian? Before they packed their bags, his beloved steed had griped and pleaded with Hendrik not to venture far, to not leave him in the lesser care of someone else. Even Margarita’s patient insistence (for she was experienced in her master taking long trips away) was not enough to calm Obsidian, nor Hendrik.
Furthermore, the sea always disagreed with his weak stomach… if Hendrik caught ill the same as last time, well, things would take a turn into the unpleasant. That was assuming they made it there from the stables at just the right hour… Oh, how this all tired him so!
Such quibbling was a stark contrast to Sylvia, who for the past hour had yet to utter a single word.
“Dear?” Hendrik yelled over the stamp of horse hooves. “Are you even listening to me?”
“¿Mande? What is it—did you say something?”
If there were any clear indication that Sylvia was, indeed, not in fact even listening to him, that would be it. The other had been distracted, quiet, all morning. Sylvia, silent? It felt… wrong, somehow, as if they were breaking some unspoken law of nature.
An indignant sigh of remorse had almost fallen from between Hendrik’s lips, but he pressed his teeth together to keep the final bit of his reluctancies tucked away.
“It was nothing,” Hendrik’s voice softened. “Merely I was thinking about our last endeavors in training for, ahem, your circus.”
✿❀✿
Just a few days prior to setting off on their newfound adventure to Puerto Valor, a sunny morning provided ample opportunity to practice their circus routine.
…Then again, if one made the mistake of asking Sylvia his opinions on the matter, then any time was the best time to practice. It wouldn’t have mattered it rained cats, dogs, or horses; storm, wind, or shine: it was always circus time.
Hendrik winced at that thought. How that line almost rhymed was a most unfortunate development. He would have to take great care not to divulge this information to Sylvia…
His dearest friend frolicked with the circus for years, accompanied by like-hearted clowns and champions of cheer. He left it behind for a time, first for their journey with the Luminary, and once more to settle into their homestead, but suffice it to say some habits died hard. There was no reason for Sylvia to abandon his life’s work: after all, absence made the heart grow fonder and fonder still. So naturally that left but one option: he would bring his very own show to Zwaardsrust, one step at a time.
That meant Hendrik had oh-so-much juggling, sword swallowing, and more—an unending list of unspeakable nonsense—to catch up with if he ever wanted his clowning skills to rival Sylvia’s own.
…But of course he fostered no desire for such things! What a ridiculous assumption. Pure folly! Upon the humble morning of his birth, he vowed to serve and protect; with every piece of his soul, every sinew of muscle and flesh, Hendrik was in all ways a knight—not a clown. Circuses needed to employ vigilant soldiers, didn’t they? To keep away the riff-raff? Such events were always teeming with them… drunkards, groupies, rabid Sylvia fans clamoring for a chance to meet him.
Hendrik would never ignore a call to arms.
So it was no real surprise later that very same day Hendrik was hovering a mere three inches from the ground, the soles of his feet pressing into a line of rope while he feebly attempted to balance upon it.
What? It was as Sylvia said—the perfect day to practice!
Yes, it may very well’ve been the stupidest situation Hendrik ever put himself in… should Obsidian witness him now? Well, there would be no end to his shame… Retirement had unveiled yet another one of its unfortunate effects. He truly was going soft, wasn’t he?
Three inches from the ground was no real life or death circumstance, but surely from that moment onward he understood why it was that Jade was so fearful of heights.
It didn’t help matters when Sylvia made it look ridiculously easy, in his abundant splendor, and that was when he was dancing some twenty feet or more in the air, in front of hundreds of onlookers no less… Not a measly three inches… but everyone had to start somewhere, didn’t they?
“Don’t be such a weenie, cariño. You’re doing great for a first-timer, see?” Sylvia suddenly sighed wistfully. “Isn’t this lovely? Just me and my sweet, simple boy, chasing our dreams. I mean, don’t you just love it here? I know I do!”
What a coincidence! Hendrik thought. He was just about to say the same thing. It wouldn’t be the first time that week he held his tongue, nor would it be the last.
It came as a second nature to Sylvia, so much so that Hendrik recalled an earlier show wherein the dashing jester had his assistants set the safety net on fire beneath him. After that, rope walking looked like such a breeze compared to his other performances—at least that was what Hendrik told himself. He could do it, easily…! He couldn’t remember if that realization came before or after his dearest gave him a kiss of encouragement on the cheek, but now Hendrik sorely wanted nothing more than to go back in time and toss himself into the nearest river.
Alas, he was a bit preoccupied at the moment.
Sylvia had been quick in rigging up an impromptu tightrope, nestled between two sturdy trees and pulled taut. He granted his reluctant beloved the courtesy of a demonstration, of seeing how it was done by a skilled professional right before giving Hendrik the chance to make a mockery of the art... Hendrik could still smell the wet grass spots soaking through his knees after the first unfortunate instance he’d fallen. As soon as Sylvia had let him go for just a moment—the first mistake—he’d tumbled utterly to the ground.
As Hendrik pulled himself back up to try again, he suddenly recalled having nightmares of this exact variety. The only tangible difference was that in the waking world he wasn’t wearing that dreaded gadabout attire. And it certainly would’ve been a bit less embarrassing had he fallen in front of literally anyone else! Meanwhile, having to fight down the rising temperature in his cheeks was another battle in and of itself.
But that sort of pouting was for weaklings and nay-sayers! Like any battle, Hendrik was not willing to give in after a few meager slip ups.
“Henny, you’re not breathing.” Sylvia was like a statue next to his wobbling form. “Remember to breathe or you’ll be pushing up a whole bouquet of oopsie-daisies. Slow and steady… Hold out your other arm, and bend your knees just like that—Ah ah, no honey, not like that. Wow, it really is a shame that you’re so tall.” He sighed sadly, but his eyes told another story.
So Sylvia was enjoying his plight, was he? Were he not secretly endeared to such childish antics, Hendrik might have given up on this a long time ago. He hadn’t yet managed a single step, even with Sylvia there to balance him. His knuckles were a shocking white as he gripped the other.
“Would it be easier for you if I were pocket sized?” Hendrik choked, straining out the words after holding his breath exactly as he was advised against.
Sylvia dismissed him, “Oh not at all. For such an immovable object, it’s amazing how you have absolutely no sense of balance. Really darling, color me impressed!”
Perhaps it was some sort of circus trick, but Hendrik swore at that exact moment the rope twisted right underneath his foot—he hadn’t even moved! Minus maybe a twitch of the eye in irritation... Whatever the cause, all was said and done once his swinging arms foretold another tumble.
He must’ve resembled a drunken bird failing to take flight. “W-what is happening! Stop it!”
“Arms out darling, arms out! No, no! Not to me!”
His fall being broken by poor Sylvia, this time, was a nice change of pace.
They landed with matching shrieks of surprise, and between the flickering lights of dizziness and oxygen deprivation Sylvia stared up looking none too amused.
What was that look for? Hendrik wondered. This was the circus; was he not supposed to be having fun? Was he not entertained!
“So attentive that you bore the foresight to catch me… My, what a diligent teacher you are! How might I ever repay your kindness?” Hendrik might have been sorry were it someone else crushed beneath him—he knew he was no feather-weight—but if Sylvia expected to get out this experience without a little bit of suffering, he was sorely mistaken. The burden of pain was much more beautiful when it was shared between close comrades, wasn’t it?
Instead of falling for his charming wit, Sylvia shoved Hendrik off from him, leaving Hendrik to roll rather limbless onto a comfortable patch of grass and clovers.
He closed his eyes, taking in the smell of fresh air. Perhaps if he feigned death, they’d be done with this tightrope nonsense for the day…
“Some star pupil you turned out to be!” His friend sighed. “To think, the protégé of the Great Sylvia? A flop! Not even worth his weight in peanuts! What will the world think of me now…”
Hendrik peeked open an eye, fighting the twitch of a smirk. “Come now, it does not suit you to act so fatalistic. Surely you had your struggles when you first arrived to the circus all those years ago? What does a knight know of clownery?”
“Guess again, querido! I was perfect from the moment my sweet little leaf blossomed on Yggdrasil’s loving branches.”
Based on what Hendrik had seen firsthand, that was close enough to the truth. He laughed, breathlessly. “Forgive my lack of prudence. If only I could gain just a smidge of your irreproachable skill in all things, but alas… the rest of us are not so blessed. For now I suggest we continue to take things slow.”
Despite his shortcomings, Hendrik really had no qualms in taking part in at least a few of Sylvia’s dazzling tricks… There would be no performances headlining his name in lights (unless it read Former General Becomes Clown: Disgraces Entire Nation), but it gave them something more to share, another reason for Sylvia to smile—that alone was a fine reward. Should Hendrik continue on being a lost cause, his prospective future might not be so horrible, so long as Sylvia was entertained by it.
“Slow sounds like a marvelous idea. Next time I’ll start by seeing if you can walk a straight line on the ground—that doesn’t sound too scary for poor, clumsy Henny, does it?” Sylvia offered him a strange look, as if he had suddenly plotted something grander. “But don’t take my hard-hearted teasing too seriously, yo sé que tú puedes. Maybe I ought to spend a little more one-on-one time with you, hmm? You know… to help you apply yourself.”
Hendrik knew the answer to his next question, but he asked it all the same: “We are still talking about training me for your circus endeavors, are we not?”
“Hmm… who knows, we might be!” Sylvia rolled onto his outstretched arm, nuzzling into the sweaty crevice of Hendrik’s burning neck. “It’s also very likely I’ve forgotten all about that silly dream.”
“Forgotten about the circus? You?” Hendrik balked. “Now it is I who is left heartbroken and disappointed.”
“Pobrecito. Let me kiss it better… how does that sound?”
There was a moment of airy quiet, just as Sylvia’s lips enveloped his own; leaves swaying in the trees above, flower petals dancing between his tongue. Hendrik’s chest swelled amongst the heat of passion. With vision deceptively pink colored, he stirred beneath the wandering scent of roses.
Soon enough, Hendrik, too, let slip any remaining thoughts of the circus.
✿❀✿
It wasn’t long into their voyage before Hendrik was spotted leaning over the side of the ship. Pale, clammy hands gripped against the railing, just in time to lose the rest of his breakfast. This ill fortune forthcoming, he’d hardly eaten anything before boarding, but he retched like a dying barn cat all the same. If there was anything more insufferable than the endless onslaught of waves, lulling Hendrik into a constant state of unease, then it was the smell of bile colliding with the ocean.
“Feeding the widdle fishies again?”
At least Sylvia seemed to be in better spirits following the night before… That alone was cause for celebration.
“Yes… of course. How much longer until we’re ashore?” Hendrik wheezed. Remiss in this state, he hardly possessed the mind to retain whatever it was Sylvia said.
It was rather romantic, in a pathetic, piteous sort of way, whereupon Hendrik retched again Sylvia was nearby to pull his hair away from the next stream of vomit.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we’ve still a ways to go.” Sylvia’s other hand rubbed circles along his back. “Next visit we ought to travel on foot with the horses, eh? I’m sure papi wouldn’t mind if we took a teeny detour.”
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Hendrik turned to his friend on wobbling legs. Upon a moment of clarity, it seemed that Sylvia’s earlier jest was all surface level—that was to say, his words were as mincing as always, but there was an abundant lack of joy alighting the spirit behind them. It was that worry which left Hendrik fearing something was amiss; worse than the riptides roiling in his gut, to be the cause of Sylvia’s concern.
“That does remind me. You have been… rather quiet since we left home,” Hendrik managed, albeit on a wheeze. Now that he was granted a minute to breathe, the cold sea breeze aided in his relief. “It is most unlike you… Does reuniting once more with your father still worry you so?”
Sylvia waved, as if he could physically brush those concerns away. “Worried? Don’t be silly, darling! Papi adores you. You’re like the second son he always wanted. You know that, don’t you?”
He hadn’t, and the subsequent elation nearly distracted him away from his concerns. “Is that so?” Hendrik wondered, feeling dizzy for a different reason altogether, now. “That Don Rodrigo holds me in such high esteem is beyond my comprehension…” The warmth that thought inspired in his chest was short-lived, as reality came crashing back down upon him. ”…But, pray tell, where does that leave us? Does he… approve of us? Of you?”
“You’re asking me if Papi would be willing to give you his blessing? My, Henny, forward as always, aren’t you?” Sylvia ribbed him, yet his usual passion in doing so was gone—as if heavy clouds had blotted out his usual sunny disposition. “As if I know what that man thinks! All he cares about are swords and his dumb mustache.”
Ah, there it was! The more the subject of his father came up, the deeper Sylvia curled inward.
Fortunately, he wouldn’t have the opportunity this time to run off and… powder his horse, was it? Margarita was safe at a stable in Zwaardsrust. Besieged by seasickness or no, Hendrik wasn’t going to let his beloved get away quite so easily this time.
Busy as they were with their hearth and homestead, the matter of Don Rodrigo and of Sylvia’s forgotten destiny were rarely at the forefront of Hendrik’s mind. Normally he might’ve considered that selfish, to evade such worriments simply because they were too difficult to indulge in.
Though the secret of his friend’s identity had come to light soon after their own reunion, the question of whether Sylvia ever intended to follow in his father’s footsteps, as a knight, as the Don of Puerto Valor, was a question Hendrik had always left unasked. This was never to spite his own thrumming curiosity, of which he had plenty of, but to spare Sylvia of even the slightest chance of pain.
Sylvia traveled his own path; what was there to question? What good would it serve to dwell upon another world, one that was simply never meant to be?
His heart belonged to the stage: it came above all else. It was that same dedication, confidence, and self-certainty that—though once upon a time, truly confounding—Hendrik now found utterly captivating.
The nuances of fatherhood were strenuous indeed, Hendrik understood that all too well. Were they to ever meet again, swaying in tandem on the eternal branches of Yggdrasil, he might ask his father the same thing: had his son made him proud?
“That was not…” The bitterness of saliva welled up in his mouth, and Hendrik swallowed down his next words. “T-that was not exactly what I meant. Have you told him about our—”
“—Whaaaat? It’s so, sooo loud out here! Anyway, you need to get your rest if you wanna make it to Puerto Valor in one piece… There’s no way I’m dragging your heavy coffin around til we find a chapel!” Just as Sylvia guided Hendrik back down from the ship’s stern, his voice heightened with a teeth-grindingly sing-song quality. “Papi is a big stick in the mud, but like any naughty puppy, he’s all bark and no bite, cariño. You’ve nothiiing to worry about! Leave everything to your sweet Sylv. In fact, d-don’t even mention it!”
“Are you certain?” Hendrik asked, searching his expression with pleading eyes and wobbly lip—even if the effect might have been undercut by the deathlike pallor and clammy sweat of seasickness that clung still to his visage. While he couldn’t force an honest answer from the other man, would sharing in his vulnerability not serve to soothe him in kind?
That was almost enough to break through Sylvia’s façade… almost, but not quite.
Sylvia smiled, beaming and bright, but it did little to ease his companion. “O-of course!” he blustered. “Whatever’s gotten into you, Henny?”
Though in the past he surely would have gotten waylaid by that sly trick of deflecting the question, would’ve huffed and puffed and gotten tricked down further twisting labyrinths of arguing via Sylvia’s wily stage patter, Hendrik was no longer the simple audience member hoodwinked by sleight of hand. He was the magician’s assistant, now, and he knew how said magician mislead his marks. He knew something was wrong.
And it wasn’t his tortured stomach.
He would’ve come out with it, wailed and cried until his eyes were sore, but instead the boat abruptly shuddered against a crashing wave and he was forced again to dry heave—metaphorically throwing him off the stage and right back into the audience to be led astray by Sylvia’s dazzling act.
What if Sylvia was right—what if everything was fine, and it was simply this accursed ocean sickness, scattering his senses afar with the tide: making his insecurities plain, darkening the shadows cast over his soul?
“Bendito… I’ve never seen you this sick before.” Sylvia turned sullen. “I wish I could make it all go away, querido.”
Hendrik swallowed down the heart that so yearned for escape, and instead of sickness blurted out, “My father would have approved of you as well.”
When Sylvia blinked up in surprise, Hendrik deemed it worthwhile to proceed, albeit rather shakily. “He taught me the only dance I’d ever known, and for many years did I foolishly resent him for it. Why was it so, for the Goddess to grant such joy, only to twist it into bitterness within the painful vice of loss?” He swallowed hard against the churning of his heart and stomach alike. ”Grief can shatter mankind’s strongest, and I was just a boy.”
“Honey, we don’t have to talk about this if it’s too much…”
This time, Hendrik interrupted, before veering again to gaze outward to the blue brine. “Please… let me finish,” he begged. “There is a certain beauty in dance, in moving forward one step at a time. You helped me remember that. So yes… surely, pappa would have loved you as much as I do.”
Once Hendrik’s heaving ripened to trembling sobs, Sylvia’s forehead came to rest tentatively on his back, arms snaking up around his shoulders in an amorous embrace. For a fleeting instant, their prior worries lay forgotten.
“I love you too, Henrikito.” Sylvia frowned, and that was the last either of them spoke of fathers until they landed ashore. “You’re the spark behind my every smile.”
✿❀✿
Puerto Valor was the same as they’d left it. White walls and colorful tile roof tops, swathed in the vast expanse of ocean and sunsets.
His friend led him past fledgling caballeros and curious señoritas alike, all whom couldn’t help but watch the mysterious pair as they wove in and out of their ranks. The Heroic General of Heliodor and the Great General of Puerto Valor’s beloved Soldiers of Smile—son of their equally-beloved Don!—walking together, side by side? Why, it was a sight grand enough to turn more than just a few heads.
When Hendrik nervously waved to two elderly women giggling fervently in his direction, Sylvia decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.
“Come on, darling! So rude!” He nudged the other impatiently. “Must you be such a brute to even your fans? You don’t wanna disappoint them, especially not when they’re as adorable as these two lovely ladies. Follow my lead! Like this! …Muah!” With the very tips of his fingers pressed against his lips, Sylvia blew them each a kiss: a fervent display that delighted their fans. To Hendrik, it only made the prospect of returning home all the more appealing.
“L-like this?” Hendrik copied the action with as much gusto as he could muster—which was to say, none at all. If his kisses could be seen by the naked eye, they would’ve been spotted falling to the ground with a lifeless thump.
When the women swooned regardless of the care Hendrik put behind every kiss, only then did Sylvia appear pleased.
“¡Muy bien cariño! That’s the spirit! ¡Besos para tí, besos para tí!”
“Yes, that is all well and good,” Hendrik replied tonelessly, but he failed to hide the subtle rise of panic steeping in his next words. “W-we must be off now! Your father is anticipating our arrival!” Things were starting to turn ugly: he was fairly certain one of the young knights fainted after catching one of Hendrik’s kisses… The poor man, he thought desperately, and hoped there was a healer within the vicinity.
He looked over his shoulder once more for good measure, past the swarm of the crowd and back to the relative safety of a Zwaardsrust-bound boat… A tinge of regret and anxiety alike stirred in him. Maybe sea sickness wasn’t so bad, after all… was it too late to turn back?
True to form, Sylvia took it all in stride, practically thriving underneath the crushing throng of their crowd’s adoration. A sense of ease washed over his friend, a stark contrast to the last time they arrived port-side. No longer was his dear clown hiding…
…But was that a good thing?
What abnormalities would befall them next?!
As Hendrik stewed in his broodiness like a porridge overcooking, Sylvia waved to a few other onlookers dotting along the bustling trail to Rodrigo’s villa. His glowing visage turned especially delighted once he spotted a few of his beloved Soldiers of Smile.
Hendrik could do little but look on in embarrassment.
“Fernando! Cordero! My smiling little duckies!” Sylvia beamed, his arms indeed spread wide like a proud mother duck welcoming her hatchlings to nestle, to dote over his boys. “Don’t tell me you’ve been standing here waiting for silly ol’ me?”
“Sylvia, darling!” Fernando whooped—or was it Cordero? Hendrik forgot which boy was which. Whatever the case, one of them prattled on: “As soon as Papi Rodrigo told us you’d be coming, oooh, the whole town went abuzz with the news! And I so, sooo looooove this farmer ensemble you’re wearing! Country bumpkin tré chic!” The boy punctuated the end of his prattling with his best sabrecat impression: “Mrow!”
“Oh my babies, it warms my heart to see you all alive and thriving! And this old thing?” Sylvia plucked at the hem of his tunic, clucking dismissively. “This, I pulled from Henny’s suitcase… after the seasick old dog hacked up a whoopsie all over me. I’m afraid to say I forgot to change into something more appropriate before we docked!”
Their friend was impressed all the same. “It’s like, totally gonna be the hottest trend by the time word gets out!” At the sight of Hendrik’s deep frown, Fernando/Cordero nearly jumped out of his feathers. “¡Diosa mia! I didn’t even realize dashing Sir Hendrik was right there! Papi Rodrigo forgot to tell us you were coming!”
“That is news to me.” Hendrik frowned, casting a suspicious gaze over to Sylvia, who seemed to suddenly find a nearby wall incredibly interesting. “Hmmm… One would not expect the Don to be so negligent in these matters.”
Sylvia paled, sweating miserably in his exotic farmer couture (merely one of Hendrik’s old shirts). That awkward silence was quickly shattered when he barked a horribly shrill laugh. “That’s the funny thing about my family, darling! We hit a certain age and poof! We go cuckoo! Papi’d probably forget how to tie his boots were it not for Cervantes keeping tabs on him!”
“Is that so, mijo? You think your old man has gone senile?”
Hendrik may have jumped, just by a hair’s width—it was because a bug nearly landed on him! Maybe he just had to sneeze! Goddess bless, it certainly wasn’t due to old Rodrigo, a man with a knack for hiding in places he shouldn’t. A mirthful propensity for appearing from thin air, such power their teacher never utilized to frighten unsuspecting, starry eyed pupils.
After urging the red blush behind his ears to flee, Hendrik instinctively reached out to calm Sylvia, who by then was cursing up a storm of unintelligible swears.
“¡Pinche madre del cielo—Papi! ¿Por qué eres así?”
Don Rodrigo nodded firmly, fingers combing through the ends of his radiant mustache as he circled around to stand before them, from where he had initially appeared at their backs to take them by surprise. His steely gaze scanned over the two of them, scrutinizing yet placated. Before answering his son, the Don let out a chuckle: a gruff little ’je je je’ that sent the pang of long forgotten training day aches down Hendrik’s spine.
“Are you not fond of my tricks anymore, Norberto? Your mama had an artful mastery for sleight of hand back in her day, you know! She taught this worthless soldier everything he knows.”
Sylvia gave a wobbly smile, wiping at his eyes. “Really? Lo siento, papi, it’s been too long since my last visit.”
“Spare me your sentimentality, mijo! Your old man isn’t some lonely maiden, pining for her knight to return. I understand that a man has to live his own life… You are still busy making the world smile, no?” Rodrigo finally turned his attention to Hendrik, affixing him with the sharpened dagger-points of his eyes. “…And you… what are you doing here, boy?”
“I—uh… Hendrik, sir,” Hendrik blurted out, then immediately backtracked, stumbling over his words. ”A-h, I mean! H… Hello. It is your old pupil, Hendrik—though I surmise you already realized that.” He coughed, indelicately, into a gloved hand, suddenly wishing very much he could be throwing up the contents of his stomach on a boat somewhere, rather than the contents of his mind upon an increasingly confused-looking Don. “…Ahem. Hello.”
“…Well that was inspiring! Anyway, s-speaking of smiles!” Sylvia swept his arms over Hendrik’s and his father’s broad shoulders, pulling them close. “Hendrik is here because I invited him, didn’t I tell you? He’s my…” He looked around frantically, until it seemed he finally found the perfect words. Hendrik could see the metaphorical lantern lighting above Sylvia’s head—but what exactly was this grand idea? He wasn’t kept waiting for long. “…my very, very special friend. He’s joined me on my mission to make the whole world smile! Erdrea is a big place papi, and what better person to start with than ol’ stone-headed Hendrik?”
Hendrik could hear the irritated wheezing escaping from between Rodrigo’s lips, drowning out everything around him, even as Sylvia prattled on and on about their special friendship—Rodrigo was so close, the man could easily lean forward and tickle Hendrik with his mustache. Hopefully… things wouldn’t take such a drastic turn in that direction.
“Is that so? You mean to tell me that your next mission is to make… your fellow caballero happy? To make him smile?”
For the moment of truth to arise so soon? It was unthinkable—Hendrik was unprepared! He clutched a closed fist instinctively over Sylvia’s shoulder, shaking in trepidation of a storm, yet unwilling to let go.
“…Is that alright with you?” Hendrik held his breath. “…Sir.”
What would Don Rodrigo say? Would he approve? Perhaps he’d toss Hendrik straight to the sharks—or worse, back to the sea of their adoring fans? His palms began to sweat through his gloves, his empty stomach tossed and turned.
“¡Carajo! Why should I care what you stupid boys do with your spare time?” Their teacher pulled away, but not before lovingly running his rough hands through Sylvia’s pristine curls—much to the jester’s dismay. “If that is the case, you have a lot of hard work ahead of you Norberto. I’ve never seen Hendrik smile in my life!”
Sylvia laughed nervously. “You know how I am, papi! I’ve always loved myself a good challenge!”
Hendrik ventured forward, leaded by a cautious step in shaking boots. “You take no issue… with your son making a home with a fellow unmarried man?”
By then Rodrigo was in stitches, the strength of hearty laughter threatening to tear him open at the seams. “And you are roommates? I do not see the problem! I’ve had my fair share of—¿Cómo se dice…? Bromances…?” He looked pleased with himself, but Hendrik couldn’t comprehend what was so funny. Was it simply in the Don’s bloodline to laugh at every situation, no matter how emotionally taxing? “Bueno, you’ve nothing to worry about chicos! I know exactly what sort of bond it is you two share! It is merely the caballeros way, hmm? Who am I to fight it?”
With shining eyes, Hendrik gave a bow—even as Sylvia tried to stop him.
“Hendrik! Don’t make a scene!” Sylvia protested. That sent an alarm piercing through Hendrik’s ears. Here they were, joyously united! Now more than ever… yet his friend seemed all too… resistant. It confused the weary ex-general; Hendrik would go so far to say that it frightened him. Was Sylvia’s heart not absolutely teeming with butterflies and rainbows like his own? He didn’t know how the other man could just stand there, motionless… This was supposed to be one of the happiest moments in a blossoming relationship… was it not?
“Thank you, Don Rodrigo.” Hendrik sniffed, chin tucked down to his chest in respect. “On my honor as a knight, I vow to protect and cherish Sylvia with every fiber of my being.”
Rodrigo tossed him a quizzical look: an incredulous grin mixed in with what Hendrik suspected to be fatherly pride. It did nothing to ease the sudden bout of emotion pouring from him. On one hand he was mirthful, over the moon—and the other? Uncertainty had seized him in its grasp.
“Still a sniveling crybaby, aren’t you mijo?” The man chided. “Do not allow shame to cloud your sense of self-worth! I wish you luck on your new journey, a knight as valiant as yourself will find a wife in good time! Especially with my Norberto there to help in your search. Any woman you can convince to marry you is going to have her hands full, ehh?”
Hendrik snapped up like a broken twig.
“…I beg your pardon?”
Sylvia went board stiff beside him, but for the first time that day Hendrik paid him no mind. His gaze was fixed squarely on Don Rodrigo… and then with a click everything finally fit into place, as if he found a puzzle piece that had been missing for days, weeks—Goddess only knew how long! All of the pieces were splayed out before him: the uncharacteristically reluctant lack of enthusiasm, how no one knew of Hendrik coming to Puerto Valor, Sylvia’s coyness! And worst of all… his outright refusal to tell his father what they truly were to one another! It was… No, it couldn’t be…
How could he have missed something like this, when it was as plain as day? How could Sylvia continue on living a lie? Was this truly what Sylvia wanted; to go about weaving a sardonic tale of half truths and omissions?
Again?
“What’s the matter with you boys? Did I misunderstand your motives in coming here?” Rodrigo inquired. His eyes slipped back to the ever quiet Sylvia, and his next line of questions were marching past his salt and pepper mustache in orderly file, “I do not see how I could misinterpret things—unless! Norberto! You told me in your last letter you intend to help our Hendrik finally find a wife! That is why you are staying with him, no? To make him smile?”
“Letter?” Hendrik paled. “What letter?”
If Sylvia refused to right his wrongs, Hendrik was left with no choice in the matter. Shameless would he be to allow his teacher to believe in such a treacherous lie!
He took a deep breath, the beginning of a desperate plea already halfway through his lungs...
“Don Rodrigo, sir, you have…” A hand slapped over Hendrik’s mouth.
“…You have got to let us tell you all about our plans over lunch!” Sylvia swooped into their conversation on a rope, knocking Hendrik off their stage with a brazen kick right to the stomach. It was… a devastating blow, to say the least. “I am absolutely famished! How about you, Hendrik? Or does your tummy-wummy still hurt?”
Hendrik blinked helplessly. It was a touch difficult to talk around the hand on his face, but he still tried to give his best effort. “Tobe hompwetely awnish?” he murmured.
Sylvia must have decided there was no more time for complete honesty—had there ever been? His friend prattled on, his shrill voice raising up by several more octaves. Hendrik surely would’ve been impressed by such an impossible feat, were he not already blind and deafened by this betrayal.
“Yes, yes, darling! I knoooowyou just can’t wait until we make an honest woman out of you! I-I mean, make an honest woman out of me! …Wait!” With every stutter and scream, Sylvia gestured wildly with his hands. It was most unfortunate, given it meant he came that much closer to snapping Hendrik’s head right off his neck. “I MEAN… S-SOMEONE… SOMEONE ELSE! …OH MY GOSH! LOOK HOW EXCITED HENDRIK IS! YIPPIE! Anyway! W-who else is feeling peckish?”
Sylvia jerked his poor head once more, but this time it was to direct Hendrik with a pleading look. There it was… it immediately sent a knife carving through his gut. He’d been the victim of this secret attack many times before… though usually it was when Sylvia stole his blankets, or accidentally stepped on one of his bean sprouts. Never… whatever this was.
Regardless of his boundless confusion, those wide, puppy dog eyes practically screamed at him what Sylvia’s vocal chords helplessly forbid: I am going to release you now. Don’t… say… anything.
And just like that, Sylvia’s hands moved. Hendrik was free.
He looked back to his friend—his boyfriend (since it would appear that information has been sorely forgotten!)—back to those pleading eyes. The eyes of the man who hurt him, twisted at his meager insides as if Hendrik’s feelings were nothing. Then and there, Hendrik desired to do nothing else save for blurt out the truth, like the good and honest knight he was! But another glance at Sylvia pulled the reigns and halted the rampage that could’ve been.
He breathed, in and out, in and out… As much as Sylvia carelessly wounded him with his lies, Hendrik refused give in to such fiendish temptation. Surely there must be a reason for all of this, and he would get his answers—one way or another!
Defeated, he rubbed at the back of his neck, and sighed:
“Well… now that you have mentioned it… I am a tad hungry.”