DISCLOSURE

It was almost humorous how tranquil the horizon seemed, despite the fact Hell was waiting to break free.

Eyeing the horizon over the rail of the ship, Denz wondered what kind of a land Syria would be. Surely he had traveled his fair share because of the crusade, but over the Mediterranean Sea? Never. However, that wasn't his biggest worry at the moment. He would have Esteban, his trusted companion, to guide him. The old man had traveled a lot more than him - for reasons that were to be left unmentioned.

The real problem was way larger, way worse - and far away from being simple.

Firstly, obviously, there was Boniface de Montferrat - a dangerous, powerful man before, now even more powerful as he had all three relics they had managed to collect so far. Denz and Esteban had only seen a mere fragment of his new might, and even that had almost ended their journey. What more oppressing, by every passing moment, Boniface had more time to come to terms with his new powers - more time to learn how to violate them.

It was obvious that Boniface couldn't be allowed to walk on Earth a while longer than it was necessary. It was a crime against both the mankind and the God. Bringing him down, however, wasn't just a walk in the park - the latest encounter with him had already proved it.

It was the reason why Denz and Esteban were now heading to Krak des Chevaliers, the last place where anyone had seen Denz's father. Whatever would wait them in their destination, neither of them had any clue - they only had the faintest hope that it would be something which would help ending Boniface's ungodly plans.

Not that Denz didn't have great faith in his father - he did. It just couldn't be denied that so far he had been only chasing rumors. He hadn't been able to found a single solid clue of his father's whereabouts yet. Krak des Chevaliers could be the very last shot.

Nevertheless, both templars were more than eager to bring Boniface down on his knees. For all the problems he had already caused them, for all he had already put them through. Denz was furious about him lying about the information concerning his father while Esteban simply hated the man for being a major bastard. Not to mention Boniface had tried to crush Esteban with his pet demon. It hadn't exactly made the Spaniard more forgiving.

All in all, they both knew they would be facing the greatest - and the most dangerous - challenge of their journey so far. Lord willing, they would found something advantageous from Krak des Chevaliers. Even if they didn't, they would still try to bring Boniface down. They had to. No matter if it would cost their lives.

In short, the situation could easily be called nerve-wrecking.

Yet, as odd as it might've been, the atmosphere on the ship wasn't tense - almost the opposite, in fact, almost as tranquil as the horizon was. Surely they were heading towards grave danger, but they had done the same countless times before - and always survived. Side by side they had even stood up against Death itself - and, so far, won.

Even if they didn't have faith in sure victory, they didn't have the fear of failing either. All there was was deep trust between the two warriors. They knew that, whatever the outcome would be, they would surely put up a great fight. Once more unsheath their swords and let them sing side by side. Even if they were to fall, they were to fall together - as warriors, on the battlefield for what was right.

Denz wouldn't have it any other way. He was more than thankful for having Esteban on his side. It was humorous in a way - back in the mud in front of the Castle of Biron, Denz surely hadn't thought that the 'Spaniard' would turn out to be such a valuable companion. Back then he wouldn't even have believed it. Yet now the old man was like a brother to him, closer than anybody had been since he had made the decision to pick up the sword to seek out his father.

To be completely honest, Denz didn't even actually care to worry about the oncoming battle with Boniface. Even though it made him feel somewhat bad, irresponsible, he couldn't help it. He could try, but he would fail. It was difficult to explain - even Denz couldn't really put his finger on it. Whenever he was around the Spaniard, who was currently discussing with the captain of the ship, he just felt relaxed, certain.

There was something special in the bond they shared, he could feel it. Maybe it was because they both had the curse upon them, maybe it was because of everything they had gone through together - Denz didn't know. Yet, he knew that whatever he felt with Esteban, he wouldn't feel with anybody else. Wouldn't be able to fall asleep while resting against the other's shoulder after an exhausting fight.

Neither could Denz help snickering when the captain made a subtle remark about the poor shape Esteban's tunic was in. It was true that the Spaniard's tunic was a very make-do one. Pig's blood, out of all things. Of course the Spaniard was quite quick to correct the captain, telling the somewhat embellished tale of the tunic. Nonetheless, it was enough to make the captain apologize and pull away from the discussion. Esteban settled for a grunt, something he did quite often, and walked to Denz.

"So, Denz, our next stop is Syria, right?" the Spaniard asked, pulling Denz out of his thoughts.

"Yes, Esteban," Denz answered without a slightest tone of hesitation. "Will you guide me there?"

The question was probably in vain - Esteban had refused to leave his side so many times before - but Denz couldn't help the need to make it sure. Even though part of him wasn't really able to admit it, he didn't want to lose Esteban. Such a dependence would be quite childish for a warrior of his rank, after all, so he had never worded it out, almost done even the exact opposite a few times.

"Well, we have nothing left to be done here, hombre," the Spaniard answered, shrugging as he did. He had never really been the one for straightforward answers. "And it's not like I've got any plans."

It seemed like a finished, and positive, answer, so Denz nodded in agreement. However, it felt like some odd tension was left behind the words - as if something was still waiting to be said. Even though a silence settled, it felt like it fidgeted in its place nervously.

Esteban interrupted the silence with his typical grunt again, sounding like the silence had just poked him in the eye. In a way, it just as well might've been so - Esteban wasn't really a man of patience either.

He took a few, quick steps closer to Denz, stopping the young templar who had already turned halfway around to leave for his cabin. Before Denz had time to react to it in any way, the Spaniard had gently, yet firmly, grabbed his face and pulled it closer to his. A short moment, suddenly a very nervous one, passed. Denz opened his mouth to question the situation, but had no time to form any words.

For by then Esteban had pulled him even closer - close enough for their lips to touch. Esteban's lips were rough, chapped, yet their touch was gentle - surprisingly gentle for a man like him.

Denz's mind froze - well, in fact, his whole world froze. He wriggled a bit and made a muffled sound, but the firm grip of the Spaniard made it impossible to just pull away.

Some faint heat rose on Denz's cheeks, implying the moment managed to stir up something he had buried under his relentless search for his father a long time ago. Something he had pushed aside to be able to march through the blood-soaked battlefields. Yet now that little something was doing odd twists and Denz wasn't completely sure how to react.

One thing he could tell, though - it wasn't a bad feeling. It was weird, foreign, but it wasn't uncomfortable. There wasn't any burning need to pull away - yet Denz wasn't sure if he should respond to it either. So he just stood still, confused, trying to understand why he suddenly felt so flustered.

Until Esteban pulled away and let go.

For a shortest moment, the Spaniard just stared at Denz, but then turned his gaze away.

"Calm as ever," Esteban murmured under his breath, eyeing the horizon. "It's still annoying."

It was almost as if the Spaniard couldn't bear the eye contact with the younger at that moment. Such a bashful gesture seemed quite atypical for the otherwise so unrefined man. Had Denz not been so confused himself, he would've probably found Esteban's reaction amusing. Instead, he just stared at his comrade, baffled.

"Why did you-," Denz began, but cut his words in the middle as he acknowledged he didn't have a faintest clue how to continue. What was he supposed to say? What could he say?

"It would've taken forever for you to dare," Esteban simply answered, facing him again. Unlike Denz, he sounded - and seemed - quite unshaken. However, it didn't completely cover the faintest hue of red which had appeared on his cheeks too.

"That... But between two men..," Denz stammered, not able to help the nagging feeling of guilt twisting his innards. What they had just done, the moment they had shared - it wasn't supposed to be between two men, not even so close as they were. So said the Word - and they, the templars, the holy warriors, had sworn to protect it. Defying the Word was a crime, a sin. Even if they were cursed, it just wasn't-

Esteban seemed to notice his distressed thoughts, for he gently put his arm around the young templar. Denz wriggled a bit again, part of him telling he should pull away - yet the bigger part of him didn't want to move away, but the opposite. The older man's presence still felt reassuring and he surely needed some reassuring at that moment.

"We've seen many things wrong, hombre," the Spaniard said calmly, yet surprising severity in his voice. "You feel like that was wrong?"

Denz fell silent. No, it hadn't felt wrong. Far from it - but could he judge it by his own, subjective view?

Then again, it was true that they had seen countless evils during their journey from the Castle of Biron to Constantinople. They had seen Hell as well as the Death - seen lands plagued by evil, seen leaders corrupted by it. At times, it had even made Denz feel physically ill.

What he had felt just moments before hadn't been sickness.

It had felt like something had become complete after a long time.

"Surprising words of wisdom from your mouth, Esteban," Denz finally chuckled, feeling a smile curling on his lips. Esteban answered with his usual grunt, patting his comrade gently on the back.

"I'm a wise man," the Spaniard claimed. "Took you long enough to realize that."

For once, Denz didn't feel like poking fun at the statement. He returned the pat on his friend's back, chuckling again.

He was more certain than ever that no matter how their trip to Krak des Chevaliers would end, everything wouldn't be lost. Not even if they would lose to Boniface in the end. The bond between them would stay. It was something that even the burning flames of Hell couldn't undo.