The Throne Room, then Lucrezia's Chambers, The Holy See, 1494 - Friday Evening Fandomtime (NFB, NFI)
Lucrezia
Lucrezia found herself nervous as she stood in the hallway, waiting for their official pronouncement. She busied herself by adjusting the various ties on Dany's dress, which was actually her dress. They were very alike in coloring and size, after all, and the dress was quite fetching on her friend.
There were orders out to make Daenerys some finery of her own, of course, but none of those were finished yet, so Lucrezia's own dress would have to do.
"Remember," she said, in a whisper. "No matter what, don't turn your back. After I'm called forward, I'll present you, and then you must kneel and kiss his ring. Even kings and emperors must kneel to kiss the ring."
She added the last in case Dany was concerned that this was somehow a display of submission. The respect shown was more to God, and the Holy Mother Church; Dany was not actually a believer, but it did not do to make such things known publicly.
Daenerys
Dany nodded, breathing as deeply as she could, while she could. It had been on only the rarest of occasions that she'd been laced into something like this, but even she knew that gasping (or fainting) in holy company was a very bad way to make an impression.
Her own nervousness didn't help, of course. "How should I address him?" she asked softly, mostly to make sure one last time. If she wished to stay here for any length of time, all the steps must be in order. She had no claim here; she was a guest, and displays of power were irrelevant on foreign soil she didn't intend to conquer.
Lucrezia
"'Your Holiness,'" Lucrezia said. "His full name is Pope Alexander the Sixth, but one may call him 'Holy Father' as well."
She was not going to list off the longer version of her father's title. She doubted even she remembered all of it.
The ties were secure, and so her idle fingers were now straightening the net over Dany's hair.
"What is your full title, my love?" she asked. "And how should one address you? I have not bothered with formality, as you said it was unnecessary."
Here, it should be reinforced publicly, so as to remind everyone that Dany was, in fact, a queen.
Daenerys
"Your Holiness," Dany repeated, nodding and clearing her throat. That was easy enough to remember.
Her own title was not so simple. She offered a small smile. "My people usually address me as 'khaleesi,' but I think for here 'Your Majesty' would do fine," she said, a little more modestly than she might have under normal circumstances. "My full title is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Second of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Protector of the Realm, and Khaleesi to Drogo's Riders."
A pause, and then, "If you don't remember it all, it isn't as though anyone but me will know."
Because Dany was not too proud to admit it was a bit much to remember on the spot.
Lucrezia
Please forgive Lucrezia for the current state of her eyes.
"Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," she repeated, "the second of her name. Queen of the Andals and the ... Roy...nals, some....thing in the Seven Kingdoms, and the Khaleesi to Drogo's ... Khalasar."
She murmured for a few moments to herself, shaking her head.
"Try it again?" she asked.
Daenerys
"Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Protector of the Realm, and Khaleesi to Drogo's Riders," Dany repeated, giggling slightly. This was one way to help her nerves. "It's a bit ridiculous, my love. May I suggest an abbreviated version? No one but us will know the difference, will they?"
Lucrezia
Lucrezia was giggling, as well, hoping that she did not become so distracted that she missed their cue. The Holy Father had much business this morning; waiting in the hallway was tedious.
"I would never seek to dishonor the Queen of the Rhoynar or the Protector of the Realm," she teased, gently. "But if you feel it is not disrespectful to omit a few titles, then we may both be saved the embarrassment of my tongue arguing with my teeth."
Daenerys
"Not in the slightest, darling," Dany assured her. "I just want to survive this. It's been a long time since I've been presented to someone higher-ranking than myself."
The last had been Khal Drogo, before they were married. She had come a long way since the scared little girl she'd been that day, though, and her titles had only grown with her marriage and Viserys' death.
Lucrezia
"The Pope does not quite outrank kings or emperors," Lucrezia said. "It is difficult to explain, my love. He must show deference to them, as well. But to all of Christendom, the Pope stands as God's representative on Earth, so there is a certain amount of respect due his office. And displeasing the Pope means you cannot receive a formal coronation."
Popes could crown Kings. Kings enjoyed ceremonies.
"All of which is wasting what little time we have. Tell me how I shall introduce you, and I shall make both tongue and teeth cooperate."
Daenerys
Dany still didn't quite understand, but she was happy enough to stand on ceremony, even for a religion she scarcely understood. The only person from home that she'd met who'd believed in a single god had been a witch, after all. "Daenerys of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and Khaleesi to Drogo's Riders," she offered, shrugging. "That is it in barest, and will explain any references to either title." She swallowed hard. "Have I any reason to be nervous, my love?"
Lucrezia
Lucrezia smiled gently as she reached to brush back a stray lock of Daenerys's hair.
"None whatsoever," she said easily. "My father believes that the sun rises and sets upon his children, and you helped his daughter recover from a ... quite serious illness. He already likes you. No faction here is moving against you, so liking you does not imperil his realm. You are utterly safe, my love."
She straightened her back. "Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and Khaleesi to Drogo's Riders," she said. "Are you ready?"
Daenerys
"I'm ready," Dany said with a tiny, firm nod. Silently, she reminded herself -- this was no place to declare her house words, or make threats of dragons, or demand financing for conquest. She was a guest, without ambition here. She must do nothing but engender His Holiness' affection.
Lucrezia
"The most gracious Lucrezia Borgia, and honored guest."
Lucrezia smiled, slipping an arm across her friend's back. "And that would be our cue," she said.
The room was narrower that it was long; all who glanced back at their entrance did so carefully, so as not to turn their backs upon His Holiness. Pope Alexander Sextus was seated upon a red throne at the end of the room, upon a raised dais. The Cardinal who had made life difficult for Dany was hovering just behind His Holiness's right elbow. A few other Cardinals congregated to either side of the throne, below the raised steps. All other onlookers were standing in rows, as if they were attending church, but one without pews.
Lucrezia walked herself and Daenerys forward until they were flush with the first row, and then stopped. She flashed her friend a quick smile, as if promising she would only absent herself briefly, before stepping forward alone.
"Holy Father," she said, warmly, climbing the steps and kissing his proffered hand.
Daenerys
Dany kept her chin high, though not so high as to be viewed as too proud, or boastful. She cast her eye around the room in search of familiar faces, and while she smiled a little in recognition at that cardinal who had so been delighted with her arrival, she also met the gaze of every onlooker who looked askance at her appearance. Even clad in a borrowed gown and with her hair netted in a silver and green bundle at the nape of her neck, she knew she likely looked foreign to them. She felt foreign.
She didn't feel much like the Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men right now, anyway. She felt like a scared girl of fifteen before an audience of people in a strange land.
But it wouldn't do to show. And so she schooled her expression into one of royal disinterest, as though she were presented to the highest-ranking religious official in this world every day. She pushed that thought away, and reminded herself that the man on that throne was Lucrezia's father, and that was how she must think of him. Pope, yes, but her friend's father first. She would kiss his ring, but she would not be afraid.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia straightened to standing, then backed away from the Holy Father until she was next to her friend again. She put one hand on her friend's back, more for reassurance than as any sort of proper form.
"Holy Father," she said, "it is my considerable delight to present to you a dear friend of mine. This is Her Majesty Daenerys of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros," was there more she needed to include? Dany said that if all else failed, she could just skip to the end, "-- and Khaleesi to Drogo's Riders."
It had a very impressive ring in this small chamber. Many of the onlookers were standing up a bit straighter.
Pope Alexander VI
The Pope nodded down at her magnanimously. "Welcome, your Highness, to the Holy See. Any friend of our daughter's is more than welcome in our home."
He looked more closely at her, and chuckled a little. "Why, Lucrezia, have you brought us a friend, or a long-lost sister? You are alike as two peas in a pod!"
Daenerys
Dany smiled shyly, walking forward a bit before dropping to a knee, so her voluminous skirts pooled around her. She leaned forward, kissing the ring on the Pope's hand as instructed. "It is my great honor to be here, Your Holiness. And I feel lucky indeed to be compared to one as lovely as your Lucrezia."
Pope Alexander VI
"And we feel lucky to be father to one such as her. It seems luck in bountiful supply this day!" The Pope raised a hand in a flourish. The Cardinals, understanding that the Pope had made a joke -- even though it wasn't a very good one -- all chuckled a little.
"Now, your Highness, you must have had a long journey from... From..." He looked around at a loss. "I'm sorry, where were you from, again?"
Daenerys
"Westeros, Your Holiness," she supplied with a tiny smile, blushing. "It is another world out of this one, somewhat different from your Rome, but also very similar, I find. My queendom has seen some recent strife, and your children have been kind enough to offer me refuge here, while my people rebuild and recoup in my absence. I brought with me my dragons as well, though they are asleep at the moment."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia stepped forward, smoothly.
"She has traveled a great distance, Holy Father," she said, "from across the desert and sea. But I believe she can be convinced to allow Your Holiness to meet one of her dragons, in a much smaller audience than this one."
If Dany was to be staying with her, the Holy Father would see the dragons sooner or later. Offering like this made it seem like a great concession, made only for the Pope himself. Lucrezia loved her father, but she knew quite well that he enjoyed having his ego appeased.
Daenerys
Dany nodded, smiling a little more widely. "It would be my great pleasure to allow you to meet one of my dragons. They're small yet, and entirely safe, I assure you."
That was not...completely true. Pyat Pree would probably disagree with that assessment, were he still alive.
Pope Alexander VI
"Safe dragons," the Pope mused. "A contradiction in terms, one would think. We would very much like to see them, indeed. We have never before seen a dragon. We saw what we were told was one, once, but it was merely a very large... Hmm?" He raised his eyebrows and peered past Dany. His attention was now entirely on Cesare, who had barged into the room and was striding to the throne purposefully.
Cesare
Cesare was marching forward. He stopped, just behind his sister and her guest, and bowed to the Holy Father. He did not bother to apologize, as he knew his father knew he would only interrupt for something important.
"There is news from Naples," he said. "Of the French King. I would speak to you in private, Holy Father."
The French King was riding north. He would be in Rome in a week, perhaps less. And he came looking for their blood.
Lucrezia
Let it never be said that Lucrezia Borgia was bashful on the matter of human intimacy. Her mother was a courtesan, and she had learned about coupling by spying on her brother in flagrante delicto.
It had looked quite enjoyable, something she had later confirmed in her trysts with Paolo.
On the other hand, to be wakened by screamed vulgarities and enthustiastic lovemaking in the middle of the night left a very bad taste in her mouth. Especially as the grunts and shouts continued.
She glanced over at her own (perfectly innocent) bedmate, and huffed her exasperation. "At least Juan is having a pleasant evening."
Daenerys
"The poor girl," Dany offered dryly, glaring up at the ceiling. "I do not envy her attempts to walk tomorrow. Though if she is to be believed, she's certainly enjoying her path to impairment."
It was evident that Dany suspected there might be a touch of theatrics for Juan's benefit, on behalf of the young lady. Even in her most pleasurable moments, she'd never made those sorts of noises, and even in Fandom, this sort of level of calamity was a rarity.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia had certainly never begun yipping like a small, excitable dog. Either Juan was simply that skilled, or the girl was a poor actress. One seemed more likely than the other.
"I imagine they're well into their cups," she snapped. "Otherwise they would hardly think the entirety of Rome would enjoy the show."
Juan had lectured her for speaking to a peasant. It was good to know that he was providing such a clear role model for her, on proper, decorous behavior.
It was nearly funny, except for that little part in which he had killed the peasant in question. That made it less 'amusing' and more 'infuriating.'
Daenerys
"Should we bang on the ceiling?" Dany wondered with a little snort. "I'm not sure I've quite the height. Or send someone up to beg that they keep their bedroom matters behind the designated doors?" She raised a brow, and added, "We could just wait it out, though. Surely he won't last much longer."
Lucrezia
"He shall be in Spain soon enough," Lucrezia said darkly. Was that not, after all, his punishment? He was being sent to Spain, that he might marry and grow mature.
"What say you to Isobella?" growled the voice from upstairs.
"No!" the girl shouted eagerly. "I say no to Isobella and yes to Donna Gabriella!"
It would seem that Juan was having this evening's maidservant -- perhaps even whore -- help him to select a wife.
All was well that ended well; Paolo dead, and Juan deflowering princessas in Spain. Father had forgiven Cesare for saving Paolo from Hellfire. And she would soon be sold to another brute, to seal her father's alliances.
The family considered the matter closed. The family.
Something raw and seething was running loose in her veins. She threw the covers back from her bed and stood up.
"I'll have a word with him."
Daenerys
"Are you certain?" Dany asked, all humor leaving her features. "I'm sure we can send up a servant, or a guard or something. You shouldn't trouble yourself. It isn't worth it."
Lucrezia
"Quite sure," Lucrezia said. "It's no trouble at all. I'm certain Juan won't mind composing himself. He is so very filled with propriety. This is a rare lapse for a man of his stature."
She wrapped a dressing-gown around herself, and took the candlestick which had been sitting near the door.
"I won't be a moment."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia had made her footsteps upon the stair as loud as she could without jumping in place and shouting; Juan and his new friend did not hear her. Very well, then.
She entered the room nonchalantly, candlestick still in hand, and walked past the portraits spread around Juan's bed until she caught his eye.
"Forgive me, Brother," she said darkly. "Had I realized ..."
As though she had come here accidentally. As though anyone could possibly not hear.
With any luck, he would be mortified, and apologize for his behavior, and she could return to sleep.
Of course, it was Juan.
Juan
Shit, Lucrezia... What was she doing there?! Juan was balls-deep in his lady of the evening, and not entirely sure how to disentangle himself discreetly. He'd wanted to try to make things up with her, after disposing of that peasant trash she'd taken to stud, but this was really not the way to start going about it.
"You're keeping late hours, Sis," he told her, implicitly asking what the hell she was doing in his room. Had she just come to watch him fuck? He didn't think he was the brother that moistened her loins.
Lucrezia
"Not of my own choosing, Brother," Lucrezia said, forcing a strained smile. He hadn't even covered up. He hadn't removed himself from whoever this girl was. How chivalrous of him.
"You might spare a thought for those of us trying to sleep downstairs," she added, scathingly. Such as herself. Such as her guest, Daenerys. Either of them might wish to sleep sometime this night.
Juan
No, no, no, this was all wrong. She was angry with him about this, now, and this was just him blowing off steam. "Forgive me, Sis, but..." What was the woman's name, again? Belinda, something like that?
"Bernadetta," she supplied, short of breath. At lease she wasn't angry at him.
"Bernadetta here was just helping me chose a wife." There were portraits in front of his bed of the various Spanish princesses his father had chosen for him. Bernadetta was offering her opinions on them while he tried imagining their faces on her body. It was all very important, and it was unfortunate that she'd walked in on it thusly.
He disengaged himself awkwardly, found something to cover his nakedness, and directed her attention to the portrait in the center. "What do you think of our favorite? Maria Enrique de Luna?" She was not only the prettiest, but also a good pick in terms of fortune and status. It really would mean a lot to him if Lucrezia approved.
Lucrezia
At least now she could say she had espied two of her brothers fornicating. In Juan's case she felt mild disgust, nothing like the strange curiosity when she would steal glances at Cesare and his latest young lady. Perhaps it was only her rage at him coloring their interactions.
Lucrezia carried her candlestick over to the portrait he indicated. The woman was, indeed, beautiful; her hair was in ringlets, and there was a sweet serenity upon her face. She had imagined Juan would have favored someone more outrageous, not unlike Joffre's bride. She wondered idly if those rumors were true. Perhaps Cesare knew.
"She's pretty," she allowed. Clearly he wanted her opinion, but she was not yet ready to have this conversation. Not the way he would like. "And clearly no peasant."
Her eyes were hard, on that last word. Would he at least acknowledge his sins, or would he let the unspoken drown out all that they said?
Juan
No, she most definitely was no peasant. She was a wife worthy of a Borgia. "She is royalty, Sis. Cousin to Queen Isabella." Juan was quite pleased with himself, and wanted his sister to be, as well. Her nephews would be royalty -- didn't she understand how wonderful that was?!?
And now that Lucrezia's distraction was taken care of, she could find herself someone equally as attractive and suitable. See? He'd done her a favor!
Lucrezia
Juan knew nothing about her except that she was pretty, and that she was royalty. She would birth him well-bred babies. Lucrezia wondered how Maria Enrique de Luna felt about her fate. She doubted she had much of a choice.
"So you must marry her, then," Lucrezia said, turning sharply to leave. She felt ill. She wanted to be as far away from Juan and his Bernadetta as possible.
Juan
That... wasn't the resounding approval he'd hoped to hear. Juan wasn't entirely sure what it was. Didn't she see how perfect this princess was for him? Wasn't she happy for him? In fact, she seemed like she wanted him NOT to marry her, which was absolutely unthinkable. "I have your permission?" he asked, trying to understand.
Lucrezia
That stopped her abruptly.
"You need it?" she asked.
Curious. Was he trying, in his own fashion, to make amends? Could they possibly come to an understanding, a place where they might be siblings again, after what he had done to her?
Why else would he care what she thought of Maria Enrique de Luna?
Juan
"I would have your blessing," he answered. He wanted to begin to heal this rift between them. He wanted her to like his bride-to-be. He wanted her to see how high he was marrying and be inspired to reach for similar heights. He wanted her to realize he was right to dispose of the peasant the way he had.
"I know you have been sad of late." She'd made way more fuss over the commoner than he'd expected, and he really felt bad that it made her so upset. But it was like an arrow in a wound -- better to have it removed in one swift motion than to draw it out and prolong the pain.
Lucrezia
Sad? Sad?
He had killed her child's father, and he acknowledged that she had been sad.
Lucrezia had trembled, nightly, as she heard the Lord Sforza's footsteps, approaching her door. Knowing what he would do when he reached her. Paolo's kindness had kept her from going mad. But Paolo wasn't good enough for her; wasn't a Lord, the way that that monster Sforza had been. And the way her next brute of a husband would be. And so Juan had killed him.
Was he even sorry?
"You would have to have my forgiveness first," she said, fighting to keep her voice level.
Juan
Well, there went that idea. He'd held out an olive branch, and she'd spat on it. She knew he was never going to be sorry for ridding her of that walking embarrassment. One day, she'd realize he'd been right and she'd apologize. But right now... if she was going to withhold her forgiveness, then on her head be it.
He didn't even flinch. "Forgiveness for what?" After all, he'd done nothing wrong.
Lucrezia
For being cruel. For robbing her of the last bit of hope she had nestled next to her heart. For destroying something innocent.
"For being yourself."
She forced a smile. It didn't reach her eyes.
Juan
Juan held her gaze for a moment. He couldn't believe that she was really going to hold this against him. He'd done her a FAVOR, after all. How was it that he was the only person in this family who wasn't an ungrateful idiot, and he still felt like he wasn't good enough?
Behind him, his bedmate -- he'd already forgotten her name again -- cleared her throat. Maybe she was trying to defuse the situation. Probably, she just was bored and needed more fucking.
Lucrezia
He wasn't sorry. He would never be sorry. She had been right: there was to be no justice here. She doubted he would even remember to keep his screams softer, once she had left again.
All the pieces fell together in one beautiful moment of clarity. If hope was meaningless, if justice was meaningless, then nothing mattered. Nothing at all.
That was the moment she decided.
She beamed at the impatient Bernadetta. "You should get back to the task at hand, Brother," she said. "And I to my lonely bed."
Juan clearly had more important things to do than speak to her. Like continue to service Bernadetta, whose name he had no doubt forgotten again.
She sailed towards the door as if in a trance. No: those days after Paolo's death, those had been a trance. This was a dream. She was floating. She was free.
Juan didn't watch her leave. He didn't wait for her to be gone before resuming his work with his Bernadetta.
He didn't see her stop in the doorway, to set her candlestick down. Had he noticed, she would have claimed to be absent-minded, walking around forgetting her candlesticks. So foolish of her.
A shame she happened to leave the candle touching that rope. The big, thick one that held up Juan's chandelier.
"Good night," Lucrezia called. "Sleep well."
What a tragic accident it was going to be.
Lucrezia
Simple enough to glide down those stairs in the dark, without her candlestick; the light from the hall was enough for her to slip off her robe and find her way over to her bed.
"All fixed," she said merrily, while the noises above reached a crescendo peak.
It was like knowing a punchline before everyone else heard the joke.
Daenerys
Dany watched her, eyebrows raised. "It doesn't sound like it," she noted, feeling obvious. "It sounds like they...resumed."
Lucrezia
"They will be finished soon," Lucrezia said, burrowing herself back into the thick covers of her bed. "I have every assurance of that."
Was the candle still burning? Had it caught the rope alight? Had the wind snuffed the flame? In ten minutes, Dany would think her mad.
Would it take ten minutes? There was no way it would take so long for the rope to burn. Perhaps the flame had gone out already.
Lucrezia thought of the nursery rhyme she and Paolo had sung together in the Lord Sforza's stable, clapping and holding their hands a moment too long.
"My mother said, now go to bed, I'll have to tuck you in-in-in ..."
Daenerys
Dany, now wide awake and wholly disturbed, sat up in bed in contrast. "Lucrezia," she said, slowly and quietly. "Why are you singi -- "
The rope gave way.
From the room below, there was an unholy, cataclysmic bang. It was so loud as to be felt more than heard. The ceiling and walls quaked with its aftershock.
Lucrezia
It was beautiful. So was the silence that reigned in the few moments afterward.
And then Juan began screaming raggedly for help. Less beautiful, but there was terror in his voice. That would do.
Daenerys
Dany scarcely thought, as she slid from under the covers and padded, barefoot to the hall. She didn't run, or hurry -- she took her time, listening to the chaos as she approached. She realized, halfway up the steps, that she'd not grabbed a robe, but her modesty was forgotten.
Her mind stayed on Lucrezia, on what she had surely done, though Dany wasn't entirely sure what it was. She understood her friend's grief and anger; it hadn't been more than weeks since she'd locked Xaro and Doreah in a vault, so she was not one to throw stones.
But she was broken; Lucrezia was not. These were the thoughts weighing her down as she followed Juan's screams, and the voices she now heard there.
Upstairs
At the top of the stairs was a bedroom, one with a large, high ceiling. In the center of the room was a bed, one which had easels standing around it in a circle. More eye-catching was the enormous black chandelier lying on top of it.
Moments ago, several hundred pounds of sharp, pointed steel had smashed down onto that bed, pinning both occupants and interrupting their lovemaking. That would explain the enormous quantities of blood.
Bernadetta had been on top, at the moment of impact, and she had taken the brunt of the chandelier's weight. She had been skewered clean through; some of the points had gone so far as to gouge deeply into Juan. Most of the blood covering him, however, was hers.
Bernadetta lay on the bed, whimpering, as Cesare tugged upward on the chandelier in order to free them both. Juan scuttled away from underneath the girl, wild-eyed and gasping for breath.
"Medics!" Cesare screamed. "Now!"
Daenerys
Juan had been so lucky that Bernadetta favored looking upon his narrow, irritating face. So lucky.
Dany was in shock; she didn't feel anything but horror at the senseless slaughter of the girl, for the moment. But then, she herself had locked Doreah in with Xaro, hadn't she? Perhaps it was not so senseless.
A gnawing worry clung to her heart, though; Lucrezia had done this, seemingly very much intentionally. And while Dany knew it had less to do with vigorous lovemaking and more to do with Paolo, it still wasn't like her gentle friend to take such action.
Perhaps Lucrezia was growing out of her gentleness, much as she herself had done. Dany didn't know how to help her -- she knew her own actions had taken her far beyond repair, and she didn't care. But she didn't want to lose Lucrezia to hardness the way she herself had. She still didn't feel anything about the people she'd killed. Their names did not haunt her sleep, but reminded her who she was. Mirri Maz Duur. Pyat Pree. Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Doreah.
She could not help her friend. But she knew who could. So as servants and faceless people swarmed past her, healers and whatever they called maesters in this world, she locked her eyes on Cesare. "What a terrible accident," she said, just loud enough to be heard.
Cesare
The scene was bloody and grotesque. A woman lay dying; Cesare had no false hope that the medics could do much for her. Juan would live.
Clearly, that had not been the intent.
Cesare was willing himself not to notice how lovely the newcomer looked in only her dressing-gown; he could ill-afford the distraction. It was more impressive that she was not screaming, or fainting, or becoming ill at the sight of blood. Few people could keep their senses faced with carnage. It suggested the widowed queen had seen her share.
If she was composed of her senses, then she might help him. She was bedding with Lucrezia; she knew the answer to questions he could not ask. And so Cesare held Dany's eyes, then glanced over to the rope, to show her, only with his eyes, what he had already seen.
A candlestick left on the table, and above it, a rope which had burned clean through.
"Horrible indeed," he murmured.
Daenerys
Dany followed his gaze, inhaling sharply through her nose before heading over to see if there was more she could do. She could comfort the girl, in her last moments, if nothing else. "Your sister is...affected by the noise,I think," she offered to Cesare, quietly, meeting his eyes in an effort to communicate what she truly meant. It seemed to be a shared secret already; he knew it had been no accident. "I would have you speak to her, if you will."
She cast her eyes about the scene, and added, "I would like to help here, as I can." It would give Lucrezia time with he who knew her best; Dany knew her comfort and inquiries right now would be no match for Cesare's in terms of impact.
Cesare
It was no small relief to have someone in this room with whom he could communicate in shorthand. His sister's absence had robbed him of that for far too long.
Daenerys felt he should go and talk to Lucrezia; she would stay here and care for the dying girl, and explain the situation to the medics, in case Juan was incoherent. Cesare didn't know if she was a healer, or simply one who was offering her presence. The important part was that Lucrezia needed him.
There was one thing he could do for the dying girl that the widowed queen could not; he hastened over to Dany's side, popping his thumb into his mouth. He had no oils with him, and it seemed morbid to use the blood pooling on the bed.
Perhaps it was blasphemy to improvise in this manner, but the girl was on the very brink. And so he withdrew his thumb and pressed it against the girl's forehead.
"Per istam sanctan unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid," he muttered quickly. He darted his eyes to Dany. "I shall go and discover if the impact has caused any damage in the floors below."
He would be confining this search to his sister's room, obviously.
Daenerys
Dany nodded, reaching out to move a bit of hair off of the girl's face and smoothing it. "I will stay with her," she said quietly. The 'for the duration of her life,' went unsaid, but presumably understood. She glanced over at Juan. "And your brother, though I worry less about his injuries. See to your sister. I'll be down when this is done."
When the girl was dead and Juan was in the hands of people who cared. Dany was finding that she did not.
Lucrezia
So she had failed, from the sounds of it. Her brother had escaped death. The volume of his screams did not seem to indicate he was in any danger of approaching it.
Lucrezia was not sure if she was disappointed or relieved.
She glanced up when she saw a shadow in the doorway.
"How fares my brother?" she asked softly. And was her friend displeased with her? She had been gone longer than Lucrezia expected. Or perhaps time itself was slowing to a crawl.
Cesare
Cesare sighed. The night had made him older. And it had aged her in a very different way.
"He'll live," he answered. "His bedmate will not."
Lucrezia
"Cesare," Lucrezia said, sitting upright. She felt as though she had been caught stealing, one hand still holding ill-gotten gains.
It sickened her abruptly to realize her sins were far worse.
"His bedmate?" she asked. "Why her and ... not him?"
The weight from the chandelier had crushed her more thoroughly?
Cesare
He had known she was responsible, but if he had not, that admission of hers would have sealed it. He would need to teach her how to speak more carefully.
He loathed that these were the things he must now teach her.
"It would seem they changed positions," he said, as he walked over to the edge of her bed. "Lesson the first, my love. Imprecise methods of killing often strike the wrong target."
Lucrezia
Bernadetta. Juan had asked her name, because he had not known it. And she had not cared. She had meant to snuff out her brother's life, and now ...
And now a maidservant was dead. One who had done nothing wrong beyond joining the Duke of Gandia in his bed.
She watched Cesare sit on her bed, and wondered how greatly she had disappointed him.
"So we are the same, Juan and I," she said darkly. "We strike out at innocents to reach one another."
Cesare
Cesare stretched out, staring at the ceiling for one long moment.
He reached for his sister's hand, stroking her fingers with his own.
"No, my love," he said. "But I would advise a more careful approach, in the future."
Or she could cease killing and leave that to him. He would rather the black stains mark his soul than hers. There was already so much blood on his hands; more could not change much now.
"Was this your first?"
Lucrezia
Instinctively, Lucrezia wriggled closer, hoping the safe haven of her brother's arms was still open to her.
"Yes," she said, carefully. "And no."
Easier to confess in this dark bedroom than it ever had been in a priest's enclosed booth.
"My ... husband's riding accident," she said. "He lived. That is, he was meant to live. Only to have his leg broken. But I suppose he could have been killed. So could anyone else using his saddle."
Cesare
Of course. He remembered the happy accident in question. How beastly this Sforza must have been, for Lucrezia to deliberately hobble him to keep him away.
Cesare owed the Lord Sforza a great deal of unpleasantness. He intended to repay it.
For now, he pulled Lucrezia closer. His arms would always be open to her.
"And your Narcissus helped."
The picture became clearer. The stableboy was not just a groom with a pretty face; he was a knight, riding to her rescue. All of which led them back here.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia nodded, glad that he understood. Juan had not simply killed her once love; he had killed the one had given her hope, in her darkest moments.
"There is no justice in this world, is there, Brother?"
Cesare
"Only God may judge," he reminded her, pressing his lips to her troubled forehead. "Perhaps the weight on the soul is too great for us mortals."
Religious doctrine felt false, coming from his lips. The Church made a poor calling for one as inclined to violence as he.
"You should sleep, my love."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia was not sure that she could sleep, with the image of the girl so sharp in her mind. Nor that she deserved the relief it would bring.
But Cesare's presence was its own elixir, a gentle balm to the fraying edges of her soul. She breathed deep, allowing it to wash over her.
Before she realized it, she had indeed drifted away.
Cesare
Cesare could find no such release for himself. The worry was be ginning to knot his stomach, and his thoughts were dark.
And so instead he watched his sister sleep, and allowed his mind to spin itself out into nothing.
Daenerys
The girl had passed, with her head in Dany's lap and a few fitful prayers on her lips. Dany had soothed her as best as she'd known how, without an understanding the afterlife here. When the poor thing was taken away from her, by men who'd carry her out to cover her face with a sheet, Dany had left.
Her body and spirit were both exhausted when she padded back down to Lucrezia's bedroom. She was covered in drying blood, her hair in tangled waves down her back, and her already-paling face was drawn. But she stopped in the doorway, smiling, when she saw what awaited her on the bed. She leaned for a moment, just watching. They were peace itself, asleep.
Cesare
Cesare roused himself when he heard footfalls. It might be Juan, seeking revenge. It might be any of their family's enemies.
He shifted, slightly, not wanting to wake Lucrezia, still deadweight in his arms.
Far better than Juan: it was his sister's friend, looking considerably worse for the wear. Perhaps the night had aged all of them.
"She sleeps," he said, unnecessarily. "And your charge has passed?"
Daenerys
Dany nodded, sighing heavily. "With as much peace as I could give her," she said softly, so as not to wake Lucrezia. "It's a pity. One lapse of judgement in bedmates and her life ended." It hadn't even sounded like it was any real fun.
She crossed over to retrieve something clean to sleep in, darting a glance at Cesare before slipping behind one of Lucrezia's admittedly sheer curtains; it was not a moment for overt flirtation, despite her usual lack of modesty.
"Did your sister have anything enlightening to say?" she asked, treading carefully. There was a fine line between casting judgement and being concerned, and Dany fell firmly into the second camp.
Cesare
Cesare watched as she stepped behind a curtain, wondering at her purpose, but looked away when he realized she was removing her nightgown. He was not modest himself, nor would he object to seeing Her Majesty without it, but this seemed an ill time to indulge his baser instincts.
"She was saddened to hear of the girl's fate," Cesare said. It seemed safe to say out loud. Not too incriminating. "It reminded her of her own loss, not too long ago."
It was not Daenerys he did not trust; anyone might be in the hallway. But that at least conveyed the important pieces of information to her: that the choice in target was accidental, and that all roads led back to Paolo.
Daenerys
She considered that, quietly to herself, as she slipped out of the bloodied gown and into the fresh one. "Naturally," she agreed, after a moment, as she moved over to the bed. "There's a certain poetry to it," she added in the barest whisper as she shifted to make herself comfortable on Lucrezia's other side, seeking out Cesare's eyes in the dark. "An echo, if you will. Though I do not think Bernadetta's loss will be felt as sharply, at least by your brother."
She reached out to gently smooth her sleeping friend's hair. "I hope she does not think I am upset, or frightened," she added, still soft and equally aware of how easily there might be other ears. "I left to find you rather quickly."
Cesare
"I doubt Juan knew Bernadetta's name," Cesare murmured, brushing a lock of hair back from Lucrezia's face. "I doubt the intent was symmetry. It seemed more an impulsive act. A moment's decision, to cause pain where it had been felt."
If Dany knew something to indicate there had been planning, she should tell him; it would mean Lucrezia's mental state was more perilous than he thought.
"I think perhaps she is frightened, herself," he added. It was a relief, in a way. She should keep her soul pure and white; he should be the one with bloodstained hands. He hated that she had slipped this far.
Daenerys
"It wasn't premeditated," Dany agreed with a small shake of her head. "I don't know what happened, exactly -- she left the bed to speak with him about the...vigor of their evening activities," she colored faintly, "then came back to bed in much better spirits. Then there was the crash, and...here we are."
She burrowed down against the pillows a little, reaching out to drape an arm around Lucrezia. The presence of others in her bed was familiar; it reminded her of how Irri and Doreah would sleep in her furs and silks with her, though of course that caused another quiet ache.
"I worry," she murmured, half to herself. "I do not want her to be like me."
Cesare
"Perhaps he taunted her," Cesare mused. The specifics hardly mattered, except as curiosity. His own arm was leaving Lucrezia's hair, gliding down to her waist; when his arm was flush with Daenerys's, he stopped.
It was not a proposition; not tonight. Propriety suggested he should have left before the girl's return. Propriety did not really address sudden deaths. It was warm here, and Cesare felt that once he left this bed, the cold would squeeze down all the way to his heart.
"Your fear is my fear, as well."
Perhaps he and Daenerys were only trying to shield Lucrezia from the coming storm.
(OOC: upping the body count! WARNING for violent onscreen death and narrative mentions of potentially triggery subjects (domestic violence, sexual assault, murder-staged-as-suicide, religious views on suicide). Preplayed with the fantastic-amazing unburnt_queen as Daenerys and whateverknight as various NPCs (I think the Pope and Juan in this one?). Some of this is lifted directly from ep 2x03, The Beautiful Deception. NFI, NFB, but OOC is love.)