The City Streets, The City Walls, and Lucrezia's Room - Rome, 1494 (NFB)
And so Juan departed Rome to marry his Spanish princessa. Alive, but fully aware his angelic sister had tried to drop a chandelier on him. Lucrezia could not, for her part, find that she was sorry. He had taken something precious from her. He had taken an innocent from the world.
His absence did not make her heart grow any fonder, nor did she have time to enjoy him being gone. The French were on the move. They would be here in days. They came for the Pope's blood. There were secret plans at work, one that left Cesare chasing down every foundry in Rome to make cannons. Lucrezia had scarce seen her dear brother since the night he had lulled her to sleep. She wondered if he was sleeping in those foundries, covered in soot. She worried he was not sleeping at all.
There was, however, little Lucrezia herself could do to stave off the French invasion. Which was, perhaps, why Giulia Farnese found it an excellent opportunity to put a plan of her own in motion.
Giulia
Giulia led Lucrezia and her young friend down a close city street and through a forgotten archway. The open area they stood in bore signs of having once been a marvel of Roman architecture -- crumbling marble columns supporting some remaining graceful arches, a few remnants of broken stone statues, some colorful mosaic tile, cracked and broken, visible in places under the dirt beneath their feet. A thousand years before, it had been a public bathhouse, but the water, like the public funds for its upkeep, had long ago stopped flowing.
The most striking thing about the building, though, was the flocks of dirty, starving children who sat and laid anywhere they could. They, too, had been forgotten, and they had ended up bedding here on the hard, cold stone, because there was nowhere else they could go.
Giulia said nothing at first. She wanted Lucrezia to have the chance to see and understand for herself.
Lucrezia
The children wore rags; their faces were covered in dirt. And their eyes had a sad hopelessness. A few crowded around, hands out for alms. The rest were too listless to bother.
Her heart ached. Juanito would never want for anything. Even Paolo had been wealthy, compared to these beggar children.
"These children need an orphanage," she said. "Why have they not been cared for?"
A few children here and there might have fallen through the system. This starving crowd spoke of a larger problem. This seemed like there may be no system at all.
Giulia
"They do, indeed," Giulia told her. An orphanage was the least of the things the poor children needed. Caring for them was the duty of the Church, but it wasn't doing the job. "But the nunneries that used to care for them are starved of funds. And the orphanage at Piazza Navona is now a cardinal's palace."
A portion of the money that was tithed to the Church was supposed to go to caring for these children. The Church, however, was only as good as the men who ran it.
Giulia gestured at an alcove with a few crumbles of stone, and at a cistern in the floor. "Here once stood a statue of the goddess Sulis Minerva. And here flowed crystal spring water from the Alban Hills."
Lucrezia
Piazza Navona. Of course. And how many palaces did Cardinal Versucci now own? She had heard that to be his third.
"This is inexcusable," Lucrezia said, shaking her head.
It was then that she remembered that Daenerys was not familiar with their world, or its ways. "There is an entire branch in the Curia for public works," she explained. "Money which was given expressly to help the poor. And instead those funds enrich the cardinals while the poor starve."
Cardinal della Rovere had insisted her father was unfit to be Pope, simply because he kept a mistress. Lechery. And yet other cardinals were bankrupting the office of Public Works, and that did not raise an eye. The hypocrisy was staggering.
Daenerys
Dany ached to gather the children to her, to wipe their faces with her voluminous skirts. It seemed unfair, that she was here in her finery and they slept on stones.. Her mind returned to the streets of the Free Cities, those times when she and Viserys couldn't find refuge.
"I am an orphan myself," she contributed, quietly. "I was luckier than these, though, for much of my childhood." Only a bit, at times -- Illyrio's loyalty to the dynasty had been a stroke of luck -- but still they had never gone long without food or a roof. "And this is unacceptable." She darted a glance to Giulia. "How will we be able to seize the money from these embezzlers?"
She would take it. But fire nor blood seemed the answer here. This was more delicate. This would take whispers in the correct ears, not screamed threats.
This was Rome.
Giulia
"With our wits," Giulia answered, smiling proudly at the girl. "It isn't possible to simply seize the money -- and even if it were, it wouldn't be wise or prudent. We must play the game, as it is laid before us."
Lucrezia
"A game of cardinals," Lucrezia mused. "If we could discover their secrets, then we might have a proper lever. From there we move them to our will."
Daenerys
"I may need to be taught this game," Dany said, a little dryly. "Subtlety is not a strong suit of mine. But I will help, in every way that I am able. I am no stranger to plying and persuading men, nor to threats. It is the veil of blackmail that will need to be learnt."
Giulia
"Then you shall learn it, your Highness. It is an essential skill for royalty, and for Pope's daughters. Those around you will be playing the game -- you must learn to play it better." Giulia looked at Lucrezia and Dany approvingly. Together, they could do much to restore the city of Rome. "And there is one more wit I would engage in our cause." She gestured at Lucrezia. "Your mother's."
Lucrezia
"My mother?" Lucrezia asked. "Giulia Farnese, I think perhaps you have gone mad."
Vannozza had been usurped by Giulia, as the Pope's mistress. The idea that her mother would wish to join their conspiracy, no matter how noble, was ridiculous.
Giulia
Perhaps Vannozza wouldn't want anything to do with her... but Giulia thought not. It wasn't her, after all, who the woman should be angry with -- nor even Alexander. It was the game, all of society, the rules of this world they lived in. "You must admit, four minds would be better than three," she told Lucrezia confidently. "And your mother and I are far beyond such enmities."
Daenerys
"Do you not think your mother be moved by these wretches as we are?" Dany asked, raising her brows. "I know I'd feel...well, not slighted, exactly, but as though my contribution weren't worthy enough to be considered. Surely we must ask your mother for her help, my love."
Lucrezia
"I think my mother is capable of a great many things," Lucrezia allowed, graciously. "And her help would be no small victory for us. I was only concerned about our likelihood of success. We shall see if she is inclined to be charitable."
In more ways than one. Perhaps Giulia was right, that her mother did not bear her replacement any ill will.
Vannozza
What an unlikely quartet they made, sitting around Vannozza's table.
La bella Farnese, the mistress of her children's father. Lucrezia, her once-more-unmarried daughter. The enigmatic Queen with the unusual name. And herself.
Vannozza dei Cattanei had been a courtesan, as a young girl; from there she had married well, and found herself involved with powerful men. Small wonder the other women sought her expertise on that matter.
"You would induce Cardinals to return their riches," she said. "How? Cardinals are fond of money."
She had a few ideas herself. She simply wanted to know what their plans were. Or, better, if they had plans yet at all.
Giulia
"They are less fond of scandal," Giulia told her. "And they cannot publicly admit to stealing from the poor. We must either prove that they have... or find some other bargaining chip. I'm sure we can manage both."
Lucrezia
"We are pitting our wits against theirs," Lucrezia said. "We have considerable advantages. One being that none of them would expect us capable of such a task."
Being underestimated was powerful indeed.
Vannozza
So they did not possess a plan, not yet. But la bella Farnese was cunning, and her daughter clever, and both considerably charming. There was a lot one could do in Rome if one knew how to wield the proper skills.
That only left the last member of their group, the one that Vannozza hardly knew at all.
"And you, Your Majesty?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You seek to help us. Why?"
Daenerys
Dany had prepared for this question. She wasn't from here, and she scarcely knew most of these people, so why would she help? The honest answer sprang most easily to her lips.
"I was a hungry orphan once, myself," she confessed, shrugging a little. "My brother and I depended upon the kindness of strangers and the strength of our family's dynasty, as an outcast prince and princess. I have the power to help them, and they suffer more than I ever did. To turn my eyes away from them would be to ignore not only compassion's call, but my own pangs of memory, my lady."
Vannozza
"Altruism," Vannozza said. "As befits royalty. And of course your time spent at a convent, dedicating your soul to God, that would also impress altruism upon your soul."
She included that mostly to see if her daughter would panic. Vannozza did not believe for a moment that her daughter had spent her time away from Rome in a convent. Especially not one that had introduced her to such foreign characters as this girl before her.
Daenerys
"One of the very best virtues that I learned at our convent, yes," Dany said, bowing her head slightly. "A ruler must be humble enough to walk amongst the common people and worship."
She was worried that Vannozza might ask her questions specific to her "faith" -- there was little way to wriggle out of that.
Lucrezia
"Surely we needn't waste time with Scripture, Mama," Lucrezia said. Had she said that too quickly? Her mother was more skilled at reading her than anyone, bar Cesare. "There are three of us, and we should like to be four. Including your gracious self."
Vannozza
Vannozza watched the interplay with amusement. Finally, she laughed.
"I wish to hear your stories of this ... convent, my daughter," she said. "Another time."
She turned her eyes back to Giulia Farnese. "And so you would ask one who was a courtesan, to help you catch these cardinals," she summarized. "It would be wise indeed of you. Are you willing to acquaint yourself with distasteful places?"
She already had plans forming.
Giulia
Like what? Whore-houses? Sick-houses? The mud underneath bridges where the destitute slept? Surely, Vannozza didn't think she was squeamish, did she?
"I am acquainted with palaces that contain Cardinals," Giulia replied. "One can think of no more distasteful place. And one could hardly expect to help the common people if one shied from the places that they live. Or ply their trades, whatever they might be."
Lucrezia
"I have seen what the poor often do in order to survive," Lucrezia said calmly. "Dona Giulia is right. There is more indignity in a cardinal who robs the needy than there is in a starving girl who lifts her skirts."
How terrible to realize that often, the same cardinals sought out those starving girls for their own lewd desires.
Daenerys
"I am no stranger to brothels and poorhouses, either," Dany added graciously. "My khalasar mostly started as the starving and enslaved. There is little that shocks me, anymore."
Vannozza
"Very well," Vannozza said. "I shall join your endeavour. And if you are all as hardy as you indeed claim, then I believe I know how we ought to begin."
It was a lovely afternoon to sit and discuss strategy. If nothing else, it kept one's mind away from the ever-closer French army.
Lucrezia
When last the French army had marched upon Rome, they had had two hostages with them: Lucrezia herself, and Giulia Farnese. Their intent had been war, but some clever manipulations on her part had won them bloodless entry, and her father His Holiness had charmed the French King into agreeing to an alliance.
After which the Pope had sent them on their way to Naples, with his blessing, and with nary a word about the plague which was spreading through its cities like wildfire. A clever sleight-of-hand, but many of the French army lived, including the King himself.
Now the French were leaving Naples, headed back to France, and marching straight through the Eternal City of Rome; now they sought vengeance, and Roman blood.
Newly forged cannons lined the city's walls. Dozens of them, brought this morning and arranged one to each gap. The Pope was anxious, and Cesare had sworn all would be well. He had a stratagem of his own, ready to play; he would not tell her more than that.
As the battle lines arranged themselves in the dawn air, Cesare saddled his horse and rode out to speak with the French. Her Father was waiting with the Curia, and her mother was safely concealed within the city, with guards watching the house.
Lucrezia found she could not sit by and wait. She needed to see. And so she cloaked herself and took her friend Daenerys up onto the ramparts, where they might slip between the cannons unnoticed in the hue and cry.
All they could do now was pray. And trust in Cesare.
Daenerys
"It's funny, how little war changes," Dany murmured peering out from under her hood. "These French and your Roman speak a different tongue, style themselves differently, and use different weapons. And yet this morning is so like the dawn before the Dothraki seize a khalasar or city. War is a universal language."
Micheletto
"But it is not one that should be spoken by little girls," mumbled a figure leaning against a nearby parapet. "Come, my mistresses, you must remove yourself to safety."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia knew that voice. It was the man who had dug her Paolo's grave, at Cesare's bidding. She straightened herself before she turned.
"Micheletto," she said. She assumed; she did not know why an assassin would dig graves, but she could not imagine Cesare trusting personal missions to anyone other than his Micheletto. "When last we met, I did not properly express my gratitude for your ... kindness. I would like to do so now."
Going against the church to give a presumed suicide a burial was no small feat. But at the time she had been too newly bereaved to think of such things.
Micheletto
"I need no gratitude, my lady," Micheletto told her. "You brother expressed a wish, and I did my duty -- that is all." He walked closer to the girls, and motioned for them to look out over the parapet with him. "See the French army, just there," he told them. "If we aren't lucky, their cannon will bark, and this will not be so good a place to stand."
Daenerys
"As good as any other," Dany offered softly. She'd bristled a bit at being called a 'little girl,' but who was he to know any better? "I'd rather be killed quickly, if we are to fall. The stragglers of a city under siege aren't lucky at all." Mirri Maz Duur had taught her that, all too well.
She shook her head, dismissing that thought. "But I'm sure that won't be the case. Perhaps peace can be negotiated. If anyone can manage, it's Cesare." Her heart thumped with anticipation and worry; it wasn't in her nature to hide away when others she cared about were meeting at conflict. Fire and Blood, after all. But it couldn't be helped, today. This was better than nothing.
Micheletto
"His Eminence is a great man," Micheletto replied, full of adoration and devotion. "And God is with him. Let us hope that today is a day for miracles."
They needed a miracle, or else the city would fall.
Lucrezia
"Does our fate hang by such a delicate thread?" she asked, giving Micheletto a concerned glance. Their walls were lined with cannons, but France's skilled forces highly outnumbered them. She had not realized they were praying for the fight to not occur.
Her attention was distracted by the small coterie of horses riding forward to meet Cesare's envoy. The King himself had not come forward yet, but she could recognize the major players.
"That woman on the white horse is Catherina Sforza," Lucrezia said, pointing the group to Dany. "She is not French, but she rides with them to stand against us. She has a castle at Forli. The man to her left is one of the King's generals."
He had blond hair like a lion's mane; from what she had observed as hostage, he had seemed to be King Charles's most trusted advisor. His name, however, was lost to the mists of her memory.
"And the man on her right is the Lord Giovanni Sforza, of Pesaro."
Forgive the less-than-pleasant tone. She had not laid eyes upon the Lord Sforza since her father had dissolved their marriage. He looked every bit as ugly, unpleasant, and undignified now as he had then.
Daenerys
Dany eagerly peered at the little group, trying to focus in on Lord Sforza despite the distance.
"His physique, at least, leaves much to be desired," she offered, irritably. "And he rides uneasily. My Drogo was at home in his saddle, as a man should be. Lord Sforza rides as though his saddle is equipped with a rather pointed seat."
Very ladylike, yes.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia was snickering behind her hand. It felt good to make him the subject of mockery.
"He lacks sprezzatura," she said. "You ought to have seen him dance. He looked every bit as dyspeptic and ill-tempered."
Daenerys
"How one looks angry while dancing, I'll never know," Dany tsked. "We're lucky to be all the way up here for a different reason; were I down on the ground, I'd be forced to ask him whether his face always looks that way, or if his breakfast disagrees with him."
Lucrezia
"Everything disagrees with him," she said. She could not remember seeing him happy; he was a dour figure at their wedding. "If I were on the ground ..."
She would wrench him from his horse with her bare hands, and scream. She would kick him, and not stop until he plead for mercy. She would make Cesare make him beg for his life. A wave of nausea passed over her.
"Micheletto?" she asked, her voice shaking. "Is it true what is whispered about you, that you serve my brother in any task he requires?"
She did not know a plain way to ask if he killed on command.
Micheletto
"Faithfully, my lady," Micheletto answered. "My lord need only ask something, and it is done." He looked down at the approaching army. "Is the Lord Sforza too close for my lady's comfort?"
Lucrezia
He knew what she was asking, and he was saying yes. Yes, he killed for Cesare. Yes, he would kill for her.
She need only ask.
There sat Giovanni Sforza, upon his horse. She held the power to knock him from it.
"Anywhere is too close, I fear," she said, savoring the heady feeling. She could nod her head, once, and he would die.
He deserved death. She had nightmares where she heard his steps down the hall, only to awaken and remember that he was far away, and could never hurt her again.
She could make that a certainty.
"If I were ... to feel he was standing too close," she asked, hoping he understood how hypothetical the question was, in its current form, "how would you induce him to step back?"
She only wished to know method. It helped the picture in her mind.
Daenerys
Dany watched her, carefully. This was another impulse, she sensed -- the candle a hair too close to the rope.
But this time, it wouldn't be blamed on an accident, if a Roman strike hit a French ally before open fire began.
She reached for her friend's hand, just in case. It sounded hypothetical, for the moment; if she gave the word, though, Dany knew she was too small and unskilled to stop Micheletto.
Micheletto
Micheletto looked at her carefully. If he did as she asked and killed her husband, the French would most certainly attack and Rome would fall. Tens of thousands of people would perish. Cesare himself might be caught outside the gates on his way to or from parlay.
And yet, if she asked... The mind of God was ineffable, true, but to Micheletto, Cesare Borgia was the next best thing. And Micheletto knew what his master would desire.
"Does my lady wish him to step back?" Micheletto asked. "Then I could scare his horse with a well-placed arrow. If my lady wished him to dismount and take his rest upon the ground, an arrow could accomplish that as well. You would need to wait here while I fetched a suitable bow."
Daenerys
"Micheletto," Dany interjected, quietly. "Would you explain what should happen if an arrow forced Lord Sforza to retire suddenly, at this moment?"
Cesare was down there. And there would be no hope for him, and then none for the rest of them, either.
Micheletto
The Lady Lucrezia's friend was sensible, to phrase it thus. Micheletto bowed his head and complied.
"All hope of diplomacy would be lost," he answered. "The French would consider that our opening salvo. They would turn their cannon upon our fair city's walls. Their rage would be glorious, especially upon members of His Holiness's family."
Lucrezia
It could be so easy. She would ask, and he would answer. An arrow. Never again would the Lord Sforza's steps echo down her hallway. Never again would she lie in bed, trembling and eyes full of tears, praying that he might slip and fall. That somehow God Himself would strike the Lord Sforza to keep him away from her.
She would watch him die in agony, and --
And then what?
Micheletto had let slip that the situation was dire. Cesare wanted this peace. If the Lord Sforza fell dead to the ground, then the French general to his other side would assume it was Cesare's plan. And Cesare was alone, with only a few riders to each side.
Rome could fall. Worse, Cesare himself might -- she could not finish that thought. It was as Dany had said; Cesare was her sun-and-stars. A world without him would only ever be blackest night.
Lucrezia swallowed past a lump in her throat. There was no choice here, then. She had to allow that monster to live.
Her hand squeezed Dany's more tightly; she could feel her knuckles begin to ache. But it was hard to say these words.
"Then I suppose it is for the best that the Lord Sforza continues to ride," she said, hoping for a light tone, "though I doubt his horse feels so charitably about the situation."
There. The crisis was over, as simply as that. She felt as though she were going to be ill.
Daenerys
And yet the crisis was only begun, because while that danger had passed, another was entirely unforgotten.
"I'm sure he doesn't," Dany offered softly. "But is that the king of these French, there?" She nodded to the man riding out in blue, to where she could spot Cesare. He looked placid, unmoving on his horse, as the French king came to a stop with his entourage.
Dany did not pray to the god here, but to her own, feverishly in her mind.
Micheletto
"It is, my lady," Micheletto answered. "He is fearsome and cruel in war, but pious and personable off the field of battle. We shall see which character he brings this day."
Lucrezia
"He is quite susceptible to feminine charms," Lucrezia said, hoping her voice did not shake. "I must tell you some time, my love, how a few bats of one's eyelashes saved Rome the last time France marched through."
And by 'one's' she meant her own. Dany would appreciate the story, but now was hardly the time to tempt fate by telling it.
"They are angry," she added, softly. "Such a simple ruse won't work this time."
Micheletto
Micheletto had stopped listening to what she said, and was motioning the girls back, away from the wall. His attention was riveted on his master, down below them, who had just raised his arm high in the air. Micheletto readied his knife on the cord in front of him, and when Cesare's arm fell, so too did the banner hanging from the rampart, revealing the cannon to the eyes of the French. All along the wall, soldiers had done the same.
Now it was Micheletto's turn to raise his arm. "Cannon, forward!" he shouted. All of the cannon slid out through the wall's crenelations, so that they could be aimed downward at the French army.
Daenerys
Dany ducked, instinctively. Now that they were looking, it would be all the easier to spot them.
The cannon frightened her, though she would not admit as much. She longed for bows and arrows and swords both curved and broad. For massacre to occur so easily did not sit well with her. There seemed to be little finesse to it.
But then, she supposed, nor was there much to setting a target afire.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia had seen what cannon could do to a line of soldiers; it sliced through them like butter, leaving only blood and gore on the ground. She had charmed the French King out of desperation. Her brother Juan had been standing in reach of those cannon.
Juan, whom she had now tried to kill herself. The wheel turned.
If fighting broke out, they were far too exposed. But Lucrezia could not tear her eyes away.
Daenerys
Dany watched the parlay quietly, intently. She couldn't hear the words, but she could read posture. The French king seemed angry -- terse, almost, though it was hard to tell with the distance. And Cesare was --
Cesare was riding back. It looked most unexpected, as the king and his associates had not yet moved. But then they, too, began to retreat.
"What's happening?" she whispered, eyes wide. It seemed too good to be true.
Micheletto
"Our prayers have been answered," Micheletto told her, without taking his eyes from the field. "There will be no bloodshed this day."
Lucrezia
It could not be true. And yet, her own eyes confirmed what the other two were saying.
"How?" Lucrezia asked, though that question was ridiculous. The French had not wanted to face the Roman cannon. That much was clear. But it had still been Cesare's doing, somehow. His bravado in facing the King had pushed this to its conclusion, she knew that in her heart.
"We must go and see," she decided, squeezing Dany's hand and pulling her friend towards the Curia. She would not believe this to be real until Cesare told her, himself, that the storm had passed.
But her heart wanted to accept it, and so a giddy laugh was rising from her throat as she ran.
Pope Alexander VI
His Holiness Pope Alexander VI unclenched his hands, finally, and leaned hard against a handy pillar. The French army had seen his cannon -- Rome's beautiful cannon, that had been his idea to make -- and had turned and left. The hand of God had reached down in Rome's darkest hour and stayed the hand of the French king, and there would be no deaths today.
It was cause for celebration. It was cause for prayers of thanksgiving. The Pope silently directed a prayer to Heaven in thanks that he had not, in fact, soiled his undergarments. Perhaps before anything else, he would simply rest, for now.
Lucrezia
The day was won. How had the day been won? Because Cesare had willed it, of course. Her brother could do anything.
Maybe now Papa would see that, too. She knew how badly Cesare longed for that approval.
Lucrezia burst into the room, breathless, and embraced her father. No words were needed, thankfully. She doubted she could speak.
Pope Alexander VI
Alexander hugged her back. He was relieved to see her safe and sound, and glad of the company. "And so Rome lives to see another day," he sighed.
Daenerys
Dany watched them embrace, turning away to grant some privacy between father and daughter. Her hands still shook with nervous energy, and she could feel a slightly crazed smile tugging at her cheeks. She wanted to run through the halls, to lift her skirts and spin, to hold her dragons close to her. She wanted to call everyone she still cared for and tell them she lived another day.
For now, she would settle for smiling.
Cesare
His ruse had succeeded. He had saved Rome. The church bells sang out to the heavens, and they seemed to sing his name. He had faced devastation and ruin and laughed in its face. Cesare would swear he was drunk, and he had not had a drop to drink. He wanted to tear his clothes off and howl. He wanted to laugh until he fell over. He wanted --
First, the most important task: to let the Holy Father know how very closely they had danced to their demise. To show off his military prowess. To gloat.
He rode hard for the interior walls, where he knew his father would be waiting. He stopped only to take one of the balls from a cannon. He was rehearsing his speech as he sailed through the corridors, the cacophony of noise and celebration hardly touching him.
There, at last, was the Pope, looking as though he had nearly been ill. Lucrezia was wrapped around him, and her friend stood nearby. Neither of the two girls had ever looked so astonishingly beautiful. The sky was beautiful. The world was.
"Holy Father," Cesare announced. "We should melt down those church bells."
Pope Alexander VI
Melt down the bells? Was Cesare not pleased at their ringing? Did he not realize that they rang for him, for his victory, for the salvation of Rome?!?
"Whatever for?!" he asked, incredulously.
Cesare
"To make cannon," Cesare said. He picked up the cannon ball and threw it onto the ground, where it shattered into pieces. It was, after all, only plaster.
So were the cannon which lined the walls of Rome. The Holy Father had wanted one hundred cannons in one week; the foundries had said they could make two in a month. And so he had authorized, instead, that they take the plaster molds, and paint them, and sit them where real cannon ought to go.
He had been high-handed with the French King, daring him to attack. And if the French King had called his bluff, he would now be dead.
"Real cannon, this time."
He savored the look of shock on all of their faces. And then he began to laugh.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia stared at her brother for a moment, and at the powdery remains of a cannon ball upon the ground. Remains? How had he destroyed --
Realization lit upon her a moment later. Real cannon. It had all been a bluff. A stalling tactic, born no doubt out of desperation.
He had gambled with all of their lives, and had won. No wonder he seemed so giddy.
She ran to his side, deep laughter spilling out of her of its own accord. She needed to squeeze Cesare until neither of them could breathe.
Cesare
Lucrezia's laughter was better than every church bell he could imagine. He lifted her from the ground as if she were weightless and spun her around, letting out a great and wild roar. The Borgia crest had its bull, but at the moment he felt like a lion, untamed and fierce, all fur and claws and danger.
Lucrezia's feet touched the ground again, and she pulled away to embrace their father, who looked ashen. The shock was still hitting him, it seemed.
The beautiful Daenerys was standing but two feet away, looking every inch as giddy as he felt. Propriety said he ought to calm himself, bow, kiss her hand. She was a Queen, and deserved respect.
On the other hand, Cesare had saved Rome and no longer gave a damn about propriety. And so he swept forward and lifted the tiny queen just as easily as he had his sister, spinning her around him and laughing like mad.
Daenerys
Dany's shriek of surprise lapsed quickly into giggles. Her glee at their saved lives had melted into shock at the revelation of Cesare's gamble. When her wits returned to her, it might even turn to something like admiration -- it was a risk she'd have taken herself, and one that no advisor would have sanctioned. But now she was spinning, weightless in his arms and in her joy.
Her arms found his neck, looping there, and as her feet found the ground again, Dany felt a surge of something powerful and instinctive. She did not care that his sister, her dearest friend, was feet away. She did not think about the fact that this was the son of the Pope of Rome, who stood within whispering distance, still. She did not deliberate or debate with herself for any amount of time; Daenerys did not have the time or the inclination for such.
In a movement as quick as the one that had lifted her off her feet in the first place, Dany was up on her toes and drawing Cesare's face lower to hers, until her lips collided with his in the sweetest promise she could make.
Cesare
Sweeter victory still. Cesare could not care about his father, his sister, or the entire Curia should they wander in. He sealed his lips over hers, hungry for more. She was soft and yielding in his arms; there was little he wanted as badly as to press her against the wall, find the laces on her dress ... he could be inside of her in moments.
Who would stop him? He was Cesare Borgia, the savior of Rome.
No. No. She deserved better than that. He would not rush this. If this was his reward, he wanted to savor every creamy inch of her skin.
All these thoughts passed his mind in only an instant; he knew he must pull away, but reining the wild horses storming through his veins took effort.
When at last he broke the kiss, he lingered, his breath upon her lips.
"Soon," he whispered, audible only to her.
Daenerys
No reply came at first. Dany, honestly, had half-expected to be thrown against some nearby wall. She was only too willing to make herself his prize for having found the correct answer and saved the entire city. She was breathless in the wake of the kiss, managing only a soft whimper in answer.
She found her verbal footing soon enough. "Soon," she murmured in agreement, her eyes still shut. There was no one else in the room, to her awareness, and she was sure that soon would seem to take an age.
Lucrezia
"Come, Papa, do not look so faint," said Lucrezia, her laughter ringing out. "We have triumphed. We must hold a celebration. Cesare deserves no less."
If she happened to be speaking loudly enough that hopefully her friend and brother were pulled back to themselves, before the Pope saw fit to comment upon the situation ... well, Lucrezia was skilled at gambits of her own. She also happened to be positioned delicately to keep them from view.
Cesare
Lucrezia's laughter pulled Cesare away from the delights he was promised. Soon was not now, and the Holy Father would only forgive so much.
The Holy Father was a hypocrite, as he brought his mistress to public functions, but that was not quite the same as public lechery.
"A celebration," he agreed, straightening up. He would thank Lucrezia later. He would deal with his father's judgment later. Tonight was for celebrating. "A masquerade."
Who would deny him? He had just saved Rome.
Pope Alexander VI
The Pope was quite aware that Lucrezia was trying to block the other two from his view. Very well, let Cesare celebrate with the foreign queen. He would be gracious. Should they form an alliance, all the better for his papacy.
"A splendid idea," Pope Alexander VI declared. "A masquerade. Tonight. We will toast your brilliance, and the saving of Rome."
Daenerys
Dany fussed with one of the feathers peeking out of the low neckline of her gown, obviously pleased with her appearance. For the first time since she'd arrived, she looked like herself. Not that she hadn't enjoyed her turn through Lucrezia's loaned wardrobe, but this gown looked like something that she'd wear at home. Her hair had been fashioned in curling, complicated braids, draping over her shoulders and piled on her head, and she wore a crown that had she thought was rather exquisite for having been fashioned so quickly.
Only hours before, she'd thought she would die at the hand of foreign men, worlds away from her throne. Now, she was almost bubbly, a smile playing at her lips. She had escaped death, they were victorious, she felt radiant and right in her clothes, and earlier, she'd acted on tension that had brewed for weeks. The night was full with the promise behind that kiss.
Though, that was tricky. She slanted a look towards Lucrezia, unsure how to broach the topic. "You look lovely," she offered, smiling. "Are we all to be of your ancient pantheon?" She herself was some goddess, though Lucrezia had been her designer. Dany, naturally, knew little of her inspiration.
Lucrezia
Daenerys looked exquisite; Lucrezia felt a small burst of pride at how well the outfit had come together. These clothes were not her usual, but they had such a light, airy flow to them. She began to see why Dany loved them so much.
"It is the theme of the masquerade, my love," Lucrezia said easily. "And I would not have thought you'd mind being a goddess. Especially not Lua."
Her eyes danced as she explained. "They brought her fallen enemies' arms to her, and burned them as a sacrifice."
Daenerys
"Very much my style," Dany said, lifting a brow. "Though a waste of arms." She reached out to adjust a little of the fabric at Lucrezia's shoulder. "These garments suit you far too well. You must someday visit me at home; this is how women across the Free Cities dress. It is too hot to fathom otherwise. My wedding gown was not dissimilar to yours tonight."
Lucrezia
"I must visit you indeed, and not just to sample the delight of your dresses," Lucrezia laughed. Her own dress was not so dramatic as Dany's; the layers were in varying shades of blush pink, and there were pearls sewn in to the shoulder clasps. The cape was white and gauzy, and she had decorated her braids and loose curls with further clusters of pearls. The effect she hoped for was one of sea spray, glistening upon her hair.
Echo, by the clear water, watching Narcissus, who watched himself.
"My wedding dress was white and gold," she said. "I could show you, if you would like to see. Do you have yours still?"
Daenerys
Dany shook her head. "I wore it the night my dragons were born," she said. "But I would desperately love to see yours. I'm sure you were as radiant as that toad you married was ugly."
She gave Lucrezia another once-over, tilting her head. "What are you meant to be tonight, my love? A goddess of love, or beauty, perhaps? That color is, indeed, divine on you. We must remember this."
Lucrezia
"Endings and beginnings," she mused to herself. It was only right that Dany wear that dress to her husband's funeral pyre. And with that, Lucrezia disappeared into her considerable closet, seeking out the dress she had sworn to never wear again.
"Neither," she called out, to answer her friend's question. "I am Echo, a nymph. She talked incessantly, bubbly and light, until she was cursed only to repeat what was said to her. Then she fell in love with Narcissus. It did not end well, for either of them."
So her costume was, perhaps, bittersweet, if not more bitter than sweet.
She re-emerged from her closet, carrying an ornate white gown.
"I thought I could be happy in this dress," she said, wryly. "I can hardly blame the dress."
Daenerys
"It is lovely," Dany said, a little sadly even as she reached out to touch the fabric. "Wasted on the man whom it was meant for, I think. Can you repurpose it somehow?"
It seemed too fine to spend its days in the dark of a closet.
Lucrezia
"I do not suppose you would like it?" she asked, holding the dress out. "I fear every time I wore it, I would remember its original use. Maybe it could be happy for another."
Daenerys
"I don't know where I would wear it, my love," Dany offered, shaking her head. "It would not fit in at home, I think. But perhaps we could donate it? Or turn it into other clothes!"
Lucrezia
"The material is quite exquisite," she agreed. "Perhaps one could make a wrap from the skirts, then. If we were back in Fandom, I should try selling it to a clothing store."
It was not homesickness, as she was home. But she found herself missing the school and its oddities whenever the thought crept upon her.
Daenerys
Dany managed a tiny smile. "No time for wistfulness tonight, my love. We are young and beautiful; let us not dwell on the past." At least, as much as they could avoid it with Lucrezia dressed as Echo. "Do you know of who might go as which gods tonight?"
It seemed a happier topic. Less like to induce a fit of rage over anyone's past spousal treatment. Plus, Dany found herself wondering at the masks, and how she might find any one person behind them. She'd trust herself to be able to judge by other characteristics, when it came to those she knew.
She suspected Cesare would make it easy indeed for her to find him.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia watched her friend for a few moments before laughing.
"I have my suspicions," she said, easily. "Father has said he would be Janus this night. The others, one must guess based on their disposition, and how they see themselves. Were Juan here, he would favor Mars, the god of war. I expect my mother to proclaim herself Juno, the goddess of home and hearth."
None of those people were who Dany was asking about.
Daenerys
No, they were not. Frustrating.
"I see," Dany noted, kneeling to stroke her dragons, who were sleeping on the ground. It gave her something to do. "That's hardly the entirety of who will be there, though, is it?"
A sudden thought struck her.
"...there wouldn't be any political meetings or anything to drag away any members of the party tonight?"
He'd declared the ball. Surely he was coming.
Lucrezia
"Most of the Holy City will be attending, my love," Lucrezia giggled. "Though I suspect my darling Cesare may absent himself early. He finds dances to be utterly distasteful."
She was struggling, in vain, to keep her face straight as she spoke the rest. "Almost as distasteful as when pretty girls steal kisses."
Daenerys
Dany colored faintly. "If he leaves early, that will not be the reason, I assure you," she assured her friend with a giggle. "Though...I hope that wasn't inappropriate. You don't...mind?"
Lucrezia
"Yes, we Borgias are quite shy about these things," she laughed. "I suppose I can sleep alone tonight, that my brother does not share the same fate."
Daenerys
Dany bit her lower lip, stifling a laugh. "I don't believe he intends to, and neither do I -- as long as it's not a problem for you. He is your brother. I'd hate to make things awkward for you."
Lucrezia
"I haven't the least objection, my love," Lucrezia promised, with a warm smile. "Cesare has been lonely, of late, pining for his nun, and you have been mourning your sun-and-stars for a very long time. Joy for either of you would be cause to celebrate."
After a moment, in which she weighed how to voice her thoughts, she gently added, "I should hope it leads to joy, and not to heartache. Be careful, the both of you?"
Those were the same concerns she would have with them choosing to spend the night with anyone else, separately; she hoped her friend would not misunderstand.
Daenerys
"Worry not," Dany assured her with a bright smile. "I doubt either of us has intentions so grand as to involve heartache. I don't, at least." She suspected Cesare might be more of a romantic than she was, but she had no hopes of a relationship or marriage to evolve from this; her expectations were much more simple, and befitting the circumstances of different worlds and supposed vows of chastity.
Lucrezia
"He knows of your fate, as well," she said. "One does not presume that an exiled Queen can stay too long; she has a kingdom to reclaim, after all."
Whether Cesare would be that sensible was another matter, but that was hardly Dany's fault.
"Now," she said, drawing herself up. "We ought to find our way to the ball, my love. It would be a shame to deprive it of two such lovely creatures as ourselves."
(OOC: preplayed with the fantastamazing unburnt_queen and whateverknight helping to tackle NPC duty. WARNING for narrative discussion of past domestic / sexual abuse. There is a part 2 coming in a moment Part two is here because the post is apparently way too effing big. Chunks of this taken from episode 2x03, The Beautiful Deception, and episode 2x04, Stray Dogs; the masquerade itself (next post) has bits taken from episode 2x01, The Borgia Bull. NFB, NFI, but OOC is love.)
His absence did not make her heart grow any fonder, nor did she have time to enjoy him being gone. The French were on the move. They would be here in days. They came for the Pope's blood. There were secret plans at work, one that left Cesare chasing down every foundry in Rome to make cannons. Lucrezia had scarce seen her dear brother since the night he had lulled her to sleep. She wondered if he was sleeping in those foundries, covered in soot. She worried he was not sleeping at all.
There was, however, little Lucrezia herself could do to stave off the French invasion. Which was, perhaps, why Giulia Farnese found it an excellent opportunity to put a plan of her own in motion.
Giulia
Giulia led Lucrezia and her young friend down a close city street and through a forgotten archway. The open area they stood in bore signs of having once been a marvel of Roman architecture -- crumbling marble columns supporting some remaining graceful arches, a few remnants of broken stone statues, some colorful mosaic tile, cracked and broken, visible in places under the dirt beneath their feet. A thousand years before, it had been a public bathhouse, but the water, like the public funds for its upkeep, had long ago stopped flowing.
The most striking thing about the building, though, was the flocks of dirty, starving children who sat and laid anywhere they could. They, too, had been forgotten, and they had ended up bedding here on the hard, cold stone, because there was nowhere else they could go.
Giulia said nothing at first. She wanted Lucrezia to have the chance to see and understand for herself.
Lucrezia
The children wore rags; their faces were covered in dirt. And their eyes had a sad hopelessness. A few crowded around, hands out for alms. The rest were too listless to bother.
Her heart ached. Juanito would never want for anything. Even Paolo had been wealthy, compared to these beggar children.
"These children need an orphanage," she said. "Why have they not been cared for?"
A few children here and there might have fallen through the system. This starving crowd spoke of a larger problem. This seemed like there may be no system at all.
Giulia
"They do, indeed," Giulia told her. An orphanage was the least of the things the poor children needed. Caring for them was the duty of the Church, but it wasn't doing the job. "But the nunneries that used to care for them are starved of funds. And the orphanage at Piazza Navona is now a cardinal's palace."
A portion of the money that was tithed to the Church was supposed to go to caring for these children. The Church, however, was only as good as the men who ran it.
Giulia gestured at an alcove with a few crumbles of stone, and at a cistern in the floor. "Here once stood a statue of the goddess Sulis Minerva. And here flowed crystal spring water from the Alban Hills."
Lucrezia
Piazza Navona. Of course. And how many palaces did Cardinal Versucci now own? She had heard that to be his third.
"This is inexcusable," Lucrezia said, shaking her head.
It was then that she remembered that Daenerys was not familiar with their world, or its ways. "There is an entire branch in the Curia for public works," she explained. "Money which was given expressly to help the poor. And instead those funds enrich the cardinals while the poor starve."
Cardinal della Rovere had insisted her father was unfit to be Pope, simply because he kept a mistress. Lechery. And yet other cardinals were bankrupting the office of Public Works, and that did not raise an eye. The hypocrisy was staggering.
Daenerys
Dany ached to gather the children to her, to wipe their faces with her voluminous skirts. It seemed unfair, that she was here in her finery and they slept on stones.. Her mind returned to the streets of the Free Cities, those times when she and Viserys couldn't find refuge.
"I am an orphan myself," she contributed, quietly. "I was luckier than these, though, for much of my childhood." Only a bit, at times -- Illyrio's loyalty to the dynasty had been a stroke of luck -- but still they had never gone long without food or a roof. "And this is unacceptable." She darted a glance to Giulia. "How will we be able to seize the money from these embezzlers?"
She would take it. But fire nor blood seemed the answer here. This was more delicate. This would take whispers in the correct ears, not screamed threats.
This was Rome.
Giulia
"With our wits," Giulia answered, smiling proudly at the girl. "It isn't possible to simply seize the money -- and even if it were, it wouldn't be wise or prudent. We must play the game, as it is laid before us."
Lucrezia
"A game of cardinals," Lucrezia mused. "If we could discover their secrets, then we might have a proper lever. From there we move them to our will."
Daenerys
"I may need to be taught this game," Dany said, a little dryly. "Subtlety is not a strong suit of mine. But I will help, in every way that I am able. I am no stranger to plying and persuading men, nor to threats. It is the veil of blackmail that will need to be learnt."
Giulia
"Then you shall learn it, your Highness. It is an essential skill for royalty, and for Pope's daughters. Those around you will be playing the game -- you must learn to play it better." Giulia looked at Lucrezia and Dany approvingly. Together, they could do much to restore the city of Rome. "And there is one more wit I would engage in our cause." She gestured at Lucrezia. "Your mother's."
Lucrezia
"My mother?" Lucrezia asked. "Giulia Farnese, I think perhaps you have gone mad."
Vannozza had been usurped by Giulia, as the Pope's mistress. The idea that her mother would wish to join their conspiracy, no matter how noble, was ridiculous.
Giulia
Perhaps Vannozza wouldn't want anything to do with her... but Giulia thought not. It wasn't her, after all, who the woman should be angry with -- nor even Alexander. It was the game, all of society, the rules of this world they lived in. "You must admit, four minds would be better than three," she told Lucrezia confidently. "And your mother and I are far beyond such enmities."
Daenerys
"Do you not think your mother be moved by these wretches as we are?" Dany asked, raising her brows. "I know I'd feel...well, not slighted, exactly, but as though my contribution weren't worthy enough to be considered. Surely we must ask your mother for her help, my love."
Lucrezia
"I think my mother is capable of a great many things," Lucrezia allowed, graciously. "And her help would be no small victory for us. I was only concerned about our likelihood of success. We shall see if she is inclined to be charitable."
In more ways than one. Perhaps Giulia was right, that her mother did not bear her replacement any ill will.
Vannozza
What an unlikely quartet they made, sitting around Vannozza's table.
La bella Farnese, the mistress of her children's father. Lucrezia, her once-more-unmarried daughter. The enigmatic Queen with the unusual name. And herself.
Vannozza dei Cattanei had been a courtesan, as a young girl; from there she had married well, and found herself involved with powerful men. Small wonder the other women sought her expertise on that matter.
"You would induce Cardinals to return their riches," she said. "How? Cardinals are fond of money."
She had a few ideas herself. She simply wanted to know what their plans were. Or, better, if they had plans yet at all.
Giulia
"They are less fond of scandal," Giulia told her. "And they cannot publicly admit to stealing from the poor. We must either prove that they have... or find some other bargaining chip. I'm sure we can manage both."
Lucrezia
"We are pitting our wits against theirs," Lucrezia said. "We have considerable advantages. One being that none of them would expect us capable of such a task."
Being underestimated was powerful indeed.
Vannozza
So they did not possess a plan, not yet. But la bella Farnese was cunning, and her daughter clever, and both considerably charming. There was a lot one could do in Rome if one knew how to wield the proper skills.
That only left the last member of their group, the one that Vannozza hardly knew at all.
"And you, Your Majesty?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You seek to help us. Why?"
Daenerys
Dany had prepared for this question. She wasn't from here, and she scarcely knew most of these people, so why would she help? The honest answer sprang most easily to her lips.
"I was a hungry orphan once, myself," she confessed, shrugging a little. "My brother and I depended upon the kindness of strangers and the strength of our family's dynasty, as an outcast prince and princess. I have the power to help them, and they suffer more than I ever did. To turn my eyes away from them would be to ignore not only compassion's call, but my own pangs of memory, my lady."
Vannozza
"Altruism," Vannozza said. "As befits royalty. And of course your time spent at a convent, dedicating your soul to God, that would also impress altruism upon your soul."
She included that mostly to see if her daughter would panic. Vannozza did not believe for a moment that her daughter had spent her time away from Rome in a convent. Especially not one that had introduced her to such foreign characters as this girl before her.
Daenerys
"One of the very best virtues that I learned at our convent, yes," Dany said, bowing her head slightly. "A ruler must be humble enough to walk amongst the common people and worship."
She was worried that Vannozza might ask her questions specific to her "faith" -- there was little way to wriggle out of that.
Lucrezia
"Surely we needn't waste time with Scripture, Mama," Lucrezia said. Had she said that too quickly? Her mother was more skilled at reading her than anyone, bar Cesare. "There are three of us, and we should like to be four. Including your gracious self."
Vannozza
Vannozza watched the interplay with amusement. Finally, she laughed.
"I wish to hear your stories of this ... convent, my daughter," she said. "Another time."
She turned her eyes back to Giulia Farnese. "And so you would ask one who was a courtesan, to help you catch these cardinals," she summarized. "It would be wise indeed of you. Are you willing to acquaint yourself with distasteful places?"
She already had plans forming.
Giulia
Like what? Whore-houses? Sick-houses? The mud underneath bridges where the destitute slept? Surely, Vannozza didn't think she was squeamish, did she?
"I am acquainted with palaces that contain Cardinals," Giulia replied. "One can think of no more distasteful place. And one could hardly expect to help the common people if one shied from the places that they live. Or ply their trades, whatever they might be."
Lucrezia
"I have seen what the poor often do in order to survive," Lucrezia said calmly. "Dona Giulia is right. There is more indignity in a cardinal who robs the needy than there is in a starving girl who lifts her skirts."
How terrible to realize that often, the same cardinals sought out those starving girls for their own lewd desires.
Daenerys
"I am no stranger to brothels and poorhouses, either," Dany added graciously. "My khalasar mostly started as the starving and enslaved. There is little that shocks me, anymore."
Vannozza
"Very well," Vannozza said. "I shall join your endeavour. And if you are all as hardy as you indeed claim, then I believe I know how we ought to begin."
It was a lovely afternoon to sit and discuss strategy. If nothing else, it kept one's mind away from the ever-closer French army.
Lucrezia
When last the French army had marched upon Rome, they had had two hostages with them: Lucrezia herself, and Giulia Farnese. Their intent had been war, but some clever manipulations on her part had won them bloodless entry, and her father His Holiness had charmed the French King into agreeing to an alliance.
After which the Pope had sent them on their way to Naples, with his blessing, and with nary a word about the plague which was spreading through its cities like wildfire. A clever sleight-of-hand, but many of the French army lived, including the King himself.
Now the French were leaving Naples, headed back to France, and marching straight through the Eternal City of Rome; now they sought vengeance, and Roman blood.
Newly forged cannons lined the city's walls. Dozens of them, brought this morning and arranged one to each gap. The Pope was anxious, and Cesare had sworn all would be well. He had a stratagem of his own, ready to play; he would not tell her more than that.
As the battle lines arranged themselves in the dawn air, Cesare saddled his horse and rode out to speak with the French. Her Father was waiting with the Curia, and her mother was safely concealed within the city, with guards watching the house.
Lucrezia found she could not sit by and wait. She needed to see. And so she cloaked herself and took her friend Daenerys up onto the ramparts, where they might slip between the cannons unnoticed in the hue and cry.
All they could do now was pray. And trust in Cesare.
Daenerys
"It's funny, how little war changes," Dany murmured peering out from under her hood. "These French and your Roman speak a different tongue, style themselves differently, and use different weapons. And yet this morning is so like the dawn before the Dothraki seize a khalasar or city. War is a universal language."
Micheletto
"But it is not one that should be spoken by little girls," mumbled a figure leaning against a nearby parapet. "Come, my mistresses, you must remove yourself to safety."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia knew that voice. It was the man who had dug her Paolo's grave, at Cesare's bidding. She straightened herself before she turned.
"Micheletto," she said. She assumed; she did not know why an assassin would dig graves, but she could not imagine Cesare trusting personal missions to anyone other than his Micheletto. "When last we met, I did not properly express my gratitude for your ... kindness. I would like to do so now."
Going against the church to give a presumed suicide a burial was no small feat. But at the time she had been too newly bereaved to think of such things.
Micheletto
"I need no gratitude, my lady," Micheletto told her. "You brother expressed a wish, and I did my duty -- that is all." He walked closer to the girls, and motioned for them to look out over the parapet with him. "See the French army, just there," he told them. "If we aren't lucky, their cannon will bark, and this will not be so good a place to stand."
Daenerys
"As good as any other," Dany offered softly. She'd bristled a bit at being called a 'little girl,' but who was he to know any better? "I'd rather be killed quickly, if we are to fall. The stragglers of a city under siege aren't lucky at all." Mirri Maz Duur had taught her that, all too well.
She shook her head, dismissing that thought. "But I'm sure that won't be the case. Perhaps peace can be negotiated. If anyone can manage, it's Cesare." Her heart thumped with anticipation and worry; it wasn't in her nature to hide away when others she cared about were meeting at conflict. Fire and Blood, after all. But it couldn't be helped, today. This was better than nothing.
Micheletto
"His Eminence is a great man," Micheletto replied, full of adoration and devotion. "And God is with him. Let us hope that today is a day for miracles."
They needed a miracle, or else the city would fall.
Lucrezia
"Does our fate hang by such a delicate thread?" she asked, giving Micheletto a concerned glance. Their walls were lined with cannons, but France's skilled forces highly outnumbered them. She had not realized they were praying for the fight to not occur.
Her attention was distracted by the small coterie of horses riding forward to meet Cesare's envoy. The King himself had not come forward yet, but she could recognize the major players.
"That woman on the white horse is Catherina Sforza," Lucrezia said, pointing the group to Dany. "She is not French, but she rides with them to stand against us. She has a castle at Forli. The man to her left is one of the King's generals."
He had blond hair like a lion's mane; from what she had observed as hostage, he had seemed to be King Charles's most trusted advisor. His name, however, was lost to the mists of her memory.
"And the man on her right is the Lord Giovanni Sforza, of Pesaro."
Forgive the less-than-pleasant tone. She had not laid eyes upon the Lord Sforza since her father had dissolved their marriage. He looked every bit as ugly, unpleasant, and undignified now as he had then.
Daenerys
Dany eagerly peered at the little group, trying to focus in on Lord Sforza despite the distance.
"His physique, at least, leaves much to be desired," she offered, irritably. "And he rides uneasily. My Drogo was at home in his saddle, as a man should be. Lord Sforza rides as though his saddle is equipped with a rather pointed seat."
Very ladylike, yes.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia was snickering behind her hand. It felt good to make him the subject of mockery.
"He lacks sprezzatura," she said. "You ought to have seen him dance. He looked every bit as dyspeptic and ill-tempered."
Daenerys
"How one looks angry while dancing, I'll never know," Dany tsked. "We're lucky to be all the way up here for a different reason; were I down on the ground, I'd be forced to ask him whether his face always looks that way, or if his breakfast disagrees with him."
Lucrezia
"Everything disagrees with him," she said. She could not remember seeing him happy; he was a dour figure at their wedding. "If I were on the ground ..."
She would wrench him from his horse with her bare hands, and scream. She would kick him, and not stop until he plead for mercy. She would make Cesare make him beg for his life. A wave of nausea passed over her.
"Micheletto?" she asked, her voice shaking. "Is it true what is whispered about you, that you serve my brother in any task he requires?"
She did not know a plain way to ask if he killed on command.
Micheletto
"Faithfully, my lady," Micheletto answered. "My lord need only ask something, and it is done." He looked down at the approaching army. "Is the Lord Sforza too close for my lady's comfort?"
Lucrezia
He knew what she was asking, and he was saying yes. Yes, he killed for Cesare. Yes, he would kill for her.
She need only ask.
There sat Giovanni Sforza, upon his horse. She held the power to knock him from it.
"Anywhere is too close, I fear," she said, savoring the heady feeling. She could nod her head, once, and he would die.
He deserved death. She had nightmares where she heard his steps down the hall, only to awaken and remember that he was far away, and could never hurt her again.
She could make that a certainty.
"If I were ... to feel he was standing too close," she asked, hoping he understood how hypothetical the question was, in its current form, "how would you induce him to step back?"
She only wished to know method. It helped the picture in her mind.
Daenerys
Dany watched her, carefully. This was another impulse, she sensed -- the candle a hair too close to the rope.
But this time, it wouldn't be blamed on an accident, if a Roman strike hit a French ally before open fire began.
She reached for her friend's hand, just in case. It sounded hypothetical, for the moment; if she gave the word, though, Dany knew she was too small and unskilled to stop Micheletto.
Micheletto
Micheletto looked at her carefully. If he did as she asked and killed her husband, the French would most certainly attack and Rome would fall. Tens of thousands of people would perish. Cesare himself might be caught outside the gates on his way to or from parlay.
And yet, if she asked... The mind of God was ineffable, true, but to Micheletto, Cesare Borgia was the next best thing. And Micheletto knew what his master would desire.
"Does my lady wish him to step back?" Micheletto asked. "Then I could scare his horse with a well-placed arrow. If my lady wished him to dismount and take his rest upon the ground, an arrow could accomplish that as well. You would need to wait here while I fetched a suitable bow."
Daenerys
"Micheletto," Dany interjected, quietly. "Would you explain what should happen if an arrow forced Lord Sforza to retire suddenly, at this moment?"
Cesare was down there. And there would be no hope for him, and then none for the rest of them, either.
Micheletto
The Lady Lucrezia's friend was sensible, to phrase it thus. Micheletto bowed his head and complied.
"All hope of diplomacy would be lost," he answered. "The French would consider that our opening salvo. They would turn their cannon upon our fair city's walls. Their rage would be glorious, especially upon members of His Holiness's family."
Lucrezia
It could be so easy. She would ask, and he would answer. An arrow. Never again would the Lord Sforza's steps echo down her hallway. Never again would she lie in bed, trembling and eyes full of tears, praying that he might slip and fall. That somehow God Himself would strike the Lord Sforza to keep him away from her.
She would watch him die in agony, and --
And then what?
Micheletto had let slip that the situation was dire. Cesare wanted this peace. If the Lord Sforza fell dead to the ground, then the French general to his other side would assume it was Cesare's plan. And Cesare was alone, with only a few riders to each side.
Rome could fall. Worse, Cesare himself might -- she could not finish that thought. It was as Dany had said; Cesare was her sun-and-stars. A world without him would only ever be blackest night.
Lucrezia swallowed past a lump in her throat. There was no choice here, then. She had to allow that monster to live.
Her hand squeezed Dany's more tightly; she could feel her knuckles begin to ache. But it was hard to say these words.
"Then I suppose it is for the best that the Lord Sforza continues to ride," she said, hoping for a light tone, "though I doubt his horse feels so charitably about the situation."
There. The crisis was over, as simply as that. She felt as though she were going to be ill.
Daenerys
And yet the crisis was only begun, because while that danger had passed, another was entirely unforgotten.
"I'm sure he doesn't," Dany offered softly. "But is that the king of these French, there?" She nodded to the man riding out in blue, to where she could spot Cesare. He looked placid, unmoving on his horse, as the French king came to a stop with his entourage.
Dany did not pray to the god here, but to her own, feverishly in her mind.
Micheletto
"It is, my lady," Micheletto answered. "He is fearsome and cruel in war, but pious and personable off the field of battle. We shall see which character he brings this day."
Lucrezia
"He is quite susceptible to feminine charms," Lucrezia said, hoping her voice did not shake. "I must tell you some time, my love, how a few bats of one's eyelashes saved Rome the last time France marched through."
And by 'one's' she meant her own. Dany would appreciate the story, but now was hardly the time to tempt fate by telling it.
"They are angry," she added, softly. "Such a simple ruse won't work this time."
Micheletto
Micheletto had stopped listening to what she said, and was motioning the girls back, away from the wall. His attention was riveted on his master, down below them, who had just raised his arm high in the air. Micheletto readied his knife on the cord in front of him, and when Cesare's arm fell, so too did the banner hanging from the rampart, revealing the cannon to the eyes of the French. All along the wall, soldiers had done the same.
Now it was Micheletto's turn to raise his arm. "Cannon, forward!" he shouted. All of the cannon slid out through the wall's crenelations, so that they could be aimed downward at the French army.
Daenerys
Dany ducked, instinctively. Now that they were looking, it would be all the easier to spot them.
The cannon frightened her, though she would not admit as much. She longed for bows and arrows and swords both curved and broad. For massacre to occur so easily did not sit well with her. There seemed to be little finesse to it.
But then, she supposed, nor was there much to setting a target afire.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia had seen what cannon could do to a line of soldiers; it sliced through them like butter, leaving only blood and gore on the ground. She had charmed the French King out of desperation. Her brother Juan had been standing in reach of those cannon.
Juan, whom she had now tried to kill herself. The wheel turned.
If fighting broke out, they were far too exposed. But Lucrezia could not tear her eyes away.
Daenerys
Dany watched the parlay quietly, intently. She couldn't hear the words, but she could read posture. The French king seemed angry -- terse, almost, though it was hard to tell with the distance. And Cesare was --
Cesare was riding back. It looked most unexpected, as the king and his associates had not yet moved. But then they, too, began to retreat.
"What's happening?" she whispered, eyes wide. It seemed too good to be true.
Micheletto
"Our prayers have been answered," Micheletto told her, without taking his eyes from the field. "There will be no bloodshed this day."
Lucrezia
It could not be true. And yet, her own eyes confirmed what the other two were saying.
"How?" Lucrezia asked, though that question was ridiculous. The French had not wanted to face the Roman cannon. That much was clear. But it had still been Cesare's doing, somehow. His bravado in facing the King had pushed this to its conclusion, she knew that in her heart.
"We must go and see," she decided, squeezing Dany's hand and pulling her friend towards the Curia. She would not believe this to be real until Cesare told her, himself, that the storm had passed.
But her heart wanted to accept it, and so a giddy laugh was rising from her throat as she ran.
Pope Alexander VI
His Holiness Pope Alexander VI unclenched his hands, finally, and leaned hard against a handy pillar. The French army had seen his cannon -- Rome's beautiful cannon, that had been his idea to make -- and had turned and left. The hand of God had reached down in Rome's darkest hour and stayed the hand of the French king, and there would be no deaths today.
It was cause for celebration. It was cause for prayers of thanksgiving. The Pope silently directed a prayer to Heaven in thanks that he had not, in fact, soiled his undergarments. Perhaps before anything else, he would simply rest, for now.
Lucrezia
The day was won. How had the day been won? Because Cesare had willed it, of course. Her brother could do anything.
Maybe now Papa would see that, too. She knew how badly Cesare longed for that approval.
Lucrezia burst into the room, breathless, and embraced her father. No words were needed, thankfully. She doubted she could speak.
Pope Alexander VI
Alexander hugged her back. He was relieved to see her safe and sound, and glad of the company. "And so Rome lives to see another day," he sighed.
Daenerys
Dany watched them embrace, turning away to grant some privacy between father and daughter. Her hands still shook with nervous energy, and she could feel a slightly crazed smile tugging at her cheeks. She wanted to run through the halls, to lift her skirts and spin, to hold her dragons close to her. She wanted to call everyone she still cared for and tell them she lived another day.
For now, she would settle for smiling.
Cesare
His ruse had succeeded. He had saved Rome. The church bells sang out to the heavens, and they seemed to sing his name. He had faced devastation and ruin and laughed in its face. Cesare would swear he was drunk, and he had not had a drop to drink. He wanted to tear his clothes off and howl. He wanted to laugh until he fell over. He wanted --
First, the most important task: to let the Holy Father know how very closely they had danced to their demise. To show off his military prowess. To gloat.
He rode hard for the interior walls, where he knew his father would be waiting. He stopped only to take one of the balls from a cannon. He was rehearsing his speech as he sailed through the corridors, the cacophony of noise and celebration hardly touching him.
There, at last, was the Pope, looking as though he had nearly been ill. Lucrezia was wrapped around him, and her friend stood nearby. Neither of the two girls had ever looked so astonishingly beautiful. The sky was beautiful. The world was.
"Holy Father," Cesare announced. "We should melt down those church bells."
Pope Alexander VI
Melt down the bells? Was Cesare not pleased at their ringing? Did he not realize that they rang for him, for his victory, for the salvation of Rome?!?
"Whatever for?!" he asked, incredulously.
Cesare
"To make cannon," Cesare said. He picked up the cannon ball and threw it onto the ground, where it shattered into pieces. It was, after all, only plaster.
So were the cannon which lined the walls of Rome. The Holy Father had wanted one hundred cannons in one week; the foundries had said they could make two in a month. And so he had authorized, instead, that they take the plaster molds, and paint them, and sit them where real cannon ought to go.
He had been high-handed with the French King, daring him to attack. And if the French King had called his bluff, he would now be dead.
"Real cannon, this time."
He savored the look of shock on all of their faces. And then he began to laugh.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia stared at her brother for a moment, and at the powdery remains of a cannon ball upon the ground. Remains? How had he destroyed --
Realization lit upon her a moment later. Real cannon. It had all been a bluff. A stalling tactic, born no doubt out of desperation.
He had gambled with all of their lives, and had won. No wonder he seemed so giddy.
She ran to his side, deep laughter spilling out of her of its own accord. She needed to squeeze Cesare until neither of them could breathe.
Cesare
Lucrezia's laughter was better than every church bell he could imagine. He lifted her from the ground as if she were weightless and spun her around, letting out a great and wild roar. The Borgia crest had its bull, but at the moment he felt like a lion, untamed and fierce, all fur and claws and danger.
Lucrezia's feet touched the ground again, and she pulled away to embrace their father, who looked ashen. The shock was still hitting him, it seemed.
The beautiful Daenerys was standing but two feet away, looking every inch as giddy as he felt. Propriety said he ought to calm himself, bow, kiss her hand. She was a Queen, and deserved respect.
On the other hand, Cesare had saved Rome and no longer gave a damn about propriety. And so he swept forward and lifted the tiny queen just as easily as he had his sister, spinning her around him and laughing like mad.
Daenerys
Dany's shriek of surprise lapsed quickly into giggles. Her glee at their saved lives had melted into shock at the revelation of Cesare's gamble. When her wits returned to her, it might even turn to something like admiration -- it was a risk she'd have taken herself, and one that no advisor would have sanctioned. But now she was spinning, weightless in his arms and in her joy.
Her arms found his neck, looping there, and as her feet found the ground again, Dany felt a surge of something powerful and instinctive. She did not care that his sister, her dearest friend, was feet away. She did not think about the fact that this was the son of the Pope of Rome, who stood within whispering distance, still. She did not deliberate or debate with herself for any amount of time; Daenerys did not have the time or the inclination for such.
In a movement as quick as the one that had lifted her off her feet in the first place, Dany was up on her toes and drawing Cesare's face lower to hers, until her lips collided with his in the sweetest promise she could make.
Cesare
Sweeter victory still. Cesare could not care about his father, his sister, or the entire Curia should they wander in. He sealed his lips over hers, hungry for more. She was soft and yielding in his arms; there was little he wanted as badly as to press her against the wall, find the laces on her dress ... he could be inside of her in moments.
Who would stop him? He was Cesare Borgia, the savior of Rome.
No. No. She deserved better than that. He would not rush this. If this was his reward, he wanted to savor every creamy inch of her skin.
All these thoughts passed his mind in only an instant; he knew he must pull away, but reining the wild horses storming through his veins took effort.
When at last he broke the kiss, he lingered, his breath upon her lips.
"Soon," he whispered, audible only to her.
Daenerys
No reply came at first. Dany, honestly, had half-expected to be thrown against some nearby wall. She was only too willing to make herself his prize for having found the correct answer and saved the entire city. She was breathless in the wake of the kiss, managing only a soft whimper in answer.
She found her verbal footing soon enough. "Soon," she murmured in agreement, her eyes still shut. There was no one else in the room, to her awareness, and she was sure that soon would seem to take an age.
Lucrezia
"Come, Papa, do not look so faint," said Lucrezia, her laughter ringing out. "We have triumphed. We must hold a celebration. Cesare deserves no less."
If she happened to be speaking loudly enough that hopefully her friend and brother were pulled back to themselves, before the Pope saw fit to comment upon the situation ... well, Lucrezia was skilled at gambits of her own. She also happened to be positioned delicately to keep them from view.
Cesare
Lucrezia's laughter pulled Cesare away from the delights he was promised. Soon was not now, and the Holy Father would only forgive so much.
The Holy Father was a hypocrite, as he brought his mistress to public functions, but that was not quite the same as public lechery.
"A celebration," he agreed, straightening up. He would thank Lucrezia later. He would deal with his father's judgment later. Tonight was for celebrating. "A masquerade."
Who would deny him? He had just saved Rome.
Pope Alexander VI
The Pope was quite aware that Lucrezia was trying to block the other two from his view. Very well, let Cesare celebrate with the foreign queen. He would be gracious. Should they form an alliance, all the better for his papacy.
"A splendid idea," Pope Alexander VI declared. "A masquerade. Tonight. We will toast your brilliance, and the saving of Rome."
Daenerys
Dany fussed with one of the feathers peeking out of the low neckline of her gown, obviously pleased with her appearance. For the first time since she'd arrived, she looked like herself. Not that she hadn't enjoyed her turn through Lucrezia's loaned wardrobe, but this gown looked like something that she'd wear at home. Her hair had been fashioned in curling, complicated braids, draping over her shoulders and piled on her head, and she wore a crown that had she thought was rather exquisite for having been fashioned so quickly.
Only hours before, she'd thought she would die at the hand of foreign men, worlds away from her throne. Now, she was almost bubbly, a smile playing at her lips. She had escaped death, they were victorious, she felt radiant and right in her clothes, and earlier, she'd acted on tension that had brewed for weeks. The night was full with the promise behind that kiss.
Though, that was tricky. She slanted a look towards Lucrezia, unsure how to broach the topic. "You look lovely," she offered, smiling. "Are we all to be of your ancient pantheon?" She herself was some goddess, though Lucrezia had been her designer. Dany, naturally, knew little of her inspiration.
Lucrezia
Daenerys looked exquisite; Lucrezia felt a small burst of pride at how well the outfit had come together. These clothes were not her usual, but they had such a light, airy flow to them. She began to see why Dany loved them so much.
"It is the theme of the masquerade, my love," Lucrezia said easily. "And I would not have thought you'd mind being a goddess. Especially not Lua."
Her eyes danced as she explained. "They brought her fallen enemies' arms to her, and burned them as a sacrifice."
Daenerys
"Very much my style," Dany said, lifting a brow. "Though a waste of arms." She reached out to adjust a little of the fabric at Lucrezia's shoulder. "These garments suit you far too well. You must someday visit me at home; this is how women across the Free Cities dress. It is too hot to fathom otherwise. My wedding gown was not dissimilar to yours tonight."
Lucrezia
"I must visit you indeed, and not just to sample the delight of your dresses," Lucrezia laughed. Her own dress was not so dramatic as Dany's; the layers were in varying shades of blush pink, and there were pearls sewn in to the shoulder clasps. The cape was white and gauzy, and she had decorated her braids and loose curls with further clusters of pearls. The effect she hoped for was one of sea spray, glistening upon her hair.
Echo, by the clear water, watching Narcissus, who watched himself.
"My wedding dress was white and gold," she said. "I could show you, if you would like to see. Do you have yours still?"
Daenerys
Dany shook her head. "I wore it the night my dragons were born," she said. "But I would desperately love to see yours. I'm sure you were as radiant as that toad you married was ugly."
She gave Lucrezia another once-over, tilting her head. "What are you meant to be tonight, my love? A goddess of love, or beauty, perhaps? That color is, indeed, divine on you. We must remember this."
Lucrezia
"Endings and beginnings," she mused to herself. It was only right that Dany wear that dress to her husband's funeral pyre. And with that, Lucrezia disappeared into her considerable closet, seeking out the dress she had sworn to never wear again.
"Neither," she called out, to answer her friend's question. "I am Echo, a nymph. She talked incessantly, bubbly and light, until she was cursed only to repeat what was said to her. Then she fell in love with Narcissus. It did not end well, for either of them."
So her costume was, perhaps, bittersweet, if not more bitter than sweet.
She re-emerged from her closet, carrying an ornate white gown.
"I thought I could be happy in this dress," she said, wryly. "I can hardly blame the dress."
Daenerys
"It is lovely," Dany said, a little sadly even as she reached out to touch the fabric. "Wasted on the man whom it was meant for, I think. Can you repurpose it somehow?"
It seemed too fine to spend its days in the dark of a closet.
Lucrezia
"I do not suppose you would like it?" she asked, holding the dress out. "I fear every time I wore it, I would remember its original use. Maybe it could be happy for another."
Daenerys
"I don't know where I would wear it, my love," Dany offered, shaking her head. "It would not fit in at home, I think. But perhaps we could donate it? Or turn it into other clothes!"
Lucrezia
"The material is quite exquisite," she agreed. "Perhaps one could make a wrap from the skirts, then. If we were back in Fandom, I should try selling it to a clothing store."
It was not homesickness, as she was home. But she found herself missing the school and its oddities whenever the thought crept upon her.
Daenerys
Dany managed a tiny smile. "No time for wistfulness tonight, my love. We are young and beautiful; let us not dwell on the past." At least, as much as they could avoid it with Lucrezia dressed as Echo. "Do you know of who might go as which gods tonight?"
It seemed a happier topic. Less like to induce a fit of rage over anyone's past spousal treatment. Plus, Dany found herself wondering at the masks, and how she might find any one person behind them. She'd trust herself to be able to judge by other characteristics, when it came to those she knew.
She suspected Cesare would make it easy indeed for her to find him.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia watched her friend for a few moments before laughing.
"I have my suspicions," she said, easily. "Father has said he would be Janus this night. The others, one must guess based on their disposition, and how they see themselves. Were Juan here, he would favor Mars, the god of war. I expect my mother to proclaim herself Juno, the goddess of home and hearth."
None of those people were who Dany was asking about.
Daenerys
No, they were not. Frustrating.
"I see," Dany noted, kneeling to stroke her dragons, who were sleeping on the ground. It gave her something to do. "That's hardly the entirety of who will be there, though, is it?"
A sudden thought struck her.
"...there wouldn't be any political meetings or anything to drag away any members of the party tonight?"
He'd declared the ball. Surely he was coming.
Lucrezia
"Most of the Holy City will be attending, my love," Lucrezia giggled. "Though I suspect my darling Cesare may absent himself early. He finds dances to be utterly distasteful."
She was struggling, in vain, to keep her face straight as she spoke the rest. "Almost as distasteful as when pretty girls steal kisses."
Daenerys
Dany colored faintly. "If he leaves early, that will not be the reason, I assure you," she assured her friend with a giggle. "Though...I hope that wasn't inappropriate. You don't...mind?"
Lucrezia
"Yes, we Borgias are quite shy about these things," she laughed. "I suppose I can sleep alone tonight, that my brother does not share the same fate."
Daenerys
Dany bit her lower lip, stifling a laugh. "I don't believe he intends to, and neither do I -- as long as it's not a problem for you. He is your brother. I'd hate to make things awkward for you."
Lucrezia
"I haven't the least objection, my love," Lucrezia promised, with a warm smile. "Cesare has been lonely, of late, pining for his nun, and you have been mourning your sun-and-stars for a very long time. Joy for either of you would be cause to celebrate."
After a moment, in which she weighed how to voice her thoughts, she gently added, "I should hope it leads to joy, and not to heartache. Be careful, the both of you?"
Those were the same concerns she would have with them choosing to spend the night with anyone else, separately; she hoped her friend would not misunderstand.
Daenerys
"Worry not," Dany assured her with a bright smile. "I doubt either of us has intentions so grand as to involve heartache. I don't, at least." She suspected Cesare might be more of a romantic than she was, but she had no hopes of a relationship or marriage to evolve from this; her expectations were much more simple, and befitting the circumstances of different worlds and supposed vows of chastity.
Lucrezia
"He knows of your fate, as well," she said. "One does not presume that an exiled Queen can stay too long; she has a kingdom to reclaim, after all."
Whether Cesare would be that sensible was another matter, but that was hardly Dany's fault.
"Now," she said, drawing herself up. "We ought to find our way to the ball, my love. It would be a shame to deprive it of two such lovely creatures as ourselves."
(OOC: preplayed with the fantastamazing unburnt_queen and whateverknight helping to tackle NPC duty. WARNING for narrative discussion of past domestic / sexual abuse. There is a part 2 coming in a moment Part two is here because the post is apparently way too effing big. Chunks of this taken from episode 2x03, The Beautiful Deception, and episode 2x04, Stray Dogs; the masquerade itself (next post) has bits taken from episode 2x01, The Borgia Bull. NFB, NFI, but OOC is love.)