The Holy See, 1494: A Baptism, A Betrothal, and a Brother's Return (NFB)
Lucrezia
Lucrezia was quite done with Rome. It was irritating and frustrating and maddening. Daenerys had not yet returned. Cesare had not yet returned. And she could not even manage a simple tryst without scaring off both the would-be lover and the dullard elder brother who had been seeking her hand. As she sailed through the hallways of the Holy See, past Cardinals and soldiers and the most astonishingly beautiful man she had ever seen in her life, she renewed her vow to never remarry. She --
Wait. What?
Lucrezia stopped dead in her tracks, glancing back at the retreating figure of a young man wearing a deep burgundy velvet. He led soldiers behind him. He must be a figure of some importance.
"Stop," she called, and she was gratified to see that he did. As did his entire entourage.
The man -- boy, really, he could scarce be a few years older than herself -- turned, an expression of polite amusement on his face, and Lucrezia's breath caught. He was even more handsome now, when she had a moment to examine his features, then he had been when he had grabbed her attention so forcefully on his way past.
"Who are you?"
Dany was right. She had been aiming far too low.
Alfonso
He stopped, as commanded by the fair young vision who had spoken to him, and smiled slightly. If this Lucrezia Borgia were half as lovely as this woman, he might not mind this task much at all. "I'm Prince Alfonso d'Aragona, Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno," he replied, his grin widening as he faced her, forthright in his declaration.
Lucrezia
Oh, he most certainly was. He was Prince of absolutely anything he should like to be. Such as her bedchamber. Would he like to be Prince of that?
Lucrezia had no idea what business Bisceglie had in the Holy See. In fact, she was unclear on where Bisceglie was, except that it was to the south, near Naples perhaps? Who had imagined that it grew such beautiful men.
No doubt he was meeting with her father, the Pope of Rome. The question was, when? Could she steal him away until that hour? If not for a tryst, then simply to pass an afternoon conversing and staring upon his face.
Dany would laugh at how ridiculous she was being, she was sure of it. And thus she composed herself and decided to act a touch more befitting her station.
"What are you doing here?"
Alfonso
She was nosey. He found he enjoyed that -- demure women were dull. Too many shrank from him in false modesty, cooing at his titles.
They deserved their notice, but he longed for one who'd match his wit. "I'm suitor," Alfonso smirked, "to the Lady Lucrezia, the daughter of His Holiness, Alexander VI, Pope of Rome."
Lucrezia
Her suitor? Lucrezia's world froze for a moment, and then fractured.
The first thought racing through her mind was simple. I accept.
No. How childish, to marry a man for his pretty face. She knew nothing of him.
The second thought was a frustrated wail. Why must this be so difficult? She had hoped to lure away a diplomat, to steal a few hours while playing at being someone else. Someone who might dally with visitors, or at least ensnare their hearts. She would have returned him shortly, and gone back to behaving herself while waiting for the next boring offer to arrive.
"Indeed," was all that she said aloud. "Lucrezia Borgia."
There seemed no easy way to explain that she was the prize he sought. Once she revealed herself, he would slip into easy flattery and polite lies, the same as all her suitors.
Unless ....
"Poor boy," she sighed. Another one of Lucrezia's suitors? He would hardly survive the onslaught. She dragged her eyes over his slim frame, allowing herself to take in every detail. She could drink him in. It would be improper, as Lucrezia Borgia, but --
"Come," she said sharply. "I will take you to her."
As a lady-in-waiting, she could do anything she liked.
Alfonso
He had already been given direction to find his intended lady, but regardless, Alfonso wished nothing more than to follow this one about the Holy See. She must be a lady-in-waiting to this mysterious Lucrezia; that brokered hope. If nothing else, he might always find entertainment if the Pope's daughter was a bore.
He paused a long moment, watching her silhouette ahead of him, and then began to trail after her.
Lucrezia
He was following. He might have stood his ground, and reminded her of his importance, but perhaps he was unaware of it.
No, the way he held his head said that he was thoroughly aware of it. Perhaps he was enjoying this game, then. That was a quite heartening thought.
"So you are suitor to the lady Lucrezia," she announced. "Quite a great responsibility for one so young."
She did not know why it was so easy to tease him, in this manner. When his smile appeared, she felt decidedly pleased. He did not mind their banter, then.
She stopped in the entrance to the courtyard, giving him another appraising eye. It was permitted, for a handmaiden, and it was quite certainly what she wanted to be doing. Why not?
"Take off your cloak."
Alfonso
Alfonso stared in incredulity at the girl who'd led him here, to this courtyard. His brows shot up, but the smile never left his lips.
It was a game. And he did so love to play.
"If I remove my coat," he retorted, "what will you take off in return?"
Lucrezia
Lucrezia flushed as his words hit her. Was he challenging her? His bossiness -- or, more precisely, his refusal to kowtow to her high-handedness -- was making him ever more appealing.
There was something forward and daring to his question. Perhaps this afternoon could be more exciting than she had imagined.
"We will see," she said, trying to look mildly outraged but only landing on amused. She gestured, and was pleased to see him begin to shrug out of his heavy cloak.
"The Lady Lucrezia has a great many suitors," she explained. "Some are wheat, and some are chaff. It falls to me to separate the one from the other."
If he was pushing their game to a new level, so could she. She would answer his challenge with one of her own.
Alfonso
He indulged her with a smile as he stripped off his outer layers, folding them neatly. "I am neither wheat nor chaff," Alfonso informed her, setting the clothes aside as he took a step closer.
"I am Alfonso d'Aragona," he purred, his voice low. "And I am flesh and blood."
He was very good at games. There was suggestion without anything untoward -- he let the dice lie in her hands.
Lucrezia
Oh. Oh, why had she led him to the courtyard? There were all sorts of private bedchambers in this Vatican and they could be in any one of them right now. How was she not supposed to leap forward and capture his lips when he said such things, ones that reached down to tickle her very core?
He was flesh and blood. He would be warm under her fingers ...
She smiled, knowing her cheeks were still pink, and squared her shoulders. She would control this game, and not he.
"Turn around."
Alfonso
Alfonso did, walking in a slow circle. "If it pleases you," he said, languidly glancing at her over his shoulder. From her smirk, he could surmise that it did, and while the game amused him, he could not draw it out forever.
"So," he said, staring at her. "What now? How far does your Lady Lucrezia wish this game to go?"
He dearly wished that the answer led to a bed.
Lucrezia
Could she really take this boy to bed, with no ill consequence? Her last attempt at dessert had failed.
"Oh, there is no limit," Lucrezia said easily. "Just as one would have one's groom break in a new horse, so it is with my lady's lovers and me."
This game was dangerous, and she was sure to get burned in its blaze. The thought didn't scare her as it should. Perhaps befriending a Targaryen had made her unafraid of singed fingertips.
Finally, Lucrezia remembered herself. She could not afford to lose her head. Not now, standing in a courtyard with her own suitor.
"Come," she said, marching away from him with a sweep of her skirts. "You must tell me your titles again. I fear I've forgotten them."
She wore the imperiousness like a cloak. It would protect her from her sudden burst of madness.
Alfonso
"Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno," he said breathlessly, as he trailed after her. He felt his age, for once -- no, he felt younger. He was entranced, and she was scarcely doing anything to him. It was the promise of more to come that kept Alfonso following this mysterious young woman.
Lucrezia
It seemed the perfect moment to fetch a parasol; one felt more genteel with a parasol. It allowed her to place distance between them, which seemed important, as she could not decide if she was vetting a suitor or trying to bed a distraction. She ought to make that decision before she tied herself into knots.
"Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno," she pronounced, carefully. Her brother Joffre was Duke of Squillace, a town which she had never seen. Bisceglie sounded more impressive, though one could not determine such things by name alone.
"What are they like, Bisceglie and Salerno?"
It would be safest to abandon him here while she determined what she wanted. But she was reluctant. Perhaps she simply enjoyed his company, regardless of motive.
Was that more dangerous, or less?
Alfonso
"Beautiful," Alfonso answered eagerly. When had he become eager to please a woman? He was accustomed to being the object of admiration himself. He found himself confessing to her -- her anonymity made his tongue loose. "But for all the world I would rather be here."
Lucrezia
There was a strangely earnest note in his voice. Lucrezia found herself glancing over her shoulder, to where she had left the young man in her wake. She granted him a genuine smile, dropping the coy act for now.
"You find Rome so appealing?" she asked, heartened that he liked her city. She couldn't say why.
Alfonso
"Not Rome," he replied, so hastily that he nearly trod upon her words. "Here."
Lucrezia
Why, why had none of her suitors before been half so charming? Better that they were not. In fact, had Raffaello not proven so dull, she might now be betrothed to Calvino, and not standing here in this courtyard being quite thoroughly swept off her feet. If this was his attempt to prove he could be a romantic, in order to pass the gatekeeper and speak with Lucrezia herself, then he was a rather adept practitioner.
She held his eyes for a moment, and something stirred deep within her. It was not artistry she sensed in him, but something more straightforward. He was not trying his best to seem entrancing -- he was, instead, entranced.
She forced herself to look away, lest she linger in his eyes and drown. This game was dangerous, and not for any of the reasons she had expected.
Words were inadequate; small wonder they failed her now. She handed him the parasol and began walking again.
Alfonso
He followed, barely aware of his own overdone eagerness. The parasol in his hands was meant to shield her from the sun; he would shield her from whatever she wished, and he must prove it now at this moment. Alfonso didn't care how stupid he probably looked.
"When you speak of me to the Lady Lucrezia," he started, hoping beyond hope for the answer, "if your account is favorable -- "
He raced a little, to stop her path. "Can you and I....?"
Lucrezia
His obvious fervor stopped her short. Wait, was he asking to take her as mistress while still wooing the unseen Lucrezia?
He could hardly know they were one and the same. But it did not reflect well on him, she thought, that he was already selecting young ladies to dally with even before they were wed.
Not that she had been seriously considering his proposal, of course. The point of this game was to find his flaws, and here was a decided one.
Therefore, she was relieved. Not disappointed. That was what she was telling herself, at least.
"Never," she said sharply. "You and I must never see each other again. If you are to be hers, then you are to be hers alone."
She hoped that was quite clear enough. Odd that she cared. She would have happily welcomed a mistress for the Lord Sforza; it would have made her nights more tolerable.
She strode away from him quickly, seating herself on the edge of the courtyard fountain. He could follow, if he liked. But she was losing her taste for this game.
Alfonso
Alfonso could not stand this. To be offered such sweetness and have it snatched away -- it was barest cruelty. He followed, sitting near her.
"So, tell her I was inept," he entreated, casting wildly for ideas. "Or coarse, or beyond ugly, and come with me, and be mine alone."
Lucrezia
That ... was not the reaction she had expected. She had hoped he would become more proper, addressing himself to his unseen Lucrezia and not her, the handmaiden who had so recently tried to seduce him.
Lucrezia forgot her role in that moment; she glanced back at the open face of Alfonso d'Aragona and could not remember how to breathe.
Surely he didn't mean ...
"You would turn down the Pope's own daughter for me," she asked, certain that could not be what he had meant. "Why?"
Surely there would be repercussions, for turning down such a lucrative alliance. The power that the Borgias wielded was only growing stronger.
Alfonso
He stared at her, wishing she'd just say yes. He didn't know why -- there wasn't a long answer, or anything he could provide other than the reason he knew, intrinsically, from these moments spent with this extraordinary young creature.
"Because I have never known a woman so lovely," he said, softly.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia's heart was shattering, and the shards were melting into something new. She could not imagine what.
He was in earnest. He would take her away from all of this, if she wished it. Not even knowing who she was.
He had fallen under the spell of a Borgia. It always ended badly, for innocents.
She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly over his cheek. "Poor boy," she breathed.
Before she could stop herself, she had leaned forward, pressing her lips gently against his. They were feather-soft under hers, and when his hand brushed her jaw, she thought she could spend hours doing nothing else but tasting his air.
Alfonso
The kiss was everything he'd hoped for, and yet it made him want her more than ever. It was far from primal lust that made him thirst for her -- this kiss carried the promise of more, and all Alfonso wished was to bury his face in her hair and breathe her in for all his days.
Lucrezia
Reluctantly, Lucrezia pulled away from him. She couldn't stay here. If she stayed here, she would say things she might regret. She would lose herself entirely. She had pretended to be someone else for a few stolen moments; and now, she had to be Lucrezia Borgia once more.
"It's time for me to go," she said, pulling herself upright and leaving the courtyard as quickly as she could manage.
She couldn't resist one last glance over her shoulder. He was watching her go, holding that ridiculous parasol, and --
Perhaps she was Lot's wife, and the glance over her shoulder would be her undoing. Still, she couldn't stop the smile that crept up onto her lips.
And then, she was gone.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia's heart was pounding in her chest. The world was tilting sideways. Was this a second failed attempt at a tryst? No. No, it was the ground opening up and swallowing her. It was ... so much that she wanted, and could not possibly possess, laid out before her. Why? To tempt her? To frighten her?
She had lost her mind. She had lost her moorings. Cesare gone, Daenerys gone, and she had become smitten with one of her suitors.
He was clever, and handsome, and he thought her a handmaiden that he wished to make a mistress. Everything was wrong. Or was it? Why was this panic scrabbling at her chest?
She walked purposefully away from the courtyard, hardly seeing any of the people she walked past. It was fortunate she did not bump into them. Was she going to leave him there? She could hardly go back ...
Daenerys
Dany was sore from her ride from Florence -- it had been too long since she'd sat astride a horse for so long. Her khalasar would be ashamed of her. But she was crossing the courtyard to where she shared rooms with Lucrezia, hoping to find her friend and tell her of their triumph. Her hair carried the scent of fire, and she felt she must still glow with pleasure. Cesare had left her with a kiss at the gates, off to inform his father of their victory. She was on a cloud.
However, she was not so far gone as to miss her target when it was hurtling towards her. "Lucrezia!" she burst out, grinning at the sight of her friend. It took but a moment to notice her distraction, and then her smile faded. "Lucrezia?"
Lucrezia
Today was a day for visions, then; first the mysterious Prince, and now her dearest friend in the world, returned to her.
That was childish. This was no vision. This was Daenerys herself, returned from Florence at last. And so Lucrezia spared only a moment to gape before wrapping her arms around the other girl.
"You've returned," she said. "Are you well? Is Cesare safe? Has the Friar been silenced? Why does your hair smell like smoke?"
She released her friend with a nervous smile. "We must walk away quickly," she said. "I left a boy in the courtyard and he may have followed."
In her agitation, it all seemed perfectly logical.
Daenerys
And that declaration trumped everything else, as far as Dany was concerned. "A boy?" she asked eagerly, peering over Lucrezia's shoulder. "Another suitor? Better than that wretched Calvino boy I left you with, I hope."
She'd answer Lucrezia's questions in a moment. For now she was going onto her toes to try to spy this mystery man.
Lucrezia
"In there," Lucrezia said, nodding towards the courtyard. "I lied and said I was a lady-in-waiting. Go and tell him you're Lucrezia Borgia and that he should leave."
Except she didn't want him to leave.
"Or -- tell him that you're Lucrezia Borgia and he should go and wait for my father somewhere and that he's very nice but he should leave."
Wait. She wasn't making any sense.
Daenerys
"Wait, why?" Dany asked, turning her attention back to her friend. "Is he terrible, too? Did you leave him in tears?"
Forgive her if she sounded hopeful. That might prove to be amusing.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia frowned at her friend, her own mind in too much chaos for her to keep up with her friend's thoughts.
"No, he's wonderful," she said, unable to stop herself from spilling out her true thoughts. "Witty and kind and the most beautiful man I have yet seen, and he wishes to run away with me. He would turn down the Pope's daughter for me; he offered and I fled. The poor boy."
He deserved better than this mess. This chaos of Borgia.
Daenerys
Dany stopped looking for the boy, her eyes searching Lucrezia's face instead. "What?" she breathed. It was more than they'd ever hoped for -- a husband to, quite possibly, love, instead of merely tolerate. "He -- Lucrezia, why did you leave him?"
Lucrezia
"Because I kissed him," Lucrezia said, honestly. "And I feared I should not stop kissing him. Dany, you must go and see him, at least to look upon him. Tell me that I haven't made another Raffaello into a dream. You were right last time, but I've aimed considerably higher. If I can trust my judgment this time."
She had thought Raffaello to be handsome. How blind she had been.
Daenerys
"I will," she assured her, because she had to see this young man for herself. Perhaps he was some sort of wizard -- magic seemed a likely explanation at the moment. "How will I know him, my love?"
Lucrezia
He was Alfonso d'Aragona; how could anyone not know him?
That was singularly unhelpful.
"Short, of Neopolitan coloring; curled hair, wine-colored garments, and holding an enormous parasol," she said.
She omitted that he was breathtaking; that was what Dany was seeking to evaluate.
Daenerys
"I will find him," Dany promised, reaching out to give Lucrezia another quick squeeze. "Let us meet in your rooms in a quarter of an hour. I will peek at your new love, and grant my assessment then."
And perhaps explain why she still smelled of smoke. She had forgotten Florence; Lucrezia's happiness was paramount.
With this pronouncement, Dany strode off, her mind racing as she looked around and tried to discern what a parasol might be.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia seized the opportunity to fly; back to her room, to see how Juanito was faring in her absence, and to splash cold water against her face.
Why was she so shaken? Daenerys seemed surprised, and she could hardly wonder at that. Here was a most agreeable suitor, and she had abandoned him in a courtyard with her parasol.
She tried to collect her thoughts, but only found herself thinking of how soft his lips had been.
Daenerys
It didn't take Dany long to find the young man in question -- he was obviously the lost-looking one clutching the great white shade. (Parasol. What an odd word.) Dany peered around a wall at him as he obviously searched passing faces for someone, and ducked away when she thought he might have spotted her.
His face was exquisite. He was young. Not atrociously so, but -- their age. Even she hadn't been granted that luxury often. Drogo was thirty when they'd wed, and Cesare had to be at least a half-dozen years her senior. She felt a pang of rememberance of Chuck, before her heart leapt with joy for Lucrezia. This Alfonso was handsome, could prove to be a friend rather than a strange old man in her friend's bed, and he looked as lovelorn as any she'd ever seen.
When she burst into Lucrezia's room, out of breath, she shut the door behind herself and leaned back against it. "Seven hells," she said, grinning at her friend.
Lucrezia
Despite her nerves, Lucrezia felt an answering smile leap to her own face.
"So you approve?" she laughed. "You said I ought to aim higher, and I believe I've done well in that regard."
Raffaello had not even kissed well.
Daenerys
"He was still looking for you," Dany said brightly, going over to clutch her friend's hands in her own. "He looked like a lost little lamb. A magnificent little lamb. Mmm. Your aim has much improved, Lucrezia. I approve heartily. Whyever did you run? Why am I here in your room, and not he?"
Lucrezia
The blush that covered Lucrezia's cheeks had less to do with Dany's words and more how close she had come to doing that very thing: bringing Alfonso to her room for an afternoon tryst.
"I ... I don't know," she said. "He was practically a poet. It frightened me. It isn't ..."
What? She couldn't say for sure. The only word which came to mind was safe, and she wasn't sure what she meant by that, either.
Daenerys
"He is everything we wished and prayed for, my love," Dany said, more gently. "I could not have designed a better husband for you. He's young. He has not had time to even begin to imagine cruelty. And he's so handsome!"
She did not understand why Lucrezia was afraid. This was the greatest windfall she could imagine.
Lucrezia
"I know," Lucrezia said. "I know."
She covered her face with her hands.
"It's too much," she said, finally. "There must be something horrible wrong with him, or he'll turn cruel and cold over the years, or -- isn't it easier to marry where one feels nothing? To take love as a temporary measure and --"
He was ideal. That was the very problem.
Daenerys
Dany was already shaking her head, reaching out to hold her friend by the shoulders. "Lucrezia. No. Do not throw away what you've been hoping for because he's...too good. Is there any such thing? He is wonderful, and by my sights, quite enamored of you. Do not break this poor boy's heart -- and your own -- out of fear."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia was nodding, and trying to calm the storm settled in her stomach.
"He is too innocent," was all she said, at last. "When innocents care for Borgias ... someone ends up hurt."
She didn't want it to be him. Odd that she cared so much, after one short meeting. But there was something beautiful and fragile to his soul that she wished to protect.
Daenerys
"He might not be as innocent as you imagine," Dany pointed out quietly. "Some of us who care for Borgias can put on a pretty facade. Give him a chance. He is too lovely not to."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia closed her eyes, wondering if the beauty of Alfonso's face concealed a mind that could understand the machinations of Rome.
"I could help him," she said, hesitantly. "If he is a Prince, then he will need cleverness to survive."
One could do worse than having a Borgia as one's chief advisor.
Daenerys
Dany smiled, nodding encouragingly. "I would not be close to fit to rule without you, my love," she pointed out. "This prince may well need your help, too. You are not the personification of corruption, Lucrezia. Your mind is sharp, and you deserve a husband that beautiful."
Lucrezia
"You will be an excellent khaleesi, my love, and I have little to do with that," she said, smiling and feeling more like herself. "So ... I should accept his suit? Papa will be thrilled that I have stopped toying with gentlemen."
It had been fun, to make them jump through hoops, but she had known that it was unsustainable, as a pastime.
"And you were right about Raffaello," she said, shuddering slightly at his name. "Not worth the effort to try."
Daenerys
Dany's smile fell, replaced by a wince. "Did something disastrous occur in my absence?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "I did regret having to leave you with those horrifically dull boys."
Lucrezia
"Only regrettable," Lucrezia laughed, easily. "And it didn't quite happen. You were right, about what an unfulfilling conquest the painter might prove to be."
And with that, she launched into the full story of her failed tryst, much to her dear friend's amusement.
The afternoon was theirs; they had much to talk about. Somehow, with Dany there, Lucrezia felt that everything might be all right, after all.
Lucrezia
Matters of matrimony would have to wait; the next day was set aside for a much larger celebration. The Holy Father had finally agreed to baptise Juan and accept him into the Holy Mother Church. Lucrezia suspected that Giulia Farnese had wielded her influence to allow that to happen, and reminded herself to thank the Pope's mistress at the next opportunity.
The day was sunny and clear, and not even Juan's arrival -- fresh from Spain, summoned home for the occasion -- could spoil Lucrezia's mood. The Holy Father was frustratingly coy on whether Juan was visiting or staying, permanently; Lucrezia imagined that meant he was back for good.
She would not let Juan distract her. Her nephew was saved from Purgatory, and -- and she would see Alfonso, tonight, at the dance. Not even Juan could ruin that.
Pope Alexander VI
Pope Alexander VI stood with his daughter's newest suitor and beckoned her over to be introduced to him. Alfonso d'Aragona had arrived and not changed his mind yet, and perhaps this informal greeting would induce her to be more... pleasant with him than with some of the others. She seemed to positively delight in being rude to worthy young men. Heavens knew what she'd done to scare off the last one.
Of course, she was pretending not to notice him, now. He gave the young prince an apologetic grimace and called Lucrezia's name. If his daughter would just COME OVER, they could get on with the business of badgering her into marrying this boy.
Alfonso
Alfonso was not pleased with being kept waiting for this Lucrezia, considering that his mind was far away on a lady-in-waiting, still. He rocked on his heels, glancing around the room for one who might look like she bore that name -- though, truly, he was vainly seeking the young vision he'd met earlier.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia could only pretend to not hear her father for so long. A look of studied innocence on her features, she glanced up. Oh! Oh, did he want her, then?
She sailed over to the Holy Father, a ship gliding through the tranquil waters of this festival. She did not glance over at the handsome boy by his side, though just the shape of him was causing her heart to beat fast once more.
"Holy Father," she said, bowing respectfully and placing her lips against his papal ring.
Only then did she allow herself to straighten, and turn to face her suitor. She raised an eyebrow, as if uncertain who this creature might be. Careful, polite interest.
Only her hands shook, and those, she folded before her.
Pope Alexander VI
"Lucrezia, dearest," the Pope greeted her. "How lovely for you to grace us with your presence, at last." He gestured grandly at the young man beside him. "I present to you Alfonso d'Aragona, Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno. He has many, many fine qualities, and wishes to make your acquaintance."
He punctuated the introduction with a glare at his daughter that carried a strong admonishment to be nice to this one.
Alfonso
Alfonso stared. Surely there was some mistake -- this was the girl who'd left him in the courtyard! This was the one he'd hoped he might illicitly love, who would make his days in Rome bearable. But His Holiness greeted her as daughter and --
He'd been so good at playing games, and now his match had found him. Alfonso was left dumb, his mind a jumble as he stared at Lucrezia incredulously.
Lucrezia
"Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno," Lucrezia said, pronouncing each carefully, and quite enjoying the look of consternation upon his face.
He didn't seem upset. In fact, he looked as though he was smiling.
Maybe Dany was right. She usually was.
Lucrezia offered a hand. "I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance."
Alfonso
Alfonso managed to find that he could still use his hands. He reached out to take hers, loosely, and forgot himself still further. "I -- " he stuttered, looking back to the Holy Father and then his...daughter. Lucrezia. This was Lucrezia Borgia.
Life had never seemed so bright. He was blind.
He managed to bend and kiss her hand -- his bow was reflexive. But as he rose, he found he still lacked words. His mouth formed sounds, but they refused to coalesce into anything coherent.
Lucrezia
That was quite possibly the most charming act she had ever witnessed. He was so blindsided by the revelation that he was failing, utterly, to even greet her.
"Yes?" she asked, unable to keep from laughing at his display. It was giddy, and not mean-spirited, though she would quite certainly tease him about this later.
She turned to her father, raising an eyebrow archly. "Does he just make noises?"
Pope Alexander VI
"He can speak," the Pope informed his daughter dryly. "It must be your beauty that has disarmed him of it."
Lucrezia
Dany would rebuke her for being needlessly cruel. All of her hesitations were still there, and real, but she was going to take a leap of faith.
Good came to everyone. Even Borgias.
"My answer is yes," she said, her voice steady. "I will marry him. He has all the sweetness of an apple on the tree."
She turned back to her would-be-fiance, and wondered if he knew how frightened she was. She wondered if she could be brave enough to tell him. Perhaps they could forge a path together, of honesty and trust. It sounded like a wonderful adventure.
"You may kiss me," she said, but she found she couldn't resist one last moment of playfulness. She turned her face away with a laugh. "On the cheek."
Lest he get ideas. Obviously.
Alfonso
He obliged, smiling into the kisses he pressed to either one of her lovely cheeks. He amused her -- good. He'd be happy to spend the rest of their lives amusing her, if every day were as privileged as this one.
Pope Alexander VI
It was Alexander's turn to be dumbfounded, now. After all the trouble she'd caused, she said yes to this one after seeing him once, for a few moments?
Well, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I... well, good, then," he stammered. "Good! A celebration is in order, to formally announce your betrothal! ...Another one, in a few days, I mean. This celebration is for my grandson."
Juan
Juan was in a bad mood. He was the most loyal and honorable and worthy of all the Pope's children, and yet the Good Lord, in His wisdom, continued to shit all over him.
After doing away with the commoner who could have dragged his sister's name into the gutter, he'd been banished instead of thanked. He'd been married to a beautiful Spanish princessa, cousin to Queen Isabella, and he now had wealth and power and status that hadn't come from his father. But his wife was a frigid bitch, and wealth and status were pointless without someone to show them off to. Some dirty streetwalker had cursed him with syphilis, and he was now in constant agony that only the Moors' "milk of the poppy" could ease.
And now, he'd been invited back home to see his family, only to have his triumphant return upstaged by this mockery of a sacrament. For the commoner's bastard to be baptized was bad enough, but in public? And celebrated?! Juan would just be glad when this travesty was over and he could return to his palace in Spain.
To make matters worse, he spotted his mother in the crowd. Didn't she have the common sense and decency to stay away from this mess? Her presence would only serve to remind everyone that the Pope's children were bastards as well. He came up beside her while the crowd's attention was focused on his father, and spoke softly in her ear. "Why wait so long to bless this bastard, eh?" he chided.
Vannozza
Vannozza reflected it was probably very sad for a mother to be repulsed by her own child. But Juan had chosen to make life and familial relations difficult, not she.
She would not aid him in crushing Lucrezia's happiness, no matter how he tried to detract with ill-suited comments. "You're a bastard yourself, Juan Borgia."
Juan
Did she have to remind him? The accident of his birth -- and his mother's sin -- would stay with him always. It wasn't HIS fault, it was hers. Did she really want to call attention to it? On top of that, she was acting as if she knew more than he did about the whole mess. "Thanks to you, Holy Mother," he replied, a little mockingly.
Vannozza
Of course. That was how his thoughts now lie: that her affair with their father had been her fault. How cruel of her to not be a noblewoman and deny him royal blood.
Never mind that the Pope of Rome couldn't marry, and any child of his was, by necessity, a bastard. Yet Juan was equally outraged by both the idea of being a bastard, and the suggestion that he was her husband's legitimate son, and no bastard at all.
She was not going to allow Juan's tantrum to ruin her mood.
"Take care not to stand too close," she said easily. "God knows what might rub off."
Juan
Was she mocking him? She may be his mother, but she was a courtesan, and she did not stand and mock the Duke of Gandia. He was the son of the Pope of Rome, not some boy she could send to bed without his supper.
"God knows why you're even here," he retaliated. "My father discarded you long ago."
Vannozza
Vannozza flinched. That one had hurt; had been designed specifically to pierce her at her most vulnerable.
However. She was Vannozza dei Cattanei, mother to Borgias and once beloved of the Pope. She was not going to fall into hysterics at the mere reminder of her current state.
"What happened to you, Juan?" she asked, allowing all of her unmotherly revulsion to color her tone. "You used to be such a lovely child."
She didn't wait for the implication to set in. She would waste no more of this night by Juan's side, listening to his remarks. Not when she had a grandchild upon whom she might dote.
Juan
Juan scoffed. Was she implying he was no longer lovely? That he was still a child? Regardless, his own mother (who was far beneath him in rank and status) wanted nothing to do with him. That was in how low of a regard he was held. Fine, he'd find someone else to talk to who would be more welcoming.
Juan
So this was Alfonso d'Whatever, Duke of I Think My Dick's So Much Bigger Than Yours, Prince of Everybody Pay Attention To Me. Juan didn't wait for formal introductions; he just approached the child and sized him up critically. "Thought you'd be taller," he snorted.
Alfonso
Alfonso raised a brow at the young man who'd decided to approach him for...no reason that he could discern. People never spoke to him this way -- unless they were pretty girls. Those were, occasionally, allowed, for obvious reasons.
He knew who this was, of course, but still took a moment to look puzzled -- why should he, Prince Alfonso d'Aragona, know this rude underling on sight? Even if he was the brother of his intended.
"Thought you'd be better-looking," he noted evenly. "It must not run entirely through your family."
Juan
"And so well-mannered, too," Juan scoffed. "Is that how you greet the Gonfaloniere, my dear boy? What makes you think you're worthy to join with the Borgias?"
And what gave him the right to, like the bastard Juanito, take all the praise and admiration that should be due Juan right now?
Alfonso
"I am Alfonso d'Aragona," he replied, lifting his chin. "Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno, and I believe it is you, sir, who forget your place. I will forgive it in light of my affection for your sister."
He was generous.
Juan
"I am the son of the Pope and cousin by marriage to Queen Isabella!" Juan declared. "Your titles don't impress me, boy. YOU don't impress me. I asked you a question -- what makes you think you're good enough for my sister?" He tried to look imposing and scary, but wavered a little and leaned heavily on his cane.
Alfonso
He just watched that movement, one heavy brow lifting skeptically at this supposed show of machismo.
"The fact that she chose me," Alfonso replied, completely unapologetic. "As did His Holiness. Is the Pope's approval not enough for you?"
Juan
"My father cares only for the size of your armies and your coffers," Juan answered dismissively. "And my sister, for your pretty face and the size of... other things. I am asking you instead about your honor, your character, your worthiness." If he had been consulted, she would have never been matched with Giovanni Sforza.
"After all, we are Borgia, and you are not."
Alfonso
"If you don't care for my titles, why should I care for your family name?" Alfonso wondered idly. This was fun -- he was still rather excited after the revelation of his true bride earlier. Toying with her brother seemed as excellent an outlet as any.
Juan
"Because if you don't, I will MAKE you care, at the point of my sword," Juan growled. "I want only what is best for my sister."
Alfonso
"I can tell," Alfonso replied, nodding. "I think your sister is pleased enough with my honor. Rest assured. And, again, we have the blessing of the Pope of Rome himself. Your concern is, however, noted."
Juan
Juan snorted. "'Your concern is noted'," he mocked. "Fine. Be that way." This arrogant, idiotic boy was obviously NOT worthy, but no one ever followed his advice. There'd be plenty of time to murder him after the wedding, once his wealth belonged to Rome.
He started limping away, and then turned back to sneer at Alfonso over his shoulder. If he was to be stuck with this jerk, he could at least rattle him. "If you marry her, you had better guard your bed," he warned. "You may find Cesare already there."
Juan
"Well, hello, there," Juan greeted Lucrezia's friend with a smooth smile. "Aren't you a pretty little thing!"
Sure, his member was in open revolt against him, and it had been weeks since he'd felt well enough to patronize a brothel, but for someone so exquisitely beautiful he was determined to make the effort. Besides, the rumor was that Cesare had had her, and he couldn't let something like that stand.
Daenerys
Dany could not react as she wished; she was still a woman, and still a guest in this home. She would, for the moment, be polite.
"Thank you," she said, offering a tight smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face, my lord. Your siblings have told me so much about you."
Such as how he had murdered her best friend's love, and didn't deserve to command an army. Simple conversation topics.
Juan
"Only good things, I hope," Juan answered with a smile. "The rest are slanderous lies. I, on the other hand, have heard next to nothing about you. Aside from stories of your beauty, of course, which could not possibly do you justice."
Also, that she was pretending to be queen of a country that didn't actually exist, and something about make-believe dragons. But he didn't care about that at the moment, because he wanted to bed her.
Daenerys
"None of us, my lord," Dany said, in a tone that might have been flirtatious with anyone else, "is made up only of good things and slander. And as for me -- there isn't much to tell that you haven't heard, obviously. My pretty face is all you need concern yourself with, isn't it?"
To be fair, Targaryen beauty was quite literally the stuff of legends. But she still resented his attentions, and had begun to subtly glance around for Cesare.
Juan
"Of course not, your Highness," Juan told her, with a glance down and back up. "The rest of you is just as pretty as your face -- if not prettier. And I would love to hear more about you, and get to know you better. Perhaps over dessert?"
Daenerys
Dany winced, then tried to pass it off as regret. "I'm afraid I must decline," she said, as apologetically as she could manage. "My company has been spoken for." It wasn't as though her association with Cesare was a secret -- there was absolutely no chance Juan did not know, and it turned her stomach to be pursued in light of such. "But thank you for your attention."
It was as polite as she could be without gagging.
Juan
Juan leaned close to her suddenly, and his eyes blazed angrily. "And what does Cesare have that I do not?!" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "I am more important, wealthier, and better-looking! I am our father's favorite! I am more deserving of exotic bitches! You will come to bed with me, or I will tell everyone your secret!"
Daenerys
Dany reeled back, suppressing every urge to strike him outright. She refused to cause a scene unless it was absolutely necessary. "What secret?" she hissed, dropping every coquettish pretense. "You only just met me, you disgusting fool. Spread whatever vile lies you like. I would sooner welcome Savonarola himself into my bed than you."
She narrowed her eyes, and added, "And as for what your brother has that you lack? He has never had to threaten me."
Juan
"There IS no Westeros," Juan hissed. "No Seven Kingdoms, and no Dothraki! I have checked every map and chart in the Vatican. You may have fooled everyone else, but I am smarter than them: you are queen of nowhere!"
Daenerys
"Your mind is so small," Dany said, almost pityingly. "Can you not conceive of a world not on your maps? I thought this was an age of exploration." She shook her head, disgusted she was even arguing the point. "I suppose you'll insist my dragons are not real, either -- despite the fact that your father himself has pet them, and they were presented before the entire Curia. And if you do not leave me be and cease your threats upon my person and my name, your acquaintance with them will not be so gentle."
Juan
"Sure, there are lands not on our maps," Juan answered, rolling his eyes. "And they are populated by brown-skinned, ignorant savages who cannot speak a word of Italian. I don't know where you're really from, but trust me, I will find out. And if you dare send your overgrown lizards after me, they will taste my steel and perish!"
He turned his back on her angrily and stalked off.
(Part 3 of No End In Sight. Once more huge amounts of love to unburnt_queen -- who took Alfonso duty here -- and whateverknight -- who has been Juan and Pope-ing it up. NFI, NFB, OOC is love.)