The Holy See, 1494 [Friday, Fandom time or something]
Cesare
Cesare stood on the balcony, surveying the scene below him. His (adopted) son, newly baptised and welcomed into the church. It had made Lucrezia ecstatic, to see her natural son saved from damnation. And he was heralded with triumph, for dragging the prisoner Savonarola to Rome, while Juan had returned with a liking for opium and dark circles under his eyes.
Cesare was not thrilled at Juan's arrival, but having the return be so ignominious was sweet indeed.
Of course, Savonarola was refusing to confess, and Juan still existed, so Cesare could not say all was sweet. Especially not as his father had introduced yet another suitor for his little sister's hand.
But tonight was not a night to dwell on those difficulties. Tonight was a night to celebrate.
Juan
And tonight was a night to watch the lovely dancers in their diaphanous gowns prance about below them. From this balcony, one had a simply spectacular view down their bodices.
"Beautiful, are they not?" Juan asked his brother with a smirk. "Or does nothing stir beneath those Cardinal's skirts of yours?" He looked at the railing thoughtfully, fantasizing about pushing Cesare over it and regaining all the glory his brother had stolen.
Cesare
Juan took every opportunity to remind Cesare of his hated profession, and to gloat about Juan's undeserved military role. Brotherly love at its finest.
"I prefer my women with a touch more fire," he said, making no secret of the way his eyes lingered on Daenerys.
Oh, right, was he the one bedding the foreign queen? Sorry about that, Juan.
Juan
"Well, those who play with fire end up getting burned," Juan sneered. It was a silly retort and he knew that. "Your queen's land and people exist only in her head," he added. "She is no more royalty than our sister's filthy stud."
Cesare
If Cesare was less of a gentleman, if Daenerys were not a queen, then he might have described exactly how little her stature changed the exquisiteness of her breasts. But he was, and she was, and he doubted she would appreciate being used in such a manner.
Instead, the smile he gave his brother was dripping in condescension. "If you say so," he chuckled.
Juan hated not knowing things, and as Juan was thoroughly stupid, it was a position he found himself in often. Gloating over secret information was certain to upset him.
As for the boy ... Cesare disliked him, though they had yet to meet, but that didn't mean he was going to let the comment pass.
"Been making friends, I see."
Juan
"Oh, not THAT one. He's noble enough, he's just a self-important fool and completely lacking in character and grace." Juan waved in the general direction of Alfonso with his cane. "I meant the stable boy, the father of our oh-so-dear little Juanito. Like him, she is fit only to live in the filth and muck where she belongs. Tell me, are you in on the joke, or have you been taken in as well?"
Cesare
Cesare didn't bother taking that bait, either. Juan was fishing for information, and he wouldn't get it from him. So instead he continued to beam at him, showing himself to be thoroughly amused by Juan's stupidity.
It was the easiest way to rile Juan; to act as though there was a joke he wasn't in on. And in this case, there was.
Finally, he spoke.
"Have I told you yet, how dearly I missed you, my brother?" he asked. "Your sojourn in Spain was a trying time for all."
By which he meant, everything had run smoothly, and their father had not visibly pined for Juan in the least. Which was also true.
Juan
Cesare was laughing at him. It was bad enough that Juan was denied the praise he was due; now he was to be mocked, as well? He was already in a foul mood -- as the opium's effects wore off, the pain stung at his spirit as much as it did his flesh -- and suddenly, everything became clear as day.
He rounded on Cesare, grabbed at his lapels, and shoved the head of his cane in his brother's face. "I see your purpose here," he spat. "Your pathetic, fervent hope. You want to inhabit my shoes! Wear my armor! Carry my sword!" It had been Cesare's wish for all his days, to be the son in armor instead of the one in the cloth. Well, that was Juan's rightful place!
"What you don't realize," he continued, triumphantly, "is that I am the prodigal son, and our father is never wrong! I am the light of his life! You must resign yourself, Cesare -- for you will end your life in a clerical skirt!" And all his pathetic hoping to the contrary disgusted Juan.
Cesare
Juan's words would not have stung so badly if Cesare could dismiss them as lies. But it was true. Juan was the favored son, the spoiled, the indulged. Cesare worked three times as hard and was held to an impossibly high standard; Juan failed at everything and was only given more chances.
Was this how Cain had felt? Had Abel been a wastrel? Cesare's anger surged.
Juan was wrong. Cesare would not end his life in a Cardinal's robes. No matter what it took to free him.
Even if that meant tossing Juan off this balcony. Cesare shoved Juan away as he did the same with the thought. It would destroy the family. And his father, who didn't deserve such consideration.
He turned back to the dancers, unable to delight in their movements. How like Juan, to place him in such a foul mood.
Juan
Juan sniffed angrily, and hobbled away. He'd find someone else to talk to.
Lucrezia
Juanito was tiny, and not up to all of this excitement. He had begun fussing while held close by his grandmother, and Lucrezia had volunteered to take the child to bed.
She could hear the noises of the party still carrying on. They did not disturb her nephew's slumber, and so they did not disturb her, either.
Juanito was saved, and she was betrothed. And this time, to a beautiful boy who seemed clever and sweet. He would never strike her, never subject her to the abuses that Sforza had. They might even care for one another. It was more than she dared hope for.
The day had been full of joy. For now, Lucrezia was content to rock the cradle gently and watch Juanito sleep.
Juan
It was time for Juan to pay his respects to the man of the hour. His namesake, for the love of everything holy. Did Lucrezia delight in shoving her sins in his face?
He hobbled in to the baby's room, and was pleased to see his sister there as well. "So the little bastard finally has a name," he said. "Blessed by our Holy Father and saved from damnation." Clearly, the little shit didn't deserve it.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia had promised herself that she would be civil to Juan, if at all possible. They had not spoken since she had failed to drop a chandelier upon his head; anything short of another attempt on his life, she would say should qualify. But she had told herself that she was going to try for polite, if distant, conversation. This day was too beautiful for Lucrezia to allow Juan to ruin it.
Time had passed, and their father believed Juan had matured. His first words to her in private made that out to be a lie.
No need to watch her tongue, then.
"And you, dear brother," she said scathingly. "Will you be saved from damnation?"
Juan
She thought he would be damned? Him? The only righteous man in this den of sin they called the Vatican? She only thought that because he was the one willing to make the hard choices for their family's future.
"The angels smile on me," he told her, in a tone dripping with irony. He was already damned here on earth, after all.
Without realizing it, he had rested a hand possessively on the bastard's cradle. The baby was his to snatch, any time he liked.
Lucrezia
Instinctively, Lucrezia smacked Juan's hand away.
"Please don't," she snapped.
Juan
"One day you'll realize that everything I've done has been for your own good," Juan sneered, stepping closer to her. "For example, I know you weren't at a convent, dear sister, and when I find out what -- or who -- you WERE doing for all that time, I'll take care of it."
Lucrezia
Who had told Juan? Surely not her mother, and certainly not Cesare. Perhaps it was only a lucky guess.
She ought to shrug the comment away, roll her eyes and laugh. But something else was pushing towards the surface.
"Just like you took care of Paolo," she said, daring him to deny it.
Nothing good could come of this.
Juan
Did she expect him to deny it? What would be the point? No, she needed to hear and understand this before she ruined them all.
"Exactly so," he acknowledged. "I did it for the good of the family. Were it not for our father's affection for your bastard son, I would have tossed that piglet into the Tiber at birth. That's the only baptism it deserves."
Lucrezia
A single tear slipped down her cheek. She had known -- of course she had known. But to hear him say it, so callously, as though he were proud of it --
Paolo. Her Paolo. The only light in that dark nightmare, and Juan had the nerve to brag about his death.
"We are all bastards," she reminded him. All of his pretensions could not change the fact that he, too, was illegitimate. A charge which seemed to bother him intensely. "You, me, our brothers, we are all bastards."
Juan
She dared to compare him, to compare them, with this foul child? His father had been a stable boy, for the love of everything holy. His blood was foul as muck, which the matter of his legitimacy did nothing to fix. "Yes. Perhaps. But we are Borgia bastards. And there, dear Sis, lies the difference." The Borgias were better than everyone else. Period. And that child was not a Borgia.
Lucrezia
Any child of hers was Borgia, indeed. Did he not understand that? Birthed by her, raised by Cesare, nestled in the bosom of their family. He had been baptized Juan Borgia, just as Juan had himself those many years ago.
Was that what was rankling? That they shared a name? It was a common name, within their family; the child had not been named for him, precisely. And it had seemed wrong to name the child Cesare, if she was asking Cesare to pretend the son to be his.
Who could know why Juan took offense to the things that he did? Juanito's father was a stable boy, and their mother was a former courtesan. They had never been nobility.
They were Borgia.
She did not turn to watch him go. The sooner Juan left her room, her view, her thoughts, the better. She did not trust herself, this night.
Juan
They were better than nobility -- they were Borgia. Juan stalked around the room, and stopped over the cradle. "Hello, little piggy," he said, looking into those soft, innocent, disgustingly cheerful eyes. "Time for a little dance, I think."
He picked up Juanito and bounced him soothingly, and then walked out to the balcony before Lucrezia could fully react.
Daenerys
Dany was still slightly nauseous from her encounter with Juan, though she had excused herself to take some air. Now, freshly back entered to act as a proper friend to the happy mother -- father, she supposed -- she was looking around for a familiar, welcome face.
When she spotted Cesare, she immediately moved towards the stairs at a rather quick clip. He should know what was said -- and it would make her feel better.
"I could have used you twenty minutes ago, when your brother -- " she started when she was in hearing distance. It wasn't until she was closer that she noticed how stiff his profile was, and the way he was glaring into the middle distance. "Is everything all right?"
Of course it wasn't. It was just a matter of how not-all-right it was.
Cesare
The hell of it was that Juan was right.
Not about anything that was important, such as his own abilities (he had none) or his charms (also lacking). But his boast that their father loved him more, that he always would, that had rung true.
And worse, the pronouncement that Juan would have control of the papal armies as long as he liked, no matter how competent Cesare proved himself to be, no matter how well he demonstrated that he would be the superior brother to wield arms for the family? That was painfully accurate.
Juan was home from Spain, and their father thought it cause for celebration. Even though Juan was quite clearly growing worse. The opium was making him unhinged, even reckless.
A pity he hadn't grabbed the fool by his neck and tossed him from the balcony. It would have spoiled his son's baptism celebration, but Juanito certainly wouldn't mind. And celebrations were hugely overrated.
Cesare glanced up at Daenerys when she approached, his glower darkening when he heard her words.
"What has my worthless brother done now?"
Daenerys
She reached out to touch his arm, gently. He was already so angry, she debated whether or not to even mention the incident. But she already had, and he'd only imagine the worst if she were evasive.
"Attempted to sweep me off my feet with his charms," Dany said dryly, keeping her tone light. "Did you know I'm evidently bedding the wrong Borgia brother? Juan is far more deserving of...exotic bitches. You didn't tell me your brother was a poet, Cesare." She smiled, to show it didn't really bother her. Except that it did, and she was sure he knew.
Cesare
Cesare grew very still; only the twitch of one muscle in his cheek let on how much rage he was containing.
To call his queen an exotic bitch, and demand her sent to his bed as some sort of tribute?
It was a long minute before he could speak.
"Were he not family, my lady, I would cut his tongue out and make a present of it to you," he said.
That was the crux of the matter. Anyone that insulted Dany in such a crude fashion, Cesare would quite gladly kill. Anyone that threatened the stability of his family, or dared to bring shame upon the name Borgia, Cesare would make short work of. Anyone who stood between something he so deeply coveted -- like the position of Gonfaloniere -- their throat, Cesare would slit.
Anyone except Juan.
Being a Borgia had given him immunity from these consequences. And Juan was making full use of his pass.
Daenerys
"Were he not your and Lucrezia's brother," Dany replied quietly, reaching out to softly touch his hand, "I would do it myself. But not now. It's not worth it, Cesare. Do not let him spoil Juanito's evening." She studied his face quietly for a moment, adding, "He said something to you, too, didn't he?"
It was the easy guess.
Cesare
He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "The usual," he said. "Reminded me that he's the favorite, and that he gets to play general despite being horrible at it. He told me I'll end my life wearing a cleric's skirt."
Daenerys
"Your brother has a gift," Dany said quietly, after a moment. "He finds the easiest bruises and prods them as sharp as he can, I think." She sighed, leaning against the railing of the balcony. "You might die in a cleric's skirt, Cesare, but Juan is going to bleed out his days at the end of someone's blade if he isn't careful."
At this rate, it might be her own.
Cesare
"It's as though he's begging for it," Cesare muttered darkly. "Juan always did have a talent for bringing misery to those around him. His time in Spain seems to have sharpened his abilities."
Cesare was delighted to have his brother back in Rome again. They should celebrate with a party. One that involved throwing knives at Juan's face.
Juan
With Lucrezia wailing and pulling at his arm, Juan carried the offensive little bastard baby out to the railing of the balcony. Below him, the party still ran. People talked, and danced, and ate dessert. Up here, however, it was just him and the baby. It would be so easy to just drop him onto the marble floor below...
Lucrezia
Lucrezia scrambled after Juan, her heart somewhere in her throat. He wasn't -- he wouldn't -- oh, sweet merciful God, what if he did?! Juan was capable of anything.
"Juan you leave my baby alone," she shrieked, clutching desperately at his doublet. She didn't care that she had just called Juanito hers, and loudly, at that. So what if all the revelers knew? She would walk up and down the street proclaiming herself to be a harlot if it would save her nephew. "Juan!"
Juan
Oh, how cute -- she thought he was actually going to kill the little piggy. Here, in their father's house. In front of witnesses. Hadn't he just said that he wasn't going to, because their father was so fond of his grandson?
He hung the baby over the railing. Nothing to see here, just an uncle giving his nephew a better view of his own party, that was all.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia's blood was turning to ice. She could feel it. Juanito's feet were over the edge. If Juan's grasp slipped --
"Juan, you put my baby down," she screamed, yanking back with all of her might on his sleeve. She couldn't reach Juanito. Why couldn't her arms be longer? Why couldn't there be a large net under the balcony?
Why couldn't Juan fall over dead?
Daenerys
Across the way -- there was what seemed to be miles of blank air between them -- Dany let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a shriek and a sob. Juanito dangled in the air, precarious. He was so young, and small, and helpless -- they were all helpless, here, to do anything to stop this madness. A false move might end the child's life.
Her hand blindly sought Cesare's arm, grasping wildly. Her lips moved in whispered prayer, whipping from Dothraki to the Common Tongue in a desperate cry to anyone.
Cesare
"My God," Cesare breathed -- and for once, it was a prayer.
His son's life was quite literally in the hands of a madman. He had not imagined Juan had fallen this far, to openly threaten the child. Publicly.
Clearly, he had underestimated Juan.
Juan
Juan's eyes sought Cesare's, and he held them for a moment. Cesare needed to see this; needed to know. Juan would not hesitate to do whatever he had to in order to maintain the family's honor.
When his point was made, he let Lucrezia take Juanito from him and smiled. See? No harm done.
... But there could have been. He was still holding one of the baby's blankets, and he made a point of balling it up and tossing it carelessly off the balcony.
Cesare
The blanket ... it was a declaration of war. One that Cesare fully intended to answer.
Not just yet. First -- first to see if his child was harmed, to see if Lucrezia needed him. Then, to deal with Juan.
His eyes found Dany's, and he was grateful that she, too, could speak the shorthand that he and Lucrezia employed.
"Go," he said, nodding with his head to where Juan was disappearing down the stairs. He, he needed to be in Lucrezia's chambers, holding his son close and remembering how to breathe.
He did not think to apologize, for not asking or saying please. He was trusting her to follow Juan; that trust lay too deep for such words to have any meaning.
Juan
Out in the courtyard, the dancers that had done their routine for the partiers were dancing still -- only now they were dancing for themselves, circling a fountain in the flickering torchlight and giggling childishly about how they had met the Pope of Rome himself. Juan found himself drawn to them -- or, at least, to how the thin fabric of their dresses was rendered almost transparent when they passed in front of the torches.
As he watched from the shadows, their laughter and bits of conversation turned to how handsome His Holiness was, despite his advanced age, which naturally let to them all swooning over Cesare so cloyingly that Juan could vomit. Eventually, they left off singing Cesare's praises and Juan leaned forward to hear more. Whichever of them spoke most highly of him might find herself honored with his presence tonight.
...But the girls, like the rest of the world, all seemed united against him. "The one with the limp? Ew, no. He's dirty and smells funny."
Juan stepped out of the shadows and cleared his throat, and their giggling reverie stopped abruptly. "Forgive us, My Lord," the least stupid of them said with a curtsy, and they all hurried out of the courtyard.
Except the last one in line. Juan barred her way with his cane and glared at her while her companions made their escape. "Say it again," he demanded.
Dancer
The dancer's jaw dropped. Her companions were fleeing, not sparing the least thought to her -- or if they were, it was very much better her than me.
"P-please, my lord," she managed. "Forgive us. We didn't know --"
Perhaps he only sought a more proper apology. She had a sinking feeling he did not.
Juan
Didn't know that he was listening? So, it would have been appropriate if he HADN'T been there? He pushed the mouthy whore up against a pillar, roughly. "Say it again," he demanded.
Dancer
The girl's heart was racing. The Duke of Gandia was even more sinister up close. Was he going to murder her?
The way he held her against the pillar made her fear that he intended ... to harm her virtue. She began praying fervently as she shook.
"P-please," she said again. "I d-d-d-don't know what you want."
Surely he couldn't be asking her to insult him again? She would only speak kindly of him the rest of her days, if only he would leave her (and her innocence) intact.
Juan
That wasn't going to happen. In fact, Juan very specifically intended for that not to happen. She and her friends had insulted him, and he was going to show her who was in charge here, and who the disgusting wretch.
He held his cane against her throat, and thrust his hips against hers. There were still layers of clothes in the way, but he wanted her to know, to understand what was coming. The pain of his syphilis was dulled by the deep ache of opium withdrawal, and the pleasure intensified by her fear and his dominance. He would have her, and she would learn to submit to her betters.
Daenerys
After the display with Juanito, Dany had wanted to fly to Lucrezia. But Cesare was already there -- she knew he'd seen nothing else but his sister's misery -- and Juan had simply left unscathed.
She could not allow him to escape. Who knew what further havoc he'd wreak unsupervised?
She'd followed his steps, a moment behind, and then -- his voice. The girl's whimpers. The muffled sound of fabric.
No.
She knew it was foolish, but she acted on instinct. Whipping around the corner, Dany hiked up her skirts enough to hurtle herself at Juan. It was as horrifying as she'd thought -- as though she should have afforded him the benefit of the doubt.
"Get off her," she ground out, her voice a raspy command she hardly recognized. She threw all her weight into him, hands stretched out before her in the hopes that she'd at least propel him off his feet -- and away from the girl.
What would happen after that was not, currently, part of her plan.
Juan
Juan toppled over, too surprised to cry out. As he fell, he lashed out angrily with his cane -- at the dancer, at this new she-demon, he didn't care so long as the wood bruised flesh. As he huddled in pain on the flagstones and worked his way back to his feet, he growled like some sort of cornered animal. "You are dead, bitch!"
Dancer
The dancer did not stop to gaze upon her savior, or to think too hard about her good luck. As soon as the Duke's cane was away from her, she ran back towards the safety of the party.
An angel. The Lord God had sent an angel to protect her. Praise God.
Daenerys
"You are disgusting," Dany spat, breathing hard. She took the blow of the cane to her leg, thankful for once that she bore these stupidly heavy skirts here in Rome. It still smarted sharply -- she'd bear a mark from this incident. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl run -- good. She had enough sense to not need to be told. "The very vilest sort of creature to crawl this earth. Oh, what a fool am I, to have rejected your advances -- clearly I've chosen the wrong brother."
She snarled this last, taking small steps backwards. She did not yet know how she would escape, though she didn't anticipate too much difficulty. He was incapacitated, after all.
Occasionally, Dany's arrogance got her into difficulties.
Juan
"Don't you DARE mock me," Juan growled. "You're nothing but a common whore, and I will use you and discard you like the filth you are!" He raised his cane like a club as he stepped closer, threateningly.
Micheletto
From the shadows, a hand shot out, and clasped itself firmly around Juan's neck.
"Do you think this is wise, my lord?" a voice rasped. "There are much easier ways to kill. Such as this spot upon the neck. One press here, and one is dead in a moment."
Micheletto had always had impeccable timing.
Juan
Juan tried to gasp for breath and couldn't. His fingers clutched at the hand on his throat, trying to pull it away with his rapidly waning strength. Finally, he looked Micheletto in the eyes. He was utterly powerless. The assassin had won, for now. He had made his point.
Daenerys
A slow smile spread across Dany's features, and she exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
"Thank you, Micheletto," she said quietly, dropping her imperiousness and allowing warmth and sincerity into the words. She doubted he was acting in her interest out of affection, but she could still have run over and kissed him on his scruffy mouth, all the same, so great was the sudden flood of relief. Fear had not caught up to her until now. With the beast safely netted, it was easy to see how risky she had been.
But it had been worth it. That girl would suffer no worse than nightmares.
"I think I shall go back inside," she said, as calmly as she could. With a cordial nod to Micheletto, she turned to leave with as much composure as she could muster.
She didn't look at Juan. One did not speak to vermin, when it could be helped.
Micheletto
It was only when Daenerys was safely inside that Micheletto released Juan, reaching instinctively for his nearest blade as he did so.
He did not think the man so stupid as to pull a weapon on one who had so easily disarmed him, but Juan had proven himself to be remarkably stupid this evening, so he could not discount the possibility.
It occurred to Micheletto that he could simply slit Juan's throat now, and save his master's family a great deal of trouble. Perhaps it would not be the worst thing, if Juan were foolhardy enough to attack.
Juan
Juan backed off from Micheletto with a disgusted grimace. He had entertained hopes, at one point, of stealing the assassin away from Cesare, but he didn't even care any more. He was a dead man walking, and Juan would spend every last coin he had to hire every other cutthroat in the city, if it meant putting Micheletto in the ground.
Not yet, though. Not now, not tonight. His throat ached. His groin ached. His whole body ached. His soul ached. He needed milk of the poppy, and time away from these hypocrites and villains. With a snort, he turned his back and hobbled out of the courtyard into the streets.
Lucrezia
Juanito was sleeping soundly, unaware of how close he had come to tragedy this night. Lucrezia could not stop smoothing his gown, brushing her fingers over his cheeks --
Juan had tried to kill her baby. Or perhaps Juan had wished to demonstrate that he was perfectly able to kill her baby any time he liked, just to make himself especially disgusting. He hadn't dropped Juanito -- her stomach clenched at even putting words to that thought -- but had he slipped, or loosened his grip, the result would have been the same.
Juanito was Cesare's son now, but he was also the living proof of a love too innocent for Rome. A stable boy who Juan had admitted to killing. As if he had expected a medal for his troubles.
Tears were drying upon her cheeks. She had promised herself she was done with tears, but Juan had ripped them from her. Juan of all people should know how dangerous it was to taunt her.
She would not stand for this.
Cesare's presence by her side should have been calming; she ought to be seeking to reassure him, as it was his son who had just been on the brink. But nothing could soothe her, now. Nothing except Juan's blood upon the ground.
"Poison," she spat, hardly recognizing her own voice. It was dark and waspish, filled with venom she had only imagined lurked in her veins. "Tell me about poison."
He knew these things. His hands were covered in blood. He could show her the way.
Cesare
Cesare had not realized he had a heart left to break. The look on her face had disabused him of that notion.
Yes, his hands were steeped in blood, but hers were clean. Add this charge to Juan's crimes: that he had so thoroughly destroyed what was left of Lucrezia's innocence.
Cesare tried to convince himself that this was only a heated outburst, that she did not really wish information on poison in order to kill their brother. He was not sure he believed it.
"It kills," Cesare said, softly, "with no hope of reprieve."
There would be no mistakes with a change in position, this time. If she poisoned Juan, he would die. Did she understand that?
Lucrezia
She had shared her every secret with Daenerys; she considered her to be more sister than friend. But this ... this she could confide to Cesare alone.
"I would happily kill tonight," she breathed.
If poison would not work, she would smother him with a pillow. She did not imagine she had the necessary strength, to kill with a blade.
Cesare
The answer, then, was yes. Lucrezia knew, and understood, and she was willing to cross that line. She, the innocent, was going to commit the one sin that he feared would place him past forgiveness.
Cesare could not allow that to happen. No matter what the cost.
"And break your father's heart?" he asked.
Juan may be the favored child among the Pope's sons, but he was wrong to say that he was the favorite. Lucrezia was. She always had been. Surely she wouldn't risk losing her father's devotion for this.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia scoffed. "Would that be the consequence?"
So be it. Her heart had been broken a thousand times, and her father had refused her such basic courtesies as a funeral to save Paolo from Hellfire. The Holy Father could learn to live with disappointment, the way he insisted all of his children did.
Cesare
"Indeed," Cesare said. "He loves his errant son, does he not? More than he loves his dutiful one."
More than he loved seeing sense. More than he loved his own self-preservation.
The Holy Father's love for Juan could be the undoing of them all.
Lucrezia
"Then love is blind," Lucrezia spat.
She hadn't felt this dangerous in weeks. Not since she left a candle next to a rope and waited for it to slice her brother clean through. When had she become so filled with rage?
Cesare
"Blind, and deaf, and dumb," Cesare agreed, without any energy for the words. He had decided much the same thing while standing over Ursula's lifeless corpse; that life was cruel, and love was hopeless, and God indifferent to it all.
He had not expected to hear Lucrezia echoing those same sentiments.
Lucrezia
So that was that, then. Love was blind and deaf and dumb. Her brother was intent on destroying everything she loved, and their father would allow it a hundred times before he saw the truth.
The rage was settling, at long last, as she smoothed down Juanito's tiny dress. They would need to find another way to deal with Juan. They would spare the Holy Father's heart. Juanito lived, and slept peacefully. There was yet time for alternatives.
It felt like she was losing part of herself, to let go of the vicious fantasy of revenge. But rage would have only carried her forward so far, and in the cold light of morning, she would have agonized over what her hands had done. Cesare was right.
"No killing, then," she said, softly.
Cesare
At last, Lucrezia had regained her senses. It frightened Cesare just how far into that madness she had been willing to go. He had not been certain that he could talk her back to herself.
Her conclusion was wrong. He had not meant to convince her that there would be no killing. The situation may in fact be that dire.
"Hearts may yet be broken," he said, a hint of desperation seeping into his voice. "But not yours."
Only that her hands would not wield the blade.
They would try to handle this without killing. They would give Juan one last chance.
And if that failed, then he would perform the murder. To save that stain from landing upon her soul.
His soul was blackened already; he could withstand one more blemish. He would do it happily, if it meant sparing Lucrezia the burden.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia's eyes widened as she grasped Cesare's meaning.
Hearts may yet be broken. Their father may yet lose a son, this night. He was only asking that it be his act, and not hers.
She couldn't allow him to do that. And yet ... and yet her hands were weak, and so was her spirit, and she felt an enormous sigh of relief.
If the worst came to pass, Cesare would keep her safe from Juan. Would keep Juanito safe.
That was love; to risk Hellfire that you might spare another person its flames. Never had Lucrezia known such love before. It took her breath away.
She found she could say nothing. Words were a poor substitute for feelings, here. And all that she might say, he already knew.
They were one soul in two bodies. Always.
Daenerys
Dany had stopped in a hallway, once she was inside and away from Juan, to allow herself to breathe again. She'd taken a moment to let her knees go weak, her hand clutched to her mouth as her body reacted to the horror she'd prevented -- and then nearly, by that prevention, inflicted upon herself instead. She needed to think, before charging into these moments, but forethought was not in her blood.
When the moment had passed, and her legs felt strong enough again to continue their walk, she reached up with one sleeve to wipe away the tears she'd shed, out of anger and terror and realization of how closely she'd brushed with death and worse.
She was a mess, but one with her head held high, when she strode over to Cesare and Lucrezia. Her hair was falling out of its now-askew netting, silver streaks against her anger-reddened skin, and the hem of her velvet gown was liberally dirtied. She watched them as she approached, sure she was encroaching on something but equally certain that they needed to be told.
"What," she asked, her voice still slightly wavering though she was trying to keep it steady, "are we doing about your brother?"
Lucrezia
"Dany," Lucrezia gasped, taking in her friend's appearance. "Did -- did someone hurt you?"
She was embracing the khaleesi a moment later, her heart quite certain that the someone in question had been Juan.
Daenerys
"No, I'm unharmed, by the grace of Micheletto," Dany said quietly, wrapping her arms around Lucrezia and allowing herself this moment's comfort. "But I followed Juan, and he attacked one of your dancers. I intervened. She remains as pure as she began this night."
Cesare
Cesare hoped he would remember to thank Micheletto. Had Juan slipped so far as to try ... he could not think of that. His vision went red when he tried.
"The situation has grown untenable," he said, in a low voice. "Our father must be made to see reason. Or --"
But he was unable to finish his sentence, because there was a familiar silhouette in the doorway. One that was giving a long-suffering sigh.
The man himself, the Holy Father, the Pope of Rome.
Good. Better that they have this out now. Cesare braced himself for the inevitable.
[HI I'M HELPING WITH SPAM. It's the amazing holy_daughter's plot, I just play here, and whateverknight has continued to delight me with how much I hate Juan, still. warning for child abuse and an attempted rape in the second half of this.]