The Holy See, 1494: A Betrothal Party, Secrets Shared, A Pope Grieves, Tragedy Strikes
Lucrezia
It was beautiful, and so simply done. Cesare stood, holding out her hand, and summoned Alfonso to join them. He placed her hand with Alfonso's, and sealed them together; the crowd applauded, and Cesare let go, stepping back that all might see the newly formed bond.
Alfonso's hand was warm in her own, and he gave her a devastating smile as the music started.
As he whisked her away, her heart sang. Alfonso was hers, and she was his. They would be married soon. Not even her father's absence could ruin this moment; not with the sheer joy that was bubbling forth from her.
Dany
Dany watched the two with a beatific smile, unable to suppress it. This was what wedded bliss-to-be looked like. As much as she'd loved her sun-and-stars and wouldn't trade their life for anything (save having him back), a part of her envied Lucrezia's lightness, their joy -- she should have spent a part of her youth weightless in a man's arms as he sailed her around a feast like this, and if things had been different, she would have.
This was no time for misplaced envy, though -- she let her eye catch her friend's, and Dany sent a silent prayer for their happiness up to all the gods that might still listen.
Vannozza dei Cattanei
There was nothing here for Vannozza to question. She had decades of experience in reading expressions, and when she watched the young man intended for her daughter, she saw nothing but sheer, real adoration. He would make her happy.
She wouldn't need to seek comfort outside her marriage; her Lucrezia had found a way to have as much sweetness as she wanted available at her fingertips. She would be happy.
It was all a mother could want for her child.
Cesare
Cesare watched the dance with a decided frown.
This husband was but a boy. He smiled too eagerly, and he carried himself too proudly.
Cesare wished that he could be happy for Lucrezia, but something about this Prince was utterly distasteful to him. More so when Lucrezia beamed at him as though he were the sun, deigning to shine down upon her.
He would smile, and dance, and congratulate his sister, but he could not say he was pleased.
Lucrezia
Cesare had insisted on stealing Lucrezia away for the next dance, though she could hardly claim it theft, when she went so willingly.
"I have missed this," she said, easily, as they fell into step next to one another. His arm was reassuring around her waist as she twirled. "Why do we not dance more often, my love?"
Cesare
"I believe you mean to marry, my love," Cesare teased, gently. "And then your dances will be claimed by your husband, and I shall have no beauty to fill these arms."
There was a bittersweet note underlying the lightness of his voice. She would be leaving again. At least this time, he would not surrender her to a brute. That was hardly the comfort he had hoped it would be.
Lucrezia
"Surely no husband could be so cruel," Lucrezia laughed. "There will always be dances for my Cesare, husband or no. I would like to see the man who tried to prevent that."
There, that was easily settled; if only all her familial disputes were so readily resolved.
Her eyes flitted around the crowd once more, as if he might have appeared in the last ten seconds. But the imposing figure did not present himself.
"I see that the Holy Father will not be joining us," she said, her voice taking on a decidedly sharper edge.
He was the one to insist that she marry. He could at least appear and wave when showing off his handiwork to that end.
Cesare
"His Holy Father has many important matters of state to neglect," Cesare said darkly. "Surely one cannot expect him to stop brooding long enough to raise a glass to his daughter's happiness."
They finished the turn and he lifted her hand up, allowing her to spin under his arm. No. He could not lie to her.
"I fear his absence here is partly of my doing," he admitted. "And for that, my love, I am indeed sorry."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia considered that for a moment before shaking her head.
"I don't understand," she said, finally. "Did something happen, when you spoke with him? Surely you are not still blaming yourself for ... for sins past."
If killing Juan could be seen as a sin. She herself viewed it as more of a necessity.
Cesare
"Not blaming, perhaps, but being blamed," Cesare said uneasily. "The Holy Father had every intent of absenting himself this night, so I suppose the fault does not lie only with me. But I felt it was time for Our Father to understand the truth about the illusion he mourns."
Who Juan was, and not who the Holy Father had seen him to be.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia stilled, then remembered herself. They ought to keep dancing, to keep the pretense of frivolity despite their serious conversation.
"You told him," she said. Why?
Cesare
"I made a full and clear confession to His Holiness, The Pope," Cesare said.
If she expected him to apologize, she would be left wanting. But Lucrezia knew him too well for that. They were two sides of the same soul. Always.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia sought no apology; she was struggling only to understand. "I cannot imagine that will improve the situation, my love," she said.
The Pope was already angry at their ingratitude, their lack of mourning for the departed Juan. To admit to causing his death ...
Though Lucrezia wondered idly if he did not, on some level, suspect. If that was not perhaps behind his rage.
Cesare
"It could scarce become worse," Cesare replied, though he knew full well that saying such a thing was tempting Fate.
Well, so be it.
"He has been frozen like this for the weeks that you were gone, Sis. He hardly eats. He mourns Juan and he wails to the heavens. Perhaps it is time that he sees reality for what it is."
Lucrezia
"He may never see reality, where Juan is concerned," Lucrezia said, softening.
Perhaps the murder had eaten away at Cesare. Perhaps he had sought their father's forgiveness, not just the Holy Father's absolution.
It must be a terrible thing indeed, to murder one's own kin. And to have their father mourn as though Juan were a saint, and not a rabid dog whose very actions had threatened all they held dear.
On impulse, she pressed her lips against Cesare's cheek.
"Father may light all the candles he wishes," she said. "I would trade a hundred Fathers that I might share this evening with you, instead."
Dany
Dany wanted, more than anything, to be happy for Lucrezia. The way her friend glowed in the arms of this prince was unlike anything she'd seen -- a breath of fresh air. And for Dany, who had watched this summer as Lucrezia began to deteriorate into something dark and twisted, it was a twinkle of hope that her future would be much less bleak than her birthright might have indicated. This marriage would not be like her last.
But now, as she watched her two beloved Borgias dance, a twinge of worry niggled at the back of her mind. She dismissed it -- nothing more than the residual anxiety of travel, and memories of her own betrothal. In the days preceding her marriage to Drogo, Viserys had taken a deeper interest in her than ever before. Even as a child of thirteen, she'd understood that possessiveness -- she would belong to another man, and never him again.
She was terrified she saw it in Cesare now.
No, it was not the same primal, cornered hunger that had haunted Viserys, and it never would be. Cesare, she knew, would cut off his own hands before striking his sister as her own brother had. But as she watched them dance, there was a closeness to them, a oneness. A possession. He would not let her go lightly, or easily.
Or, Dany reasoned with herself, it may just be her own memories coloring a rare happy Borgia future.
Alfonso
Prince Alfonso d'Aragona was also watching his beloved dance, and not with the delight that he expected that sight to bring him.
There was something in the way she spun in her brother's arms. There was something not appropriate to how very closely he held her. The night Lucrezia had sought to break their engagement, she had sworn there was no one else in her heart. And Alfonso had believed her.
He had not mentioned to her the very dark rumors he had heard, concerning the supposed paternity of her child. Some things were not proper to speak of, to one's intended.
The frown deepened as he watched the two together, oblivious to everything but the dance. Did she laugh quite so easily with him?
Odd that he felt a stirring of jealousy, upon seeing her dance with her brother. It sickened him to feel mistrustful of Lucrezia. Or to imagine there being a grain of truth in what he had dismissed as lies.
Standing near him was a friend to whom he owed a favor -- Queen Daenerys. She had pushed Lucrezia not to reject his suit, and he had never properly expressed his gratitude. And she, too, was eyeing the couple with what appeared to be concern.
"This is a happy occasion," he said, from over her shoulder. "One might ask why it is you do not smile."
Dany
Dany turned slightly at the voice, smiling as she saw its owner. His observation, however, was why it faded. "Worries and concerns of my own past deeds," she said, shaking her head. "I confess you find me lost in thought, Your Highness." Her eyes tracked Cesare and Lucrezia again, and she added, "You make a beautiful couple, you know."
Alfonso
"I would not dream of intruding upon your thoughts, Your Majesty," Alfonso said, bowing his head slightly. "You must forgive me my interruption."
His eyes followed the two Borgia siblings, as well. "Do we, indeed?" he asked gently. "I wonder if any can dance quite so well as those two now before us. He seems to know her every move before she makes it."
They did indeed have the considerable grace of long-standing partners, ones who had danced many a time before.
Should Her Majesty wish to see any hidden meaning to that remark, she was free to do so.
Dany
Dany slanted a look at him, wondering where his mind might be going with such a remark. She herself had noted the same thing, and she offered a mild, "Cesare has the benefit of knowing your beloved since her very birth. They were partners before either of us were but a glimmer in their thoughts."
And as she heard herself say it aloud, Dany understood, and shifted a little closer to Alfonso -- nothing untoward, but it would not do for all the public to hear her. "It is not a competition," she said, quietly. "One's betrothed should never feel to be in a race with one's brother. They are different creatures and different loves entirely. I hope you realize that -- my late husband struggled with the concept when he saw how close I was with my own brother."
A small fib, about her sun-and-stars, would serve her well now. It had never been Drogo who was insecure, but Viserys, and with good reason. But she saw what Alfonso saw, and she needed to banish the thought from his mind.
Alfonso
Alfonso was quiet, absorbing what Her Majesty had suggested.
"All of Europe knows how dear she is to him," he replied, in an equally low voice. "That any man who harms her will not live to speak of it. I knew of his devotion before I paid court. Indeed, I am gratified to know that she has so ardent a protector."
She had quite clearly needed one, when the Holy Father had married her to a brute. He imagined Her Majesty knew that even better than he did.
Dany
Dany eyed him, and added, "It's good that you know of this. It will serve you well, in your life with Lucrezia. But if you have heard of the extent of Borgia siblings' affection for one another, I cannot doubt you've also heard the ugliness that passes for peasant gossip."
And gossip usually had seeds in truth. Dany was sure he knew that as well as she did. Why else watch the dancers the way they were?
Alfonso
"I have heard a great many things," he said, lifting his wine glass to his lips. "The Borgias are powerful, and as such, they have powerful enemies. Some enemies use swords, and others use rumor."
It would be easier if he did not sense how little Cesare appeared to like him. Should he wish to bring harm upon Lucrezia, he would understand her brother's wrath, but he wished nothing but joy for his beloved.
Alfonso allowed himself to taste the wine, trying to convince himself that Cesare was only suspicious. Nervous, about his sister's future happiness.
Dany
Dany tilted her head to the side slightly to consider him, a small smile playing about her lips. "Do you worry about the truth in the rumors?" she asked softly, looking over at him. "The Lord Sforza's death was well-publicized, I understand."
She hoped that the young prince would confide in her; it wasn't as though she'd done anything to earn it, but she knew the family better than most, and could reassure him.
Alfonso
His smile came easily enough, at that suggestion.
"There are a great number of rumors about the Borgias," he said. "That one troubles me very little. I do not fear the Lord Sforza's fate, Your Majesty. As I said, only a fool would ill-treat Lucrezia Borgia and expect to live. I am no fool."
Which should answer several questions at once; if he knew of the Lord Sforza's death, if he knew the Lord Sforza's reason for dying, and whether he intended to bring harm to her friend.
Dany
"That much is obvious," Dany said, now outright grinning. "Good." For Cesare was not Lucrezia's only protector, this time. Dany's dragons were nearly grown, and she would happily remind anyone of that fact.
"But," she added, her smile fading slightly as she slanted a look over, "there is some rumor that troubles you, Your Highness?" She paused, considering her words. "I don't mean to intrude, but...going into a marriage with any doubts is no way to start a life together."
Alfonso
Alfonso sighed, wondering at how candid he should be. This Queen was the bosom friend of his beloved's; that meant she may well see the same things he did. Or it may mean that any confidence he shared would be whispered on to Lucrezia.
"It is as you say," Alfonso said, nodding towards the dancers before them. "There is no competition. My beloved's brother is certainly no rival for my lady's affections, either in spirit or in a more lewd fashion. The very idea is ... preposterous."
Preposterous, to imagine the two were lovers, or that Lucrezia's own brother had fathered her child. Though it seemed decidedly less preposterous when watching the way the two stared at one another.
Dany
It was as Dany had feared, and she needed to stamp out any thought of this sort immediately. She bit her lower lip, then offered, "If I may be very bold, and I hope you don't think less of me for my honesty, Your Highness -- if there is truth in such idle gossip, then it is beyond me how such an affair is managed. I spent the summer's days by either Lucrezia's side or Cesare's, one or the other, and at night I slept in her bed or found myself in his."
She dimpled a smile at him, unabashed, and added, "I have heard the speculation as well, and...while I understand that their familiarity might breed questions, I don't think there's enough hours in the day for them to give them credence. And that is, of course, utterly beyond the fact that I don't think the desire is there, either."
At least, not consciously. It had not escaped her notice that Lucrezia favored her men somewhat dark in coloring, while Cesare had a fondness for blondes. Or at least, for her, who the Pope himself had noted to be uncannily like his daughter.
Alfonso
Her smile was returned by his own; she could not miss the subtle release of tension as he spoke.
"I had heard rumors of that nature, as well," he allowed, "though discretion prevented my inquiring further, especially to your person directly."
So it was not a love affair, but a curious affinity of the soul. One that idle gossips had turned into something licentious, because they could not understand it as anything else.
"I had asked if there was another, and she said no. I believed her, and I would never think my love one to lie. I only ... wished to know if there was something more, that she was unwilling or unable to speak of, freely."
He glanced out at the dancers. "Her heart is generous. I imagine there is room in it for many dear to her."
Cesare had seen fit to woo this beautiful Queen, and he could hardly mistake how greatly Lucrezia cherished him.
Dany
"I truly believe that there is," Dany said, reaching over to touch his arm lightly as she smiled up at him. "But I just as sincerely believe that you have carved out your own special corner of it, and you've nothing to worry about. Cesare is...tricky, sometimes, to predict, but one of the few things about which I am sure is that he only wants what is best for his sister. And I am just as sure that what's best is you. That's the very best endorsement I can offer you, Your Highness."
Alfonso
"I am gratified to receive the endorsement of so esteemed a guest in this household," Alfonso laughed, bowing his head to Her Majesty. "I wonder if you would do me a further honor, my lady, and honor me with this dance?"
He held his hand out to her. Surely, it was better to dance than to linger here along the sidelines, worrying about shadows.
Dany
"That's quite a lot of honor," Dany said with a laugh, placing her hand in his. "I hope I can remember the steps well enough to live up to it."
Dany
It hadn't taken long, since Alfonso had swept his bride-to-be away again, before Dany made her way over to Cesare. Certainly, there was some stiffness to them -- it had been long since their summer together, and she suspected he might smart still after she'd rebuffed him during his visit.
And that, she reasoned, was why he was being so standoffish, and watching the couples dance rather than coming to ask her to do so. She dismissed her worry -- so recently done verbally, with Alfonso -- that it was anything more.
"You look more suited to a funeral than a betrothal, Cardinal," she said lightly, gently touching his elbow as she reached his side. "Have your feet forgotten to dance since last summer?"
Cesare
Daenerys was a vision. Could he ever look upon her without being struck by it? Certainly there had never breathed a woman quite so rapturous.
He could put on airs, and be cold; his pride was wounded at her treatment of him. But she was the summer sun. Snow could not withstand her, much less, a poor mortal such as he.
"It is no longer Cardinal, my lady," he said, offering her a hint of a smile. "I have been allowed to renounce my holy orders. Here before you stands no Cardinal, but the Duke of Gandia, Gonfaloniere of the Papal States."
After all, someone had to inherit the position, what with his brother's untimely demise.
Dany
Dany's smile was genuine, and lit her whole face. "It is what you've always wanted," she noted quietly, grinning up at him. "Now you are free to do as you wish. Go where you please. You're free to do as your heart might desire, with no rebuke due to your holy position, are you not?"
Dany had been without Doreah for months now, but some lessons never faded. And so that last was delivered with a coy smile as she glanced up through her lashes at him, her breath quickening enough to shift her bust a touch distractingly.
She had missed him, and she knew she had treated him poorly when he had visited -- and Jorah's presence had done little more than aggravate things. It would take more than a few pretty smiles to make up for that, and she wasn't especially sure where they stood, anyway.
But more importantly, there was a part of her that drove her to keep him distracted, that Lucrezia and Alfonso might enjoy themselves without a shadow personified scrutinizing their every move. Let him look at her, and not them, for a scant few minutes.
Cesare
"I am, indeed, free," he said, though his tone may have betrayed a touch of bitterness. His sister was marrying, his father was drowning in his own grief, and his love had fled Rome. Freedom was not all one might have imagined it to be.
"I command the armies well, far better than the previous Gonfaloniere." Well, that was the simple truth. "I no longer hide myself in conclave. I can fight this family's battles. I strategize for alliances."
She was pushing her bust towards him. Was she doing it meaningfully, or despite herself? Surely she didn't imagine he would play coy, not when they had already been lovers.
He allowed his gaze to rake down along the line of her dress, the one which hid all those things he wished to see again. Let her be the one to blink first, if this was some sort of game. She ought to know better than to dare him.
"I could even take a wife."
Dany
She watched him, and for just a moment, wished that she could just let her knees go weak as they wanted, and steal him away as she had at the last party they'd attended.
But this was a game. It was always a game with him, and he had an irritating trend of winning. But she wouldn't back away at his bluff, even if his last statement had sent a flutter of nervousness through her, for a variety of reasons.
"Could you?" she asked, stepping a little closer and smirking. "Has your eye caught on any lady who might make a suitable mate to one such as yourself, Cesare? If you are hunting a wife, you'll never find one lurking to the side at your sister's betrothal."
Cesare
Cesare returned her smile, but there was a tinge of sadness to his own. He could play the game as well as any, but perhaps he had lost the taste for it.
"It is not the finding which has proven to be difficult," he said, as he drained his glass of wine. "It is the keeping, once I have found."
Or perhaps he was playing on an entirely new level. A permanent one.
Dany
Dany felt her knees truly fail her, though she didn't fall, or wobble especially visibly. Her mind was blank. She was sixteen years old, and this was the third time a man wanted to marry her -- and it was the only time yet that her heart had leapt with hope at the possibility of answering him. Drogo's inspection of her had left her breathless and afraid, and Xaro's proposal had been more a business proposition than anything remotely touching on love.
She already had a husband, she'd told Xaro last summer, and that was true. She still mended, nearly two years after the death of her sun-and-stars, and never would he be replaced. But maybe there was room yet in her sky for Saturn, as well.
Dany found herself staring at Cesare, for once at an utter loss of words. Her coquettish game had been turned on its head, and she felt a fool for attempting it. Instead, she struggled to come up with anything to reply, and got as far as, "I -- Cesare, I...."
Pope Alexander VI
Pope Alexander Sextus, Vicar of Rome, tottered into the room in a daze. There was dirt and mud all over his fine robes, staining his hands, and caked in his hair. Some cynical part of him realized that he was making a scene, that the dignity of the Church and honor of his family were being lost -- but that same part of him thought, good. It served him right. Served them all right.
He pushed his way into the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Cesare.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia had been mid-twirl when she first heard the gasps from the other guests. Her eyes sought out the cause of the disturbance -- had one of the musicians fallen ill? A decoration drifting too close to the fire, and catching itself alight?
There, in the doorway, was her father. Covered in mud, eyes wide and unseeing, pressing through the crowd as though the attendants were merely tall stalks of wheat.
No time to apologize to Alfonso, for the rude way she tore her hands from his. No time to think, as she bolted from the dance floor towards where the honored guests were seated.
"Mother," she called out. "Mother! He's here!"
Pope Alexander VI
Alexander looked at his daughter, at the concern on her face, and managed a weak smile at her. He would forgive her -- he would forgive them all, for their failures of spirit which were, in truth, his doing. First, however, he must speak with his son. The living one. The one who continued to be a trial sent by the Lord to test him.
Cesare
Cesare pushed against the crowd, which was now flowing decidedly away from the madman wearing the Pope's garb. He himself could but stare, once face-to-face with His Holiness.
"Father," he said, but no words would follow.
He had to leave. Lucrezia may have wished him here, but ... not like this.
What in the name of all that was holy had the Pope been doing, to so cover his robes with dirt? He looked as though he had rolled around on the ground outside.
Pope Alexander VI
Close to it. He had fallen on his knees at Juan's grave site, clutched the tombstone to his breast, dug his hands into the soft earth, and wept. As was mentioned in the Bible, he had pulled his hair and rent his garments and gnashed his teeth and wailed. His SON was gone -- didn't anyone understand that?
...And it was his fault. Everything was his fault. The Lord was punishing him for his arrogance and negligence.
The gaze he fixed on Cesare was sad, and tired, and still more than a little dazed. "We would speak with you," was all he said.
Cesare
Anything, to remove the Holy Father from this place.
"Of course," Cesare said firmly, taking his father's arm and leading him out of the ballroom. "Let us find a quiet place and we can speak of whatever you may like."
Perhaps the interruption had been brief enough not to spoil the dance entirely. Cesare had little hope of that.
As for what his father may want to speak of -- that was an even more unpleasant thought.
Pope Alexander VI
"Mmm," the Pope agreed with a nod. What he had to say should be for Cesare's ears along, away from the gawking masses.
He turned and tottered off down the hall, looking for an appropriate sitting room.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia's heart was heavy as she watched the musicians pack away their instruments. She cared little that her party had not gone as planned; it was only a dance, and she needed no formal celebration of her impending union with Alfonso. Their bond was real enough regardless of how many wore pretty dresses and drank to their health.
But her father -- the look he had had. They had brought him to this, Cesare and herself. Cesare had warned her that Juan's death would break her father's heart.
It had done worse; it had destroyed his soul. And it had cost her the very depths of his love.
She found the nearest chair and sat, watching the party-goers give their excuses to her mother. Others were sliding out the doors as if they hoped no one might see them. She saw, but she could not imagine caring.
Let them flee. Let everyone scatter into the night. Nothing could heal what had been broken.
Alfonso
Alfonso had watched, useless, as the party disintegrated around them. He had spent so much time concerning himself with his beloved's elder brother that the truth of her father's strange behavior had escaped him as something to worry over until this very night.
He crossed over to her, taking a seat in the hopes that this, at least, was somewhere he could help. "At least," he offered, smiling a little wryly, "it will be a memorable night to all, not just us?"
An attempt at a joke, to see if he could pull a smile from her.
Lucrezia
The smile was weak, but genuine.
"I would accept a less memorable night, and a more pleasing end to the festivities," she allowed, reaching to twine her fingers through his.
There was more that needed to be said; proprieties to be maintained. "I apologize, on my family's behalf, for my father's absence at our betrothal announcement. There is no disrespect intended towards the most honorable Duke of Bisceglie or his relations. My father is ... unwell, of late."
A polite lie.
Alfonso
Alfonso frowned a bit, wrapping his other hand around their joined two. "Of course it isn't," he agreed. "And we shall not take it as such. What ails your father? What can we do to help Rome during this time?" He squeezed her hands, and added more quietly, "What do you need?"
Lucrezia
She squeezed his hand, appreciating his presence, his offer, his innate goodness. She did not deserve such goodness; she feared he might come to understand that, all too soon.
At least with him she could be frank, and did not need to dress her thoughts up in further diplomacy.
"My father prefers his dead son to his living children," she said, quietly. "Your offer is kind, but there is little any can do to remedy the situation."
She felt tears threaten again as she remembered how harshly he had greeted her. But that was the cost of the choice she had made. It did little good to bemoan the consequences now, when she would not change the act that had caused them.
Alfonso
His eyes searched her face, as he exhaled softly. "I hope you do not hate me," he started, a little more haltingly than he'd prefer, "for thinking that your father has severely misplaced his affection. Not simply because you are alive, but because...it seems your father is blinding himself to the life of the late Duke."
He had not forgotten the night of little Juanito's near-flight, and he was sure it was a sin to be grateful such a monster would never be any child of his.
But he was grateful, sin or no.
Lucrezia
"I could never think ill of you," she replied, offering his hand another squeeze. "And certainly not for speaking the truth. His Holiness ..."
How to phrase this? And how closely should she dance to the truth, the ugliest parts of which Alfonso still remained unaware?
"His Holiness has always refused to see the truth of the late Duke," she said, finally. "When the time came, there were pleadings, there were anguished arguments, but His Holiness only ever saw what he wished to see. He refused to intercede."
Perhaps Alfonso would not notice the way her hand now trembled.
Alfonso
He noticed, which was why he gripped it all the tighter. "If he had," he ventured, "I dare think that your brother may still be with us, and that His Holiness need not grieve a child he might have saved. Or does he not see that he could have saved him?"
There was a suspicion, creeping at the corners of his mind, as to who was responsible for Juan's death. For the moment, Alfonso blamed the conversation he'd had with Queen Daenerys -- Lord Sforza's untimely end was still on his mind, and nothing more.
Lucrezia
"Perhaps he was already too far gone to save," she replied. "I suppose we shall never know. He is gone, now, and can no longer cause pain to those near him."
Juanito, dangling from a balcony; a dancer, saved only by Dany's interference; Paolo, hanging in the town square.
Alfonso
"We could leave," he offered quietly. "Leave your father to his grief, wait out our engagement in Bisceglie. It would be better than...here. You do not need to watch him heal. Better to allow your father his time."
There was, of course, the question of her father being His Holiness and having an obligation to all of Christiandom, but that wasn't for Alfonso to determine.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia couldn't manage a smile, but the ends of her lips did quirk upwards.
"Your offer is generous, indeed," she said softly. "But he has had time. He may not change. He may never again wish to see me, or Cesare either."
Why was she drawing this out? Better to have it overwith. She knew why she was stalling: because he was beautiful, and kind, and because he cared for her. She didn't want to risk that.
But in not risking it, she was deceiving him.
"He asked me to shed tears for my brother, and I could not," she continued. "Not when I ... Alfonso, I tried to end his life once, myself."
Alfonso
Alfonso was quiet a long moment. It would be a lie to say the thought had not crossed his mind, and he found himself completely lacking in any grief that his intended had possibly done this. The image of an infant, held precariously high, dashed away any concerns.
"Tried?" he supplied softly.
Lucrezia
It made her heart weary to think on that night. She closed her eyes, unconsciously squeezing his hand ever tighter with her own as she spoke.
"He had -- taken something very dear from me," she said carefully. "He was upstairs, with a young lady; whether bought or a chamber-maid, I do not know, but he was enjoying himself vigorously. Loudly. Preventing others in the household from sleep."
She took a slow breath before continuing.
"We spoke, briefly, and I -- I told him he needed my forgiveness, and he claimed to have done nothing wrong. In his eyes, he had done nothing wrong. But he had destroyed something innocent, simply for the sake of honor. The vast honor of a man who celebrates his betrothal drunkenly, with a lady whose name he does not know."
Alfonso
Alfonso nodded, following along. Something very dear -- he couldn't imagine what it was that was so cherished that she might kill over it, if not her child, but he suspected this was no stolen book or trinket. "Imagined honor," he scoffed softly. "The very noblest of them all, for exists entirely in our minds. Your brother's hypocrisy does not shock me, my lady."
Lucrezia
"I was so angry," she insisted, now trembling from the memory of it. "The hypocrisy. That was exactly it. The hypocrisy of it, my lord. To lie there and cavort, because it was all right for him, but --"
She clutched his hand harder, willing herself not to dissolve into tears, or histrionics. No. If she had said this much ... she was telling the story wrong. He needed to understand it, all of it.
"The Lord Sforza had a stable-boy," she said, instead. "Kind, gentle, and good. He did what he could to protect me from that beast, and it was he who fathered my child."
Confessing to the attempt at murder on her soul made this admission much easier. An indigression, born of loneliness and need, not an impulse of anger and hate.
"Juan discovered it, and hanged him from the rafters."
For honor. For the family.
She was so very tired of both.
Alfonso
Alfonso gripped her hand harder in his, silent as she spoke. "Then he deserved your wrath," he said quietly, glancing at her. "I should hope that I should be so lucky, if I meet an untimely end, to have you come to vengeance for me."
He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles for a moment, then added, "You did not ultimately end your brother's life, though, did you?"
He had his suspicions. Now they were all but confirmed.
Lucrezia
"Pray do not speak of such things," she said, shivering. "He is gone, now, and no more can he threaten those whom I love."
Her hand in his felt too distant, now, for how very intimate this conversation had become. She gave him a reassuring squeeze before pulling her hand free, then wriggled herself closer so she could slip it around his waist.
And if she were to rest her head against his shoulder, surely he would not object.
"No," she admitted. "I tried, once, and failed. I sought to try again, the night he passed. But I was told it should not be my hands, to bear that guilt. The burden was taken from me."
She wasn't sure why she was phrasing matters so carefully. Surely, he must know of whom she spoke.
Alfonso
Alfonso curled his arm around her shoulders, uncaring as to whether it garnered stares. This was a quiet moment of confession, and he would cradle her as she made it.
His kiss pressed to the top of her head would also serve to reassure her that this changed nothing, he hoped. "The same way the burden of your former husband's death was taken from you?" he breathed softly against her hair.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia closed her eyes. So he knew. He understood. And he was still holding her close, still refusing to leave her side.
"The very same," she said faintly. "And so I am relieved of that guilt. And the sinner has now confessed, but the confessor has not found the same peace himself."
Which would explain the night's ... dramatics, to say the least.
"You have a very soothing embrace," she added. Propriety be damned. In his arms, that shaking center at her core had stilled.
Alfonso
"Would that I could, I would whisk you away and keep you close, that you might forget these worries," Alfonso told her softly. "It would seem that the Holy Father may need some time to adjust to this confession he's heard; while I understand, and in fact, might have been driven to commit the same sin had it been left longer, His Holiness has had a shock. Perhaps he simply needs time to grieve for his son." He paused, and gently added, "Not Juan."
Lucrezia
"Perhaps, then, this will all be for the good," Lucrezia mused softly. "Father will come to see the world as it is, and Cesare will be unburdened. And then we may all find ourselves stronger for having passed through this trial."
It sounded reassuring, though she wasn't sure she believed it.
She leaned up, then, to press her lips against Alfonso's cheek.
"Thank you."
Cesare
The room was quiet, and dark; it formed a marked contrast to the gaiety of this evening's festivities. It was a small antechamber, lit with the barest of candles, one whose every surface seemed covered in red velvet.
All surfaces, that was, except for the wooden table, at which the two men sat.
His Holiness Pope Alexander Sextus was staring off into space, as though he hardly recognized the room, or had forgotten his purpose in bringing his eldest son here.
"Father?" Cesare asked, gently. He had thought his father would not break. Had he been wrong?
Pope Alexander VI
Yes. Hmm. Well. If they were to talk, then one supposed that they must, indeed, actually talk.
He didn't much feel like talking.
Cesare was drinking, and it occurred to the Pope that maybe he'd like a drink as well. It would help him feel more like talking -- and help stall for time. His taster had followed them into the room, had he not? Alexander called to Brother Antonello, "Bring Us some wine!"
Brother Antonello
Brother Antonello had been lurking by the sideboard, waiting for a moment such as this. The time was now. He was unafraid.
He drew close to the Holy Father and produced the flask of wine, pouring himself a mouthful in a tin cup. He raised the drink to his lips, swallowing eagerly.
"It is good, Holiness," he said, marveling at how steady his voice was.
At the Pope's gesture, he poured a glass, and retreated once more to the shadows. He would pray, and await the inevitable. He was at peace.
Pope Alexander VI
Alexander took a drink, rolled it around his tongue, and swallowed. So.
"We have knelt at the grave of Our son," he began. "And prayed. And We realize now that We have brought this upon Ourselves." Cesare's downfall, Juan's death... It was his own fault for not being stronger, for not being a better father. "You are Our own doing. And what you've done is Our doing, also. We brought you to this."
He couldn't tell if his soul felt lighter now that he was unburdening it. There was so much heaviness and pain. And Cesare looked... Wounded? Relieved? Touched? He was moved to tears, at least, and perhaps that was a start to rebuilding this awful mess of a family that Rodrigo had ruined.
"You say We granted every favor to him. But Our favors fell on him so easily, of their own accord." Juan was easy to love, even when he'd done wrong. He was so much less... complicated than Cesare. Rodrigo sighed, pitying them all. "You are too much like me. A man feels less ... favor for his own image reflected."
Cesare
His own image reflected. The Holy Father looked upon Cesare and saw himself, and was repulsed by it.
The Holy Father still imagined Juan's death to be a case of sibling pettiness run rampant. Was he wrong? Cesare had always hated how Juan received every blessing, every promotion, despite his many failures.
But no. Cesare had ended Juan for Lucrezia's sake, because Juan was a danger that needed to be ended. And their father wouldn't see that.
Or perhaps he did, and he was speaking to the deeper truth of it: that the indulgences had ruined Juan, and that the slights had helped Cesare to commit the one act no one else would have dared.
He didn't know, any more. His heart could not take much more of this; he had thought he was strong, but he did not have the stomach for hearing harsh truths from his father's lips.
"If I cannot have your affection," he said, willing himself not to care that he did not, willing himself not to feel that sharp stab, "can I at least have your forgiveness?"
If his father might again one day look upon him and smile. The mere hope of it: that was all Cesare asked.
Pope Alexander VI
Forgiveness? No, Cesare's sins were merely a product of Rodrigo's failures. If anything, he needed to beg Cesare to forgive HIM. Or, perhaps, they were all being punished by the Lord for his many and varied flaws...
If his tongue had not felt dry in his mouth these many hours, perhaps he would have noticed earlier how it dried and swelled. If he had not already been feeling faint and queasy, perhaps he would have noticed when he started to feel ill. As it was, he barely started his next sentence, "I...", before his throat closed up and he started making hoarse choking sounds.
Cesare
Cesare had been hanging on the Holy Father's every breath, praying for the forgiveness he never imagined he might receive. For some absolution for the darkness threatening to overtake his soul.
He didn't understand the strange rattling noise at first; it sounded as though His Holiness's windpipe had narrowed, that he wasn't breathing air. The Holy Father was gasping, and clawing at the table, and -- and just behind His Holiness, the poison-taster began to vomit blood.
Poison. Poison. Here? How?!
Cesare was on his feet in an instant, reaching to knock the wine glass away from his father. He reached the taster's side just as the poor boy hit the ground. Blood dripped from his eye sockets, and then the convulsions began -- it was far too late for Brother Antonello.
He whirled back around to see the Holy Father pushing back from the table, clutching at midair, beginning to shake and froth himself. No. No. This wasn't happening.
"Father?" he shouted, reaching out to catch him just as his knees gave entirely. "No! Father!"
In his arms, the Holy Father was limp, except for the frantic spasms and the wide, unseeing eyes. Flecks of blood flew from his mouth at every twitch, covering both men in a fine spray.
"Help! Somebody HELP ME!"
Lucrezia
It was Lucrezia who heard the screams first; she had leapt from her seat in the now-empty ballroom and dashed through the hallways, heart in her throat. It was Cesare shouting, and Cesare had never sounded so frantic.
She nearly knocked over some poor chamber-maid as she pushed her way into the room, stopping dead in her tracks as she saw -- saw --
Cesare, kneeling on the ground, cradling their father in his arms. The Holy Father shook madly, and -- blood, why was there blood, why --
Dany
Dany was in a breath after Lucrezia, Alfonso on her heels as well. Her eyes tracked over each unimaginable horror -- the Holy Father shaking, the blood, the unfamiliar boy spasming close by.
She had never seen these symptoms before, but her mind fit the pieces together quickly. The word poison formed itself in her brain, and Dany pressed herself forward in a numb sickness, shoving her cursedly tiny body in front of Lucrezia's and urging her back out the door with all her might.
Poison. Poison. Get her away, don't let her see, get her away.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia struggled vainly against her friend's arms. Why couldn't she get through? She needed to be there, needed to see --
"Father!"
Cesare
"Medic," Cesare shouted, as the room began to fill. Servants were coming now, and a young man took his father from his arms and began to fuss over him. Cesare looked up into his mother's eyes, wide as saucers. His mother. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be seeing this.
Like a thunderclap, Cesare remembered, hearing Micheletto's voice again in his head.
I fear it is not over yet, m'lord. There's more to your Borgia family than father and son.
The last time someone had tried to poison the Pope. When there had been assassins climbing the windows outside Lucrezia's room.
Lucrezia was in the doorway, pushing against Daenerys, frantic. Cesare took a small moment to thank God that his pagan queen was here, and that she had the good sense to keep his sister from viewing this horrific scene. And, as always, that he had his Micheletto.
He jumped to his feet and grabbed his mother's arm, pulling her towards the door as well.
"Micheletto, my mother, Ostia," he said, feeling a wave of relief as his trusted assassin nodded and took Vannozza's other arm. Micheletto had safehouses in most cities surrounding the Vatican. "Dany, my sister, that school. Go. Both of you. Now."
There was no time for please, or thank you, or further details. But both Micheletto and Daenerys would know what to do. He had saved his family by mere minutes, last time. And now, he needed to call out the guards and lock down as much of the Holy See as possible.
Only then would he allow himself to panic about his father's life.
Dany
Dany nodded, already trying her best to push Lucrezia out of the room herself. "Alfonso," she gasped, uncaring about familiarity at the moment. Time was of the essence. "Take her, please."
She would need to pack their things, and saddle horses, and find a way to Fandom as fast as she could. She would need to think clearly for the both of them, and it would do no good to cloud her head with visions of the Holy Father's shaking body, or worries for Cesare.
Cesare. He would need more than he had here. This was only the beginning. She would need to --
Later.
"Shieraki gori ha yeraan," she murmured, taking a moment to lock eyes with Cesare before she was lifting her skirts to run towards the room she shared with Lucrezia. The Dothraki battle blessing would do him little good, now, but it helped her.
The stars are charging for you, Saturn.
(Plot post #2, continued from a week ago! Preplayed with the incomparable unburnt_queen and whateverknight, who especially rocked by helping out with some of the NPCs (Vannozza and Alfonso for the former, and the Pope for the latter). Certain chunks of this were taken from 2x10, The Confession -- mostly Cesare's talk with his father. Dun dun dunnnnnn. NFB, NFI, but OOC is love.)