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the-broken-truth · 3 years

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I love all your headcanons with the Dimitrescu daughters, so hats off to you, if it doesn't bother, can you do a headcanon about the 3 daughters with a male S/O on their wedding night?

Broken Truth: Hmm, that sounds simple enough. Let the words...

*STATIC*: Broken, wait. I have an idea.

Broken Truth (Looks at the mask): Let me hear it, *STATIC*.

*STATIC*: Do you remember the ask you did for Lady Dimitrescu meeting her daughters' partners: Th Village Painter, The Village Jeweler, and The Village Blacksmith?

Broken Truth: Yes, what about them?

*STATIC*: Here's my idea. (Whispering something)

Broken Truth: Oh! I like that idea! Let's go with that. Let the words weave together! - Names - Bela's Partner - The Village Artist - His name shall be Magnus. Cassandra's Partner - The Village Jeweler - His name shall be Matias. Daniela's Partner - The Village Blacksmith - His name shall be Maximus.

[At The Wedding of Magnus Vilkas & Bela Dimitrescu]

The Court of Castle Dimitrescu was decorated with the finest exports all across Romania - The Vilkas Lord spared to expense when it came to making his future wife happy; she was the very light of his life.

He stood in the room allowed her future son-in-law to use to prepare himself, looking himself in the mirror as he adjusted his tie.

The gleam of his Family Ring shined in the light when he secured his tie around his neck. He holds out his dominant hand, looking upon the colored gems that created his Family Crest. This ring gave him so much power and standing as a Noble Village House but at the same time, it brought back a very painful memory.

Before the Lord of House Vilkas could think back on it, there was a knock at the door. He spoke to the other person on the other side of the door, commanding them to enter: The door opened and a familiar face stepped into the room - The Village's Jeweler, Matias.

"Greetings, Lord Vilkas." The Jeweler bowed but it was met with a scoff from the Lord.

"Do not bow to me, Matias. You are a Vilkas as well, besides you're my twin brother; no formalities." The Lord said as he faced his brother.

"Regardless of our blood bind as brothers, you are still the Lord of House Vilkas and must be treated as such, even by blood,

" Matias said.

"Speaking of blood..." Magnus inhaled and exhaled before asking his question, "Did he come?" He asked.

"No. When I went to his house to see if he would attend, he slammed to door in my face; he says he wants nothing to do with the Vilkas Family." Matias explained causing the lord to turn his gaze to the ground in what looked to be heartbreak, "My Lord, it was not your fault." He said.

"Oh, really? Then why is he not here? It was my birth that ruined his life and...it's not fair - we were both robbed: Him of his rightful place and me an older brother." The Lord of Vilkas said.

"Brother, you and I were born on the same day but you are the only one he blames. If anyone is to blame, it's father; he was the selfish bastard that robbed us both." Matias said as he walked over to his elder brother and placed his hand on his shoulder, "Try not to think about this today, it's a very special day."

"Yes, you are right. Today is the day I marry the most amazing woman on the face of the Earth." Magnus smiled.

"Second best, Brother - My Cassandra is the most beautiful." Matias said with a smirk

The brothers argued over which sister was the most lovely when they saw the time and finished up before heading down the Courtyard.

The music - composed by Matias on the keyboard - began to play as Bela - wrapped in the finest silks that made her dress - walked down the aisle by her mother with her youngest sister walking behind her with a basket of black rose petals, throwing them in the air.

Once Bela reached the front, her hands locked with Magnus', who looked into her eyes with tears in his own.

"You are a true gem, my beloved." He said.

"Thank you, My Lord."

Mother Miranda - who took the position of a power of a priestess - called out to the guests: The Lords, The Daughters of Dimitrescu, and the residence of House Vilkas.

Once the vows were read and the 'I Do's were side, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

And he did, with all the love in his heart - which was endless.

[At The Wedding of Matias Vilkas & Cassandra Dimitrescu]

The Famed Jeweler of the Romanian Village smiled at himself in the mirror as he fixed his suit's jacket with a wide smile on his face - the Vilkas Family Crest Brooch secured to his chest over his heart and soon, he was going to place the crest of the Dimitrescu Dragons beside his own.

"You smile as if you are the cat that devoured creme." His elder brother chuckled from his place by the dresser, "You are really happy, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I am going to marry the most incredible woman on the face of this planet - a true goddess given human form." Matias beamed as he fixed his tie.

"We've been through this, Little Brother - Bela is the most incredible." Magnus scoffed.

"Your opinion - Not Fact. Besides, My Cassandra shall always be the most amazing woman in my eyes; she is just too perfect to explain with words. I'm glad Madam Dimitrescu allowed me the privilege of marrying her daughter, I don't deserve her." Matias said with a smile as he thought back.

"I thought the same thing when I was getting married to Bela - she still is a wonder I shall never really deserve but I will always treasure." Magnus smiled.

"Oh, speaking of you two - I heard Madam Dimitrescu told you she wanted a grandchild soon." Matias said as he looked back at his brother, whose face was bright red.

"As much as Mother-In-Law would want a grandchild, I told her that I was waiting on Bela to be ready - we shall have a child when Bela is ready, not a moment before then." Magnus said.

"Good to know you treasure your wife's decision, did she finish redecorating the Family House?" Matias asked.

"So far, she can't seem to choose what she wants to change or what rooms she wants to make into her private rooms. On a better note, the staff willingly let Bela fed off them if she gets hungry and I'm not around. How's your construction going?" Magnus asked.

"Almost done, Cass held me draw up the plans so I know she's going to love the place. It will be ready in a weak." Matias said.

The brothers looked at the clock and saw it was almost time for the bride to come. They finished up with their own preparations and headed down the courtyard.

The violinists that Magnus hired began playing the song as Cassandra walked down the aisle with a bouquet of black roses in her hands & a smile on her face with a gleam in her eyes.

Matias stood at the altar with Mother Miranda with a smile on his face as his future wife came up and they linked hands.

"You are so breathtaking, My Beloved." Matias said.

"Thank you, you're very handsome yourself."

Mother Miranda began her rites - blessing the young couple before her and everyone else with long life, eternal love & endless happiness before the 'I do's were said and the marital bond sealed with a kiss.

Everyone was so busy celebrating the newly married couple that they didn't notice a large cloaked figure walk to the table that held the gits and place a small envelope on the table.

The feast began and the presents were given, The Lord of Iron found the envelope and didn't remember it being there at first and gave it to the new couple.

Matias opened it and turned it upside down, a pair of shiny keys landed in the palm of his other hand.

"Are those house keys?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes, but they told us that the house wasn't going to be done for another week... did they lie so that it would be a surprise?" Matias questioned.

"Well, looks like you'll be living together sooner than expected." Magnus smiled as he placed his hand on his wife's hip to pull her closer.

"It would seem so." He looked to his wife, "Darling, what would you like to decorate the house with?" He asked.

[At The Wedding of Maximus & Daniela Dimitrescu]

Alcina already didn't approve of Maximus' relationship with her youngest daughter - but this proposal filled the Lady of the Castle with rage.

She knew that she wouldn't be able to stop her daughter from loving Maximus, but she could prevent the wedding from happening on her Castle Grounds.

Daniela was upset that her mother was against her marriage just because her lover wasn't as rich as her sisters, but he loved her and he was willing to be hurt if it meant she was going to be safe.

Maximus told her beloved that it didn't matter - he could make them a great wedding, all he needed to know was where she wanted it to happen and what she wanted for it.

Daniela wanted her wedding to overlook the ocean at sunset - the light would be perfect. Maximus would give her everything she wanted but there was only one thing he asked for.

"I don't want the Vilkas Lords at the wedding."

When questioned by his future sister in laws, he told them 'I have a bad history with that family and I don't want them at y special day."

The Elder of the Dimitrescu Daughters had nothing to say about that and agreed.

On the day of the wedding - The site was lovely and everyone came in attendance; even Alcina. She didn't want to come up she wanted her daughter to be happy.

The Dimitrescu Daughters were there without their husbands and they were crossed with it.

Maximus waited for the arrival of his fiancee and when she did arrive - it was by carriage...a very familiar carriage.

The door of the carriage opened and Daniela stepped out...but she wasn't the only ones.

The Lords of House Vilkas - Magnus & Matias - stepped out in suits and had uncertain expressions on their faces.

"You?!" Maximus glared at the men, "What are you two doing here? Why were you in a carriage with my fiancee?!" He roared at them.

"I was on my way here with Aunt Donna when they pulled up and asked me where the wedding was taking place, I didn't tell them and they rushed us in the carriage." Dani said as she walked over to Maximus and Donna was getting out of the carriage.

"You forced my fiancee into a carriage?! For what reason?!" The blacksmith growled.

"Please, I know you are upset but we just want to speak with you - I want to speak with you." Magnus said as he took a step forward.

"I told you that I wanted nothing to do with your family, Lord Vilkas!" Maximus said with a glare.

"Stop calling me that! I'm not Lord Vilkas right now, I'm your little brother!" Magnus shouted with sadness in his voice.

Everyone looked wide-eyed at that confess and all eyes looked at Maximus.

"You're the Eldest of the Vilkas Family?" Daniela asked as she looked at the man she loves.

"I share their DNA and nothing else." He glared at his brothers, "I am not a Vilkas., that was taken away from me the moment they were born."

"What is he talking about?" Bela asked her husband.

"We grew up thinking that we were the only children but when we found a birth record for a son that was older than us, we asked our parents about him." Magnus began.

"They told us that he was an accident, an unwanted child, a placeholder for the Vilkas Heirship until a true heir was born..." Matias said.

"Then the moment the twins were born, my father disowned me, beat me to a pulp, and tossed me into the snow during a blizzard with dagger - the insignia of the family I once had was scratched out. I begged them to let me back in, I cried that I didn't want to die, but they ignored me and I began to walk into the forest, looking for some kind of shelter." Maximus' eyes looked to the ground at the pain of the memory.

"Brother..." Magnus said but he didn't know what he could say to his older sibling. All the pain he's been through, all because he was planned.

"It wasn't our fault. It was father and mother's, they were the ones who did that horrible thing to you! They robbed you of your place as The Vilkas Family Head & they robbed us of an older brother. Please, Maximus...We need our brother." Matias said to him.

Maximus looked at the two of them before he told them to sit beside their wives so that they could begin the ceremony. They took their seats, Daniela and Maximus took their places and the rites were read, the 'I do's were said, and the kiss was sealed.

Alcina just sat there with a stunned look on her face - the one she wanted was related to the family she respected, what's more, he was the rightful head?

Maximus looked at his brother and wondered - could he really have a relationship with them after their births took away his life?

[End]

#resident evil 8 #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x male reader #cassandra dimitrescu x male reader #daniela dimitrescu x male reader

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garden-ghoul · 5 years

Text

The Brewer Cat

Far north of here in Ŋísh the land of meadows, Ɵórí SHóry-l was well known as a brewer. When she was born she lived in a small group of compounds, but by the time she was thirty-eight years old it was growing toward becoming a city. Several courts had already asked her to do her work in their cities, but she preferred to stay with her family.

Ɵórí loved children more than anything. There was scarcely a single young child in the SHóry compound who could not call her a parent, and she had a tattoo for each of them.[1] She didn’t want to give up any of her children, nor did she want to ask them to move from the meadows and woods they knew. So she refused the courts, one after another, when they asked her to move. But it was well known that anyone with enough humility to walk into her house would leave with whatever they had come looking for—a barrel of beer to make the soul sing, a salve to soothe the fiercest burn, even medicines to heal tongues that had begun to stutter and breath that had begun to falter. Many small gods came to taste her beer and begged to be bound to her, but she always said she did not need any more help. Brewing was a private thing; sharing her brews a public one.

Now, one month a youth dressed in green[2] came to the gate of Ɵórí’s house. Ɵórí’s young daughter Íváŋ let em in and offered food and introduced em to the small gods of the household. In exchange the youth hummed a tune like the dark of a forest floor spattered with points of light. Íváŋ already suspected what e was, but when she asked how soon e would get yr first tattoo e just laughed, and yr eyes flashed, and she knew for certain.

Íváŋ asked what kind of brew the youth was looking for, and how e meant to pay. “Thirteen barrels of beer fit for the great gods,” e said, and smiled to show all yr teeth. “I will arrange my payment with Ɵórí the Brewer.[3] May I speak to her?”

“She is at work,” said Íváŋ, “but I will sit with you until she is done.”

The full moon was well above the horizon when Ɵórí came out of her shed for supper and found a youth dressed in green entertaining her family with the dramatic tale of a diplomat who got into a riddle contest with 18 Dragon Gathers Starlight. She liked the youth as much as her family did; when supper was over they were already becoming friends. Ɵórí and the youth sat in the courtyard together drinking beer and looked up through the tree branches that cut the full moon into shards.

“This is very good beer,” said the youth. “But do you make beer that is better than this? Do you make beer fit for the great gods?”

“Some people have told me so,” said Ɵórí. “I suppose it depends on whether the great gods have high expectations.”

“Very high expectations,” said the youth. “It must be beer whose very smell could give a small god the strength to uproot a tree.”

“And when do you need it?”

“Thirteen months from today, in the morning.”

Ɵórí did not ask how the youth would pay. The great gods know better than to cheat an honest woman.

The next morning the youth with the flashing eyes was gone and yr bed seemed not to have been slept in. Ɵórí went into her shed and began to think of recipes for a beer fit for the great gods.

In the seven months that followed the beer of Ɵórí the Brewer surpassed everything she had made before. It smelled so good that the head of household had to hire a spirit-binder to keep small gods away from the brewing shed so Ɵórí could concentrate. But Ɵórí was not satisfied. “This is a beer fit for small gods,” she told her head of household, as the woman’s tattooed toes curled in delight to taste it. “It is not fit for the great gods. Ask the young children to find every good herb and spice in the forest.”

In the twelfth month Ɵórí was still not satisfied, and she had grown very worried. If she could not offer a worthy beer to the House of Glass,[4] what would become of her? She sat until dawn in her shed with her hands clasped over her diaphragm, and answers did not come to her.

Just as the sun’s light seared a thin red line onto the wall of the shed, something else came through the window. It was a grey cat that jumped up on top of the high shelf where Ɵórí could not reach it. “You are making a beer fit for the great gods,” said the cat, looking down at her with eyes like half-moons. “So I hear, and so I smell.”

“Perhaps I am, and perhaps not,” said Ɵórí. She was weary. “You must be a clever small god to get in past the bound-gods guarding my shed. I suppose you want to taste my beer.”

“I won’t refuse,” said the cat, licking its lips. “But my reason for coming here is that I want to help you. You only have one month left to make a beer fit for the great gods, and still you don’t know how to do it.”

Ɵórí ladled some beer into a shallow bowl and placed it onto the ground for the cat, which jumped down and began to drink it. As it drank it became larger until it stood as tall as Ɵórí’s waist. “This is certainly a beer fit for small gods!” said the cat. “Now tell me, what have you been doing?”

Ɵórí explained and the cat watched her brew a batch of beer. ��This is as good as beer can be made using human arts,” said the cat when it was finished. “But to make beer fit for the great gods you must use godly arts.” It arched its back and some of the hairs flew off to land in the fire, where they spat violet sparks. It dipped its paw into the blood-warm beer and whisked its tail so the steam came up in perfect spirals like nautilus shells; and it sang a song. Of course I cannot tell you what the song is! I’ve been sworn to secrecy! Any other kind of magic might need to be written out, but brewing is wilder magic than what wrote the world. Brewing is a magic that has forgotten ink; it is a magic blessed by the little sister of the gods.[5]

Now when Ɵórí tasted the beer she nearly swooned and her skin seemed to glow. Now when the cat tasted the beer it grew to the size of a lion and began to purr like an earthquake. “Now this is a beer fit for great gods!” it rumbled. “Good! Let us make more!”

They worked night and day and night to make eighteen barrels of the beer fit for the great gods, and four days before the appointed day they were finally able to rest. Ɵórí’s daughters and young children and their other parents had prepared a huge feast. They had roasted roots and locust-flour pancakes with soft cheese. They had porridge with sausage and tender fried grubs and delicate fruit pies. And of course they had beer! You’ve never seen such beer. Sweet beer cakes, small beer for the young children, and everyone had a taste of the beer fit for the great gods. People came from all over Ŋísh to have a taste, but three barrels were all for the House of SHóry. Three days later they were still drunk!

On the morning of the fourth day Ɵórí got her daughters to help her roll the barrels out into the courtyard, and no sooner were they all laid out than the youth in green came knocking on the gate!

E was ushered inside and got to taste the beer. “Yes!” e crowed, glowing like a firefly. “This is a beer fit for the great gods!” A bird flew up off yr shoulder, and soon a procession of teŋríech[6] came in through the gate with saddles ready to take the casks of beer. With them was a solemn person who was not a youth but who did not have the chin tattoo of a grown woman. E was likewise dressed in green, and e presented Ɵórí with a mirror taller than a woman and as wide as two. The frame was brass, carved with every kind of flower and leaf, and all around the edge were protective charms in beautiful calligraphy.

The procession rode away, and Ɵórí put up the mirror in the front hall of the house.

Of course, this was not the last time she saw the youth! She was the favorite brewer of the great gods until she died; but somehow it was always that youth with the flashing eyes who came to give her the commission. She would invite in that great god[7] and sit in the window with em, and with a grey cat the size of a lion curled up under it; and they all three would drink beer until the moon rose.

-----------------------------

Notes on the text

[1] A woman would not go to the trouble of getting a tattoo commemorating the birth of a child who she did not intend to have a large part in raising; this indicates that Ɵórí is not absorbed in her work but rather does what she does for the sake of her community.

[2] In plays, actors wear green to indicate that their character is a god or spirit in disguise. This is generally considered to be an artistic signal, not something that is strictly true in the story.

[3] This would be “Ɵórí Ɵóróshú,” indicating that Ɵórí’s name was picked as a sort of pun (although it’s also a reasonably common name in the north).

[4] Ɵórí assumes, rightly, that the youth dressed in green is one of the children of 6 Mirror of the Forest, whose house is known to be in the dark forest north of Ŋísh.

[5] Despite not being the youngest among the great gods, 10 Creeping Mushrooms is known as their little sister. 10 Creeping Mushrooms is the matron of not only decay but also of fermentation. She is also something of a trickster figure or wild god, considered to be the matron of the large quick salamanders known for carrying off sacks of locusts.

[6] A teŋrúech is an animal with spreading toes and small horns, often used to carry or pull loads. They are not large enough for an adult woman to ride, however.

[7] As listeners to the story we know that this youth was 54 Signal Flash, the youngest child of Glass and the most mischievous; and I daresay Ɵórí had some idea as well, even if e never told her yr name.

#Eŋenty #fiction #read my folk tales!#(Ŋ is a capital letter eng)

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cesarborjas · 6 years

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“we get dark, only to shine” - chapter five

title: we get dark, only to shine verse: wgdots (5/?) characters: Cesare Borgia, Lucrezia Borgia; Micheletto Corella, Giovanni Sforza; Cesare/Lucrezia, references to unwilling Lucrezia/Sforza stuff that happens: Lucrezia reveals a secret and makes a plan. chapters: one, two, three, four

CHAPTER FIVE

Lucrezia woke early the next morning. Uncertain when her husband would wake and what his mood would be when he did, she dressed quietly and hurried downstairs. There, a manservant informed her that both Lord Sforza and Cardinal Borgia still slept. She sent for a heavy cloak and walked outside, shivering in the early mountain air.

Her husband’s servants glanced at her disinterestedly as she strode through the courtyard. She didn’t see any of them follow her when she headed into the gardens, yet she would have sworn that someone had joined her. Lucrezia glanced about, puzzled and a little alarmed, then jumped as a haggard, red-haired man turned the corner in front of her.

“Oh! You surprised me,” she said breathlessly. “You are Micheletto, are you not? My brother’s man?”

He bowed. “I am, my lady.”

Lucrezia could not believe that any servant of Cesare’s would harm her. She immediately relaxed, smiling.

“I beg your pardon—am I in your way? Or did Cesare send you to watch over me?”

“His Eminence is not persuaded of your safety here,” said Micheletto.

Lucrezia looked around uneasily. She could see nothing remotely threatening, though she heard the distant shouts of Lord Sforza’s men. But if Cesare thought otherwise, who knew? She certainly was not safe from Lord Sforza himself.

“Well, thank you,” she said. “You may as well accompany me, then. Come—or do you obey only Cesare’s commands?”

“I am sworn to obey you as I would his Eminence,” he said.

Lucrezia lifted an eyebrow. “Well, then, there’s no need for you to skulk in the bushes. Walk with me,” she ordered, moving forward on the path, and heard him fall into step behind her. “Tell me about yourself, Micheletto.”

“My lady?”

She gestured for him to move forward, near enough for her to look at his face without craning her neck. “If you are to be my guardian angel, I would know more about you.”

He seemed more stolid than ever. “Hardly that, my lady.”

“I heard that you are an assassin. You kill people for my brother?” It was strange to think that she walked next to a murderer. Really, though, if her Roman maids’ gossip were true, she had walked next to any number of them. And while there seemed to be a difference between killing people and having them killed, she wasn’t exactly sure where it resided. Was Cesare a murderer, too?

Micheletto walked in silence for a moment. He didn’t hold himself the way Cesare did, upright and high-strung, like a cat ready to pounce; instead he strolled easily beside her. She would have thought him entirely without cares if she hadn’t known who he was.

“I am whatever Cardinal Borgia needs me to be,” he said. “And I do whatever is needed.”

Lucrezia swallowed. “Was it needed for you to kill Djem?”

“No,” said Micheletto, briefly glancing at her. His eyes were a brighter, colder blue than her own, calm and steady. “The cardinal did not wish him ill.”

“Nor did any others?” she pressed. The memory had begun to fade, with so much else to occupy her. Now it came rushing back.

“That I cannot say. I do not answer to others,” he said.

Perhaps it really had been a fever. “Well,” said Lucrezia, forcing herself to brighten, “how long have you served Cesare? Oh, wait, I know that! It was the night of Cardinal Orsini’s feast, wasn’t it?”

He nodded.

Cardinal Orsini died that night. He had tried to murder her father, the Pope of Rome, and instead found the poison in his own cup, poured down his own throat. That much she knew from her mother and the servants. Jofré’s monkey had died, too; she remembered Cesare apologizing to him the next day, saying but he died valiantly, little brother; he saved our father!

What an eventful evening she had missed.

“Less than a year, then,” she said, wondering what Cesare could have possibly done to earn such a man’s loyalty, in such a brief time. “Well, you must have done something before that.”

“Many things,” said Micheletto.

Lucrezia decided she didn’t want to know the details. “Here in Italy? Or are you Spanish, like us?”

“No, my lady. I was born in Forlì.”

“And I was born in Rome,” she said merrily. “Oh, but Forlì—I know of that! My husband’s cousin is contessa in Forlì. There are Sforzas there, too.”

“There are Sforzas everywhere,” he said.

Lucrezia laughed out loud. “Indeed! We have the duke in Milan, and my lord here, and Lady Caterina in Forlì … and Cardinal Sforza, of course, with my father. Do you know the Vice-Chancellor?”

Micheletto gave her another one of his considering glances. “I am your brother’s servant, my lady. I do not speak to the other cardinals.” He paused. “Usually.”

“Well,” said Lucrezia, “I didn’t ask if he knew you. I would wager that you know most people better than they know you.” She paused to flick her fingers at a tiny leaf, watching it flutter to the ground. “Even people who are not lords and princes.”

Micheletto said nothing, which she took as yes. Lucrezia’s mind, darting from thought to thought, and avoiding the troubles she had left in the castle, returned to his home. “Do you have family there? In Forlì?”

“My mother,” he said slowly.

“Do you visit her?” Lucrezia recalled—tried to recall—her mother’s hands pressing hers, the night of the wedding. She remembered that it had occurred, but couldn’t feel it. If she were a man, she would ride to Rome to see her, as often as she could. At least Vanozza was not alone in her villa, as Lucrezia had been in this castle. Vanozza had Jofré with her, and wrote that Juan visited her now and then, while Cesare came almost daily and often asked her advice.

Perhaps Lucrezia would conceive soon, and then she would have someone of her own. She placed a hand over her stomach, imagining it, but felt only a sharp misery settling there. She did not want a Sforza child, his child. She wanted her family.

“Sometimes I see her,” Micheletto said, sounding faintly bemused, “when I am in Forlì.”

Lucrezia favoured him with one of her brightest smiles. “Not as often as she would wish?”

“That would be impossible, my lady.”

She laughed. “I hope my brother pays you enough to support her.” Lucrezia thought it over. “If half the things I have heard are true, he should pay you a good deal more than that.”

Micheletto actually smiled—or, at least, the muscles around his mouth twitched a little. “His Eminence is extremely generous.”

Lucrezia was not surprised. Cesare had showered her with gifts for as long as she could remember, and Vanozza and Jofré scarcely less; she knew the servants liked him better than Juan. He would not stint with a man as loyal and useful as Micheletto.

She handed her cloak to him and they walked on. For over an hour, Lucrezia wandered about the grounds, sometimes extracting what she could from the taciturn Micheletto, sometimes silent, unable to keep her thoughts from wandering back to the castle. Micheletto was not scintillating company, but not disagreeable either, and something about him soothed her. He did not strike an imposing figure, but she had an idea that she would find no protector more formidable or more trustworthy. If he had not scruples he had loyalty, loyalty to her family. Well, to Cesare, but that was safer still.

At the edge of the forest, she reluctantly turned to go back, and tripped over a stone. Micheletto’s hand flew out, grasping her shoulder. His grip dug into her bruises.

Lucrezia gasped in pain. Without thinking, she jerked back, Micheletto’s fingers still attached to her sleeve. It pulled aside.

He immediately released her, but it was too late. He stared at the bruises, his blank face turning somehow blanker.

Absurdly embarrassed, Lucrezia tugged her sleeve back up.

“Your brother will kill him for this,” Micheletto said quietly.

“No!” He had not even touched the purpling skin, but she felt as if he’d knocked the air out of her. Lucrezia turned away, trying to catch her breath. Panic was beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs. “We need my husband alive! Cesare cannot—he must not—”

“Lady Lucrezia—”

She whirled back, hands clenching her skirts. “You cannot tell him!”

“He would kill me for that,” said Micheletto.

Lucrezia forced herself to think past her thudding heart, the horrified dismay rising in bumps along her arms. She needed her wits now, the wit Giulia had praised so long ago. She needed to think.

“I mean that I must tell him myself,” she said quickly, words almost tripping over each other. “I would not have him hear it from you first. I have only been thinking of the right way to tell him, to preserve the alliance with the Sforzas. I—oh, never mind that! I forbid you to speak of this to anyone!”

Micheletto’s eyebrows rose.

“Cesare told you to obey me,” she added, hating the note of desperation in her voice.

“He did not intend betrayal,” he said baldly, “and he will not forgive it.”

“Betrayal? How is it betrayal to leave me to confide my own affairs in my own brother as I will? I am sure he would rather hear it from my lips than yours!” Lucrezia took a deep breath. “And he will. I shall tell him within … within three days, I swear it. Speak to him then, if you insist.” She laid a hand on his arm, eyes wide and pathetic. “Surely it is no betrayal to afford an unhappy lady that much.”

He gazed at her, utterly unreadable. Then he said, “Three days?”

Lucrezia nodded.

“You tell him, then. But it will not matter.”

The painful constriction about her chest dissolved.

“You are a good friend to us, Micheletto,” she said, and kissed his cheek.

Cesare awoke in an excellent mood. His head was clearer than it had been in days, exhaustion no longer gnawed at him, and he thought he might enjoy his memories of a drunken Sforza for the rest of his life. And Lucrezia seemed less miserable by the hour.

He stretched, mind already at work. All the solutions he had yet contrived were only temporary measures—very temporary. But a better one would come to him soon. He was convinced of it.

Cesare considered and rejected his robes; it was bad enough to hear your Eminence-this and Cardinal-that everywhere he went. Dressed in his comfortable leathers, he hurried downstairs to find his sister sitting in a pool of sunlight with her hair spilling over her shoulders. She wore the colour he had discarded, infinitely more natural on her—she could have posed for a saint again, one fiercer than Saint Catherine.

“Ave Lucretia,” he said.

She lifted up her eyes, thoughtful expression turning delighted, then exasperated.

“It’s too early for blasphemy, Cesare,” she said, but accepted his chaste kiss on her cheek with a smile.

“I hope you slept well?”

“Like a baby,” said Lucrezia. She smoothed her red skirts. “And you, brother? You have no headache, perhaps?”

“Not at all,” he said cheerfully, and sat beside her. “Speaking of headaches, has your husband bestirred himself yet?”

She folded her hands, looking pensive again. “Oh, yes. He rode out early, while I was strolling about the gardens. I saw him leave as we returned—he seemed in a great hurry.”

“Then I cannot accompany him today,” said Cesare. “What a disappointment.”

Lucrezia pinched him, grinning. It spoiled the aura of sanctity about her, but he didn’t care. He would rather see her laughing than holy. Cesare elbowed her back, happier in this hellish place than amidst all the glories of the Vatican.

They were Borgias, he thought. They would find a way.

After breakfast, she led him down to the stables, more to pass the time than out of any particular interest on his part or hers. A groom in a ragged shirt was perched on a straw-filled loft inside, cleaning a harness. Like most of Sforza’s servants, he looked miserable and hungry.

The groom scrambled down the ladder as soon as they entered. Lucrezia tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtfully at him.

“Lord Sforza is still at the hunt?” said Cesare.

He nodded. “Would your Eminence and my lady have me saddle up horses so they can ride out after him?”

“There is nothing we would like less,” Lucrezia said tartly, gaze still fixed on the servant. Cesare, torn between amused tolerance and distaste, contented himself with remarking on a handsome horse in a nearby stall. He and Lucrezia walked over to pat its nose.

“This is Diablo, your Eminence,” said the groom.

The horse nuzzled Lucrezia’s hand. Cesare gave it a doubtful look.

“He seems hardly diabolical.”

“He was the devil for speed until he tumbled on a break and shattered his hoof.”

“And now?” said Lucrezia.

“His fire is gone entirely. He will end up pulling hay.”

Cesare winced. “A sorry end for such a fine creature.”

“There are worse fates,” said Lucrezia. She pointed at the Arab mare opposite. “And who is this one?”

“Fatima. One could not have them in the same stable when he was in his prime. But after his break … ”

Cesare’s and Lucrezia’s hands stilled. They stared at one another over Diablo’s head.

And there it was.

“He was chastened?” Lucrezia said, eyes still fixed on his.

The groom shuffled behind them. “He is like a mare himself now, my lady.”

Cesare collected himself to ask a few more questions, walking around the stables with Lucrezia flushed and hopeful beside him, anticipation boiling in his gut. Once they left and passed out of earshot, she clasped his arm.

“Do you think …?”

“His saddle could be adjusted,” said Cesare. It was not a permanent solution, of course, but it would do well enough, for now.

“He would fall. He would break,” Lucrezia said, eyes shining. “He would return home, tamed.”

Cesare nodded.

She bit her lip. “Might he die?”

“I have seen him ride,” Cesare said. “He is too good a horseman to die from a fall.”

Her mouth curled up once more, baring her teeth: not quite her old carefree grin, but the next thing to it.

“Micheletto will manage it,” said Cesare. He smiled into her eyes and leaned down to bump her nose, his forehead tilting against hers. But Lucrezia dropped her eyes to his lips, breath quick on his face, and he—he wanted her. Her fingers dug into his arm, her skin was soft and cool against his, her mouth scarcely an inch away. It would be nothing to kiss her, as he had so many times before.

One time before.

Cesare almost felt her mouth again. My sister, he thought dimly, but she was staring right at him without a trace of horror or even alarm, nothing but a strange half-starved look. She made no sound, but her lips moved. Cesare.

He couldn’t breathe. His mind chanted prayers, desperate appeals to God, the Virgin, anyone who might hear.

Ave, Ave. Ave Lucretia.

Something clattered in the stables. He jerked away, unable to miss the disappointment in her eyes.

Hoarsely, Cesare said, “He shall be broken, sis.”

With a mischievous look, she stood on tiptoe and nudged his nose. “So he shall.”

That night, Giovanni Sforza climbed the stairs in a state of some doubt. Lucrezia had been in good spirits all evening, which he could not but regard as suspicious, and Borgia had done nothing to deny him his rights, which could only be more so. Yet no new trick hindered his path to his wife’s bedchambers.

When he opened the door, however, he found the room empty but for a maid.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

The maid mumbled something he didn’t bother trying to catch. Sforza turned on his heel and stamped out. No dowry could compensate for this humiliation. He should—

From down the hall, he heard a distant giggle and a man’s laugh. Sforza, eyes narrowing, made his way towards the sound. Mocking him, no doubt, or exchanging filthy Borgia secrets—but Borgia’s door was flung wide open, all but inviting him to see.

Sforza paused in the doorway. His wife and her brother sat on the bed in their shifts, babbling in their corrupt dialect. Borgia’s back was to him; Lucrezia simply did not notice his presence.

“Our mother,” she said.

They lifted their hands and began to clap one another’s, like children. While Sforza mentally downgraded the boy cardinal’s age from twenty to perhaps eighteen, Lucrezia said in sing-song voice:

“I took a bow and aimed it low—”

Borgia joined in. “And caught you on the chin, chin, chin.”

They laughed.

“Our mother said: now go to bed, I’ll have to lock you in, in, in …”

Sforza’s skin crawled. He turned and walked away.

Notes

1) And I was born in Rome: Juan says in the pilot that he was born in Rome (and the person he's arguing with agrees), though he later implies that all the Borgias remember moving to Italy. There are several possible explanations, most likely that it's a continuity error, but for the fic I assume that he, Lucrezia, and Jofré were born into a Spanish household in Rome, but spent some time in Spain after her birth. (IRL Lucrezia was born not far outside of Rome.)

2) He would not stint with a man as loyal and useful as Micheletto: Cesare was generous with people who served him faithfully; he was particularly beloved by his soldiers and subjects in the Romagna, and rewarded loyal nobles. (WRT Juan, pretty much everyone but Rodrigo liked Cesare better, which Rodrigo himself points out in the show.)

3) she could have posed for a saint again: Lucrezia is famously the model for St Catherine in "The Disputation of Saint Catherine."

4) Ave Lucretia: Hail, Lucrezia. (Latin.) Literally just a greeting, but both times meant as a blasphemous twist on the Hail Mary. (The show isn't exactly subtle about Lucrezia as a Madonna figure!)

5) “A sorry end for such a fine creature": a bit like a spectacular tactician and statesman ending up a refugee/mercenary in Navarre!

#we get dark only to shine #fic #/#//#///#////#/////#the borgias #cesare borgia #lucrezia borgia #micheletto corella #giovanni sforza #otp: loves you as himself

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