Borgias fic: Tabula Rasa
Oct. 18th, 2013 06:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_roseTitle: Tabula Rasa
Fandom: The Borgias
Pairing/Characters: Juan, Cesare, Micheletto, minor Rodrigo, Lucrezia, Vanozza; implied Cesare/Lucrezia
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3890 approx
Prompt: For the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trope_bingo prompt "amnesia", the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dark_bingo prompt "family" and the hc_bingo prompt "amnesia"
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dorothydeath
Summary: Alternate S2.01. Juan's cheating causes a more serious accident but one that may go in his favour as he attempts to manipulate an amnesiac Cesare, even as his jealousy grows at his family's attempts to comfort his brother.
Content Notes: No standard warnings apply.
Also @ A03 // FF.net
Still seething after the aborted swordfight with his brother, Juan decided he would take glory from Cesare by any means necessary. He was a fine horseman but, lest Cesare prove better, Juan decided to skew the odds in his favour.
A handful of caltrops brought down Cesare and his horse, and Juan rode to victory.
His joy was short lived. The mood of the crowd shifted. Their cheers died down, excited murmurs replacing their adulation. The Pope frowned, and stood, trying to see what the cause of the commotion was.
He thought he heard the word "Cardinal" and Juan suddenly felt sick with fear. He turned his horse, forcing his way back along the route through the gathering crowds. From his vantage point in the saddle he saw his brother lying in the dirt, his manservant crouched protectively at his side.
Juan had only intended to prevent Cesare winning the race. As he looked at his brother's unmoving form, Juan felt guilt and anger fill his veins, along with some small shred of grief.
Who couldn't take one fall from a horse? Juan kicked out at a stone column. He'd been unseated on many occasions and he'd been just fine. But not his beloved brother, oh no. Fell on his stupid thick head. Well, maybe not so thick. The horse was uninjured, but Cesare was still unconscious and the Pope was angry and upset and then the damn pet manservant-cum-assassin Cesare kept around – awful man with awful hair, Michel or something – had made things worse by producing a dusty caltrop to the Pope.
"Sabotage?" Rodrigo had bellowed and Juan knew he ought to have owned up there and then. He should have explained that it was just a prank gone horribly wrong, that he had never, could never have intended, to harm Cesare.
Of course that damn Michel would probably have something to say about the swordfight earlier in the day. Juan had kept silent.
"You will find who did this," Rodrigo ordered, pressing the sharp object into Juan's palm and closing his fingers over it until Juan winced as the wicked thing drew pinpricks of blood. "We shall punish whoever would try to murder our son!"
Michel – no, Micheletto, wasn't it, stupid name that sounded more like a boy than a murdering thief – had watched intently as Juan promised his father he would investigate and bring the perpetrator to justice. The man had to suspect, yet he made no move to turn Juan in.
That wasn't as comforting a thought as it might have been. Juan kept glancing over his shoulder, half expecting the assassin to be there, ready to slit his throat.
What Juan needed was a scapegoat. He found a peasant and promised him gold beyond his wildest dreams if he confessed to sabotaging Cardinal Borgia's horse. At best, the man would get a whipping, at worst, death – but either way his family, all nine or ten of them living in the stinking hovel, would be provided for.
Even this moment of pride was ruined, however. When he returned home to proclaim his triumph, Juan found Rodrigo in good spirits and a mind to be merciful. Cesare was awake. Juan tensed, certain he would now be exposed. He was saved, however, by some minor miracle.
It seemed that Cesare had lost his memory.
Juan approached Cesare, who was kneeling at the altar. Micheletto was nearby, watching carefully.
"Brother," Juan said. Cesare turned to stare at him. Carefully, he got to his feet, brushing at his clerical robes.
"You must forgive me for not knowing your face," Cesare said. Juan stared back, wondering if this were a trick, and if it were, how far his brother would take it. Cesare gestured to the altar. "I'm told I am a cardinal. So I pray for God to restore my memory."
"May He grant your prayers," Juan said with false sincerity. "Tell me, brother, how is it you remember speech but not who I am? That you understand prayer but do not recall being granted the cardinalate?"
Cesare spread his hands guilelessly. "I cannot say. There are things I know for certain while other facts escape me. I can recite the Lord's prayer and yet I did not know my own name until I was told it." He took in Juan's armour. "I am named for Caesar and yet I wear clerical robes. Perhaps you should have been Cesare and I, Juan."
Juan gave a short laugh, thrown off guard. "I am content with my name. I cannot imagine not knowing it. It must be terrible, not to remember it, nor anything else of your life."
Cesare shrugged. "The physicians are hopeful I may regain my memories, in time."
Perhaps this was a sign from God, Juan thought wryly. He had the chance to start afresh with his brother. He could win Cesare to his side, ply the unbiased man with gentle words and talk of fraternal affection. If Cesare never did remember their past, Juan could make him an ally. If he did regain his memories, perhaps the time they spent in camaraderie rather than conflict might soften Cesare's disdain towards him.
Juan clapped Cesare on the shoulder. Cesare stared doubtfully at his hand. "Do not worry about a thing," Juan told him with a bright smile. "Our family has many enemies, but I shall take care of you, dear brother."
He pretended not to feel Micheletto's eyes burning into his back.
Juan and Micheletto stalked Cesare like twin shadows. Juan watched as Cesare sat in the garden, talking with Lucrezia. He saw Lucrezia run gentle fingers over Cesare's face, biting her lip in sympathetic anguish for his suffering. When had she ever shown Juan such devotion?
Not entirely to his surprise, Juan watched Lucrezia kiss Cesare, full on the lips. What was surprising was Cesare's reaction. He pulled away, and, while Juan couldn't hear the words he said, presumably made some excuse and left the courtyard. Lucrezia stayed seated, puzzlement and grief writ upon her pretty features. Juan smirked and moved along the corridor, whistling tunelessly.
"It must be a great honour, brother," Cesare said, "to head up the papal armies." He stroked the nose of Juan's horse.
Juan nodded. There was not a hint of jealousy in Cesare's voice. His brother had always thought him unworthy of such an office, and their every interaction was tainted by his contempt for Juan's abilities. Without his memories, Cesare didn't judge or scorn Juan, and it was a pleasant, but unsettling experience.
Juan was starting to think that the accident – and it was an accident, he hadn't meant for this to happen – was a blessing. Nowadays Cesare smiled more readily and seemed more at ease. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"You do not wish to captain the troops rather than lead within the Church?" Juan asked, testing the waters.
Cesare shook his head. "I am Cardinal Borgia, am I not? What business would I have leading men into battle?"
Juan had to bite back a yelp of joy. "None," he said simply.
For a moment they stood in silence, Cesare petting the horse, enjoying a moment of quiet familial closeness.
"You say we have enemies," Cesare said at length.
"We do. We are Spanish interlopers to some. Many say that our Father did not justly become Pope but obtained his seat by corrupt means. There are countless reasons people hate us, and yet we are no worse than any other ruling family in Italy, or elsewhere."
Cesare nodded, accepting this. Juan wondered if politics was something, like prayer, which he could remember, or if he'd lost his memory of world affairs too. "Am I in danger?"
"We are all somewhat in danger. But do not worry. I told you, I will take care of you, brother." Juan gave him an encouraging smile. Cesare nodded, but there was a hint of misgiving in his eyes now.
"Lucrezia," he said. "You will protect Lucrezia?"
Juan frowned. "Yes! How can you doubt me?"
"I do not. I merely…" Cesare trailed off. "I would die to protect her. It is the one thing I am certain of. I think we were close. I think…I know that I love her dearly."
Too dearly, Juan thought but kept silent. He had no proof that his siblings had crossed the line into incest but he had suspected it for some time now. Cesare had taken Sforza's place at Lucrezia's side as surely as if he were her husband and the bastard son she'd borne were his own.
"You, Juan," Cesare went on, perhaps seeing his displeasure and grasping at Juan's arm. "Surely I love you too. My brave brother."
"And I you," Juan said. But it wasn't really true, and as Cesare took his leave, Juan thought that his brother suspected as much. Juan knew he ought to bear in mind that Cesare may have lost his memories, but he had not lost his wits.
Juan bit into an apple, watching Micheletto and Cesare fight with swords and fists and daggers.
"The body remembers," Micheletto said with a pleased smile as Cesare deflected a blow. "The mind can follow."
Whether the physical exercise might help stir up memories was doubtful, Juan thought, but Cesare took great joy in it. More than he did when obediently going about his clerical duties. Some of one's nature was innate.
"You're not helping," Juan said, when Cesare had left to wash, and to change his clothes, while Micheletto put away the weapons. "My brother is a cardinal. His time would be better spent reading his bible than brandishing a sword."
Micheletto regarded him coolly. "That is for your brother to decide."
Juan's cheek twitched with rage. He wanted to have this peasant whipped to within an inch of his miserable life. Yet even without knowing what Micheletto had done for Cesare in the past (and Cesare was the only one who had known exactly what that entailed) he had taken a liking to the manservant. He relied on him as much as, maybe more, than before. Juan could not discipline or remove Micheletto without incurring Cesare's wrath.
"You should mind your tone," Juan said through clenched teeth. "And watch your step."
"And you yours, my lord." Micheletto examined the blade he was holding carefully as if seeking out imperfections. It reminded Juan that he was unarmed and it took all his courage not to step back. "After all, someone sabotaged your brother's horse."
Juan felt his blood run cold.
Micheletto met Juan's gaze and, with just a hint of mockery said, "Whoever it was may come after you next."
Micheletto knew. Juan was certain of it then. If only he'd framed Micheletto for the accident! He swept out of the room, angry and afraid and wishing a horrible death upon the wretched man. He'd intended to repair his relationship with Cesare, but right now Juan would settle for keeping his brother ignorant and out of his way – whatever that took.
Juan was debating tactics with his father one afternoon when Cesare entered without knocking.
"We are discussing important military matters," Juan snapped. Yet seeing how distraught Cesare was, Rodrigo got to his feet.
"Cesare. What is it? Come?" He held out one ringed hand and Cesare moved to let his father embrace him. Juan hadn't seen such genuine devotion for years and it was another knife of bitterness in his side to see his brother again usurp him.
"I went to the convent," Cesare said brokenly. "I had heard…I don't remember her, but the Lady Ursula Bonadeo…"
Juan rolled his eyes. "She took the Veil," he interrupted.
"Because of me," Cesare said, almost weeping in his distress. "She told me that I killed her husband. Did I?"
Rodrigo hesitated and this made Cesare pull back, astonished. Clearly he'd been expecting an immediate and sincere reassurance that he had not. Poor Cesare. So disappointed. Juan tried not to smile.
"It's possible," Rodrigo said at last with a nonchalance that clearly appalled his eldest son. "Sometimes certain actions are…necessary."
Cesare shook his head in disbelief, taking a further step away from his father. "We wear red to show our willingness to shed our own blood for the Church," he said. "Not that of others!"
"You truly believe that?" Juan gave a short laugh. "You've lost your sanity as well as your memories, then!"
Rodrigo shot him a dark glance and Juan schooled his features into a sombre mask. "Cesare –" Rodrigo began placatingly, but Cesare looked at him as if he thought him the devil.
"I must beg forgiveness for my sins."
"And I shall absolve you, my son," Rodrigo said, making soothing gestures with his hands. Cesare shook his head, turned on his heel and left the room. Rodrigo sank into his chair and pressed his palm to his head.
Juan wondered if Cesare might do something unforgivable, like seek out Cardinal Della Rovere, a devout man and their mortal enemy. "He will recover his senses," Juan said, mostly for something to say.
"He had better. He risks becoming a liability." Rodrigo leaned back in his chair and sighed. "We may have to find a monastery where Cardinal Borgia may fully recuperate. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere far away."
Juan nodded, and attempted to sound merely dutiful and not jubilant as he said, "Yes, Father. Whatever you think best."
If Cesare did throw himself on Della Rovere's mercy, Juan was not party to it. He did however witness his brother corner Micheletto in a corridor. Juan drew behind a pillar to watch and listen, anxious to discover what his brother's intentions were.
"You will tell me everything," Cesare ordered and he sounded like himself once more.
"Your Eminence," Micheletto protested, but Cesare leaned in close, pressing his manservant against the stone wall, one thumb pressing into Micheletto's throat.
"If I am a monster I would know all of my sins," Cesare hissed.
"That you may ask forgiveness of them?"
Cesare hesitated. "Is that would I do? If I knew my own mind?"
"I cannot say."
Cesare gave a sharp, hollow laugh and released Micheletto. "I think you can say more than you dare. This is an order, Micheletto. You will tell me everything you know about me. All the things my family cannot or will not."
"Or you will whip me?"
There was a long moment of silence. Juan frowned, peered around the pillar. Cesare was staring at the floor.
"Eminence?"
Cesare met Micheletto's concerned gaze. "I think…that – I have whipped you before?"
A ghost of a smile touched Micheletto's lips. "Yes, Eminence. You remember?"
Cesare turned away. "I need a moment. Alone." He walked off towards his chambers. Juan scowled. He'd still gladly whip Micheletto himself.
Dinner was a strained affair. Their Holy Father was not present, and his children were subdued, Cesare stirring his stew rather than eating it. Vanozza stroked his hand.
"Your memory will return," she told him. "I pray for it nightly."
He gave her a wry smile. Lucrezia watched them, nibbling at a piece of bread. Juan ate heartily, regarding his family with disdain and mistrust.
Cesare pushed the bowl aside. "I'm not hungry. I'm sorry."
Vanozza quickly reassured him that it was all right, that she understood. Everyone was always falling over themselves to comfort Cesare. Juan drank his wine in one gulp and poured another, seething with bitterness.
"Sis, let me see your child," Cesare begged. "Perhaps that might help me remember." Lucrezia's eyes widened and she stood.
"Of course," she said, eyes shining with delight. "But, Cesare. You called me Sis." Seeing his confusion she added, "That's what you call me. You remember your pet name for me." She was tearful with relief.
Juan stared over the rim of his cup. He watched her take Cesare's arm as they left the room together. Well wasn't that nice.
Cesare was sitting on a bench in the gardens the next day, still as a statue, his cardinal's robes pooled neatly around his feet, though his hat was discarded on the well-kept lawn. Juan glanced around but didn't see Micheletto anywhere. One hand on his sword hilt for no reason that he'd admit to, Juan wandered across the grass. His shadow fell on Cesare as he approached and his brother blinked as if waking from sleep.
"Juan."
"You'll get sunstroke if you sit in the noon sun without your hat."
A hint of a smile played at Cesare's lips. "You're always looking out for me."
"Yes." It didn't sound convincing, even to Juan himself.
Cesare picked up his biretta, turning it around as if it were the first time he'd ever held it and was fascinated by the shape and texture. "I remember something."
Juan's fingers twitched against metal. "Yes?"
"I remember," Cesare said slowly, meeting Juan's gaze, "that I really hate pork liver."
Juan laughed and released his sword. "Yes. Yes, you do." He sat down next to Cesare, who shifted to one side to accommodate him.
A breeze stirred the trees, the leaves rustling. Cesare lifted one hand to tuck his hair back behind his ear, wincing as his fingers brushed his temple. Juan inhaled sharply in sympathy at the sight of the bruise that had faded to a dull yellow and brown but was still clearly visible.
Cesare glanced at him. "It's not so bad now."
Juan merely nodded. Since it was usually hidden beneath Cesare's hair, this was the first time he'd seen any physical evidence of the injury he had indirectly caused. It must have been looked a lot worse at the time.
Cesare touched his hair self-consciously. "Perhaps it is a blessing I don't remember the fall."
"Perhaps," Juan echoed.
"I'm told it was sabotage. That you found the guilty party."
Juan nodded. "I did. Father pardoned him."
"A pity." Cesare gave him a cold smile. "I might have liked to punish him myself."
Juan swallowed. His blood ran cold. "The man is dead. He drowned, I'm told." Juan had ensured his scapegoat had met with an accident to tie up that loose end. He was very proud of himself of such forethought.
"He might at least have had the decency to apologise to me personally before expiring." Cesare squinted up at the sun. "Though who am I to question God's will?" He stood and put on his biretta. "Still, what is not confessed cannot be forgiven."
Juan met his challenging gaze with as much courage as he could muster. Cesare smiled. "I have Mass to lead." He inclined his head and stalked off towards the cathedral.
Juan watched him go, unable to shake the feeling he'd had a narrow escape.
Two days later Cesare sent for Juan – it was worded as a request but Micheletto's tone made it clear it was a demand.
"His Eminence has need of your advice," Micheletto added which Juan ought to have known was a warning sign, but chose instead to be flattered by.
Cesare was kneeling by the altar when they came upon him. Micheletto slouched against a pillar, unnervingly nonchalant. Juan cleared his throat. Cesare made the sign of the cross and got to his feet.
"Juan." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you for coming."
Juan suddenly felt cornered, even in this vast expanse. "You needed me for something?"
Cesare nodded. "I do. I have something to tell you." His robes brushed the floor as he paced, moving behind Juan.
"Which is?" Juan demanded, half in impatience, half in fear. He was grabbed from behind, one arm cruelly twisted beneath his back. He struggled, but then Cesare's other hand was around his shoulders and the knife he held was being pressed against Juan's throat. Juan clutched at Cesare's sleeve to no avail. Micheletto watched with quiet amusement.
"I remember," Cesare hissed in Juan's ear. The knife bit into his flesh and Juan swallowed hard. "I remember everything."
"Brother," Juan began, but the knife pressed deeper and he gasped.
"I gave you a chance to confess but you would not take it. Well now I shall have my revenge."
Cesare was going to kill him. Dear God, he was actually going to do it. Juan could yell for the guards but he'd be dead before they got there. His best chance was to plead for Cesare to be reasonable. He said the first panicked thing that came to mind. "Our father will never forgive you."
"And I shall never forgive you for all that you have done!" The knife pressed a fraction deeper. "I remember every snide comment! I remember every slight. I remember every time I have saved your incompetent ass from a situation of your own making. I remember every smirk, Juan. And I remember every lie you told me while I was ignorant of all those things. That you told me over and over how you loved me and would protect me."
Juan tried to swallow but it hurt to do so. "I do love you," he said desperately. "You are my brother."
"You sabotaged my horse. You could have killed me! And for what?" Cesare's breath was hot on Juan's neck, voice tight with anger. "To win a race? Is your pride more important than my life?"
"You weren't supposed to be hurt." Juan clutched tighter at Cesare's sleeve. "I swear, I only wanted to win. For our father to look on me as he does you."
Cesare released him abruptly, giving him a shove as he did so. Juan stumbled and almost fell. He found his feet and turned to look at Cesare, his brother's eyes still filled with rage.
"He adores you," Cesare said. He pointed the knife at Juan. "You! Not his first born! He forces me to serve the Church, while you hold the reins of the armies. You are his glory. Lucrezia is his joy. No matter what I do, I can never earn his respect, respect he gives you without question. Without reason!"
Juan didn't dare to disagree, though he thought Cesare sadly mistaken. Their father had kept Cesare close to him, made him his right hand. Cesare never made the mistakes Juan did. He was not frequently a source of disappointment to Rodrigo.
Cesare shook his head. "I remember everything. For the sake of our family, I will put our differences aside, at least for the moment. But I will not forget and I will not forgive."
Did that mean he was safe? That Cesare wouldn't tell Rodrigo of the sabotage? Juan put one hand to his throat. His fingers came away bloody. His bastard brother had cut him! It wasn't a deep wound, but surely it was payment enough in kind for the accident.
They both stared at the blood for a moment.
"Get out of my sight," Cesare said, his rage finally spent. Juan hesitated and anger flared again. "Go!"
Juan left as quickly as he could without adding further shame to his humiliation by running.
For days afterwards Juan feared Rodrigo's wrath but no angry summons came. It seemed Cesare had kept his word.
Juan watched Cesare and Lucrezia sitting in the courtyard, talking, drinking, touching - kissing. So happy.
He hated them both.
Fandom: The Borgias
Pairing/Characters: Juan, Cesare, Micheletto, minor Rodrigo, Lucrezia, Vanozza; implied Cesare/Lucrezia
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3890 approx
Prompt: For the
trope_bingo prompt "amnesia", the dark_bingo prompt "family" and the hc_bingo prompt "amnesia"Beta:
dorothydeathSummary: Alternate S2.01. Juan's cheating causes a more serious accident but one that may go in his favour as he attempts to manipulate an amnesiac Cesare, even as his jealousy grows at his family's attempts to comfort his brother.
Content Notes: No standard warnings apply.
Also @ A03 // FF.net
Still seething after the aborted swordfight with his brother, Juan decided he would take glory from Cesare by any means necessary. He was a fine horseman but, lest Cesare prove better, Juan decided to skew the odds in his favour.
A handful of caltrops brought down Cesare and his horse, and Juan rode to victory.
His joy was short lived. The mood of the crowd shifted. Their cheers died down, excited murmurs replacing their adulation. The Pope frowned, and stood, trying to see what the cause of the commotion was.
He thought he heard the word "Cardinal" and Juan suddenly felt sick with fear. He turned his horse, forcing his way back along the route through the gathering crowds. From his vantage point in the saddle he saw his brother lying in the dirt, his manservant crouched protectively at his side.
Juan had only intended to prevent Cesare winning the race. As he looked at his brother's unmoving form, Juan felt guilt and anger fill his veins, along with some small shred of grief.
Who couldn't take one fall from a horse? Juan kicked out at a stone column. He'd been unseated on many occasions and he'd been just fine. But not his beloved brother, oh no. Fell on his stupid thick head. Well, maybe not so thick. The horse was uninjured, but Cesare was still unconscious and the Pope was angry and upset and then the damn pet manservant-cum-assassin Cesare kept around – awful man with awful hair, Michel or something – had made things worse by producing a dusty caltrop to the Pope.
"Sabotage?" Rodrigo had bellowed and Juan knew he ought to have owned up there and then. He should have explained that it was just a prank gone horribly wrong, that he had never, could never have intended, to harm Cesare.
Of course that damn Michel would probably have something to say about the swordfight earlier in the day. Juan had kept silent.
"You will find who did this," Rodrigo ordered, pressing the sharp object into Juan's palm and closing his fingers over it until Juan winced as the wicked thing drew pinpricks of blood. "We shall punish whoever would try to murder our son!"
Michel – no, Micheletto, wasn't it, stupid name that sounded more like a boy than a murdering thief – had watched intently as Juan promised his father he would investigate and bring the perpetrator to justice. The man had to suspect, yet he made no move to turn Juan in.
That wasn't as comforting a thought as it might have been. Juan kept glancing over his shoulder, half expecting the assassin to be there, ready to slit his throat.
What Juan needed was a scapegoat. He found a peasant and promised him gold beyond his wildest dreams if he confessed to sabotaging Cardinal Borgia's horse. At best, the man would get a whipping, at worst, death – but either way his family, all nine or ten of them living in the stinking hovel, would be provided for.
Even this moment of pride was ruined, however. When he returned home to proclaim his triumph, Juan found Rodrigo in good spirits and a mind to be merciful. Cesare was awake. Juan tensed, certain he would now be exposed. He was saved, however, by some minor miracle.
It seemed that Cesare had lost his memory.
Juan approached Cesare, who was kneeling at the altar. Micheletto was nearby, watching carefully.
"Brother," Juan said. Cesare turned to stare at him. Carefully, he got to his feet, brushing at his clerical robes.
"You must forgive me for not knowing your face," Cesare said. Juan stared back, wondering if this were a trick, and if it were, how far his brother would take it. Cesare gestured to the altar. "I'm told I am a cardinal. So I pray for God to restore my memory."
"May He grant your prayers," Juan said with false sincerity. "Tell me, brother, how is it you remember speech but not who I am? That you understand prayer but do not recall being granted the cardinalate?"
Cesare spread his hands guilelessly. "I cannot say. There are things I know for certain while other facts escape me. I can recite the Lord's prayer and yet I did not know my own name until I was told it." He took in Juan's armour. "I am named for Caesar and yet I wear clerical robes. Perhaps you should have been Cesare and I, Juan."
Juan gave a short laugh, thrown off guard. "I am content with my name. I cannot imagine not knowing it. It must be terrible, not to remember it, nor anything else of your life."
Cesare shrugged. "The physicians are hopeful I may regain my memories, in time."
Perhaps this was a sign from God, Juan thought wryly. He had the chance to start afresh with his brother. He could win Cesare to his side, ply the unbiased man with gentle words and talk of fraternal affection. If Cesare never did remember their past, Juan could make him an ally. If he did regain his memories, perhaps the time they spent in camaraderie rather than conflict might soften Cesare's disdain towards him.
Juan clapped Cesare on the shoulder. Cesare stared doubtfully at his hand. "Do not worry about a thing," Juan told him with a bright smile. "Our family has many enemies, but I shall take care of you, dear brother."
He pretended not to feel Micheletto's eyes burning into his back.
Juan and Micheletto stalked Cesare like twin shadows. Juan watched as Cesare sat in the garden, talking with Lucrezia. He saw Lucrezia run gentle fingers over Cesare's face, biting her lip in sympathetic anguish for his suffering. When had she ever shown Juan such devotion?
Not entirely to his surprise, Juan watched Lucrezia kiss Cesare, full on the lips. What was surprising was Cesare's reaction. He pulled away, and, while Juan couldn't hear the words he said, presumably made some excuse and left the courtyard. Lucrezia stayed seated, puzzlement and grief writ upon her pretty features. Juan smirked and moved along the corridor, whistling tunelessly.
"It must be a great honour, brother," Cesare said, "to head up the papal armies." He stroked the nose of Juan's horse.
Juan nodded. There was not a hint of jealousy in Cesare's voice. His brother had always thought him unworthy of such an office, and their every interaction was tainted by his contempt for Juan's abilities. Without his memories, Cesare didn't judge or scorn Juan, and it was a pleasant, but unsettling experience.
Juan was starting to think that the accident – and it was an accident, he hadn't meant for this to happen – was a blessing. Nowadays Cesare smiled more readily and seemed more at ease. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"You do not wish to captain the troops rather than lead within the Church?" Juan asked, testing the waters.
Cesare shook his head. "I am Cardinal Borgia, am I not? What business would I have leading men into battle?"
Juan had to bite back a yelp of joy. "None," he said simply.
For a moment they stood in silence, Cesare petting the horse, enjoying a moment of quiet familial closeness.
"You say we have enemies," Cesare said at length.
"We do. We are Spanish interlopers to some. Many say that our Father did not justly become Pope but obtained his seat by corrupt means. There are countless reasons people hate us, and yet we are no worse than any other ruling family in Italy, or elsewhere."
Cesare nodded, accepting this. Juan wondered if politics was something, like prayer, which he could remember, or if he'd lost his memory of world affairs too. "Am I in danger?"
"We are all somewhat in danger. But do not worry. I told you, I will take care of you, brother." Juan gave him an encouraging smile. Cesare nodded, but there was a hint of misgiving in his eyes now.
"Lucrezia," he said. "You will protect Lucrezia?"
Juan frowned. "Yes! How can you doubt me?"
"I do not. I merely…" Cesare trailed off. "I would die to protect her. It is the one thing I am certain of. I think we were close. I think…I know that I love her dearly."
Too dearly, Juan thought but kept silent. He had no proof that his siblings had crossed the line into incest but he had suspected it for some time now. Cesare had taken Sforza's place at Lucrezia's side as surely as if he were her husband and the bastard son she'd borne were his own.
"You, Juan," Cesare went on, perhaps seeing his displeasure and grasping at Juan's arm. "Surely I love you too. My brave brother."
"And I you," Juan said. But it wasn't really true, and as Cesare took his leave, Juan thought that his brother suspected as much. Juan knew he ought to bear in mind that Cesare may have lost his memories, but he had not lost his wits.
Juan bit into an apple, watching Micheletto and Cesare fight with swords and fists and daggers.
"The body remembers," Micheletto said with a pleased smile as Cesare deflected a blow. "The mind can follow."
Whether the physical exercise might help stir up memories was doubtful, Juan thought, but Cesare took great joy in it. More than he did when obediently going about his clerical duties. Some of one's nature was innate.
"You're not helping," Juan said, when Cesare had left to wash, and to change his clothes, while Micheletto put away the weapons. "My brother is a cardinal. His time would be better spent reading his bible than brandishing a sword."
Micheletto regarded him coolly. "That is for your brother to decide."
Juan's cheek twitched with rage. He wanted to have this peasant whipped to within an inch of his miserable life. Yet even without knowing what Micheletto had done for Cesare in the past (and Cesare was the only one who had known exactly what that entailed) he had taken a liking to the manservant. He relied on him as much as, maybe more, than before. Juan could not discipline or remove Micheletto without incurring Cesare's wrath.
"You should mind your tone," Juan said through clenched teeth. "And watch your step."
"And you yours, my lord." Micheletto examined the blade he was holding carefully as if seeking out imperfections. It reminded Juan that he was unarmed and it took all his courage not to step back. "After all, someone sabotaged your brother's horse."
Juan felt his blood run cold.
Micheletto met Juan's gaze and, with just a hint of mockery said, "Whoever it was may come after you next."
Micheletto knew. Juan was certain of it then. If only he'd framed Micheletto for the accident! He swept out of the room, angry and afraid and wishing a horrible death upon the wretched man. He'd intended to repair his relationship with Cesare, but right now Juan would settle for keeping his brother ignorant and out of his way – whatever that took.
Juan was debating tactics with his father one afternoon when Cesare entered without knocking.
"We are discussing important military matters," Juan snapped. Yet seeing how distraught Cesare was, Rodrigo got to his feet.
"Cesare. What is it? Come?" He held out one ringed hand and Cesare moved to let his father embrace him. Juan hadn't seen such genuine devotion for years and it was another knife of bitterness in his side to see his brother again usurp him.
"I went to the convent," Cesare said brokenly. "I had heard…I don't remember her, but the Lady Ursula Bonadeo…"
Juan rolled his eyes. "She took the Veil," he interrupted.
"Because of me," Cesare said, almost weeping in his distress. "She told me that I killed her husband. Did I?"
Rodrigo hesitated and this made Cesare pull back, astonished. Clearly he'd been expecting an immediate and sincere reassurance that he had not. Poor Cesare. So disappointed. Juan tried not to smile.
"It's possible," Rodrigo said at last with a nonchalance that clearly appalled his eldest son. "Sometimes certain actions are…necessary."
Cesare shook his head in disbelief, taking a further step away from his father. "We wear red to show our willingness to shed our own blood for the Church," he said. "Not that of others!"
"You truly believe that?" Juan gave a short laugh. "You've lost your sanity as well as your memories, then!"
Rodrigo shot him a dark glance and Juan schooled his features into a sombre mask. "Cesare –" Rodrigo began placatingly, but Cesare looked at him as if he thought him the devil.
"I must beg forgiveness for my sins."
"And I shall absolve you, my son," Rodrigo said, making soothing gestures with his hands. Cesare shook his head, turned on his heel and left the room. Rodrigo sank into his chair and pressed his palm to his head.
Juan wondered if Cesare might do something unforgivable, like seek out Cardinal Della Rovere, a devout man and their mortal enemy. "He will recover his senses," Juan said, mostly for something to say.
"He had better. He risks becoming a liability." Rodrigo leaned back in his chair and sighed. "We may have to find a monastery where Cardinal Borgia may fully recuperate. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere far away."
Juan nodded, and attempted to sound merely dutiful and not jubilant as he said, "Yes, Father. Whatever you think best."
If Cesare did throw himself on Della Rovere's mercy, Juan was not party to it. He did however witness his brother corner Micheletto in a corridor. Juan drew behind a pillar to watch and listen, anxious to discover what his brother's intentions were.
"You will tell me everything," Cesare ordered and he sounded like himself once more.
"Your Eminence," Micheletto protested, but Cesare leaned in close, pressing his manservant against the stone wall, one thumb pressing into Micheletto's throat.
"If I am a monster I would know all of my sins," Cesare hissed.
"That you may ask forgiveness of them?"
Cesare hesitated. "Is that would I do? If I knew my own mind?"
"I cannot say."
Cesare gave a sharp, hollow laugh and released Micheletto. "I think you can say more than you dare. This is an order, Micheletto. You will tell me everything you know about me. All the things my family cannot or will not."
"Or you will whip me?"
There was a long moment of silence. Juan frowned, peered around the pillar. Cesare was staring at the floor.
"Eminence?"
Cesare met Micheletto's concerned gaze. "I think…that – I have whipped you before?"
A ghost of a smile touched Micheletto's lips. "Yes, Eminence. You remember?"
Cesare turned away. "I need a moment. Alone." He walked off towards his chambers. Juan scowled. He'd still gladly whip Micheletto himself.
Dinner was a strained affair. Their Holy Father was not present, and his children were subdued, Cesare stirring his stew rather than eating it. Vanozza stroked his hand.
"Your memory will return," she told him. "I pray for it nightly."
He gave her a wry smile. Lucrezia watched them, nibbling at a piece of bread. Juan ate heartily, regarding his family with disdain and mistrust.
Cesare pushed the bowl aside. "I'm not hungry. I'm sorry."
Vanozza quickly reassured him that it was all right, that she understood. Everyone was always falling over themselves to comfort Cesare. Juan drank his wine in one gulp and poured another, seething with bitterness.
"Sis, let me see your child," Cesare begged. "Perhaps that might help me remember." Lucrezia's eyes widened and she stood.
"Of course," she said, eyes shining with delight. "But, Cesare. You called me Sis." Seeing his confusion she added, "That's what you call me. You remember your pet name for me." She was tearful with relief.
Juan stared over the rim of his cup. He watched her take Cesare's arm as they left the room together. Well wasn't that nice.
Cesare was sitting on a bench in the gardens the next day, still as a statue, his cardinal's robes pooled neatly around his feet, though his hat was discarded on the well-kept lawn. Juan glanced around but didn't see Micheletto anywhere. One hand on his sword hilt for no reason that he'd admit to, Juan wandered across the grass. His shadow fell on Cesare as he approached and his brother blinked as if waking from sleep.
"Juan."
"You'll get sunstroke if you sit in the noon sun without your hat."
A hint of a smile played at Cesare's lips. "You're always looking out for me."
"Yes." It didn't sound convincing, even to Juan himself.
Cesare picked up his biretta, turning it around as if it were the first time he'd ever held it and was fascinated by the shape and texture. "I remember something."
Juan's fingers twitched against metal. "Yes?"
"I remember," Cesare said slowly, meeting Juan's gaze, "that I really hate pork liver."
Juan laughed and released his sword. "Yes. Yes, you do." He sat down next to Cesare, who shifted to one side to accommodate him.
A breeze stirred the trees, the leaves rustling. Cesare lifted one hand to tuck his hair back behind his ear, wincing as his fingers brushed his temple. Juan inhaled sharply in sympathy at the sight of the bruise that had faded to a dull yellow and brown but was still clearly visible.
Cesare glanced at him. "It's not so bad now."
Juan merely nodded. Since it was usually hidden beneath Cesare's hair, this was the first time he'd seen any physical evidence of the injury he had indirectly caused. It must have been looked a lot worse at the time.
Cesare touched his hair self-consciously. "Perhaps it is a blessing I don't remember the fall."
"Perhaps," Juan echoed.
"I'm told it was sabotage. That you found the guilty party."
Juan nodded. "I did. Father pardoned him."
"A pity." Cesare gave him a cold smile. "I might have liked to punish him myself."
Juan swallowed. His blood ran cold. "The man is dead. He drowned, I'm told." Juan had ensured his scapegoat had met with an accident to tie up that loose end. He was very proud of himself of such forethought.
"He might at least have had the decency to apologise to me personally before expiring." Cesare squinted up at the sun. "Though who am I to question God's will?" He stood and put on his biretta. "Still, what is not confessed cannot be forgiven."
Juan met his challenging gaze with as much courage as he could muster. Cesare smiled. "I have Mass to lead." He inclined his head and stalked off towards the cathedral.
Juan watched him go, unable to shake the feeling he'd had a narrow escape.
Two days later Cesare sent for Juan – it was worded as a request but Micheletto's tone made it clear it was a demand.
"His Eminence has need of your advice," Micheletto added which Juan ought to have known was a warning sign, but chose instead to be flattered by.
Cesare was kneeling by the altar when they came upon him. Micheletto slouched against a pillar, unnervingly nonchalant. Juan cleared his throat. Cesare made the sign of the cross and got to his feet.
"Juan." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you for coming."
Juan suddenly felt cornered, even in this vast expanse. "You needed me for something?"
Cesare nodded. "I do. I have something to tell you." His robes brushed the floor as he paced, moving behind Juan.
"Which is?" Juan demanded, half in impatience, half in fear. He was grabbed from behind, one arm cruelly twisted beneath his back. He struggled, but then Cesare's other hand was around his shoulders and the knife he held was being pressed against Juan's throat. Juan clutched at Cesare's sleeve to no avail. Micheletto watched with quiet amusement.
"I remember," Cesare hissed in Juan's ear. The knife bit into his flesh and Juan swallowed hard. "I remember everything."
"Brother," Juan began, but the knife pressed deeper and he gasped.
"I gave you a chance to confess but you would not take it. Well now I shall have my revenge."
Cesare was going to kill him. Dear God, he was actually going to do it. Juan could yell for the guards but he'd be dead before they got there. His best chance was to plead for Cesare to be reasonable. He said the first panicked thing that came to mind. "Our father will never forgive you."
"And I shall never forgive you for all that you have done!" The knife pressed a fraction deeper. "I remember every snide comment! I remember every slight. I remember every time I have saved your incompetent ass from a situation of your own making. I remember every smirk, Juan. And I remember every lie you told me while I was ignorant of all those things. That you told me over and over how you loved me and would protect me."
Juan tried to swallow but it hurt to do so. "I do love you," he said desperately. "You are my brother."
"You sabotaged my horse. You could have killed me! And for what?" Cesare's breath was hot on Juan's neck, voice tight with anger. "To win a race? Is your pride more important than my life?"
"You weren't supposed to be hurt." Juan clutched tighter at Cesare's sleeve. "I swear, I only wanted to win. For our father to look on me as he does you."
Cesare released him abruptly, giving him a shove as he did so. Juan stumbled and almost fell. He found his feet and turned to look at Cesare, his brother's eyes still filled with rage.
"He adores you," Cesare said. He pointed the knife at Juan. "You! Not his first born! He forces me to serve the Church, while you hold the reins of the armies. You are his glory. Lucrezia is his joy. No matter what I do, I can never earn his respect, respect he gives you without question. Without reason!"
Juan didn't dare to disagree, though he thought Cesare sadly mistaken. Their father had kept Cesare close to him, made him his right hand. Cesare never made the mistakes Juan did. He was not frequently a source of disappointment to Rodrigo.
Cesare shook his head. "I remember everything. For the sake of our family, I will put our differences aside, at least for the moment. But I will not forget and I will not forgive."
Did that mean he was safe? That Cesare wouldn't tell Rodrigo of the sabotage? Juan put one hand to his throat. His fingers came away bloody. His bastard brother had cut him! It wasn't a deep wound, but surely it was payment enough in kind for the accident.
They both stared at the blood for a moment.
"Get out of my sight," Cesare said, his rage finally spent. Juan hesitated and anger flared again. "Go!"
Juan left as quickly as he could without adding further shame to his humiliation by running.
For days afterwards Juan feared Rodrigo's wrath but no angry summons came. It seemed Cesare had kept his word.
Juan watched Cesare and Lucrezia sitting in the courtyard, talking, drinking, touching - kissing. So happy.
He hated them both.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-06 09:49 pm (UTC)I liked how you portrayed each brother believing that the other was their father's favored son.
You write Micheletto just right. I often found him to be the most interesting character on the show.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-10 12:48 pm (UTC)