Yuletide gift
Jan. 1st, 2018 12:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiThis is what I wrote.
Title: Homeward
Fandom: The Borgias
Rating: Teens
Word Count: 2121
Characters/pairings: Micheletto Corella/Cesare Borgia, Lucrezia Borgia
Warnings: None
Tags: Friendship, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Summary: Walk far enough and you end up where you left.
AN: Written forgaladriel in Yuletide 2017. Thanks to the_rck for beta.
On AO3
Micheletto met his destiny the day he was to murder the Pope and his son. He had had no sense of foreboding; he had prepared for his mission in his usual meticulous way, with no sense that his life would soon change forever. It might have been an intimidating prospect to kill such illustrious persons, but Micheletto was never nervous. He noted the beauty of Cesare without regretting the young man was about to die. It was the job he had been hired to do, better paying than usual, but nothing he hadn’t done many times before. Everyone died in the end, even men with power.
He remained indifferent even when Cesare found him in the kitchen but in the following fight, the world turned, and Micheletto turned with it. One moment, he desired nothing more than to kill his adversary, and then, the fighting shifted. They wrestled against the wall, so close he could smell the fresh sweat on Cesare’s skin, mingled with a perfume heavy with musk and cloves. During a few precarious seconds, the balance between them was even. Then Cesare had the upper hand. Micheletto wondered idly if, perhaps, this was the day of his death, and he felt a stirring of lust, fueled by the thought of dying and the closeness of the muscular body against his own. He met the eyes of his opponent and saw a kindred spirit there, ruthless and cunning.
In that instant, Micheletto knew this was the man he had been born to follow, the one he had searched for his whole life, without even knowing it.
A man for hire must never betray his employers, lest he find himself without work and, soon enough, with a knife in his back. It was dangerous to offer his loyalty and service to a man he had sought to kill, and Micheletto knew what he was risking. But he no longer had a choice, so he paid willingly, with blood and pain as the whip tore his back to shreds. By accepting that he stepped into Cesare’s trust and respect, a place not many were allowed.
The scar on his back never lost its stiffness, but Micheletto didn’t mind. He couldn’t write his name on a contract, but each and every scar spelled out a bond he thought unbreakable.
All his life, Micheletto had considered himself a man with no tender feelings, one set apart from all other men. Love was for those who had hearts, and he had none. In Cesare’s service, he found he had been wrong; he could love. Perhaps his love was different, red-hot and at times more like hate, but it was love nonetheless. Year after year, he burned, and the knowledge that he burned for nought did nothing to ease his feelings. And for all his passion, he held no jealousy or bitterness toward those Cesare loved. Instead, he felt a fierce need to protect them and none more so than Cesare’s sister. Micheletto had understood from the beginning that the love Cesare felt for Lucrezia was deep as an abyss and as forbidden as Micheletto’s own desires. Though he felt no desire for Lucrezia’s beautiful face and form, she bespelled him, too. The love of a brother, which by right should have been Cesare’s, had been given to him instead.
There was nothing Micheletto would have done for Cesare, but in the end, doing everything started to tear him apart. To leave was the only way he could think of to save himself. It had been hard. He had returned once to Cesare, but he had forced himself to leave again. He told himself that, if he did this last service, he would find peace.
But he found none. He walked the kingdoms of Italy; there was always work for someone like him, but he stayed nowhere for long. For a few months, he could think himself settled, but he was always driven to leave, to walk towards a final destination he did not know how to find.
One day it took him to Ferrara. He could not claim it was by accident; if he could never meet Cesare again, there was still a Borgia it was safe to see. If she wanted to welcome him. For a few days, Micheletto roamed the city, collecting what people said about the Duchess. Without surprise he learned Lucrezia was well-loved. The dark rumours which had swirled around her since girlhood had dissolved, left behind in Rome.
He was loath to admit it, but he was a little afraid he would not be well-received; very few people were pleased to see him, but one morning he took up a position at the edge of the market Lucrezia frequented. When she arrived Lucrezia was as radiant as ever. A little older and rounder in face, she was fully a woman now, but the years had treated her kindly, and her blue eyes were merry and her smile still sweet. She was in the company of her ladies, two guards, and at her side walked a youth who was already as tall as his mother. Paolo was long dead, but despite the paler colouring, his son was growing into the image of the young man Micheletto had once escorted to Lucrezia's chamber. For a moment, he considered walking away unseen, but then she spotted him, and it was too late to leave. Lucrezia’s smile was delighted, and she broke free from her companions to meet him, taking both his hands in hers as she looked up at him.
“Micheletto, how good to see you again.”
She beckoned to her son.
“Giovanni, you remember the stories I have told you about Micheletto?”
The boy looked at him with shining eyes, and Micheletto was a little surprised to realise that Giovanni saw a hero; a role Micheletto had never considered his. Lucrezia tucked her hand under his arm, oblivious to how dusty and sweaty he was.
“Come. Tonight, you will dine with me, but first, you must rest a little.”
Rest turned out to include a bath, a barber to cut his hair and trim his beard, a stream of delicious tidbits, and new clothes. Micheletto was reminded that, even if Lucrezia was a Borgia through and through, she was also kind and thoughtful. At dinner, he was placed at Giovanni's side and was oddly touched by the awe the boy held him in. Micheletto told a few stories from his past, carefully selecting such episodes that were not too gruesome for tender ears.
Later, he was escorted to Lucrezia’s private chambers, and he allowed himself to be amused by the servants obvious assumptions and their bafflement over their lady’s choice. He supposed any other man would enter her rooms with hearts’ beating, but he simply enjoyed her company which he had always found restful. Now, when he had had time to study her, he noticed there was an air about her which was new. She seemed at peace. Not the Pope’s daughter anymore, not her brother's lover, only a wife and mother, and perhaps, this was what she had always wanted.
“Is your husband treating you well?” Micheletto asked, knowing full well he would gladly kill for her happiness, as he had before.
“I am content. I do not love my husband, but he suits me. He lets me live my life, and he lives his, and when we meet, we get along.”
She looked him over, and her gaze was shrewd.
“But you are not happy, my friend. You should never have left my brother.”
“You did.”
“Yes. I did. Not for lack of love, but it is dangerous to love a Borgia, even when you are a Borgia yourself. Now I do not visit my brother, and he does not come here. It is for the best. But his well-being is still dear to my heart, and I have a letter with news of great importance. I have not sent it, because I cannot trust any of my servants to deliver it safely. But I can trust you, Micheletto. Will you go to my brother, for me, and save him?”
He thought he could not. His mind said no, but his treacherous heart said yes before he could stop it. For Lucrezia, he could carry a letter to Cesare, but then, he would leave again. He would not even have to talk to Cesare; he could remain unseen and make sure the letter was found, and then he would never go near Cesare Borgia again. Lucrezia gave him a horse; a good one and far more beautiful than he felt suited him. But she only laughed at his protests and said she didn’t own any ugly horses and did he want her to go to the market and find something lame and hideous for him? Now, after the decision was made, he couldn’t get to Cesare’s residence fast enough. He rested when the horse had to, but he slept little. Almost feverish and completely exhausted, he reached his destination within days.
It was easy to sneak into the palace and only a little more difficult to find Cesare’s rooms. The rooms were empty of servants, and Micheletto drifted through them, a ghost whose heart beat louder and louder in his own ears. He walked undisturbed into Cesare’s bedchamber to place the letter on a table, where it would be easy to find. Despite the lack of lights he could see clearly because the moon shone full through the windows, and he lingered. He sat down on the bed, and, then, reluctantly, he lay down. The linen smelled faintly of Cesare’s perfume, the same he had always favoured. It was far too easy to rest there a little while; lack of sleep made his body heavy and unwilling to move.
He woke up abruptly, his hand moving to his knife before his eyes were fully opened. Then he saw candlelight and then Cesare, still standing, reading the letter. Micheletto sat up, resting his arms on his knees, and watched the other man in silence. In the soft light, Cesare looked the same as he had when they had first met. He glanced at Micheletto, then returned to the letter, before hiding it in his doublet. Then he crossed his arms and gave Micheletto a cold stare which seemed to last an eternity.
“So. When will you leave again?”
It was only then Micheletto knew he would not go. He had planned to. He had fully intended to leave as soon as he knew the letter was safely delivered, but he was suddenly too weary to wander alone any longer. And there was a lightness inside of him now, as if his heart had been bound with iron chains which had shattered when he saw Cesare.
“I am here to stay. Seems I was always on my way back here. The road was so long that I didn’t know it. This time I will leave when death claims me.”
Cesare nodded, the tension in his body melting away. “Which might not be for long. I am hounded by enemies on all sides.”
“The likes of you and me were never meant to die as old men in our beds.”
Cesare laughed, and put his hand briefly on Micheletto’s shoulder. “Nor would we want it. And, Micheletto, my old friend, I am happy to have you at my side again.”
He stretched, snuffed the candle, and sat down on the bed beside Micheletto without even bothering to remove his boots. “We will talk more tomorrow. Right now, I need sleep.”
Micheletto started to rise, but Cesare gave him a friendly push with his shoulder. “The bed is big enough for us both. You look like you need sleep even more than I.”
Silence reigned for a moment before Cesare spoke again. “Do you know what my sister wrote?”
“No, my lord. She only said it would save you, and she could trust no one but me.”
“It was not long. Only a sentence, in fact; ‘Brother, I send you a gift.’”
Cesare turned around and fell asleep almost at once. Micheletto listened to the breathing of the man he would do anything for, and felt the warmth of Cesare’s body next to his. They were so close he would only have to incline his head a little to kiss the other man’s neck. He did not. There was, indeed, much to be said between them. But, for the first time, he wondered if there would be a time for kisses later. Perhaps not. Most likely not, but he didn’t feel that it mattered much. He had found what had eluded him, his home.
Title: Homeward
Fandom: The Borgias
Rating: Teens
Word Count: 2121
Characters/pairings: Micheletto Corella/Cesare Borgia, Lucrezia Borgia
Warnings: None
Tags: Friendship, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Summary: Walk far enough and you end up where you left.
AN: Written for
galadriel in Yuletide 2017. Thanks to the_rck for beta. On AO3
Micheletto met his destiny the day he was to murder the Pope and his son. He had had no sense of foreboding; he had prepared for his mission in his usual meticulous way, with no sense that his life would soon change forever. It might have been an intimidating prospect to kill such illustrious persons, but Micheletto was never nervous. He noted the beauty of Cesare without regretting the young man was about to die. It was the job he had been hired to do, better paying than usual, but nothing he hadn’t done many times before. Everyone died in the end, even men with power.
He remained indifferent even when Cesare found him in the kitchen but in the following fight, the world turned, and Micheletto turned with it. One moment, he desired nothing more than to kill his adversary, and then, the fighting shifted. They wrestled against the wall, so close he could smell the fresh sweat on Cesare’s skin, mingled with a perfume heavy with musk and cloves. During a few precarious seconds, the balance between them was even. Then Cesare had the upper hand. Micheletto wondered idly if, perhaps, this was the day of his death, and he felt a stirring of lust, fueled by the thought of dying and the closeness of the muscular body against his own. He met the eyes of his opponent and saw a kindred spirit there, ruthless and cunning.
In that instant, Micheletto knew this was the man he had been born to follow, the one he had searched for his whole life, without even knowing it.
A man for hire must never betray his employers, lest he find himself without work and, soon enough, with a knife in his back. It was dangerous to offer his loyalty and service to a man he had sought to kill, and Micheletto knew what he was risking. But he no longer had a choice, so he paid willingly, with blood and pain as the whip tore his back to shreds. By accepting that he stepped into Cesare’s trust and respect, a place not many were allowed.
The scar on his back never lost its stiffness, but Micheletto didn’t mind. He couldn’t write his name on a contract, but each and every scar spelled out a bond he thought unbreakable.
All his life, Micheletto had considered himself a man with no tender feelings, one set apart from all other men. Love was for those who had hearts, and he had none. In Cesare’s service, he found he had been wrong; he could love. Perhaps his love was different, red-hot and at times more like hate, but it was love nonetheless. Year after year, he burned, and the knowledge that he burned for nought did nothing to ease his feelings. And for all his passion, he held no jealousy or bitterness toward those Cesare loved. Instead, he felt a fierce need to protect them and none more so than Cesare’s sister. Micheletto had understood from the beginning that the love Cesare felt for Lucrezia was deep as an abyss and as forbidden as Micheletto’s own desires. Though he felt no desire for Lucrezia’s beautiful face and form, she bespelled him, too. The love of a brother, which by right should have been Cesare’s, had been given to him instead.
There was nothing Micheletto would have done for Cesare, but in the end, doing everything started to tear him apart. To leave was the only way he could think of to save himself. It had been hard. He had returned once to Cesare, but he had forced himself to leave again. He told himself that, if he did this last service, he would find peace.
But he found none. He walked the kingdoms of Italy; there was always work for someone like him, but he stayed nowhere for long. For a few months, he could think himself settled, but he was always driven to leave, to walk towards a final destination he did not know how to find.
One day it took him to Ferrara. He could not claim it was by accident; if he could never meet Cesare again, there was still a Borgia it was safe to see. If she wanted to welcome him. For a few days, Micheletto roamed the city, collecting what people said about the Duchess. Without surprise he learned Lucrezia was well-loved. The dark rumours which had swirled around her since girlhood had dissolved, left behind in Rome.
He was loath to admit it, but he was a little afraid he would not be well-received; very few people were pleased to see him, but one morning he took up a position at the edge of the market Lucrezia frequented. When she arrived Lucrezia was as radiant as ever. A little older and rounder in face, she was fully a woman now, but the years had treated her kindly, and her blue eyes were merry and her smile still sweet. She was in the company of her ladies, two guards, and at her side walked a youth who was already as tall as his mother. Paolo was long dead, but despite the paler colouring, his son was growing into the image of the young man Micheletto had once escorted to Lucrezia's chamber. For a moment, he considered walking away unseen, but then she spotted him, and it was too late to leave. Lucrezia’s smile was delighted, and she broke free from her companions to meet him, taking both his hands in hers as she looked up at him.
“Micheletto, how good to see you again.”
She beckoned to her son.
“Giovanni, you remember the stories I have told you about Micheletto?”
The boy looked at him with shining eyes, and Micheletto was a little surprised to realise that Giovanni saw a hero; a role Micheletto had never considered his. Lucrezia tucked her hand under his arm, oblivious to how dusty and sweaty he was.
“Come. Tonight, you will dine with me, but first, you must rest a little.”
Rest turned out to include a bath, a barber to cut his hair and trim his beard, a stream of delicious tidbits, and new clothes. Micheletto was reminded that, even if Lucrezia was a Borgia through and through, she was also kind and thoughtful. At dinner, he was placed at Giovanni's side and was oddly touched by the awe the boy held him in. Micheletto told a few stories from his past, carefully selecting such episodes that were not too gruesome for tender ears.
Later, he was escorted to Lucrezia’s private chambers, and he allowed himself to be amused by the servants obvious assumptions and their bafflement over their lady’s choice. He supposed any other man would enter her rooms with hearts’ beating, but he simply enjoyed her company which he had always found restful. Now, when he had had time to study her, he noticed there was an air about her which was new. She seemed at peace. Not the Pope’s daughter anymore, not her brother's lover, only a wife and mother, and perhaps, this was what she had always wanted.
“Is your husband treating you well?” Micheletto asked, knowing full well he would gladly kill for her happiness, as he had before.
“I am content. I do not love my husband, but he suits me. He lets me live my life, and he lives his, and when we meet, we get along.”
She looked him over, and her gaze was shrewd.
“But you are not happy, my friend. You should never have left my brother.”
“You did.”
“Yes. I did. Not for lack of love, but it is dangerous to love a Borgia, even when you are a Borgia yourself. Now I do not visit my brother, and he does not come here. It is for the best. But his well-being is still dear to my heart, and I have a letter with news of great importance. I have not sent it, because I cannot trust any of my servants to deliver it safely. But I can trust you, Micheletto. Will you go to my brother, for me, and save him?”
He thought he could not. His mind said no, but his treacherous heart said yes before he could stop it. For Lucrezia, he could carry a letter to Cesare, but then, he would leave again. He would not even have to talk to Cesare; he could remain unseen and make sure the letter was found, and then he would never go near Cesare Borgia again. Lucrezia gave him a horse; a good one and far more beautiful than he felt suited him. But she only laughed at his protests and said she didn’t own any ugly horses and did he want her to go to the market and find something lame and hideous for him? Now, after the decision was made, he couldn’t get to Cesare’s residence fast enough. He rested when the horse had to, but he slept little. Almost feverish and completely exhausted, he reached his destination within days.
It was easy to sneak into the palace and only a little more difficult to find Cesare’s rooms. The rooms were empty of servants, and Micheletto drifted through them, a ghost whose heart beat louder and louder in his own ears. He walked undisturbed into Cesare’s bedchamber to place the letter on a table, where it would be easy to find. Despite the lack of lights he could see clearly because the moon shone full through the windows, and he lingered. He sat down on the bed, and, then, reluctantly, he lay down. The linen smelled faintly of Cesare’s perfume, the same he had always favoured. It was far too easy to rest there a little while; lack of sleep made his body heavy and unwilling to move.
He woke up abruptly, his hand moving to his knife before his eyes were fully opened. Then he saw candlelight and then Cesare, still standing, reading the letter. Micheletto sat up, resting his arms on his knees, and watched the other man in silence. In the soft light, Cesare looked the same as he had when they had first met. He glanced at Micheletto, then returned to the letter, before hiding it in his doublet. Then he crossed his arms and gave Micheletto a cold stare which seemed to last an eternity.
“So. When will you leave again?”
It was only then Micheletto knew he would not go. He had planned to. He had fully intended to leave as soon as he knew the letter was safely delivered, but he was suddenly too weary to wander alone any longer. And there was a lightness inside of him now, as if his heart had been bound with iron chains which had shattered when he saw Cesare.
“I am here to stay. Seems I was always on my way back here. The road was so long that I didn’t know it. This time I will leave when death claims me.”
Cesare nodded, the tension in his body melting away. “Which might not be for long. I am hounded by enemies on all sides.”
“The likes of you and me were never meant to die as old men in our beds.”
Cesare laughed, and put his hand briefly on Micheletto’s shoulder. “Nor would we want it. And, Micheletto, my old friend, I am happy to have you at my side again.”
He stretched, snuffed the candle, and sat down on the bed beside Micheletto without even bothering to remove his boots. “We will talk more tomorrow. Right now, I need sleep.”
Micheletto started to rise, but Cesare gave him a friendly push with his shoulder. “The bed is big enough for us both. You look like you need sleep even more than I.”
Silence reigned for a moment before Cesare spoke again. “Do you know what my sister wrote?”
“No, my lord. She only said it would save you, and she could trust no one but me.”
“It was not long. Only a sentence, in fact; ‘Brother, I send you a gift.’”
Cesare turned around and fell asleep almost at once. Micheletto listened to the breathing of the man he would do anything for, and felt the warmth of Cesare’s body next to his. They were so close he would only have to incline his head a little to kiss the other man’s neck. He did not. There was, indeed, much to be said between them. But, for the first time, he wondered if there would be a time for kisses later. Perhaps not. Most likely not, but he didn’t feel that it mattered much. He had found what had eluded him, his home.
