Pairing: unrequited Micheletto/Cesare Borgia, or just bromance depending on how you read it. Mentions of Micheletto/Augustino
Warnings: spoilers for ep 2x05
Summary: On the run from Sforza, Micheletto watches Cesare sleep, and ponders how he ended up there. Character-/relationship study. Kind of UST/pre-slash/unrequited. Or just bromance.
Disclaimer: Well, it's kind of public domain, since they are historical characters ... but either way they certainly don't belong to me. I'm not sure I'd want them to. I would have trouble sleeping with these boys around. And not in a good way, either.
On The Taming of Stray Dogs
Micheletto rode until the sun began to set, shaking off Sforza's men, before he turned back in the direction Cesare had ridden. Cesare had likely meant for them to stay on separate courses for longer than this, but Micheletto didn't wish to leave him alone for too long. As much as the sensation of worrying about another person unnerved him, he undoubtedly did. Cesare was a skilled fighter now, and had no moral qualms to hold him back, but he was not yet as skilled as Micheletto. Micheletto was a killer. There were times when he saw Cesare smile at his sister, or burst out in flares of anger after his father had given him another order he didn't care for, or fume with annoyance and envy at his brother, when Micheletto suspected that despite all his genius Cesare Borgia was still very much a boy. Not in the way the oblivious Cardinals thought, the ones who muttered behind his back, the ones who thought he was just another one of the Pope's spoilt children; Cesare Borgia was far more than that. He was an extremely dangerous man. He might be the most dangerous man in Rome. Their tendency to underestimate him only added to that danger. But what Micheletto saw, what he hoped no one else saw, was how new and intoxicating this power still was to Cesare. He had seen Cesare shake and tremble with his eyes blown wide after his first kill.
"Was I in harm's way, Micheletto?" he had asked, as he leaned on Micheletto to stay upright.
No. Even then, it had been the baron who was in harm's way. Because Cesare was a skilled fighter, and because Micheletto had stood in the shadows with a sword in his hand. Micheletto always stood in the shadows, like a dog following his master.
"You were once a stray dog, Micheletto."
The words "but no longer" were implied. As were the words "but now, you belong to me."
It took Micheletto a while to find Cesare in the woods. It would have taken even longer if he had not followed of a group of Forli soldiers who were, in their turn, following the much less evident track left by Cesare. The obvious track the soldiers left behind them told Micheletto that they wouldn't expect an attack from behind. He caught up with them in a glade. Seven of them. For a while he debated with himself whether he should stay in the shadows and let them lead him all the way to Cesare. The two of them together could kill them with ease. But then, Cesare might have stopped for the night already, might even have fallen asleep. In that case, if Micheletto kept trailing behind them, the soldiers would have a chance to kill the Cardinal before Micheletto could intervene.
Three of them were dead before the other four realised they were under attack. By then, of course, it was too late. Micheletto left them in the glade where he'd found them.
By the time he found Cesare, the moon had risen. Cesare lay curled up, half-hidden, beneath a tree. As silent as the dark itself Micheletto slid off his horse, but the animal betrayed him by calling out to its friend. The sound woke Cesare up, and in one swift motion he got to his feet and drew his sword. Then he sighed when he recognised Micheletto's features in the dim moonlight.
"Micheletto. Have we shaken them already?"
"I believe so, my lord."
"Did you meet any of them?"
"Seven men, following you."
Cesare studied him for a moment, perhaps to see if Micheletto expected gratitude. Then he put his sword away.
"Seven men are dead, then."
It was not a question.
"Yes, my lord."
The younger man moved back to where he'd been resting and sat down.
"Then we're not likely to be found before sunrise?" he asked even as he leaned back.
"No, my lord," Micheletto replied.
"Good."
Micheletto lit a small fire. No one would be close enough now to see the flames, and darkness would hide the rising smoke from any distant watchers. Night birds and other animals moved through the forest around them, just outside the circle of light. Close to Micheletto, on the forest floor, Cesare Borgia fell back to sleep.
Who was this man who could sleep so soundly with the hounds of war at his heels?
On this journey, Cesare had seen where Micheletto came from, His mother, his home, his childhood – he had heard what happened to Micheletto's father, and perhaps he had figured out why. He was clever. It itched under Micheletto's skin, the memory of Cesare standing in his mother's house, playing along with Micheletto's lies and teasing him mercilessly at the same time. No one had treated Micheletto like that before. No one had gotten away with it.
"I can't imagine you being born, Micheletto," he had said when Micheletto had revealed that they were going to his birthplace. Micheletto knew that the younger man had long viewed him in this way, as something not quite human, as a phantom, a silent shadow leaving death in his wake. He had seen the look in the younger man's eyes as Micheletto demonstrated his skills, seen his awe, seen his eagerness to learn and understand the art that most men would shy away from, or find unnecessary when an axe or a sword could, according to them, do the same job. Not so with Cesare Borgia. He delighted in setting Micheletto loose on his enemies. Still he could also show mercy and kindness to those unrelated to his own doings, or to people like Paolo. No one could say that Cardinal Borgia did not have a heart, but who could say how that heart worked?
He was a dangerous man, not only to his enemies, but to himself and the people around him, and Micheletto was not paid enough to motivate the amount of loyalty he had shown to Cesare. He shouldn't stay in his employ. He had been a stray dog. A stray dog could walk the streets without fearing anyone's enemies but his own. He could eat when he liked, sleep when he liked. A stray dog followed orders when he knew there was a reward, but he didn't stay with a master. It wasn't done. He had no use for a master, and no master would want to keep him. Once he had done his work he moved on – that was the nature of the work. Micheletto had always considered it a liability to stay in the same neighbourhood for too long, because it increased the risk of being recognised. Yet when Cesare had offered him a more permanent place, Micheletto had broken his own rules by turning his back on the mission he'd had at the time in order to take up that offer. Yet here he sat in this forest at night, guarding a sleeping man like a faithful old watchdog instead of a ferocious hound. Micheletto Corella, once a stray dog, found himself belonging to Cardinal Cesare Borgia, man of endless contradictions.
Micheletto had wondered what this newly discovered trait of unquestioning loyalty came from. At times he thought Cesare was a kindred spirit, a brother, a twin soul to his own. Other times there was a glint in Cesare's eyes of something that was completely foreign to Micheletto, both in his wicked and his gentle moments. Cesare was violent and charming, possessed of an innocent beauty and a more twisted, perverted mind than Micheletto had thought possible. More beautiful than Augustino, more ruthless than Micheletto, more cunning than Signor Machiavelli. He was a demigod: a god of war and mischief and blood, a captive trapped in that red cloth that was so vile to him. Did it take a man of all these qualities to inspire loyalty in Micheletto?
Perhaps all it took was for Micheletto to meet, for the first time since his youth, a man who managed to light a small spark of fear in his heart. Or perhaps it was Cesare's lack of fear of Micheletto. Only a fool or a genius would sleep soundly knowing that a master assassin was sitting by his feet, watching over him. Micheletto was still not sure which word best described his master.
When he watched Cesare sleep now, the young man looked mild and vulnerable. No matter how many women Cesare brought to bed, Micheletto knew none of them ever got to see him sleep. Only Micheletto. Only the assassin, watching from the shadows.
Only hours ago, it seemed, Micheletto had possessed Augustino's body. For months he had watched Cesare's body from afar, admired its beauty, but never dreamed of owning it like that. Not because it wasn't desirable, but because it was not for him. It was not for a stray dog to lust after his master, to wish for a place in that bright light. His place was in the shadows, ready to bury his fangs in the throat of anyone his master pointed at, and anyone who pointed at his master.
The young cardinal had so many enemies, and they seemed to multiply with every new day. None of them would be a match for him when he was awake, not even if they brought an army (the French King had tried and failed), but like this, sleeping, he was no harder to kill than a peasant. At these times more than ever it was Micheletto who stood between Cesare Borgia and the world, and Cesare trusted him to.
So he stayed awake, listening to the sounds of the forest, on guard for any sign of the enemy.
While the moon was still up, Cesare woke.
"Still awake, Micheletto?"
"Yes my lord."
"You should sleep. We need to travel far and fast tomorrow."
"There could still be people looking for you, my lord."
"Then I'll be here to give them a warm welcome. Sleep, Micheletto. Your mother would be upset with me if I kept you awake."
Micheletto had nothing to say to that, no way to remark on that teasing tone. Cesare had seen where Micheletto came from. Micheletto had lost his mystery, Cesare had kept his. And now he sat up, and all Micheletto could do was sit in silence for awhile before Cesare started looking out into the darkness between the trees, and Micheletto reluctantly lay down – the once stray dog, falling asleep at his masters feet.