CHAPTER 7

A/N– Hello my dear readers! It just occurred to me that this story contains (or will contain at any rate) some clear elements of horror and I updated the summary accordingly. Now everyone has been warned. Enjoy the new chap ;)


The city below was a sea of glistening roofs, soaked by the recent rain which had finally given way to the setting sun, everything bathed in shades of gold and bronze. Tiny people roamed the streets, going about their business, all oblivious, unsuspecting, unaware. Thinking they were protected in this grand city which forever held the promise of the holy, of the divine blessing, while being in itself nothing but the creation of man. Fragile, like all creations of man.

"The white-haired one turned out to be a fool, he worried too much." Sharp, black talons grazed the bronze-carved inscriptions on the enormous tower-bell, leaving a jagged indent in the centuries-old metal. "He thought we'd end up scorched here! But we have nothing to fear, look!" Another scratch, this time accompanied by a sharper sound. The stomp of a tiny, delicate, heeled shoe against the floor of the cathedral tower. "Some hallowed ground, ha!"

Ludwig was sitting on a stone ledge just below the railing, legs hanging in the air. "Don't say that so lightly. That's the trick of it – you don't know where the danger might be hiding. Still, I like it here, it's beautiful. I'm enjoying myself. Good food too, I must say."

"The bishop's men were looking for you, brother. Everywhere."

"Oh. And did they find me?" the blond asked, with a hint of amusement.

"No. Not a trace of you, so the only explanation is that you fled Rome like a coward after the little priest was grabbed, you must have hurried back to the German heretic, devil-worshipping pig who had sent you. That would be master," Anri chuckled, jumping down to join him. Her long, blonde locks free of restraints danced and fluttered around her shoulders in the icy wind.

"It would be something if he really was a devil worshipper," the other demon observed, with a half-hearted grimace. "Like this he's just trouble… and work."

"Ludwiiiiiiiig, I'm so bored! This plan of yours is taking forever!"Anri whined, clinging to his arm.

"The younger Vargas boy must summon me first - that was master's only express instruction – and the only impediment, actually. But what about the bishop? Is he not even a bit exciting?"

"Oh, he's so deliciously rotten. But I must make him miss me, you know, too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing… So why can't we cause some mayhem in the meantime? Go after the Chief Inquisitor for example! That would be so much fun!" the succubus pointed, kicking her legs playfully under the silk skirt. "They say he sleeps on a bare, hard wooden bed. Without a mattress!"

Ludwig sighed. "That doesn't sound fun, more like painful. Anyway, he has a part in my plan, but you'll get your fun with him soon enough, if everything goes as it should. We'll give him a bit of torment… and a bit of clear-vision at the right moment."


Lovino had sent Sister Anna – who was almost blind and way too old to do much work as it was - back to the convent, instead bringing several servants from his own household to take care of the small parish house which was his brother's only property, his inheritance. That and he meant to spare her of seeing Feliciano in this state.

A hearty fire was now burning in the usually unlit hearth, pleasantly warming the small, austere bedroom which had been thoroughly dusted and aired, the rough thin sheets on the bed replaced with soft linen and woolen blankets, and the old, flattened pillows with new, fluffier ones. He'd figured that his sibling would be better off recovering here, in a familiar setting, where he would be provided with all comfort but spared of his presence for most of the time. Because even if Feliciano was the last person in this world capable of holding a grudge, even he would need time to get past what had happened, to be allowed to forget and to heal.

At least, heal as much as it was possible in the given circumstances…

"What's this?" he asked the doctor sat on a stool by the bedside, picking up a small glass recipient filled with reddish-brown liquid from the nightstand and holding it up against the light. It was murky, of uneven color and consistency, like the fabric of nightmares.

"Opium, Eccellenza. It's for the pains, it will help him sleep better and ease the fever too. But fortunately, that's not worrisome anymore."

Lovino leaned over the curled-up form on the bed, facing away from him, and pressed the back of his fingers against the younger's cheek – it was still hot. "But he will be bedridden for quite a while, won't he?"

"His hips were dislocated, but I set them back in place. They should heal completely in about two-three months, he's still young. In fact, in a couple of weeks I think he'll be able to move around with crutches, of course without overexerting, but it will still be painful. And it's also the knee, it is completely crushed… That will never heal, I'm afraid."

The bishop said nothing, but his face darkened. Damn Bonnefoy and his stupid conspiracy tying his hands like that! Anger rose in his chest - nearly suffocating - at the thought that Beilschmidt's man had escaped him too. It had been that one thing, on top of the correspondence – because he didn't give a damn about the correspondence, really – which had thrown him off balance and had pushed him to give in to the fear of suspicion to such an extent as to deliver his little brother into the hands of that rabid dog. Because after all, the association with the German archbishop was the only thing the Chief Inquisitor could come up with against him, none of Lovino's other sins qualified as indictable from the point of view of an Ecclesiastic Tribunal.

But why had the old bastard waited all these years? What for?


Maybe the rats would finally come to get a bite out of him, the bread must have been gone by now. They surely would, there was just too much bare skin at their mercy. His eyes were closed, but he could hear shuffling nearby, movement. Like the rustle of fabric, like muffled steps, like hushed voices, but must have been an illusion – there were just the countless, tiny paws shuffling through the damp straws, quietly.

He curled up tighter, cringing away from the disturbing sound. At least he wasn't cold, or maybe he wasn't feeling it anymore, because his body was still racked by shivers. And he couldn't open his eyes. Or maybe… it was very dark now? Or he had gone blind?

"He should wake up, too much sleep isn't good. And he should eat something."

He didn't recognize the voice. Was it the masked man? No, it was too soft… The old monk? It must have been him! But he didn't want to wake up and be dragged back to-… A hand touched his shoulder, gentle but ghostly. More like the impression of a hand, he couldn't feel the palm and fingers on his skin.

"Fratello, try to wake up," another voice whispered. Lovino. No, please… please don't! He felt the tears rising, tickling his nostrils before gathering under closed eyelids. "Feli… come on." No, I can't! I can't anymore… I know what they'll do if I wake up! A burning, acrid smell stung his nostrils. Vinegar.

Feliciano flinched violently, jerking away from the source of smell as he finally woke up. An arm draped around his torso, preventing him from trying to sit up and he grabbed on to it with both hands, dizzy. At first, his vision swam a bit and he didn't know where he was, the place looked like his room back at home, but there was a fire! A fire and people he didn't know, staring at him!

Pain rushed in, sweeping over his whole body like a wave of needles and he whimpered, biting hard on his already swollen bottom lip.

"Fratello, it's alright," his brother's voice came again, soothing, with uncharacteristic softness. Fingers threading through his hair, ever-so-gently. "It's over now, you're safe. You're home."

The younger sibling finally turned his head, looking up at his brother, eyes still a little wide, mouthing a silent 'what'. Lovino held a glass of wine at his lips and helped him take a sip. He saw his brother staring absently at the bandages on his wrists, then at the sleeves of his nightshirt, surprised.

"…f-fra Carriedo said-" Feliciano breathed out, still gripping his brother's arm. But he couldn't remember… he couldn't remember what the Spaniard had told him and the bishop's expression hardened almost imperceptibly.

"It's alright, Feli, it's all over. He decided you're innocent, you were released," the other explained with a sigh. "That's all that matters now, yes?"

Released. Now he remembered something.

"L-Lovi… I-I told him," the priest stuttered, feeling a sudden tinge of dread. But it was better to- "A-About Nonno and the a-archbishop… that I…," he paused, swallowing hard. "I'm s-sorry!" Aching, trembling, he sought his brother's warmth, desperately hoping the other wouldn't reject him.

"It doesn't matter," Lovino whispered, pulling him closer carefully, as to not move him too much.

"…t-told him about Claire…"

"Shhhhhhhh, it doesn't matter. It's all over now." His brother was stroking his hair. He wasn't mad. "Everything's going to be fine, you'll get well. But you slept for two days now, you need to eat something."

The bishop shifted and arranged the pillows, so that Feliciano could be propped up a little higher, then ordered the manservant to bring some soup from the kitchen. He wondered if his sibling could use his hands – probably not. The doctor had done his best to set the broken fingers back, but they still didn't look quite right.

Feliciano sighed, breathing through the pain and wiping his eyes awkwardly with the heels of his hands. Dizziness was letting off a bit, a headache settling in its place. It seemed he'd spent a really long time away from this room, from this world, and returning to it was so odd. The thread of life as he'd known it had been twisted, upheaval had entered through his door together with Gerhard Beilschmidt's letter and-…

The book! The young priest flinched at the thought – the grimoire he'd meant to destroy before going to confront Lovino was still hidden under a stone at the foot of the hearth in his study! And now he couldn't even move from the bed, he couldn't get rid of it!

"…in the hope it will provide you with the answers you're seeking."

What answers?! He couldn't understand at all what the German archbishop had wanted to say with that, or what he'd been trying to accomplish by sending the book. Unless… the rumors about him were true after all and he really was a heretic and devil worshipper and he'd hoped to lure Feliciano as well into using whatever devilry he was up to himself. More and more, this seemed to be the most probable explanation. And the most frightening.

But why on Earth had he thought that Feliciano would do such a thing?! And… why had Nonno been close friends with this man?

"Fratello, I don't think you are so well acquainted with what Nonno did or didn't do!"

He watched his brother with tired eyes, feeling the familiar weight on his chest returning, replacing the previous rush of dread, the other's clumsily holding of the bowl of soup, of taking the spoon to his mouth. Maybe he knew his family even less that he'd thought.

"W-Where is Sister Anna?"

Lovino went on with his motions, impassive. "She's too old, Feli, I know you were doing most things around the house yourself lately. She couldn't take care of you now by herself anyway, I brought in new servants. Besides, at her age she needs to be cared for herself, so I sent her back to the convent." His voice still had that unusual, uncharacteristic softness which now felt poisonous.

The younger sibling said nothing in reply, he obediently swallowed his bitterness along with the soup Lovino was feeding him. Now that both the doctor and the manservant had walked out and there was only the two of them, the usual silence and dread routine was returning between them.

"The mysterious Ludwig Beilschmidt has vanished without a trace," the bishop said suddenly, casually, his expression and tone unchanged, seemingly oblivious of his little brother's flinch. "My men looked everywhere for him, but he was very fast. Must have left Rome at the same time you left the palazzo d'Erze."

Feliciano's fingers twisted helplessly into the blanket, a throbbing ache shooting through them and causing him to swallow back a whimper. "Lovi… I didn't lie to you. I never lied to you!" He stared his brother straight in the eye, but the other turned his head, busying himself with setting the now empty bowl on the nightstand and pouring another glass of wine.

"I know you didn't." The same foreboding calm in his voice.

"I didn't know his name was Beilschmidt! He never told me, I barely saw him once!" the priest insisted. "He avoided me afterwards," he went on, briefly licking his chapped lips, even if Lovino seemed uninterested. "I thought it was because I offended or scared him and that was why…"

"You scared him?"

"Well he did seem like… I mean he didn't kiss my hand and he was somewhat cold and distant so I asked if…um… if he was a Protestant," Feliciano explained, chewing on his bottom lip.

This time Lovino was clearly surprised, because his eyebrows nearly shot up into his hair line and he blinked a few times, utterly perplexed. "You asked what?!" It was hard to tell if he was amused or angry now. "What had gotten into you? It's not like-…" He sighed. "And what did he say?"

"Something like… he was godless."

The bishop snorted, rolling his eyes.

"But he did say he was a mercenary and that he was used to people being afraid of him. That was all and after that I didn't see him again. The count said business kept him away but I thought… that he was avoiding me on purpose. Or he was afraid I'd-…" Feliciano was about to say 'denounce', but that word was better left out. "I don't know…"

Lovino sighed, leaning in and pretending not to notice when his brother jerked away from his hand on reflex. "Fratello, I really don't think you scared him away. Who knows what his business really was? But I do think he was a dangerous man, Protestant or not, so it's for the best that he disappeared," he stated gently, brushing a few damp strands from the younger's forehead. "Don't worry about it, you must rest now."

He took the opium-laced wine glass and brought it to Feliciano's lips. "Drink this, it will help you sleep and it won't hurt anymore."

To be continued

A/N – Okay so this was somewhat of a filler, shorter, half-assed chap where not much happened and by now you must be wondering (and seriously questioning) what Ludwig's great plan is, because he's not doing anything remotely useful. Like, he literally sits on his ass, doing nothing. What the hell, right? Well, the next chap, what you have been waiting for (and what you haven't been waiting for) will finally happen!

Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)