DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW


ACT IV

SCENE IV

PADUA

at Roma's villa.

Enter IVAN (as Herr Beilschmidt), LUDWIG (as Lars) and LARS (as Ludwig).

Ivan, stop that," Ludwig scolded, slapping the Russian's hand. They were standing on the Vargas family's doorstep awaiting entrance—again—and Ivan kept tugging at his high, buttoned collar uncomfortably. His skin was flushed and sweaty underneath, but Ludwig had insisted that he dress properly according to his supposed social-standing. If that meant sweating under layers of lace and beaded embroidery, gold thread, rich fur and feathers, then so be it.

"I feel like I'm chafing," Ivan said inelegantly. "If this gives me a rash"—he scratched at his chest through the silk shirt—"I'm going to beat you to death with a metal pipe."

Ludwig wondered if the Russian was joking, but tactfully chose to ignore it. "Stop it!" he snapped. "My Vater would never make such a fuss. And stand up straight. Just play your part and act the way a respectable father should."

Ivan grudgingly squared his shoulders and stood to his full height, towering over the Italian footman, who opened the door.

"Signore Vargas will receive you now, Herr Beilschmidt," he said, bowing Ivan and Lars inside.

Exit IVAN and LARS.

Enter FELICIANO.

Ludwig was invited to await his master's return in the garden where, unbeknownst to everyone else (except Lars), the Vargas' second-son was hiding. When Feliciano spotted Ludwig, he emerged from a gazebo and hurried to meet him. Ludwig sucked in his breath as the boy approached, struck by his uncommon beauty. He looked like an angel dressed in pale-coloured silk from the top of his auburn head to the toes of his polished, heeled shoes. An angel, or a blushing virgin ready to be wed. Ludwig kissed him in greeting and then hastily took him by the delicate hand.

"Come on," he said, leading the boy away. "Ivan and Lars will try to stall for as long as possible, but I doubt we have much time. The priest is already waiting at St. Luke's. We need to hurry."


Feliciano squeezed Ludwig's hand and jogged to keep pace with his (secret) fiancé's long strides. He knew he was smiling like a fool, but he couldn't help it. The nervous excitement of eloping with Ludwig made his heart pound like a drum. Together, they left the garden by a hidden gate Feliciano had discovered years ago, which opened into the lower-street parallel to the harbour. It's how he had been sneaking men into the rose garden for the better part of his youth, but he wouldn't tell Ludwig that. It was better to leave some things unsaid. Besides, it's not as if he had done anything compromising with any of those other men. They were just... practice. Feliciano was, despite what Lovino thought, a virgin in accordance with Catholic law. It's not his fault that the law left room for interpretation. All that matters is that I've never been penetrated by a man—not yet, anyway, he thought, gazing lustfully at his gorgeous soon-to-be husband. He had never wanted anyone more.

In the narrow low-street, a handsome dark horse was waiting impatiently. It whinnied when Ludwig took the reins, shaking its emblazoned head.

Yes, I know, Feliciano thought, resting a soothing hand on its neck, I'm impatient, too.

Ludwig lifted Feliciano effortlessly up into the saddle, but he, himself, paused before following. He looked up at his sixteen-year-old intended, his sky-blue eyes bright in adoration, his cheeks flushed, and he said:

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Feliciano's heart melted at the soft, tender words. "Yes," he replied, smiling at the German. It was an honest smile, the first in a very long time. In proof, he stroked Ludwig's pale cheek. "Yes, I'm sure, my love. I've never wanted anything more."

Ludwig smiled in return. He hoisted himself into the saddle behind the Italian and wrapped an arm securely around the boy's midsection. It felt good. Feliciano felt safe and protected in Ludwig's arms. He felt wanted for more than just his good-looks. Comfortably, he leant back into the man's broad chest and bowed his head to rest it against Ludwig's beating heart. Beneath him, the horse's muscular body rippled as it danced into a fast canter, taking the boy away from his family, his home, his city, his old life, and on toward the beginning of a new life with the man he had—unexpectedly—fallen deeply in love with. And he couldn't be happier.

As they left the city gates, Ludwig leant down and pressed a soft kiss to Feliciano's temple.

"By the way, schatz," he whispered in secret, as if afraid someone else would hear him, "you look beautiful."

Exit LUDWIG and FELICIANO.


PADUA

at Roma's villa.

Enter ROMA, IVAN and LARS.

Well, it seems we've reached a mutually beneficial agreement, Signore Vargas," said Ivan, shaking Roma's hand. "The contract!" he called, snapping his fingers for it.

Lars dutifully wet a pen and offered it to Roma for signing.

"Yes, indeed," Roma said, his wrist twisting as he produced a surprisingly artful signature. Then he called: "A toast! To the happy joining of our families, Herr Beilschmidt! And to you, young Ludwig, my boy," he added, clapping a paternal hand on Lars' broad shoulder, "I expect you to take good care of my sweet Feliciano. I won't hesitate to do away with you if I find out you've neglected or abused him in any way," he threatened.

Funny, Lars thought, accepting a goblet of wine from the Italian, I didn't hear you making the same promise to the Spaniard when he dashed out with Lovino thrown over his shoulder. He chose to ignore Roma's favouritism of Feliciano and focused, instead, on the marriage contract that had just been signed. Ludwig would be very pleased with it. It—and Feliciano—was worth a generous fortune. Lars had known this, of course, but he hadn't truly appreciated it until he saw the sums in writing. Damn, maybe I should have married Feliciano, he thought in retrospect. Oh, well. I couldn't be happier for Ludwig (who was Lars' favourite blood-relative after his Danish cousin). I hope they got away without any complications. If everything had gone according to the plan, Ludwig and Feliciano would be on their way to St. Luke's Church now, where they would be secretly married. They would then spend the night in a hotel, which Ludwig had already organized, and then return to Padua on the morrow—wedded, bedded, and ready to face the repercussions of their lovesick actions. With luck, Roma would be pleased to greet the real Ludwig Beilschmidt and welcome him into his family just as heartily as he was doing with Lars right now.

"To a long, healthy, fruitful marriage," said the Italian, raising his goblet to Lars.

Lars and Ivan followed suit. "Here, here," they said in union, drinking.

As they did, a valet sheepishly entered.

"Ah!" said Roma, emptying his goblet. He licked his lips. "My Feliciano, where is he? I have excellent news to share with him!"

"Oh, well, uh... you see, Signore..."

Lars pitied the poor, sweating messenger. He would buy him a drink later for the inconvenience.

"Well—? Out with it, man! Where is my grandson?"

Finally, the timid valet took a deep breath, and cried: "He's gone!"

Lars glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was half-past four o'clock in the afternoon, an hour since they had arrived at the Vargas home. Well, I bought you an hour, he acknowledged, stepping back to avoid Roma's outrage. As the patriarch charged out of the salon, red in the face and shouting for his absent grandson, Lars took the liberty of pouring himself and Ivan another goblet of wine. In a phantom-toast, he raised it to his gutsy cousin.

Good luck, Lud.

Exit ROMA, IVAN and LARS.