At supper, Pedro captivates his audience with tales of exotic adventures and noble escapades. In his youth, it infuriated John how his braggart half-brother could rob the sun of its glory. Forever the golden son and centre of attention. Now, John finds comfort in Pedro's familiar cadence, smiling with the others.

Where those arrogant tones once chafed, now there is camaraderie between them. No more does John suspect himself the butt of each jest; the barbs are playful and not aimed to wound. The serpent in his breast does not rear its head nor deliver that envious bite. No longer is he starved of love while his brother feasts. Here, John has his children's adoration, the respect of his in-laws, and Hero's hand on his thigh, beneath the table. And — though his past self would suffer torture before admitting how he craved it — he has his brother's friendship too.

The children are whisked to bed and the adults laugh long into the night, drinking wine, and trading stories. Hero delights in the tales of John's youth, even though it is evident she has heard them all before. Pedro is careful in his selections, softening the edges, finding the gold amongst the grit.

Leonato and Antonio balance the scales, needing no encouragement to reveal Hero's childhood misadventures. John grins wildly at his blushing wife as he hears how she adopted every injured stray she came across, no matter how unsuitable, and the other mischief she got up to with her cousin.

Eventually, the celebration winds to a close and they drag themselves to bed. John does not bother with a pretence, following Hero into her chamber and preparing for bed. He watches as she brushes her hair, his fingers twitching.

"Pedro knows of my amnesia."

Hero whirls. "You told him?"

"Yes… and no. He had it from Benedick. I explained the extent of my loss."

"Benedick? But how — " she gasps, clamping her hand over her mouth. "My letters to Beatrice — oh, but I never meant — I did not think — oh John, I am so sorry."

She looks wretched and John pushes from the bed, kneeling before her, and taking her hands in his. "I am not upset. You have nothing to apologise for."

She slumps forward. "I know you value your privacy. I never meant to reveal you. Only… you treated me like a stranger… and I had to appear strong for everyone else… Beatrice has been my confidant since we were children. I just… I needed to be honest with someone…"

He presses her knuckles to his lips. "You do not have to explain. I understand. And I am sorry for what I put you through. I still do not remember the man I was, but… I am trying, Hero. I promise I will keep trying. I will be a good husband to you, a good father to our children."

"Oh John," her fingers glide over his cheek, "You already are."

She nuzzles his crown and he rests his head in her lap. He lingers, savouring the sensation of her petting his hair. Then he remembers what else he needs to discuss and pulls back. John braces. He has put this off too long.

"What of Claudio? What of his fate?"

Hero freezes. Her face contorts and she hunches in on herself, shoulders shaking. His heart lurches — is she crying?

No, he realises in wonder. She is laughing.

"Oh, John… it is the best jape." She grins, leaning forward. "Claudio married not long after us, to a nobleman's daughter — a very handsome and proper match. I have heard there is nothing the count wants more than a son but — alas, he has been blessed with — hmmm — four daughters. And — oh — here is the punchline: he has named them Chastity, Modesty, Honoria, and — and Prudence." She snorts, eyes twinkling. "I think we left a sour taste in his mouth. But — ah — such is wont with a — uh — a rotten orange and a tartly prince."

John absorbs all this, then shakes his head, blood thrumming as mirth mingles with relief. "A fool, an utter fool. I almost pity the wretch, for you are a pearl, Hero. The loveliest wife a man could have."

He burrows in her skirt, peppering her hands with kisses as she folds around him. "Oh my wild heart. No other husband would I have. No better man could I love."

She kisses him sweet like nectarine, maple sap pouring through his veins as he cradles her in his arms. "Hero… wish I the words to express how dear I love you."

"So show me." Her mouth parts upon his own, a whispered dare, "Show me."

And John, who has always been a man of action, leaves no room for doubt.

:-x-:

The children race through the garden, the dogs weaving in-between them. Rolando has emerged from his shell and is quick to engage with Clarissa's games, while a starry-eyed Leo hurries after the older boy, firing off questions which Rolando never loses patience with. Matteo and Samuele too join the fun and the daylight fills with shrieks and laughter.

"It is nice to see them playing together," Pedro says, settling beside John on the veranda. "I regret we were not more like them as children."

John glances at him.

A wry smile tugs at Pedro's lips. "I wonder sometimes if things had been different… if I had acted less of an ass… maybe we could have been friends, brothers."

John leans on the stone railing, looking out across the garden, his home. "I was no kinder."

"You were impossible," Pedro chuckles, before sobering. "But then… we deserved no better, with how we treated you. I allowed blood to divide when it should have united us."

He sucks in a breath, as if building up to something —

John holds up his hand. "If this is an apology, Pedro, spare us both. For if you apologise for your wrongs, I will have to apologise for mine, and then we shall be here all day."

Pedro huffs, smiling. "You always have to be contrary."

"It is the past. I am trying to live in the present."

Pedro claps his shoulder. "You should knock your head more often, it seems to have done you a wonder of good."

John slaps his arm while his brother laughs.

A wail has their attention whipping to the children. Leo has fallen and Rolando helps him to his feet, consoling his sniffling cousin

"Rolando is a kind lad. I assume he inherited his gentle-spirit from his mother."

Pedro's face twists. "You can assume…"

John notes his rigid spine and his voice softens, "Is she… dead?"

Pedro's mouth twitches, humourless. "What has your wife told you?"

"That you had a son and no wife, and that is all she would say."

"That is true enough."

John frowns and, cringing, he rests a hand on his brother's arm. "I am… sorry for your loss."

Pedro's gaze shifts. "I thank you, but you misunderstand. I have no wife because I never married."

John freezes, ice spearing his veins. He glances at the children and back to his brother — his noble half-brother, their father's legitimate heir.

His voice drops low and dangerous. "That is an ill jest."

"It is no more a jest now than when we last had this conversation."

John's fingers hook in Pedro's sleeve, hissing through clenched teeth, "You had a ba— a child out of wedlock. After the Hell I went through. I take it back, you do owe me an apology, and you owe one to your son. What the fuck, Pedro?"

"I did not plan this. It was foolish, I know. I did not discover him until after his mother had passed." He falters and a trickle of John's anger wanes, this is a familiar story. "It was not — not love between us. But I would — I would have married her — if she had lived. As it is, I had the certificates forged. There will always be speculation, but Rolando is my legal heir."

"Until you marry and sire another."

"I will not." John stills at the conviction in Pedro's voice. "I have vowed I will never marry. Nor will I sire another heir. At least not one that could have a more legitimate claim. I will not risk my son being displaced or losing that which is rightfully his."

John searches his brother's face, frowning. "You are in earnest."

Pedro offers a rueful smile. "I cannot change the past. But I will spare my son what you suffered. I will be a better father than our own."

John expels a breath, an old ache easing. "That is no great feat. But Rolando is a happy child and it is plain he adores you."

His brother sighs. "I fear it is not enough. That I do not give him enough of my attention. My duties as prince keep me from those as a father. I am always busy and I worry he is alone, without mother or siblings. Often I travel. I do not want to abandon him, but the long journeys are taxing for a child. When we are apart it is as if my soul has been torn asunder, he is always in my thoughts. And yet, when we are together I struggle to express myself. I do not know how to love except in gifts and fineries. I can secure him anything his heart desires, but gold is a cold companion. I wish that I were more like you, brother."

John chokes. "Me? You wish to be like me? Often did I bemoan that I were not like you. Now you are the envious one? We are a fabled pair."

Pedro chuckles. "Why should I not be envious? You have the devotion of a beautiful wife, children who love you and are confident of that love's return. You are so honest in your affection, brother. For you, fatherhood is natural."

"Ah, to turn back the clock and witness our father's reaction to those words."

"The shock would kill him."

"Mmm," a smile tugs at John's lips before he schools his expression. "Do not think me without fear. When I woke and found I had children I could not remember, it terrified me. I did not know how to behave with them and still I am figuring it out." He leans on the wall, shoulders hunched. "I have our father's temper. I have ruined too many good things."

"You have built a good life for yourself," Pedro assures him, voice soft.

John exhales, raking his fingers through his hair. "A miracle in itself. I am trying and you are trying and there must be weight in that. Children know the difference between a parent who makes an effort and one that does not. We did."

Pedro hums. "There is wisdom in your words."

"It is Hero's influence. Speak to her for better guidance. But you need not stress your handsome face. You have this infuriating habit of succeeding at everything you set yourself too. You are a good father, Pedro."

His brother grins. "Look at us, getting along. Our younger selves would be horrified."

John snorts. "We were such shits."

"Were?"

They chuckle and John gives his brother a considering look. "You truly will not marry?"

"Alas, your wife and her cousin are already spoken for!"

Pedro is spared from being hauled into a headlock as Clarissa scampers over to them. "Papà! Uncle! Will you play with us?"

Pedro greets her with a warm smile. "Of course, princess. What is it you are playing?"

John recognises the spark in his daughter's eyes and has already shuffled out of reach when she slaps Pedro's arm and cries "TAG!"

She bolts. John takes advantage of his brother's shock and leaps over the veranda. As he flees into the hedgerows, he hears Pedro shouting, "JOHN!"

John salutes him. "You have to be quicker than that, brother."

Pedro curses and jumps from the veranda, giving chase. Like a child, John runs, laughter ripping from his chest. That once insurmountable distance between him and his brother vanishes like shadows in the sun. Daylight pours around them, the garden blooms in technicolour — red, yellow, lavender, white, and wild green.

He catches a giggling Clarissa, scooping her into his arms, and whirling to face his pursuer.

"John," Pedro pants, halting. "You cannot use your daughter as a shield. It is cheating."

"It is strategy," Clarissa chirps, looping her arms around her father's neck.

John beams at her proudly then turns his smirk on Pedro. "Your move, brother."

Pedro scoffs. "I defeated you in battle once before and I will do it again."

John's eyebrows shoot up. And, if they are joking about that then they truly have reconciled.

"You will try."

It does not prevent John later from tackling his brother into the pond.

:-x-:

Hero takes in their dishevelled states, wavering between horror and mirth. Behind her, Margaret and Ursula smother their laughter.

Hero's mouth whirs open and shut until at last she musters her voice in firm command, "Baths. Now."

The children shuffle off under the care of the serving woman while Hero thrusts her finger at the two men.

"What. Happened?"

Out of the lot, the brothers are worse for wear, courtesy of their skirmish in the pond — and later on the lawn. Twigs and leaves stick out of their hair, their clothes soaked and muddied. John has discovered he can beat on his brother far more now they are friends and has taken full advantage. Although, Pedro is no victim. They look as if they have gone to war (again).

"He started it," Pedro mutters.

"That was always your line."

"It is true."

Hero claps her hands, silencing them. "I do not care who started it. What sort of example does this set for the children?"

John shrugs. "They invited us to join their game."

"Yes," Pedro jumps in, "We were only doing as they asked. In a way, this is their fault."

Hero fixes them with a bland look. "Really? You are going to blame your own children?"

The brothers glance at each then back to her.

"Yes."

"Little devils, the lot of them."

Hero pinches her brow, mouth twitching as she fights a smile. "Ridiculous. Ridiculous! Clean yourselves up. And no more fights. Honestly!

With that, she spins and swishes down the hall. The brothers watch her go.

"To think, I wooed her in Claudio's stead," Pedro bemoans. "I was a fool."

John pats his shoulder, mouth curving. "Remember, to the foolishness of youth, brother. Your bad sense has been my good fortune."

Pedro releases a mournful sigh. "It is a shame the lady's taste is poor."

"Green is not your colour, brother."

"No, it is yours."

Hero voice calls from the other room. "Is that quarrelling I hear? I swear I bid you wash!"

The men glance at each other.

"Race you!" Pedro exclaims and takes off running.

"Are you seri— " John gives chase.