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He shoudn´t have been there.
He shoudn´t have been listening.
He shoudn have gone to bed to hide from the angry voices.
But he did not.
Again.
He never did. He had to know.
Lovino had caught another argument between Spain and his boss about the war with the Ottoman Empire. The teenage voice of Spain clashed with the low and smoky voice of his king in a broken harmony of hisses and in screams that sneaked under the wooden door the Italian was pressing his ear against. He heard arguments about being born from the fight against the Islamic Empire, about Flanders being the heart of the Habsburg, about Holand not being Spain´s bloody problem, about God´s will, and the Indias and the cost of human life, and about what Spain considered his king could shove his spoiled German lands. Arguments of all kinds and colors, but in the end all Lovino heard was “men and money”. He just heard “ war with Turkey is too expensive, should they keep protecting South Italy or should we not?”. The Italian bit his lips.
He felt a knot form in his throat yet again, as his little, useless hand started to shake, balled in fists and shoved into the pockets of his apron. He bit a sob and pressed his ear against the crack of the door. As usual, Antonio's boss wanted to ditch Italy and Africa and focus on the Atlantic. As usual, Antonio was sending him to hell in a pink handbasket. As usual, Lovino felt like throwing up.
Lovino had caught this screaming matches before, but none as bad as this one. If he managed to sleep after hearing something like that, which he usually disndi, his sleeping mind created the worse possible scenarios: His boss's warm smile finally snapping as it should. The warm voice screaming at him, blaming him for everything that he was suffering, and there was nothing that could break his heart so much.
After each nightmare he usually tried to keep his anguish for himself. He was about thirteen now.He was almost a man! Or so he wanted to think- and it was childish to listen to political discussions behind closed doors and then be upset about it. It was childish to pee your bed when you dream of your boss not loving you anymore, not even as a charge, ant to deny it, and to never talk about it, and to cry in closets.
Sometimes, after a nightmare, Antonio gave him one of those looks the morning after, as if he knew, but he never said a word… Lovino had decided that it was just his imagination. Wishful thinking.
That night, tough, he couldn't take it.
The darkness in his room was too thick.
The silence too terrifying.
He was weak.
He needed it, the warmth and the flame and the dizzy feelings in his stomach that made it all go away. He had given in, knocked on Spain's door, and asked for a bedtime story. He didn't want to say why. Antonio had been a little surprised. They both knew that Spain's folk stories tended to be a little too realistic for Lovino´s liking. No talking animals or beautiful fairies, just people trying to get by. Lovino didn´t like them at all as a child, but that night he only wanted to hear Spain's voice for a little bit more before going to sleep.
" Quieres un cuento? Of course!" Spain smiled, all happyness and lightness, as if the screaming match with his boss hadn't even happened.
The room was quiet. The open window let the air charged of lemon blossoms run into the room and caress the hair of the two figures. Lovino was tucked in bed, chicks a bit flushed as he tried not to stare at his boss to much, still embarrassed about having had to ask for a bedtime story, like a child. Antonio was on a chair by his bed, with a book on his knee that he was clearly not going to read, because he knew all his own legends by heart. Just having him there was enough to calm Lovino a little, it lulled him into a warm feeling of safety.
His boss caught him staring and smiled side wise, looking at him from the corner of his eye. Lovino covered his face with his sheet and cursed. If Antonio knew the reason for the flush or not, was impossible it tell, as usual. All Lovino knew was that he laughed and then looked away, giving him some seconds of intimacy to put himself together again. Lovino wished he could read minds.
Once upon a time, the Arab kingdom of Seville was ruled by a kind and wise Sultan, whom Christians dubbed "The Poet King". He was famous for his his humility, for his skill in battle, and for his way with people. He ruled his kingdom compasionately, protected it from all its enemies, and made it beautiful and prosperous.
" Did the sultan have green eyes?"
“Uh…I don´t know”
“He should” The child informed. The Spaniard tilted his head.
"Uh. Sure. Why not?"
" Was he tall?"
"Hm…I guess…He probably would be taller if he was older though."
"And tan?"
"If he lived in Seville he sure ended up with a tan, why do you ask?"
"No reason. Go on." Antonio chuckled.
"Then yes, he was tan and tall, and hated combs " he joked. Lovino flushed, but on a closer scrutiny of his boss´ innocent face he decided that Antonio didn´t really suspect anything. He was both relieved and disappointed.
The Sultan of Seville desired the best for his people and no richness or honors for himself. He was happy with the simple beauty of a poem and with the sun that shone over his land, but he was ready to protect his people with the last drop of his blood. For all this, he was deeply loved by his subjects and respected by his enemies. Despite of this, the king was still lonely, for nobody seemed to understand his poetry and his music as deeply as he did, and he had nobody whom he could really share them with .
One day, the wise sultan was walking by the Guadalquivir shore, looking for inspiration for his poem. He was thinking about a verse of a poem he couldn't finish. He had asked his wise men for help, his knights, even his neighbor kings but, as usual, their suggestions were dull and slow to come. Melancholic, he looked at the light games on the water and recited the rogue verse out loud, hoping it would somehow help
“The clear waves wave a chainmail
out of shreds of sunlight”
To his surprise, a voice from within the waters answered back.
“Such a fine chainmail as this
Couldn't be found in the sky.”
The kind king looked up, amazed and enchanted, his heart racing madly at the beauty of the answer. He expected to find a princess of otherworldly creature, but all he found a slave girl staring at him with a cocky smirk, a basket of dirty clothes held against her hip.
"Was she a Christian slave? One of your people? Or one of theirs?How did she look? Like me?"
"Why do you ask, Roma?"
"Just curious. Can´t I take an interest in your damn story?"
"Well, the story says that she was cocky and witty, and a bit vain, so I bet that she was Italian" Antonio teased and winked an eye. Lovino reddened and hid a little behind the covers again.
"Unable to believe it had been her who had given him the missing verse no wise men ever could, he answered back, continuing the poem where she had left it. She shrugged her shoulders, unimpressed, and answered back with something even more beautiful. They went back and forth for the entire evening and by the time the sun hid among the clouds the good Sultan was madly in love with the cheeky girl. She was smart and sassy, never afraid of him and never without and answer, but she was also sweet and sensitive, and that showed in the beauty of her verses. Before the dawn of the next day he had married her, ignoring the advice of all his wise men and diplomats, and against the habit of his people he freed all his concubines and refused to have any other wife for as long as he lived-.
"That is swe-Wait right there! Concubines?"
"Uh, Yeah? He was a Sultan after all" Lovino jumped out of the sheets in total indignation, crying out in rage.
"THE CHEATING BASTARD!"
“What?”
“That-that pervert! How does he dare? And he admits it like that!”
“I don't think it counts as cheating if he didn't know her.”
“NO EXCUSE!”
“But-”
“So you defend that pervert? Would you do the same? Huh? Huh?”
“ Lovi, they were moors, their morals and ours are different…” a pointed look from Antonio, one of these that Lovino could never fully read “You remember that they were Moors, right?” The Spaniard asked, a touch of something too cheeky in his sing song voice. He was giving his charge and odd look. Lovino finally caught a bit of perspective of his own behavior and hid under the blanket, face burning red.
“I-I know damn it! What else would they be? And I-I guess that if he didn't know her yet then it is okay…” He mumbled. Antonio nodded, amused by his henchman´s randomness “But he got rid of them, right?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Forever?”
“Of course. That is what the story says.”
“Good”
“Why so interested?”
“No reason! Go on.” Antonio opened his mouth to continue the story but was interrupted again “He liked her better, right?”
“Yes, that is what the story is about.”
“Better than the Belgian concubines?”
“Hm? I don't think there were many Belgians in Seville back then....”
“I know! I just-Better than her brother?”
“What brother?” Antonio laughed as he asked. His green eyes sparkled a bit too smart and a bit too bright, and Lovino had that permanent, disconcerting feeling, as if his boss knew something that he didn´t, and was just playing with him. His cheeks caught fire and he shook his head quickly.
“No-no brother. Go on.”
However, beautiful and witty as the new queen was, she was also spoiled, selfish, capricious and moody. She could never believe the king really loved her, she would fall in terrible moods of rage and melancholy, and demand of him the most extravagant and expensive gifts to prove his love, but no matter how much he gave the queen never had enough. The king, who couldn't bear to see her sad, was incapable of denying her anything. First it was jewels and palaces that drained the royal treasure until there was nothing left, but soon not even those things were enough to satisfy her, and she started to ask for the impossible.
“Lovi, are you okay?”
“Y-yeah. W-why wouldn't I?”
“You look all pale all of the sudden.”
“I-I´m not. I-It is the moonlight damnit!”
“ There is no moon tonight”
“ Yes there is! You are just not looking for it properly!” Antonio knew better than to try to force honesty out of his charge, he just smiled with amused resignation and shook his head. If it was important Lovino would let him know, eventually.
One day, the good king came to his chambers to find his only wife sobbing on the pillow. Alarmed he ran to her side and tried to comfort her, asking what was wrong. She answered that she missed stepping on mud to make bricks, just as she used to do when she was a slave, but that it wasn’t appropriate for a queen to do it, for it was an undignified activity and nobody should see the legs of the queen anyway, so she knew she would never be able to do it again. The king, who couldn't bear to see her cry, ordered for his ministers to buy all perfume flasks in Seville, and his army to go back and forth from the river, in which the perfumes were mixed. Then, the water was thrown into the garden’s soil until the once beautiful gardens turned into a large pool of perfumed mud and flowers. Then, he ordered everyone to stay locked in their homes for the day, under punishment of death. He took his queen out of the gardens with him, and the two of them splashed and plaid in the mood until the day ended.
That made her happy, but not for long. Not a week later the king found her crying desperately in her chambers. When he asked what was wrong, she said that she had dreamed that she could fly, and that when she looked down, she saw the clouds under her feet, and now was crying because she could never have that. The king tried to reason with her, but it was no use, the days went by and she wouldn't emerge from her sadness, locked up and crying all day, convinced that her husband didn’t really love her. Desperate, the king sent boats to Damascus with the order of bringing him every last piece of looking glass. He then ordered his people to cover the streets around the place with them, so when his wife walked on them, she could see the clouds dancing under her feet.
Nothing was too extravagant for her to demand, or too impossible for him to grant. Soon the wealth of the kingdom was drained completely, but the queen couldn't care less and continued with her demands. Everyone told him to give her up, that she was a demon in woman´s clothes, but the king loved her too much to listen.
“ Lovi, are you sure that you are okay?” The Italian was clenching his teeth, torturing the sheets in his fists, white like a ghost and had eyes so open and desperate to know than it couldn’t be healthy. Antonio frowned and shook his head. It was one of those times in which he couldn't trust his henchman to speak when he needed to, it seemed “Maybe it is better if I don't finish it.”
“No!” Lovino jumped, grabbing Antonio´s sleeve with desperation. He needed to know! He needed to know how this all went down! Because-because what if-“D-Does it have a happy ending?” He asked though. Antonio smiled halfway and shrugged, those too smart eyes looking at him, hiding, or mybe not, knowing perhaps, perhaps just amused and oblivious.
“It has my people's idea of happy ending, yes. But you and I usually disagree on what that means.”
Oh yes! They so did! Spain ahd a really dark view on life behind his wide smile, and Lovino knew that fat too well. Spain's idea of a happy ending was dying after suffering horribly through torment or remorse, so you knew they could enter heaven afterwards. Antonio didn´t even register suffering and death as such a bad thing, he assumed they were both a given in life. Lovino was a bit more ambitious regarding happy endings….For the Italian, happy endings usually involved characters surviving, for example, and walking hand in hand, and living together and hugging a lot and not having to worry about your partner being killed by Turkey; and maybe even kissing all night long, which would be embarassing but oh-so-sweet! Was that so much to ask? Did he even have the right to wish for that? For safe days and smiles and love from someone he knew he didn't deserve but he so desperately loved himself?
“You look upset, Lovi, this may not have been a good ide-”
“No! P-please, finish it. I won't be upset. And-and don't change the ending now!-I know your tricks!” Antonio rose a brow. “ Ehm, P-please?”
The teenager Boss nodded and sat back on the chair, resigned to his young friend´s stubbornness
“Very well.”
Now, most say she was just a demon in woman’s clothes, but I have heard some old maids swear that she really couldn't help it.
“And you?” The kid asked anxiously. His teenage boss stopped and looked curiously
“Me what?”
“D-do you think that she was evil?” Antonio smiled and shook his head.
“No. I think that she couldn't help it. Some people is sick of melancholy, or anger, or fear. It´s like a limp, they can´t help but be sad no matter what. It doesn't make it easier to watch for those who love them tough.”
The kid nodded, somehow reassured.
Either way, willingly or unwillingly, she brought ruin over him. The once beautiful country was completely ruined. The army was bloodied and weak after too much unneeded fights. The king raised taxes, neglected his duties, sent his men to die at more wars. Every cent was spent on her, and she always needed more. He, who had been the most beloved of rulers become the most hated. His advisers, even his friends told him to give her up, but he wouldn't listen. The love of his subjects soon turned into hate as his once kind ruler become ruthless to them, and they started to revolt. One by one, the sultan´s ministers abandoned him, then his allies, and finally his family and his closest friends, until it was only him, her and two loyal guards.
Lovino curled up and fisted his sheet even tighter, a blessed knot building in his throat and choking his sobs down.
“I knew those Portuguese bastards weren't reliable. They only stick for the good times! !! I´m kicking him on the knee tomorrow at breakfast” he whispered to himself, desperate to push blame away.
When the final uprising came, he ordered this last loyal guard to take his wife and escort her to safety, while he stayed behind to keep the rebels at bay.
Lovino let out a whimper and bit his lips to keep the tears away, because that was so something his sultan would do.
The king fought his former allies with valor, but he was eventually taken down by the mass of furious and betrayed subjects. He was beaten and dragged out. The many cuts he suffered during the battle dragged through the mud and weeds of the once splendid gardens. He was paraded around the city for everyone to laught and spit at him, and finally he was thrown into a dungeon, around criminals, with nobody to tend to his wounds. The date was set for the execution, but the king´s injuries were too severe, and while he starved and waited in his prison his fever kept growing and his body got weaker, among the indiference of his former soldiers. Only a young page had the mercy of bringing him a cloth soaked in water to calm his thirst and his craked lips. The sultan gave the kid his last remaining coin as a thank you for his mercy, and some time after he died, killed by his wounds and by the guilt of having failed his people. As for the slave girl, they say that she escaped towards the east. She build a life for herself there, and soon forgot all about him.
Lovino couldn't held his tears and his indignation at the same time.
“That story is all wrong!” He yelled, furiously, a drop running down his cheek."You told it all wrong! It´s all messed up and wrong and stupid!". The Italian´s arms moved up and down furiously, like a trapped hummingbird.
Antonio smiled warmly, unfazed, and brushed the tear away with his thumb.
“How come?”
“Y-You said at the beginning that the Sultan was wise! That he was smart! But he was a moron! He didn't notice what was going on! He didn't see what was going to happen!”
“Why do you think that he didn't notice?” that got Lovino off guard. He froze out of sheer shock.
“B-B-because…” he looked at Antonio, puzzled by the question and by a deceivingly easy smile that looked more cryptic the more attention he paid to it “because he didn't do anything about it! He just-you know, he just kept throwing his money away.”
“So?” Antonio repeated, completely calm. Lovino couldn't determine if he was being teased or not “The fact that he did not react to things the way you think he should does not mean that he didn´t understand what was going to happen. I think he did, but chose that way regardless…”
“But why would he?!”
At that Spain smiled. It was one of those wide, soft smiles, charming and warm, that revealed everything and hid everything at the same time.
"He loved her."
"That makes no damn sense! He shoudn´t love her! She was a b-" A laught
“The heart has reasons that reason cannot comprehend, Roma.”
The Spaniard ruffled his hair slowly. Lovino leaned into the touch, suddenly shaken and in need of warmth. The perfume of lemon blossoms in the air, the favorite trees of sultans, was suddenly unsettling and bitter, like a dark omen.
“Yeah..In cuore non se comanda” he mumbled. You can't rule on your own heart...and by God! How terrifying is that!
“Exactly. In cuore non se comanda. You just follow it. That's what being human is for."
“B-but she just forgot him…After all he did, she just!-Just!” Spain smiled again, something deep and misty in his eyes.
“I think he'd have liked that. He wanted her to live and be happy. He suffered enough in prison to atone for all his crimes before he died, so he died redeemed, and she was happy like he wanted her to be. I think that he got all he ever wanted that way. That is what makes it a happy ending to me.” The kid gulped, head throbbing. Antonio smiled again and kissed him chastely on the forehead “I love you, Roma. Good night.”
Antonio left the room with elegant and silent steps, his black clothes and teenage figure merging into the night. Lovino curled against a corner of his bed hugging the pillow, the terrible images of his sultan dying alone in some dark cell, abandoned by everyone.Such a kind man, green eyes and all sunshine, facing such a fate. And all because of a useless, ungrateful brat. How could God allow such a thing? Who on Earth decides that's a goodnight story? What in all hell did that jackass have in his head? Lovino had long sleepless nights to wonder exactly that.
That story gave him nightmares for a century straight. He kept dreaming of his boss, the man he loved with all the strength of his blood, gradually weighted down by the strains of keeping Lovino, gradually abandoned by all, thin and hurt and betrayed...and when he opened his eyes he couldn't tell his reality from his dreams appart. It was only laler, when the inevitable was unraveling that Lovino understood it all, and clinged to the memory of that story for dear life as his boss was being teared from the inside out in front of the Italian´s desperate eyes. In the endless nights he was forced to spend away from Spain, not even allowed to talk to him, with his heart cracking of longing and guilt and despair, the smile of the Sultan as he accepted his fate, bloodied and beaten but always content, was his source of comfort. When he was pushed around, starved in favor of North Italy, stolen from...when he felt worthless and empty he remembered to what extent he had been lived by someone who never said it but always showed it. He´d close his eyes and repeat it in whispers, and any thread of darkness and guilt would just go away. Sometimes he'd kiss the pillow softly, wishing that he could put that kiss soaked in sweet tears in an envelope and send it to Spain.
Now he understood why Antonio had told him that story, and loved him for it, even if Lovino would never be able to forget him.