Work Text:
“Will no one move? Disarm him!”
Pushed to action by his subjects' immobility, the King seized the nearest weapon himself and made for the Infante.
Rodrigo finally shook off his own indecision, to do the only thing he could.
The swords never met, Carlos numbly submitting to his weapon's removal by the one person he could never have suspected.
And a zealous guard, taking advantage of the prince's distraction, thrust a dagger into his back.
Philip, in crown and royal mantle, knelt to cradle his stricken son.
The crowd was still, for a different reason.
Carlos breathed slowly, shivering from rapid blood loss. His eyes darted around the square, searching…
“Rodrigo…?”
His father flinched visibly, and Rodrigo needed not guess the cause.
Even in the last hour, he turns to me, not his own father—
Oh, Heaven— Was it— Save him— The last hour…
Clasping his hand…
“My Carlos…”
What did I drive him to? What have I done?
The King appeared frozen, not knowing what to do when, for once, for the last time, there was no denying his son needed a father.
The Queen had surged forwards with a cry, then swayed, leaning for support against the closest of her ladies (the Princess of Eboli, as it happened).
Philip, so jealous and watchful, hardly seemed to notice.
Carlos tried to lift his head, rambling like a child.
“I've failed thee— Rodrigo— I tried… Failed Flanders— Such a fool— Thy faith in me, thy love… I thought I was— strong enough—”
What did it matter, now, who heard or what they thought?
“No, Carlos!”
Was his voice shaking? Did he care?
“Thou— It was I who— Carlos, thou hast lit a spark— It shall prevail, the world will know liberty—”
Carlos met him with eyes that, somewhere under the pain, understood.
“Elisabeth…”
She knelt there too, her red skirts mirroring the spreading blood.
For her, too, every barrier must have been coming down.
The words she breathed reached none outside that tragic quartet:
“I… love thee—”
The prince’s face softened to almost-content at the sound, and he faded with it.
Not once had he even looked at his father, or acknowledged the arms that held him.
For the last time, Rodrigo kissed his prince’s hand.