Chapter Text
Don John wakes to Hero stirring in his arms. She blinks sleep-heavy lashes, offering a drowsy smile, "Good morning."
Good, does not begin to describe it. He leans in, fingers flexing on the small of her back. "I'm dreaming."
Her mouth curves, a twinkle chasing the slumber from her eyes. "You dream about me?"
He squeezes his arm flung across her waist, his other numb where it rests under her head. "Yes."
She shifts, so she is above him. Her fingers tiptoe across his scalp, scratching behind his ear. He turns his head into her touch, rubbing against her hand as her fingers glide through his hair. The friction builds, achingly delicious, and a sound escapes him — not quite a purr, but as close to one as a human can make.
He freezes, eyes snapping open to meet her own. She grins, biting back a laugh.
He groans, "Please never tell anyone I did that."
"I promise," she giggles, tugging on a lock of his hair, winding it around her finger, "It will stay between us."
He suppresses another groan, watching how the light caresses her perfect features. "What hour is it?"
He sits up, glancing towards the windows. The light is grey, at the midpoint between dark and dawn. He can hear the birds waking the world. His pulse quickens.
"Hero, you need to leave… before the household wakes."
Her face ripples with sweet exasperation, "Now you are concerned for my reputation?"
"I never want to hurt you again."
She runs her fingers along his cheek, her thumb stroking beneath his lashes. "You are changed"
He leans into her hand. "I had a transformative experience."
She snorts. "And I thought you forbidding."
He twists his hand into her curls while she still permits him, combing his fingers through her silk tresses. "I don't know how I stayed away. It was wrong, what I did. I regret it all—"
Her fingers stop his lips. "Enough… I forgive you."
He gazes up in wonder of her benevolence. "Kindness and grace," he murmurs, tightening his hold on her. "I cannot believe I have you… in my arms… and I am imploring you to leave."
She rests her forehead against his. "That is because you are a better man."
"It is awful."
She pecks the bridge of his nose. "Promise you won't stay away anymore."
"I promise." He would give her anything.
Her smile curves against his skin. "Good."
Before he can recover, she has sprung from the bed and is stumbling towards the door. He fumbles in the space she vacated, his legs snared in the sheets, and makes a noise desperate even to his ears. She looks back at him as she reaches the door, tossing her sleep-tousled curls and flashing a smile — his own private aurora.
"Rest while you can, my lord. You have a full day of labour ahead."
She slips from the room, taking some of the light with her. He falls back against the headboard, the air knocked from him. He brings his hand to his jaw, tracing where she touched him, still warm from her fingertips. He is unable to restrain the smile which fills his face. In truth, he does not try.
:-x-:
"Don John," Gabriele approaches him, "They require you at the house."
Don John halts his work, looking at the other man in askance. He cannot think of any good reason for him to be summoned. Surely Leonato has not discovered Hero's visit to his room last night. Surely she is safe.
He walks quickly to the villa, gripped with fear. If he has caused her harm…
He freezes as he sees the carriage in front of the house, recognising the crest of Aragon. Cold washes through him as he looks around and there is his brother, standing beside Leonato, Antonio, and Hero, whose loveliness is no less reduced for looking as if she has bitten into a lemon. He notes the soldiers as they stride forward and keeps his gaze on Hero, drinking her in while he can. They are a long way from his bedroom now.
He does not resist as they grab his arms, jerking them behind his back. As he is marched forwards, he hears Hero's objections, "My lord, such force is unnecessary."
"We will not risk him escaping us again, lady."
Don Pedro's voice is as smooth as marble, his countenance the same. Don John cannot get a read on his half-brother's thoughts, though no doubt, there are a lot of swears being projected at him right now. His mouth ticks up at the thought, Don Pedro's eyes log it and harden.
"As we said, he gave himself up willingly. He has made no attempt to escape the whole time he has been here. In light of which, this rough treatment strikes as overzealous."
Don Pedro turns to stare at Hero, who is not behaving like the demure maiden he first met. She meets his gaze. Beside her, Leonato shifts, a touch to his daughter's elbow.
"Forgive me, lady, but I have more experience of my brother's treachery than you."
"Then you should be better at seeing through it."
Don Pedro reels as if slapped. Leonato appears to suffer an attack on the gallbladder, and Antonio too, his face turning crimson as he smothers his laughter. Don John has to cough to cover his own amusement which re-directs his half-brother's attention to him.
"John," he says with that familiar note of frustration. "You vanished from the shores on Messina, leaving no trace. For two months I have had all my resources looking for you. Imagine my surprise when I received a letter advising that you were here with the very family you wronged. I would be interested to hear where you have been all this time."
Don John cocks his head, voice thick insolence, "You would never believe me."
Don Pedro's eyes narrow and Don John knows this conversation will be pressed later. He looks forward to watching the vein throbbing in his half-brother's forehead. He might even tell him the truth just to watch it burst.
Don Pedro turns to Leonato, "Thank you, Signior, for hosting my miscreant brother until I could retrieve him."
Leonato gives a gracious nod, though he only returned himself yesterday. "Will you be gracing us with one night's stay before your departure, my liege?"
"Apologies, old friend, but now I have my wayward brother in hand, I do not intend to let him out of my sight until we are safely aboard our ship, from which he can scarcely escape. Unless he grows fins or feathers."
Don John meets Hero's gaze. It is not as unlikely as they think.
"Ah, a shame. I hope you will honour us with another visit in the future… under more favourable circumstances."
"I am certain of it."
The two men clasp hands, though neither appears greatly disappointed to be parting. The events of the summer still fresh and sour.
But the damage he has done to the Spain-Sicilia alliance holds no significance to Don John as it hits that he is about to be separated from Hero. His pulse lurches, insides twisting into a pair of hissing snakes, constricting his airflow. He looks at her, strangled by all the things he has not said. She stares back, eyes wide with alarm.
What if this is the last time he sees her?
He does not know what his half-brother has planned for him back in Aragon, what fate awaits him. It could be death (he does not believe this, but there are enough in Aragon who want him dead without his half-brother needing to sign the order). It could be imprisonment and he will rot in a dank, dark cell, never again touched by her light.
There is so much he has not told her.
"My lord," Hero speaks up, "I petition you to allow Don John to remain in our car—custody. It was to our house he did the most damage and, therefore, it is most fitting that any punishment is served with us."
Leonato blanches at the prospect but Don Pedro shakes his head, "That I cannot allow, my lady. Though, I agree my brother has done you great wrong, he is a citizen of Aragon and, therefore, must be tried by Aragon's laws. What's more, he deceived Aragon's sovereign, myself, and brought into question the pardon which he was benevolently bestowed after his earlier treason."
Don John grimaces. Seems he has struck a nerve. He has not seen his half-brother this upset since he shaved the back of his head while he was sleeping.
Hero, however, is not finished. "Then grant me two requests in recompense for gilding my slander with your royal name."
Leonato gasps as if she has drawn a dagger. Don John knows all this is because of his sins against her and his opinion is worth nothing, but he is so proud of her. She has taken the pain inflicted on her and forged it into a weapon with which to snare those who injured her. If he was not already in love…
Now it is Don Pedro who looks as if he has sucked on a lemon, but he manages to maintain most of his composure, inclining his head. "I am aware of the debt I owe you, lady. Name your requests and, within reason, they shall be granted."
Hero tilts her chin, steeling her spine. Though she is the smallest figure there, she towers over all of them. "First, I request you show Don John mercy." She is met with shock and presses her advantage. "He has already made me a sincere apology and atoned for his misdoings by labouring on our estate. I can see the change in him is genuine and forgive him all wrong."
She looks at Don John as she says this and the air punches from him. Like a balm to a wound, her forgiveness burns.
Her gaze cuts to Don Pedro. "Therefore, your grace, I ask that you are merciful in your sentencing, that he be afforded the kindness and grace that I was not."
"My lady…" Don Pedro recovers from his surprise, his tone amenable though his expression remains perplexed. "Of course. I am always fair in my rulings. My brother is most fortunate that yours is a forgiving nature."
He cuts a look to Don John at this last remark, who represses an eye-roll. As if he does not know how goddamn blessed he is in Hero.
"My niece has a generous heart," Antonio puts in, "and your brother has proven himself in his labour. If you do decide to send him back to us, we would not be opposed."
Leonato makes a choked-off noise but Pedro is speaking before the other can unscramble his tongue, "I appreciate you saying so. I am glad he could do you some good after having done you so much wrong."
"I have never flinched from hardship," Don John mutters. One of the soldiers thumps his back and Don John scowls at him.
"Don Pedro," Hero's voice is crystalline, "My second request… is that I may have a moment to speak with him before you take him away."
Once more all eyes fly to her.
Don Pedro is now glancing between the two of them like a riddle he intends to solve. "A simple request… and one I am willing to oblige."
He gestures to the soldiers and a set of manacles are clamped around Don John's wrists.
"That is not necessary—" Hero protests.
"Perhaps not, but I prefer overzealous to careless, good lady." Don Pedro's tone admits no argument. "We shall stand-by and allow you to speak your piece without fear of being overheard, but we will observe to ensure he attempts no ill."
"Thank you, my lord," Hero murmurs, her tone far from enthused.
She holds Don John's gaze, waiting until the others have moved a stone's throw away, then steps towards him, narrowing the space between them as much as she dares with an audience.
Her eyes lock on his chains, voice so soft only he can hear, "I don't want this."
"I know. Neither do I."
"What can we do?"
He sighs. He has fought his whole life against the invisible shackles that held him, he recognises a losing battle. He will not drag her down with him.
"I must go to Aragon."
"What." Her voice pitches, still a whisper. "No, John — you promised."
"Hero… I have done too much wrong—"
"I don't care, I forgive you. If they take you… we may never see each other again."
A smile tugs on his lips at her distress over the notion even as the strings of his heart stretch taut. "Hero… do you think any force but your will could keep me from you? This will not be the last time we meet. Not unless you wish it."
She searches his face. Whatever she sees sets her own in resolve, a star burns in her eyes, "I would keep you with me if I could."
At her confirmation, courage blazes inside him. Her hands make an abortive gesture towards him before she remembers their audience. Don John glances at the watching men; Antonio has engaged Don Pedro in boisterous conversation and is causing enough of a distraction that Don John feels safe shifting closer to Hero.
"I need to go back to Aragon and face the consequences of my actions. To make amends with my brother, this time for good. Then, once everything is settled, I will return as a free man." He takes her hands, unseen by the others. "When I do… I will ask you to marry me."
Hero gasps, gazing at him in wonder, "John… what…?"
"I love you, Hero. I have done too much wrong. I will not jeopardise our future because of my past. I need to do this right. I will accomplish any feat, endure any hardship, even grovel before my brother if it means I can have a life with you."
"John…"
He holds on to the hope he sees in her eyes, twines it around his upper rib like a promise. "Think about it."
She purses her lips, gazing up at him with intent focus. "We should have stayed in bed."
His heart stumbles off a cliff. Recovering himself, he squeezes her fingers, lifting them to bestow a kiss, savouring her softness.
There is a shout and the clank of armed men. Don John drops her hands with a wink, "Save that thought for later."
The soldiers seize hold of him, hauling him towards the carriage.
"Don't hurt him," Hero pleads, revealing too much in the raw notes of her voice.
But Don John does not care what anyone else makes of them. Just the knowledge that he is not alone in these feelings is enough to sustain him, to assure him that he is making the right decision by returning to Aragon. He must make peace with his past if he hopes for a future with Hero.
Hero.
He keeps his gaze fixed on her, memorising her image, even as he is pushed inside the carriage, shoved onto the bench. He can still hear her calling, demanding fair treatment while her father prattles over her and then there is Don Pedro's voice bidding a firm farewell.
His half-brother climbs inside the carriage and the vehicle begins to move. The calm that had swept over him at the knowledge of Hero's affection, now falters as he is carried from her. His fidgeting does not go unnoticed by the guard he is wedged against and the man levels him with a glower.
Don John turns his attention ahead and meets with his Don Pedro's arched eyebrow, gaze glittering with understanding.
He huffs, already suffocating in the cramped space, and faces the window, watching the familiar landscape of Messina as it goes. It is going to be a long trip back to Aragon.
:-x-:
.
.
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:-x-:
Hero waits for news of Don John. First through the harvest, then the winter. As the weather grows colder and the sun retreats behind the hills earlier each evening she sits at her window and thinks of the man who — not once, but twice — charged in and threw her life into disarray before disappearing just as swift.
She keeps walking to his room with things to tell him, amusing occurrences she wants to share, matters she is curious for his wry opinion on. She is always a little jarred to find it empty, Ovid's Metamorphosis sitting on the table, gathering dust. She perches on the bed and drags her hands across the sheets, remembering one night and many, her fingers stroking the hair of the blanket and remembering another's.
If anyone notices a sorrow to her silence, they attribute it to the continued absence of a certain black cat. They are not wrong.
She asks each morning if there are any messages, passing this off as a longing for Beatrice, and presses her father for news on Aragon. There is none.
She dedicates herself to the tombs sitting beside her bed and tries not to be distracted by a pair of simmering eyes or the cut of red lips in a devilish grin as she reads about taxes and crop cycles. She embroiders a cushion with the image of a black cat and hugs it when she sleeps. She wakes, still wrapped in the warmth of him and her heart throbs when she realises she is alone.
"John," she says, clutching his name to her heart like she clutches the cushion, reminding herself it was real when it feels most like a dream. "Come back… please…"
:-x-:
Her father apologises.
He sits beside her and clasps her hands, remorse pouring off him in sea salt waves. "When I think about how I behaved that day, I am ashamed. I have been excusing Claudio's behaviour so I did not have to consider my own brutishness. But I was wrong, so very wrong. You are my daughter, the light of my life, my greatest joy. I am sorry to have ever caused you pain. From now on, I promise, I will listen, I will do better… and if you choose never to marry, Hero, I will still be blessed to have such a daughter as you."
Hero smiles, an itching at the corner of her eyes. "Papà… thank you. Though, I have not forsworn marriage yet. Will you allow me to choose my own husband? You will not force me to marry another Claudio?"
"No, no. Never." He pats her hands. "The choice shall be yours, Hero. If he can provide for you and makes you happy, I will have no objection."
She hugs him, forgiving him. She is tired of the anger, tired of the pain. It will be a while before she fully trusts him again, but she will never stop loving him.
As she pulls back, she cocks her head, "What if he was a bastard?"
Leonato stares.
:-x-:
Christmas swoops upon them, and Beatrice and Benedick venture from Padua to join in the festive celebrations. Hero's spirits bolster with their cheerful presence, cheeks warm with wine and laughter. But she cannot forget what it was to be held against Don John's hard frame, to feel his rough palms upon her, his warm breath caressing her ear as he said her name. Not when she is witness to the casual affection between husband and wife — the fond teasing, the constant touches, the kisses which start chaste and soon border on indecent. It causes a tightness in her chest to the point of burning, smiling around hot coals, pleased for her cousin's happiness and aching for her own loss.
It is no surprise when Beatrice comes to her room, shuffles onto the bed until her thigh presses against her own, and hooks their ankles together, nudging her with her shoulder, and asks what is bothering her. Hero looks into her sister-cousin's face, one she knows better than her own, Beatrice's wilder features softening, and the whole fantastical tale comes pouring out.
To her credit, Beatrice believes her. She does not suggest Hero has confused herself with a dream or indulged too much in the wine, but takes her cousin's words as truth.
"I thought there was something curious about that cat. Ben is going to love this. May I tell him?"
Hero bites her lip. She trusts Benedick to be discreet, despite his reputation as a loudmouth, but she is not sure if that is fair to Don John. He and Benedick were never friends.
"Not yet. Not until I have spoken to John again."
Beatrice squeezes her hands. "Then I shall remain mute on the matter. It is what Ben deserves after concealing his love for me for so many years. Will you marry him? Don John?"
"I do not even know if he is alive!" Hero wails, slumping forwards.
Beatrice rubs her back. "Do not fear, coz. If he loses one life, he has eight to spare." Hero glares at her. Beatrice raises her hands in supplication. "T'was a poor jest. I am confident he still lives. Don Pedro does not have it in him to be severe on his brother, however much the knave deserves it." Beatrice note's Hero's expression and looks amused. "Though, you have forgiven him as well, so perhaps he has a gift for skirting punishment."
"He has more than served his punishment."
"And won your devotion in the process," Beatrice teases. "Do not despair, sweet. If men can transform into cats and villain's can change their hearts, then anything is possible. I am certain all will be well. I shall write to Don Pedro myself and if we are unsatisfied with his answer, come spring we shall sail to Spain and liberate your darling prince from his purr-gatory."
Hero hugs her, some of her tension easing with her sister-cousin's reassurance. She still rubs her thumb across her knuckles, remembering the press of his lips, and wonders when she will feel them again.
:-x-:
The winter drags on and on, the frost lingering far later than usual, at least in Hero's mind. Still, spring arrives at last, fragile buds peaking in the grass and green leaves returning to the trees. Hero wraps her shawl around her and walks the garden path, feeling an absence beside her all the while. She is on the brink of writing to Beatrice and demanding an expedition to Spain when she turns a corner and there he is, talking with her father.
She goes still, pinching herself, certain she is dreaming. He looks neater than before, well-groomed. He has not been labouring under the hot sun or crouching amongst the dust; no longer a work-hand but the prince she first met. Her pulse beats a staccato. God, he is handsome.
Her father catches sight of her first. Though his expression is wary, his shoulders are loose, a glimmer of relief in the lines on his face. "Here, you may ask her yourself. If she accepts you, I will not refuse her."
Don John has already turned to her, his face transforming like sun breaking through cloud. Hero is frozen as he strides towards her, heart fluttering like a bird.
"Hero," he says her name and, after months of fading, she now bursts with colour.
"Are you well?" She demands, looking him over for injuries. "Were you treated kindly? We have had no word."
"I am well. I will tell you everything, but rest assured all is resolved."
Relief billows through Hero and her voice shudders with the force of it. "Then… you are a free man?"
"In every sense but one." Embers heat his umber eyes. "My heart is possessed."
Her mouth parts on an oh. Her own heart strikes like lightning.
"Hero," he closes the distance between them, head bent, almost touching her own. "I have thought of you every day since our parting. Even separated you had me transfixed. When my worst instincts reared, when I wanted to run, I thought of you and the faith you put in me. I am trying to be a better man, a good man, someone worthy of you, and if you honour me by becoming my wife, I swear, I will never stop striving to be the husband you deserve. Hero… I love you… I never thought I would be capable of such a thing but I love you. I am in awe of your courage, your compassion, your strength. You are remarkable, Hero. You are… breath-taking." He winces as one does after staring too long at the sun. "But please — tell me if I have any hope before I bleed more words, I have so much pent up from these months apart. Hero… Hero… will you be mine? Because I am already yours."
She trembles, staring up at him, refreshing the lines of his face etched in her mind. She has known in her heart since he first spoke of marriage what her answer would be, but until now dared not utter it aloud. She reaches for him, her fingers sinking into the lapels of his coat.
"Yes. John, yes, I will… I am."
She watches the smile unfurl across his face, amazed and breathless, flooded with happiness. His arms fold around her, lifting her up and she is floating, balancing on her tiptoes, secure in his embrace. Her fingers brush across his beard, gazing up into his eyes, warm and beautiful. He looks as if he would be content to gaze at her forever, but she has been waiting.
Her lips meet his and she is iridescent. His kisses are like stardust streaming through her veins. He cradles her to him as if she is the most precious thing in the world and she feels safe and reckless all at once. She clings to him, determined not to let him slip from her again, but his mouth is insistent, promising I am here, I am here, and I am not going anywhere…
She smiles and feels his own in answer. It cuts across her lips and makes her toes curl.
This, she knows, is a good love, a real love, a love she can trust. The past no longer stings knowing it led her here, the future enfolding before her in glittering technicolour. She grasps it with both hands and pulls him in.
:-x-:
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.
.
:-x-:
"You are pouting," Hero sing-songs.
"I am reading."
Don John ignores the look she throws him and focuses on the papers in his hands, reading the same sentence again and absorbing none of it. At the corner of his vision he sees the motion of black fur, hears the soft purr, punctuated with high-pitch mews, and Hero's answering coos.
"You are jealous," she croons.
He shuffles his papers. "That does not sound like me."
Hero giggles, fussing over the kitten in her lap when it whines. Shameless.
Don John regards the bundle of scruff that has captured his wife's attention. The black kitten was a wedding gift from Benedick and Beatrice; the pair thinking it hilarious, Don John less so. He sets aside his papers, scoffing at how the kitten debases itself for scratches and kisses.
"You were worse," Hero chirps, as if reading his thoughts.
"I was not." He was.
Her eyes twinkle. "I understand if you are jealous of Inkwell." She nuzzles the kitten's brow. "He is a darling — and so well-behaved."
"I am not jealous," Don John reiterates as his wife snuggles the purring kitten.
Hero's hum is disbelieving.
"I am not jealous… because I can do this."
With cat-like speed, he captures her in a kiss. Heat blazes between them and she melts beneath him, welcoming him in; his thumb caresses the line of her jaw, her fingers threading through his hair. He groans at the slight tug on his scalp, the scrape of her nails, and relishes the sweet incense of her lips.
Pain, defined and piercing, flares through his thigh and he recoils with a curse.
"John!" Hero steadies him, voice full of alarm, before she looks down and identifies the culprit. "Oh, Inkwell, no."
She lifts Inkwell into her arms, the kitten's claws unlatching from the gash in Don John's breeches.
"Menace," he spits, glaring at his nemesis.
The kitten stares back, eyes big and round, snug in Hero's arms.
"Like someone else I love," Hero smiles, leaning in and kissing Don John's temple. "Don't sulk, you are still my sweet prince."
At the name, Don John shivers, a noise catching in his throat, not quite a purr. Hero laughs, his heart thumping with the sound.
He jumps to his feet, his arms sweeping around her. "I think the pest can fend for itself for an hour."
Hero arches a brow, her smile mischievous. "An hour?"
His mouth descends upon her throat. "Maybe two."
:-x-:
Later, pressed against his wife in bed, soothed by her quiet exhales as she dreams, the rise and fall of her chest beneath his arm, he feels the tread of paws across his face, the wet press of a nose as Inkwell nudges his cheek.
He sighs at the brush of fur across his face, a tail coiling around his head, "Yeah, yeah… menace."
He shifts, allowing the kitten to curl up between him and Hero. The hand that is not holding his wife, he lifts from under the covers and runs along the small frame of the kitten.
Inkwell purrs, content, and Don John smiles. It is true what is said, black cats do bring good luck.