Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You really should, Villa.”

Francesc Fábregas picks up his cup and starts spinning the red liquid in it. His friend, to whom the words were addressed, shakes his head.

“You know I’m against it, Francesc. If we support it, it will never end.”

“It will never end whether you support it or not,” Francesc replies calmly. “There is a reason for it. It’s a good investment.”

“In what sense is buying a slave a good investment?” Villa frowns.

“Look at your servants. You pay them every week. You feed them, you have them live here. And in the end you have one running away with a few rather valuable things. No chance of catching him, of course, and even if you did, you will have a hard time proving that he stole it, because he obviously already sold all of it.”

“It was one servant. The others I would entrust my life to.”

“Didn’t you say exactly the same thing about that Portuguese boy?” Francesc smirks. “I can’t blame you, he looked really innocent, this... Fábio.”

Villa furrows his brows at the sound of the name.

“If I find him he will regret that he was even born.”

“I doubt you will ever find him. I’d say he’s already on some Portuguese ship heading somewhere he can sell your jewels for more than he could sell them here.”

Francesc puts the cup back on the table and crosses his arms. 

“With a slave, this can never happen to you. It’s much more easier to catch them if they run away, but most likely they never will. Trust me, I know. Besides, you pay once to their owner, to them you pay nothing. Tell me of a better investment.”

“It’s not human. It’s against...”

“The Pope allowed it, Villa!” Francesc laughs. “He encourages it! ‘Saracens, pagans and any other unbelievers can be reduced to slaves’, so it stands in the papal bull. Tell me about humanity, those are not even worth your pity.”

Villa keeps frowning, the wine going bitter in his mouth. He knows that in a way, Francesc is right. He is right because Villa cannot afford another servant to rip him off. Right now, he also cannot afford to pay the money he would have to pay any of the servants he could get in the city, and he for sure isn’t hiring another Portuguese.

“Maybe you’re right,” he sighs finally.

“For sure I’m right. My father has been keeping slaves for years. It works perfectly.”

He looks around him, admiring the decorations of the room. The old maps on the walls, miniatures of ships, shelves full of books and old documents. He knows Villa’s obsession with the sea and everything nautical. A bit strange for someone who hasn’t even go aboard in his life. It’s also his biggest weakness that cost him a lot of money when he financed some voyages that led only to damnation. Francesc tried many times to talk Villa out of supporting those fools who thought they would find some islands made of gold, but without success.

Villa is a fool. Always will be. But maybe that’s why Francesc likes him.

~ ~ ~ 

Villa doesn’t like markets. It’s a paradox, because it’s what he makes his living of. All the foreign merchants need to exchange their coins for the local currency, or people pay them with the transfer orders of funds, so the merchants have to withdraw their money at his place. This all makes him a good profit, and since he made sure the other money changer in this part of the city would be ruined, the merchants now have no other choice than to go to him, no matter how high his rates are.

The slave market is even worse. Villa is ashamed of even setting his foot in there, of becoming a part of it. But he really has no other choice. He needs to save his money somewhere, and he knows well that his friends and business partners, including Cesc, wouldn’t leave him alone until he proved that he is no rebel.

The owner of the slaves is a man in his late forties. Villa has never seen him before, which is strange considering that all the merchants usually come to him before going to the market. But if this one came only to sell, there was no need for him to exchange coins yet. Just from looking at him, Villa would say he is a good businessman. The sparkle in his eyes when he sees a potential customer approaching confirms it.

Villa takes his time, waves the man off when he wants to give him some “good advice”. Those pieces of advice are always good for the seller, not for the customer. Villa actually doesn’t need any advice, because he doesn’t really know what he’s looking for. Anyone who won’t run away with my money.

"This one," he says finally.

The owner blinks in surprise. The one Villa is pointing at is a young boy. He looks tiny compared to the others, even more because of his posture. He’s keeping his head down, like he’s watching something on the ground, but Villa would say that he’s actually focusing on not falling down. It’s well past noon; if he’s been standing there under the merciless sun since morning, he’s probably still on his feet by the pure power of will.

“Are you sure?” the owner asks carefully.

Villa looks at him.

“Are you selling goods or trying to repel customers?” he asks.

“No, no, of course, my lord, I’m not doubting your reasons, whatever they are…”

His voice is ingratiating and slimy. It makes Villa feel sick to the stomach.

“Then don’t. I said I wanted this one. 

The man bows slightly and grabs the boy’s arm. Villa would expect him to startle because he wasn’t looking at them so he couldn’t expect it, but there is no reaction at all. The owner pulls him closer and the boy almost falls. Villa moves unwittingly as if he wanted to catch him, but the boy somehow regains his balance.

“Head up!” the man barks and pushes the boy’s chin up.

It’s then that Villa realizes that the boy’s eyes weren’t lowered. They were closed all the time. Now, for a moment, they open like two dark pools and Villa wants to cross himself, run away or tear his shirt off, all at once. Of course he doesn’t do any of that. He just stands there like he was bewitched. It’s like he’s just seen all the emotions of the world concentrated in those eyes. It’s too much to take and he lowers his eyes. He feels the most insignificant that he’s ever felt in his life. He, David Villa, just lowered his eyes in front of a slave.

“He can be yours for three hundred reals.”

The pragmatism of those words brings him to his senses. He chuckles.

“You cannot be serious.”

“My lord?”

“He’s not worth three hundred reals.”

He gains his confidence. He’s used to dealing with merchants, in fact he’s a merchant himself. The man would be stupid if he didn’t want to rip him off, but he would be stupid if he let himself be ripped off by such barbarian.

“He’s not even worth two hundred,” he adds.

“Two hundred and seventy reals, because you’re a honorable man...”

Villa shakes his head and crosses his arms, inspecting the boy in front of him, careful to avoid his gaze this time.

“One hundred and fifty,” he says.

The man purses his lips.

“I can ensure you, my lord, he’s worth much more than he looks. Two hundred and fifty.”

“I honestly doubt it,” Villa retorts. “Two hundred is my last offer. It’s more than generous.”

The man thinks for a while, then nods curtly.

“He is yours.”

Villa beckons to one of the men responsible for issuing contracts and lets him write a transfer order of funds.

“You can withdraw the money in your own currency tomorrow,” he tells the man.

“Where?” the man asks.

For sure he’s never been here.

“At my house,” Villa replies calmly. “I am the only money changer in this part of the city.”

~ ~ ~ 

Once the deal is done, Villa doesn’t actually know what to do. He has servants, but only those who work under a contract. Villa is meticulous about contracts. Probably it’s a professional deformation, but he needs to have everything written and signed. He’s never had a slave nor has he ever thought about having one.

He’s not even sure if the boy actually understands him. His face is not of the common ones here after all.

“Do you speak Catalan?” he asks, trying hard to hide his uneasiness. “Or Castellano?”

The boy nods calmly.

“Yes, my lord. Both.”

“Good,” Villa sighs. “What is your name?”

Now the boy looks surprised. Like the fact that Villa wants to know his name astonishes him.

“David, my lord.”

Villa laughs. The boy blinks in surprise.

“We have the same name,” Villa says. “Nobody calls me by my real name, though. They call me Villa.”

There is no reaction from the boy whatsoever. He just keeps marching next to Villa for the whole time it takes them to get to Villa’s house. Normally, Villa would hire a carriage, but he’s so distracted that he only thinks of it when they are two streets away.

~ ~ ~

Villa opens the door and they walk in. They stand in the hall. Villa glances over to the boy, but he doesn’t lift his eyes from the mosaic on the floor.

“Sergio?” Villa calls.

There is no answer. Maybe this is why people keep slaves, Villa thinks. Because if all servants were so carefree like Sergio, people would rather do everything on their own.

“Sergio!”

It’s not until the third, already angry call that a young boy appears on the stairs.

“You called, Señor?” he asks with a wide smile. 

“No, it was probably just the wind that you heard!” Villa snaps.

Instead of apologizing, Sergio’s smile grows wider, and he approaches them, now with certain curiosity. Villa points to David.

“Take him to the kitchen, give him something to eat and... just take care of him. Then show him the house.”

“Excuse me, Señor...” Sergio says hesitantly.

“Was there anything that wasn’t clear in what I just said?” Villa stops him.

“No,” Sergio says. “Sure, I’ll take care of him.”

“I hope so. He cost me two hundred reals.”

Sergio gasps audibly, but then collects himself. He wraps an arm around David’s shoulders in almost a protective way.

“Come with me.”

~ ~ ~

“I’m Sergio,” he says when they reach the kitchen. “You’ve probably heard it already, though. Same as the whole city.”

David gives a small smile but remains silent.

“And your name?”

“David.”

Sergio nods and starts rummaging through the pantries, cursing under his breath.

“It’s that Xavi – that’s the cook – had to leave for two days because his mother was sick, and honestly, I can’t even boil water without doing something wrong, and I don’t know where he puts what, so probably don’t expect a warm meal...”

David gives him a surprised look. He wouldn’t expect a warm meal in his wildest dreams.

“I normally don’t work inside the house,” Sergio continues and David is wondering if he stops talking at least in his sleep. “I take care of the garden and the horses and things like that, but no sane person would ever let me come close to things you can break... oh, maybe there is still some of the pork tarts left... they’re good even cold.”

David’s eyes flicker from Sergio to the equipment of the kitchen, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“You’re not very talkative,” Sergio notes.

“We... we were not allowed to talk unless our master asked us something.”

Sergio gasps and then rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not your master, silly, I’m just a groom.”

He finally finds what he was looking for and after a while also locates a plate. When it lands in front of David, he loses the ability to speak again. First, the serving of what Sergio called ‘pork tart’ is so big that it equals the amount of food David has seen in the last four days. And second, it’s not the food he’s used to seeing on his plate. It’s something he would serve his master as the main course. Under the thin crust of dough, there is chopped meat with some spices. David can feel the tears stinging his eyes.

“Hey!” Sergio’s voice makes him gather his wits a little bit. “I know Xavi’s cooking is like art, but this is for eating, not for staring at.”

David smiles shyly and reaches for the plate hesitantly. Sergio figures staring at him wouldn’t make thing easier, so he turns around and heads to the door.

“I’m going to run you a bath and find you some clothes.”

He’s gone before David can process the words “run a bath”. He looks around carefully and then finally pulls the plate towards him before someone can take it from him.

~ ~ ~ 

When Sergio returns, he finds David on the same spot, but at least the plate is empty. He smiles.

“Was it good?”

David nods, then opens his mouth like he wanted to say something, but closes it again. Sergio chuckles.

“And you haven’t yet tasted Xavi’s chopped liver. Or the pastry he makes every Sunday.”

“What does your master eat?” David asks quietly.

Sergio frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... when you eat this...”

“He eats the same thing,” Sergio says.

“You can eat the same things as your master?”

“Well, of course!” Sergio laughs. “He couldn’t eat it all by himself, if he did, he’d be really fat already. Xavi always makes plenty. He used to cook for a rich family that had seven children, so...”

David keeps looking at him.

“Oh, the bath!” Sergio says, slapping his own forehead. “Hurry up or it will be cold!”

David bites back a surprised scream. If it’s not meant to be cold, then it has to be warm. He pinches himself, half expecting to wake up on the market. But he is still in the house and there is still Sergio’s voice sounding from the hallway. Maybe, after all, it’s not a dream.

~ ~ ~

Sergio opens one door that leads to an almost empty room. There is a huge tub filled with water. On the table next to it, there is a brush and some soap.

“Don’t drown in there, hey?” Sergio grins. “Looking at you I think you could actually go for a swim in that tub.”

David gives him another of his shy smiles and tests the water with his hand. It is, indeed, warm. 

Sergio leaves him there and goes to search for the clothes which he – again – forgot about. When he returns, David is wrapped in the clean sheet Sergio left for him, damp hair sticking to his forehead. Sergio laughs.

“You look like a drowned mouse,” he says and hands him the clothes. “They’ll probably be a bit bigger because... eh... because they’re mine. I would ask Xavi for some, but as he’s not here...”

When David puts them on, Sergio almost doubles from laughter.

“No, that won’t do!”

He has the impression that he’s looking at a pile of clothes hanging magically in the air, because David is nowhere to be seen under them.

“Well, I really don’t know what to do with them...” he sighs.

“I can make them fit if you have a needle and some thread...” David says.

Sergio blinks in surprise.

“You can sew?”

David nods. Sergio’s jaw drops.

“Oh. I once tried to stitch my shirt and almost lost my eye.”

He takes a few steps towards David and tries to help him to at least roll his sleeves up. He continues talking in the meanwhile.

“You’ll probably have to sleep with me, because there’s no other… good God!”

Sergio grabs David’s hand and turns the inner side of his wrist to him.

“What is this?”

Initially, he had it for a burn, and now he sees that it really is a burn, but definitely not a result of an accident. It has a shape, a symbol Sergio doesn’t recognize.

“That’s a mark,” David replies calmly.

“But... why... what...” Sergio blurts out.

“We all have it. It’s how the master marks his property. It’s like with cows, you know.”

“But... but you’re not a cow!” Sergio almost screams.

David backs up, utterly terrified, and looks around like he expects someone to appear out of the thin air to kill them both on the spot.

“No... I didn’t mean...” Sergio blurts out, gripping David’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to calm him down. “I just wanted to say that you’re human, I mean it’s awful to...”

He sighs exasperatedly.

“Never mind, forget it. I won’t speak about it again, alright?”

David nods timidly. Then he lifts his head and looks at Sergio with wide eyes.

“Does that mean your master won’t do it to me?”

“What? Are you... are you asking me if Villa will... God, no!" 

He has to take a few deep breaths to calm down.

“Well, do you think I can show you around or will you kill yourself tripping over my pants?” he asks then.

~ ~ ~

It takes them a long time to go through the whole house. Sergio himself never thought it was that big until he had to walk through it all at once.

“You don’t have fields?” David asks.

Sergio gives him a confused look.

“Fields? We’re in the city. Villa has some land in the country, but I don’t think he cares about it that much.”

“I’m used to working in the fields,” David says. “What am I going to do here?”

“Well, I don’t know. Villa will tell you. I suppose you’ll be doing Fábio’s work.”

“Who’s Fábio?”

Sergio hesitates.

“He was a servant here.”

“What happened to him?”

On one hand Sergio is glad that the boy has lost some of his initial terror and shyness. On the other, he finds these questions rather difficult to answer. 

“He disappeared.”

“How... disappeared?”

“Like this!” Sergio snaps his fingers. “With a few things that belonged to Villa. It made him terribly angry, I can tell you.”

When they are finally done, Sergio opens the door close to the kitchen.

“That’s my room. And also yours, now. I have to warn you, I’m not a very tidy person.”

“Nobody else will sleep here?” David asks.

“No. Xavi has his own room. He gets up earlier than I do when he bakes bread and so on.”

David blinks again, but doesn’t say anything. The thought of sleeping in an actual bed in a room that he will have almost for himself is too good to be true. 

Sergio rummages through his thing and then pulls out some thread and a needle triumphantly.

“Here!” he says. “You can do something with the clothes now. I’ll just go to check if Villa needs something, and then I have to – somehow – make dinner. Which probably won’t end well.”

He closes the door behind him, leans over the wall and sighs. Then he heads up the stairs to Villa’s room.

~ ~ ~

Villa is sitting in his favorite chair, scribbling something in one of the books that are constantly lying around. When Sergio knocks and enters, he instinctively closes it. Sergio smirks and Villa realizes that he cannot even read.

“Did you show him the house?” Villa asks.

“Yes, Señor.” 

Villa nods and takes a cup and a carafe with wine.

“Señor?” Sergio says quietly. 

“Yes?”

“When his former owner comes for the money, do you think I could make him accidentally slip on a horse’s shit or something?”

“Sergio!” Villa snaps, but the laughter in his voice is badly hidden.

Then he notices that Sergio looks... shaken. Which is not a usual thing.

“What happened?” Villa asks.

“Nothing in particular, but... he thinks of himself as of a cow. Have you seen his wrist?”

Villa nods quietly.

“He also asked me if I got beaten if I didn’t carry your orders right.” 

“You certainly should,” Villa notes with amusement. “But I’m afraid you’d be already dead in that case.”

“And he asked me if you will mark him as well.”

Villa turns around briskly.

“What did you just say?”

Sergio shrugs.

“I don’t know why, but he probably thinks that you’re a monster. I’d say he thinks all the masters are the same. He seems to be utterly terrified of you.”

Villa slumps back in his chair. What, in the name of God, have I gotten into? He makes a mental note to strangle Francesc Fábregas the next time he sees him.

~ ~ ~

When David walks into the kitchen, Sergio is rummaging through the pantries again. He turns around and nods in appreciation when he sees his clothes. They still don’t fit perfectly, but at least he now doesn’t look like a kid trying on his father’s clothing, and isn’t tripping over the trousers anymore.

“Can’t Xavi at least write on things what they are?” Sergio laments. "Though I can't read, so it would be useless anyway."

David gives him a skeptical look.

“What do you want to do with flour, vinegar and milk?” he asks.

“Well, I have no idea. I can’t even cook porridge to save my life.”

“May I...” David asks and moves towards the table.

Sergio hesitates for a while, then nods.

“It can’t be worse than my cooking, can it?”

David smiles and looks around.

“Do you have some meat?”

“There’s pork. At least Xavi said it was pork. I hope it’s not a piece of a horse or something.”

“You can eat horse,” David says calmly. 

“Thank you very much, I prefer chicken.” 

In the next few minutes, David gathers all sorts of ingredients Sergio doesn’t even know. 

“Can I... do at least something?” Sergio asks.

He feels rather stupid and useless.

“You can make salad,” David says. “Cut the apples and onions.”

“What nonsense is that?” Sergio frowns.

“It’s not nonsense, it’s delicious!”

Sergio picks up a knife and takes the first apple.

“Peel it. Don’t chop your fingers off, there’s no meat in the recipe.”

“Oh, so you can joke!” Sergio grins.

In not so long, they – well, David with some pretended help of Sergio - manage to cook some meatballs, the salad that Sergio is still skeptical about, and even some almond pudding as dessert.

“Is there something you can’t do?” Sergio asks, rather frustrated.

David looks at him with doe eyes and shrugs.

“I thought so,” Sergio sighs.

~ ~ ~

Villa looks at Sergio in surprise, laying the cutlery back on the table.

“Did you wake up today with some newly discovered culinary talent, Sergio?”

“No, señor. I only made the salad... well, chopped the apples and onions.”

“Alright. Can I talk to the cook?”

Sergio doesn’t look really convinced about it being a good idea, but he walks out the door and returns a few minutes later, dragging David along. Villa can hear his whispered “he doesn’t want to eat you alive, silly” and sighs.

He still thinks that he’s ready for everything. That is until the boy falls on his knees in front of him. Villa freezes on the spot. Then he glances over to Sergio, who rolls his eyes and shrugs in a silent ‘I told you’.

“For God’s sake, get up!” Villa says.

The boy scrambles to his feet but keeps his head down.

“First, this will not repeat itself,” Villa says calmly but emphatically. “I’m neither God, nor a king.”

David fidgets a little, but stays silent.

“Second, I would like you to look at me when I’m talking to you.”

That is rather a challenging order mainly for himself, but he has to get used to it. David lifts his head slowly and looks at him.

“That’s better,” Villa smiles. “Now, Sergio told me that you had some... doubts as to what concerns your work here.”

Sergio makes a face which suggests that ‘doubts’ is really an understatement.

“For now, you will do whatever is necessary to do. Sergio will tell you. If we have guests, count with helping around the house more.”

“Yes, my lord.”

It is barely a whisper, but at least it’s a reaction.

“Now to your other... doubts. I have no intention of hurting you for no reason. I do not beat my servants up for whatever triviality. In conclusion, David, I’m not a cruel person at all. There’s no reason to fear me.”

The boy nods. Still, Villa is absolutely convinced that he doesn’t share his opinion.

“Oh, and I forgot to tell you...” Villa says and smiles. “The dinner was absolutely delicious.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I cannot even tell Xavi or he would get jealous,” Villa chuckles. “I had no idea you could cook.”

“My mother taught me.”

It’s the first thing David actually says which is not a simple answer, and it takes Villa by surprise. He tries to remember if there was a woman at the market, but can’t recall the other slaves at all.

“Your mother... she is...”

“She is dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

At least Villa now knows two things. He knows that since the early morning whenever he moves, he puts his foot into something, and he also knows that he suddenly feels uneasy in his own house, and has to figure the situation out as soon as possible.

~ ~ ~

David calms down only when they get back to the kitchen. Sergio has to check the house before going to sleep, and David offers to clean the kitchen. Sergio assumes that he wouldn’t offer it if he didn’t want to do it, and he doesn’t feel like being the one Xavi will blame for the mess, so he accepts.

Sergio practically talks himself into sleep while David stares at the ceiling, his mind too awake to sleep. When there’s only Sergio’s quiet snoring to be heard, he throws his blanket away and gets up.

He creeps out of the room to the dark hallway. There is a door at the end of it. David walks to it and pushes the handle. The door is not locked. It almost startles him. He remembers the room he used to sleep in with the others. The door was always locked for the night. His biggest fear was that there would be a fire one night and he wouldn’t get out.

Then he peeks out. He can feel fresh air. The door leads to the garden. He gulps. There is a fence around the garden, not very high.

He could escape. He certainly could climb over the fence and run away now. He could even get quite far before Sergio or someone else would wake up. But where? Where would he go? And what if they caught him?

Besides that, he considers the situation. It doesn’t seem to be bad at all. Sure, he is still a bit afraid of his new master, even though he seems not to be a bad person. But there is something strange about him that terrifies David. He is not readable like his old master. With him, David always knew when he was going to hit him, when he was in a bad mood and it was better to avoid him, or when on the contrary he could expect an alleviation. Villa looks and talks nicely all the time and David just cannot afford to be lulled into a false sense of security by it.

But he has a bed to sleep in, food to eat and even though he doesn’t allow himself to trust him completely just yet, Sergio looks like a nice guy with a big heart.

He closes the door again and goes back to his room. For now he is staying.

Chapter Text

David wakes up to some noise and shouting coming probably from the kitchen. He sits up quickly and turns his head towards Sergio’s bed. Sergio groans.

“Seems like Xavi is back!” 

In the next moment the door of their room flies open and a short, dark-haired man with an angry face runs in.

“Nothing is where it’s supposed to be, the kitchen is completely... who is this?” he trails off when he sees David.

“Good morning, Xavi!” Sergio grins. “This is David and I think now you really scared him.”

“Did Villa finally find someone to replace the Portuguese thief?” Xavi frowns. “What else happened during my absence, did Carles Puyol find the Eldorado?”

“I don’t think he did, since he’s coming to have dinner with Villa tomorrow,” Sergio laughs. “He would be counting his gold if he did, not having dinner with our fool of a master.”

Sergio glances over to David, who almost hides his head under the blanket at Sergio’s audacious statements about Villa.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Sergio says. “Villa is a bit of a dreamer. When you see his cabinet, you will understand.”

“Well, I’m going to make breakfast, I can’t spend all day chatting with you!” Xavi says then. “You can come to eat in a while. Though I’m tempted to let you starve for completely ruining my system of organization.”

“It is probably my fault,” David says quietly. “I wanted to clean the kitchen, but I didn’t know where you put what...”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Xavi mutters and waves his hand. “I needed to check what we need to buy anyways.”

When he’s gone, Sergio laughs.

“So, this was Xavi,” he says. “I know he looks like he’s constantly angry, but somewhere deep, very deep inside, he’s a nice boy, I swear.”

He walks over to a basin filled with water and splashes it over his face. David joins him hesitantly.

“Who is Carles Puyol?” he asks.

Sergio’s brows shoot up in surprise.

“You don’t know Carles Puyol?” he laughs.

David shakes his head. 

“Ah, I forgot you’re not from here. Otherwise you would know, the whole city speaks about him. He’s a... how do you say it... navigator. Means he sails his ship somewhere he believes he will find some land nobody’s ever been to, and become rich. Until now, though, he’s discovered nothing, and most people laugh at him.”

“And what did you mean with your... our master being a dreamer?”

“Nothing more and nothing less than that he believes in all those fools, and especially Puyol. He gives them money for their explorations and hopes to get something from the treasure they will find. Mostly they don’t find anything, in the better case. In the worse their ship sinks somewhere and Villa’s money goes down with it.” 

“He has to be really rich, then,” David wonders. “With such a big house and so much money...”

“Yes, he’s rich, but there are people much richer,” Sergio says. “Your old master... wasn’t rich?”

“He is a farmer,” David says.

“Well, I think you will be almost bored here,” Sergio smiles. “In our garden there are mostly herbs, and Xavi doesn’t want anyone to touch them anyways.”

They go to the kitchen where Xavi has already prepared breakfast. They sit around the table and Sergio looks delighted at the sight of the freshly baked bread.

“How is your mother doing, Xavi?” Sergio asks when the silence between them becomes too awkward.

“Better. It was probably just some cold. But my mother gets pricked by a thorn and thinks she’s going to die, you know.”

Xavi gets up and starts preparing Villa’s breakfast on a platter. Sergio sighs.

“I should go to feed the horses,” he says, gets up and looks at David. “Do you think you can bring the breakfast to Villa, or are you still too scared to do that?”

Xavi turns around and looks at Sergio with surprise.

“He’s scared of Villa? Why?”

“I have no idea,” Sergio chuckles.

“I think I can do it,” David says, slightly embarrassed.

“Great. So take it upstairs,” Sergio says. “To Villa’s office. Do you remember which door it was?”

David nods. 

“If not, just shout ‘Eldorado’, Villa will run out,” Sergio says and practically doubling from laughter heads out of the kitchen.

David takes a deep breath before knocking on the door – or making the best attempt to knock with the platter in his hands.

“Come in!” sounds from the room.

David pushes the handle down with his elbow and leans into the door to open it. He walks in and almost forgets to breathe. The room is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. There are old maps hanging on the walls, miniatures of ships standing on the shelves and documents and books are covering every single place. The sunlight peaking in from the windows partly covered with heavy curtains shows it all in warm yellow tones, making things look softer. The air in the room smells a bit of dust, ink and wood. It takes David a while to find his voice again.

“Your breakfast, my lord.”

Villa emerges from behind a pile of some books and smiles.

“Thank you. If you find an empty place somewhere, put it there.”

After a while, David locates a table which is only half-covered with some maps, and lays the platter on it. He stands next to it, hands behind his back, listening to the rustling of parchments.

“Oh, you don’t have to stand here,” Villa’s voice says then. “I’m sure there are more useful ways how you could spend your time.”

David nods and slips out of the door, taking in the room with one last look. Unlike Sergio, he doesn’t think Villa is crazy. He finds it beautiful that he believes in something, even if it’s not reasonable or maybe even real. It’s definitely better than spending the day in a chair, drinking wine, watching other people work and complaining about everything. Which was exactly how his old master liked to spend his time.

Xavi is already preparing lunch when David comes back with the empty platter. It seems like Xavi needs to constantly mutter something to himself while working. But the more David watches him, the more he sees that under the grumpiness and meticulousness, there is actually only the desire to do everything perfectly, to make everyone, and especially his master, happy.

“I suppose it was you who cooked yesterday,” he says.

“How do you know?” David asks.

“If it was Sergio, Villa would be already poisoned or dead from hunger,” Xavi says. “He’s really hopeless.”

“Sergio is nice,” David objects.

“He is, until you really want to get something done,” Xavi mutters.

Suddenly there is a knock on the front door. The doorknocker is so loud that they hear it even in the kitchen.

“Would you answer it?” Xavi says. 

David makes three steps and then stops.

“What’s wrong?” Xavi asks.

“What if it’s my old master?” David whispers.

“So what?” Xavi shrugs. “You don’t belong to him anymore.”

David still looks startled and Xavi sighs.

“Look, I would go there, but I got flour all over my hands and meat in the oven.”

With a sigh, David drags his feet to the front door and opens it. There is a young boy standing at the doorstep. He looks at David and clears his throat.

“I have a message for Señor Villa, from Señor Puyol,” he announces in an overly-solemn tone.

“Sure. I... can give it to him?” David says, unsure how to deal with a messenger boy, as nobody has ever had any message for his old master – people usually didn’t want to approach him in any way.

“All right,” the boy says and hands David a piece of parchment. “But it’s confidential.”

“You don’t need to worry, I can’t read,” David smiles. “But I wouldn’t read it even if I could.”

The boy gives him one last mistrustful look and disappears behind the corner. David closes the door and walks up the stairs to Villa’s office. 

He finds Villa practically digging in a pile of documents, cursing under his breath. 

“My lord,” David says.

Villa startles and the pile, already unstable, collapses and documents fly all over the room. David instinctively takes a step back like he expects Villa to hit him for it. In his old master’s logic, it would obviously be his fault. But Villa only sighs exasperatedly and turns to him.

“I’m sorry, but... there is a message for you from Señor Puyol.”

“Just what I needed now,” Villa sighs and takes the message from David. 

He reads it quickly and frowns. Then he looks at the mess around.

“Do you want me to help you to put this away?” David offers.

Villa looks at him. 

“If you don’t have other work...”

David shakes his head and kneels on the floor to get the parchments out from underneath the table. When he emerges from the tiny space, he finds Villa on the floor next to him.

“My servants probably already told you about this obsession of mine,” he says casually and takes the parchments from David.

David nods quietly and reaches for another one.

“Most people think I am crazy.”

“I don’t think you are,” David blurts out without thinking, then blushes and looks down.

“No?” Villa chuckles. “Well, I think I’m the person people laugh at the most... maybe after Carles. But to be honest, he at least really sails on the sea, even though he hasn’t yet found any new land.”

“No, I think it’s beautiful that you love something so much.”

“You know, my father was a money changer. So I took after him. But I’ve always wanted to be a sailor. Once I mentioned it in front of him, he almost killed me. So I have at least this. I live my dream through the others... like Carles. Maybe I am really crazy.”

He glances over to David who is listening to him almost devoutly, sitting on his heels. He doesn’t know what came over him, talking like this to someone he doesn’t even know, to someone he owns, for God’s sake, but it’s surprisingly easy. The boy isn’t laughing at him like Francesc and isn’t rolling his eyes openly like Sergio and Xavi. 

“Why sailing?” David asks then.

“Why?”

“Yes. I mean... you could have been interested in... I don’t know... art?”

He seems to be terrified of even asking questions, but asks anyways. The difference between the boy who fell to his knees the other night, and this curious one is astonishing. And Villa finds it oddly refreshing to talk about things he likes, not just money and business.

“Yes. But I like ships and the sea. They represent...”

“Freedom,” David whispers.

“Exactly,” Villa nods, caught off guard but yet delighted in some strange, incomprehensible way. “Freedom.”

It’s a fragile moment and Villa somehow wishes it could last forever. But of course, a second later Sergio’s loud voice sounds somewhere from the hallway and brings them to their senses again. 

“I... should...” David says hesitantly, handing Villa the last few parchments he’s holding.

“Sure. Go and see what he needs,” Villa smiles. “I think I can manage here by myself now.”

David gets up from the carpet and goes to the door. Only when he is out of the room, away from the smell of old books and dust, he allows himself to come back down to earth. It feels like waking up from a pleasant dream. A dream in which nothing hurts, nothing scares him, in which someone treats him as an equal. Of course he knows that he is not equal to Villa, he is not even equal to Sergio or Xavi, most probably not even to the kid who brought the message from Puyol. But still it feels nice to talk to someone that way. And even more, with Villa it feels like his dreamy soul finally relates to someone else’s. Sergio would most probably think he is crazy, same as he thinks of Villa. Nice as he is, Sergio is very down-to-earth. David’s mind likes to wander from time to time. This time the waking up doesn’t hurt. 

Sergio is waiting in the hall.

“God, I was worried, where have you been?” he asks, wrapping his arm around David’s shoulder protectively, like he’s checking for some damage.

“In master’s office,” David says calmly.

“And you seem to have survived it!” Sergio exclaims with a mock surprise. “Told you he’s not a bad person.”

On one hand, David wants to believe him. A person with such soul cannot be entirely bad. But he has decided not to trust his new master completely just yet.

“What were you doing there?” Sergio asks.

“I brought a message from Puyol, and then helped him clean up some mess.”

Sergio’s brows shoot up, but he says nothing more. When they come to the kitchen, Xavi has the lunch almost ready. 

“What did you do to the parsley and thyme, Sergio?” he snaps as soon as they enter. “It’s almost all withered.”

“Well, I’m sorry for the sun shining, Xavi!” Sergio grins.

“You could at least water it from time to time. What am I supposed to put on the chicken tomorrow?”

“There are plenty of other herbs in the garden.”

“But you know that Señor Puyol likes it with thyme!”

Sergio rolls his eyes.

“Puyol is so busy talking about his imaginary treasure that he has no idea what he’s eating! Try serving him a roasted rat once, see if he can notice.”

“I don’t know why I let you take care of that part of the garden, I should have built a fence around my herbs!” Xavi continues yelling.

“Well, then let David here take care of it!” Sergio snaps. “He said he’s used to working on the fields anyways. I’m a groom, not a gardener!”

“Sure, you’d like that,” Xavi mutters. “Giving all your work to others, you lazy brat!”

“I can do it,” David says quietly. 

“Sure you can,” Xavi nods. “But beware of Sergio, or you’ll be doing all his work while he’s picking his nose all day.”

“You’re at your grumpy best today, aren’t you, Xavi?” Sergio says lightly, not being offended at all by Xavi’s impression of him. 

“It’s the slugs,” Xavi sighs.

“Slugs?”

“In the lettuce!” Xavi spits. “Haven’t you noticed? No lettuce, two buckets of slugs, it’s a disaster.”

“You can eat slugs,” David says calmly.

Xavi pales and Sergio rolls his eyes.

“Here we go again.”

David doesn’t see Villa until the evening when he brings him dinner. He is starting to feel a bit more comfortable now, still waiting for some nasty surprise to come, but also he is slowly realizing that the life here cannot be even compared to his old one.

“Oh, David, just one thing,” Villa says when he’s about to leave.

David looks at him questioningly. 

“Your old master didn’t come for his money today,” Villa says. “It’s a bit strange...”

“Actually it isn’t, my lord,” David gives a small smile. “He probably got drunk somewhere and forgot about it. I’m sure he will turn up tomorrow.”

“Does he do that often?”

“Getting drunk? All the time, my lord.”

“He must be an awful person.”

David says nothing to that. Villa tilts his head in interest.

“Or am I wrong?”

“I’m nobody to judge him, my lord,” David says like he is reading from a book.

Villa sighs. He can read in this tone of voice more than in the words. It’s the voice that says the words were instilled in his mind and Villa doesn’t want to guess how.

“You can go,” he says instead and watches the boy bow slightly and walk out of the room.

He feels like his head has never been heavier with thoughts than it is now.

David stands next to Sergio when Carles Puyol arrives to their house. He looks a lot different than David had imagined him. He expected either a nobleman or a man with a weather-beaten face, but Puyol looks like a peasant in nice clothes to him. He immediately scolds himself for the thought. 

Sergio takes Puyol’s horse and pokes David in the ribs. 

“Lead him to the dining room,” he hisses.

David gathers his wits.

“Please, follow me, my lord,” he says to Puyol.

Puyol follows him without paying much attention to him, for which David is quite grateful. When they reach the dining room, Villa gets up from the table and smiles.

“Carles!”

David fights the urge to giggle, because Puyol isn’t the type to friendly embrace other people, and their greeting looks really awkward. He goes to the kitchen where Xavi has already prepared the starter.

“Don’t take it there just yet,” he advises David. “They like to have some time to talk before eating.”

David nods and sits down at the table full of food. Sergio enters soon after.

“So, what do you say?” he grins. “The famous Carles Puyol who to our days has found nothing but one little island made of rocks with absolutely no value whatsoever.”

“Who says he cannot discovered something next time?” David objects.

“You speak like Villa,” Sergio snorts. “I bet he will give him another money, even though he lost so much last time when he gave them to the other fool, Rodríguez.”

“How come he lost the money?” David asks.

“Because out of four Rodríguez’ ships, three sunk and he returned on one damaged, with only a few men and absolutely nothing.”

“I don’t get it,” Xavi intervenes. “If Puyol is so certain to have a plan that will lead him to gold, why doesn’t he go to the King immediately? Why does he beg for money here?”

“That’s it!” Sergio shrugs. “Because the plan must be so bad that they wouldn’t even let him come close to the King with it. So he tries his luck with Villa.”

"I don‘t know how it could disappear, Carles," Villa sighs.

"Well, we both know that recently quite a few things disappeared from your house," Carles says sarcastically.

"I know, but why would that boy steal your map and notes? He couldn‘t even read."

"Do you have a better explanation?"

"Maybe he took it accidentally," Villa says.

"In that I hope," Carles raises his brows. "If he burns them in the fireplace, it will still be better than if someone gets their hands on them."

The door opens and David comes in, followed by Sergio who is helping him carry the dishes. 

"Anyways, I‘m certainly heading the good way. If my calculations are right, I will reach India in almost a month less than I would if I took the usual way."

He doesn‘t even notice that the food is on the table.

"I‘m afraid I can‘t help you this time, Carles," Villa sighs. "You know I lost a fortune last time."

"Of course, when you give money to Pedro Rodríguez!" Carles snorts. "He cannot even build a decent ship to start with!"

"I simply don‘t have money to support any quest right now," Villa says. "I have to save even on my household."

"Yes," Carles nods and glances over to David. "I noticed."

David blushes involuntarily and follows Sergio gratefully when he tugs on his sleeve and heads to the door. Before they leave, he can hear Villa‘s voice behind his back.

"At least he‘s not Portuguese." 

Puyol leaves when it’s long after midnight. It makes Xavi grumpy because he has to stay up longer than he’s used to, while Sergio is happy because he can sit in the kitchen and have his second, eventually third dinner. 

“What did they talk about for so long when Villa said he wouldn’t give him the money?” Xavi mutters, organizing his tools meticulously.

“Puyol was probably trying to get him to sell his property in the country and give him the money,” Sergio shrugs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold this house next.”

“With us all inside,” Xavi adds.

“No, wait, that would be a nonsense,” Sergio grins and wraps his arms around David’s shoulders. “Him he’s just bought.”

“Sergio!” Xavi snaps, despite David’s gestures telling him that it’s alright. “You better beware if he wants to sell the horses, he could accidentally sell you together with them. You look so much alike...”

David giggles and Sergio throws a piece of bread at Xavi. Suddenly there is a loud knock on the door. Xavi frowns and Sergio gets up with an annoyed face. 

“Only the Devil can knock on the door at this hour,” he mutters and goes to the door.

When he opens the door, the man behind it almost falls inside. 

“What do you want?” Sergio snaps at him. “Don’t you know how late it is?”

“I want my money,” the man slurs, obviously having troubles with standing upright.

“What money?”

“My money, by Satan’s hairy arse!”

Sergio can hear the steps in the hallway and turns his head slightly. David is standing there, hiding in the shadows as much as he can.

“He wants the money for me,” he says quietly. “It’s my old master.”

It catches Sergio off guard just for a moment. Then he turns back to the man.

“Señor Villa is busy now,” he says. “It’s late. Come tomorrow.”

“No way! You don’t want to pay me, I’m taking my goods back!”

He makes a few steps inside and then trips over his own feet. He stumbles and falls right on Sergio. Before Sergio can scramble back to his feet, the man is already making his way to David who stands there like he’s frozen on spot. 

When he reaches up to him, David manages to take a little step back. 

“You forget quickly,” the man snorts.”I’ll make you remember, you little...”

He doesn’t manage to finish his threat because there is a silvery glint in the semidarkness, and when David turns his head, he can see Villa holding a dagger up to his old master’s throat. When he speaks, his voice is as stern as his face.

“Touch him and you’re dead.”

Chapter Text

David tosses and turns in his bed, the events of the evening not letting his mind rest even for a moment.

“You can’t sleep?” Sergio asks quietly.

And David has always thought it was him stating the obvious.

“No.”

“It’s fine now,” Sergio says in a voice he usually uses on fidgety horses. “Villa paid him, so you won’t ever see him again. Actually, even if he didn’t pay him, I think he would have run away. Even I was scared when Villa appeared there.”

“Why do you think he did it?” David asks and turns to Sergio.

“Why did he do what?”

“Defend me. I mean, he hadn’t actually paid for me then, so he wouldn’t have lost anything if...”

“You mean if that dirty drunkard strangled you right in that hallway? For God’s sake, David!” Sergio sighs.

Then he chuckles.

“Why don’t you ask him tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you ask Villa why he did it?”

David almost jumps out of the bed.

“I can’t ask him questions like that!”

Sergio contentedly notes that he has already moved from “I can’t ask him questions” to “questions like that”.

“Why not? It concerns you, so just ask him what you asked me. See what he tells you.”

David shakes his head furiously and curls up under the blanket. No way is he going to ask his master about his moves and intentions, no matter how much they concern him.

Xavi is so caught up in Sergio’s recounting of previous night’s events that he accidentally pours boiling water over a bowl of fruit instead of the oats that are supposed to become porridge.

“He must have been really angry,” he whispers in a tone that suggests Villa’s anger is no less intimidating than the wrath of God.

“You bet,” Sergio grins and ruffles David’s hair. “The drunkard dared to touch his precious one.”

“I’m not-” David protests, face all red and eyes wide.

“What were you doing, actually, Sergio?” Xavi gets him out of his misery by unfailingly embarrassing Sergio instead.

“Well, I was... he fell on me, alright? And before I could get up... I would have jumped on him from behind, but by that time Villa was already there, flashing his shiny dagger.”

Xavi scoffs a little bit at Sergio’s audacious statement about “jumping on the man from behind”, but decides not to comment on it.

“How lucky we are the Portuguese thief didn’t take that dagger, then,” he notes. “It’s shiny enough to attract the attention of such magpie.”

He arranges Villa’s breakfast on the platter and motions towards it.

“Take it upstairs, one of you. And say I’m sorry about the fruit... It will only be good for a stew now.”

Sergio makes no move suggesting he is willing to be the one serving Villa breakfast, so David jumps to his feet and grabs the platter. He walks up the stairs and knocks at Villa’s office.

“A moment!” sounds from the inside and David can hear some fumbling noises and something being knocked over, which is followed by a stream of curses.

Then the door opens and Villa is standing there with an expression of a child who had just been cleaning up the mess he had made before the parents come home.

“Come in,” he says and steps aside.

One look around is enough for David to tell that whatever it was Villa had been doing, it wasn’t cleaning up, because the room is as messy as always. He puts the platter on a table and then remembers Xavi’s message.

“Xavi excuses himself, my lord, that there is no fresh fruit this morning. He accidentally poured boiling water over it.”

He hates delivering such messages because with his old master it never mattered whose fault it was, he would simply hit the person closest to him. To David’s surprise, Villa laughs heartily.

“I wonder what happened that Xavi forgot what he was doing,” he says. “I don’t know a person more meticulous than him.”

“Sergio was telling him about what happened last night,” David blurts out before realizing that Villa maybe didn’t exactly ask him a question.

“No wonder then, Sergio tends to exaggerate in a very convincing way,” Villa smiles.

David bites his lip, but the question flies out of his mouth before he can do something about it.

“Why did you do it?”

Villa frowns, which is enough for David to regret the question more than he has ever regretted any question in his life.

“What do you mean?”

“I... I mean why did you... you wouldn’t have lost your money anyways, so...”

It takes Villa a while to process what David really means. Then he sighs and sits down on a chair, pulling another one opposite to himself and looking at David.

“Sit down.”

Now it’s David who has something to process. Villa wants him to sit down. In his office. Like... like he is someone equal to him, same as, for example, Carles Puyol yesterday. He makes two tiny steps towards the chair and then decides to sit on it as quick as possible, before he loses the courage.

“Good,” Villa says and looks at him. “I would like to make some things clear now.”

David shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He is sitting with his back upright, so his feet are barely reaching the ground.

“When I warned your old master off yesterday, I wasn’t defending my property. I was defending you.”

David gives him a confused look. He doesn’t consider himself particularly bright, but since he remembers, last time the question was brought up, him equaled property.

“I was defending you as a person,” Villa specifies.

“But...” David starts, but Villa’s look tells him immediately that he is not done talking yet.

“I defended you because it was the right thing to do. Not because I own you. Is it clear now?”

David nods. It’s about as clear as the morning fog for him, but he will think about it later.

“Your status in the society is different, maybe your status in this house is in a way different, but my attitude towards you is no different from the one I have towards Sergio or Xavi.”

Villa stays silent for a moment, probably giving David some time for another “but”. When nothing comes, he gets up with a sigh.

“Now that we are clear, I have a few things I need from you...” he says and walks over to his desk.

David jumps up from the chair, and turns to him. Villa hands him a piece of parchment.

“I need you to give this to Sergio and ask him to deliver it immediately – and the ‘immediately’ is a very important part of the message – to señor Xabier Alonso Olano. Will you remember it?”

“Of course, my lord.”

It’s not like it is an especially difficult name to remember. Maybe David just looks that stupid.

“And, tell Xavi that we will have two guests tonight.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“That will be all for now.”

David nods and goes to the door.

“Where are you from?” he hears behind his back.

He turns back in surprise.

“Pardon me, my lord?”

“I asked where you were from.”

“I came here from Valencia, my lord. But I was born on the Canary Islands.”

“Canary Islands...” Villa repeats.

There is a strange look in his eyes, something between fascination and curiosity, but at the same time he seems a bit lost in thoughts. His eyes are suddenly the eyes of a daydreamer, same like they were when he was talking about his passion for sailing.

“What are they like, Canary Islands?” he asks.

“I don’t remember much from it. I left when I was still a child. But they are very hot and the ground is fertile, mainly for cereals and fruit, and there is a lot of animals. The life is much more simple there. There are no big houses like here, and they are usually not even made of stone. The air smells different there... it smells like dirt and honey...” David blushes when he realizes that he is already surpassing simple facts.

“You can speak very nicely, when you use more than two words,” Villa notes.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“And your old master was from Valencia?”

David nods.

“So he bought you from... the soldiers on the Islands.”

“They weren’t soldiers. They were our own people. Those sold us to the soldiers, and the soldiers took us to Valencia then,” David explains in flat voice that contrasts sharply with the shocked expression that appears on Villa’s face. “My old master never left Valencia before, only now that he lost a lot of money he thought he could sell his goods better in bigger cities.”

“By the goods you mean yourself?”

David gives him a guilty smile. Villa sighs.

“Give Sergio the letter so that he delivers it immediately. Tell him I won’t tolerate any delays caused by him stopping by in a tavern.”

“A message for Alonso the crank?” Sergio chuckles when David hands him the parchment, explaining to whom it shall be delivered. “Villa has probably decided to meet up with all candidates for the fool of the century.”

“Who is Alonso?” David asks.

Sergio thinks for a while about how to put it in simple words.

“Think Carles Puyol combined with a soldier.”

Meanwhile, Xavi keeps checking the food supplies and whining constantly.

“Couldn’t you have at least asked who the guests were?” he looks at David accusingly. “What am I supposed to cook, then?”

“Try to think a bit,” Sergio suggests. “I’m supposed to deliver a message to Alonso. Immediately. You can be almost sure it will be him.”

“But Villa said two guests,” Xavi whines desperately. “Who is the other one?”

“Whatever you cook is delicious, Xavi,” David reassures him.

“Except of stewed fruit and dry oats,” Sergio grins and runs out of the kitchen because Xavi is looking around for the nearest tool he could throw at him.

“Can you pluck a hen?” Xavi then asks David.

“Sure.”

“Great,” Xavi says contentedly. “For once Villa employed someone competent.”

Sergio returns in two hours, and by Xavi’s disapproving look David judges that the order about not stopping by in a tavern wasn’t kept.

“How nice of you to let us work here and enjoy yourself at the Drunken Horse or whatever it is called, the place you like to go,” Xavi scolds him immediately.

“I had just one cup!” Sergio objects. “So what will we have for dinner?”

Xavi stands in front of the stove, protecting the food with his own body.

“Beware! I might not have a dagger like Villa, but I have plenty of knives!” he says.

“Fine, fine,” Sergio mumbles. “I’m going to tell Villa that his crazy friend with another crazy friend are coming tonight.”

The lunch is – according to Xavi – a bit sloppily done, because he is focusing on the dinner. According to David, it’s no different from what he has already seen Xavi cook, but Xavi obviously is more demanding with himself.

When he comes to collect the empty plates, Villa is already scribbling something in his accounts. He definitely has other customs than David’s old master, for whom the three hours after lunch were dedicated to lying in a hammock in the shadow and disturbing him practically meant death, or at least so he told everyone and probably wasn’t exaggerating much.

David looks around the room. The light is now almost orange. He could sit there and watch the light change all day. No, of course he couldn’t. The last time he sat and watched something hurt a lot.

He is probably already standing there for too long, because Villa lifts his head from whatever he is writing. Writing is another thing David likes to watch. It almost looks like magic to him. He never really understood how someone can transform thoughts or words into those little pictures, and another person can read them. But he wishes he could do it as well, because like that he wouldn’t have to remember everything, wouldn’t have to be afraid that he forgets about something he wants to keep memory of forever.

“Do you need anything?” Villa asks.

His tone is not hostile or irritated, he doesn’t look annoyed. It encourages David to break the promise he has given to himself about not asking any questions, ever.

“Can I... ask about something?”

Villa shrugs.

“Sure. If I know the answer, of course.”

“Why... why does everyone want the Canary Islands? There’s nothing valuable there, actually...”

Villa thinks for a while. Then he comes over to a map hanging on the wall and beckons to David.

“Come here.”

David comes closer hesitantly. Villa points to the map.

“Can you find them?”

David studies the map closely, then lifts his hand.

“They’re here?”

Villa shakes his head with a lenient smile.

“No, no, those are the Balearic Islands.”

He takes David’s hand and guides it to another place on the map.

“Here. See where they are? It’s a strategic point. No wonder Sevilla wants it so much. But even if it wasn’t, it’s simply a land that they thought would be easy to conquer, and they always want new land. So far, you’re proving to be bigger fighters than they expected.”

“Not me,” David whispers.

Villa raises his brows and smiles.

“Oh, but you are.”

“I am what?”

“A fighter. I would say you are fighting your little personal war against the Spanish. Including me.”

David gasps and stares at him incredulously.

“I’m not fighting you!”

“Not with arms. But in your mind, you are fighting me a lot.”

Well, he might be right, but nobody has ever been interested about what is going on in David’s head, so why should it matter? For sure he doesn’t know about any fight of his against the Spanish dominance of whatever, as he never understood anything that was going on in this land and he didn’t need to. All that he ever had was his life to care for and protect as well as he could. And if the mistrusting was the fight Villa meant, then it wasn’t actually a fight.

“I’m not fighting you,” David says resolutely. “Just... defending myself.”

“From me?” Villa asks, a bit surprised by David’s sincerity.

“From everything. Everyone.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the only way to survive!” David says, a bit louder than he had intended to.

Villa lets go of his hand and only in that moment he realizes he has been holding it all along. David spins around, grabs the platter and flees the room as quickly as he can without dropping something.

He puts the platter on the table in the kitchen and sprints to the door, not paying attention to Xavi’s surprised looks. He almost bumps into Sergio who’s coming back from the stables.

“Hey, where are you...” Sergio starts, but David is already in the hallway.

“Leave him alone,” he can hear Xavi’s voice. “You don’t have to poke your nose into everything!”

David opens the door to the garden and runs out. The smell of herbs, soil, sun and flowers hits him, so different from the smell of old wood, dust and kitchen fumes inside the house. He stands there for a moment, looking towards the low fence and the small gate. Then he falls to his knees next to a bed of some flowers and buries his face in them to hide his tears from the sun, the birds and the wind that could dry them too soon.

He has no idea about the curtain in the window above his head moving and a pair of dark eyes watching him.

When he opens the door, David understands immediately what Sergio meant by “Carles Puyol combined with a soldier” when he described Xabier Alonso Olano. There is something about him that resembles Puyol’s enthusiasm, but it is more steady. It seems that if Puyol thinks twice before doing something, Alonso thinks at least four times. What is the same is their attitude of a gentleman that leaves David wondering how they ever got to do something as dangerous as sailing surely is.

His companion, on the contrary, looks like the only thing that could stop him from doing whatever he wants is death, definitely not thinking. He’s the type David’s old master would whip just for the fact that he doesn’t like his face. His hair is shorter than the short that is considered decent, his face is freckled and there is something cheeky about it, probably the slight smirk on his thin lips.

Villa and Alonso greet each other in a less friendly way than Villa did with Puyol, but that may be due to Alonso’s different character. Then Alonso gestures to the other man.

“So this is Daniel, whom you were dying to meet,” he says pointedly.

When Daniel extends his hand to shake Villa’s, his sleeve rolls up slightly and reveals something David has never seen before. It’s like someone has painted a picture on his skin. It leaves David speechless for the whole time until the guests disappear in the dining room with Villa.

“It’s getting better and better,” Sergio says next to him in some sarcastic contentment. “Now he’s brought a pirate to our house.”

Xavi almost spills the whole bottle of vinegar into the saucepan.

“A pirate?” he yells. “What do you mean, a pirate?”

“Calm down, Xavi!” Sergio grins. “He’s not interested in your flour and lettuce. The lettuce was eaten by the slugs anyways.”

“But there is a pirate in our house, Sergio!”

“Yes, and so far nobody knows, but if you keep yelling, the whole city will.”

“True,” Xavi mutters. “Still, don’t expect me to go out of the kitchen until he’s gone!”

“As if you ever do,” Sergio rolls his eyes.

“I’m surprised that Carles allowed you to talk about his plans with me,” Alonso chuckles when Villa introduces him and Daniel to Carles’ maps and notes. “He’s usually more paranoid.”

“Carles needs money,” Villa explains calmly. “If I’m to give them to him, I’ll have to sell some of my properties in the country. So I need to be sure he knows what he is doing.”

“Nobody knows when they sail on the sea,” Daniel notes.

“Well, so put otherwise, I need to know if he has a real chance to discover a new way to India like this,” Villa says.

“There is always a chance. Only that it can be longer than the ones already discovered,” Alonso shrugs. “In that case, the King and the Queen will not be overjoyed to hear about it.”

“I only wonder why it never occurred to any of you to try sailing here,” Daniel says, pointing to the map. “Into the West.”

“Because it’s forbidden!” Villa says with shocked face.

“By who?”

“The Church,” Alonso explains. “They are unholy places.”

“I didn’t know God was a sailor,” Daniel grins. “Or the Pope for that matter. But truth is the Vikings used to sail there for centuries.”

“They say that there is a giant hand that emerges from the sea and pulls the ships down...” Alonso says.

Daniel almost chokes on a piece of lamb.

“And that there are monsters living in the sea,” Villa adds.

Daniel is already laughing openly.

“And obviously everyone who says this was there and saw it with their own eyes. Believe in whatever you want, but in my opinion, if you don’t take a risk, you don’t discover anything.”

“If you do take it, though, you are likely to end up like Pedro Rodríguez. I’ve heard that he had to flee from Barcelona so that they wouldn’t arrest him for debts,” Alonso points out.

“Compared to what I’ve heard about Rodríguez, Puyol has at least decent ships,” Daniel says, looking at some of the notes. “One big and two smaller ones, fast enough.”

“So what do you think?” Villa asks, eyes sparkling again with the fascination of a child.

“I think... that I would like to have some more wine,” Alonso says. “Daniel, be so kind.”

“You can as well say that you’re about to discuss something that’s not for my ears,” Daniel grins. “Take your time. If it’s in the kitchen, I will surely take mine there.”

When Daniel walks in the kitchen, Xavi yelps and drops a turnip. Sergio almost doubles from laughter and David just stays his shy self.

“I see you are all quite aware about my... past,” Daniel notes calmly. “But I can assure you that I really came to peacefully ask for some more wine.”

Xavi just mumbles something for himself and keeps close to the knives. David jumps to his feet and goes to the cellar. When he comes back, Sergio is already chatting with Daniel like he knew him for ages. Which proves that he is really able to chat with anyone.

“How come you’re stuck with such fool as Alonso?” Sergio asks.

“Because he figured out that I knew a lot more about sailing than he does,” Daniel shrugs. “So he was kind enough to take the noose off my neck in the last moment.”

It leaves even Sergio speechless, while Xavi crosses himself. Not only has he got a pirate in his kitchen, it’s a pirate once touched by a hangman. Xavi makes a mental note to ask Villa to invite a priest to spray the kitchen with holy water as soon as possible.

“You must miss the sea,” David says quietly.

Daniel chuckles bitterly.

“Same as you miss your freedom.”

David blinks in surprise, but then notices that Daniel is looking at the mark on his wrist.

“Let me tell you a secret,” Daniel says and leans closer to him, even though Xavi is keeping his distance from them and Sergio has gone upstairs to check whether Villa or his guest don’t need anything.

David looks at Daniel curiously. Nobody ever tells him secrets.

“Maybe I’m stuck with that fool now,” Daniel whispers. “But only until he takes me closer to the sea. Once I’m in the right port, he’ll never see me again.”

David looks at him with wide eyes. Daniel winks at him.

“You, dear friend, should do the same,” he says then.

Chapter Text

Francesc Fàbregas throws his legs on the upholstered chair like he was in his own house. He knows very well that Villa doesn’t care for his furniture nor for any other things in his house, until someone touches his maps and books. But things like a broken plate or Francesc’s shoes on a chair leave him completely calm.

“So you are telling me that you have really decided to believe the poor fool?” he chuckles and accepts a cup of wine from Sergio. “I don’t know if I will offend more you or him when I say that you could as well throw the money out of the window already.”

Villa sighs and unwittingly looks at Sergio, who doesn’t say anything but from the look on his face it’s clear that he couldn’t agree with Francesc more. He knows the reasons why Villa has decided to trust Carles’ plans, and Villa certainly doesn’t need him to tell Francesc that it was mainly because of a piece of advice from a pirate.

“It’s my money!” Villa says resolutely. “Sergio, don’t you have another work?”

Sergio is pretty sure he doesn’t, but he can tell Villa is in a mood to drag him out of the door himself if he doesn’t go, so he takes a perfunctory bow and leaves the room.

“So you want to sell the property in Ampurias?” Francesc asks. “Your father must be turning in his grave.”

“I’m not a farmer, besides, the property is too far away for me to visit it often enough. There is no significant income from it,” Villa shrugs.

“But it’s at least something that won’t sink or get lost,” Francesc points out.

“I have already decided, Francesc. I didn’t invite you to let myself be scolded like a child. I want you to help me find someone who would buy it.”

Francesc smirks and finishes his wine. He looks around and when he finds out that Sergio – probably inadvertently – took the bottle with him, he frowns.

“There’s no need to look far,” he says calmly. “I already know of someone who would buy it immediately.”

“Really?” Villa raises his brows.

“Of course,” Francesc nods. “Casillas would.”

Villa purses his lips.

“Nothing I own will ever belong to Casillas!”

Francesc sighs.

“You should really finally get over it, Villa! You’ve both taken it a bit far, but it’s nothing that couldn’t be fixed.”

“True. My position can never be fixed, thanks to him! The whole city will never look at me the same way they used to, thanks to him.”

“Thanks to your own faults as well. He only profited from them.”

Villa laughs bitterly and shakes his head.

“I will not sell my property to someone who treats people on his properties like he does.”

“That’s not your concern when you sell. He gives you the money and then who cares what he does with it? He can set it on fire if he pleases.”

“Life is not only about money, Francesc!” Villa snaps.

“Sure. But your good intentions won’t set Carles on the sea nor feed you and your households, will they?” Francesc smirks. “Just because I have enough money doesn’t mean I don’t know its value.”

Villa nods apologetically. Sometimes he really treats Francesc like a spoiled child, forgetting that he is no more a child. Even though he is still spoiled.

“Alright. You can ask Casillas, but only if you don’t find anyone else, can you promise me that?”

“Of course,” Francesc sighs and leans back in the chair. “And now I would have some more wine.”

It’s Sergio again who brings Villa the dinner. Villa pushes aside the documents that concern the property he wants to sell and looks at him.

“What about David?” he asks.

Sergio frowns.

“What about him?”

“I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I’ve been wondering if he is still working here or if he’s suddenly become invisible.”

“To me he has always been close to invisible, señor,” Sergio laughs. “Don’t worry. He is still working here. Just for some reason today he prefers to stick together with Xavi.”

Villa thinks he knows the reason, but doesn’t say anything about it to Sergio, of course.

“Just tell him that he is not supposed to work primarily in the kitchen,” he says. “And that it’s not him who chooses the work.”

Sergio stares at him with his mouth open. He is used to all kinds of Villa’s moods, but today the mood seems to be remarkably bad.

“Sure. I’ll tell him, señor.”

When he thinks of a way to tell David without making him freak out again, that is.

When Villa wakes up, the light outside is grayish. He immediately thinks about his father who used to get up before sunrise, and for a moment he is overcome by panic that he is already becoming an old, rigid grouch like him. Then he remembers that he actually wanted to get up early to go check on the properties in Ampurias to make sure everything corresponds to the accounting. He is way too honest to sell a property he hasn’t checked on before.

He gets up and dresses himself. The house is quiet, not even Xavi is rumbling with things in the kitchen. Villa rarely goes downstairs, so he takes a moment to look around the meticulously cleaned and organized kitchen before going to Sergio’s door and knocking on the door resolutely.

It takes a while before a sleepy, half-dressed Sergio with tousled hair appears and looks at Villa half surprised, half angry, trying hard not to yawn in front of his master.

“What-” he groans and shakes his head to get the sleepiness out. “Do you need anything, señor?”

“A horse,” Villa informs him.

“Now?” Sergio gapes at him.

“Of course. I wouldn’t ask you for it now if I needed it tomorrow. I’m going to Ampurias.”

Sergio nods and goes back to the room. He doesn’t close the door, so Villa can hear him mumbling “why didn’t I stay in that inn” and “why can’t he sleep like normal people”. He storms out again in a few moments, looking only a little bit like he made an effort to dress himself up properly, and heads out of the house.

Villa turns away to go and pick up some things he wants to take with him. Then, like the Devil whispers it in his ear, for some reason he doesn’t know himself, he turns back and pushes the door a little bit.

He stands in the doorway, forgetting to knock or otherwise announce his presence. David is standing at the basin close to the window, shirtless, splashing water over his face. He looks even tinier like this, without Sergio’s shirt that, however adjusted, is still too big for him. Villa is convinced that he could comfortably wrap his arm around David’s waist. Also his skin is darker than he thought. The dim, warm light in his office doesn’t really reveal things like the pale, unforgiving early morning sun does. Now he can see everything, the movement of every muscle under the tanned skin, every drop of water shining on the ends of David’s hair. He can notice what he didn’t see before, when he was too aware of the awkwardness of being for the first time in his life the owner of another human being. The strange, exotic beauty that only shines through when the boy isn’t aware of being looked at.

Villa thinks of tiptoeing back. He wants to keep the image as it is, carved into his memory like a relief in a soft wood. He wishes to have it as a relief that he could touch.

In the very next moment, something cracks in the kitchen and David lifts his head. The basin falls to the ground, water splashing all over the room, and Villa thinks that pretending that he was just about to knock would be probably useless.

“I...” he takes a breath.

David grabs his shirt, pulls it over his head and then looks at Villa without saying a single word. It takes all the words from Villa’s mouth once more. It’s not a reaction he expected. He could picture David fleeing the room or at least cowering in a corner, but he’s just standing there, looking at him almost defiantly. Like he’s asking Villa what he is doing in his room, watching him in secret like some thief.

“Did Sergio talk to you yesterday?” Villa asks finally.

“He did,” David nods. “You thought I was avoiding you.”

“And were you?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

Before David can answer, Sergio storms back.

“The horse is ready...” he starts, then looks at the water on the floor and Villa and David standing there like they are getting ready for a duel. “What happened here?”

“Nothing,” David says, surprisingly calm.

“Nothing,” Villa confirms.

David moves to the door and Villa instinctively steps aside to let him pass, only then realizing that he is completely reversing their roles. David stops for a moment and looks at him.

“Because you take down my defenses,” he says quietly.

Villa nods, maybe not in affirmation, just because he can’t help himself. He would like to explain, but definitely not in front of Sergio who is watching the scene like a child watching artists on the streets.

He turns around and goes to the stable. The time away and the journey will definitely do him good.

The property in Ampurias has been in the family since Villa remembers. His father got it from someone who owed him money, and even though it probably couldn’t satisfy him more than the money would, Villa’s father kept it and left it to Villa in his will together with all he had, except for the small amount he gave to the Church, just as a formality.

Villa himself was born in the city and he didn’t like leaving it. He never spent too much time in the country, unlike some of his friends who were trying to persuade him to come with them from time to time. He didn’t find it refreshing nor good for health. For Villa, the country was boring and health wasn’t his concern since there was no epidemic in Barcelona at the moment.

For those reasons, he only visits Ampurias once or twice a year, to keep his conscience clear. The rest of the time, he relies on Andrés. Unlike Villa, Andrés lives and breathes for the little estate. It’s one of the reasons why he feels bad about having to sell it, and why he cannot imagine it should be his enemy owning it, despite him not having special feelings for it.

“Señor Villa!” Andrés greets him, the surprise obvious in his voice. “We weren’t expecting you!”

“Of course, as I’ve already made my yearly visit a few months ago,” Villa smirks.

“You’re always welcome, señor, but...”

Villa sighs, taking in the surroundings of the estate. He has never noticed how beautiful the nature around was. It’s always like that... we always notice the beauty of things when we’re losing them.

“Andrés, we need to talk,” he says dimly.

When Villa comes back to Barcelona a few days later, it doesn’t feel like coming home at all. He rarely leaves the house for so long, and when he comes back, he’s always reminded that this place is far from something he could call home. Home in his mind evokes something warm, safe and welcoming. There is something missing to Villa’s house for it to be called home. Or rather, someone.

He doesn’t know when he has become the solitary man he is now. He used to be a cheerful child and a youngster with many friends. He would never spoil any fun, much to his father’s outrage, and he knew how to enjoy life. But out of his childhood friends, only Francesc and Carles remained, and he somehow lost the desire to enjoy life as there was nobody he would like to enjoy it with.

When he enters the house, he can immediately hear some cheerful banter from the kitchen. He recognizes Francesc’s voice among the clinking of glasses and he heads in the direction of the noise. He stands in the door and takes in the scene.

Francesc is sitting on the chair, a cup in one hand, gesticulating wildly with the other one. Xavi, Sergio and David are sitting at the table. Xavi is smiling while cutting some vegetables. Sergio looks smitten, as he does every time he sees Francesc, Villa has already noticed. David is laughing. It’s not the shy smile of his. He is openly, heartily, loudly laughing.

Some invisible needle pierces Villa’s heart. He would like to know why this atmosphere is never in his house when he’s there. Why he feels so awkward talking to David, why it is always one step forward, two steps back with him, why Francesc can make him loosen up and Villa can’t, what it was that made David laugh while Villa so far has only made him cry.

It’s in that moment when Xavi spots him and jumps up.

“Señor Villa...”

Francesc calmly turns around.

“Oh, so you’re back!” he says like he is the owner of this house and Villa just a visitor. “They said you went to Ampurias.”

“I did,” Villa nods, looking around the kitchen.

“I hope the estate is still standing,” Francesc says. “I have the buyer.”

“Casillas.”

Francesc sighs.

“Nobody else wanted it, I swear that I asked. But what do you want? It’s just a small estate in a place that doesn’t really interest anyone.”

“Why does Casillas want it so much, then?” Villa frowns and pours himself a cup of wine.

“Because Casillas wants everything he can buy for money, I guess,” Francesc shrugs.

“Especially when he can buy it from me.”

Francesc only shakes his head and gets up.

“Well, you want to sell it or you don’t. As I said, I talked to him and he expressed his interest. Everything else is up to you.”

Villa nods thoughtfully.

“I guess I will just have to discuss the intentions he has with it directly with him.”

“So I should tell him you are willing to discuss the deal?” Francesc raises his brows.

Villa sighs exasperatedly.

“Yes. Tell him.”

Iker Casillas is a nobleman who wouldn’t even need the exquisite clothes or the graceful horse for the people to tell he is an aristocrat. His whole appearance is screaming it. The way he moves, the way he talks, the way he just looks at other people.

Sergio takes the horse, which is one of the most beautiful horses David has ever seen. It’s white, the mane looks almost like it’s silver. David would imagine this horse to suit a lady better, but surprisingly it suits Casillas just perfectly. It’s a horse to carry someone as noble as it is.

David catches the coat Casillas throws at him without sparing him a single look. He secretly runs his fingers over the smooth fabric before putting it away and leading him to the dining room.

The greeting between Casillas and Villa is cold and formal, one that suggests that once they maybe used to be more affectionate, that once they maybe used to be friends. Casillas sits on a chair and looks at Villa calmly. Villa seems to be happy that there is the whole long table separating them.

“I’ve heard it took Francesc a lot of persuading before you agreed to meet me,” he says.

His tone of voice is calm and nonchalant, he is leaned back and confident. It contrasts sharply with how Villa is tense and how hard he tries to keep his face calm while inside he is fuming.

“I simply didn’t want to sell a property that has been in my family for so long to the first person I come across, that is all,” he says.

“Even if that person would be me?” Casillas smiles.

“I like to have more possibilities.”

“But it seems like the only possibility is still me,” Casillas states contentedly and looks around the dining room. “I would like to see the documents. Just as a formality, it doesn’t imply I don’t trust an old friend. And do you serve wine in your house?”

“Of course,” Villa says through gritted teeth and gets up. “I will bring the documents.”

He looks at David, who is standing at the door, unsure whether to stay or return to the kitchen.

“You heard our guest,” Villa tells him in a forcibly quiet voice. “He would like some wine.”

When David comes back with a bottle of wine that Xavi selected already in the afternoon, to make sure it would go well with the dinner he was preparing, Villa is still gone and Casillas is calmly sitting at the table. David tries to open the bottle, but for some reason the cork doesn‘t want to come out. Casillas watches his struggle for some time with an amused smirk before reaching for the bottle.

“Let me.”

David looks at him, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. His old master had his wine in a keg and drank it straight from jars, he never bothered with putting it into bottles. Casillas opens the bottle with practiced ease.

“Naughty bottle,” he says, looking at David with narrowed eyes. “It shall be punished by being drunk.”

David smiles and takes the bottle from him, pouring some of the wine into his cup. Casillas suddenly grabs his wrist and looks at the mark.

“How much did Villa pay for you?” he asks.

“Two hundred reals, my lord,” David answers quietly.

“What a scrooge,” Casillas chuckles. “I would pay more.”

“Just to show that you can,” Villa‘s voice sounds from the doorstep.

“Nice to know you’ve come to your senses, Villa,” Casillas chuckles, looking at David. “Pretty little thing you’ve gotten yourself.”

“Let‘s just say that my situation forced me,” Villa says curtly.

David gathers up all his courage and twists his wrist free from Casillas‘ grip. It‘s subtle, but the way Casillas narrows his eyes tells him that he‘s not used to such defiance from people who in his eyes have no right for it. It‘s not even up for discussion whether in Casillas‘ eyes David has a right for it. When it comes to it, he has no right for anything.

“You wanted to see the documents,” Villa says and steps between them so casually that David can’t tell whether he did it on purpose or not.

“Of course,” Casillas says, his eyes only slowly leaving David’s face, like he wants him to remember that he displeased him.

“You can go,” Villa tells David, still in the casual way, but this time it’s easier to tell.

It was definitely on purpose.

Chapter Text

Carles Puyol storms into the house like a flood, almost knocking off Sergio who opened the door for him. He looks like a hungry person who has just smelled delicious food, but his enthusiasm has nothing to do with the smell of roasted lamb that Xavi is preparing in the kitchen, however appealing the smell is.

Villa leads him to the office instead of the dining room, because it’s clear that Carles is not thinking about food at the moment.

“You got the money?” he asks immediately when the door is closed.

“In a way I’m not too happy about, but yes,” Villa nods.

“What do you mean? You said you didn’t care about that property that much, otherwise I would never want you to...”

“No, it’s not that I will miss that property. It’s about who bought it.”

“Who?”

“Casillas.”

Carles nods sympathetically. He knows Villa’s and Casillas’ conflict very well, he was present for most of the time when it happened.

“But he paid you well.”

“Of course, he always does. It’s just that when I imagine him owning it, I can’t help but want to punch myself... or him. It’s another war that he won.”

“I don’t think he needs to win any other wars. He already got what he wanted, didn’t he?”

Villa smiles bitterly.

“I’m not sure. I’m never sure about his intentions. I’ve always thought he just wanted to have what I had. When I was in the army, Casillas wanted to have a career within the army as well. When I was in the King’s favors, Casillas wanted that place. He got it, by shamelessly defaming me. But for sure now he cannot wish to be in my place. He just wants everything that I own.”

“Everything?” Carles chuckles. “I’m sure he could do without your groom.”

It makes even Villa smile. He is quite sure he is the only person in Barcelona who can put up with Sergio. At least the owner of the inn where Sergio used to work before was on the verge of mental breakdown when Sergio was leaving.

Villa goes to his table and then looks at Carles.

“Listen, Carles, this is the last money I can give you without going bankrupt. I hope you are really sure this is going to work.”

“Like I’ve never been sure before,” Carles says firmly. “This time I will find something big.”

Villa doesn’t look too convinced, but he pulls out the documents. Carles comes closer with an excited look.

“We need to figure out how much we can spend on what,” he says. “If we do it well, we can finance the supplies entirely.”

Villa smiles. Carles looks like an excited child and the enthusiasm gets in his veins as well, letting him forget for a while about Casillas and all other unpleasant things that are on his mind.

If this turns out well, he could become so rich that he could laugh in Casillas’ face. If not, he can always sell his house and go to a convent. Alright, maybe he is exaggerating. He is the second least suitable person in Barcelona to become a monk. First is of course Francesc.

Iker Casillas jumps off his horse and takes a look around. He snorts and hands the bridle to the closest peasant.

“So this is what I bought?” he asks derisively. “I thought this was supposed to be a bargain, but it looks like I only paid for a bit of land and some undisciplined peasants who cannot even manage my horse!”

He shoots a sharp look at the man on whom his horse is currently trying to stomp.

“Take the horse away finally, Gerard!” another man says in an annoyed voice and comes to Casillas. “I’m Andrés, my lord, I am in charge of overlooking the property.”

“You were,” Casillas corrects him. “The property now belongs to me.”

Andrés looks at him with surprise.

“Is my lord willing to overlook it himself?”

Casillas looks at him like he was asked the dumbest question in the world. When Andrés thinks about it, he probably really was. There is no way someone like Casillas, with his silk shirt and exquisite leather shoes would move in the country and take care of a farm.

“Of course I am not,” Casillas growls through gritted teeth. “But here Raúl Albiol of my household will relieve you of that function...”

He nods to the man next to him. Andrés shoots one short look at him before turning back to Casillas.

“So that you can fully concentrate on the work on the fields,” Casillas adds with a contented smile. “After closely inspecting the documentation of the property, I believe the potential of it could be better explored, had it been managed by someone competent and not a simple peasant.”

Andrés thanks God that there is no spade, shovel or axe close to him because otherwise he would use it to hit the nobleman over the head.

“As you wish, my lord,” he says instead.

“Now I would like to look around my new possession,” Casillas says, the amusement poorly hidden in his voice.

But before he can even decide where to start, something catches his attention and for a moment he feels like he is having visions. He sees his horse galloping towards the near forest, its mane shining in the setting sun and the bridle flowing in the air. Then the peasant who was supposed to take the horse to the stables and who had been running after the fleeing beast gives up his chase and almost falls on the ground in front of Casillas.

“What is this supposed to mean?” Casillas asks in a dangerous voice, looking from the peasant to Andrés like he cannot decide who is actually to blame.

“Gerard?” Andrés prompts the peasant to show that because he had been engaged in the conversation with Casillas, he isn’t capable of explaining the pitiful situation.

“My lord...” Gerard looks at Casillas, trying to catch his breath. “It escaped.”

“I see,” Casillas says in an icy tone of voice. “I would ask you how it is possible that you cannot even take a horse to the stables, but I am actually not surprised that my horse outsmarted you, because it wouldn’t be hard even for a donkey.”

He turns to Andrés and purses his lips.

“Send some people to go look for it,” he says.

Then he looks at the peasant and narrows his eyes.

“Raúl?”

“Yes, my lord?” Raúl asks.

“When I don’t have a horse, my whip is kind of purposeless. Make some use of it.”

Raúl takes the whip Casillas hands him and smirks.

“It will be my pleasure, my lord.”

Sergio ties his hair back and looks at his reflection in one of Xavi’s polished pans. It’s his free evening that the household officially has once a month, but of course he has his ways of increasing the number significantly. He usually spends it in a tavern he particularly likes, not only because the wine there is not as bad as in the other taverns, but also because of the company, and because of the fact that sometimes, Francesc Fàbregas honors it with his presence. This, however, Sergio would never admit.

He looks at David who is sorting some dried herbs on the table.

“You really don’t want to go?” he asks. “There will be girls!”

“Whores,” Xavi corrects him in an icy voice.

“Well, you can’t expect the Queen of Saba, Xavi,” Sergio shrugs and leans over the table to whisper in David’s ear so loudly that Xavi has no chance not to hear him. “I’ve been trying to find Xavi a woman there for some time, but he always spoils it.”

“Because I want to drink my wine in peace and then go home. Alone. I’m not looking for a dirty whore who will steal my money and probably also make me catch something.”

Sergio rolls his eyes.

“So you are really not going?” he asks David.

David shakes his head and gives a small smile.

“Won’t you be afraid here, all alone?” Sergio muses, ruffling David’s hair.

“He won’t be alone, Villa is staring in his maps upstairs,” Xavi reminds him. “Check on him from time to time, David. He usually works until late at night and gets too busy to remember he has to eat something.”

“Xavi, he’s not a pig, you don’t have to feed him constantly,” Sergio laughs.

“It’s not healthy to work with an empty stomach!” Xavi snaps and turns to David. “You know where everything is.”

David nods and giggles when Sergio takes some dry lavender and tries to decorate Xavi’s hair with it.

“Let’s go,” Xavi sighs.

“Don’t lock the house before we come back!” Sergio shouts over his shoulder. “We wouldn’t want to sleep outside!”

“You could always sleep in the stables,” David says.

“Shut up or I’ll make you sleep in the stables,” Sergio grins. “It’s you the intruder in my room after all.”

David walks up the stairs and heads to the door under which the light from the inside creates a faint yellow line. He knocks and waits. Villa opens the door and gives him a surprised look.

“You didn’t go out?” he asks.

David shakes his head. Villa looks at the platter in his hands and laughs.

“I see Xavi instructed you well,” he says and steps aside. “For some reason he thinks I must be hungry all the time.”

David lays the platter on the table. Villa makes a nervous step before suddenly taking the decision and closing the door.

“Would you sit down?” he asks.

“I’d rather stand, my lord.”

Villa frowns. There is something he doesn’t know yet in David’s voice. It’s not exactly hostility, but it’s some strange defiance.

“Alright, then I’ll stand, too,” Villa says and crosses his arms. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me. That you’ve been avoiding me because I was taking down your defenses.”

David watches him silently.

“It is exactly what I’ve been trying to do, but I didn’t want you to start avoiding me because of it.”

“Why are you doing it, then?” David asks and his voice is a bit too tight, a bit too desperate.

“Because I think that you don’t need them anymore. Not here. But I don’t want to force you to anything. It was never my intention to hurt you, David.”

“But it’s what I wanted,” David whispers.

“What you wanted?” Villa frowns and takes a step closer. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted you to hurt me. I wanted you to... I don’t know, to do something, to treat me like I’m used to be treated, I...”

Villa looks on in shock as two big tears fall from the boy’s eyes, then he takes two quick steps, closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around David. To his surprise, David leans into the embrace and cries quietly against Villa’s chest. He is small and warm, shivering like a frightened bird.

“Why?” Villa whispers. “Why did you want me to hurt you?”

David takes a shaky breath.

“Because...” he says and looks up at Villa, eyes shining like two onyxes. “Because then I could hate you.”

Villa doesn’t know what to say so for a while he just keeps on running his hands over David’s back. He doesn’t even remember when he last touched another person in another way than just a handshake, but it doesn’t feel awkward at all. Mainly because somehow, he feels that David needs the hug same as he does.

“You want to hate me?” he asks then. “Then it means that you don’t hate me now?”

“No,” David shakes his head and pulls away, wiping away the tears in a gesture that is almost childish. “I don’t hate you. And that is what scares me. Because hate is the best defense. When you expect the worst, when you hate someone, then nothing they could do to you hurts that much. It’s better than to trust someone and then...”

“But that would mean you’d have to hate everyone, David. It’s an awful thing, not to have anyone you could trust.”

“Do you have anyone you trust?” David asks. “So much that you know your life would be safe in their hands?”

Villa thinks of Francesc. Sure, he is his friend, probably the closest one, helps him in his business, but to entrust his life to Francesc’s hands would be like entrusting a porcelain vase to a child. He wouldn’t break it intentionally, but he would still break it sooner or later by negligence. Carles, despite his big heart, is too tangled in his adventures to have time to stop and listen to someone’s problems. David is right. Villa too doesn’t have anyone he could trust so much.

“No, I don’t think I have,” he says quietly. “But I don’t immediately hate everyone, either.”

“Because you don’t have to,” David says, wiping away the remaining tears. “You’re strong. I can’t imagine someone could hurt you.”

“You can still hurt yourself, no matter how strong you are,” Villa says.

David seems to consider it for a while. Then he nods.

“Maybe.”

He looks at the platter on the table and then heads to the door. Villa keeps standing there, watching him silently. Then David stops and turns around, like he was unsure whether to say something or not.

“You know...” he says quietly. “When I first saw you at the market I thought... I felt that maybe you wouldn’t be like my old master. I don’t know why, but you just looked... different. And then I suddenly wanted you to buy me. I was just standing there, wishing that you would pick me.”

“And are you glad now that I did?” Villa asks.

David hesitates. Then he smiles. For the first time the smile is warm and sincere, a bit like Villa has seen on David’s face when he caught him talking with Sergio or Xavi.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m glad.”

The house is quiet when Villa finally closes himself in the bedroom. He falls on the bed, folding his arms behind his head and looking at the ceiling like he could read the answers to the many questions on his mind there.

He remembers the way David was trembling in his arms. He felt so tiny against Villa’s body, so warm and fragile. Villa thinks of how he wanted to pull him closer, to feel his heart beating against his. He can hear David’s words all over again in his head. I was just standing there, wishing that you would pick me. He did. But why, he doesn’t know.

Or maybe he does. He just refuses to acknowledge it. Like not naming it would make it a smaller sin.

He sighs deeply and closes his eyes. He will be damned and he won‘t even need any Casillas‘ intervention for it.

David can hear Sergio and Xavi coming back already when they are on the street. He is quite sure that the whole quarter has to hear Sergio. If he is normally louder than other people, after a few cups his voice could be heard in the wildest storm. The things are even worse that he is trying to sing.

David takes a lantern and goes to the door. Sergio stumbles inside, supported by Xavi who is apparently sober and not happy about having to accompany his drunk friend, and looks at David.

“God, were you sleeping?” he asks with a bit too much terror. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, I wasn‘t,” David whispers. “But the master probably is, so be quiet!”

Sergio nods furiously and after a few exaggerated “Shhhh!” sounds he tiptoes to the kitchen, managing by some miracle not to knock anything over.

“Señor Fàbregas was there,” Xavi explains to David with a disapproving look. “He was paying. Otherwise Sergio wouldn‘t have enough money to get this drunk.”

David smiles and locks the door. They go to the kitchen where Sergio is wolfing down the leftover lamb.

“This was an awesome evening!” he states once there are only bones on the plate.

“Our views on it couldn’t differ any more,” Xavi murmurs and closes the door of his room behind him.

When the morning sun enters the room, Sergio groans and hides his head underneath the blanket. When he hears David pouring water into the basin, he peeks out and looks at him.

“Good morning!” David greets him with a smile. “I see the evening was an enjoyable one.”

“The evening was,” Sergio confirms. “But the morning is awful.”

“There is pain behind every pleasure,” David shrugs. “My mother used to say.”

“Wise woman,” Sergio sighs and climbs out of the bed. “When Francesc Fàbregas is celebrating, it’s always a night to remember.”

“What was he celebrating?” David asks.

Sergio scratches his head.

“I don’t even remember,” he says then. “I would bet it was some promotion within the army. He gets promoted every time someone in the army needs a favor from his father, which is quite often, so...”

“You like him?”

Sergio frowns.

“Fàbregas? Everyone likes him. He’s fun. Quite generous as well. And I think it’s nice that he treats everyone as an equal, even though he is a nobleman. Not like Casillas, who doesn’t notice you unless you have three titles after your name.”

David thinks of the evening when Casillas visited their house. He wishes the man would never notice him.

“Was Xavi too angry?” Sergio asks then.

“Just grumpy. Like all the time.”

“Good,” Sergio sighs. “I told one of the girls at the tavern that he fancied her. I was already a bit drunk. She wouldn’t leave him alone for the rest of the night.”

David giggles.

“God, she was the ugliest and fattest one around there,” Sergio sighs. “I thought Xavi would kill me.”

When Sergio and David come to the kitchen to have lunch, Xavi has all the ingredients moved out.

“We’ve run out of almost everything!” he says. “Sergio, I need you to go to the butcher and the miller and order meat and flour, otherwise I don’t have anything to cook with.”

“No!” Sergio whines. “Not today, Xavi, my head still hurts and I’m sick, I can’t even look at food!”

“That is your problem and your own stupidity!” Xavi scolds him. “If you don’t go, tomorrow there will be no food you could look at.”

“You are the cook! Why don’t you go yourself?”

“And you will cook the dinner instead of me?”

Sergio sighs. Then he looks at David and grins.

“He can go!” he says cheerfully.

Xavi rolls his eyes.

“Yes, because he knows where the butcher is, and the mill as well. He has never walked out of this house, Sergio!”

“Then he finally should!” Sergio says. “He can always asks, he can speak, can’t he?”

Xavi looks at David sceptically. He can’t imagine him talking to strangers on the street. But when he looks at Sergio, he knows that he won’t move him from the chair whatever he does.

“Fine. You can stay here with your headache. But don’t count with any pastry on Sunday, because you won’t deserve the flour I will use to make it,” he says.

Sergio looks like is starting to consider going out himself, but then the hangover wins.

“Fine, for once I will make do without them!” he barks at Xavi.

Or steal them at night, he thinks.

David looks around himself and his heart sinks. The streets look all the same to him and he isn’t sure if he actually wasn’t there already. Xavi had explained to him how to get to the mill, but Xavi obviously knows the city while David doesn’t. Many of the indications don’t even make sense to him.

He doesn’t remember how long he has been lost, but now it’s almost dark. He has no idea in which part of the city he is. He could have as well gotten outside it, even though he doesn’t remember leaving the city gates.

He would now gladly ask someone for directions, his shyness be damned, but there is nobody walking on the streets at this hour. He feels like crying. Then he goes through a passage and realizes he is in some courtyard. He sighs and wants to go back.

Suddenly he hears the clattering of horseshoes behind him. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or scared. He decides for scared when he recognizes the horse.

“What are you doing here?” Iker Casillas asks in a harsh voice like David was some thief.

David gathers up all his courage to look up at the rider.

“I...” he starts.

Casillas frowns, tilting his head to see David’s face better in the rests of the light.

“Don’t I know you?” he asks and grabs David’s hand.

He is definitely treating him like a thief.

David tries to wriggle out of his grip and the sleeve of his shirt slides down a little bit, revealing the mark on his wrist. Casillas smiles.

“Of course I do know you.”

David is looking around himself, feeling like in some kind of a dream. He is not sure if it is a dream or a nightmare. But Casillas’ house is such a beautiful place that he cannot imagine there could be a more splendid one.

“I should return you to your owner,” Casillas says in a light voice. “He will sure be missing you.”

David looks at him and says nothing.

“What are you even doing in this part of the city? It is quite far from your house,” Casillas smiles.

There is something odd about this smile, David notices. Like it’s only the lips that smile, but his eyes stay cold.

“I got lost,” David says quietly. “I’ve never been outside the house before and all the streets just looked the same to me...”

“Of course,” Casillas laughs. “They shouldn’t have left you go to the city alone for the first time. Anyone would get lost. But Villa has never been too careful of his things.”

“If you just told me how to get home...” David starts.

“But I will take you there,” Casillas gives him the odd smile again. “But in the morning of course. It’s late now and the streets are not safe.”

When it comes to David, he would feel much safer on the streets than with Casillas, but he says nothing. He doesn’t even listen anymore to what Casillas says, just lets himself be led to some room. Some servant brings him food and a basin with warm water. Everything looks nice, warm and welcoming, but at the same time it smells of some danger.

The servant goes out of the room, his steps resonating in the hallway. Then there is silence. David creeps to the door and pushes the handle. The door is locked. He slumps down the wall. He might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but he is starting to understand that he now has some role in a game he doesn’t wish to play.

Chapter Text

“I’ve never had illusions about your cleverness, but I thought you were at least a bit more intelligent than the horses you feed!” Villa yells at Sergio.

Sergio is trying to shrink as much as possible and he is looking so miserable that even Xavi feels like he should help him, despite having already scolded him before they even went to Villa.

“Señor, it’s my fault as well, I should have never agreed...”

“With the idiotic idea of Sergio? Yes, you should have never agreed with it!” Villa snaps. “But it still came out of that empty head of his.”

Francesc Fàbregas is sitting in an armchair, looking like he is actually enjoying this scene. He just happened to be in Villa’s office, discussing business, when Sergio and Xavi came. He is never opposed to some good drama, mainly when it doesn’t immediately concern him.

“I think the owner of the inn was right when he threw you out, and I should do the same!” Villa says.

Sergio’s eyes go wide and he is about to say something, but before he finds his voice again, Francesc gets up from his armchair lazily and stands between Villa and Sergio.

“Calm down, Villa,” he says. “You have enough time for such measures. When you see what even comes out of this. Barcelona is not that big to get lost in it forever. Even a dog finds its way home sooner or later, and so will that boy, I’m sure of it.”

Villa purses his lips. He knows that Francesc is probably right, after all David’s face and behavior is particular enough to make him recognizable. He wouldn’t just blend in the crowd and disappear. But Villa also doesn’t like the image of him even spending the night alone in the city.

“Just get out of my sight!” he growls finally.

Sergio is all too eager to obey this order, closing the door behind him and Xavi quickly.

“You seem really worried,” Francesc notes with an amused smirk, sitting back in the armchair and pouring some more wine in his cup.

“You wouldn’t be?” Villa frowns.

“For a slave that didn’t return home until night? I don’t think it would be the most important thing on my mind. Especially if I only paid two hundred reals for him. I pay more for my shoes.”

“You have this in common with Casillas,” Villa snaps. “You only think about money.”

“I don’t think only about money,” Francesc corrects him calmly. “I just think about money first.”

Villa sighs and drinks some more wine.

“I will kill the groom anyways,” he sighs then.

“Rather send him looking for the boy in the morning,” Francesc chuckles. “You can always kill him later.”

When Andrés walks in the big room in which most of the farmers sleep, they turn to him in surprise. Andrés throws a blanket on the last empty bed and looks around.

“Are you now sleeping here?” one of the farmers asks.

“Awesome observation, Pinto!” Andrés frowns. “Of course I am. Casillas’ man needed my bed. My whole house.”

“This is ridiculous!” Pinto says. “Casillas knows nothing about farming and I doubt this... Raúl... knows much more than to ride a horse and use a whip.”

“How is Gerard?” Andrés asks.

“He’s starting to be angry, so I’d say he’s better,” Pinto chuckles. “Jesús is taking care of him. I think they are currently plotting against this Raúl.”

“I hope they won’t get us into even bigger trouble,” Andrés sighs. 

“How much bigger could it be?” Pinto shrugs. “Working on this farm owned by someone who actually doesn’t care about it, and governed by someone who whips people for fun is bad enough.”

“It is,” Andrés sighs. “But still, I don’t think any plan Gerard and Jesús come up with could get us out of this misery. I bet they plan to let him fall into a dunghill.”

Pinto looks at him and raises his brows.

“Their plan maybe not.  But I think that I have a good one.”

Sergio looks up when Francesc Fàbregas walks in the stables.

“Are you leaving, señor?” he asks.

“Yes. Villa isn’t a good companion when he’s angry,” Francesc smiles.

Sergio goes to Francesc’s horse to saddle it. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he mumbles.

“For?” Francesc asks and leans over the wall nonchalantly. 

“For saving me... well, for the time being.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Villa will cool off. He always does.”

“I was hangover from last night, and well, lazy to go. I didn’t really think clearly. But I really am sorry. And worried, too. David is a friend. I care about him.”

“I know. I think Villa knows too.”

“It didn’t seem like he did. I think right now he wants to throw me out.”

“Right now he wants to kill you,” Francesc chuckles and makes a few steps towards Sergio. “But don’t worry, I won’t let him.”

Sergio narrows his eyes.

“Why?” he asks.

“Why won’t I let Villa kill you?” Francesc laughs. “Well, I wouldn’t want my friend to end up at court for killing a groom.”

Sergio shakes his head and gives a small, a bit sad smile. Francesc takes two more steps to stand right in front of him.

“Not to mention that I would kind of miss that groom,” he says quietly.

Sergio freezes when Francesc touches his hair. Not that he doesn’t reciprocate whatever feelings Francesc has for him, if they are even feelings. Sergio feels good in his company, really good. Even now he feels good. It’s just that it feels inappropriate. Francesc is a nobleman after all, he is rich, he has a good position in the army. Who cares that he owes this position mainly to his father’s fortune and that Sergio has never seen - nor has ever met anyone who would have seen – Francesc to even hold a sword. He shouldn’t be seducing a groom in a friend’s stables.

But this is Francesc Fàbregas and he always does what he wants, not what people think is appropriate. He kisses Sergio before he can even start thinking about the consequences and pushes him into a stack of straw, not caring at all about his clothes nor about what is morally acceptable and what not. 

Sergio’s eyes go even wider when he understands that Francesc definitely knows what he is doing. His tongue pushes at Sergio’s lips and after a while of hesitating, Sergio lets it in. It’s nothing like kissing a girl, there’s not the inevitable shyness in it. They are both hungry for the kiss a for a moment, Sergio forgets about being afraid of Villa, of the scolding Xavi gave him, of being worried for David, he thinks that he doesn’t even know his own name anymore. 

Francesc breaks the kiss to undo the straps on his shirt and if the sight before him isn’t the most beautiful thing Sergio’s ever seen, then he doesn’t know what is. 

“At least now...” Francesc laughs, pausing to kiss Sergio again. “If Villa walks in, he will kill us both.”

The bed is softer than any bed David has ever seen, but he doesn’t sleep. He is not that stupid. Casillas may act nice but so does the butcher leading a pig for slaughter. And he knows as much as that nice people don’t lock other people up. 

He looks out of the window. If he knew the way home, he would be probably thinking about escaping, but getting lost once, which can be already taken as an escape, and then escaping from Casillas would be a clear suicide.

Someone, probably one of the servants, walks out of the back door, looks around carefully, then throws a cape over his head and disappears in the darkness.

This house is definitely not the least suspicious place in Barcelona.

Sergio looks at Francesc who is trying to catch his breath and giggles.

“You look like you were born in that straw.”

“I just can adapt to everything,” Francesc grins. 

“And to everyone?” Sergio asks half-jokingly.

“No,” Francesc shakes his head and pulls Sergio back for a kiss. “Just you.”

They are just words, Sergio knows it. It’s insignificant, easy to say for someone like Francesc. He knows how to use words, how to say exactly what the person he is talking to wants to hear. Sergio is not so naïve to fall for it.

Despite desperately wanting to fall for it.

When he walks into the kitchen, Xavi turns from the counter to say something, but closes his mouth as soon as he sees him. Sergio sneaks past him to the hallway.

“There is straw in your hair!” he hears Xavi call.

Sergio smiles and closes the door of his room behind him. 

When Casillas walks in, David sits up immediately. 

“You said you would return me to my owner,” he says, to his surprise sounding calm and confident.

Even Casillas looks taken by surprise for a moment before putting on his smile again.

“Of course. If you want me to...”

David blinks in surprise. Casillas sits next to him and takes his hand into his. David doesn’t have the courage to pull away. However friendly the gesture seems to be, he still smells some danger underneath.

“Well, you know, boy, that runaway slaves are to be punished, don’t you?” Casillas asks lightly.

David knows. He has been thinking about it all night. 

“I wasn’t trying to run away, my lord, I swear!” David whispers. “I just got lost, I...”

“To me you don’t have to explain this,” Casillas says softly. “I’m just trying to say that maybe your master won’t believe you.” 

David looks at him with wide eyes when he runs his finger over the mark at David’s wrist.

“You’re already familiar with this kind of punishment. I think it’s the most lenient one.”

“What... what other...” 

“Well, normally the runaway slaves are whipped, that’s the custom. But if he wanted to kill you, nobody could blame him. He can do whatever he pleases with his things. It is not a crime to kill a slave.”

Iker fights a satisfied smile. He has the boy exactly where he wanted to have him. Terrified, ready to do whatever Iker asks him to do, just to save his life. It’s incredible how much these hang on their lives, Iker thinks. Us rich, we seem to be looking for every possible way to die. We drink, eat too much, we get into fights, we go to war, sail on the sea. Like we couldn’t get enough of danger, like we wanted to see the face of the Angel of Death as soon as possible. But this little boy has nothing, and he hangs on his poor, miserable life. After all, it’s understandable. It’s the only thing he has.

“Of course I will put my word in for you,” Iker says, reaching out to David’s face tentatively.

The boy doesn’t flinch. He’s more clever than he seems, Iker muses. 

“Will you?” David whispers hopefully.

Iker smiles.

“It would be a shame to destroy such a beautiful thing,” Iker says and runs his hand down David’s back. “I’m sure there has to be a way to get you out of this trouble. I know you didn’t want to do anything bad, did you?”

David shakes his head.

“Of course you didn’t. You are a good boy, aren’t you?”

Iker’s hands are tracing the sides of his spine.

“You have to understand, me and Villa are not really friends. It will take some effort for me to persuade him,” he continues. “I will want something in return.”

He can practically see the battle the boy fights with himself. That in itself is odd. Iker is sure another one like that wouldn’t hesitate in such situation. But the sense of self-preservation wins obviously as David leans forward and presses his lips against the older man’s. Iker laughs shortly.

“Yes. This too.”

Sergio walks out of the house. He is so submerged in thoughts that he almost gets run over by a carriage. When he lifts his head, he cannot believe his eyes. He knows that carriage, and it’s probably the last one he would expect in front of Villa’s house.

The coachman jumps off the box and opens the door. Iker Casillas’ head emerges from the carriage and he looks around carefully before stepping out in the street. Then Sergio has to shake his head really hard because he thinks he is dreaming. After Casillas, David jumps out of the carriage. 

“What-” Sergio starts, but then Xavi runs out of the house.

“Will you just stand here, Sergio?” he yells while trying to bow to Casillas, hug David and smack Sergio over the head in the shortest time possible. “Go and tell señor Villa that he has a visit!”

“Of course,” Sergio blurts out and runs into the house.

His head still doesn’t get anything, but he manages to knock at Villa’s door and carefully peak in, just in case Villa still wants to kill him.

“Have you come to tell me about another stupid thing you’ve done?” Villa growls.

“No, señor... I came to tell you that señor Casillas is here.”

“Casillas?” Villa frowns. “Does he want to spoil every day of my life now?”

“David is with him,” Sergio says.

“What?” Villa shouts, making Sergio jump up.

“I don’t know what happened, but...”

“Tell them to come in.”

Sergio nods frantically.

“I was just going to look for David, you know, and...” 

“Tell them to come in NOW!”

Sergio runs out of the office and back to the hall. 

“Señor Villa is waiting for you!” he announces.

“Perfect,” Casillas smiles. “Thank you.”

Sergio blinks in surprise. As far as he remembers, Iker Casillas never smiles to servants. And he never, never ever thanks them.

“This way, señor!” Sergio says.

“I know the way,” Casillas says calmly. “We won’t need you anymore. I will just give señor Villa back what belongs to him.”

Villa has to admit that whatever game Casillas is playing, he is playing it well. But Villa wasn’t born yesterday and he is mistrustful enough not to fall for these sweet words and smiles.

But he also knows that the best thing is to play along if he wants to find out what Casillas’ intentions are. He thanks him for bringing him his servant back. Asks politely if he can do anything to pay him back. Expresses his regrets if the situation caused any inconveniences to Casillas.

He is mostly cautious about not sparing David a single look while talking. Whatever Casillas has in mind, he must be relying on the fact that Villa cares about the boy. This is the impression Villa has to disperse.

“Well, I have to go,” Casillas says and gets up, checking discreetly whether his clothes haven’t suffered any crumples while he was sitting. “I have other work to do.”

“Thank you once again,” Villa says and gets up too. 

“It was really no problem for me,” Casillas smiles. “I know that lately you’ve lost a lot of things. I wouldn’t want you to lose another one.”

Villa swallows all the answers that come to his head and takes a deep breath in order not to punch Casillas in the face right away.

“Indeed,” he says. “It seems like things don’t like to stay in my house for too long.”

Casillas grins and nods curtly. Villa looks at David shortly and sees how his eyes narrow when Casillas turns his back on them. There is something in his eyes that he has never seen in them. It’s a look of pure hatred.

No, there is definitely more behind this.

Iker walks inside the dining room, looks out of the window and smiles contentedly. It’s dark outside and the only thing he can see is the flame of someone’s torch, moving in the darkness like a lost star. Iker runs a hand through his hair. He feels satisfied and yet restless. He cannot believe his own luck.

When he hears the footsteps behind him, he doesn’t even turn around.

“Did you deliver my message?” he asks.

“Do you really believe he will do it for you?” a voice behind his back says instead of answering.

Iker doesn’t move his eyes from the light on the street.

“You did it. Why shouldn’t he?”

“It’s different. You’re paying me.”

“I saved the skin on his back. That’s probably more persuasive than money, don’t you think?”

“I still don’t think the boy could keep a secret from Villa.”

Iker turns around and faces his interlocutor.

“He will keep it a secret. And so will you. Remember I could still bring you back to the city. If I remember well, they still cut the hands of thieves off.”

“You wouldn’t!” there’s a hint of panic in his voice.

“You know very well that I would. So don’t make me, Fábio.” 

Chapter Text

“So Casillas suddenly turned into a benefactor?” Francesc frowns. “Why don’t I believe it?”

“I don’t believe it either,” Villa shrugs. “But what else shall I think? He brought him home. The boy was fine.”

“Then?” Francesc raises his brows. “What is it you’re worried about?”

“He has something on his mind.”

“Like what?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out.”

Francesc shakes his head.

“Well, for sure you won’t figure it out yourself,” he says. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Casillas?” Villa blinks.

“God, no!” Francesc almost spits out the wine. “I mean the boy. Ask him what Casillas said to him.”

Villa sighs. Not that he hasn’t thought about it. But he came to the conclusion that it would be useless.

“You’ve seen him. He barely speaks to me. He won’t tell me anything.”

“Then make him.”

Villa turns around briskly and takes a breath. Francesc immediately lifts his hand defensively.

“Calm down, Villa!” he chuckles. “I don’t mean you should whip him or lock him up in a cellar or anything!” 

“Then I’m surprised,” Villa says sarcastically. “It would sound exactly like you.”

“Why so bitter, dear friend?” Francesc smirks. “I don’t hide that if it was about a slave that cost me about as much as the shirt I sleep in, I wouldn’t be racking my brains over how to get something out of him and not hurt his precious little feelings – or, for the matter, precious little body - in the process, but if it really worries you, then it’s your choice.” 

“So what was it that you meant?” Villa asks, deciding not to get into further arguments with his friend.

“God, Villa, have you ever tried behaving like a normal human being with him?” Francesc laughs. “I mean, not like a missionary teaching him about the great ideals of the Christian faith, because honestly, you could have never convinced me about those, and I am actually baptized, so better not try that with the boy who probably believes in some animal gods or something. And, not like the usual stern former soldier.”

“So you mean, behaving like someone completely else than I really am.”

Francesc sighs deeply.

“I remember that you used to be quite a nice man before... well, before Casillas appeared on the scene.”

Villa makes a face.

“Come on, just talk to him!” Francesc says, spreading his arms. “Pour him some wine, make him a bit drunk, loosen him up and he will tell you even what he doesn’t think he knows. These boys are like women, once they got your attention they don’t want to lose it.”

“I see you’re talking out of your own experience,” Villa notes.

“Oh, sometimes I even wish they would leave me alone, those women,” Francesc says with a smug smile. “But you know, we shouldn’t refuse the gifts God gives us...”

“Of course,” Villa says with a skeptical frown and continues staring in his cup of wine.

“Why are you still acting like it is the most difficult thing in the world?” Francesc asks. “You only need three things. Stop behaving like you usually do, enough wine, and empty house.”

“Empty house?” Villa raises his brows.

“Of course. You don’t want that groom of yours to storm in with some new discovery he has just made, or the cook to come to ask you if you are not hungry because you haven’t eaten anything for ten minutes already.”

“You seem to know my household better than me.”

“Of course I know your household better than you,” Francesc smirks. “And that is why I am going to help you with it. Give them a free evening. Sergio will then surely go to his favorite tavern, he will take Xavi with him, and well, I will be there paying them drinks long enough to make sure they don’t return before midnight.”

“I don’t think this will be a huge sacrifice from you,” Villa chuckles. “You do this pretty much all the time.”

“So tonight?”

Villa shakes his head. 

“I am meeting Carles tonight.”

“Oh, he wasn't eaten by any sea monsters yet?” Francesc chuckles. “Alright, but the sooner you do it, the better.”

“I will do it tomorrow then.”

Francesc nods and gets up.

“Alright. Tomorrow I will go to have a few cups at my favorite place.”

Sergio is waiting in the stables. When he hears the steps, he turns around and smiles at Francesc.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Francesc asks with a smirk. “I wouldn’t like to interrupt.”

“Of course I am waiting for someone!” Sergio says and leans over the wall.

“Could that someone… possibly be me?”

Sergio narrows his eyes.

“You spend suspiciously much time here now,” he notes.

“Does it bother you?” Francesc chuckles.

“Not at all. But it’s strange.”

“I’m helping Villa with something right now,” Francesc says and comes closer to Sergio. “Maybe you could help too.”

“Me? Help? How?”

“Well, this boy Villa bought…”

“Not again!” Sergio rolls his eyes. “What is so special about him that you’re all obsessed with him?”

“Obsessed? Sergio, you know that the only one I’m obsessed with is you,” Francesc smiles. “But who else is, like you say, obsessed with him?”

“Well, Xavi won’t let me even make fun of him. Villa tiptoes around him like he was made of glass, Casillas eyes him like a chunk of gold...”

“And that is what we are after,” Francesc nods.

“You are after Casillas?” Sergio looks at him. “Have you lost your mind? He just blinks and you end up in prison!”

“Oh, I think you overestimate him and underestimate me!” Francesc laughs. “Listen, you know as well as Villa and me that Casillas doesn’t do good deeds for free, right?”

Sergio nods.

“Then why would he help a poor lost slave boy, let him sleep in his house and bring him home so that he wouldn’t suffer any harm? And not ask for anything in return? Think.”

“I don’t know,” Sergio sighs and bites on his lip. “But truth is that David behaves strangely since he came back. I mean, even more strangely than is usual with him, which means a lot strangely.”

“See? We are already getting somewhere!” Francesc says. “Did he tell you anything? About Casillas?”

“Not at all. He tries to act normally all the time, but he’s so bad at it it’s incredible.”

“Well, that maybe tells us something.”

“What does it tell us?” Sergio asks, feeling a bit dumb, but after all, he is just a groom, so thinking isn’t exactly his domain, he will gladly leave it to Francesc and Villa.

“That if Casillas didn’t ask Villa for anything in return, maybe he asked the boy for something.”

Sergio blinks a few times, then laughs.

“What could he ask for from David? He doesn’t have anything! Even the clothes that he wears are mine!”

“It’s not just things that you can pay with, Sergio!” Francesc says seriously. “And that’s where you could help. I have three tasks for you.”

“What tasks?”

“One, you will keep an eye on the boy. More than usual. Watch what he does, listen to what he says.”

“Fine.”

“Two, when Villa gives you a free evening tomorrow, you have to bring Xavi to the Drunken Horse with you, but the boy has to stay here, understood?”

Sergio chuckles.

“Making him stay won’t be as difficult as persuading Xavi to go with me after the last time.”

“Well, promise him that there will be no fat ladies around.”

“Sure. And the third task?”

Francesc narrows his eyes.

“Three... kiss me now.”

Carles Puyol walks in Villa’s house carrying several rolls of parchment and smiling excitedly. Sergio rolls his eyes secretly behind his back while Xavi runs here and there, ensuring that the food is ready to be served.

“Take it upstairs, Sergio!” he says, motioning to a platter with the first course.

Sergio groans and eyes the chicken leg he has been eating with certain regret.

“I will take it there!” David offers suddenly, grabs the platter and disappears.

“Do you get this?” Sergio frowns. “Normally he tries to be invisible when there are people around, and now he is all eager to be around Puyol?”

“Well, why should he be afraid of Puyol, Sergio?” Xavi shrugs. “If he wasn’t afraid of that pirate, God saves us from him ever coming back!”

Sergio snorts at Xavi’s attempt to cross himself while holding a stirring spoon.

“Still, he acts weird. Oh, by the way, do you know we will have a free evening tomorrow?”

“How do you know?” Xavi asks surprisedly.

“Oh well, the birds told me...” Sergio grins.

“Señor Fàbregas told you,” Xavi states. “Don’t count with me to go to that awful place again!”

“Come on, Xavi!” Sergio whines. “I swear no fat girls this time, I swear I won’t get that drunk, we’ll just play cards and maybe dance a little bit...”

“No.”

“Señor Fàbregas will be there.”

“And should I stand on my head because he will be there?” Xavi murmurs, but there is already some resignation in his voice. He doesn’t have the heart to spoil Sergio’s evening, even though he doesn’t exactly understand why he needs him there so much.

“So you’re coming!” Sergio beams. “Perfect!” 

David pours some more wine into Carles Puyol‘s cup and starts collecting the plates slowly. Villa and Puyol don‘t seem to acknowledge his presence at all. Well, Villa doesn‘t seem to acknowledge his presence since he came back, David thinks bitterly. He may have escaped the worst, but sometimes he feels like he would rather sacrifice the skin on his back and be noticed than be safe and sound, but meet Villa‘s cold gaze every time he dares to lift his eyes.

"I found a really good shipbuilder in Andalusia. He is not too expensive but his ships are good. I need one big to carry the supplies for sure, and then I‘m thinking two smaller caravels. In case I need a faster ship."

"Two?" Villa raises his eyebrows. "Are you counting with that many men?"

"Of course!" Carles exclaims. "This is now or never, now I am going big! Either I come back with treasure or I don‘t come back at all!"

Villa sighs at the melodramatic, solemn tone that reveals that Carles probably had a little bit too much wine already. 

"And I will sail to the South!" Carles adds and drinks some more wine.

"What?" Villa shouts.

"I decided to listen to Alonso‘s pirate!" Carles says contentedly. "What have I found when I listened to honorable men? Nothing. Maybe the advice of a pirate will bring me luck.“

Villa runs his hands over his face.

"I think we should have the second course now,“ he says.

Xavi is looking for honey in the storage room when he hears a loud crash from the kitchen. He immediately runs in to find the jar with beer broken on the floor. The kitchen is empty. A moment later David walks in.

“How did this happen?” Xavi asks, dumbfounded.

“Must have been Sergio‘s cat,“ David says.

Xavi snorts.

“I told him a thousand times to throw that dirty beast away!”

“He loves it!” David shrugs.

“But I don’t have any beer to cook with now!”

“I could bring some from the tavern,” David offers.

Xavi gives him a suspicious look.

“It’s just a street away, I won’t get lost!” David objects.

“Alright,” Xavi sighs, takes some coins from the place he thinks is secret but of course everyone knows where he keeps the money, and gives them to David.

David takes a new jar and runs out of the house. Xavi takes a broom and still cursing at Sergio’s cat starts to clean the floor.

The tavern is indeed just a street away, but he still has enough time to think. He feels terrible. He broke a jar and lied to Xavi about it to get out of the house. That in itself is bad, leave alone what he is about to do now.

He enters the tavern and looks around. For a moment he feels some hope that the person won’t be there and he won’t have to do anything. Then he spots the figure in black cape, sitting in the corner of the tavern. He sighs and drags his feet to the table.

“What took you so long?” the man growls when David sits down. “I don’t have all night to spend here.”

“It wasn’t easy to get out of the house,” David says. “And I needed some time, otherwise I wouldn’t have anything to tell you.”

“Well, I hope you have something to tell me, otherwise...”

Otherwise you’re in trouble and me too, David thinks. He cannot read the man’s expression, all he sees is a pair of dark eyes and the tip of his nose, but there is something nervous in his voice. David sighs. He is in trouble either way. He can just hope this will satisfy Casillas enough to leave him alone.

Raúl Albiol contentedly wipes his mouth and sprawls out in his chair. He eyes the girl who brought him the dinner for a while and contemplates whether he should have some fun with her tonight, but then decides against it. He has just enjoyed a great meal, so he feels full and entirely satisfied. He isn’t into women that much after all.

He has no idea that behind the house, a group of the workers has gathered and is now waiting quietly in the shadows.

The girl walks out of the house and looks around. 

“Alejandra!” Jesús hisses.

She looks around carefully once more and comes to them.

“So?” Pinto asks her.

“He stuffed himself like the pig he is, and drank a whole bottle of wine. He will sleep in no time.”

“Great!” Pinto rubs his hands together.

“We better get rid of him soon, he’s eyeing me like I’m food as well!” Alejandra murmurs.

“He touches you and I’ll make sure he will have nothing to eye you with!” Jesús growls.

“Of course, you have just the right built to do it!” Gerard chuckles. “We better stick to the original plan.”

In that moment they hear snoring so loud that it could be heard even if the window of Raúl’s room wasn’t open. 

“I think the time has come!” Andrés says.

Then they head towards the fields. 

Sergio walks inside the kitchen and finds Xavi wiping the floor angrily.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Ask your stupid cat what happened!” Xavi snaps. 

Sergio looks at the frightened cat that is hiding in the corner and takes it in his arms.

“What happened?” he asks it and Xavi just rolls his eyes. “What did that nasty cook do to you, sweetie?”

“It broke the jar with beer!” Xavi says. 

“Well, Xavi, the cat for sure didn’t think ‘I will break a jar to make Xavi angry’,” Sergio says. “Where is David, by the way?”

“He went to get the beer to the tavern.”

“What?” Sergio yells and drops the cat.

“Calm down, it’s just a street away. If he gets lost this time, I will start doubting his sanity.”

“Still,” Sergio says angrily. “You scolded me so much last time and now you just let him go out? To a tavern on top of everything, at night. You know what could happen to him?”

Xavi has no time to react before Sergio is already in the hall.

“Where are you going?” Xavi yells. 

“I’m going to search for him and bring him home. Safe.”

Sergio is just about to enter the tavern when a man in a black cape storms out and passes Sergio quickly. Sergio jumps up, startled, then looks in the direction of the man. Something in his moves is familiar to Sergio, but before he collects his thoughts, the man has already disappeared in the darkness.

Sergio walks in, only to see David waiting for the innkeeper to fill his jar. David looks surprised and sort of confused when he sees Sergio.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I just came to make sure you don’t get lost again,” Sergio grins.

“I’m not a child, Sergio.”

“Sometimes you’re worse.”

David grabs the jar and heads to the door. Sergio catches up with him.

“Also, there are strange people around here,” he says. 

“What strange people?”

“Right when I was going in, a weird guy came out,” Sergio says.

David gulps and tries not to look like he knows what weird guy Sergio means.

Iker Casillas is sitting in his office when there is a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” he calls and lifts his head when the visitor comes in. “Finally! What took you so long?”

Fábio takes off the black cape and fixes his hair.

“Don’t ask me what took me so long but what took that boy so long!” he growls. “This was the last time I did this.”

“It’s me who decides whether it was the last time or not!” Iker snaps.

“You promised I wouldn’t have to come back to the city, and you send me just there, just a street away from Villa’s house! If Villa walked in that tavern, I’d be dead on the spot.”

“Villa doesn’t go to taverns,” Iker snorts. “Better tell me what you found out.”

Fábio still looks furious, so Iker lets a servant bring him some wine (that he would never drink himself, of course) and some food. These are like dogs, Iker thinks,you throw them a bone and they calm down.

He listens with interest to everything Fábio tells him, frowning from time to time. 

“Pirate? Did he say pirate?” he interrupts Fábio.

“He said ‘Alonso’s pirate’, whatever he meant,” Fábio shrugs.

“So Xabier Alonso Olano now consorts with pirates,” Iker chuckles. “What a disgrace.”

“And well, he said Puyol wants to sail to the South. But nothing more. And I doubt he can steal the maps. I think Puyol won’t leave them in his house anymore, and the boy wouldn’t dare to steal them anyways.”

“No, we won’t even need them,” Iker shakes his head and looks out of the window. 

“So what is your plan now?” Fábio asks.

Iker smiles and folds his arms, looking at Fábio, who knows immediately that this smile means more trouble.

“Find me that pirate,” Iker says. 

Chapter Text

Fábio peaks out of an inn’s door and curses quietly. Not only hasn’t he managed to gain any information on Alonso’s pirate over the night, but now that the market is starting, he’s already spotted three people he knows. Which means he can’t just go there and start asking around, unless he wants to end up in Villa’s house in no time. There is nothing he wants less.

One of Villa’s neighbors seems to be discussing something with a man who sells fish. Fábio curses again. It’s right who he needs to talk to. At least for him, ‘fish’ connects with ‘sea’ and ‘sea’ connects with ‘pirate’. Maybe it isn’t the most genius thought, but Fábio is no genius, he has enough self-criticism to admit it.

Finally Villa’s neighbor leaves the market and Fábio creeps towards the fisherman.

“Morning!” the man mumbles, not looking very delighted.

Fábio probably doesn‘t look like someone likely to buy fish. And he truly wouldn‘t. As a kid he ate more fish than most of people did in their entire lives.

“Eh... Can you possibly tell me...” Fábio starts nervously.

After all, the man is holding a huge knife, so who wouldn’t be nervous.

“’Re fresh, if you want to ask,” the man growls.

It’s clear that without buying, there will be no talking either. Fine, Fábio tells himself. Casillas wants his information, he will have fish for lunch. Or dinner. Or he can stuff it and put in the room he keeps his hunting trophies, for all I care.

“Where are they from?” Fábio asks.

The man gives him a strange look.

“Man, does it matter?” he barks. “You want a document about their origin? Signed by the King himself, maybe?”

Fábio puts on his business face. Or what he thinks is his business face.

“Of course it matters!” he says. “My lord wouldn’t eat anything you pulled out of some dirty bay!”

His lord wouldn’t eat anything that would come from this market and wasn’t delivered fresh right to his house, Fábio is sure of that. However, it seems to work on the man.

“I have my places,” he says. “Quite far from the shore, if that is what concerns you.”

“Alright,” Fábio says. “I guess one has to know where to go if he wants to have what the others don’t have, eh?”

The man gives him a puzzled look. Alright, Fábio might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but compared to this guy he is a pure genius.

“Or who to ask when he wants to know what the others don’t know,” he continues. “I hear even some lords have to turn to some unusual people when they want to know something.”

“The lords want to know where to fish?” the man blinks.

Fábio feels like smashing him over his head with the nearest tuna.

“No, I mean if they want to know their way to certain places. On the sea.”

“Oh.”

That was enough with puzzles.

“I mean señor Xabier Alonso Olano,” Fábio hisses. “Doesn’t he seek the company of a strange sort of people lately?”

Finally the man’s face brightens.

“You mean the...” he lowers his voice. “The pirate.”

Oh, thanks good Lord in heaven, he’s not entirely stupid.

“Sure. I heard about it from a friend. Surely he doesn’t keep that pirate in his house?”

The man chuckles.

“Surely not. Señora Nagore wouldn’t be happy about that.”

Fábio chuckles as well even though he doesn’t find anything about it funny and he doesn’t care at all about señora Nagore nor about her freak of a husband.

“I wonder where I would hide a pirate if I had one. Alonso must be a smart man,” he says then, pretending that the matter doesn’t interest him anymore. “I’ll take this fish.”

The man looks at the fish Fábio is pointing at and nods contentedly. Then he leans closer.

“Actually, hiding a pirate is easier than you’d think,” he says and winks.

Sergio comes into the kitchen where Xavi is tasting the soup he’s cooking and David is polishing some dishes. Sergio stands in front of the window and uses it as a mirror.

“Do I tie my hair back or leave it like this?” he asks.

“If you ask me, both will look awful,” Xavi mutters. “You need a haircut.”

“Thank you!” Sergio snaps. “But I don’t feel like spending money on the barber.”

“I could cut it!” Xavi offers and grabs a pair of scissors from the wall.

“Step back!” Sergio yells. “Don’t even think about that! I’m not entrusting my precious hair to you.”

“I see nothing precious about it!” Xavi says. “I cut my hair myself, too.”

“Well, that’s why it looks as it looks,” Sergio grins and takes the scissors from him.

After a while of struggling to reach the ends of his hair while looking at his reflection in the window, Sergio gives up.

“I could do it,” David offers. “If you entrust your precious hair to me.”

Sergio pets his hair ends while considering the offer.

“If I don’t end up looking like Xavi...” he says then.

“Nothing wrong with how I look,” Xavi snaps.

Sergio sits on the chair while David takes the place on the table to better reach Sergio’s hair. Xavi looks at him disapprovingly, but then focuses on the soup again.

“How dare you say my hair is not precious?” Sergio mumbles and purrs when David runs his fingers through it. “Where have you seen prettier hair?”

“No way you could beat señor Puyol’s hair, Sergio!” Xavi says mockingly.

“Oh, so you prefer curly?”

Suddenly, there is a cough from the door. David turns to the door and when he sees Villa standing there, the scissors in his hand snap closed without him wanting it. He quickly hides the cut-off strand of Sergio’s hair and prays for Sergio not to notice.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Villa says, looking rather amused at the scene. “I just wanted to tell you that I will need one of you to stay here tonight. Of course you can take the evening off another day.”

Xavi takes a breath.

“Well, I...”

“Oh, Xavi, please!” Sergio jumps in immediately. “You’ve been so stressed out lately! You need to relax, yesterday was too late!”

Xavi blinks in surprise as he tries to process when did he express any signs of being stressed out, and when exactly did Sergio start to care about his well-being.

“I can stay,” David says calmly.

“But David never goes anywhere...” Xavi starts and then blinks again because Sergio suddenly looks like he is about to murder him.

“It doesn’t matter,” David says. “I don’t want to go anywhere anyway.”

Sergio breathes a sigh of relief and notices that so does Villa, probably relieved that at least Sergio understands his plan.

“Good,” Villa says. “You can continue with... whatever is going on in there.”

Sergio grins and helps himself to an apple from the bowl on the table. They can hear the door of Villa’s office close.

“When he’s not in the company of sailors, pirates and other freaks, he actually acts normal, I would say,” Sergio says.

“Too bad you don’t act normal whatever company you’re in,” Xavi says. “And I warn you, Sergio. One fat girl tonight and I’m leaving.”

Iker Casillas hears a knock on the door and quickly hides some pieces of parchment into a drawer that he locks.

“Enter!” he calls then.

The door opens and Fábio walks in, a huge grin on his face.

“I found you the pirate!” he announces.

Casillas looks sceptically at the giant fish in Fábio’s hand.

“Is this supposed to be him?”

“No, this is what I had to buy to get the information.”

“Alright, then take it out of this room immediately and then come back only with the information,” Iker barks.

When Fábio and the fish are gone, Iker opens the window and sprays a bit of cologne in the air.

“Why can’t the servants be at least a bit civilized?” he sighs.

Sergio enters the tavern and is greeted by a loud cheer that suggests that he is well-known there. Xavi follows him a lot less enthusiastically. At the table in the middle of the room, Francesc Fàbregas is already throwing one of his countless parties.

“My two favorite people are here!” he announces. “That means... wine for all!”

Xavi doesn’t know when he has become Francesc Fàbregas’ favorite person, but Sergio acts like it would offend him if he wasn’t greeted that way.

When Xavi is sipping on his wine, Francesc takes Sergio to one corner and checks carefully if nobody is listening.

“How is our plan going?” he asks.

“It almost failed because of Xavi,” Sergio chuckles. “I think next time we have to introduce him to our plans as well, he’s absolutely clueless.”

“Not to all of our plans, though,” Francesc winks. “For example, I’ve been trying to come up with a plan how to steal you for myself for a while tonight. Perhaps you have one?”

“I think after a few more cups, nobody will care if we disappear for a moment,” Sergio grins.

“Right,” Francesc nods. “More wine for everyone!”

Then he frowns and takes a step aside to look at Sergio’s back.

“Listen, Sergio, what is going on with your hair?” he chuckles

“What?” Sergio asks, looking worried.

“I don’t know... but one strand is kind of... too short.”

Sergio checks his hair with his fingers quickly.

“I will kill him!” he says then.

“Who?” Francesc laughs.

“David. Unless Villa does it first.”

Villa is going through his money records when there is a knock on the door. He looks up in surprise. It can only be one person and he would expect that person to be hiding the furthest from him as possible.

“Yes?” he calls.

The door opens slowly and David peaks in, then stands on the doorstep.

“You wanted to talk to me,” he says.

“Did I?” Villa raises his brows.

“I suppose it’s what the whole thing was for. Sergio is a bad actor and Xavi doesn’t help.”

Villa sighs, half in surprise, half in frustration. He has planned a strategy and now he feels like a general whose maps were just stolen. He planned an offensive and now realizes that the opponent had plenty of time to prepare his defense.

“Well, then come in.”

David walks in and closes the door behind him. Villa pushes aside the books.

“Would you sit down?”

David crosses his arms immediately.

“I’d rather...”

“It wasn’t a question.”

He can almost see Francesc rolling his eyes and mumbling something about him being hopeless. Villa really feels hopeless, but he’s not Francesc to have the magical ability to make everyone immediately like him, nor is he Iker Casillas to put on the honey-sweet fake smile anytime he pleases.

David sits on the small sofa, which is the only place not completely covered in documents, maps and books. When Villa sits next to him, he curls up in the corner the furthest from him possible. Villa suppresses a sigh.

“So if you saw through our plan, you probably also know what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“About señor Casillas.”

Villa nods.

“He helped me,” David says quietly, avoiding Villa’s eyes. “I got lost and he let me sleep in his house and brought me back in the morning. You know it.”

“I know it,” Villa nods. “Only I don’t believe that it was this simple.”

“Why?”

“Because Iker Casillas doesn’t like me,” Villa says simply. “What did he tell you?”

“What was he supposed to tell me?” David asks, looking somewhere between Villa and the window.

“Anything that would concern me, perhaps?”

“He said he would put his word in for me, and he did.”

“Put his word in for you?” Villa repeats. “Why?”

“Well, so that you wouldn’t be angry with me. He said that he would tell you that I really just got lost and I wasn’t trying to run away...”

“But... I never thought you were!” Villa says. “And I wasn’t angry with you. I was angry with Sergio, not you!”

For the first time, David looks at him.

“But you didn’t even... you didn’t even look at me!” he says quietly. “You ignored me. You still do. And sometimes I think I shouldn’t have wanted señor Casillas to ask you not to punish me, because this is worse than all the other things.”

“I can assure you that Casillas didn’t influence me in any way, David, but I would like to know what other things you mean.”

“The ones that he mentioned,” David shrugs. “I thought you wouldn’t believe me, because who’s that stupid to get lost on his way to a mill, and you would have the right to whip me for trying to escape.”

“You believed him this?” Villa asks in disbelief. “You believed that I would hurt you?”

David looks at him like he doesn’t get what is so hard to understand there.

“Even if you wanted to kill me, you would have the right to do it.”

Villa raises his hand and reaches for David’s face. David backs up.

“Yes,” Villa whispers, withdrawing his hand. “You believed him.”

David twitches uncomfortably, like he regrets the sofa isn’t bigger or doesn’t allow him to just soak himself in it and disappear completely.

“I was afraid!” he says then in a voice that is half-apologetic, half-accusing.

“Of me?” Villa asks in a flat voice.

“Yes... No! I...” David bites his lip and curls up in the corner even more. “Not of you... I was afraid you wouldn’t let me come back, that you’d sell me again, because I’m just...”

“You’re just what?”

David lowers his eyes.

“Trouble,” he whispers.

To his surprise, Villa laughs quietly.

“I wish all my troubles were like you,” he says. “I could never sell you, David, because no one is rich enough to be able to buy you for the price I’d set.”

He leans back and smiles a bit mischievously.

“Not even Casillas.”

David looks at him and his eyes glisten with tears.

“I kissed him,” he whispers.

Villa’s smile disappears from his face in a second. For a moment he wants to ask who they are talking about, but he knows it well enough.

“Why?” he asks instead, surprised at how creaky his voice sounds.

What he feels isn’t the usual burning hate towards Casillas. This is rather bitter and leaves a strange, tart taste in his mouth. But maybe he’s just imagining it.

“Because he wanted it,” David shrugs.

“He wanted it,” Villa repeats. “What about you?”

David gives him a confused look.

“He’s a lord. I’m a slave. What does it matter what I want or think?”

“To me it matters.”

For the first time, David gives a small smile, his eyes boring into Villa’s like two large, dark pools.

“I know it does.”

Villa tries to get a grip, not to get lost in the strange, tacky atmosphere that seems to be encircling them. He’s heard stories that the superstitious women and peasants told about the strangers, the non-believers, the stories about them being associated with the Devil. Villa is a pragmatic and he doubts the boy cares about God at all, leave alone the Devil. But there is still something strange about him that he’s unable to grasp with reason.

“Are you afraid that I’ll bewitch you?” David asks suddenly like he can read Villa’s thoughts, and there is some amusement behind it, but there’s something bitter as well.

“Should I be?” Villa asks.

“I wish I could do it,” David smiles, looking a bit lost in thoughts. “My old master thought I could. He used to say my eyes were marked by the Devil, I couldn’t even look at him. Whatever bad happened to the animals, it was my fault. But I never bewitched anyone.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” Villa says. “You bewitched me. At the market. And you don’t even know about it.”

He reaches for David‘s face again, and this time the boy doesn‘t move away. He closes his eyes, tilts his head and leans into the touch. For a moment Villa doesn‘t know what to do, feels like he‘s forgotten what it‘s like to have someone that close. Then he takes David‘s hand in his and turns his wrist to him. He runs his thumb over the mark. David flinches like it is still fresh. Villa lifts his wrist to his lips and kisses it.

David stays with his eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Villa wishes he could paint him, because it‘s a sight to behold. He reminds him of an exotic flower that blooms at night. He might hate Iker Casillas with all his life, but he can understand his whimsy now. It‘s just impossible to resist. It‘s a beauty even the kings would fall for.

When their lips touch, it feels like a lightning bolt running through his body and for a moment Villa thinks God decided to finally strike him down for all his previous sins and this one, too. But then David‘s fingertips brush his cheek and he realizes that he‘s very much alive. He also realizes that where he loses courage and thinks of God‘s punishment, David loses his fear, like he‘s finally found what he‘s been looking for. The feeling of safety, of being close to someone, someone‘s gentle touch.

They are David‘s fingers that first creep underneath Villa‘s shirt, with shameless curiosity. Villa lifts his arms hesitantly to help him pull the shirt over his head. David‘s eyes roam over his body and then he touches an old scar on his abdomen.

"Where is this from?“ he asks.

"A battle,“ Villa says. "I used to be a soldier.“

"Why aren‘t you anymore?“

"I retired.“

"Does it still hurt?“ David asks, caressing the long scar.

"Sometimes,“ Villa says.

"Old scars do,“ David nods. "They say when they heal, it means the pain is over. But sometimes it comes back.“

Villa unties the laces on David‘s badly fitting shirt, originally Sergio‘s, he supposes. When he touches David‘s back, he knows immediately that he knows what he‘s talking about. It‘s like running his fingers over folded tissue. He pulls David in his arms, then lays him on the sofa and kisses every single one of the scars. He can feel the boy tremble under the fleeting kisses and he finds his lips again, then pulls back in hesitation. David smiles, turns on his back and pulls Villa down.

"Could it be that now you‘re afraid of me?“ he asks breathily.

"Perhaps. Perhaps I‘m afraid of hurting you.“

"You can‘t hurt me like this,“ David whispers, eyes slightly unfocused. "It only hurts when you‘re not touching me.“

"Then...“ Villa smiles, climbing up to the sofa and trying to find the right position to fit there. "I should make sure you feel no pain.“

Sergio creeps across the dark kitchen, followed by Xavi who‘s muttering something about Francesc Fàbregas‘ position in the army.

"He uses his sword just to reach things on the higher shelves, I wonder what he will do once he really has to go to war,“ he says.

"Nah, at that time he‘ll already be a general and he will just look in the maps and command the others from safe distance,“ Sergio laughs. "Is it so late already that nobody‘s awake?“

He opens the door to his room and tiptoes inside. David is asleep and there is a smile on his lips.

"Well...“ Sergio shakes his head. "Now I really don‘t understand anything.“

Chapter Text

Sergio dreams that he is riding a horse when it starts to rain. Then he wakes up to realize that he is in fact in his bed and the rain is water that David is splashing on his face while giggling like a little boy.

“Are you crazy?” Sergio growls. “Why don’t you let me sleep?”

“Because Xavi was already here and he looked pretty mad when he saw you still asleep,” David says and finally stops splashing water on Sergio. “You drank too much again.”

“I never drink too much!” Sergio says. “I drink until I’m awesome.”

“Will you already move your buttocks from that bed, Sergio?” Xavi yells from the kitchen. 

Sergio groans and gets up. He looks at David while washing his face.

“So... what happened yesterday?” he asks.

“Was anything supposed to happen?” David frowns.

“Um... well, I don’t know, just...” Sergio mumbles.

“SERGIO!” Xavi shouts from the kitchen.

“I don’t know why he thinks he can give me orders!” Sergio says. “Soon he will start commanding Villa!”

David laughs and follows Sergio to the kitchen.

Raul wakes up to strange silence. Usually he wakes up so late that he can already hear the farmers working on the fields, the sounds of the animals and creaking of the old carriage they are using here. Someone should repair it because it makes too much noise and sometimes it disturbs him in his afternoon siesta. He will tell some of the useless farmers to do it.

But now there is no sound and Raul thinks he woke up too soon. But then he gets up and goes to the window. He can’t believe his eyes. The fields are empty and nobody is working. Except for one girl who is feeding the chickens. 

“Hey, you!” Raul shouts. “Where is everyone?”

The girl turns around calmly.

“Everyone is waiting for you to get up, señor!”

“Why?” Raul frowns.

“Well, they will tell you!” the girl says and runs away.

In a few moments all the farmers gather under Raul’s window. 

“What is this supposed to mean?” Raul yells. “Who do you think will work here?”

“There’s nothing to do, señor,” Andrés shrugs. 

“What?”

“The crops withered suddenly, señor!” 

Raul frowns. Pinto hands him some dry plants, like Raul knows what happened to them. He doesn’t even know what they are. He doesn’t care of plants until they become his food.

“How is that possible?” Raul yells.

Nobody seems like they are willing to give him an answer. He points at one farmer who doesn’t look as stupid as the others.

“You, what’s your name?”

“Jesús, señor!” the farmer says.

“What do you think caused that the crops... died... eh... withered, Jesús?” Raul asks.

Jesús shrugs.

“The punishment of God, señor?” 

Raul growls and slams the window shut. He’s angry, but then he realizes that he should be rather terrified. Because when Casillas hears about it, he will surely kill him. 

Villa tries to work, but when he realizes that he wrote three times the same word in his accounts, he sighs and closes the book. 

There is a knock on the door. 

“Enter!” Villa calls. 

David opens the door and comes in, carrying a tray full off plates, as usual. He smiles at Villa and Villa marvels at the change. His presumption that he is not good with words is probably true. Well, at least he can express himself otherwise.

“Xavi thinks you let me starve last night?” Villa laughs, looking at the pile of food.

“Didn’t I?” David smiles. 

“Well, it depends what kind of hunger we are talking about now.”

David blushes a little bit and lays the tray on the table. Villa leans over it and captures his lips. The way David accepts it, like it was natural, without being afraid of being seen, fascinates him, but at the same time leaves him thinking about who was the one before him. Because last night he realized that there had to be someone. But he doesn’t feel like asking. After all, David also doesn’t ask who was the one before him.

“It seems like I will have to give my servants free nights more often,” Villa says.

“I’m sure Sergio will be delighted,” David smiles.

“And you?”

“As long as I get to stay here during those nights, I will be, too.”

Raul stares at a piece of parchment. He’s been thinking about what to write to Casillas for a good while. Well, how do you tell someone that the property you were supposed to take care of is completely ruined?

Not like Casillas really cares about it, he has enough money and properties. This one was just a whimsy, he bought it simply to make Villa mad. But still, he hates when his money goes to waste, and what could he now do with a property where nothing grows?

How crops could wither so quickly really doesn‘t make sense to him. There was no hot weather, no rain or anything that (in Raul‘s opinion) could ruin them. He feels like he‘s ready to start believing in the “punishment of God“ theory that Jesús presented to him. 

He sighs, dips the quill in the ink because the one he had on it already dried while he was thinking, and starts. 

With my deepest regrets...

No matter how deep his regrets are, Casillas will cut him into pieces.

Iker Casillas doesn’t like people with more power and more money than he has. There are few, but they are there and he hates them with passion. However, he needs them. 

“So you say that there is a pirate in our city?” the regent asks, licking a chicken’s bone. “In the service of Xabier Alonso Olano?”

“Trust me, my lord Vilanova...” Iker says, trying not to show the disgust the name makes him feel. “I have a big respect for señor Alonso. But such thing is unacceptable... and I dare to say, even dangerous.”

“Indeed,” the regent nods and washes his hands in a bowl with water. “Pirates are supposed to be hanged, not wandering around my city, supported by the nobility on top of everything!”

“I was shocked myself, my lord,” Iker nods. “I know señor Alonso is a honorable man. But his obsession with sailing, I regretfully have to admit, is making him forget the good manners.”

Regent Vilanova nods again and looks to the door.

“Captain Fàbregas?” he shouts.

The door opens and Francesc Fàbregas walks in. He salutes the regent and narrows his eyes at the sight of Iker before saluting him as well.

“Señor Casillas came to warn us about a certain pirate that is allegedly in the city, and about señor Xabier Alonso Olano’s alliance with this pirate. Have you heard anything about it?” the regent asks.

Francesc looks at him calmly.

“No, my lord. It’s completely new to me.”

“It shouldn’t be,” the regent snaps. “In your position you are supposed to care for the safety and order in our city. You have a dirty rat running around here.”

“I can assure you, my lord, that I will take care of it as soon as possible.”

“You should,” the regent says. “Arrest the pirate, and tell señor Alonso Olano that I want to have a word with him.”

Francesc salutes both the regent and Iker and walks out of the room. Iker sighs.

“I am not sure if your captain is competent for such task, my lord,” he says.

“Captain Fàbregas is very competent, Casillas!” the regent snaps. “I can assure you the situation will be resolved. In the name of the King and the Queen, I thank you for your help. I am sure your loyalty will be rewarded. You can go now.”

Iker purses his lips, bows to the regent and walks out of the room. He cannot wait until this place will be his. And he is sure it will be soon.

Iker Casillas walks in his salon, only to find Fábio sitting in his chair like he was the lord there.

“Will you get up from that chair, you...” Iker barks, looking for his riding crop, only to realize that he unfortunately left it in the stables.

Which Fábio apparently noticed, so he takes his time to get up from the chair.

“So you got what you wanted?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Iker says. “But the things are going the right way.”

He looks at the chair and then decides not to sit on it. Fábio probably has louses, fleas or other nasty things the poor usually have and Iker certainly doesn’t want on him. 

“A messenger was here today,” Fábio says then. “Brought a message from Raul Albiol.”

Iker frowns. 

“Raul can write?”

“Maybe he drew you a picture?” Fábio suggests.

Iker slaps him over his back with his bare hand on sudden impulse and immediately regrets it because his hand is not used to working or punishing insolent servants. He takes the message Fábio hands him. He reads it and throws it away.

“Idiot!” he growls. “Punishment of God! He ruined my property! I will show him the punishment of Iker Casillas and he will never forget it!” 

He looks at Fábio. 

“Go to Arbeloa’s house and tell him I want to talk to him. It’s time someone competent went there.”

Xavi looks over at Sergio, who rolls his eyes and shrugs. 

“David?” Xavi asks quietly. “David!”

David startles and looks at him.

“What are you doing?” Xavi asks, pointing to the apple that instead of being cut into quarters is already rather mashed.

“I... sorry,” David says, running a hand through his hair. “I was just...”

“Daydreaming,” Sergio grins.

“Thinking,” David corrects him.

“That’s something Sergio never does,” Xavi says. “So he won’t understand.”

Suddenly there is a knock on the main door. Xavi frowns as it is already quite late. 

“I’m going there!” Sergio announces, jumps up, knocks over a jar and stomps on his cat’s tail.

“Dear God, why did you put a soul into a piece of wood?” Xavi sighs deeply.

Sergio runs to the hall and opens the door. He lets out a surprised gasp when he sees Francesc Fàbregas standing there in his uniform.

“I have to talk to Villa,” Francesc says.

“Won’t you come in?” Sergio asks.

Francesc looks around nervously, then nods and quickly comes in. 

“I can’t stay for long,” he says. “Would you call him, Sergio?”

Sergio nods and runs up the stairs. Villa comes down a moment later.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Casillas was at the regent’s house today,” Francesc says. “He knows about Alonso and the pirate.”

“What?” Villa gasps. “How?”

Francesc shrugs.

“I don’t know. The regent even scolded me that I didn’t know about it. I have to arrest that pirate and bring Alonso to the regent. I just wanted to warn you. Better don’t mention Alonso to anyone now, and mainly that they were in your house!” 

Villa shakes his head.

“He’s such a bastard!”

“I know. I’m not happy about it either. I think Casillas is up to something big. Be careful, Villa.”

He turns around, opens the door, carefully checks if the street is empty and walks out. Villa stands there for a while, then he walks back up. He’s so lost in thoughts that he doesn’t notice David standing in the corridor, his lips trembling.

Chapter Text

Iker Casillas hates dirty things, dirty people and dirty places. And the prison in Barcelona is one of the dirtiest places he has ever seen. He is glad that he took a black coat because any dirt will be less visible on it. On the other hand, he really likes this coat and will probably have to throw it away after he comes out of this place.

The guard unlocks the door and lets him in the cell. It’s tiny, dark, dirty and Iker can’t wait until he will be out of it. The man who is laying on a pile of hay in the corner looks at him lazily.

“Do you know who I am?” Iker asks him.

“A guy with a lot of money and terrible choice of perfume?”

Iker feels like drawing his sword and cutting this pirate’s throat right away, but then all his plans would become useless.

“I am Iker Casillas Fernández.”

“Good name. I’m just Daniel, I guess. Since I don’t know who the hell gave birth to me, so... Did you come for a chat or do you need anything else?”

Iker folds his arms.

“It looks like rather you need something,” he says.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” Daniel grins. “The food here is not actually much worse than in the taverns, and I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Well, you won’t get much of that comfort,” Iker says. “I bet there is a noose already waiting for you.”

“There have already been a few of them...” Daniel says and finally gets up. “I wonder why so many noblemen are willing to take them off my neck.”

“You know many things,” Iker says. “About sailing.”

“I know everything about sailing.”

“Was it why Alonso needed you?”

“Alonso, and his weird friend with even weirder servants, yes.”

“What if you worked for me now?”

“I will work for anyone,” Daniel shrugs. “It depends on what I get for it.”

“Your own life isn’t enough?” Iker frowns.

“My life is worth a bird’s shit,” Daniel says and chuckles at the way it offends Iker. “Sorry, my captain used to say that.”

“So what do you want? Money?”

“Obviously.”

Iker thinks for a moment. In a way, it offends him that a pirate is dictating conditions to him. If he could, he would just let them hang him and probably after this conversation, he would gladly watch the execution. But he is already behind with his plan and to look for another person with this knowledge would cost him way more than what he will have to give to this pirate.

“Alright.”

Daniel grins contentedly. Iker purses his lips.

“Just bear in mind that if my plan fails, you’ll land here again,” he says. “And I will personally make sure the noose around your neck is tight enough not to slip off.”

Francesc sighs deeply when he sits in his favorite armchair in Villa’s office. He feels more at home there than in his own house.

“I feel like I am actually doing exactly what Casillas wants,” he says. “And I hate it.”

“You do what you have to do,” Villa shrugs. “Unfortunately the regent now does what Casillas tells him to do.”

“I don’t feel bad for the pirate, you know. He’s a pirate after all, so why should I care. But I don’t get it. What does Casillas have against Alonso that he wants to destroy him?”

“Probably he’s the last step before me,” Villa says gloomily.

“The regent took all Alonso’s properties away and ordered him to leave Barcelona.”

Villa grabs the nearest book and throws it across the room where it almost hits Sergio who is standing at the door.

“Villa, don’t kill your staff or I’ll have to arrest you!” Francesc chuckles.

“Sorry,” Villa mumbles.

Sergio lays a bottle of wine and two cups on the table and quickly disappears before something else can hit him.

“We have to find out what Casillas is up to...” Francesc says. “Which brings me to the question... what did you manage to get out of that boy?”

Álvaro Arbeloa jumps off his horse and looks around. He honestly doesn’t understand why Casillas even cares about this property. Even if the crops didn’tmagically wither, he wouldn’t have any big profit from it. Half of the products would be eaten by the farmers anyway.

But Casillas sent him here and he has to find out why over so little time all the property went to waste. Álvaro is already convinced that the reason is called Raul Albiol, and Casillas probably knows it as well, but he has to see it with his own eyes.

There is a group of farmers watching him mistrustfully when he heads to the house where Raul is living.

“So this was the plan, Pinto?” Jesús frowns. “To have two instead of one?”

“Eh... no, it wasn’t,” Pinto says. “The original plan was to get rid of Raul and get Andrés back to his place.”

“Problem is I was in charge when Villa was the owner,” Andrés says. “So even if there would be just me and a cow with three heads, Casillas would appoint the cow.”

“Guys!” Gerard says, throwing his arms around Jesús’ and Pinto’s shoulders. “Don’t hang your heads down. We managed to trick Raul, this one wouldn’t be much harder to get.”

“Let’s just hope we all survive it,” Andrés sighs.

“So the only thing Casillas wanted was to... kiss that boy?” Francesc laughs. “Villa, you cannot be serious!”

Villa shrugs. Francesc shakes his head. He’s already had a few cups of wine, but even if he drank a whole keg, he wouldn’t believe this story.

“Alright, maybe he did it... I guess I would do it as well, given the opportunity, because he is quite pretty... But certainly it couldn’t be all.”

“That was all he told me.”

“Then you probably did it the wrong way.”

“Yes,” Villa whispers. “I did it the wrong way.”

Francesc raises his brows in suspicion.

“You did what?”

Villa sighs and looks at Francesc like he is about to confess to a murder.

“Well, I...”

“No!” Francesc yells and almost jumps out of the armchair. “No, Villa, no, not again, for God’s sake!”

“I can’t help it!” Villa objects.

“Help what? Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Every day I look at my life, it reminds me of that. No need to remind me any further.”

Francesc picks up his cup of wine and shakes his head again.

“I’m surprised to still see you here,” he notes then. “I would expect you to run to a priest to confess.”

“I confessed to you. Though I don’t think it’s as safe as confessing to a priest because I would be at least sure that the priest wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You can’t be sure even with a priest,” Francesc chuckles. “Just offer him the post of a bishop and he’ll tell you even his own mother’s secrets.”

He finishes his cup and sighs.

“But I’m the last one who should tell anyone, or deliver a sermon on you.”

“What do you mean?”

Francesc bites his lip and looks up.

“I love your groom, Villa.”

Villa almost chokes on his wine.

“Wh-Sergio?”

Francesc shrugs.

“Are you now going to deliver a sermon on me?”

Villa smiles apologetically.

“No. I just... don’t understand how anyone can love Sergio.”

“But he is lovable,” Francesc grins. “And beautiful.”

“You do realize that if your father ever finds out...”

Francesc rolls his eyes.

“He will disown me, kick me out of the house and the army as well, or probably he will kill me instead, because it would save our family from the shame. Yes, I do.”

“And that all is worth a few moments with Sergio in the stables?” Villa asks.

“Oh, Villa, those moments are worth much more.”

“And I was just going to say that you were becoming a more sensible person,” Villa sighs.

Iker walks in his house and contentedly states that Fábio is not using any of his favorite furniture. It actually takes Iker some time to find him, which is strange because usually he sees the Portuguese everywhere, mainly when he doesn‘t want to see him.

Fábio is sitting on the terrace that overlooks the garden. In the setting sun it‘s really a sight to behold, with the birds‘ sleepy chirping and quiet bubbling of the fountain in the background. But Iker is not a romantic soul and he doubts people like Fábio even have souls, so he doesn‘t understand why he is here.

“My chair is no longer your favorite place to sit on?” Iker asks.

Fábio doesn‘t move, like he could break some spell if he moved his eyes from the scene in front of him.

“I found you the pirate,” he says quietly. “You have what you wanted. Isn‘t it enough for our deal?”

Iker frowns and takes a step towards him.

“So impatient to leave my service?” he asks.

He grips Fábio’s hair and pulls on it. It strangely disappoints him when the boy just closes his eyes in resignation and lets Iker bare his throat, like he wouldn’t care at all even if Iker decided to cut it.

“The deal will go on until I want it to go on,” Iker growls.

“Is there even still a deal?” Fábio whispers and opens his eyes.

Iker has the impression that he can see something resembling fear in them, like Fábio is afraid to hear the answer. He lets go of his hair and clears his throat.

“Of course there is,” he says. “And it all depends on you.”

“Alright,” Fábio whispers.

“It’s full moon in a few days, don’t forget,” Iker says. “Time to find out what other plans Villa and the madman Puyol made. You will do that, won’t you?”

Fábio just nods. Iker looks one more time at the garden that is now submerging in the darkness, and returns inside. At least he doesn’t have the feeling that he’s losing control anymore.

Villa is writing a letter when he notices that the clinking of dishes from the other side of the room has stopped. He lifts his head and sees David watching him quietly.

“What?” he asks.

“Just...” David says and takes a step closer. “How do you do it?”

“How do I do what?” Villa frowns.

“How do you get what you’re thinking... on the parchment?”

Villa smiles.

“Come here.”

David approaches him carefully, like when Villa is holding a quill, he becomes more dangerous. It almost makes him laugh. He pulls David in his lap.

“Look, when you speak, you speak in sentences,” Villa says and circles some words on the parchment. “This is a sentence. The sentence consists of words, and words consist of letters. When you think something, it’s like when you speak, but to yourself. So again you have sentences, words and letters. And this is why you can write the thoughts same as the sentences.”

David pouts like a little child.

“But it looks so difficult.”

“Do you want to try it?” Villa smiles.

David gives him an almost terrified look.

“To... to write?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

David watches him write a word. Then Villa puts the quill in his fingers and writes it again, leading his hand.

“What is the word?” David asks then.

Villa smiles.

“Your name.”

David turns to him.

“It’s yours, too.”

“You remember?”

“Of course I remember your name.”

Villa sighs and smiles bitterly.

“See, and I sometimes forget it.”

“Then I should learn to write it and write it a thousand times for you.”

“So try again,” Villa says and puts his hand away.

David brings the quill close to the parchment and tries to copy Villa‘s lines. The parchment tears under the tip of the quill. David gives Villa a startled look.

“Be gentle,“ Villa says, lining up the quill in David‘s hand. “Like you’re writing on someone’s skin.”

David turns to Villa with a smile that is almost mischievous. A few days ago Villa couldn’t even imagine David could smile this way.

“Would you do it one day?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“Write on my skin.”

Villa blinks, feeling his mouth go dry. He brings his hands to David’s face, tracing the features that are so unique and exotic.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers.

David laughs childishly, dodging Villa’s lips that are about to land on his.

“You haven’t yet answered me.”

“Oh,” Villa smirks. “What was the question again?”

“If you would one day write on my skin,” David says and looks up to Villa in such way that Villa couldn’t say ‘no’ to him even if he was asking for all Villa has.

“When you write my name for me...” Villa says and tickles David’s nose with the quill. “Then I will.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

David smiles and gets up. He collects the dishes and goes to the door.

“I will, you know?” he says, looking at Villa defiantly. “Learn it.”

Villa gives him what he intends to be a mistrustful look, but he ends up smiling halfway. The he takes a clean piece of parchment and starts re-writing the letter to Carles Puyol that had become a teaching aid.

Chapter Text

Sergio comes to his room and looks at David incredulously.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“No... Nothing!” David blurts out, curls up under his blanket and turns his back to Sergio.

Sergio shakes his head, takes off his clothes and climbs in his bed.

“Are you coming with us tomorrow?” he asks.

David just shakes his head.

“Why am I even asking?” Sergio sighs and blows off the candle on the table between their beds.

David waits for Sergio to start breathing regularly. Then he leans on one elbow and starts writing letters on his pillow with his finger.

Álvaro Arbeloa sits opposite to Raul Albiol at the table in Raul’s house.

“So, Casillas sent me here to find out what happened with his property,” he says. “Because he is obviously not buying into your ‘punishment of God’ theory.”

Raul gulps. He’s not sure if telling Álvaro that it was actually Jesús’ theory would help or not.

“He asked me to remind you of the sum he paid for this land.”

Raul gulps again. Álvaro sighs exasperatedly.

“Man, seriously, what happened here?”

“I... I don’t know. Everything was alright, the farmers were working, I was... that doesn’t matter, but everything was under control. Then one morning I woke up and found out nobody was working, so I asked them what happened, and they said the crops just withered by themselves!”

“Over the night or what?”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t know there was something wrong with the crops even if I was checking on them every day. I’m not a farmer.”

Álvaro sighs.

“I will have a word with the farmers now.”

“And... I’m to stay or...”

Or to pack my stuff and return to Barcelona where Casillas will chop my head off.

“We will see about it.”

“Are you coming or not, Sergio?” Xavi yells from the kitchen.

“He found out his shirt was torn,” David smiles. “I think he’s trying to stitch it.”

“Oh no!” Xavi sighs. “We won’t go anywhere, then. It will take him all night.”

“Or he will lose his eye,” David nods.

“Hey!” Sergio growls. “Because of you I don’t have a spare one, because it’s on your body right now, so better help me with it.”

“Don’t you want me to give it back instead?” David asks with a mischievous smile.

“When it’s already adjusted for dwarves? No, thank you!”

David takes the shirt from Sergio and starts stitching the hole on the side.

“By the way, don’t think I don’t know about the strand of my hair that is missing,” Sergio sneers.

“How do you know? Can you see on the back of your head?” David asks him calmly.

“Do you hear this, Xavi?” Sergio chuckles. “When did he become this bold and cheeky?”

“I thought it was your influence,” Xavi says.

“Absolutely not!” Sergio shakes his head.

David hands him the shirt, grabs a basket and disappears in the garden.

“But I suspect Villa is doing a terrible thing,” Sergio whispers to Xavi.

“What terrible thing?” Xavi asks.

Sergio folds his arms.

“He’s teaching David how to write.”

“That’s not terrible,” Xavi shrugs. “Just because you wouldn’t ever learn it...”

“Who says I wouldn’t?” Sergio objects.

Xavi folds his arms.

“Are we going finally or you suddenly prefer David to señor Fàbregas?”

“I’m on my way!” Sergio says and runs to the door.

Fábio heads out of Casillas’ house and takes a look around. Not that he expects to meet anyone who knows him around here, but also to get stopped by the regent’s guards wouldn’t be good. Mainly because it’s Fàbregas in charge of them, and Fàbregas is Villa’s friend. He would waste no time to present Fábio to Villa with a bow on top.

The full moon is shining brightly, which doesn’t exactly help. Fábio still remembers the moment when he almost bumped into Sergio on his way from the tavern. If he didn’t put the cape on already inside, he would be probably already dead. Not that Casillas would care that much.

He finds the tavern and comes in. It’s quite full but his favorite place in the corner is empty. He sits on the wooden bench and waits.

“Are you going to have anything?” a voice sounds above him.

“Wine,” Fábio mumbles.

The innkeeper looks at him suspiciously.

“Alright,” he says. “I hope you’re not up to some nasty business. This is not a place for dirty deals.”

Damn it, he looks suspicious even in such place. Luckily before he can start explaining something and inevitably flash the innkeeper his Portuguese accent, one of the guests’ cups is empty.

“Valdés!” the man yells. “Will you let me die of thirst?”

The innkeeper gives Fábio one last suspicious look and heads to get some more wine for the man. Fábio just hopes his mission will be over soon.

David enters Villa’s office with the platter that Xavi prepared. Villa is sitting on the sofa with a mischievous grin.

"I‘ve been waiting for you," he says.

"I suppose," David smiles and lays the platter on the table.

A piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink are laying on the writing desk. David approaches it and sits down on the chair. Villa stands behind him and looks over his shoulder.

“Are you going to stand there?” David asks and turns to him.

“Why?”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“But I have to be sure you don’t cheat!” Villa chuckles.

David sighs and dips the quill in the ink. He whines in frustration when the ink makes a blotch on the parchment, but Villa lays a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“Go on. I forgive you this one.”

David puts the quill to the paper and starts writing. He even forgets to breathe, so focused he is. When he’s done, he turns to Villa and finds out that he’s smiling.

“Well...” Villa says and folds his arms.

Truth is the letters are shaky and the last “d” actually looks like “b”, but it’s better than he expected.

“It’s not bad,” Villa says. “You deserve your reward.”

David’s face lights up.

“But maybe we should first eat what Xavi prepared, otherwise he’ll think you let me starve again,” Villa teases.

David frowns and then smirks.

“We could do both at the same time.”

“Hedonist!” Villa chuckles.

“What is that?” David asks.

“A hedonist is someone who seeks as much pleasure as possible.”

“Doesn’t everyone do that?”

“No, I guess not. But I certainly want to try.”

David smiles when Villa pulls him into a kiss. There’s still the candid naturalness in the way he accepts it, like it’s the most natural thing ever. There is no remorse, no worry in David’s mind and Villa wishes he could think about it the same way, without worrying about someone finding out. He stopped worrying about God a long time ago, he’s already accepted that he would go to Hell without a doubt and probably the only thing worrying him about it is that he would be inevitably meeting Casillas there, so he wouldn’t get rid of him even after death. But he still fears the people because there’s still a long way to Hell, but should anyone find out, the way could become damn short.

David unties the laces on Villa’s shirt and takes it off like he fears Villa would never get to it. He kisses the scar on Villa’s stomach and when Villa pulls him back up, he nuzzles the crook of his neck.

“I can’t imagine you,” he whispers. “Going to war.”

“Why?” Villa asks, caressing his hair.

“Because you’re so nice,” David says. “I can’t imagine you killing anyone. And in war you have to kill people, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But then... when my old master came here and I saw you with the dagger... you did look dangerous.”

Villa chuckles.

“Well, now I’m just an old, boring money changer.”

“You’re not old,” David objects. “Nor boring.”

“You think so?”

“You could always try to prove it to me,” David smiles. “But you have a promise to keep!”

“I could do both at the same time.”

“Hedonist!” David laughs and takes off his shirt.

When the tip of the quill touches his back, he shivers and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he sees the perfectly round moon behind the window. For a moment he thinks about where he is supposed to be at this moment. But then Villa’s fingers run down his spine and beyond and he forgets even his own name.

Fábio trails inside the house. He’s secretly hoping that Iker will be already asleep, but deep inside he knows it’s just a false hope. Iker can sleep all days long if he pleases, so staying up is no problem for him.

“So?” Iker asks when Fábio enters his room.

“Nothing,” Fábio mumbles.

“How come, nothing?”

“Well, I was sitting there all night. But he didn’t show up.”

Iker stares at him incredulously.

“Didn’t show up?” he repeats.

Fábio shrugs.

“I am not going to be ignored by a slave!” Iker roars and Fábio instinctively cowers in case Iker wanted to throw something at him.

But instead, Iker starts circling around the room like he does every time he thinks about something. Mostly about something really nasty.

“You’ll bring him to my house tomorrow,” he says then. “I don’t care how you do it. But you’ll bring him here and I will show him that I am nobody to be ignored.”

Francesc crosses the yard to his house when he hears a rustle somewhere in the darkness. He draws his sword immediately and looks around.

“Show yourself!” he shouts.

He prays he’s not just making a fool out of himself because he’s had quite some cups and maybe the noises are just his imagination. If someone was watching, he would have quite something to laugh to – the captain of the regent’s guards fighting the shadows with his sword. But suddenly, a figure appears from behind some kegs.

“Señor Fàbregas...”

Francesc frowns. The boy looks familiar, but he can’t quite place his face. Even more because he looks like he got ran over by a horse. Or ten of them.

“Don’t I know you?” Francesc asks him.

“I’m Álvaro Morata, I used to work in señor Alonso’s house.”

Francesc nods, opens the door and motions for Álvaro to come in.

Truth is it’s not just his face that looks terrible. His clothes are torn in some places. There are dark circles under the boy’s eyes and he looks like he didn’t eat in days. When Francesc hands him a cup of hot milk, Álvaro almost spills it, so much his hands are shaking.

“Where did you come to this?” Francesc asks, pointing to Álvaro’s face.

“On the streets,” Álvaro shrugs. “I guess I just don’t know how to take care of myself there.”

“Why didn’t you come here earlier? Me and Xabier are friends, I wouldn’t kick you out.”

“I know,” Álvaro says. “But señor Alonso told me to wait. He didn’t want to compromise any of his friends.”

“So it was him who told you to go here?”

Álvaro nods and then reaches for something under his shirt. He hands Francesc some parchments.

“What is this?” Francesc frowns.

Álvaro shrugs.

“I don’t know, I can’t read. Señor Alonso just told me to give this to you.”

Francesc nods and lays them on the table to inspect them later, when he’s less drunk and tired. Álvaro gets up.

“Where are you going?” Francesc asks.

Álvaro gives him a surprised look.

“Well, I...”

“To get a few more beatings from the beggars and drunkards, eh?” Francesc smirks. “There’s an empty room after one of my servants. You can sleep there.”

Álvaro mumbles a grateful “thank you” and heads in the direction Francesc is pointing in. Francesc shakes his head and chuckles.

“Little hero.”

David wakes up early in the morning. Sergio is still snoring loudly and doesn’t wake up even when David gets up and starts putting his clothes on. He can hear Xavi already rumbling with things in the kitchen. He turns around as soon as David walks in the kitchen.

“He’s still sleeping?” Xavi asks.

“I’d think he was dead, but dead people don’t snore like this,” David laughs.

“Of course he sleeps when he’s supposed to go to the market,” Xavi growls.

“Actually, I promised him I would go,” David says.

Xavi sighs and hands him the basket and money.

“People should stop being kind to him,” he mumbles. “Or soon he will command us all.”

The streets aren’t yet too crowded. It’s early, but Xavi insists they go to the market early to get the best and freshest pieces. David doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t feel well in crowded places.

Suddenly a pair of hands grabs him from behind and pulls him back inside some dark passage. He yelps when his back connects with the cold wall and then he looks up and shivers. He knows the black cape and the dark eyes peaking out of it.

“We were supposed to meet yesterday, I think,” the man says.

David trashes against his hold. He knows the direction he’s leading him in and he doesn’t like it a single bit.

“Stop it!” the man hisses. “It’s your own stupidity. Do you think you can just ignore Casillas like that? That he will simply forget that you exist?”

“I didn’t come because I don’t want to do it anymore!” David says firmly. “I don’t want to talk to Casillas anymore and mainly not about Villa!”

The man sighs deeply.

“For God’s sake, don’t tell Casillas that!” he says. “You have to tell him that you forgot. He probably won’t believe you anyway, but at least there's a chance he won’t kill you.”

“Just let me go, please!”

“So that he will kill me instead? No, thank you.”

David looks at him pleadingly, but the man avoids his eyes.

“Tell him that you forgot and that you’re sorry,” he says. “Play stupid. And then tell him everything you know. Believe me. Don’t mess with Casillas.”

“Why are you telling me this?” David asks.

The man turns to him for the first time.

“I might not be a saint, but I don’t want Casillas to kill you.”

David doesn’t say anything to that. He just thinks of Casillas and about what awaits him in his house. He only knows it will not be nice.

Iker lifts his head when Fábio opens the door and pushes David inside. He smiles and raises his brows.

“Well, what a nice visit!” he says and looks at Fábio. “We won’t need you anymore, you can go.”

Fábio is more than happy to comply and disappears through the door. Iker walks to it, locks it and slips the key in his pocket.

“So... I think you owe me an explanation,” he says then.

“I...” David takes a deep breath, remembering what he’s supposed to say. “I’m sorry, my lord Casillas, I forgot...”

“Forgot it was full moon?” Iker raises his brows. “You must be indeed stupid. Or you are making fun of me.”

“No, I’m not!” David blurts out. “But... I wouldn’t have anything to tell you anyways.”

“Nonsense,” Iker snaps but then composes himself. “So you forgot about the meeting you had.”

David eyes him warily. Iker walks to the wall and takes a dagger off a velvet pillow. He turns it in his hand like he’s thinking about something.

“Having such stupid servants must be a burden,” he says. “I think I should make Villa a favor and rid him of you.”

David’s eyes go wide when Iker makes a step towards him. He backs up and his back hits the locked door.

“You can’t,” he whispers.

“Kill you?” Iker smiles. “Oh, yes, I can.”

“You can’t,” David repeats.

“You keep forgetting who you are, little darling,” Iker says calmly. “There’s no one to stop me. To kill a slave is not a crime. It’s like I broke someone’s vase. How much did Villa pay for you? Two hundred? I will give him four hundred because I’m generous and nobody can say anything. He will buy a new slave. Most likely a better one.”

David feels his body tremble but for some reason, in his mind he’s not as scared as he should be. He lifts his eyes to meet Iker’s.

“Villa will not take your money,” he says quietly, but firmly. “He will kill you.”

For a moment Iker seems to be taken aback. Then he starts laughing.

“Oh, will he? Because of you?”

He takes another step towards David.

“I’m Iker Casillas Fernández, you know? Nobody will kill me because I slit a slave’s throat. I’m sure of that.”

David looks at him with some strange, resigned calmness.

“Then...” he says, takes a few steps towards Iker and sinks to his knees in front of him. “Please, make it quick, my lord.” 

Chapter Text

If he is to be honest, Iker is quite disappointed. He expected David to spill out everything he knows as soon as he would grab the dagger. Last time he needed nothing more than words. But all he got was a surprising exchange of words, a promise that Villa would kill him, and then practically a permission to slit David’s throat. Iker bites his lip in frustration. It means that David is either too loyal to Villa, or he indeed doesn’t know anything.

He digs his hand in the boy’s hair and pulls his head back to bare his throat. David closes his eyes but stays silent, depriving Iker even of the pleasure of listening to pleas for his life. It starts to be boring.

“So you indeed have nothing to tell me?” Iker asks for one last time.

“Nothing, my lord,” David whispers.

A lonely tear escapes from underneath his glued eyelids and slowly slides down his temple. Iker looks at him for a moment. In a way he understands why Villa would want to kill him for taking this beauty from him.

“Excuse me, my lord...” a loud voice sounds from somewhere in the room.

David’s eyes snap open. Iker’s grip on his hair loosens and he lets his head fall down.

“There are other ways to make someone talk,” the stranger says.

The only thing David sees from him are his shoes, strange, high, leather shoes, worn out but meticulously polished, like the person doesn’t think that being poor is an excuse for looking poor as well. But the voice is strangely familiar and David finds the courage to lift his gaze. He is looking in a pair of green eyes shining wildly from a freckled face. He recognizes the pirate he once met in Villa’s house, Daniel.

“If you want, I can try to get it out of him,” Daniel offers.

Iker lets out an annoyed growl.

“If you want to...” he says and heads to the door at the other side of the room where Daniel had to come from. “If he doesn’t speak, just snap his neck.”

“Of course, my lord,” Daniel nods.

David yelps when Daniel grabs him and yanks him up to his feet, which draws a smirk from Iker before he leaves through the door.

“Don’t worry boy, I’m not going to hurt you,” Daniel whispers. “I just needed that bastard gone.”

Francesc wakes up fairly late and his head still hurts. He drags himself to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of water because he can’t even think of food right now. Then his eyes fall on the parchments on the table.

He sits down and unfolds them. The first few are some maps. Francesc can’t even read the map of his city properly, so he doesn’t get why Alonso would be sending this to him. The last parchment is a letter.

Dear friend,

if you’re reading this, it means that I’m either dead or gone with little chances of returning. The maps are of the southern seas... probably it doesn’t tell you much, but if you have a chance to give them to our common friend, in case it is not too risky, he will know what to do with them. Daniel drew them and swore to me they were reliable, so as much as you can trust the word of a pirate, they should lead where a certain person wants to go. I did the approximate measurements because as a person who has lived on the sea for all his life, he knows little of our measuring devices. Call me an old grumpy obscurant, but sometimes I feel like the progress is a curse sent upon us.

I’m not very much worried for Daniel as I know he can take care of himself, and if not, there is a noose waiting for every pirate, they say, and everyone will meet their destiny sooner or later. My house and properties are probably confiscated, in that case I ask you to just make sure my household is safe as they never knew anything about my activities whatsoever.

You have probably already met the person I entrusted with this letter, he is a good boy who would sacrifice his life for me, which I very much hope will not be necessary. I ask you to help him as much as it is possible for you. He had no family when I took him in and has thus nowhere to go. If need be, I left a small amount of money at our common friend’s house, use them if necessary.

Thank you for all and please know that I’ve always highly valued our friendship. I’m hoping to see you again, here or elsewhere. I took care of not naming the persons in this letter in case it doesn’t get in the right hands, but whoever is reading this now should know that Iker Casillas is the disgrace of the noble blood, not me, and that I hope for him to burn in Hell eternally.

Xabier Alonso Olano

Francesc cannot help but smile while he is reading it, and he laughs openly at the last sentence. Old good clever Xabi.

He lays the empty cup on the table and gets up. Going to his office, he opens the lockable drawer in his desk and puts the maps and the letter there. He doesn’t suppose anyone would dare to search his house, but he doesn’t want them to just lay around. Then he walks out and thinks for a moment.

“Álvaro?” he calls.

Then he rubs his temples.

“Or whatever your name was, I was too drunk to be sure now.”

“So I suppose Casillas wants to know something about someone sailing to India,” Daniel says, sitting in an armchair and calmly putting his feet on the polished wood of Casillas’ writing desk.

“I... it was what he wanted to know, but I have nothing to tell, I swear!” David blurts out.

“It doesn’t matter,” Daniel shrugs. “Make something up.”

David gulps.

“Wh-what?”

“Well, if you tell him your master met a giant fish that could talk and told him about mermaids, he probably won’t believe you, but how could he see through a believable lie? He has you as a spy because he has no other way of knowing anything that is going on in your house.”

“You... you want me to lie to Casillas?” David whispers.

“Well, I lie to him all the time,” Daniel grins. “So, just give me some bases. We’ll present him with a good story.”

Andrés is suspiciously watching Álvaro Arbeloa walking in the direction of the building the farmers sleep in.

“He’s coming here,” he says.

“Good,” Gerard grins. “That’s what we need.”

“Are you sure that playing idiots is the right tactics, Gerard?” Jesús frowns.

“It’s not,” Pinto says. “But it doesn’t require much effort from Gerard.”

Gerard kicks him and looks around.

“The plan is clear. To persuade them this is a property no one would want. Are you ready?”

Pinto scratches his head.

“Well, I don’t know if I didn’t just forget what you were saying.”

“Great!” Gerard smiles. “Everyone take an example from Pinto.”

In the next moment, Álvaro walks in and looks at them.

“Where is my horse?” he asks.

“Your horse?” Gerard asks.

“Yes, my horse. Do you know what a horse is?”

“Of course, my lord,” Gerard nods. “But I haven’t seen yours.”

“It was in the stables and now it is gone!”

“That happens sometimes,” Pinto nods.

“What do you mean that it happens?”

“Well, the horses sometimes disappear from there. We don’t know why. They are simply gone,” Andrés says.

“It’s probably the punishment of God,” Jesús adds.

Álvaro grits his teeth and turns to him with a dangerous expression.

“Whoever says this phrase next gets five lashes, remember it!” he growls.

Daniel is walking in circles around the room, grinning more and more.

“I like it!” he says finally.

“What good is there about telling Casillas that Puyol changed his plans and wants to go to the north?” David asks.

“It means Casillas will want his people to go south because he believes me,” Daniel smiles.

“But that will mean that they will get to India before Puyol.”

Daniel gives him a compassionate smile.

“And if I now tell you to go south, which exact direction will you go? How far?”

David shrugs. Daniel lays a hand on his shoulder.

“To go south is really broad. I will send Casillas’ men another way than Puyol, and if everything goes well, Puyol should get the correct maps.”

David gives a small smile.

“And where will you send Casillas’ men?” he asks.

Daniel narrows his eyes and chuckles.

“Somewhere from where they’ll never return. Too bad they don’t want to take Casillas on board.”

“But...” David whispers. “But Casillas will kill you for that.”

“Maybe he will,” Daniel smiles. “Maybe I’m cleverer than he thinks.”

He looks in the direction of the door and sighs.

“We need to persuade Casillas that I got it out of you somehow,” he says. “He won’t believe you just changed your mind. Sorry, I have to hit you at least once.”

“Wh... no!” David protests. “It’s... I’d have to explain to Villa how I came to it!”

“Even better,” Daniel shrugs. “Finally you’ll tell him about that bastard.”

“I can’t!” David protests. “Casillas would kill me, or Villa would... he would think I betrayed him, and I... I don’t want to lose him.”

Daniel shrugs.

“Then you’ll have to make something up. Hold on the desk.”

David grabs the edge of the desk and closes his eyes when Daniel hits him. He is sure Daniel doesn’t even use half of his strength.

“Alright?” Daniel asks him.

“Don’t worry,” David assures him, blinking the tears away. “I’m used to worse.”

Xavi looks out of the window and curses quietly.

“What’s up?” Sergio’s sleepy voice asks from the door.

“You are, at last!” Xavi snaps.

“When did I get this drunk?” Sergio whines and scratches his head.

“Well, I don’t know. You disappeared somewhere with señor Fàbregas and when you returned, you were both quite merry already.”

A dreamy smile appears on Sergio’s face for a moment. Then he looks around.

“Where’s David?” he asks.

“I would like to know that as well,” Xavi murmurs. “He should have been already here, unless they moved the market to Madrid.”

“Maybe I should go look for him?” Sergio suggests.

“I doubt you’ll be even able to go upstairs to serve Villa breakfast!” Xavi snaps. “Let’s hope he’s not stupid enough to get lost by day on the way to the market.”

“Even I’m not that stupid,” Sergio grins and grabs the platter from the table.

David walks out of Casillas’ house. Or rather stumbles, because only a while ago he was convinced he would never get out of it again, at least not alive. He doesn’t even know where the courage to tell Casillas the things he told him came from. For the love of Abora, he actually threatened him!

He slides down the wall in the corner of the yard and looks up in the sun. Since his mother’s death he hasn’t prayed. Somehow in this foreign world it didn’t feel natural for him. Not that he remembers much of the Canary Islands, but his mother and the others were a connection between him and his culture. Alone he didn’t feel the connection anymore. But now it feels more than appropriate, it comes by itself. He feels the sun rays on his face warming him up like he is suddenly reborn.

The tears start flowing freely and he doesn’t try to stop them, sobbing quietly, unaware of a pair of dark eyes watching him from the window above him.

Xavi turns away from the stove when David walks in.

“It was high...” he starts when he spots the red bruise on David’s cheek. “What is this?”

“Nothing,” David mumbles.

“Sergio!” Xavi yells. “Come here!”

Sergio appears in the kitchen carrying two buckets of water. He drops them with two loud thuds.

“Who did this to you?” he asks.

“Nobody,” David says and tries to pass Sergio.

Sergio stops him and turns his face to him.

“Just tell me who it was and I’ll smash his face!” he growls.

David shakes his head.

“It’s nothing. Just let it be, Sergio. It was well deserved after all.”

Sergio just blinks and turns to Xavi.

“Well deserved?” he frowns. “You understand him?”

Xavi sighs and shrugs.

“Like I ever did.”

Francesc stands at the doorstep of his kitchen and watches Álvaro wolfing down some pottage and bread. He smiles. The cook, an old woman who has been in the service of his family since Francesc was little, gives him an amused look.

“It’s the third plate,” she says. “Where did you find this hungry puppy, señor?”

Francesc laughs because Álvaro indeed looks like a hungry puppy. He almost wants to pet him.

“Well, I didn’t, he found me.”

He pours himself a cup of wine and motions for the cook to leave the kitchen. Then he sits at the table.

“You know Carles Puyol, I suppose?” he asks.

Álvaro nods.

“You know where he lives?”

Álvaro nods again.

“Alright. So I need you to go to his house and tell him that I have something to show him that I wouldn’t like to take out of this house, so I need him to come here.”

“Of course,” Álvaro says and jumps up.

“Hey, calm down,” Francesc says and pulls him down. “Finish this first. Who knows when I’ll feed you again.”

Then he chuckles and pats him on the shoulder.

“Just joking.”

David is helping Xavi to pluck some herbs in the garden. He managed to persuade Sergio to go serve Villa the lunch so that he wouldn’t have to go there, but he’s not sure how long he can manage to avoid him. He needs at least enough time to come up with a story for his bruise.

“Sergio was so drunk that he thought he was living in an empty keg in the backyard of the tavern,” Xavi says. “It took me and señor Fàbregas quite a long time to get him out of there, because...”

Xavi stops mid-sentence and looks somewhere behind David’s shoulder. There is a boy standing at the entrance, and David suddenly realizes that he knows him. At least he knows his eyes really well.

“No way!” Xavi breathes.

“What...” David starts but by that time the boy opens the gate resolutely and walks in.

“This is going to be really nasty,” Xavi says. “Stay here. I’m going to tell Villa that his beloved Fábio is back.”

Chapter Text

Villa appears in the garden so quickly that it seems like he flew down the stairs. Xavi runs out after him and Sergio peaks out of the stables curiously. David just stands there, not knowing what to do. He is still stunned by the fact that the man working for Casillas is actually Fábio, the one whose place in Villa’s house he occupies now.

When Villa grabs him by the collar, Fábio doesn’t even resist, he just raises his hand like he wants to stop him before Villa can say anything.

“Do whatever you want with me, call the guards, but let me tell you something, please!” he says.

“I won’t call the guards, I will deal with you myself!” Villa snaps. “I can handle a petty thief.”

“Just let me tell you...”

“I don’t want to hear anything!” Villa dismisses him and turns to his household. “Xavi, David, go inside!”

Xavi takes David around the shoulders and leads him back to the house. Sergio follows them hesitantly.

“Not you, Sergio!” Villa says. “You will help me.”

Francesc unlocks the drawer and pulls out the parchments. Then he lays them on the desk in front of Carles, who pulls them closer to him.

“Where did you take these?” he asks.

“From Alonso,” Francesc says. “Last night the boy I sent for you appeared in my house and gave me these maps and a letter from Xabi. According to Xabi, the pirate drew these and Xabi did the measurement.”

Carles looks at the maps like he’s looking at a legendary treasure.

“Good God, this is... this will save me so much time and trouble!” he breathes.

“You and Villa, if he gave you his money,” Francesc notes.

“Right,” Carles nods. “But he can profit from it as well. If I find the way to India, I will of course mention to the King and the Queen who financed it.”

Francesc chuckles.

“Better don’t mention it before.”

The he stops laughing and looks at Carles like something hit him over the head.

“Good God,” he whispers. “Now I understand.”

“Understand what?” Carles asks, dumbfounded.

“What Casillas is up to,” Francesc whispers.

David storms in the stables together with Xavi, who apparently was running after him but couldn’t stop him. He looks at Villa, at the whip in his hand, and for a moment freezes on the spot. Then he makes an abrupt movement and Sergio barely manages to grab him around the waist and pull him back.

“Stop!” David cries. “Please, stop!”

Villa indeed pauses for a while. Fábio lifts his head and looks David right in the eyes.

“Tell him!” he whispers. “Tell him about Casillas!”

David turns to Villa, looking more distressed than Villa has ever seen him. His voice shakes and breaks like he’s close to crying.

“I... Whatever he stole from you, he didn’t want to, it was Casillas who made him do it!” he blurts out. “Please, please, stop!”

“Not me, you fool!” Fábio breathes. “Save yourself!”

“What is there about you and Casillas, David?” Villa asks.

“I... It was me who told him about señor Alonso and the pirate,” David says. “Well, I told Fábio. I listened to what you and señor Puyol were talking about, because Casillas wanted to know it.”

Villa’s eyes go wide.

“But because Casillas forced him to do it,” Fábio says, making a frustrated move that suggests he would wave his hands if they weren’t bound to one of the beams. “He told him that you would kill him if you thought he was trying to escape, and all the things. He was scared to death, he would do anything. I swear he didn’t want to tell him anything more, but Casillas ordered me to bring him back to his house today. I don’t know what he said or did to him then, but I saw him crying. That’s why I came here.”

“Oh really?” Villa says sarcastically. “When did you become a honorable man who protects the others, Fábio?”

Fábio hangs his head with a resigned sigh.

“Think whatever you want of me,” he says. “But I’m telling you the truth.”

“Alright,” Villa says. “So David told Casillas about Alonso because he was scared. That doesn’t excuse anything that you did, does it?”

Fábio takes a breath like he wants to say something, but then decides against it.

“No.”

“Then this is justified,” Villa says and raises the whip again.

He only manages to deliver five more lashes when David finally breaks, or rather slips, free from Sergio’s grip. For a moment Villa thinks David will launch himself at him. Then David steps in the way of the whip and covers Fábio’s body with his.

“Go on,” he whispers and squeezes his eyes shut.

Álvaro Arbeloa marches around the property, followed by Raul who is trailing behind him like an obedient dog. Álvaro doesn’t know why Casillas spent any money for this at all. Now that the crops have withered, there is nothing a profit could come from. The few animals they have there barely make for the farmers to have something to eat. And who knows what happened to the crops, so it’s not at all certain that next year the soil will be still fertile.

On top of everything, the farmers are a bunch of idiots. In the morning Álvaro saw Gerard having a serious conversation with a pig, Pinto asked Álvaro if he already found his horse and added that sometimes strange things fell from the sky here, which was backed up by Jesús telling him a long story about a rain of frogs that apparently happened before Casillas bought the property.

“Such things always announce the punishment of God,” Jesús concluded.

Álvaro didn’t even have the mental strength to give him the promised five lashes.

“I don’t know what to do with this land,” he sighs finally. “I think I’ll tell Casillas to sell it.”

“But... to sell a land where crops wither?” Raul asks.

“Of course not now,” Álvaro rolls his eyes. “Wait until the harvest, then pretend the crops are already harvested.”

Raul nods. He only hopes Casillas will think this option as good as it seems to him.

Villa walks in David’s and Sergio’s room and remains standing practically on the doorstep. David turns his head slightly and looks at him curtly. Then he looks away and soaks a piece of cloth in a bowl of water. He touches Fábio’s back with the cloth gently.

“Now you really must think I am a monster,” Villa says quietly.

“You were angry,” David replies, avoiding his eyes.

“You don’t mean what you say.”

For the first time David looks him in the eyes and there is something fierce and accusing in them that Villa doesn’t know.

“You could have let him speak.”

“Only under the whip they tell the truth,” Villa replies.

“Under the whip everyone lies, my lord,” David says firmly.

Villa doesn’t know what to say to that. He remembers the scars on David’s back well. They explain his reactions, and then not completely. Like there is something else behind it as well.

“I... I’m sorry,” Villa says and turns away.

When he is almost out of the door, he looks back. He sees David caressing Fábio’s hair gently, tears rolling down his cheeks. Villa is sure that the whole Barcelona has to hear his heart break.

Francesc looks at Carles triumphantly.

“We didn’t know why Casillas wanted to destroy Alonso or why would he ever be interested in things connected with sailing, but now it’s clear!”

“Not to me,” Carles shakes his head.

“He only became interested in it after Villa became interested in it! Because he knew that if you found the way to India, you’d mention Villa to the King and the Queen. Which would certainly make them forget about a certain scandal, and Villa would have his status restored. That’s why he was interested in that boy, for God’s sake, I was so blind!”

“What boy?” Carles frowns.

“The slave Villa bought,” Francesc explains. “If only Villa knew how to talk to people without scaring them...”

“But that’s Villa!” Carles laughs. “He gives you that face and you don’t utter a word.”

“Well, the important thing now is to be quicker than Casillas,” Francesc says. “Do you have the ships ready now?”

“In a few weeks I can go,” Carles says.

“Let’s hope Casillas has nothing so far,” Francesc nods. “As I know him, he will choose wrong people anyway. He relies on people like Albiol and Arbeloa just because they have noble blood but they are useless.”

“Why? I heard that Albiol successfully ruined Casillas’ property within weeks!” Carles laughs.

Francesc nods.

“Villa was probably right when he didn’t want to sell it to him. He had a feeling.”

“Why did you do this?” David asks quietly, covering Fábio’s back with a wet sheet.

“Someone had to stop him,” Fábio whispers.

“Casillas? But... I’ve always thought you... wanted to work for him. I mean, you’re not a slave, right? He couldn’t just... kill you like that, he’d be punished for it.”

“Maybe, but... nobody would be looking for me if I just disappeared, right? And besides, he had good arguments for me to stay.”

“What arguments?”

Fábio sighs.

“Cris,” he whispers. “I mean... when I came here from Portugal, I was with a... friend. I was never a thief before Casillas made me become one, you know. But Cris was, and he was good. Only one day he made the mistake of trying to steal from Casillas. I swear, that man has eyes everywhere. He called the guards of course, and made them arrest Cris. I went to see him, to ask for mercy for Cris because I was desperate... and foolish enough to think Casillas knew what mercy was. He proposed a deal to me – if I helped him to destroy Villa, he would ask the regent to release Cris.”

He looks at David and shakes his head.

“Now I see how stupid I was. He probably lied to me and Cris is already long dead.”

“No, don’t say this, he’s not!” David says quickly.

“Why are you so nice to me?” Fábio asks. “After all I did to you...”

David shakes his head resolutely.

“You didn’t do anything. If there’s someone I hate, it’s Casillas... And maybe myself.”

It takes Sergio a long time to find Villa. He checks the bedrooms and the office to finally find him in his father‘s old room which is closed most of the time. Villa is sitting in the big old armchair, looking out in the darkness behind the window, holding a cup of wine.

“Here you are, señor!” Sergio says. “Xavi sent me to ask...”

“No, I don’t want to eat anything!” Villa snaps.

“Of course,” Sergio mumbles. “I was telling him that, but he just doesn’t understand this sentence.”

“Sergio...” Villa says and looks at him. “Could you go to Francesc’s house and tell him that I ask him to come here now?”

“N-now?” Sergio asks.

“Yes,” Villa nods. “Say that I’m very sorry to disturb him so late, but it’s urgent.”

Sergio nods and leaves the room. Xavi looks at him when he enters the kitchen.

“So?”

“He looks terrible,” Sergio informs him. “He probably went mad. I found him sitting in his father’s room, drinking, and he sent me for señor Fàbregas at this hour.”

Xavi looks at him worriedly.

“What are we going to do?”

“Well, I’m going to señor Fàbregas,” Sergio shrugs. “Maybe, if Villa really goes mad, he will let me stay with him.”

“Only if he loses his mind as well,” Xavi deadpans.

Iker walks in the kitchen of his house and looks around. He almost never goes here, he just supposes the food appears on his table when he’s hungry. The kitchen is empty, only Daniel is sitting by the table, peeling an orange using a huge knife.

“Have you seen Fábio?” Iker asks him.

“Is Fábio the one who looks like a wet hedgehog?” Daniel asks calmly. “If so, I haven’t seen him since we had lunch.”

Iker curses quietly.

“What about the maps?” he barks them.

“I am working on them,” Daniel says. “Not at the moment, but I eventually will.”

“You better make the eventually really soon!”

Daniel grins and stabs the knife into a wooden chopping board.

“As you wish,” he says.

Iker looks nervously at the knife still vibrating in the board and leaves the kitchen.

Sergio knocks at Francesc’s door and waits. The door opens after a while and a young boy looks at Sergio questioningly. Sergio frowns and stares at him. Stares at him in the who-are-you-I-don’t-know-you-what-are-you-doing-here-I-don’t-want-you-to-be-here-and-why-didn’t-Cesc-tell-me-about-you way. The boy apparently doesn’t notice Sergio’s inner fury, though.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Um... I need to talk to Francesc Fàbregas,” Sergio says.

“Sure, I’ll call him,” the boy nods and disappears in the house.

“And what about inviting me in?” Sergio growls and leans over the door.

Francesc appears after a while and gives Sergio a surprised look.

“Sergio!” he says with a mocking smile. “What are you doing here? Can’t you go a day without seeing me?”

Truth is, Sergio almost can’t.

“Villa sent me to ask you to come over to our house,” he says.

“Now?” Francesc frowns.

“Yes, he says he’s sorry but it’s urgent. And I think that too.”

“Oh my God,” Francesc rolls his eyes. “Did he kill anyone?”

Sergio shrugs.

“Well, almost, I’d say.”

Francesc turns back.

“Álvaro!” he calls. “Could you go and tell Isco to saddle two horses, please?”

Álvaro nods and runs to the stables. Sergio looks at him and frowns.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“Ah, Álvaro, he’s Alonso’s old servant. My new one, then.”

Sergio snorts.

“Didn’t know you cared about stray dogs.”

“But of course I do,” Francesc says. “You know I have a good heart.”

Then he laughs.

“You’re jealous, Sergio!”

“No, I’m not!” Sergio protests.

“Oh yes, you are. “

Sergio lowers his eyes.

“Well, what am I? Just a groom. A groom or a servant, it’s not a big difference.”

“No, it’s not,” Francesc admits. “Unless the groom is you.”

Villa is still in his father’s room when they arrive. Francesc frowns when he walks in.

“Since when do you spend time in this grave?”

“Since I wish I could go to one,” Villa says gloomily.

“Good God,” Francesc sighs. “What did you do?”

“Fábio,” Villa says. “He came back today. I whipped him.”

“And you hate yourself for it?” Francesc raises his brows.

“David hates me for it.”

Francesc sits in the armchair opposite to Villa.

“Fábio worked for Casillas,” Villa explains. “That’s why he took Carles’ plans. And then Casillas made David spy on me, and Fábio was the liaison between them. He says when he saw David crying he came here to finally put an end to it. I don’t know if I believe him.”

“You don’t know,” Francesc repeats. “You think he just came here to get killed by you like that. Because he fancied being whipped by you, eh?”

“Now I see it too. David saw it from the beginning. He hates me for not believing him, and probably thinks I am a monster... you’d have to see him, he’s... he despises me. A slave despises me, and is completely right.”

Francesc sighs and gets up. Villa gives him a surprised look.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To see how much damage you’ve done,” Francesc says and heads down the stairs.

Chapter Text

When Francesc enters the room, David immediately sits up on his bed. Francesc smiles and raises his hands.

“I swear that I’m coming in peace,” he says.

David is still looking at him with suspicion when he approaches Fábio.

“Show me,” he says and carefully lifts the wet sheet off Fábio’s back.

Fábio sinks his teeth in the pillow. Francesc winces despite himself.

“It’s my fault,” David whispers. “If I told Villa everything, this didn’t have to happen. But...”

“But it’s so hard to talk to Villa,” Francesc smiles.

“Yes,” David breathes out. “And I was scared. Casillas held a dagger to my throat today, it was a miracle that he didn’t kill me. Or, well, not a miracle really, it was Daniel’s work.”

“Daniel?” Francesc raises his brows. “As in THAT Daniel? The pirate?”

David nods.

“What is he doing in Casillas’ house?”

“Casillas wants him to draw the maps with the way to India,” Fábio says quietly. “To have them before Puyol.”

“Well, but Puyol already has them,” Francesc grins. “So Casillas will probably still be second. As he always is.”

Fábio lifts his head in surprise and the sheet on his back slides down a little bit. He lets out a stream of Portuguese curses.

“You lay down and don’t even move!” Francesc says. “It’s not like you have your back in one piece now.”

He walks over to David’s bed and sits down.

“And you now tell me,” he says and takes David by the hand. “What, or rather who, does this situation remind you of?”

David looks at him with astonishment. Then he lowers his eyes and it seems like he tries to hide in some shell. Francesc squeezes his hand gently. David takes a deep breath and bites his lip like he’s not sure he has the courage to say the name. Then he breathes it out like in a dream.

“Kun.”

Álvaro lifts his head when Isco walks in the kitchen.

“If you ate my dinner, you’re dead!” he says, pointing his finger at Álvaro.

“I didn’t!” Álvaro protests.

“Last time you did. But it’s alright, I forgive you. Because it was pottage and I don’t like it anyway.”

He walks over to the stove and starts checking the pots.

“Who was that guy?” Álvaro asks.

“Sergio? It’s señor Villa’s groom. Why?”

“He looked like he didn’t really like me.”

Isco chuckles and sits at the table.

“That is probably because he likes señor Fàbregas.”

“Likes... as in...”

“As in they always go to drink together and señor Fàbregas returns home in a really good mood, and Sergio also comes here much more often than he normally would, and all the things that tell you a man like señor Fàbregas wouldn’t be just friends like that with a groom, if you’re not completely dumb.”

“But why would he despise me because of that?” Álvaro asks.

“Because he’s jealous, maybe?” Isco suggests. “Sees a beautiful young thing here that he doesn’t know, that’s enough to be jealous.”

Álvaro looks at him with astonishment.

“You... you think I’m beautiful?”

Isco takes a breath and then clears his throat.

“Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“I’m probably delirious. Out of hunger,” Isco says and takes a bite of the bread he’s holding.

Francesc comes back to the room where Villa is still sitting by the window.

“Jesus, Villa, what came over you?” he asks. “It’s a damn miracle the boy is still alive.”

“You know what came over me,” Villa mumbles. “I hear ‘Casillas’ and I see red.”

Francesc sighs and sits in the armchair.

“Well, he’s in the best hands, I think,” he says then. “David knows what he’s doing.”

“He hates me, right?” Villa asks.

“I don’t think he does,” Francesc says and picks up the cup of wine. “You just hit his sensitive spot. One he wanted to forget forever.”

Villa gives him a confused look. Francesc takes a sip.

“The sensitive spot named Kun,” he says.

“What... or who... is Kun?” Villa frowns.

“Was,” Francesc corrects him. “Your predecessor, dear friend. Back in Valencia. One day David forgot to close the gate to the pigpen and his old master’s pig got away. To save David, Kun said it was him who didn’t close the gate. And well, David’s old master had even worse temper than you have. This is why he acts like this now, Villa. He’s living it through once again. I don’t think he hates you, he hates his old master, and right now kind of sees him in you. But it will pass, don’t worry.”

“Why has he never told me that?” Villa asks, seemingly a bit hurt.

“Because Villa, let’s be honest, you are not an easy person to talk to, leave alone about such personal things.”

“I know,” Villa sighs. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Go to sleep,” Francesc says. “And wait. If the boy loves you, he will forgive you sooner or later.”

“I’m not sure that I deserve it,” Villa says gloomily and puts the empty cup back on the table.

Francesc gets up and heads to the door.

“By the way, he’s braver than you think,” he says then and smiles. “Didn’t say a word with Casillas’ dagger against his throat. I bet Casillas is beyond angry right now, he was taught a lesson by a slave.”

Villa looks up.

“A tiny dot of light in the darkness, then,” he says.

Daniel grins for himself when he finishes the last map and leans back in the chair. The first part of the plan is finished. But his plans go beyond that.

Iker walks in and looks at the table.

“Are you done?” he asks.

“I am,” Daniel nods.

Iker looks at the maps. Then he looks back at Daniel furiously.

“How is anyone supposed to read this? There are no measurements.”

“I can’t do them,” Daniel shrugs. “I live... well, lived... on the sea for all my life. I know every drop of the ocean by heart. I don’t need your weird tools, I just follow the stars and the instincts.”

“Then how do you think these maps can work?”

“You’re not a sailor,” Daniel says calmly. “If I showed them to a sailor and explained them, they would know how to follow them.”

Iker frowns.

“You don’t want to give your men maps with no explanations just like that, trust me,” Daniel continues. “They will lead them nowhere.”

“Good,” Iker says. “Good, I will take you to speak to the sailors. But God help you if it’s useless.”

“I think God doesn’t help pirates, but I will bear it in mind,” Daniel grins.

David looks at Xavi who peaks in the room.

“How is he?” Xavi asks.

David shrugs. Xavi steps in and hands him a cup.

“This should help a bit,” he says.

“What is it?” David asks.

Xavi clears his throat.

“Basically... poppy seeds. They relieve the pain, besides... other things. Don’t tell Sergio I know this, though, he would think stupid, inappropriate things as always.”

“Thank you,” David says quietly.

“I’ll tell Sergio he will sleep in my room now,” Xavi says. “He won’t like it, but I’ll make him shut up.”

David manages to give a small smile. Xavi pats him on the shoulder and leaves the room.

Sergio turns to Francesc when he walks in the stables.

“Are you going home?”

“Yes. I’ve already fixed all Villa’s mistakes I could tonight,” Francesc says. “I need some rest.”

Sergio nods and grabs Francesc’s saddle.

“Are you still jealous of Álvaro?” Francesc asks mockinly.

“Always,” Sergio purses his lips. “He gets to share the house with you.”

“The house, not the bed.”

“I hope so.”

“Sergio!” Francesc folds his arms. “You deserve to be spanked.”

“By you?” Sergio grins.

“Who else?” Francesc says and pushes him into a stack of straw.

Sergio laughs madly, then pauses for a while and looks at him.

“Not that it would be too probable right now... but what if Villa walks on us?” he asks.

Francesc scratches his head.

“Well, that wouldn’t be such a tragedy because... Villa already knows about us.”

Sergio forgets to close his mouth.

“What?”

“I had a weak moment and told him.”

“But...” Sergio looks at him, dumbfounded. “How come we are still alive, then?”

“Because it would be a bit hypocritical from Villa to say anything against us,” he smiles. “Long story, we don’t have time for it now. Unless you want to talk instead.”

“No way,” Sergio grins impishly, pins Francesc down and kisses him.

“What are you doing?” Francesc yelps when Sergio bites his neck.

“Marking my territory,” Sergio growls.

“You’re hopeless,” Francesc sighs.

David wakes up in the middle of the night, finding the candle on the table already burnt-out. He finds a new one and lights it up.

Fábio stirs in his sleep and David comes closer, caressing his hair comfortingly. The extract from poppy seeds Xavi gave him indeed works wonders as he was at least able to fall asleep. Now he opens his eyes and frowns, searching around him to determine where he is. When he sees David he seemingly calms down.

David takes the candle and places it on the table between their beds.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Fábio whispers with a crooked smile.

“I am,” David says. “They come in the dark.”

“Who?”

“Tibicenas. Demons,” David whispers. “I’ve seen them. They come from the shadows like dogs.”

He sits on his bed and folds his arms, staring defiantly into the darkness at the other side of the room.

“But I won’t let them come this time.”

When Francesc enters the house, he can hear loud voices from the kitchen. He peaks in to find Isco and Álvaro at the table, playing cards and arguing.

“Cheater!” Isco growls.

“I didn’t cheat!” Álvaro defends himself.

“You did. You had six cards, put one in, then I looked again and you still had six.”

“Because one was hidden behind another.”

“And that’s cheating,” Isco says contentedly.

“It’s not. It’s your fault that you can’t count!”

Francesc folds his arms and coughs. Isco and Álvaro jump up and look at him.

“I warn you, if you lose your monthly wages, I won’t give you more,” he says.

“I won’t lose to this one, señor,” Isco frowns. “He’s a little cheater but I’ll show him who is the true master here.”

“After you take care of my horse, if you please,” Francesc nods.

Isco gets up and heads to the door. Then he turns around.

“Don’t touch the cards!” he warns Álvaro. “I’ll be right back.”

“What have I brought upon myself?” Francesc sighs and closes the door behind him.

Sergio groans when Xavi shakes him unceremoniously in the morning.

“I knew why I didn’t want to sleep with you!” he barks. “David wakes me up gently, you know!”

“David is too good to everyone, even to those who don’t deserve it. Like you,” Xavi sneers. “Get up, the work won’t do itself.”

“Maybe Villa won’t need anything today,” Sergio says hopefully. “Maybe he got too drunk. Or drowned himself in the wine. Or...”

“Get up!” Xavi yells.

“Fine, fine...” Sergio mumbles and gets up.

When they come to the kitchen, to their surprise they find David already there.

“What are you doing here?” Sergio asks.

“I work here, if you don’t remember,” David says calmly.

“Alright, but...” Sergio starts, earning a poke in the ribs from Xavi. “Alright.”

Villa blinks in surprise when he sees David entering the room with his breakfast like every morning. Only this morning David looks like he barely got some sleep and there is something strangely fierce in his face, mostly reflecting in his eyes that burn like two pieces of coal.

“I didn’t expect you,” Villa says quietly.

“Why not, I still work here,” David says, his voice flat and calm.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Villa sighs and looks at him.

“Could we talk?” he asks.

“If it’s what you want,” David shrugs.

“Only if it’s what you want.”

David hesitates and then shakes his head.

“I don’t want to talk.”

Villa bows his head.

“Because I know what you want to talk about,” David says. “And I think I can’t talk to you about it. Not now.”

“I understand.”

David turns around and heads to the door.

“Just tell me...” Villa calls and waits until David looks at him. “If you will forgive me, one day.”

David looks him in the eyes and suddenly looks much older and wiser than Villa has ever seen him.

“Forgive, maybe,” he says quietly. “Forget, never.”

He walks out of the room and closes the door quietly. Villa makes two steps to the door, touching the wooden panel like he could melt through it and touch David’s shoulder to stop him. Then he leans back against the door and slides down to the floor, looking at the ceiling bluntly.

David at the other side of the door does exactly the same thing.

Chapter Text

Iker glances at Daniel who gives him a wide grin as the carriage heads out of the centre of Barcelona. Iker sighs and looks out of the window. He hates traveling, and traveling in the company of a pirate makes it even worse. The sun is not even up yet and he knows that they won‘t arrive to the port before noon. He can‘t even pretend that he‘s looking at the maps because it‘s too dark to see anyways.

“Know any good jokes, my lord?” Daniel asks when the silence becomes too awkward.

Iker looks at him, wishing he could kill with his eyes.

“No, then,” Daniel shrugs.

Iker slumps back on the bench of the carriage and closes his eyes. This journey will be really long.

Sergio stops the horse in Francesc‘s backyard and goes to knock on the door. When the door opens and Álvaro comes out, Sergio frowns.

“Señor Fàbregas is not here,” Álvaro informs him.

“And where is he?” Sergio asks.

Álvaro giggles.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me about his every step. But I suppose he has some duties as the captain of the regent’s guards, doesn’t he?”

Sergio purses his lips when he realizes that this boy is outsmarting him and apparently is really enjoying it. He clears his throat and narrows his shoulders.

“Sure. I brought back the horse he let me use the other night.”

Álvaro nods and looks in the direction of the stables.

“Isco!” he calls.

“Don’t talk to me!” an angry voice sounds from the stables.

Álvaro chuckles.

“You can go on sulking if you want to, but there’s a horse requiring your attention!” he yells.

Isco comes out of the stables, frowns at Álvaro and takes the horse from Sergio. Then he points his finger at Álvaro.

“Tonight.”

“What? You will show me who is the true master again and lose the rest of your money?” Álvaro laughs. “I can’t wait.”

Isco lets out an angry growl and leads the horse to the stables.

“You want me to tell señor Fàbregas anything?” Álvaro asks Sergio.

Sergio takes a breath, then shakes his head and almost runs away. Truth to be told, he doesn’t want Álvaro to talk to Cesc at all.

Villa scribbles some numbers in his accounting book, then frowns, crosses them out and throws the quill away angrily.

The work has accumulated over the past few days. He has a stack of documents he has to go through, money he has to count and debts he has to pay, but he just can‘t bring himself to do anything. He doesn‘t sleep, almost doesn‘t eat, which worries Xavi much more than it worries him, and doesn‘t talk to anyone, which isn‘t that different from normal since Carles is gone, Xabi is God knows where, and his only friend left is Francesc who after all almost doesn‘t have time for his own life because he has to deal with Villa‘s.

He decides to take some fresh air before going back to work. He gets up and walks out of the room. At the end of the hallway he meets David. By one look at his face he can tell that he doesn’t get much more sleep. He looks at the platter full of food David is carrying and sighs.

“Leave it on the table, I’ll eat later,” he says.

David nods and passes him without a single word. Villa sighs again. If he felt miserable before, now he feels even worse.

Xavi turns around and shoots a suspecting look at Sergio who is pushing around the contents of his plate. That in itself is very strange, because usually Sergio wolfs everything down in mere minutes and now even David is gone, having finished his lunch earlier. But the strangest thing is that Sergio is quiet. And that indeed doesn‘t happen often.

“Sergio?” Xavi asks carefully.

Sergio just groans and pushes the plate away.

“What’s wrong with you?” Xavi asks and sits down. “You’re acting strange since morning.”

“I’ve been just thinking,” Sergio mumbles.

“Thinking?” Xavi blinks. “You never do that!”

Sergio kicks him under the table. Xavi folds his arms.

“Alright, thinking about what? Because right now, let me tell you, there are important things going on. Señor Villa is on the brink of going mad, David probably already went mad because he spends the nights awake, staring into the darkness and mumbling weird things about demons. There is the Portuguese fool as well, and if it wasn’t for señor Fàbregas, this house would have been in ruins already, so don’t tell me you have problems as well!”

“Well, I was thinking about señor Fàbregas.”

Xavi frowns.

“What about him?”

Sergio sighs and looks at him in such tragic way that it almost scares Xavi, but in a way he also wants to laugh.

“I have to tell you something, Xavi,” Sergio says in a serious tone.

“If this very serious matter is that you and señor Fàbregas are... well... more than just drinking companions, there’s no need to make such fuss about it because I know.”

“You... you know?” Sergio blurts out. “How?”

“I have eyes,” Xavi states.

Sergio stares at him for a moment and then slumps back in his chair.

“Well, it doesn’t matter because I might not be the only... companion, after all.”

Xavi looks at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Rather who,” Sergio says. “I mean señor Fàbregas’ new servant. Whom he says is really just a servant and there’s no one else and all, but...”

Xavi rolls his eyes and starts collecting the dirty dishes.

“If he says it, then believe him and stop thinking about nonsense.”

“But... but you’d have to see him!” Sergio objects. “He’s younger than me, and pretty, and charming... and he already acts like señor Fàbregas’ house belongs to him!”

Xavi laughs at Sergio’s sour tone.

“And I bet he doesn’t even fathom that there is a stupid groom being jealous of him, and that he has never even looked at señor Fàbregas the way you think. For God’s sake, Sergio, for once think at least a bit more than your horses do and do something useful.”

“Like what?” Sergio asks, pursing his lips.

“Take the money señor Villa left here and go to pay the butcher or we will end up eating the hay from your stables.”

Sergio mumbles something in the sense of Xavi not having any heart, but then takes the money and goes to the front door. He almost bumps into Villa who is returning from his walk.

“I’m going to pay the butcher,” Sergio says. “Do you need anything else in the city, señor?”

Villa looks at him and smirks.

“Unless you can bring me the head of Iker Casillas, no.”

“I will try my best to get hold of it, señor,” Sergio grins and runs out.

The regent Vilanova throws the last chicken bone on the plate, washes his hands and beckons the guards to open the door to the dining room.

Francesc walks in and salutes the regent in a way that suggests that he didn‘t find waiting for him to finish his chicken the best way to spend his time.

“Captain Fàbregas!” the regent smiles widely. “The other night I had dinner with your father, please send my best wishes to him.”

Francesc quickly translates the sentence in his head. The other night I made a deal with your father, so he will give me more money and you will get another promotion within the army, but please remind the old man so that he doesn’t forget about it.

“I certainly will,” Francesc nods. “As soon as I speak to him.”

Which will not be anytime soon because the only thing he ever speaks about is when I will get married.

“Now... as I understood from your message, you have information regarding the... pirate... who disappeared from the prison, is that right?”

“Exactly, my lord.”

“So... where is he?”

“Where he is right now I don’t know, but I know where he was after he disappeared from the prison,” Francesc smirks. “In the house of Iker Casillas.”

The regent chokes on the mandarine he’s eating.

“In the house of... but what would he be doing in the house of Iker Casillas?”

“Apparently, Casillas wanted some maps from him. So he was also the reason behind his sudden disappearance from the prison. I see no other possibility for him to escape than than someone bribed the guards.”

“Do you have any evidence for this?” the regent asks.

“I have a servant from Casillas’ house who will testify to this if need be, and another person who saw him there. However, right now nor Casillas, nor the pirate can be found.”

The regent gets up and makes a few steps towards the window before turning around.

“Talk to the head of the prison guards and tell him to find those who let Casillas bribe them. I want their names ready for the execution order. And when you hear from Casillas, let him know that I want to have a word with him.”

“Of course, my lord,” Francesc nods contentedly.

Iker Casillas is used to sleeping either in his own comfortable bed, or in places where they serve him decent meals and prepare him a soft, clean bed. Such places, unfortunately, don’t exist in the big ports.

This is the best inn he was able to find. He looks at the still repelling bed and considers not going to sleep at all so that he doesn’t have to touch it. On the contrary, Daniel looks like it is everything he needs and even more as he stretches out on the other bed contentedly.

“This is a nice place,” he notes.

“You think?” Iker growls. “I wonder for how long they didn’t clean this room.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Daniel smiles. “I’m not talking about the room.”

“What, then?”

“You can smell the sea here. Hear it. And the noises of the port. They are different from the city.”

Iker gives him a skeptical look. Daniel sighs.

“You’ll never understand that.”

“Probably not. I don’t find anything nice about the smell of fish, sound of waves and drunken sailors.”

Daniel shakes his head and smiles nostalgically.

“There’s all the beauty of the world in it.”

Francesc sits on the wooden chair and looks at Jordi Alba, the head of the prison guards. Years ago when they both were at the beginning of their careers in the army, they used to be good friends. Only then, mainly thanks to Francesc’s father’s fortune and connections, he went up before anyone could even blink, while Jordi, son of a fellow soldier, had to go step by step and this position was probably the highest he could go. The best thing he could hope for was to keep it. Which right now, with the regent being angry, wasn’t a probable scenario.

“It’s the pirate, isn’t it?” Jordi sighs. “I’m only thinking about that lately.”

“And what have you thought of so far?” Francesc asks.

“Nothing. He was just gone.”

“Nobody is just gone, Jordi,” Francesc says calmly. “I think... and the regent thinks the same... that someone bribed your guards.”

Jordi opens his mouth and shakes his head.

“Impossible. Who would do that for a pirate?”

“I know about someone rich enough to do it, and I also know why he would do it. Who was on the duty that night?”

Jordi scratches his head.

“Well, I don’t remember...”

Francesc gets up.

“Don’t play stupid to me, Jordi, you know it very well. If you didn’t, I doubt you could be in this position. I understand you want to protect whoever it was, friend or not, but it was their own fault to let the pirate go for a few coins. So?”

“Javi. Javier Martínez was on the duty.”

“Good,” Francesc nods.

“And what... what should I do with him?” Jordi asks.

“Make sure he sees the cell from the other side. There’s an execution order waiting for his name on the regent’s table already.”

Jordi gulps. Francesc shrugs and lays a hand on his shoulder.

“You know, when you take the noose off someone’s neck, it will likely end up on your own. Tell him that I highly recommend he confesses right away, it will spare him much pain.”

Jordi nods and swallows further protests, just in case there is a free noose that could end up on his neck as well.

“Oh, I almost forgot...” Francesc says. “I need a favor from you.”

“What... favor?”

“Could you find one guy for me? It’s rather important.”

“You mean... a prisoner?” Jordi frowns.

“Yes. Maybe he’s not in this prison, I don’t know... I thought you could ask elsewhere in Barcelona... He’s Portuguese, called Cris or Cristiano, and was arrested for stealing a few months ago.”

Jordi looks at Francesc incredulously.

“There are dozens of such thieves, besides, if it was months ago, it’s not very probable he’s still in prison. Why would we be feeding him for so long here?”

“I have good reasons to think he might still be there, and I have no illusions that the few pieces of bread would be such loss. Could you look for him, then?”

Jordi scratches his head again. Francesc folds his arms and looks at him.

“I might mention to the regent that you dealt with the bribery in your prison very well and that this case is unlikely to repeat itself.”

“Alright, I will look for him but... how is this important for you?”

“Not really for me, but it could help a friend of mine. Send me a message when you know something. Now excuse me, I have another important meeting.”

Jordi nods and shakes Francesc’s hand. He can imagine that whatever meeting Francesc has, it will be more pleasant than going to tell a friend he is about to be executed.

Sergio lifts his head when Francesc sits opposite to him at their favorite tavern.

“I was hoping to find you here,” Francesc says.

“Were you?” Sergio asks with a hint of bitterness.

“Do you have time right now?”

“I went to pay the butcher and now I don’t have anything special to do until dinner. Villa just asked me to bring him the head of Casillas but I guess I have no chance to find it.”

“Definitely not, Casillas is out of town,” Francesc says. “Apparently he went to assure his crazy mission of beating Carles.”

“Well, then I have time.”

“Good. Let’s go, then.”

He throws money on the table and gets up. Sergio follows him with certain curiosity.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“Well, the plan is to sneak inside my own house through the back door,” Francesc grins.

“And then?” Sergio grins.

“And then I won’t let go of you until the evening.”

“Really?” Sergio giggles. “And what will you do to me?”

Francesc narrows his eyes.

“I won’t tell you,” he says. “Because you wouldn’t be even able to imagine such things.”

Xavi walks in Villa‘s office. First he looks at the almost untouched food, then at Villa who is looking around, cursing under his breath.

“Can I help you, señor?” Xavi asks.

“I can’t find my quill,” Villa says.

“And where did you put it?”

Villa looks at him in a way that makes Xavi feel like the most insignificant thing on Earth.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be looking for it,” Villa says. “I just threw it somewhere.”

He sighs and sits behind the table.

“Never mind, I’ll take a new one,” he says then. “Did you need anything? Besides telling me that I should eat something.”

“I wanted to tell you just that,” Xavi nods.

“I will. Later.”

Xavi nods and goes to the door.

“Xavi!” Villa calls.

Xavi turns around. Villa scratches his head.

“I... how is Fábio?”

“Better, I’d say,” Xavi says. “Honestly, he looks like any stronger wind could break him, but he holds onto life pretty tight.”

Villa gives a small smile.

“Actually I’m more worried about David,” Xavi says. “A few more nights he spends chasing demons away and I fear he will just disappear into thin air. He’s almost transparent already anyway.”

“Chasing demons?” Villa frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You’d have to ask him,” Xavi shrugs. “I don’t know anything about what it means in... wherever he is from.”

“Canary Islands,” Villa says quietly. “He’s from the Canary Islands.”

Xavi gives another shrug and walks out of the room. Villa closes his eyes for a moment. Then he takes a new quill and opens his accounting book.

Sergio writhes under Cesc’s touches which makes the latter smirk as he pinches Sergio’s nipple teasingly.

“So... still not believing me you are the only one?” he asks.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” Sergio says with pretended indifference.

“Doesn’t it?” Cesc frowns. “I must be more convincing then.”

Sergio opens his mouth to retort something but when Cesc slides into him, he just gasps and arches his back.

“You seem to have lost your voice,” Cesc muses, biting Sergio’s neck.

Sergio wraps his legs around his lover’s waist, fingers digging in his lower back. Every move feels better and Sergio would like to know where someone like Francesc Fàbregas learned all that, but then at the same time he prefers not to know. Their mouths clash together and Cesc wins, tongue sliding deep in Sergio’s mouth, making the kiss dirty and sensual. Sergio tries to pull him closer desperately.

“Need anything?” Cesc smiles when he breaks the kiss.

“More...” Sergio breathes.

He immediately regrets it as Cesc takes it as a clue to slow down and tease him further.

“Believe me now?”

Sergio tosses his head from side to side.

“I do, I do, I...”

“Really?” Cesc questions him, changing the angle slightly. “Or you want me to bring Álvaro here and do this to him in front of you?”

“No, Jesus...” Sergio whispers, both disgusted and horrified at the way the fleeting image turns him on. “Please, harder...”

Cesc chuckles and Sergio marvels at his self control with which he still manages to talk, tease and plot, while Sergio is only able to utter short words.

“I would give it to you harder, I’m just afraid you wouldn’t be able to walk home.”

“Fuck...” Sergio hisses when Cesc slams into him hard for demonstration, making him see stars. “I will crawl. Just go on like this.”

Fábio looks at David who lights up a candle and sits on the bed.

“You should sleep, you know?” he says.

“I can’t.”

“Really,” Fábio insists. “I feel better. I don’t think the demons... whatever you call them...”

“Tibicenas.”

“I don’t think they will come tonight. And if they do, I... I don’t know, I’ll call on you.”

David looks at him. Fábio smiles encouragingly.

“Alright,” David says then. “I’ll sleep for a while.”

He lays down and immediately feels his eyelids grow heavy. He reaches underneath his pillow and pulls out the quill he took in Villa’s office earlier that day. He lays it next to him and caressing the feather drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Iker wakes up when the sun shines in his face. At first he just frowns when he realizes he is in a dirty doom in a dirty inn somewhere in a port. Then he realizes that there is something missing in the room. No. There is someone missing.

Iker jumps out of the bed. The room is ideed empty, no sight of Daniel. All he finds is a piece of parchment pinned to the table with his own dagger. Iker comes closer and looks at it. It‘s written in Daniel‘s messy handwriting.

Dear (no longer my) lord Casillas,

I‘m sorry to disappear without bidding you proper farewells, but there is some business that requires my immediate attention. I would certainly like to help you further in your matters, were they not utterly stupid and disgraceful.

Daniel

P.S. I was considering slitting your throat in your sleep, but I‘m not a coward of your sort and I still remember you saved my life, so I‘d say we are even now.

Iker gasps and crumples the parchment before throwing it to the ground. Then he runs out of the room, down the stairs and out of the inn. When he is outside, he realizes that looking for Daniel in the port is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

He keeps running around the port like a lost dog for a while, then stops on the shore.

“Casillas!” a familiar voice sounds from somewhere.

Iker searches for a while before he spots a ship sailing away, and a familiar figure leaning over the rail on the stern.

“So nice of you to come to say goodbye!” Daniel yells to make himself heard over the sound of waves.

“You damned bastard!” Iker yells back. “I’ll have you hanged for this!”

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” Daniel answers while Iker is absolutely convinced he heard him really well.

“You will hear of me again!” Iker threatens.

“I hope not,” Daniel calls and waves at Iker. “Ahoy!”

Francesc hands Jordi a list with the regent’s seal. Jordi reads it and looks at him with tortured expression.

“He really did it,” he states quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I... I expected it. He just needs to punish someone. If only to show that we don’t let prisoners go on daily bases.”

Francesc shrugs. He actually feels a tiny needle of guilt stinging inside as it was originally him who came to the regent to explain how the pirate likely escaped. But he only did what he had to, both because it was his duty and because he needed to stop Casillas.

“Can he ask for a pardon?” Jordi asks.

“Sure,” Francesc says. “But I don’t remember when it was last given.”

Jordi bites his lip, then throws the list on the table.

“Oh, I almost forgot...” he says. “I might have found the Portuguese you asked me to find.”

“Really?” Francesc smiles and puts a hand on Jordi’s shoulder. “See, you really do your work well.”

Xavi puts the last bowl on the platter and looks at David, who is playing with Sergio‘s cat.

“Will you bring señor Villa the lunch or not?” he asks.

David lets go of the cat that meows in protest, trying to get more of the gentle scratching behind its ears. He takes the platter and heads out of the kitchen. Xavi looks at the cat that is eyeing him accusingly, like he is an evil creature for sending its friend away.

“Sorry, but he has to work,” Xavi mumbles.

The he realizes that he is talking to a cat, and shakes his head wildly.

“Everyone in this house is going mad. And it seems like it’s contagious.”

Iker is sitting in a tavern at the port, staring gloomily in the cup of sour wine. Not only has he lost the pirate, his only way to gold and the new lands, which would have granted him the favors of the King and the Queen. Now he’s also found out that Carles Puyol’s ships have already departed and word in the port is that he already had the maps Iker was trying to get.

How he got them, Iker doesn’t know. He supposed Alonso had them, and when he got rid of Alonso, he expected the maps to at least disappear with him, if nobody of his people could find them.

But it now means that if Puyol indeed finds something, anything worth the interest of the King and the Queen, it will be him, and of course Villa, in their good graces, not Iker. All his plans, all the years of plotting against Villa are now gone.

He feels like crying but no way a nobleman like him would cry, leave alone in a place where everyone can see him.

He orders another cup instead.

Villa looks up when David enters the room and lays the platter on the table. If he can judge, he looks slightly better than the few past days, like he got at least a bit of sleep.

“What are tibicenas?” Villa asks quietly when David is already at the door.

David turns around and looks at him in surprise.

“Why are you asking?”

“Xavi said you were chasing them at night.”

David makes a tiny nervous step. Villa points to the sofa and David sits on it carefully, like he’s afraid some magic will trap him there and never let him get up again.

“They are demons,” he says. “Children of the devil. They come from the shadows at night. Sometimes they come from the sea as well. They are giant dogs with eyes like burning charcoals. And they come to take you with them. To the underworld.”

He looks at Villa defiantly.

“You don’t believe me,” he states. “But I’ve seen them.”

“No, no, I believe you,” Villa smiles. “Actually, do you know why the Canary Islands are called this?”

David shakes his head.

“Because when they discovered them, they saw giant dogs there. In Latin, the word for dog is canis. So, they named them Canariae Insulae. Canary Islands.”

“We don’t call them that,” David says. “We don’t call them anything altogether. Only the islands.”

Villa is looking at him. It feels like they are miles apart. The moments they shared only weeks ago, all the kisses, caresses, smiles, now seem like a dream.

“David, I want you to know that I’m sorry about what happened,” he says quietly. “And I acknowledge it was my fault. I don’t want you to think that I’m cruel. I... Fábio stole valuable things from me and basically betrayed me to Casillas. And Casillas is someone who has hurt me a lot and when I hear his name, I get angry.”

“But Fábio didn’t do it because he wanted to. He had no other choice,” David whispers. “He would never betray you if he wasn’t afraid of Casillas. He isn’t what you think he is.”

“You were afraid of him as well, and you didn’t betray me,” Villa says softly. “Francesc told me. You didn’t betray me with Casillas’ dagger on your throat.”

David lowers his eyes.

“You know, Fábio did exactly the same thing that I did,” he whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t betray the one he loves.”

Villa just looks at him, unable to move. David gets up calmly and walks to the door. Then he turns around and looks at Villa in a way Villa knows, he remembers it from the day at the market, when David first looked at him and he could see all the emotions of the world concentrated in his eyes.

“I would have died for you,” he whispers and closes the door.

Francesc walks in David’s and – temporarily – Fábio’s room and smiles.

“I found your friend,” Francesc says. “Cristiano.”

“Wh... where?” Fábio blurts out.

“In jail.”

Fábio almost jumps out of the bed and looks at Francesc with hopeful eyes.

“He’s alive?”

Francesc chuckles.

“Oh, very much alive. He complained to me about everything from the quality of bread to his desperate need of soap.”

Fábio smiles happily and a bit nostalgically, like he can quite picture Cristiano doing that. Francesc sighs.

“Well, don’t get too excited,” he says. “He is still a thief. And the penalties for theft are not a laughing matter. In the best case he could end up with his back in the same condition yours is in.”

“I know,” Fábio mumbles. “Unless Casillas would say he actually didn’t steal anything from him. And he will never do that. Not after I betrayed him.”

“Likely not,” Francesc nods. “Still, I understood that he only took a few coins from him. The court should take it into consideration. I will remind the court of that if necessary.”

“Please,” Fábio whispers. “Whatever, just don’t let them kill him.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Though I’m not sure losing a hand or an ear is that much better of an option, to be honest.”

Fábio smiles sadly.

“Maybe it will sound strange, but Cris without a hand or an ear is still better than dead Cris.”

Francesc rolls his eyes.

“No, I will never understand the Portuguese sense of humor,” he says and walks out of the room.

Xavi takes the jar and pours more wine in Francesc’s cup because Sergio, who normally takes that task upon himself, is staring into space. Francesc grins and waves a hand in front of Sergio’s eyes.

“Are you sleeping with your eyes open, Sergio?” he asks.

“No, I’m just thinking,” Sergio says.

“He does that a lot recently,” Xavi notes. “It never brings anything good.”

Sergio glares at him before going back to his gloomy mood. Xavi rolls his eyes and leaves the kitchen with a basket to pick some herbs in the garden.

“Thinking about what?” Francesc asks. “I hope not poor Álvaro again.”

“No,” Sergio sighs. “Just...”

He bites his lip and looks at Francesc.

“Is it true what they say? About Granada?”

Francesc frowns.

“About Granada? What about Granada?”

“That the King and the Queen want to conquer it.”

Francesc raises his brows in surprise.

“Since when are you interested in the military?”

“Since you are in the army.”

“Oh. Thank you for reminding me,” Francesc grins.

Then he looks at Sergio with a more serious face.

“Well, all I know is what you know. There are voices, but you never know with the King and the Queen. Not until they sign an order.”

“But... if they really wanted to conquer Granada, then... then you’d have to go, right?”

“Probably, yes.”

Sergio folds his arms.

“I don’t want you to go to war!”

“Why?” Francesc laughs.

“I don’t want some stupid Moor to kill you!”

“Sergio...” Francesc sighs and turns Sergio’s face to him. “Look at me. Do I look like someone who’d let himself be killed by a stupid Moor?”

“No,” Sergio whispers. “You don’t.”

“See?” Francesc grins. “Nothing to worry about, then.”

When he looks at Sergio, though, he is sure that convincing him of it will be much harder than convincing him of his feelings.

Iker doesn‘t even know where he is leading the horse. Actually, it almost seems like the horse is leading him. Iker is just focusing on not falling off it‘s back.

He had too many glasses in the port, and when he arrived back home, he made sure he wouldn‘t sober up too soon. On top of losing the pirate, he found out Fábio also disappeared as no one in the house has seen him for a few days.

Between the penultimate and the last cup of wine he got the idea to talk to Francesc Fàbregas. If there was anyone who knew about Puyol‘s plans, except for Villa, it was him. He couldn‘t be sure he would talk to him, but after all, they were nobles and the nobles should stick together. At least Iker‘s drunken brain is telling him that.

He jumps off (or rather falls off) the horse and staggers to the door. He knocks and waits. The door opens and reveals a boy with ruffled hair whose expression quickly changes into something between fear and hatred upon seeing Iker.

“Señor Fàbregas is not here,” he says.

Iker looks at him with bloodshot eyes and then laughs.

“What a pity. I see he makes use of Alonso’s abandoned possessions, though!” he says. “Never mind, I wanted to talk to him, but I think talking to you instead could be useful as well.”

He shoves him unceremoniously and Álvaro stumbles back. Iker looks around the kitchen to make sure there are no other people and then folds his arms.

“So now I understand how Alonso’s maps found their way to Puyol!” he says. “From Fàbregas, of course, and I think I now know who gave them to him.”

He makes a step towards Álvaro and shakes his head.

“I had my people search Alonso’s house once he was gone, but I should have thought of the servants as well. Well, if the regent let me take care of the matter, I’d have Alonso beheaded and his little watchdogs like you hanged. But of course Fàbregas wouldn’t do that. They were friends after all.”

“He wouldn’t do it because he’s an honest man,” Álvaro says.

Iker frowns and then hits him with the back of his hand.

“Since when do you talk to your lord without being asked?” he snaps.

Álvaro blinks back the tears and wipes the blood off his lip.

“You’re not my lord,” he says quietly.

Iker looks at him in disbelief, then he grabs the collar of Álvaro’s shirt and pulls him closer.

“Whoever taught you these manners, boy, taught you wrong,” he whispers. “I’ll teach you how to behave.”

Álvaro raises his hands but doesn’t use them finally. Talking back to a nobleman is one thing, hitting a nobleman is a sure way to have a noose on your neck in no time. And Álvaro thinks that he is too young to die, plus he definitely doesn’t want to die on the gallows. He once witnessed a man being hanged when he was a kid and it haunts his dreams ever since.

“Lesson one,” Iker sneers. “I am a lord. You are a nobody. As such, your place is on your knees in front of me.”

He attempts to push Álvaro down to his knees for emphasize but due to his own unsteady legs and the fact that Álvaro is taller than him and not willing to be Iker’s puppet, he fails miserably.

“Kneel down!” he barks.

Álvaro stares back defiantly.

“Never!”

With an angry growl, Iker launches himself at him. Álvaro hits the wall with the back of his head and slides down to the floor. He rolls out of Iker‘s reach just in time to avoid the expensive leather shoe aiming for his ribs.

“Leave him alone!” a voice sounds from the door.

Iker turns his head slowly and then chuckles. Isco is standing there, holding one of Francesc’s swords in his hand.

“What... what did you just say?” Iker laughs.

“I said...” Isco says firmly and steps closer to him, pointing the sword at him. “Leave him alone or I’ll kill you. So help me God.”

Chapter Text

“Do you know who you are talking to, peasant?” Iker asks, stumbling a bit and grabbing the table for support. “I am señor Iker Casillas Fernández, Lord of Navalacruz and of San Sebastián!”

“I only know you are not behaving like a lord now,” Isco says calmly.

Iker stares at him incredulously. Then he draws his sword and lunges forward, but in his drunken state misses Isco by a good meter. Isco doesn’t know whether he should laugh or be scared.

Iker tries to hit Isco once more, but Isco only steps aside and Iker ends up face first in the shelves with dishes, knocking down some bowls and saucepans. He turns to Isco, face completely red, and waves his sword.

“You will pay for this, you bastard!” he slurs and managing to put his sword back in its sheath on the third attempt, staggers out of the house.

Isco throws the sword on the table unceremoniously, even though it is probably one of Francesc‘s favorites, and runs to Álvaro.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I... don’t know,” Álvaro says, still shocked.

Isco looks at him and feels for any broken bones.

“I think you’ll live,” he says then.

“I thought he was going to kill me,” Álvaro whispers. “You’d have to see his eyes.”

“Well, he’s gone now,” Isco says and pats him on the shoulder comfortingly.

Álvaro looks at him.

“God, Isco,” he whispers then. “You threatened the Lord of Navalacruz and San Sebastián that you would kill him!”

“I know.”

“They could... hang you for that or something!”

“Maybe,” Isco nods. “But I think he was so drunk he won’t even remember it in the morning.”

“You can’t be sure.”

Isco shrugs and hauls him up from the ground.

“Alright?” he asks.

“I am,” Álvaro says. “But the world is sort of... spinning.”

Isco catches him in the last moment and sighs, pushing him in a chair.

“Stay here, hold onto the table. I’ll bring you a wet cloth for that head.”

He takes two pieces of cloth off the washing line, for which he is sure the laundress will kill him in the morning, and soaks them in cold water. He brings them back to the kitchen, folds one and presses it against the back of Álvaro’s head.

“Hold it,” he says and starts wiping the blood off Álvaro’s lip.

“You can fight with a sword?” Álvaro asks.

“God, no!” Isco chuckles. “I held it for the first time in my life. And I hope it was the last.”

“You looked quite... intimidating,” Álvaro says.

“Thank you.”

A moment later, Francesc walks in the kitchen and looks at Álvaro’s face, Isco with a bloodied cloth in his hand, bowls on the floor and his grandfather’s old sword on the table.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he asks.

Captain Steven Gerrard downs a cup of wine and looks out of the window of the tavern. It’s getting dark already but his eyes are used to seeing in the dark. Besides he knows this port by heart. Like all of them.

A shadow falls on his table and he looks up, ready to snap at whoever is disturbing him that there is nothing to look at. Then he freezes and thinks that he must have had more wine than he had thought because the person he is looking at is someone he had thought long dead.

“Daniel?” he breathes.

“I’m back, Captain,” Daniel says quietly. “If you still need me.”

Steven rises from his chair and looks at him. Then he hugs him, letting the other guests in the tavern see captain Steven Gerrard hugging someone probably for the first time.

“Wine for everyone!” he announces then. “Because my first mate is back!”

Daniel grins and sits at the table. He accepts the cup of wine from the innkeeper and looks at Steven.

“I thought they hanged you in Barcelona,” Steven says.

“They wanted to,” Daniel chuckles. “Twice.”

“Then how come you are still alive?”

“I guess because the nobles are really crazy there,” Daniel shrugs. “They are chasing something in India, I don’t even know what. And they don’t know how to get there.”

“And how come you are here now?”

“I guess because the nobles are also really stupid.”

Steven chuckles and looks around.

“We are sailing south tomorrow,” Steven says. “And I’m glad to have you back. Last time I lost a lot of men.”

“How come?”

“Those damned Portuguese bastards had soldiers accompanying them.”

Daniel nods. He remembers that Steven always went after the big ships. He would never rob a simple merchant who had practically all his life on the ship and was hoping to sell some of it elsewhere to feed his family. Those didn’t interest Steven, both because the booty wasn’t worth it, and out of some higher principle. Steven would kill men, steal from them, he would beat them up for good, but he would never steal from the poor. But going after the big ones had its risks. The rich usually had some men who knew how to use swords with them, to protect them from pirates and from bandits when they went ashore. Daniel knows the fights, the excitement before they jumped on the deck of the other ship, the slight exhaustion sweetened by the clinking of coins. He misses it all terribly. And he’s ready to die tomorrow if it will be in such fight.

David is sitting in the kitchen, polishing some bowls and forks that don’t need to be polished at all, but he does it anyway. He lifts his head when he hears steps in the hallway. Villa walks in the kitchen and looks at him with surprise as he doesn’t expect anyone to be up so late.

“Don’t worry, I’m not one of your demons,” he says then.

“I know you are not,” David says calmly. “I wouldn’t hear your steps then.”

Villa nods and sits on the chair. David just keeps watching him before putting the bowl he is holding, down.

“Did you need anything?” he asks.

“I can’t sleep,” Villa says. “Old scars decided to hurt and give me a sleepless night.”

“I know this,” David nods. “Though sometimes I don’t think it’s the scars that hurt. I think the memories of what caused them do.”

Villa smiles.

“You really are a wise boy,” he says. “Much wiser than me.”

“I can’t even read nor write,” David objects.

“Writing doesn’t make you any wiser. You had the best teacher, you know. Life itself.”

David nods and gets up.

“I’ll make you some herbal infusion,” he says. “Sometimes it helps. At least with the scars.”

Villa watches him boil water and putting herbs on a piece of cloth that he then ties, puts into a pot and pours the water over it.

“You know, Francesc told me...” he starts then.

“About Kun,” David finishes, setting two cups on the table. “I know.”

“I am not like your old master, David. I don’t want you to see me as such.”

“I don’t,” David says softly. “I know you are not cruel like he was. I know your reasons were different. I just don’t think that there are reasons that can be justified for doing this, to anyone.”

Villa hangs his head, looking in his cup like he hopes to see the answer in it.

“You know, life is a gift,” David says. “Sometimes it’s hard, sometimes it hurts, but it’s still beautiful to live. Because there is still hope that the next day will be better. Nobody should have the right to take that gift away. To take that hope from someone.”

Villa smiles bitterly.

“You would be a good Christian.”

“I don’t think it matters what you are if you are good,” David shrugs. “See, I know that my life, or Kun’s, or even Fábio’s are not worth much, but maybe for Kun, the next day would be better. Or the other. Maybe he would be standing next to me on the market and you would choose him, not me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Villa says. “I would always choose you.”

“You didn’t know Kun,” David smiles somewhat melancholically.

Villa feels a tiny needle of jealousy stinging him inside but realizes how inappropriate it is when David’s smile fades on his lips.

“I saw them that night,” he whispers. “Tibicenas. I saw them come for him. Saw their eyes. I’ll never forget it.”

He falls silent then. Villa sets the empty cup on the table.

“Tell me,” he says. “Is there anything I could do to make up for it?”

David shrugs and gets up. Then he looks Villa in the eyes.

“You almost took Fábio’s life,” he says then. “Save it now.”

Villa watches him disappear in the darkness of the hallway. Then he nods for himself, gets up and goes to his bedroom, forgetting completely about the pain he felt before.

Isco lifts his head when he hears the door screech and the horses let out annoyed puffs as if asking who is disturbing them.

Isco doesn’t live in the house, he has his own place in the stables, upstairs, where they originally stored the hay. After they rebuilt the stables, the loft stayed abandoned and Isco took it for himself. He likes it more than having a simple room.

He peaks out from behind the wooden rail he has built himself, more to make the place look like an actual room than out of fear of falling down. Álvaro is standing at the door, looking rather nervous.

“Hello!” Isco calls and grins.

“May I?” Álvaro asks.

Isco nods. Álvaro climbs the ladder to the loft and looks around curiously. There is nothing special there of course, but the place looks really cozy and warm. Like a children’s tree house.

“I... I wanted to thank you,” he says. “I don’t know what would happen if you didn’t come and make him go away.”

Isco smiles.

“It’s alright.”

Álvaro takes a step towards him.

“And I... I wanted you to know that I thought of you, when he hit me. I thought that I couldn’t die because I had to see you again.”

Isco just stares at him for a moment.

“You must have hit your head really hard,” he notes then. “But then... if in the morning the guards shall indeed come and arrest me for threatening Casillas... I don’t want to regret not doing this while I had the chance.”

“Not doing what?”

“This,” Isco says and touches Álvaro’s face, surprisingly gently. “And this.”

He captures Álvaro’s lips and pulls him closer. Álvaro winces and lifts his hands as if to push him away, but then lays them on Isco’s shoulders instead. Isco looks at his broken lip that started to bleed again.

“Sorry, I forgot... it had to hurt,” he says.

“It did hurt, but... delightfully.”

Isco chuckles, pulling him on the bed and kissing his neck. For some mysterious reason Álvaro smells like camomile, like a meadow under hot sun.

“You speak like a nobleman,” Isco says quietly. “You use such words... intimidating... delightfully... I like it.”

Álvaro gives him a shy smile, lifting himself up on his elbows. Isco waits for him to take a breath and then steals the words from him with a kiss.

“Wait!” Álvaro breathes and breaks free from his grip.

“I don’t want to wait,” Isco whispers.

Álvaro licks his lower lip.

“But... I don‘t know...“

“Just lay down,” Isco says. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Like you always do,” Álvaro smirks.

“Like I always will.”

Iker stumbles inside his house, throws his coat and sword on the floor and thinks about how the hell is he supposed to take off his shoes without hurting himself in one way or another. He considers waking some servants up but then decides that he has had enough of servants.

He was humiliated by a groom. Well, rather he humiliated himself, and nobody actually witnessed it, apart from Alonso’s former servant, but it is bad even like that.

His whole life is falling apart. For a moment he thinks that he should finally forget about all his plans to destroy Villa, he should just get married to some rich and pretty woman who would give him a heir, and just hope he would get in the King’s and the Queen’s good graces in a different way.

Then he starts laughing madly. He definitely had too much to drink if he is thinking about becoming a honest man.

He decides to sort things out with Fàbregas’ groom in the morning and promises himself to come up with a better plan to destroy Villa.

A moment later, he passes out on the bed, completely dressed, snoring loudly.

Álvaro nuzzles at Isco’s neck, trying to snuggle up against him despite being considerably taller.

“Say another word like that,” Isco whispers.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, one of the words you like to say. It makes me feel like I just slept with a prince.”

“A simple servant isn’t enough for you?” Álvaro laughs.

“To be honest, I was hoping you’d turn out to be some forgotten prince, then you’d take me to your castle and I’d never have to work again.”

“I’m so sorry for ruining your dreams,” Álvaro sighs. “But all I have are these words I learned from señor Alonso, and about ten reals, out of which five I won in the cards from you.”

“Then why did I even sleep with you?” Isco almost yells, slapping Álvaro’s back jokingly until they both start laughing.

“You know, I wouldn’t do it either if I knew it would make our relationship so tempestuous.”

“Tempestuous,” Isco repeats. “Here you go, your Royal Highness.”

Álvaro laughs and shakes his head. Then he looks up at him.

“It is a crime, isn’t it?” he asks. “What we just did.”

“You regret it?” Isco asks.

“No, I don’t!” Álvaro objects. “Just...

“Just what?”

Álvaro sighs deeply.

“Why do I always have to do things I could die for?”

“Because, I guess, those are the ones worth doing,” Isco grins.

The he kisses Álvaro’s forehead comfortingly.

“Nobody saw us,” he whispers.

“Just the horses,” Álvaro smiles.

“Oh, yes!” Isco says and turns around to look down at the horses. “You are all to remain silent about what I did to this beautiful boy!”

Álvaro giggles. Isco looks at him and narrows his eyes.

“Because I will do it again,” he finishes.

The dawn is breaking when Steven and Daniel walk aboard Steven’s ship. Usually they have to leave before the first light, but this is a safe port. The guards know better than to come here.

Some of the men who slept on the ship come out on the deck. There are indeed some Daniel doesn’t know and some are missing. He doesn’t feel sad, though. Everyone’s destiny is in their own hands according to Daniel’s life philosophy. And besides, as he likes to say, death is certain, the hour of it uncertain.

“Welcome back on the Plunderer’s Pride,” Steven says.

“Thanks, Captain!” Daniel smiles.

In his head he hears the words differently. What he hears is “Welcome home.”

Francesc wakes up to steps and voices outside his house. He dresses up quickly and comes out of the house. There are several guards standing in his yard, seemingly rather unsure about the whole situation. Before he can even ask anything, Álvaro runs out of the house and looks at the soldiers.

“It’s my fault, all my fault, and if you have to hang someone, then me!” he blurts out.

Francesc grabs his shirt and pulls him back like an unruly puppy.

“Hey, slow down, boy. Nobody is hanging anyone here.”

One of the guards makes a nervous step towards him.

“Señor Fabregas, señor Casillas sent us. He says a servant here threatened him.”

“Tell señor Casillas that instead of sending guards to my house, he shall present himself at the regent‘s house by noon, or else I will send the guards to bring him there,“ Francesc says in his most authoritative voice. “Also tell him that while there is no evidence that my servant threatened him, he hurt my servant and I will not tolerate it. I do have evidence for that, his face is the evidence.”

The guard salutes him and then the whole group marches out of the yard. Francesc yawns and shakes his head.

“Like it‘s our fault Casillas got drunk and embarrassed himself.”

In that moment, the door to the stables opens and Isco walks out, looking around sleepily.

“What happened?” he asks.

Francesc bites down a laugh.

“The guards came to arrest you,” he says, feigning a serious tone. “But Álvaro offered them his head for yours.”

“W-what?” Isco gasps.

“Well, and if I didn’t put them and Casillas back in their places, your friend here would have a noose around his neck before you would even bother to wake up.”

He finally smirks and winks at Isco, but then puts on the serious face again.

“You two are more lucky than you know,” he says. “Because the regent is not really Casillas’ friend now and because he was so drunk that he can’t even tell what really happened and what not. But next time... don’t wave my grandfather’s sword at egoistic noblemen.”

“What is ‘egoistic’?” Isco asks.

“Who only cares for himself,” Álvaro explains before Francesc can even take a breath. “Like selfish.”

Francesc rolls his eyes.

“I sense the Xabier Alonso Olano’s influence here,” he sighs. “Alright, I’m going to get some more sleep. I hope there is no other reason why the guards should come to arrest one of you.”

“No, señor,” Isco beams at him.

Álvaro blushes and disappears in the house quickly. Francesc rolls his eyes again and heads to his bedroom.

The day doesn’t look like a good one. And he hasn’t yet faced Casillas.

Chapter Text

Xavi is chopping meat for lunch when he hears steps behind him. He turns around to see Fábio standing there.

“What are you doing here?” Xavi asks.

“Yeah!” Sergio nods, coming from the pantry with a jar of vinegar. “I thought David wouldn’t let you move a finger.”

“I need to talk to Villa,” Fábio says.

“Well, he’s upstairs, but...” Sergio starts.

Fábio nods and heads to the stairs. Sergio turns to Xavi.

“A few days ago he was almost dead and now he’s going to take the stairs?” he asks.

“See, and you can’t get out of bed even when your back is perfectly fine,” Xavi shrugs.

Francesc only gets two more hours of sleep when a guard appears in the house. Francesc groans upon seeing him. He wonders why he didn‘t decide to become a painter instead of a soldier. Well, probably because he can‘t even paint a circle that would be round.

“What is it now?” he asks.

“We went to señor Casillas. He said he would be at the regent’s house by noon.”

“And you have to come here to tell me that?”

“He asks you to bring your evidence in case you want to accuse him of something.”

Francesc chuckles. Damned Casillas. He might be an idiot when drunk, but he sobers dangerously quickly.

“Tell him the evidence will be there,” he says.

He walks back into the house and sighs. Now he has to be really careful because clearly, Casillas is not going down easily.

Villa looks up in surprise when there is a knock on the door. Nobody usually comes at this hour, it’s between breakfast and lunch. He only hopes Xavi hasn’t decided that he needed to eat something even between the two meals.

“Enter!” he calls.

Fábio walks in and looks at Villa who is more than surprised to see him. Then he notices that Fábio is more likely gripping the door for support than just to hold it open. He motions to the sofa.

“Sit down.”

Fábio more falls on the sofa than he sits.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

“What about?” Villa asks.

“Casillas... and David, too.”

“I’m listening.”

“I already told this to señor Fàbregas, but I think I owe you an explanation. I didn’t steal your things just like that. I’m not a thief. I stole them because I had no other choice. Casillas made me. I don’t know what you two did to each other, but he hates you.”

“That’s not news to me,” Villa smirks.

“I didn’t know why he was so obsessed with David, after all, he is just a slave and he didn’t look like he knew much about you anyway... but now I understand.”

“You understand what?”

“You care about David.”

“And?”

“So he is the only place Casillas can hurt you in. At least now.”

Villa keeps looking at him.

“You can’t let him,” Fábio says. “David is the kindest person I’ve ever met, and he’s suffered enough for three lives already. You mustn’t let the bastard hurt him.”

“I would never let anyone hurt him,” Villa says.

“You did already,” Fábio points out. “Though you didn’t want to.”

He sighs and looks at Villa.

“I just thought I had to tell you before you throw me out, because when Casillas finds me, I think I might not be able to speak ever again, so...”

“Let’s talk about throwing you out when you can at least walk,” Villa frowns. “Just one thing interests me. You said that you were no thief. Why did Casillas choose you, then?”

“Because he knew I couldn’t say no to him,” Fábio shrugs. “Did señor Fàbregas tell you about Cris?”

“He mentioned something,” Villa nods.

“Now Casillas will kill me for going to you and bribe the court so that they kill Cris. Or he will let them kill him first and then he’ll kill me.”

“Even Casillas is not omnipotent,” Villa smirks.

“You certainly don’t have to be omnipotent to get rid of me and Cris.”

Villa gives a resigned nod. He would like to be more reassuring, but Fábio seems to be awfully realistic.

“You can’t mean it, señor!” Isco yells and steps in front of Álvaro protectively. “He almost killed Álvaro yesterday and you want to present him to that crazy drunkard again?”

“He certainly won’t try to kill him in front of the regent, Isco!” Francesc says.

“Still,” Isco mumbles. “Once you come too close to the nobles, it’s like when you enter a swamp. You never get out.”

“Thank you for comparing me to a swamp,” Francesc grins.

“I didn’t mean you, señor,” Isco mumbles somewhat annoyed.

“It’s alright, Isco,” Álvaro says. “I’ll go. If it helps anything...”

“I promise Casillas won’t touch him,” Francesc adds. “Unless he dares to touch me first.”

“If he does, I’ll find him,” Isco says resolutely. “And I won’t bother with warning him first this time.”

David picks up the dirty dishes from the table and lays them on the platter carefully. Then he shoots a careful look at Villa.

“What?” Villa asks.

“I just...” David takes a breath. “I know Fábio talked to you.”

“He did,” Villa nods. “Do you want to talk to me as well?”

David hesitates and then walks over to him.

“I don’t know what else to say. There is not much I could say than what I already told you about Casillas. Just...”

“Just?”

“I think he’s a fool,” David says. “If he thinks he can hurt you by taking things from you.”

“Unfortunately he knows how to hurt me,” Villa sighs. “And he doesn’t have to take anything from me. I thought it hurt me, when he took my position at court away, when he bought my property. But it was nothing. Nothing compared to how much it hurt me when he hurt people I loved... and love.”

“Do you mean the one you never talk about?” David asks softly.

Villa looks at him in surprise. David smiles.

“I know there is someone. Some open wound that hurts more than the old scars, that doesn’t let you sleep at night. Old scars don’t hurt like that. They are closed, healed.”

“There is someone,” Villa nods. “Was. He’s just a shadow now.”

“Who?”

“Leo. He was my father’s apprentice. You know, when it looked that I would have a career within the army... my father wanted to make sure he would have a successor, and I wasn’t really interested in business back then. I only came back home for short periods of time, but with Leo I was looking forward to every time I would come to Barcelona. He was quiet and responsible, my complete opposite at that time, but that was what I needed. We used to spend the days together, just talking and taking walks, and somewhere in the middle we fell in love. Then, people started talking, and unfortunately, Casillas heard them.”

“What did he do?”

“Mentioned the rumors in front of the King. He didn’t want to get rid of me completely, he wanted to torture me, he insisted they were just rumors, that there was no proof, that a person of my status couldn’t be tried by an official trial, but that he should talk to me, and so on. But the one who was to blame for everything that followed was me, not Casillas. He started it, but I played by his rules and didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“The King asked me if the rumors were true. I denied it. They asked me if I knew the boy. I said he was my father’s apprentice, nothing more. But my father heard about it and realized that my career was at stake. When I returned next time, Leo was gone. My father said he went himself, I know it wasn’t true. I never saw him again. Nobody heard about him anymore, in Barcelona or anywhere else. If he left a message, my father made sure I would never get it.”

He looks around the office and runs a hand through his hair.

“It was then that I fell out with my father. I stopped denying the rumors, I even acted in such way that everyone who wasn’t deaf and blind had to know they were true. I retired from the army before they could make me, blamed it on the injuries, even though I could still fight anyone if I wanted to. I spent some time in Ampurias, pretended I needed the fresh air to recover, while I just didn’t want to be here with my father, be here where everything reminded me of Leo. Then my father fell ill and I returned. He died, I stayed here, became a money changer. Instead of a big career within the army, the life at court and love of my life, I had this house and a few friends left. You know the rest.”

David keeps looking at him for a while, then shuffles closer and reaches for Villa’s face.

“So this is why you are... what you are,” he whispers.

“A bitter, old, grumpy man?” Villa smirks.

“No,” David shakes his head. “Kind to people who are hurt. Because you are hurt.”

“I wasn’t too kind to you,” Villa says. “Not kind enough.”

“You were. You are. And I wish I could accept it, I wish I wasn’t afraid to give in to it... but I still am.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That one day someone will take it away and I will die. I don’t mean die like really die, I mean... die inside. When I first saw you at the market, I was dead. I didn’t care about who would buy me, what they would do to me, where I would go... But then I saw you and I felt the tiny sparkle of hope and I knew that I was coming alive. And I don’t want to die again.”

Villa gets up from his chair and looks him in the eyes.

“I would never let you die,” he whispers.

“Then you should kiss me,” David smiles. “Because I think I will die if you don’t.”

The regent’s house is immense and full of precious things, paintings and expensive carpets on the floor. Francesc’s or Alonso’s houses are nothing compared to it and Álvaro thinks he must be dreaming when they walk across the huge hall.

“Close your mouth, Álvaro,” Francesc says quietly.

Álvaro smiles sheepishly.

“And don’t speak unless the regent asks you a question. Mainly, don’t let Casillas provoke you. He will try.”

“I know.”

The two guards open the door for them and they walk into the regent’s drawing room that he’s chosen for the meeting.

Casillas is already sitting in one of the chairs. Francesc salutes the regent and after a while of hesitating, beckons Casillas as well. Álvaro bows deeply to the regent, promptly ignoring Casillas. The regent looks slightly confused.

“Señor Casillas asked me to bring my evidence, my lord,” Francesc explains. “He came to my house yesterday when I wasn’t home, and hit my servant. Not only is it not behavior expected from someone in his position, it’s something I refuse to tolerate.”

“Captain Fàbregas, I thought we were about to discuss more serious matters than some servant’s face!” Vilanova says, somewhat annoyed.

“I deeply regret the damage I caused to Captain Fàbregas by trying to educate his servants, which is something he omitted to do. Just let me tell you something about this servant, my lord Vilanova!” Casillas says with a contented smile.

“Why would I want to know?” the regent frowns.

“Because it’s rather important. Before working at Captain Fàbregas’ house, he worked at Xabier Alonso’s house.”

“I don’t see the point.”

Casillas gives a mischievous smile.

“It means that if he worked there, he had to know about Alonso and the pirate, and if he didn’t tell anyone about it...”

“Then it certainly isn’t as bad as bribing a prison guard to let the said pirate go, then hide him in your house and finally lose him somewhere in a port,” Francesc snaps. “Actually, Casillas, you managed quite a stunt!”

“Silence!” Vilanova bangs his fist into the table.

He waits for everyone to look at him, which takes some time because Iker and Francesc are trying to kill each other with their eyes while Álvaro is just desperately trying to pretend that he isn’t there. Apparently it doesn’t work, as the regent looks at him.

“Did you work at Xabier Alonso’s house?” he asks.

“Yes, my lord. Until he had to leave the city. Then I went to señor Fàbregas who was kind enough to let me stay in his house.”

“Did you know anything about some pirate?”

“No, my lord.”

“Liar!” Iker jumps up.

“Please, gentlemen, you are giving me headache!” Vilanova says and stands up. “First of all, I don’t understand why we are arguing about a servant here. Casillas, give the boy some coins as a compensation and next time solve such things between yourselves, I don’t have time for that.”

“But...” Iker looks at the verge of tears while Francesc is biting on his lip so he doesn’t laugh and Álvaro looks half terrified, half utterly confused.

When the regent frowns again, Iker pulls out a few coins from his pouch and hands them to Álvaro with a disgusted face. Álvaro makes a step back and looks at the regent.

“I don’t want anything from him, my lord,” he says.

The regent looks like he is about to explode any moment.

“Then get out of here before I decide I don’t like you!” he snaps. “You don’t want to know what happens to people I don’t like.”

“Yes, my lord. I mean, no, my lord. Thank you, my lord!” Álvaro bows and practically runs out of the room.

“And now,” the regent says, helping himself to a mandarine from a bowl on the table. “Casillas, how do you explain to me that you denounce Alonso because he is hiding a pirate, and then you go bribe a guard and hide the same pirate in your house, to lose him finally?”

“Because I...” Iker takes a breath. “I thought he could be useful.”

“For what?”

“For... I thought I could find a way to India.”

“You?” Vilanova’s eyes go wide. “Why would you want to do such thing?”

“Because he found out that Carles Puyol was sailing to India with the support of David Villa,” Francesc explains before Iker can utter a word.

“Not a word about David Villa will be said in my house, gentlemen!” Vilanova says through gritted teeth.

“Then we can as well end this conversation because the true reason behind everything señor Casillas ever did is David Villa.”

“I wanted to find a way to India to serve our King and the Queen, not because of Villa!” Iker finally snaps.

Nor Francesc, nor the regent look convinced.

“Let’s get over with this matter finally,” Vilanova says then. “Casillas, the right punishment would be the same as for Alonso, but if you did it, as you say, with good intentions...”

Francesc makes a face that Vilanova fortunately doesn’t notice.

“I will only confiscate the properties in Navalacruz. So don’t consider yourself the lord of Navalacruz anymore. And if I hear of you again soon, be sure I will not be this lenient.”

“But I...” Iker takes a breath.

“And I advise you to get over your obsession with David Villa,” the regent adds. “Now go. I have plenty of work with the Inquisition tribunal. They have been hanging and burning people like crazy lately, I don’t even have time to sign all the orders.”

Iker doesn’t say anything more because he is sure the regent didn’t mention the hanging and burning just like that.

Daniel can feel the familiar excitement when Reina, one of the few men he knows from the old times, spots a ship on the horizon. Steven comes up and looks in the direction of the ship together with Daniel.

“It seems like they don’t even know what they are doing,” Daniel notes.

“There was a storm last night, they might have lost their course... or other ships if they were sailing together,” Steven nods.

“Easy prey, then!” Daniel grins.

“Everyone get ready!” Steven orders. “It doesn’t look like there are soldiers on the ship, but let’s prepare for every possibility.”

Then he turns to Daniel.

“I can entrust you with the helm, right?” he asks.

“Sure, Captain.”

Steven winces at one of the youngsters tripping over his own feet out of excitement and heads to his cabin.

“Listen, Álvaro...” Francesc asks when they walk outside the regent’s house. “You really didn’t know about what Xabier was doing with the pirate?”

Álvaro bites his lip.

“Actually...” he says. “I kind of... knew.”

“Kind of?”

“I delivered the messages between them.”

Francesc folds his arms.

“So you lied to the regent indeed!”

Álvaro gives him a mischievous smile.

“And do you realize that I am the captain of the regent’s guards, and that you now confessed to me?”

“I do, but if you wanted to, you could have let the guards arrest me already in the morning or now in the palace, so I figured you wouldn’t do it now.”

They come to the square in front of the prison and stop. The square is full of people.

"What is going on in here?" Francesc asks one man.

"There‘s public hanging today, señor," the man says. “The guard who let some pirate go. I don’t understand how someone can be so stupid.”

Francesc places a hand on his forehead.

"Oh, I completely forgot!"

The voices grow louder and the heads turn to the place where the procession is passing. Francesc crosses himself hastily. Next to him, Álvaro flinches and then disappears somewhere in the crowd. Francesc frowns and moves as if to go after him, but then he notices Jordi.

Only that he looks nothing like the Jordi he knows.

He looks more like a ghost, paler than Francesc has ever seen him, deep blue circles under his eyes. He’s trailing after the guards, the priest and the few ministrants who are mumbling prayers, like he doesn’t see and hear them. Despite his uniform, he’s acting nothing like a guard should act while leading the condemned to the gallows. One hand gripping Javi’s arm, he’s patting his back comfortingly, not caring at all about whether people see it or not.

Francesc feels the stinging needle of guilt prick him again. He sighs deeply when the guards make place for the priest to climb the stairs and Jordi follows him, dragging Javi up more because he seems like he will faint in any moment than because he would be putting up a fight. The hangman looks a bit confused when he sees Jordi, but Jordi tells him something and the hangman just shrugs. He asks Javi for his last words, but he just looks at him like he doesn’t even understand what he’s saying.

The priest starts the final prayer and Francesc bows his head together with the other people. Only instead of praying, he curses Iker Casillas with all his might. Then he decides to find Álvaro. He has seen quite a few people die, he doesn’t have to see another.

He finds Álvaro in a tiny side alley, curled up on the ground, back leaning against the wall of some house.

"Is it over now?“ Álvaro asks shakily, looking up at him.

“Yes, it is,” Francesc says, somewhat confused. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t see this,” Álvaro whispers. “I mean, hanging. My father was hanged.”

“What for?” Francesc blinks.

In all honesty, if he has a son of a murderer in his house, he wants to know.

“Blasphemy,” Álvaro says with some kind of unnatural bluntness. “He got drunk one evening and wanted to throw a stone through the window of some man who offended him, but the stone flew through the window of a church. I didn’t see him die, but once I saw another man being hanged, and I saw my father in him. I don't want to see it again.”

“I’m sorry,” Francesc says because he can’t think of anything else to say.

Then he hauls Álvaro up and looks at him.

“Do you think you can go home alone? I need to speak to a few people. I’ll be late.”

“Sure,” Álvaro nods. “And thank you.”

“For what?” Francesc asks.

“Everything. You’re not like the others.”

“You mean the others from the swamp of nobility,” Francesc grins. “I’m glad I am.”

To Francesc’s big relief, he finds Villa in his office, not in his father’s room, and he looks surprisingly a lot like the man he knows from the times before the whole Iker Casillas saga started.

“I came to talk to you about Casillas, but seeing you I think I will better not mention him,” he smiles. “Though you could like this story.”

“I have no hope of Casillas ever embarrassing himself enough for me to like it,” Villa smirks.

“Oh, he already did,” Francesc chuckles. “Well, not publicly, but still. He got drunk and decided to pay me a visit. Unfortunately for him I wasn’t home, and he also underestimated my servants.”

“Underestimated?”

“Well, Álvaro refused to kneel to him, and Isco took my grandfather’s sword and saw Casillas out.”

Villa laughs heartily and raises the cup.

“Hail the brave!”

“They are idiots,” Francesc sighs. “Were Casillas not completely drunk and were the regent not angry with him, they’d be both dead by now. Isco acts without thinking too often, and Álvaro thinks too much for his own good. Anyway, it was good for something. Casillas is no longer the lord of Navalacruz and the regent doesn’t want to hear about him for a while.”

“I seriously underestimated you,” Villa says with astonishment. “I was worried when you said you had a plan against Casillas, but you are more than serious opponent.”

“And I’m not done with him yet,” Francesc nods. “Though I don’t think he will present me with such good opportunity again.”

As Steven and Daniel expected, there are no soldiers on the foreign ship, even though the sailors surely know how to use swords. Daniel wipes a drop of blood off his lip and looks down at the freckled blonde who made him shed it. He looks awfully young to be the captain of the ship, but all of the captured sailors insist that he is. Well, as far as Daniel knows, Steven also was a feared pirate at a young age, and Daniel himself doesn’t remember any life before the sea.

“What do you want?” the blonde scoffs at him when Daniel hands his sword to one of the pirates and hauls him up.

Contrary to the popular belief, Daniel has manners and this boy is, judging by his clothes, from a good family. Daniel is sure they can sort this out without him sitting on the boy.

“What do people like us could possibly want?” Daniel smirks.

“There’s nothing to take, unless you need food,” the boy shrugs.

Steven comes closer to them.

“Is this the captain?” he asks.

“It seems like he is,” Daniel nods.

Then Reina hurries to them with a distraught expression.

“There’s nothing valuable,” he reports.

“I told you,” the blonde groans. “We only carry the provisions for the bigger ship.”

“The bigger ship?” Steven frowns.

“Yes. We’re accompanying Santa Marta, Carles Puyol’s ship.”

“Whose ship?” Daniel asks incredulously.

“Carles Puyol’s.”

Daniel looks at him as though he is some fantastic sea monster. Then he bursts out laughing and can’t stop for long minutes.

Chapter Text

Cristiano looks at Francesc with an ironic smirk when he comes in.

“Did you come to tell me that you forgot to execute me with that guard?” he asks. “I won’t go there now, the crowd is already gone and I want to go in style!”

“I am sure that if you were in that guard’s place, you wouldn’t care,” Francesc deadpans. “I came to tell you that your trial will be in three days. Better don’t come there with this attitude.”

“Will my attitude make a difference when Casillas bribes the judge?” Cristiano makes a face.

“I think he won’t. He’s done with bribing now, at least for some time.”

“Then I should go there and be all regretful and penitent, right?”

“I am not sure that you are capable of that, but yes, you should try. I will try to intercede on your behalf.”

“Thank you, I guess,” Cristiano says like he is not used to being thankful to anyone.

“Right now, there’s nothing to thank me for,” Francesc shrugs.

“And... Captain?” Cristiano bites his lip.

“Yes?”

“Do you know... anything about Fábio?”

“Nothing more than that he’s alive and in Villa’s house, which is probably the best place for him to be now,” Francesc shrugs. “So, see you soon.”

He motions for the guard to unlock the door and walks out of the cell.

“Captain!” Cristiano yells when he’s almost in the middle of the corridor. “I still don‘t have the soap!”

Francesc turns around and narrows his eyes.

“I just tried, never mind,” Cristiano sighs.

Álvaro sits on Isco‘s bed and pulls his knees to his chest.

“How was it?” Isco asks.

“Terrible,” Álvaro mumbles. “Well, at the regent’s house no, that was alright. But then.”

“What happened then?”

“On the square... there was a public hanging. And I...” Álvaro takes a breath. “Well, I can’t see those.”

Isco shuffles closer to him and wraps an arm around Álvaro’s shoulders.

“Are you still afraid?” he asks. “I mean, because of us.”

“Can I not be?” Álvaro looks at him. “Every time I imagine...”

“Don’t imagine, then!” Isco whispers and nibbles on his neck.

“What are you doing?” Álvaro yelps.

“Kissing you better,” Isco grins.

“You’re biting me better!”

“Is that not allowed?” Isco asks and reaches for the ties of Álvaro’s shirt. “Even if it leaves marks, the marks don’t scream who gave them to you.”

Álvaro sighs but helps him take his shirt off.

“Do you always have to be so temeritous?” he asks.

“I don’t know what that word means, but I guess I do,” Isco laughs.

“It means like... reckless.”

“I definitely do, then.”

“And...” Álvaro says and dodges Isco’s lips. “Does it always have to be this way?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... what if for once I took care of you?”

Isco blinks and then chuckles.

“Come on, you can’t even take care of yourself!”

“Hey!” Álvaro protests and jumps on him. “That’s not true!”

“Try to prove it to me, then.”

Álvaro smirks and nuzzles at Isco’s neck, paying him back with a few nibbles. He traces his ribs with the tips of his fingers while kissing down his sternum. Isco gnaws on his lip. Not that looking down at Álvaro isn’t amazing, but having him looking down at you is maybe even more amazing. His hands and lips can do wonders to Isco’s body and he forgets all the taunting jokes he wanted to say.

“Damn you,” Isco breathes when the kisses and gentle touches are not enough anymore. “Stop teasing.”

Álvaro gives him an innocent look from underneath his eyelashes.

“I didn’t mean to...”

Isco groans, grabs his hand and shoves it down.

“I would get to it!” Álvaro protests.

“But I would be already dead then.”

“Can’t allow that,” Álvaro mumbles against his heated skin.

Isco places a hand on his neck and wraps the other one around his waist to hold him down and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere before Isco gets what he needs. The curious look on his face is almost amusing and the way it changes into one of immense pleasure is delightful. Isco arches into him and smashes their mouths together, careful not to take the lead from Álvaro as he doesn’t want to deal with his whining later.

“Didn’t you say that you’ve never done this before?” he asks breathily when he gets back into the state in which he can form actual words.

Álvaro smiles brightly.

“I learn quickly.”

“Dangerously quickly,” Isco nods.

Álvaro snuggles to him and closes his eyes sleepily, letting Isco caress his back and for once not complaining that he does it the same way he does it with the horses when he wants to calm them down.

“At least now when it comes to confession, we will both have the same thing to confess,” Isco says.

Álvaro’s eyes snap open.

“No way I’m telling this to the priest!” he whispers.

“Right,” Isco nods. “Good idea. We’re damned with or without confession.”

Francesc is on his way out of the prison when he passes the guardroom and stops in his tracks. He makes a step back and walks in.

“You should go home,” he says quietly.

Jordi lifts his head. Francesc takes off the coat of his uniform and sits on the other chair.

“I saw you on the square,” he says as if to explain his concern.

Jordi looks at him bluntly.

“I promised him I would stay with him until the end,” he whispers.

“I’m really sorry, Jordi.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jordi shakes his head. “You just did what you had to do. You’re the captain of the regent’s guards.”

“Sometimes I wish I weren’t,” Francesc sighs. “But really, you should go home and get some sleep.”

Jordi looks at him, something wild in his eyes, like he isn’t really listening to what his friend is telling him.

“Nothing will happen to him, right?” he asks. “Casillas. He will just laugh in everyone’s faces.”

“He lost the title of Lord of Navalacruz,” Francesc says.

“What is that compared to losing your life,” Jordi snorts. “He should have paid for it, it was him who started it all.”

“And he will pay for it,” Francesc says firmly. “I promise you that.”

Jordi looks at him and then gives a small smile.

“He should be afraid,” he says. “Because when you set up your mind on something, it’s bound to happen.”

“I hope so,” Francesc smirks and gets up.

He makes two steps to the door, then turns around and hugs Jordi for the first time since their childhood. And it doesn’t feel awkward at all.

“So Carles Puyol,” Daniel says when he finally wipes off the tears that started rolling down his face when he was laughing. “Carles Puyol sailing south to find the new way to India.”

The blonde looks at him with a shocked expression.

“How do you know about it?”

“I drew the maps that he is, hopefully, using,” Daniel says calmly. “But you are going in the wrong direction, mate.”

“We lost the other two ships in the storm, and our ship is damaged. We were looking for a place to land to try to repair it.”

“Look no more, I will sink it to spare you that work,” Steven grins.

The blonde blinks rapidly, his eyes lingering on him for a while and then flickering to Daniel like he is seeking help from him. Apparently he judges Daniel to be the more intelligent and reasonable one.

“Unless you have something that could make us want to reconsider,” Daniel says and raises his brows.

“There’s nothing worth taking.”

“I think there is something,” Steven grins and looks at him. “Or rather someone. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be missed anywhere.”

“If you want ransom I don’t know who could give it to you,” the blonde says. “Puyol is God knows where on the sea now and he wouldn’t have money to pay you anyway.”

“Better think of someone quickly,” Steven says and starts playing with his knife pointedly. “Family?”

“I don’t have any. Anymore.”

“Or some rich friends of yours. You rich lads like to stick together.”

The blonde thinks for a while.

“Maybe Xabier Alonso,” he says then.

“But Alonso had to leave Barcelona, he is banned from returning to the kingdom of Castile and nobody knows where he is,” Daniel objects, surprising him once more. “Unless you do?“

“I think the lords in the Lordship of Biscay accommodated him. In Bilbao.”

“But Biscay is under the King and Queen‘s reign as well, isn‘t it?”

The blonde chuckles.

“Tell this to Ander Iturraspe or Gorka Iraizoz. They‘ve been promptly ignoring the King‘s existence for years. And Madrid is too far away for the monarchs to control them.”

Daniel looks at Steven who ponders it for a while.

“Alright, sail to Bilbao,” he says then.

Francesc yelps when someone jumps on him from behind. He turns around to see Sergio grinning at him, a bunch of carrots in one hand, a fresh fish in another. Francesc promises himself never to pass close to the market again.

“I hope I didn’t crumple your uniform, Captain Fàbregas,” Sergio says.

“I am more worried about the fish being so close to it,” Francesc says.

“Oh, that...” Sergio says and looks at the fish. “Xavi wants to cook it for lunch. I’m not too happy about it. I hope it shrinks and is only enough for Villa.”

“And I thought you’d eat anything that is called food,” Francesc smirks.

Sergio frowns at him.

“I have a free night today,” he says then. “Will you come to the Drunken Horse?”

Francesc sighs.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Sergio’s face falls.

“You always can!” he objects.

“Not today. My father invited me for a dinner and he insists on me being there for some reason.”

“Alright,” Sergio sighs.

“I will make it up to you,” Francesc smiles. “I promise.”

“I can’t wait!” Sergio says and leans forward like he wants to kiss him.

“Are you mad?” Francesc hisses and steps back. “We are on the street, you donkey head!”

“Streets are stupid,” Sergio sighs. “Alright, I have to run, or the fish will cook in the sun and Xavi will kill me. But you will come soon, right?”

Francesc nods and turns around. He somehow isn’t in the mood for Sergio’s jokes. He thinks of Jordi, Casillas, the regent, the rumors about Granada and the dinner at his father’s house. It’s enough to spoil his day completely.

“Here,” Steven says and puts a piece of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink on the table. “Write a letter to Alonso. Daniel will tell you what to write. And then choose one of your men who will deliver it. Rather someone who won’t run away as soon as he comes ashore, that wouldn’t be good for you.”

“Sure,” the blonde sighs.

He takes the quill and looks at Daniel who sits on the table next to him, watching him with a smirk.

“Just making sure you write what you’re supposed to write,” Daniel says. “I can read, for your information.”

“I wouldn’t expect that.”

“Mind your tongue or you could lose it,” Daniel says with a blank face, not giving any clues about whether he means it as a joke or if he’s dead serious. “Better explain your situation and ask Alonso for ten thousand reals.”

“Ten thousand?” the blonde jumps up. “Are you mad?”

“And how much do you think your life is worth?”

The blonde opens his mouth, but then takes the quill and starts writing. From time to time he looks up to Daniel and when he gets the approving nod, continues to write. Then he signs the letter a hands it to Daniel.

“Fernando José Torres Sanz,” Daniel reads. “That is a mouthful.”

“Your name isn‘t?”

“I guess not. I‘m just Daniel.”

“No last name?”

“None that I know of. And not that I‘d ever need to use it.”

He blows on the parchment and waves it in the air to make the ink dry more quickly. He reads it over one last time and gets up. They walk out on the deck. The port of Bilbao is within their sight but they head to a bay nearby.

“Well, now choose someone from your crew to deliver it. Someone reliable, if you please,” Daniel says.

Fernando thinks for a moment.

“Juan will go,” he says then.

Daniel follows his gaze to one of the sailors.

“He doesn‘t look like the bravest one,” he smirks.

“But he has manners. That‘s more important for this cause.”

“So you get it,” Steven says when he’s handing Juan the letter. “Not a word about us to... whatever his name was.“

“Iturraspe.”

“Yeah, that one. If I see one soldier, I will slit your captain’s throat, I hope it is clear.”

“It is,” Juan nods.

“If you are not back until dawn, I will slit his throat too, is it clear?”

“Yes.”

“Just go there, find Alonso and give him the message.”

Juan nods and turns around to go to the boat.

“Juan!” Fernando calls and comes up to him. “Just... Iturraspe is not really the lord of Biscay, but if you don’t call him that, he will get angry, alright?”

“Sure.”

“Xabi might be the one who can save us, but if Iturraspe pleases, he won’t be able to move a finger. Try not to offend him. ”

“I will.”

“That’s enough!” Steven barks. “He’s delivering a letter, not leading a war against the Lordship of Biscay.”

Juan exchanges the last worried looks with Fernando before getting into the boat. Steven motions for Reina to take Fernando to the cabin and orders him to guard the door.

“I thought the merciless bandit was my role, captain!” Daniel grins when they are gone.

“Sorry for taking it from you,” Steven chuckles. “But the intellectual pirate actually suits you just fine.”

Villa smiles when David walks in his room and closes the door.

“I thought I would die of waiting too long,” he whispers.

“What if I went out?” David smirks.

“You would be so cruel?” Villa frowns.

“No,” David shakes his head. “Because then I would die too.”

"It took a surprisingly long time to get Sergio out of the house today,“ Villa notes.

"It‘s because señor Fàbregas can‘t come to his favorite tavern,“ David explains.

"And where is Fábio?“

"Downstairs. But I don‘t think he will want to go up the stairs again, if you are worried.“

“I’m only worried about having too little time,” Villa says, pulling David closer.

“For what?” David asks, making Villa wish he wasn’t in a talkative mood right when talking is the last thing Villa wants to be doing.

He answers with a smirk, untying the laces that are practically the only thing holding David’s shirt on his body because as soon as they come undone, it simply falls off him despite him not making the slightest move.

“I should buy you a new shirt,” Villa muses. “This one doesn’t seem to be your size.”

“It’s Sergio’s,” David laughs.

“Right. Maybe mine would fit you better,” Villa offers and David laughs, helping him take it off.

Villa lays him on the bed and some strange surprise appears on David’s face for a moment, caused by his back not being accustomed to connecting with such a soft surface. Villa smiles and gets on the bed a bit more swiftly on purpose to make the mattress dip and sway. David is pliant in his arms, like he will take anything from Villa if it means being touched by him, and the way he accepts his kiss leaves Villa still amazed like the first time. His mind flies to Leo for a moment, remembering how stiff and worried he was before Villa’s actions robbed him of the ability to think. David looks like the moment Villa kisses him, his mind goes blank and he only gives in to the sensations. He is by no means ashamed of showing his body, or looking at Villa’s for that matter.

“How can someone be so beautiful?” Villa whispers against David’s skin.

He reminds Villa of an exotic flower blooming right under his fingers. His eyes grow even darker and his moves become languid and more natural.

“I’m not beautiful,” David objects.

“Liar,” Villa smirks.

“I’m not…” David starts again but then Villa manages to hit just the right spot and the rest of the sentence is spoken in a language Villa doesn’t understand, but kind of wishes he did.

Francesc feels the strange nervousness engulfing him, same every time he enters his father‘s house. He never knows what to expect, but he rarely is thrilled when his father invites him. Last time it was because he got the - according to him awesome - idea of marrying Francesc‘s sister Carlota off to Zlatan Ibrahimović, who was claiming to be a Grand Vizier somewhere in the Ottoman Empire. It took all night and Francesc threatening to rather kill Carlota with his sword than to let her marry Ibrahimović (which she herself asked him to do) to persuade him it was a bad idea. And when it was later revealed that Ibrahimović was nothing more than a fraud, Francesc‘s father didn‘t even thank him.

The fact that Francesc‘s grandmother is sitting in the armchair in the dining room and not upstairs in her room, and she is looking around harshly doesn‘t help. Something is definitely going on.

Then his father walks into the dining room together with a stranger wearing expensive clothes of some foreign fashion and Francesc sighs. It looks like he will have to deal with the usual situation.

"Oh, here you are, Francesc!“ his father says merrily. "Please, let me introduce you to my friend Tanoukh and his daughter Daniella.“

Then a dark-haired woman in exquisite dress appears behind him and Francesc knows that it‘s not Carlota‘s turn to marry this time. It‘s his. 

Chapter Text

The dinner seems to be endless, though Francesc’s father looks like he is having a great time discussing business with Tanoukh, and Daniella looks like she wants to eat Francesc for dessert (alright, maybe he is exaggerating and it’s just the way they express affection wherever it is she is from).

Finally the guests leave and Francesc’s father retires to his room with the excuse of having to look at some business while it is just a way to give Francesc time to stop fuming before they talk.

Carlota looks at her brother with sympathy and nibbles at a grape.

“If you give me your sword, I‘ll try to kill you painlessly,” she says then.

“Thanks, sister. I appreciate your offer. But I will try to talk to father first.”

“I think it‘s useless,” Carlota sighs. “He seems like he‘s set his mind on this already.”

“He set his mind on you marrying Ibrahimović as well and I managed to talk him out of it.”

“But Ibrahimović wasn’t his friend. And he looked sort of suspicious. A Grand Vizier sure wouldn’t have to sleep at the Drunken Horse.”

Francesc sighs and walks up the stairs to his father’s room. He finds him in his favorite chair with a glass of wine, looking satisfied.

“What is this all supposed to mean, father?” Francesc hisses. “You don’t even tell me anything and throw me to some stranger and his daughter like a bone to a dog!”

“Daniella is lovely,” his father says calmly. “There is just one thing I don’t like about her.”

“Just one?” Francesc sighs.

“Yes. That she’s not of noble blood, but well. Her dowry is big enough for us to let it pass.”

“Also to let pass that she could be my mother?”

“She is not that old, Francesc, and looks great for her age.”

“Doesn’t it make you wonder why she’s not married yet at this age?”

“What is the problem, Francesc?” his father spreads his arms. “You know you will have to get married one day. So why not now?”

“Because I don’t want to, I don’t want to marry Daniella nor anyone else!”

His father rises from his chair, which means that he is done persuading and is just about to start with threatening.

“Do I have to remind you that you have your title, your position within the army and all the money you spend with servants at the Drunken Horse… yes, I know about it… thanks to me?” he snaps. “You owe something to me, don’t you think?”

“I am not a thing you can trade with!”

“No, certainly you aren’t. You are my son. And I wouldn’t want to lose my son,” he says and pours himself another cup. “But even I am not omnipotent, not without money. And without the money from Tanoukh, I might not be able to influence some things.”

He looks at Francesc calmly and sips from the cup.

“With the war possibly approaching, I would want my son to be somewhere safe, not in the first line. But as I said… I might not be able to, and I also might not want to influence it.”

The door bursts open, revealing a very distressed Carlota who apparently was listening behind it.

“Papa, you cannot be serious!” she exclaims.

“I am being very serious, Carlota, and you could already start learning some manners. No wonder none of my kids are married yet, you behave like you were some peasants!”

He takes his seat again and looks at Francesc.

“Think about it. I want to know your decision by the end of the week,” he says and looks at Carlota. “And looking at you, I clearly have to find you a husband as soon as possible, so that you finally start behaving like a lady. I said all I wanted to say. I have some work now, so I bid you good night, children.”

Villa looks at David whose fingers are drawing abstract ornaments on his chest. It seems like he is thinking about something.

“Once you said I would be a good Christian,” David says then. “What did you mean?”

Villa chuckles.

“You understand life differently than other people. You are good by nature, no one has to teach you that. You don’t have to think about if what you do is right or not, you just do it and it’s right. While I think about it all the time and mostly what I think is right ends up being a complete disaster that hurts people.”

“Is this why you never go to church?”

Villa gives him a surprised look. David is the last person he would expect to talk to him about religion.

“Well, maybe it is. I am a bit ashamed to go there after all that I’ve done…”

“What have you done?”

Villa smirks, somehow bitterly.

“For the start, I just made love to you. And that is a sin.”

“But you didn’t hurt me,” David objects. “Why should it be a sin, then?”

“Because to sin, you don’t necessarily have to hurt other people. Though that is also a sin.”

“My old master was hurting us all the time, he was drinking all the time, swearing all the time, and still went to church. I don’t know why you couldn’t. You’re not a bad person.”

Villa laughs.

“So you know something about religion.”

“I know a bit, just from what I’ve heard. But I don’t even know what you do in the churches.”

“Would you like to see?” Villa asks, leaning over the headboard and looking down at him.

“S-see?” David looks at him. “You mean…”

“I mean I’d take you with me.”

“But I don’t know…”

“You can just look. And listen.”

“But can I even... go there?” David asks, biting on his lower lip.

“It will be no worse than when I go there,” Villa says. “So?”

“Yes, I... I would like to,” David whispers.

“Alright,” Villa smiles. “We can go on Sunday. But I have to get you a new shirt until then.”

Álvaro wakes up to some loud singing. When he looks out of the window, he sees Francesc Fàbregas criss-crossing the yard, singing loudly, apparently some song that is popular in the taverns. He loses his balance a few steps from the door and it’s enough to make him stop singing, but he somehow manages not to fall down.

By the time he gets to the door, Álvaro is already entering the kitchen with a candle. Francesc grins at him, then trips over his own feet and falls somewhere between the table and the shelves with pots before Álvaro can catch him.

“I’m alive,” Francesc informs him. “Unfortunately.”

Álvaro looks like he’s trying hard not to roll his eyes, then grabs Francesc and hauls him to his feet.

“Let’s get you in bed, señor,” he sighs.

Francesc eyes him like he’s surprised that he has a bed in this house, or like he’s surprised to be in his own house. When they reach the room, Álvaro takes his sword from him like he judges it too dangerous to let Francesc close to sharp objects in this state, and makes him sit on the bed.

“Tell me, Álvaro…” Francesc mumbles. “You’re such a reasonable boy… if you were me…”

“But I’m not you, señor.”

“Alright, so if you were you, it doesn’t matter,” Francesc says, somewhat annoyed. “If you could either marry a woman you don’t love, and keep most of what you have now, except your dignity, or you could go to war and likely die, but have your conscience clear. What would you choose?”

Álvaro keeps looking at him for a while.

“I would marry her,” he whispers then.

“What?” Francesc looks at him.

“I would marry the woman and I would try to... learn to love her.”

“You think that love can be learned?”

“Some kind of love, yes. Maybe not the passionate, the love when you see someone and know immediately that you will not sleep that night because you will think of them, the love that burns you inside. But the calm, steady one, the love based on respect and understanding, I believe that it can be learned if you really try.”

“You really speak like Xabi sometimes,” Francesc chuckles. “But I don’t know if such love is even worth it.”

“Worth your life? I believe it is,” Álvaro shrugs. “But you’re a soldier. You probably see it differently. I mean, war, dying and all.”

“Problem is, I don’t,” Francesc sighs. “I think I don’t want to die just the same as you don’t.”

He falls back on the bed, feet still dangling over the edge, and closes his eyes.

“And the worst is when it’s your own father who wants to kill you. Because this will kill me either way,” he says.

A minute later he is snoring loudly.

Fernando looks at Daniel who is rummaging in the cupboards of the cabin they are holding Fernando in. By the way he is doing it he judges that the cabin is actually Daniel’s.

“What are you looking for?” Fernando asks then.

“Just a friend of mine,” Daniel grins.

Fernando gives him a confused look. When Daniel pulls out a bottle of rum victoriously, he understands. Daniel hesitates for a moment, then opens the bottle and raises it to his lips.

“Cheers, mate!” he says and takes a sip, then smiles almost happily. “I missed this.”

Fernando eyes him awkwardly, but it doesn’t seem like Daniel wants to leave the cabin yet.

“It was you who navigated the ship before you attacked us?” Fernando asks then, more to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Yes.”

“You are an awesome helmsman. Why do you do this? Why don’t you just work as a sailor on... some normal ship?”

Daniel chuckles.

“Because I would make ten times less. And I don’t like when someone tells me what to do.”

“Your captain tells you what to do.”

“My captain deserves my respect.”

He drinks more rum and shrugs.

“Also, I think that I like this life. Even though I don’t remember having a different one,” he says. “Night, señor Fernando José Torres Sanz.”

Only when he closes the cabin door, Fernando notices that he left the bottle on the table. He grabs it and after a while of thinking, drinks the rest of rum. At least it helps him to fall asleep, despite being on a ship full of pirates.

When Álvaro climbs the ladder to Isco’s place, Isco is already in bed.

“I appreciate sleeping with you, but... you know, sometimes...” he says and looks at Álvaro. “You take up damn too much space, get it?”

Álvaro smirks and sits on the bed.

“I heard some noise,” Isco says. “What was that?”

“Señor Fàbregas,” Álvaro explains. “Drunk.”

Isco laughs and pulls Álvaro closer.

“Would you ever give me up?” Álvaro asks suddenly and looks him in the eyes.

“What do you mean?” Isco frowns.

“If you had to either give me up or die, would you give me up?”

“Why are you thinking about this?”

“Señor Fàbregas asked me something. It made me think…” Álvaro says and closes his eyes. “I’d want you to give me up. If you should die, I’d rather want you to give me up.”

“Álvaro...” Isco sighs. “I love you and the way you are all clever and stuff, but sometimes I wish you were just as stupid as I am.”

“You’re not stupid,” Álvaro objects.

“Well, I’m not exactly a thinker either,” Isco laughs. “Listen. Whatever señor Fàbregas says or whatever situation he’s in, he’s a nobleman, he’s rich and a soldier. Whatever is happening to him is not likely to happen to us at all.”

“I think his father wants him to marry someone he doesn’t love,” Álvaro says.

“See?” Isco grins. “Then we’re good. Because nor you, nor me have a father. Aha! See, I’m actually clever.”

Álvaro smiles and kisses him. Isco pulls him down and sighs.

“I’ll really have to build a bigger bed.”

Getting to the shore doesn’t take Juan nearly as much time as it takes him to find the palace. Even though it shines so bright that once he spots it, he only has to follow the lights.

When he sees the amount of candles and hears the clinking of glasses and loud voices, he immediately knows that he is interrupting some feast. And delivering a message in the middle of a feast is never a good idea. His worries are confirmed when he asks for lord Iturraspe and the servant indicates to a bit too merry young man in the middle of the table. Too merry and too young for Juan’s liking.

Juan bows deeply to him and clears his throat. He’s not used to dealing with lords, or people who consider themselves lords. When those people are also drunk and don’t look like they are interested in whatever he has to say, it’s even worse.

“Señor Fernando Torres...” he starts after giving the best greeting he is capable of.

“And that shall be who?” Iturraspe interrupts him.

Juan judges that he should make it sound like Fernando is really important.

“Son of José Torres Sanz, the former member of the Royal Council. His Royal Highness himself...”

It’s like stabbing into a wasp’s nest. Iturraspe puts the cup down with such force that the wine splashes onto the table.

“His Royal Highness can kiss my not royal...”

“Ander!” a man on his right exclaims but it almost gets lost in the burst of laughter that follows Iturraspe’s incomplete statement.

It takes a while and a lot of whispering from the other man to calm him down, but finally he looks back at Juan.

“Well, whoever Fernando Torres is, what does he want?”

“He is sending a message to señor Xabier Alonso Olano.”

“Alonso is not here now. And won’t be at least until the morning.”

It’s even worse than it looked. But going back to the ship without delivering the message would probably equal the pirates killing his captain, so Juan tries to think about something.

“Then, my lord, could I ask you to pass him the message when he comes back?”

Iturraspe narrows his eyes.

“Do you have me for a messenger?”

“I wouldn’t dare, my lord,” Juan bows his head. “But I have to return to my ship before dawn. I only humbly ask you to give this letter to señor Alonso.”

When there is no reaction, he gathers all his courage and practically forces the letter in Iturraspe’s hand. With another deep bow he retires from the table and lets the servant lead him outside.

Iturraspe watches him for a while like he isn’t sure it wasn’t a hallucination. Then he throws the letter over his shoulder where it lands between empty glasses and other things, and picks up the cup again.

He wakes up in the morning with a terrible hangover and the feeling that he should do something, but can‘t remember what. 

Chapter Text

Francesc groans when Álvaro opens the shutters and the sun shines right in his face.

“Why are you so cruel?” Francesc mumbles and covers his eyes. “Such a pretty face and such a torturer!”

Álvaro chuckles and stands in front of the window, blocking part of the sunrays.

“I wouldn’t do it, but Isco thought you were dead.”

“I kind of feel like I am,” Francesc says and sits up. “What did I do last night?”

“I don’t know, señor, but apparently it involved a lot of wine,” Álvaro says. “You were singing quite loudly, then fell down in the kitchen and… discussed your personal life with me.”

Francesc winces.

“Let me give you a lesson of manners, Álvaro,” he sighs. “When a man who was mortal drunk asks you what he did, you are not supposed to tell him what he really did, because he doesn’t want to know. You’re supposed to tell him ‘don’t worry, sir, you didn’t embarrass yourself’.”

“I’ll remember that,” Álvaro smiles shyly.

Suddenly the bell of the nearby church starts striking and Francesc’s eyes widen.

“Is this… is it…”

“Noon,” Álvaro nods.

“Oh damn!” Francesc yells. “The trial!”

In the next moment, he puts on one shoe, trying to put the other on while running, and only stops outside when he realizes that he doesn’t have his coat and sword. Fortunately by the time Isco has his horse ready, Álvaro runs out of the house, handing him the sword and his coat that even looks like someone gave it a good brushing after it suffered some minor damage the night before.

He jumps on his horse and before darting in the direction of the court, he prays for Cristiano not to do anything stupid before he gets there.

It has been days since Iker Casillas left his mansion. Or his room. It has also been days since he last spoke to anyone, if he didn’t count the servants, and servants don’t really count as human beings for him.

So when one of them runs in the room, it bothers him no more than a fly would. Though when he thinks about it, flies can be really annoying.

“Señor Casillas…” the servant blurts out.

“If there’s not a fire, you are getting five lashes for disturbing me!” Iker barks.

He doesn’t really know what the servant could be disturbing him from, probably staring into the wall, but even when a lord stares into the wall, nobody should be allowed to disturb him.

“I fear it’s worse, my lord!” the servant says, apparently out of breath.

“Worse than a fire?” Iker frowns.

“Yes…” the servant nods. “Lady Sara is here.”

“Lady Sara… as in Countess Sara Carbonero, Lady of Niebla?”

“Exactly, my lord.”

Iker jumps up and looks around him and also tries to look at himself. Fact is that the room is a mess, there are empty glasses all around, and he himself hasn’t shaved for at least a week and, to be honest, he stinks. Iker Casillas Fernández, Lord of Navalacruz and of San Sebastián… no, just of San Sebastián, stinks.

“Give her a room, food, drinks, dogs to play with, whatever, until I…” Iker starts muttering, but in that very moment, Countess Sara walks in, accompanied by two of her servants.

“Well,” she says upon seeing Iker with his disheveled hair, unkempt beard and dirty clothes. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Steven Gerrard walks on board and looks up to the crow’s nest.

“Pepe?” he calls.

“Can’t see anything, captain!” Pepe replies.

Steven turns to Fernando and smirks.

“Your noble friend isn’t really in a hurry to help you,” he says.

“If he got the message already,” Fernando retorts. “Juan said he was absent.”

“Pray for him not to be absent for too long,” Steven says. “I might lose my patience. Sitting in a bay waiting has never been my favorite thing to do.”

“At least it’s a ship that carries food,” one of the pirates grins, munching on a piece of meat.

“Yes, that’s the only thing that interests you, Flanagan,” Steven smirks. “But we want money!”

“You should have robbed someone else, then,” Fernando snaps.

Steven only backhands him in a nonchalant way before retiring to his cabin.

Francesc arrives to the court just in the middle of Cristiano’s heart-wrecking story about how he stole from Casillas to keep himself alive after having starved for two weeks. To give him credit, the story would make a stone cry, but the judges are known to be harder than stones.

“It was just a few coins,” Cristiano concludes. “And I was desperate. Otherwise I would never take anything from a man as honest and gracious as lord Casillas.”

Francesc almost dies of laughter and he can see that Cristiano also has troubles to keep his penitent expression.

The judge sighs, probably out of relief that Cristiano is done with his acting. Francesc leans closer to him.

“With your permission,” he whispers. “I talked to the prisoner and I have reasons to believe that he truly regrets his deed. And we all know that Casillas tends to… exaggerate sometimes. He really took just a few coins and didn’t harm anyone.”

The judge nods and then scratches his head.

“The court has decided…” he starts in the solemn tone.

Then he realizes that it’s only him, Francesc and a few officials around, plus the prisoner. No need for a show.

“Give him twenty lashes and send him away,” he says then.

“But I didn’t even steal twenty coins!” Cristiano protests, but catches Francesc’s glare and closes his mouth again.

When the executioner comes closer to him, Cristiano narrows his eyes.

“I swear, if you hit my face, man, we will have a talk!”

David walks in the kitchen to find Xavi plucking a chicken rather angrily and Sergio looking at him with worried expression.

“Xavi, could you do it a bit more humanly?” he asks.

“It’s dead, Sergio,” David says matter-of-factly. “It can’t feel anything.”

“But still…” Sergio objects.

“Do you want me to pluck you instead?” Xavi groans. “Because nothing would please me more!”

He drops the chicken on the table unceremoniously and stands up. David leans closer to Sergio.

“What did you do this time?” he whispers.

“Me? Nothing. I wasn’t even in the mood for joking,” Sergio says, rather bewildered. “But the fat girl was there again. I didn’t even say anything, but unfortunately she remembered Xavi too well.”

David giggles. Xavi turns to them and frowns.

“For some reason, she is convinced I want to marry her. And I didn’t mention marriage at all. So how could she get this idea?”

“I don’t know, Xavi, really!” Sergio spreads his arms.

“Alright. By the way, David, the farmer we take rabbits from will have two rabbits ready for us on Sunday. Could you pick them up?”

David looks at him and bites his lip.

“In… in the morning?” he asks.

“Yes, why?”

“Well, it’s that… on Sunday morning, I might not be here.”

Sergio chokes on the piece of apple he is eating.

“What?” he asks. “Where would you be?”

“I…” David takes a breath. “I may accompany señor Villa somewhere.”

Before Sergio or Xavi can say a word, he grabs the basket and runs to the door that leads to the garden.

“Do you understand any of this?” Sergio looks at Xavi. “Because I don’t.”

“In this case, I must admit it might not be due to your stupidity,” Xavi sighs. “Because I don’t understand it either.

There are only three persons in the world that Iker Casillas is afraid of. The King, the Queen, and Countess Sara Carbonero.

When she hands her traveling coat to one of her servants and takes a fan from the other, Iker feels worse than if she were a knight drawing a sword.

“I came because I was worried about your health,” she says, fanning herself gracefully while one of her servants brings a chair for her and she beckons him. “Thank you, Jorge. Now go help the other… what was his name again?”

“Javier, my lady.”

“Yes, that one. Go help him with my things. I don’t have to remind you what will happen to both of you if you break my tea service, do I?”

Iker cringes. If she brought her tea service, his hopes that she would just leave after dinner are ruined.

“Don’t worry, my lady. We will take care of your tea service like it was our child,” Jorge says, earning himself a cuff with Sara’s fan.

“How long are you going to pity yourself?” Sara asks when her servant is gone.

“What else should I do?” Iker asks. “I lost my title, after I lost my chance to ruin Puyol’s plans and destroy Villa, after I lost a pirate somewhere in the port and got laughed at by a pair of insolent servants… oh, and after the property I bought from Villa turned out to be completely worthless.”

Sara sighs deeply.

“If you go on like this, you will lose the rest of your titles, your money, health and sanity!” she says resolutely. “It was really high time I came to your rescue.”

“What did I do to deserve it?” Iker asks.

Apparently, Sara can’t hear the sarcasm behind his words.

“Nothing,” she says and gets up. “But luckily for you, I am capable of forgiving. Even that you didn’t marry me.”

She turns around once more before walking out of the room, the fan in front of her face in a way that only lets Iker see her eyes.

“By the way, do you realize that you stink?” she asks nonchalantly and walks out, the train of her dress rustling quietly on the floor.

Daniel chuckles when he walks in his cabin and sees Fernando's broken lip.

“Cheeky much?” he asks. “Captain doesn’t like it, just a piece of advice.”

“It should have come a bit earlier,” Fernando smirks.

“The sun is setting,” Daniel notes. “I think we can’t expect your friend to arrive today.”

“I said, maybe he didn’t get the message. Or there is the worse possibility.”

“And that is?”

“Iturraspe doesn’t want him to leave.”

“Why would he care?” Daniel frowns.

“You never know what comes to Iturraspe’s mind,” Fernando shrugs. “He’s not very predictable. He lost his father as a child, and his mother was in charge of the properties. Well, she was more interested in having lovers than in politics, taxes and taking care of her son, so to keep her conscience clear she set the rule that there was nothing Ander couldn’t have or do. There are legends about the crazy things he could come up with.”

“For example?” Daniel asks and sits in the chair opposite to Fernando’s.

“When he was eight, he wanted a unicorn, so he sent an expedition of servants to find him one in Asia. Nobody ever saw them again.”

Daniel chuckles.

“Something ate them on the way?” he suggests. “Or they preferred running away to returning to the land practically ruled by a crazy eight-year-old?”

“Yes, probably the latter,” Fernando nods. “Then when he was fourteen, he heard a girl sing while washing clothes and liked her voice so much that he had her sing him to sleep every night. She went mad after about three months and ended up in a nunnery.”

Judging from the smirk on Daniel’s face, he doesn’t judge treating people like pets the worst thing in the world.

“Well, and to top it all, he made his best friend Markel his advisor, gave him a huge mansion and made him a knight.”

“What’s strange about that?”

“Markel was a stable-boy.”

“Well, better than if it was a horse,” Daniel shrugs.

“Yes. And actually, I think it was the sanest thing Iturraspe has ever done, because Markel can actually think. Since then he at least forgot about unicorns. ”

“That guy is hilarious!” Daniel says. “I’d like to meet him, honestly. But if I were Alonso, I would not entrust him with my life.”

“He had no other choice if he really didn’t want to leave Spain.”

“I personally can’t wait to leave it,” Daniel says. “Though elsewhere they also wanted to hang me, but Barcelona is the only place where they wanted to do it twice.”

Fernando laughs, even though it’s not exactly a laughing matter.

“You’re good at telling stories,” Daniel notes.

“Let’s hope Iturraspe doesn’t want me to tell him bedtime stories.”

“Yeah,” Daniel says and then tilts his head to the side.

“What?” Fernando asks.

“Your lip. It’s bleeding again,” Daniel explains and reaches out to wipe off the drop of blood.

Fernando looks at him, bewildered. Daniel clears his throat and gets up.

“Well. Let’s hope your friend comes tomorrow. When the captain gets angry, it will be really bad for you.”

“Thank you,” Fernando grins. “That’s a hell of a ‘good night’.”

Markel Susaeta walks in the dining room and smiles when he sees Xabi Alonso sitting there, having breakfast.

“Good morning, Markel!” Xabi says when he sees him.

“Good morning. I see you’re back from your mission.”

“I wouldn’t call it a mission,” Xabi smiles. “I was just trying to get some information on Carles’ journey. But nobody in the other ports has heard about him.”

Markel frowns and turns to Iturraspe.

“Ander, did you give him the letter?” he asks.

“What letter?”

“The letter... from the sailor... oh my God, I can’t believe you were that drunk!” he exclaims when none of the words seem to make Iturraspe remember the situation.

“A letter from a sailor?” Xabi asks, intrigued. “What letter?”

“I have no idea,” Iturraspe scratches his head.

“There was a sailor who came to the feast two days ago... he had a message from some Fernando Torres, for you,” Markel explains, looking at Xabi. “Unfortunately Ander was already so drunk that he apparently doesn’t remember it.”

“Where is the letter?” Xabi asks.

“I don’t remember that either,” Iturraspe shrugs. “Does anyone of you know if I could go fox hunting?”

“No, because there are no foxes in the forests here, Ander,” Markel says patiently. “Don’t you remember what you did with the letter?”

“I don’t know… what I usually do with things, probably.”

“What is that?” Xabi asks.

“He throws them away, if they are not made of gold,” Markel explains. “I’ll look for it, don’t worry.”

“After we go fox hunting,” Iturraspe says. "Because I want to go fox hunting."

“I told you, Ander, there are no…”

“Send some hunters to catch foxes in other forests, then release them in ours and we go fox hunting!” Iturraspe says and gets up, shaking his head. “God, you really are thick sometimes, Markel.”

When Iker joins Sara in the rooms she took to herself (without asking him, in his own house, and furnished them with her own things and servants – there is not a big difference between a servant and a piece of furniture, Iker thinks), he already looks more presentable. At least he had a bath last night and changed his clothes and also had his beard shaved.

He watches Sara holding her cup out to Jorge who fills it with tea.

“Isn’t it a bit strange to have male servants carrying your fan and pouring you tea?” Iker asks.

Sara lays the cup on the table.

“I had a maid, until someone…” she looks pointedly at Jorge. “Got her pregnant.”

Jorge puts the kettle back and scurries away.

“And now I’ll tell you what to do,” Sara says. “Your plan with Puyol is passé, so get over it. Then there is the property and your honor lost to the servants.”

“Yes,” Iker nods.

“You sell the property,” Sara says. “And I’ll take care of the servants. I doubt they will dare threaten a lady with a sword.” 

Chapter Text

David nervously pulls at the sleeves of his new shirt. It’s Villa’s and it indeed fits him better than Sergio’s shirt. The problem is that he is not used to feeling such fine material on his skin. The shirts he used to wear since he was a kid were made out of nettles, stiff and scratchy. And even though Sergio’s was a cotton one, it still didn’t feel anything like this.

“Is there anything wrong with your shirt?” Villa asks, trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

“No,” David mumbles and forces his fingers to stop fiddling with the ties.

“I hope so,” Villa smirks. “The silk it’s made of traveled the whole way from Venice for a reason. It’s the finest there is.”

David is quite ready to believe it.

When they approach the church, he finally stops worrying about the shirt.

“Are you sure that I can walk in there?” he asks Villa and bites his lip. “I’m not even… that…”

“Baptized?” Villa smiles. “That doesn’t ban you from going to church. You just can’t make a confession or take the Eucharist, but there’s no reason why you couldn’t listen.”

They enter the church and Villa heads to the benches when he realizes that David is no more by his side. He turns around and smiles. David is standing a few steps from the main door, looking up with his mouth open. Villa folds his arms.

“Are you coming or not?” he asks.

David finally tears his eyes from the decorated ceiling and joins him.

“It’s huge,” he whispers when they sit in one of the benches in the back. “It didn’t look so big from the outside. And it’s so… beautiful. Like a palace or something.”

“Yes,” Villa nods. “There is one thing I like about churches, and that is that everything makes sense in them. Everything is there for a reason, has its meaning. Where things stand, how many there are, the way the whole building is built...”

“Isn’t it the same with everything in life?” David frowns.

“Do you think so?” Villa chuckles. “I don’t know. I sometimes think life is just a mess.”

“I think life is only as complicated as you make it.”

“And how do you make it simple?”

“You give up,” David smiles. “You just go with it. I mean... most of the things you can’t change anyway.”

Villa wants to say something, maybe oppose that opinion, but in that moment, the organ music sounds loudly from the gallery and he stands up, pulling David up as well. The fact that he hasn’t gone to the mass for a long time and the way it’s all new to David makes the feelings almost new to him as well.

Iker glances over the table at Sara nervously and puts down the spoon he is holding. He doesn’t even feel like eating. Sara takes a sip from her cup and makes a face.

“Jorge?” she calls.

When nothing happens for a while, she looks towards the door.

“JORGE!” she yells.

The door opens and her other servant runs in.

“My lady, you sent Jorge to prepare your carriage!” he says.

“Is he not done yet?” Sara frowns. “Never mind, you will do.”

“You wish, my lady?”

“Make me a cup of tea. Of my tea. I don’t know how they call this thing here, but it’s certainly not tea.”

The servant bows and goes to the door.

“And... Juan?” Sara calls.

“I’m Javier, my lady.”

“You are what I say you are!” Sara snaps. “Put a spoon of honey in it. Just one. I need to think of my figure.”

Iker watches Javier exit the room and then clears his throat.

“Are you going anywhere? I mean, the carriage...” he asks with hope in his voice.

“Yes, I am going to see the regent,” Sara replies calmly and pushes away the cup. “I hope you are not going to just sit here all day.”

Actually, it is exactly what Iker was planning to do.

“No, I... will try to put together everything to sell the property,” he says.

“Good,” Sara nods.

“What do you need from the regent?” Iker asks carefully.

“First of all, I need to hear the objective version of your story. Without your self-pity and the contentment of people who hate you. And then, it never hurts to keep good relations with people like Vilanova.”

“I just wonder how all your plans can help me get back at Villa.”

“Get back at Villa?” Sara frowns. “Do you realize that it’s Villa who should be getting back at you? As far as I remember, you had the last word.”

“I won’t be at peace until I destroy him completely. Maybe before I would let it pass, but now he and the stupid slave he’s bought are the reason of my downfall... even more than Fàbregas’ servants, those just took the rests of my dignity.”

Sara sighs deeply and accepts the cup of tea from Javier. She takes a sip and smiles.

“Delicious... Javier. Is my carriage ready?”

“It will be, in a minute. When Jorge finds the whip to get the horses going.”

“He better find it quickly or I will find it myself and put it to good use, then,” Sara says.

“I will tell him to hurry up, my lady,” Javier nods and runs out of the room.

“At least one of them seems to be competent,” Sara sighs and drinks the rest of her tea.

Xavi is in the middle of cutting vegetables for lunch when he hears the clattering of horseshoes. He wipes his hands on his apron and goes to the door. He gives a surprised look to Francesc Fàbregas and the other man with him.

“Are we disturbing?” Francesc asks and raises his brows.

“Ah... no, but... it’s just me and Fábio here,” Xavi says.

“Then at least Cristiano came at the right moment,” Francesc smiles. “Could you see him in? I will take the horses to the stable as I see Sergio is not here.”

“Sergio went to buy rabbits,” Xavi says and gives Cristiano a mistrustful look. “Follow me.”

They pass through the kitchen to the servants’ rooms.

“Fábio?” Xavi calls. “I think you have a visit.”

Fábio sticks out his head and gasps.

“Cris?”

“In all my beauty!” Cristiano grins. “Just joking, I’ve already looked better.”

Fábio practically runs out of the room, beaming.

“Wait, wait!” Cristiano says and steps back. “If you want to hug me, try not to touch my back.”

“Yes, preferably don’t touch mine either,” Fábio laughs.

Then they turn to Xavi who is still standing in the corridor. He clears his throat.

“I’m not sure if having you two in this house is safe,” he mumbles.

“Don’t worry, Xavi, Cris doesn’t want to steal your dishes,” Fábio smirks.

“If there’s food in them, though...” Cris grins.

Xavi rolls his eyes and goes back to the kitchen where Francesc is already sitting at the table with a cup of wine. Apparently he already knows the house well enough to know where to find the wine.

A moment later, Sergio runs into the kitchen, holding two rabbits in his arms.

“Is it... it is you!” he says breathlessly upon seeing Francesc. “I saw your horse in the stable.”

“Yes, it’s me,” Francesc smiles.

“SERGIO!” Xavi yells then. “The rabbits are... alive?”

“Of course,” Sergio nods. “What should they be, dead?”

“Yes. Because they should be our dinner, Sergio.”

“Don’t call them dinner, Xavi!” Sergio snaps and holds the rabbits to his chest protectively. “They are Concha and Paco!”

Francesc almost falls of the chair.

“Oh, God!” Xavi sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Can I keep them?” Sergio grins and pets one of the rabbits while letting the other one hop on the table.

“Yes, until lunch,” Xavi says. “Then Concha and Paco will go to the saucepan.”

Sergio pouts and sits at the table. He waits for Xavi to go to the cellar to look for something and then looks at Francesc.

“Did you come to visit me?” he asks.

“Actually, I thought I would talk to Villa,” Francesc says. “But of course I’m glad to see you as well.”

“Villa is in the church,” Sergio says.

Francesc chokes on the wine.

“He is where?”

“In the church,” Sergio shrugs. “With David.”

“With… Sergio, one of us has gone mad and I don’t know who.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Sergio says. “Villa went to church, with David, whom he dressed in his own silk shirt. It doesn’t even surprise me anymore, because he apparently has been also teaching him to write. Next week he will show him his accounting books and the next me and Xavi will be polishing David’s shoes.”

Francesc is laughing already at the image of David staring into Villa’s books, but the last causes him to almost double up with laughter.

“Jealousy is a sin, Sergio,” he warns.

“I’m not jealous of David!” Sergio objects. “I’m just worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“About Villa maybe taking David for something more than he is,” Sergio says. “It never ends well, you know. Poor boys don’t become princes. Even though I’d like to believe it sometimes.”

He gets up, grabs the two rabbits and disappears through the door. Francesc nods for himself and goes to pour himself another cup.

Markel walks in the big hall to find Iturraspe looking at a chess board and frowning.

“You haven’t made a move yet?” Markel chuckles.

“No. I take my time. Just Xabi always comes and makes a move in seconds and then goes away, but that’s not chess! You’re supposed to think about it, aren’t you?”

“I suppose he thinks about it. Just really quickly,” Markel shrugs. “It’s a bit too quick, that’s true, but you thinking about a move for two days might be a bit too slow, actually.”

“I can think about it as long as I please!” Iturraspe snaps and looks at him. “What did you want?”

“The huntsman wants to speak with you.”

“Let him come in,” Iturraspe says and throws the chess board against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Markel frowns.

“I just won!” Iturraspe announces.

“No, you didn’t. You threw the board against the wall.”

“Right. Now prove that I didn’t win!” Iturraspe grins.

Markel sighs and goes to invite the huntsman in.

“My lord,” the huntsman says and bows deeply. “We caught ten foxes and released them in the forests, as you wished.”

“Oh,” Iturraspe says and pouts. “But I don’t feel like going fox hunting anymore.”

Markel puts his hand on the hilt of his sword instinctively because the huntsman looks like he will jump on Iturraspe and try to strangle him with his bare hands.

“But… what are we supposed to do with the foxes now?” he asks then, forcing his voice to stay calm and polite.

“I don’t know,” Iturraspe shrugs. “Eat them, for example.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the huntsman says through gritted teeth and leaves the hall.

Iturraspe reaches for an apple on the silver plate and another apple rolls down to the floor. Markel sighs and bends down to pick it up. Iturraspe probably doesn’t give a damn if it rots somewhere underneath the table, but Markel kept some of his instincts from the life before. And back then, an apple could have been his entire lunch. Then something catches his attention.

“What is…” he mumbles and crawls under the table.

“I don’t think I need a new dog, what are you doing there?” Iturraspe giggles.

“I think I found the letter,” Markel replies and crawls backwards on all four, which makes Iturraspe laugh even more.

Then he looks at the piece of parchment in his hand. It’s all crumpled, a bit torn, looks like someone stomped on it repeatedly and it smells of wine, but it’s without a doubt the letter.

“Excuse me, I’ll just give this to Xabi,” he says.

“What if I want to read it first?” Iturraspe asks.

“When was the last time you read something voluntarily?” Markel frowns.

“You’re right,” Iturraspe nods. “I’ll go fishing instead.”

“Great idea, Ander!” Markel says. “Fish we already have, so there’s no need to bring them from elsewhere.”

Villa thinks that he’s never listened so close during a mass. Even as a kid he was always fidgety, he would look everywhere else but at the priest and he would think about the silliest and most inappropriate things instead of listening – about how on Earth the painters who painted the ceiling got there, if they couldn’t fly, which his father told him they of course couldn’t; about what was underneath the priest’s frock, if he wore regular underwear or not; and about the Virgin Mary who had dark hair in all the portraits when he imagined her as a blonde and it irritated him to the point that he repainted one of the pictures they had at home, and got a good beating for it.

The priest is reading the story of Abraham and Isaac. It is his favorite, at least Villa remembers hearing it several times from him, and he doesn’t go to church often. “Look, Abraham was ready to sacrifice his only son to God,” he always almost shouts at the crowd. “And you are not ready to sacrifice a tiny bit of your goods for the church and the poor!” The theme of sacrifice, especially of self-sacrifice, is implied in almost everything Father Guardiola says.

“When they reached the place God had told him about,” Father Guardiola reads, his voice becoming louder and clearer. “Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood.”

Villa glances over at David and blinks in surprise. Tears are running down David’s face in two big streams. He almost doesn’t blink, his eyes are transfixed on the priest’s mouth. Villa is only grateful that the story ends well, otherwise he would blame himself forever for traumatizing him.

Xabi reads the letter Markel hands him and then drops it on the table.

“Bad news?” Markel asks.

“Yes,” Xabi nods and gets up. “Listen, Markel, I think I need your help.”

“My help?”

Xabi goes to the door, looks out, then closes it and locks it.

“Fernando has problems. Some pirates captured his ship. They are in a bay nearby, waiting for me to bring the ransom... well, I hope they are still waiting.”

“That is bad,” Markel nods.

“If they see a soldier, they will kill everyone, I am sure of that.”

“How can I help you, then?”

“I have the money and I will go there, of course. But I’m afraid that if your lord noticed…”

“Ander?” Markel chuckles. “He won’t notice anything. He’s busy thinking about his ingenious plan to become the rightful lord of Biscay.”

“But the rightful lord of Biscay is…”

“Right,” Markel nods. “The King himself.”

Xabi looks at him utterly horrified, while Markel is more amused than anything else. Apparently he’s been dealing with Ander Iturraspe’s caprices for quite a long time to let them spoil his day.

“How does he want to…” Xabi gasps.

“The King has a daughter, Isabella,” Markel reminds him. “She is ugly as hell and a religious fanatic, but apparently Ander doesn’t care. There is only one brother between her and the throne, and he’s quite a fragile child. He only needs to think of a way to persuade the King to give her hand to him.”

“Such a way practically doesn’t exist.”

“I know,” Markel shrugs. “Tell that to Ander. What exists in his mind is real. If he wants you to have two heads, you’re bound to grow the other one.”

“Thank God it hasn’t crossed his mind yet,” Xabi laughs.

“It could happen any moment, though,” Markel smirks. “Go. I will keep him occupied for as long as possible. I’ll tell him that if he wants to marry Isabella, he should at least read the Bible. That will take him about five years, or at least two days before it annoys him enough.”

“Thank you,” Xabi says. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to pay you back.”

“When I need rest, maybe I’ll ask you to keep Ander occupied in my place,” Markel chuckles. “Sometimes it’s worse than with a child, I tell you.”

Xabi smiles.

“Well, I gotta go,” Markel says then. “Ander decided to go fishing, I have to make sure he doesn’t drown.”

“I hope he doesn’t go fishing in the bay where the pirates are,” Xabi says.

Markel stops at the door abruptly.

“Now you seriously scared me!” he says and runs out of the door.

“Leaving already?” Sergio asks when Francesc comes to the stables.

“Yes. I have to. I will speak to Villa next time. And I think Cristiano will find the way out of the house. Hopefully without Villa’s things.”

Sergio nods and checks the saddle once more. He never double checks, only Francesc’s saddle. He definitely doesn’t want Francesc to die because of his clumsiness. Not that he wants other people to die because of it, but this is really a special case.

“Who is he?” he asks suddenly.

“Who is who?” Francesc frowns.

“The one you are avoiding me for. Tell me his name so I can kick his ass and stick his head in a dunghill!”

“Daniella.”

Sergio’s eyes go wide.

“What?”

“Daniella. It’s her, not him. And I’m supposed to marry her.”

Sergio just stares at him with his mouth open.

“Oh,” he says then, unable to think of anything else to say.

He leans over the wooden rail with his back to Francesc who stays in the aisle.

“My father and her father have some kind of business deal together, I understood. That’s how it works in families like mine,” Francesc says. “Basically children are like horses. You sell to who pays the most.”

“Do you love her?” Sergio asks then.

Francesc laughs bitterly.

“She’s about ten years older than me, dresses terribly and I saw her just once in my life.”

“That doesn’t sound like you love her.”

“You must hate me now,” Francesc sighs.

“No…” Sergio says and turns to him. “No, I don’t.”

“No?”

“Well, it’s not like I thought you would ever marry me. I didn’t imagine myself in a white dress with a veil, or something.”

Francesc laughs, despite not feeling very much like laughing. Just the image is too much not to laugh.

“No, but it would change a lot of things. I mean, your life changes when you get married, I suppose,” he shrugs.

“What if you don’t marry her?” Sergio asks.

“My father will probably disown me and send me in the front line when our monarchs finally decide to send the army to Granada.”

He kicks the rail.

“But I don’t care,” he whispers then. “I so don’t care.”

“I do care,” Sergio says quietly. “I mean, I do care if you die or not.”

“And do you prefer me hers and alive or dead and yours?” Francesc asks.

Sergio opens his mouth and then closes it again, clutching the rail.

“Now that you put it like this, it doesn’t look like there is a better possibility,” he says then.

“Right,” Francesc nods. “There isn’t. Wedding or war, I never thought it would look the same to me one day.”

“You know what?” Sergio whispers.

“What?”

“You can now kiss the groom.”

Álvaro finds Isco in his room in the middle of tools, nails and wooden boards.

“What is this?” Álvaro asks.

“New bed,” Isco says. “It will be.”

“Oh,” Álvaro says and folds his arms. “So we are getting more... earnest?”

“I don’t know what you mean, but you should help me if you want to sleep in it as well,” Isco grins.

Álvaro approaches him, but he only manages to grab the nearest board when Francesc’s voice sounds from the yard.

“Alright, it will have to wait,” he says.

“You always find an excuse for not having to work,” Isco bickers.

Álvaro throws a handful of sawdust at him and climbs down the ladder.

“Ah, so there is someone,” Francesc says when he comes out. “I thought the house was empty.”

“Isco is upstairs, señor,” Álvaro says. “Will you still need the horse?”

“You tell me, will I?”

“Probably yes. A messenger brought a message from the regent. He asks you to come to his house as soon as possible.”

“Alright,” Francesc sighs.

“Then a messenger from your father was here.”

“What does my father want?” Francesc frowns.

“He wants to remind you that it’s Sunday tomorrow,” Álvaro shrugs. “Whatever it means.”

“It means exactly that,” Francesc sighs. “Tomorrow is Sunday.”

Villa smiles when David walks in with his lunch.

“Where is your new shirt?” he asks.

“Well… I have to work and I didn’t want to… tear it or spill something on it,” David smiles shyly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Villa whispers. “I will rip it off your body sooner or later.”

David just laughs shortly and accepts Villa’s kiss.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says.

“Thank me?” Villa raises his brows.

“For taking me with you today,” David nods. “It was... I felt like I was a part of your life.”

“You are a part of my life, David,” Villa says quietly. “A very important part.”

David lowers his eyes, blush creeping up his cheeks. Villa can’t help but smile.

“Father Guardiola can be a bit... passionate sometimes,” he says then. “I hope he didn’t scare you.”

“No,” David smiles shyly. “I’m... I’m sorry if I did anything... bad.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” Villa smiles. “Actually, I also cried when I heard that story for the first time.”

“Really?” David asks.

“Yes. I was about seven or eight years old. I think I never trusted my father the same after that.”

David nods like it’s not a silly childhood story but a very serious matter.

“I have to go,” he says then. “Xavi needs the rabbits for dinner and Sergio doesn’t want to kill them.”

“Why?” Villa frowns.

“He named them and says they are his friends now.”

Villa just rolls his eyes and pulls the plate to him.

When Francesc walks in the regent’s house, he almost bumps into Jordi.

“What are you doing here?” Francesc asks.

“The regent wanted to congratulate me for dealing with the bribery in my prison,” Jordi says, balling his fists. “It took me a lot of self-control not to throw anything at him.”

“I understand.”

“By the way, do you know that Countess Sara is here?” Jordi asks then, trying to change the topic as soon as possible.

“Countess Sara Carbonero, Lady of Niebla?”

“Yes. She was here today.”

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Everyone saw her... and heard her,” Jordi laughs. “She went to visit the regent, but came unannounced and he didn’t have time to see her. He had a delegation from the King and the Queen there, apparently concerning the matters in Granada.”

“I suppose Lady Sara wasn’t too pleased,” Francesc chuckles.

“She was furious,” Jordi nods. “Rumor has it that she is staying at Casillas’ house.”

“I thought her and Casillas was an old story,” Francesc says.

“Everyone did, especially when she courted young Sergi Roberto, or rather his titles, money and properties... can we actually say a lady courted a man?”

“When it’s Lady Sara, we definitely can,” Francesc nods. “And if she is back with Casillas, there can’t be anything good behind it.”

It’s already getting dark when Francesc leaves the regent’s house. What he was suspecting is actually true. The monarchs started to send their delegations to all the major cities. Granada has rebelled against the monarchs and the war can’t be over until it is standing. Despite it being just one city, nobody can be sure the king of the Moors doesn’t have allies. Short or not, it is still war and people die in war.

He keeps replaying his conversation with Sergio. Hers and alive or dead and yours? He doesn’t even notice that he is leading the horse towards the house of his father and not his own.

When he is standing in the backyard of his father’s house, he notices the carriage standing there. He immediately knows who it belongs to. After all, it’s not hard with the strange style it is decorated in. He jumps off his horse and enters the house.

His father is just on his way down the stairs, holding one of his accounting books.

“Francesc!” he says with more or less feigned surprise.

“Is he here?” Francesc asks breathlessly.

“Who?” his father frowns.

“Your friend, Tanoukh.”

Then he walks into the salon, a little bit too quickly and resolutely for someone with good manners. The man standing at the bookcase turns around.

“Señor Semaan, I would like to talk to you,” Francesc says.

He can see the worry on his father’s face and laughs bitterly in his mind.

“But of course,” Tanoukh nods.

“I would like to…” he takes a deep breath.

Tanoukh cocks his head to the side.

“Yes?”

“I would like to ask for the hand of your daughter Daniella... in marriage.”

Chapter Text

Francesc can practically hear the breath his father lets out. Tanoukh smiles widely.

“Daniella?” he calls.

In a moment, Daniella emerges from the dining room where she was apparently talking to Carlota and Francesc’s grandmother. Upon seeing Francesc she smiles and lowers her eyes in the best performance of a shy girl he has ever seen, and curtseys so naturally that it’s clear what she’s spent her life on.

“Captain Fàbregas has just asked me for your hand, sweetheart,” Tanoukh says. “What do you say?”

“I think Daniella is delighted,” Carlota’s sarcastic voice sounds from the door.

Francesc’s father shoots a warning look at her. Daniella looks up and with another smile gracefully outstretches her hand to Francesc who takes it and kisses it.

“Oh, children!” Francesc’s father cries, beaming happily. “This deserves a toast!”

He hurries to the kitchen himself, without actually calling a servant, which suggests he is beyond excited, and comes back with a bottle of wine.

“Of course we will organize a proper engagement later,” he babbles while pouring the wine into the glasses. “This is just for good luck.”

Francesc looks at Carlota who looks mightily unimpressed, and just shrugs in a “What could I do?” way.

“So,” Francesc’s father says when everyone takes their glass. “To Francesc and Daniella!”

Francesc downs his glass in three gulps.

“So you really worked for Casillas all the time?” Cristiano asks. “How did you survive that?”

“You see,” Fábio shrugs. “I almost didn’t.”

“You can’t imagine how many times I imagined snapping that bastard’s neck,” Cristiano growls. “It kept me going in prison.”

“So you just went out of prison where you were for theft and you want to go back for murder?” Fábio shakes his head. “Better think of what we will do now.”

“Well, we can’t return to Portugal, that’s for sure,” Cristiano says.

“Because of you,” Fábio grins.

“Well, I didn’t ask for the ten warrants with my name on them, but it’s how it is,” Cristiano shrugs.

“But if we stay here, Casillas will kill us.”

“Maybe something or someone will kill him first,” Cristiano suggests. “How long can you stay here?”

“Until Villa kicks me out,” Fábio shrugs. “Which right now he doesn’t want to do because he feels guilty, I suppose.”

“And he has all the reasons to,” Cristiano frowns. “Well, I mean I stole and got punished for it, alright. But he’s no damn judge and not a saint either, I’ve heard.”

“Listen, Cris... what if we tried to find some work? I mean, just normal work.”

Cristiano looks at him as if Fábio went absolutely mad.

“Do you remember when I worked in the bakery in Lisbon?” he asks.

“Yes,” Fábio nods.

“And do you remember why we had to escape from Lisbon?”

Fábio bites his lip.

“Because the bakery burned down.”

“Exactly,” Cristiano nods. “Better don’t suggest this anymore.”