vigorli

Title: Purity of Intention (1/?)
Author:

arieltachna
Type: not sure what exactly to call it – a blend of FPS & RPS
Pairing: Diego / Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: none
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, created for entertainment and enjoyment only. With all due respect, we do not own these characters, either the actors or those created by Arturo Pérez-Reverte. We just think it’s a fascinating world.
Feedback: would be wonderful
Beta:

sileya
Summary: A cynical swordsman is hired to return a runaway – or so it appears
A/N: Written for Carol as the birthday present that will keep on giving… obviously there’s much more of this still to come.
A/N2: thanks to

akashaelfwitch for help with translation

~~~~~

Ian McKellen, Esquire, stood in the shadows of the dank alley outside the seedy tavern in Madrid, waiting impatiently for his contact. He searched each face that passed, but none gave the gray-haired man a second look. That suited Ian just fine. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized here, in this setting, except by the man he was supposed to meet. Diego Alatriste had been recommended to him as a sword for hire, a mercenary with enough honor to complete the job, but not so much as would prove troublesome. With that thought in mind, Ian had worked out the perfect story to get the swordsman to go along with his plan.

Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. A man stood at the entrance to the alley, clothed all in tan leather, a dark cape thrown rakishly over one shoulder. The brim of his hat was wide and slightly tattered, and he wore a sword at one hip and a dagger on the other. As the man approached, Ian took note of the thick mustache that obscured his upper lip and the steely blue-grey eyes that pierced even the deepest of shadows for any threat. He was a handsome man, Ian thought sadly. If only he were not a mere hired sword… With a shrug, the older man stepped out of the shadows. “Capitán Alatriste?”

Diego Alatriste y Tenorio had been watching the older man for some time before he was ready to approach him. His finances were always uneven, and the coin for this job, if he decided to take it, would be most welcome, but he had enough in hand that he could afford to decline the offer should it come to that. He did not always have the luxury to be so discriminating, though there were some undertakings to which nothing could compel him to agree, but this did not feel like one of them. Diego had learned that observing his would-be employers could often reveal to him whether or not he would agree to their task, even before hearing the details or the terms. His instincts told him that this richly-dressed, silver-haired gentleman would at least be worth hearing out. "I am Alatriste," he replied. "And you?"

"McKellen," Ian said with a courtly bow. "Ian McKellen. I'm hoping you can help me, Capitán. My friend is most distressed at his son's behavior."

"Shall we take some refreshment while you tell me of it?" Diego inclined his head toward the tavern - surely not the type of place his prospective employer would normally frequent, but even if he chose to decline the job, he could at least get a decent bottle of wine from the meeting.

Ian frowned a little, not accustomed to such common taverns, but he understood the game. He would buy the mercenary food and drink in exchange for being heard. The rest was up to his powers of persuasion. “I would be pleased to dine with you,” he said magnanimously. “Lead the way.”

Alatriste had met enough men of a certain type at this tavern that the waitress knew to seat them at a quiet table against the back wall. Diego asked her to bring a bottle of their best vintage, then settled in his chair, stretching his long legs and turning his attention back to the Englishman. "Why is your friend not here to see me himself, if he is so concerned about his son?"

“He is still in England,” Ian explained. “His son was making his Grand Tour of Europe and was supposed to return last month to begin school. Instead, he has run off with his … friend … and refuses to return home.” In another place, Ian would not have minced words, but he had seen the burnings in the town square the week before: the Inquisition had no mercy on sodomites. Still, he was well experienced in concealing his own inclinations, and would not hesitate to play upon the mercenary’s undoubted prejudice in that regard, if it would gain Ian what he sought. “His father asked me to speak with him as an old friend of the family, but the boy will not be swayed. So his father requested that I employ whatever means necessary to separate the boy from the current bad influence in his life and return him to England at once. Thus, my message to you.”

"So the boy is not being held against his will?" Diego asked, frowning. "Is he of age?" The original message had implied that the lad in question had been kidnapped, but McKellen was describing a spoiled runaway. If the boy was unwilling to return, Diego's task would be that much harder - and his fee that much higher, he decided as he waited for the Englishman's response.

“He is twenty-three,” Ian replied, “but his father retains control of his purse and his future until he is twenty-five, so it remains his father’s decision what he should be doing. If after that, he chooses to consort with … men like Bana, that will be his choice. For now, his father insists that he come home.”

There was a moment's pause as the waitress brought their wine, pouring them each a glassful and setting the bottle in the middle of the table. Raising his goblet to his partner in a silent toast, Diego took an appreciative swallow, letting the flavor of the rich red wine mellow his mood. "So I will be fighting both the ... friend, and the boy himself?" the mercenary mused. "That will make the task more difficult, especially since I expect the father wishes them both unharmed."

“Bana is unimportant,” Ian declared with a wave of his hand. “He is the reason the boy has neglected his duties in the first place. All that matters is bringing Orlando to me unharmed so that I can get him home where he belongs.”

The Capitán's well-developed sense of self-preservation made him immediately suspicious of anyone to whom price was no object. Still, the Englishman met his eyes steadily, and what harm could there be in returning a boy to his own father? "Where can I find this Bana and … Orlando, was it?" he asked, thinking the boy's name did not sound British.

“In Málaga,” Ian replied. “He seems to think that by avoiding the typical sites of the Grand Tour, he can avoid his father’s disapproval. I am quite sure you can reach him faster than I would be able to get there to hire someone local.”

"It will take me some days to ride that far," Diego calculated. "And no guarantee the boy and his ... friend ... will not be gone by the time I arrive."

“You can be there in five days if you ride hard,” Ian countered. “They are staying at la taberna del Caballito Encabrita in the center of town. If they have left by the time you get there, follow them. The boy’s father will pay you well to make sure he recovers his son.”

Diego fingered the end of his moustache, his thoughts troubled. The easy way the Englishman countered his every objection only strengthened his distrust. Still, the man was paying well - too well, his judgment told him. "I will take your commission," the Capitán decided. "What should I do with the boy once I find him?"

“Bring him back here to Madrid,” Ian instructed, hiding his elation. “I will make sure he returns to his father from here.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a purse. “Here is the first installment of your fee. I will have the rest for you when you bring me the boy.”

Opening the purse, Diego let the coins spill into his hand. As he expected, they were gold - enough to satisfy his obligations and to spare. Pushing aside the misgivings he could not afford to indulge, he nodded shortly. "If all goes well, we should return within two weeks," he told his employer. "I will send word to you when we arrive." Draining his goblet, the Capitán stood, swinging his cape over his shoulder. "Until then, Your Mercy."

Ian watched the mercenary disappear out the door and leaned back against the wall of the inn, his eyes closing. Close. He was so close. Surely, this time, his plan would work and he would have Orlando in his clutches.

~~~~~

Diego climbed the stairs to the rooms he let on the upper floor of the tavern, overlooking the courtyard and the Calle del Arcabuz - rooms that at least this month he would be able to pay for. He found Íñigo where he had left him, practicing his letters at the small table that served them as desk and dinner table as well, when he could afford to put food on it. "Fetch my saddlebags," he told the youth. "I have a commission, one that will take me out of town for several weeks. Caridad will see to you while I am gone."

Íñigo was full of questions, but he knew better than to ask for answers the Capitán was unlikely to give him. “Sí, Capitán,” he replied, rising from his seat and putting the items Diego was likely to need in the pouches. He returned with them and offered them to his mentor. “Be careful,” he added unnecessarily.

"Stay out of trouble while I am gone," Diego countered. His ward was at the age, no longer a boy but not quite yet a man, when he was most ripe to get into any kind of scrape, but there was no way Diego could take him along on a journey where speed was of the essence - even if he could afford to hire a second horse. Reminded of his change in finances, the Capitán took the Englishman's purse from his belt and tossed one of the gold coins to Íñigo. "That should keep you fed while I am gone. I don't want to find you've used it on anything else but food when I return!"

“What else would I spend it on?” Íñigo asked innocently, pocketing the coin and fixing his mentor with a bland stare.

Diego lifted an eyebrow, his pale eyes kindling until the youth blushed and dropped his own. "You might buy a new shirt," the Capitán observed, "you've nearly outgrown that one."

“Food, and a new shirt,” Íñigo agreed, cursing himself for the blush that gave him away. “Anything else will wait until you return, Capitán, I promise.”

Alatriste nodded, ruffling the boy's dark hair before dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword. He ran a mental checklist in his head - his sword, the vizcaína tucked into the back of his belt, the smaller dagger hidden in the top of one of his boots. Sighing to himself, he crossed to the small clothes-press and took out the box containing his pistol. It was a weapon he disliked, preferring the grace and elegance of the rapier, but his gut told him this affair was one in which he would need every advantage he could get. Pouring powder and shot into a small pouch, he tucked the pistol into his belt and gathered up his saddlebags.

"Two weeks, Íñigo," he said, as he headed toward the door. "Expect my return some time after that." He did not mention what would happen should he not return - he no longer needed to.

“Be careful,” Íñigo said again, softly this time, as he watched his mentor and friend disappear out the door.

tbc…