FIC - Purity of Intention (3/?)

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

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Title: Purity of Intention (3 / ?)
Author: namarie120 and arieltachna
Type: RPS/FPS crossover
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: thanks to akashaelfwitch for help with translation




Previous Chapters


~~~~~

Alatriste had made a point, when he left his few things in his room earlier that afternoon, of prowling the narrow corridors until he found a second staircase – probably a servants' passageway, from the days when the inn was new enough (and clean enough) to cater to patrons who could afford servants. The swordsman owed his continued survival on more than one occasion to always knowing the location of an alternate exit. Tonight, he took advantage of the little-used access way to carry the unconscious young man to his room without having to return through the crowded tavern.

The youth had not stirred, even when Diego had let his legs slide to the floor so he could dig the key out of the pouch at his belt. Once inside the dingy accommodations, he turned the bolt and deposited his quarry on the bed's thin mattress. Moistening a kerchief from the pitcher of water on the dresser, he cleaned away the traces of dirt from the slackened face. Madre de Dios, but the boy was beautiful! The honeyed tone of his skin, the long, dark lashes, the silken profligacy of his curls were unlike any Englishman’s the Capitán had ever seen or imagined. Rinsing the cloth, he daubed at the rivulets that had run down the long, graceful throat. Beneath the sweat and the lingering scents of the rank alley and of too much beer, he could still smell something sweet and tangy, lime oil and sandalwood, perhaps. He tucked a strand of hair behind the young man’s ear, staring at the ringlet that curled around his finger.

The cool moisture on his face roused Orlando from his stupor. His eyes fluttered open to reveal the face of the man who had attacked Eric earlier. His blood chilled even as he struggled to regain his wits enough to speak. He wanted to rant and rail at the Spaniard for depriving him of his bodyguard and friend, but he doubted it would do any good. It was a shame, really, for the swordsman was everything Orlando sought in a man: strong, fearless, cunning, ruggedly handsome. The thick moustache so typical of this country promised sensations aplenty as the mouth it topped brushed over his skin or closed around his cock. He frowned at his wayward thoughts. He had obviously knocked his head harder than he realized because he knew better than to fantasize about strangers, especially here where the mere whisper of scandal could send a man to the stake.

The young man's lashes fluttered, then opened to reveal eyes the color of warm chocolate. A thin trace of gold edged the black pupils, dilated now as they fought their way back to consciousness. Satisfied that he saw no sign of concussion in the orbs which were beginning to flash with anger as awareness returned, Diego sat back, dropping the cloth onto the nightstand and tugging at the end of his moustache in consideration.

“What do you want with me?” Orlando asked defensively, sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest as if to protect himself. He had seen the man fight. It would be little help if he decided to attack.

"I mean you no harm," Alatriste answered, his captive’s defensive posture reminding him – a reminder he would do well to heed, he told himself – that the young man was an innocent, or nearly so. "I do not intend to hurt you, only to return you to your family in Madrid."

“I have no family in Madrid,” Orlando exclaimed. “My only family is in London and my father sent me here for my protection. Who told you I had family in Spain?”

Diego frowned. "Running away with your – " he bit off the word 'lover', knowing in these days it was not safe to talk of such things openly. ”Running away as you did is a piss-poor means of protection," he replied dryly.

“Eric!” Orlando gasped, realizing he had not given his friend a second thought. “Where is Eric?” he demanded.

Somehow, Diego found himself unable to tell his quarry that he had left his lover bleeding to death in a filthy alley. "You need not worry about him," he answered gruffly. "You will not be seeing him again."

“He’s dead, then,” Orlando said softly, forehead lowering to his knees as he realized he would never see his friend and steadfast defender again. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I’m no match for you with a sword, but I will see him avenged,” he spat.

"He lived when I left him," Alatriste admitted, surprised at the need he felt to comfort the youth who would, he knew, just as soon see him lying in a pool of blood in place of his lover. "He is a strong man; it is likely he may survive."

Orlando brightened immediately. “Let me send for a surgeon,” he pleaded. “I have the means to pay for one. I can’t just let Eric die, not after he protected me for so long.”

His eyes narrowed, Diego considered the young man's plea and noted, for the second time, his claim that the big man was there as his protector. "I will see that a surgeon is called, on one condition," he answered. Though in truth, he had meant to return downstairs to ensure his opponent had been found as soon as he knew the youth was unharmed, he would not dismiss the chance to turn his captive’s concern to his advantage.

“What condition?” Orlando asked warily. He wanted desperately to agree, but he knew better than to rush in blindly.

"It is five day's ride back to Madrid," the Capitán countered. "I have no mind to keep you restrained all the way there. Give me your word you will return with me without resistance, and I will make sure your companion is well cared for."

Five days. That was five days Orlando could use to find out what this man really wanted from him and to convince the mercenary to let him go. Five days of cooperation in return for Eric’s life. “Agreed,” he said softly, knowing he had no real choice.

Diego was not a man who trusted easily, but looking into those deep brown eyes, he had no doubt the young Englishman would keep his word. "Gather what you need from your room," he instructed. "I will see to your – friend, and perhaps order some dinner as well. We will leave at first light tomorrow."

“Gracias,” Orlando replied, knowing he could well be signing his own warrant into hell in return for Eric’s life. He knew what Eric would say about it as well, but to Orlando’s mind, it was worth the risk. He started toward the door, cataloguing what he would need to take with him and what he could leave for Eric.

Using the main staircase this time, Alatriste returned to the tavern in search of the innkeeper, only to find the short, stout man wringing his hands over the vicious attack that had taken place outside his very doorstep. "This is a good, safe neighborhood," the man bemoaned. "What will happen to my business if guests are afraid of being attacked by robbers if they but step outside to relieve themselves?"

"Who has been attacked?" Diego asked, feigning concern. "My young friend's companion has been gone for some time, we were becoming worried about him. Is it possible he was set upon?"

"If you mean the big man who has been staying with the younger lad, then he's the one," the proprietor affirmed mournfully. "Bleeding all over my storeroom floor, he is."

"He is fortunate you found him," the Capitán responded, taking his coin-pouch from his belt. "Will you send for a surgeon to tend to him? The boy and I have urgent business to attend to, but I will pay for their room, and a little extra for your trouble as well, if you will ensure our friend is taken care of while we are gone."

The innkeeper's eyes lit at the sight of the gold coin in the swordsman's hand. "Of course, Your Worthy, my wife will care for him as if he was our own son," he promised.

Alatriste nodded as he dropped the coin in the innkeeper's eager palm. "See that you do," he insisted. "I should be most displeased if I returned and found he had died while we were gone." Diego had no intention of returning to the inn, or indeed to the city, ever again, but the innkeeper had no need to know that. Adding a request for two bowls of guisado and a bottle of wine to be brought to his room, the Capitán headed back up the stairs, wondering if he was a fool to expect the youth to still be there.

Orlando entered the room that had been both his prison and his escape for the past two weeks. As he gathered up his clothes for the trip to Madrid, he pondered what he knew so far. Obviously, someone had sent this Spaniard after him under false pretences. The swordsman had said he was taking Orlando back to his family, but Orlando’s father had sent him to Spain with Eric. Even if he wanted Orlando to return home, he would not have sent a stranger to attack them and would not have requested they return to Madrid. That meant this was another kidnapping attempt, only this time it was about to be successful if Orlando did not keep his wits about him. His captor seemed an honorable man. If Orlando could convince him of the truth, perhaps he would be willing to let him go. Picking up his things, Orlando left the room he and Eric had shared for the one he would share with his captor for his last night in Málaga.

Diego had just reached the door of his room when he saw the young man approaching down the corridor, his belongings in his arms. "You are a man of your word," he acknowledged, gesturing for his charge to precede him into the chamber "Your companion lives," he continued, settling into the single chair and stretching his legs out before him. "I have arranged for a surgeon to be sent for, and the innkeeper promises to care for him as his own until he has recovered."

“Gracias,” Orlando said again as he set down his bag. “I realized while you were away that I don’t even know your name.”

"Alatriste," Diego said, sitting up enough to execute a mock bow. "Diego Alatriste y Tenorio, en su servicio."

“Orlando Bloom,” Orlando replied, returning the bow and completing the introduction. He took a seat on the bed since there was not another chair. “Who sent you, Alatriste? My father is in England and sent me here with Eric for my own protection. I don’t know what you were told, but it was a lie.”

Unconsciously, Diego's hand rose to stroke the tip of his moustache between thumb and forefinger, a habitual pose when deep in thought. "The man who commissioned me to find you said his name was McKellen," he answered slowly. "He claimed to have been requested by your father to convince you to return to England – that you refused to continue your studies in favor of spending your time with your – friend."

“That old bastard!” Orlando spat. “I should have known.”

"I take it he is not an old family friend?" Diego murmured, amused at the vehemence of the young man's reaction.

“Not hardly,” Orlando replied. “Perhaps an old family enemy.”

"What does he hope to gain by my bringing you to him?" Alatriste asked. "He did not seem the type to hold you to ransom." In fact, the older Englishman had paid handsomely for the swordsman's services, but Diego was not anxious for the younger man to realize that fact.

“For money, no,” Orlando agreed, “but my father is a very influential man in England, and McKellen has tried more than once to persuade my father to his point of view in a series of negotiations with Spain. My father doesn’t think McKellen’s plans would benefit anyone but the old goat. The last time my father refused him, McKellen made some very pointed threats and since then, there have been four attempts at kidnapping me, including yours. My father hoped I would be safer on the Continent so he hired Eric to protect me while I made my Grand Tour.”

"Canalla!" Diego snarled, thinking back to the older man's putative concern for the safety of his dear friend’s son. Between the two, there was no question which one Alatriste believed – the young man's sincerity all but radiated from him. A wave of disdain at his own actions swept over him. As a hired sword, he had done many things he was not especially proud of, but his role in coercing this young man and all but murdering his bodyguard sickened him. Wishing he had his hands around the old liar's throat, Diego was about to speak when a knock sounded at the door.

Ingrained habit took over and Orlando rose from the bed, backing into the furthest corner of the room. Eric had always made him do this to give the bodyguard space to move in case of a fight.

Noting the young man's cautious withdrawal, Diego felt even more guilt at having deprived him of his protector. "That will be the dinner I asked for," he reassured him, though his hand was on the hilt of his dagger as he cracked open the door. The serving wench who offered their tray was hardly a threat, unless the coquettish smile she threw at his young companion could be considered a threat to his virtue. Just as well the lad would be sleeping with him tonight. That thought brought an unwelcome flare of heat which Alatriste was quick to smother. It was long since he had felt such an impulse, and in any case his new companion had made it clear that despite McKellen’s hints, his bodyguard had not also been his lover. Dropping the tray on the dresser, the Capitán poured a deep draught of the rich wed wine into one of the mugs. "Eat," he prompted, picking up a bowl of stew and settling back into the chair. "It will be a long ride back to Madrid."

“I thought… I thought you believed me!” Orlando said plaintively as he approached the tray and picked up a bowl, backing into the corner again to eat. He had hoped, when he saw Alatriste’s reaction, that the Spaniard would leave him here with Eric rather than dragging him back to Madrid.

"I do." Diego scowled, knowing that the prudent thing to do would be to take the old man's money and ride away from the young man and everything he represented. He also knew there was no way in hell he could do it.

“Then why are you taking me back to Madrid?” Orlando demanded, taking a bite of the stew. “I’m safe here, or at least I will be when Eric recovers. McKellen is in Madrid. That’s the last place it’s safe for me to be right now.”

"You said there have already been four attempts to kidnap you," the Capitán pointed out. "McKellen, or whatever his name is, obviously means to have you at whatever cost." He thought again with shame of the gold coins in his belt-pouch, and the equal amount he had been promised upon his return. "If I don't bring you back, he'll just find someone else to send in my place." He took a bite of stew and gestured with the empty spoon. "We need to find some way to stop him for good."

“All I have to do is stay out of his grasp until the negotiations are complete,” Orlando countered, still trying to dissuade his captor. “He won’t have any use for me after that. It shouldn’t be but another month or two.”

Diego snorted. "Spain and England have been 'negotiating' since before you were born," he retorted, "and like as not they'll be at it still when both of us are gone. Do you like living in hiding? Never knowing if any man who approaches you is friend or foe?"

“No,” Orlando admitted. “I hate it, but going to Madrid seems incredibly risky. What if we can’t find a way to stop him?”

"Then you're no worse off than you are now," the swordsman insisted. In truth, he wasn't sure himself why he was pressing his companion so urgently, except that he wanted to pay the old man back for playing him for a fool – and to redeem the debt of honor he felt binding him to this young man's fate.

He was clearly not going to win this argument. With a sigh, Orlando turned his attention to his dinner. When he had finished the bowl, he looked back up. “Can I at least say goodbye to Eric before we leave?”

"In the morning, before we depart," Diego agreed, thinking it would be best to give the big man as much time as possible to recover before letting Orlando see him. "We should get some rest while we can."

Orlando eyed the bed nervously. It had been one thing to sleep beside Eric at night, but to share a bed, however innocently, with a stranger made him more than a little uncomfortable. Pulling the quilt off the bed, he laid it on the floor, intending to make himself a pallet in the corner where he could sleep.

"What the hell are you doing?" Diego demanded as the young man made to lay down on the floor. The knowledge that his companion couldn't bear to share a bed with him shouldn't have surprised him, but he found it galling nonetheless. "Take the bed – I'll sleep here."

“That’s not necessary,” Orlando insisted. “I’ll be perfectly fine here. I couldn’t deprive you of your bed.”

"Believe me, I have slept in far worse accommodations over the years," Alatriste scoffed. "Take the bed, Orlando."

“Really, I couldn’t,” Orlando protested.

"Take the fucking bed!" Diego thundered, losing what little patience he had left.

Reluctantly, Orlando spread the quilt back over the mattress and removed his shoes and jacket so he could rest more comfortably. With Eric, he had stripped down to his long undershirt and smallclothes, but he did not know Alatriste that well yet. Sliding between the sheets, he closed his eyes to pretend to sleep, sure he would not get a moment’s rest. But within a minute, sleep had overtaken him.

'What the fuck have I gotten myself into?' Alatriste asked himself. If Íñigo had challenged him so persistently, he'd have boxed his ears by now. But Íñigo had never tied his guts in knots the way one evening with this dark-eyed youth had done. Stretching out his long legs and leaning back in the hard wooden chair, Diego settled in for a watchful night.


tbc…

Comments

[lizarazu.livejournal.com]

It was a shame, really, for the swordsman was everything Orlando sought in a man: strong, fearless, cunning, ruggedly handsome. The thick moustache so typical of this country promised sensations aplenty as the mouth it topped brushed over his skin or closed around his cock. He frowned at his wayward thoughts.

This sentence alone got me hooked;>
But seriously, very intriguing and very adept compilation of the two verses. Which is no surprise really, coming from two such talented authors.

When it was revealed that Ian is a baddie, I thought he had more, um, specific intentions towards Orlando. Dirty me.

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

I'm sure Ian wouldn't hesitate to act on those intentions you suspected him of having, if Diego had brought Orlando back and he had him under his power the way he intended. Fortunately (well, unfortunately for him) Diego has no intention of letting him get his hands (or any other body parts) on Orlando now.