Title: Hawking
Rating: PG-13 for blood and violence
Pairing: Lorenzo/Giovanni
Word Count: 2,350
Description: Lorenzo pulls the strings, Giovanni goes for the kill. Master and hawk work in tandem.
Author's Note: This started out as a hawking metaphor, but somehow evolved into Lorenzo showing off his manipulation skills and generally being a seductive little snark. Sorry, Giovanni =P There were just too many good lines to pass up. I set it right after Lorenzo took over the Medici family business, so Giovanni is more forward in giving counsel, and our dear Duke has to assert his capability and control.

"Hawking?" Giovanni frowned. "At your villa?"

"Yes, and Filippo should be joining me as well." Folding the letter neatly, Lorenzo stamped his seal into the rapidly cooling wax.

Giovanni tried to discern the logic behind his young Lord's abrupt reversal. Although Filippo's careless ways provided an easy stream of intercepted correspondence, an unfortunate run-in had cursed the minister with knowledge of the assassin's identity - knowledge which, in the wrong hands, could prove devastating to the Medici family... and Giovanni's own. Just the past day, the Duke had ordered him to ensure the man's permanent silence.

"If it is his death that worries you, I can assure your Magnificence the deed will be done by the morrow."

Lorenzo merely shook his head. "I do not doubt your abilities, Giovanni." His lips quirked slightly as he tented his fingers, velvet sleeves folding at his wrists. "But there are a few questions I'd like to ask the minister first, and I do believe your presence will facilitate our discussion."

Giovanni's frown deepened. Evasiveness did not suit Lorenzo, the Duke having always been direct in his orders, whatever politics may lurk behind the scenes.

"I must counsel against this," he said with concern. "The man almost definitely saw my face at the palazzo. Should he acquire further proof of our association, it will bring harm to the Medici name." He leaned forward on Lorenzo's desk, trying to impress upon his young Lord the gravity of the situation. "Surely your Magnificence realizes his life is not worth the risk."

Lorenzo flicked a glance at the other's palms encroaching on his table, brow arched in annoyance. "Almost is hardly like your usual conviction. I require certainty." The flint in his eyes sparked, igniting a shrewd light. "Something the minister will furnish with the right bait." Rising from his chair, he gestured for a courier from the hallway.

"He will turn down the invitation if he suspects a trap," Giovanni warned, twisting on his heel to follow Lorenzo. He did not like where this was leading. An assassin's strike should be swift and silent, not the climax of an elaborate power play. If Filippo were to match visage to name, he feared the man's wagging tongue would unravel decades of carefully laid alliances, and with the charade of Medici neutrality shattered...

"Your Magnificence - " he began, somewhat more forcefully than decorum advised.

"I said he would be joining me, not us," the Duke replied sharply, a thorn of irritation pricking his voice. Young he might be, but Lorenzo had played the game of Florentine politics since he was a child, sitting at the table of diplomats in his ailing father's stead. He did not need his assassin to tell him which strings to pull. "Filippo is a greedy, simpering fool, who's been eyeing the Signoria for years. If he rejects my offer, it can only be because he knows of our relation, and your hunt would be no worse hindered." Lorenzo slipped the letter to his courier and, turning, regarded Giovanni coolly. "However, if he accepts and recognizes your face, I imagine he'll turn tail faster than a hare." He shrugged, letting his assassin fill in the rest. "The woods are a dangerous place. The minister would not be the first to die at the hands of roving bandits."

Giovanni bit his lip, mollified. Perhaps he'd misjudged his young Lord's cleverness. "And should neither come to pass?" he asked, if only to see that Lorenzo had taken into account all contingencies.

Gray eyes melted as quickly as they'd hardened. "Then we shall enjoy a pleasant afternoon hawking." Smiling ever so faintly, Lorenzo combed his fingers through the auburn locks that curled, fine as silk, around Giovanni's neck. "I've recently acquired such a beautiful bird, it would be a shame not to fly it."

~o~

The Villa di Careggi was a slice of heaven lifted straight from one of Botticelli's paintings, its sandstone arches framing the sky and patrician columns lining the second-floor loggia, ceilings chiseled with intricate designs. Lush flora bloomed in the central garden, a fulgent palette stretching from dusk till dawn, though an upward glance by any visitor would reveal the fortified walls that ringed its perimeter, firm reminder that for all its beauty, the Medici home started life as a castello - a bastion against would-be attackers. At the rear of the villa, a winding path led into the woods surrounding the Tuscan foothills, and it was here that Lorenzo guided his guest. Filippo had brought his steed, his attendant, and several members of the court, an attempt no doubt to display his influence. Anticipating this distraction, the Duke had arranged for the courtiers to travel a different route, on the pretext of a tour through the newly renovated estate.

Filippo had also brought two guards ("To ensure your Magnificence's safety in these dangerous times," the lie slid easily off his silver tongue), and this Lorenzo did not expect. But a hunt was never complete without its quarry attempting to escape. For the time being, he humored the minister's exhortations.

"A splendid animal!" Filippo exclaimed, gesturing at the peregrine perched on Lorenzo's gloved hand. Its radiant feathers shone like gemstones in the sunlight, proud head hooded, but held high. "Your Magnificence has the most exquisite taste."

"I cannot lay claim to its breeding, unfortunately. The falcon was a gift from the Salvestri family in honor of my twentieth birthday."

"A marvelous gift indeed," Filippo's eyes narrowed shrewdly, "but if it were I, nothing short of the bird of kings would grace your Magnificence's hand."

Lorenzo recalled the flowing cloak and eagle's glare of his assassin, blunt nails that clutched his wrist in the heat of passion. "I may already own a bird of that nature." He smiled cryptically. "Perhaps we'll even have a chance to fly it today."

For a moment, the minister looked surprised. But then, he broke into a hearty laugh. "Nothing is out of the Medici's reach, it seems. Wealth, artistry, the power of the Signoria itself - these are the fruits of the Palle." Pausing, he cast his gaze down as if in sympathy. "A pity that some in the council do not see eye to eye." As he tilted his head, Filippo noticed that they were no longer being followed by their entourage, and a hint of nervousness twitched his brow. "Should we not, ah, wait for your courtiers to join us?" he asked, anxious. Lorenzo caught him motioning for his guards.

"They will catch up with us shortly." The Duke waved a hand in dismissal. "My falconer awaits at the mews not far from here." Some ways back, he had suggested they tether their horses and split down a separate fork ("A shortcut," he lied just as easily, "so we might spend more time hawking"), which led to the edge of the villa grounds. He'd ordered Giovanni to intercept them there. "Besides, some matters must be discussed in private. You were speaking of the Signoria...?" He dangled the lure.

"Ah, yes. Yes, your Magnificence." Filippo licked his lips, eagerly snapping up the bait. "As you know, I have always been a staunch supporter of the Medici family. Under Piero's guiding hand, Firenze has enjoyed an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity. Why, even the great cathedrals themselves bear - "

"I am quite aware of my father's accomplishments," Lorenzo cut him off impatiently.

"Of course, of course." The minister bowed in apology, though his eyes never quite lost their calculating glint. "It pains me to say this, but all of your family's glorious achievements might come to an end if you do not have an ally within the ministry of justice. The current gonfaloniere suffers from... a history of illness, which prevents him from seeing properly to his office, and there are those who wouldn't flinch to twist the law to their own ends. You need someone who can safeguard your interests in the courts," Filippo ended with a flourish, "one as loyal to the Medici as I."

Though Lorenzo had long known of the vultures that circled at the magistrate's door, he feigned ignorance. "And what would you do as gonfaloniere?" he asked lightly, raising an eyebrow.

"I would protect you from those who wish you harm, your Magnificence!" Filippo drew himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, gaudy robes flapping. "The Pazzi are not the only ones who look to the Medici with green eyes. The Bonarlis stand to benefit from your loss as well, and Ridolfo Spinelli has been fighting for years to gain a seat for his son so he can tip the inheritance disputes in his favor, while some might view the Auditore..."

Lorenzo's eyes narrowed at the name of his assassin. So this was the man's game. "Your knowledge of my enemies exceeds that of my allies," he observed dryly.

Filippo's reply was decidedly smug. "I am merely looking out for your safety."

"Safety that can only be assured in exchange for a plum appointment?"

There was a flash of anger, quickly hidden. "Perhaps your Magnificence is unaware of the rumors swirling in your own court," came the poisonous response.

At the other's abrupt change in tone, Lorenzo was suddenly aware of the minister's guards advancing from behind him, the seclusion of the woods, the fact that he'd sent all his own men down the other fork, confident as he was in holding the upper hand. A cold shiver raced through his spine as he realized he'd misread treachery for fear. Darting a glance at the tree line, he saw a flicker of white billow in the breeze, and without delay, unhooded the falcon on his arm in mute signal to strike. The bird raised its head with a squawk, keen orbs swiveling. Reflexively, Filippo followed its gaze.

The minister froze when Giovanni emerged, lowering his cowl.

"You!" Filippo's eyes snapped wide as saucers, and before anyone could react, he bolted back down the narrow wooded path, cape flying. Seeing their lord flee, the guards immediately drew their swords, but in the moment's confusion over who to attack, one of them caught a knife in his throat. Giovanni struck with the grace of a trained raptor, leaping blade first onto the neck of his quarry. Metal scintillated through the naked air before burying deep into flesh. The other guard managed to move a second faster, parrying the blow, but his legs stumbled over a well-timed sweep of the boot as Giovanni used his own weight to spin him around, baring soft skin to crescent steel. A quick pivot, a vicious slice, and blood spurted in a hot geyser to the sky, the man's eyes glazing before he even realized death had befallen him.

The assassin glanced toward his master once, tensed as he awaited Lorenzo's order, and at the slight nod and the lift of a gloved hand, immediately took off in pursuit. Feet glided smoothly over the ground, torso bent low, an arrow pointed at its mark, long cape rolling in crests and waves like a pair of ivory wings, Giovanni chased his target with the relentless speed of a hawk bearing down on its prey. Every dodge, he anticipated, every swerve, he cut off, inching inevitably closer and closer to his kill as exhaustion overtook Filippo, the other's breathing becoming ragged, footsteps reeling and clumsy, fear palpable to the silent predator that descended upon him.

From the hilltop, Lorenzo watched keenly as the streak of white dove, blades extended, onto its quarry's back, a triumphant gleam in his eye.

~o~

When Giovanni returned, face flushed, chest heaving, a streak of red staining his snowy robes, Lorenzo was sitting calmly by the large oak, feeding morsels of meat to the peregrine perched attentively on his arm. At his footsteps, the bird jerked up sharply, black orbs fixed like rapiers on the man that approached its master. Lorenzo stroked its sleek, cobalt plumage with a gentle hand and, coaxing it onto a branch, slid the woven hood over its head. Removing his falconer's glove, the Duke looked at his assassin expectantly.

Giovanni bent in silent acknowledgment of the deed.

"He had a letter on him." After cutting the man's throat, he had looted the body to make the death look like the work of bandits and, upon rifling through one of the pouches, discovered a missive. "It's addressed to the Pazzi." He held out the piece of parchment, still unsealed. "It seems he was planning on using Francesco's rivalry with the bank in order to - "

"Blackmail me," Lorenzo finished, not even bothering to take the letter. "A seat on the high council in exchange for his silence... however temporary." He curled his lip in disdain. "I told you Filippo was a fool."

Seeing the Duke's cool confidence, realization slowly dawned on Giovanni. "You knew he would run," he said, trying to keep the accusation from his voice.

"So I did." Lorenzo smiled thinly, and the slant of his mouth assured the assassin that he had detected the irritated tone. He wisely avoided mentioning his own error of judgment. "But a good hawker also knows when his bird will catch its prey." Leaning over, he drew a finger along the curve of Giovanni's cheek, where beads of sweat glistened fresh from the chase... and the combination of spilled blood and fluid muscle, violence and heat, made his pupils swell heavy with want.

Perhaps he should have felt resentment, or indignation at being kept deliberately in the dark, like a falcon hooded by its master, but seeing the lust in his young Lord's gaze, Giovanni chuckled despite himself. So this was how, at the tender age of twenty, Lorenzo de' Medici had the entire Priori eating from his hand. He tilted his lips into the other's palm, eyelids lowering.

"I suspect, your Magnificence, that the bird is hungry after a successful hunt."

Lorenzo waited for the calloused fingers to close hard around his wrist before responding.

"Then his prize awaits him."