En Nombre de Dios (Portugal, Spain)

[Spain]

... for punishment does not take place
primarily and per se for the correction
and good of the person punished,
but for the public good in order that others
may become terrified and weaned away
from the evils they would commit.
-Inquisitor’s Handbook, 1578

6 February 1481

As he traveled, the youth could see the changes that had taken place since the Reconquista swept through this part of the land. Judging from the tranquility of the village he had just passed, it would have been hard to imagine that these lands had been subject to bloody battles, struggles against the Moors who had ruled the land for six hundred years. The air now was free of the smell of blood and smoke, of war, and pillaging and death. Antonio Fernández Carriedo saw the memories of the al-Ándalus in a haze, the feelings of tunics made of the finest silk and riding his first Arabian horse merely a distant dream.

Something of that memory held a feeling of prestige as he accompanied the troops as they conquered the plains. Yet the tongue he had spoken which felt so easy to him had now become foreign to his lips when he tried to recall a few words.

But that had become nothing but a fading memory, only what they left behind serve as reminders of their presense.

However, the memories still lingered, the recent ones were more vivid, more obscene. There were still times when the Spaniard would wake up, traumatized by the scenes of razing villages, men killed and women raped as he stood numbed, witnessing the slaughter. He was still young then, a child barely able to walk on his own when most of the battles took place, when he watched Christian blood and Muslim blood stain the fields of the Iberian Peninsula crimson. Antonio could remember stumbling, tripping over himself as he ran from the scene when he finally came to, confused and completely lost.

The further he dug into his own past, the more he could almost feel the tears that flowed from his eyes as he ran away from the scene, screaming for something, anything that could comfort him and make it all disappear. After all, his home, his lands, his existence was all twisted by the chaos created by his conflicting identities.

Dios mio, Dios mio, por qué nos hubierais abandonado?

And that was when Fernándo I of León and Castilla found him, frightened and shaking in the field, his olive green eyes filled with tears as he continued to weep, crying for the people he saw massacred and the terror of witnessing death so close again and again. Muslim or Christian, it was all the same. He could still feel the weight of the king’s large hands as he combed through his dark, curly hair, though it was so long ago.

And then he came to know King Fernándo II de Aragón and Queen Isabel I de Castilla, Los Reyes Católicos. The pair of monarchs had raise him carefully, attentatively grooming him to be like one of their own children. At that the recall of the fond memories, he reached down and lightly brushed the modest rosary given to him by Her Majesty on her wedding day.

He had been in Sevilla a few years ago, accompanying the Catholic monarchs to meet with the clergy. It had appeared that King Fernándo II had made arrangements with the clergy to establish the bulls. Queen Isabel I had told him that it was an important task, one that would help his people maintain their identity and avoid the chaos that they were subject to so many years ago. It would help them maintain their identities and remain true to the one true God. Gone would be the days of disunity because no one would be able to determine what they really are. Though it was not that they were going to force the non-believers into becoming followers of Christ, but rather, help along those who have converted.

Then he would feel complete in the unity of the multiple facets of his identity.

As far as he could tell, the Pope had been reluctant to agree to transfer the authority to a secular power, but it seemed that King Fernándo II and the religious leader had worked things. He could remember seeing the slight smile on the monarch's face on the ride back, the sudden feeling that the king's presence grew in magnitudes compared to that of the religious leader. A sense of pride rose up in him like a child as he recalled the look of triumph on the king’s face and the despair on that of the Pope. He marveled at the fact that his masters were powerful enough to make the Church bend to their wills as he cheerfully rode on.


A few years since the meeting, he found himself heading for Sevilla yet again. They had received reports of conversos, who were suspected of reverting to their former beliefs and practices. He was not to officially participate in the hearing, but act as a mere observer. However, it did not quench the strong sentiments he had towards those marranos, thinking that they could merely just pass themselves as Christians and continue their old practices, what blasphemy!

Soon, Antonio saw signs of the city as they rode on as herds of cattle ran freely in the fields and children sprinted across the field. Watching the scene caused the Spaniard to smile as he rode on for it had been a while since he had seen such a thing, having been confined within castle walls for so long. When he reached the city, it took him a while to navigate the roads in search for the church that had been built a while ago. But then, his guard stopped him and pointed towards the towns square.

The Spaniard turned and saw a large gathering of people, crowded around a platform where six people stood. From the looks of it, he could tell that they were the accused, stripped to their underclothes as they stood before the city, shamed as they were singled out. The youth could not help but turn to watch as the spectators threw slanders at the people, scrutinizing the people for being heathens, blasphemers for turning against God, who they had sworn to follow not too long ago.

“Marranos!”
“Children of the devil, ultimate sinners!”
“Purify their souls! Burn them!”
“Marranos! Marranos!””

He formed the sign of a cross against his chest after he dismounted, leaving his horse to the guard and approached the man who he recognized to be the Inquisitor Tomas de Torquemada. If he could recall, the man himself was also a conversos himself, but was highly dedicated to acting as a servant of God.

“Buenos dias, Señor de Torquemada,” he greeted the Inquisitor when he stepped onto the platform. “It appears to be a eventful day for you, hasn’t it?” He nodded his head as a sign of respect for the man before glancing at the company of ecclesiastical and town leaders and then turned his attention back to the men and women who stood before him. Very ordinary people, he determined, I would have never guessed.

“Ah,” the Inquisitor said, “you must be the person that Their Majesties were sending.” Antonio could not help but nod in affirmation again, the ornate rosary that hung amongst the Inquisitor's modest robes distractEd him from the task at hand. “Si, señor.” With that, he sneezed and rubbed his nose before pulling his cloak over himself, it seemed that the weather was colder than he had thought.

Suddenly, one of the leaders approached the front of the platform, holding his arms out to silent the crowd as he started to speak. The crowd had mostly ignored him, until his booming voice caught their attention. Antonio noticed that though the townspeople were bantering, many of them appeared more solemn, their expressions grave as they fixed their eyes on the priest.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,” he said, to which the people responded, “amen.”

The entire session started with Mass and a prayer, which Antonio took as an opportunity to sit down in one of the chairs provided, resting his legs when they had been tired. He shifted from side to side as they sang for mercy and penance, meditating on every word as they left his lips. Then kneeling, they followed in prayer and then silence as they recognized that they were in the presence of the Lord. An excerpt from one of the gospels was read and they continued through the liturgy, reminded of the importance of the sacrifices of Jesus Christ to redeem man from sin, how important it was to accept this truth and to confirm it.

Antonio could not help but look off to the side and into the crowd them as he recited the Nicene Creed, professing his wholehearted belief in the words coming out of his mouth. After all, this was the only thing that he knew since almost the beginning of his awareness of his own existence. Which caused him to wonder, if he believed in these truths, having seen life a lot longer than most of the people in this town, how hard would it be for others to understand this?

Then suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted as people rose and the guards pounced on the men and women who were forced to kneel before the crowd. Blinking, Antonio watched as the guards proceeded to drag them off into the streets and looked at the de Torquemada in surprise. “Wait,” he said to the man, his olive green eyes wide with shock, “where are they going?”

“They are going on a public procession around the town, so that everyone knows how blasphemous it is to turn away from the Faith after announcing your intention to become a believer,” the answer the youth received was blunt, though it left Antonio feeling a bit dissatisfied. He could not help but feel the judging looks of the people as they looked on at the accused, almost as if they were certain that they were sinless, that they would never be put into that position.

The scrutiny continued when procession returned, as the evidence was laid in front of the men and women, questions were thrown at them repeatedly. Women sobbed at the accusations, continually denying it as the men stood silently, though they protested at some of the acts. Blasphemy. Antonio raised an eyebrow at the accusations, some stories including questioning some of the foundational beliefs of the Faith, resuming practices of their former faith (such as observing the Jewish Sabbath) and simply reverting back to their faith.

“No!” one of the men exclaimed, “I have done nothing wrong! Please have mercy!”

The protest caused the crowd to react in an uproar, most of them calling for the greatest punishment. The entire scene fascinated Antonio, though he was not surprised by the crowd that had gathered, he was a little disturbed by how willing they were to cast the first stone. Yes, it was true that Queen Isabella said that it was most important to guarantee the salvation of the eternal soul regardless of how much the physical form protested. Christ had said that it was best to enter the Kingdom of God maimed than to remain whole, but end up in eternal damnation?. However, did he not also condemn those who were willing to stone others for their sins without regard to their own sins?

Lost in his thoughts for a moment, Antonio tilted his head as he weighed the thoughts. However, he was quickly distracted as the sentences were read out-loud.

“In repentance, you will be purified of your worldly sins though some of you have remained unrepentant,” the Inquisitor finally said, dealing out the punishment swiftly. Some of the men dropped to their knees in shock while the women sobbed as the guards dragged them away.

Curious, Antonio's eyes followed the crowd as they eagerly gathered around the platform. Though he was not here the months before, he could imagine the entire process that brought those particular individuals to this point. At one point, the guards probably grabbed each of them to perform tocas, strapping cloths into their mouths, holding them down as they poured water on their faces to simulate drowning. They all had violently thrashed around, none more so than one particular woman, who tried to grab at the jug of water as she shook her head violently, chest heaving desperately for air. The muffled squeals that he imagined hurt Antonio’s ears as he watched her with a frown on his face, though pity never quite reached his olive green eyes.

The Spaniard watched as the guards tied each of the accused to the stakes and laid hay at their feet to fuel the fire. A few of them were mumbling, perhaps begging for mercy, praying or still declaring their innocence, none of which the Spaniard would be able to hear anyway in the noise of the crowd. However, everything about their actions and the looks on their faces screamed fear, adding to the madness of what should have been a solemn act of penance. Then one of the city leaders walked up, handing a burning torch to a guard, who dipped it into the dry hay that rested at their feet.

At first, the flames were small, growing slowly as it licked the dry hay and slowly crawled up the clothes of the accused. One of the women saw the fire licking her skirt and proceeded to scream, causing his ears to ring as she struggled. Another, a man, started to beg for his life, refuting the accusations he received and tried to restate his case. Amongst the screams and looks of terror, he noticed that none of them appeared repentant; more concerned with living and maintained a look of indifference. Antonio could not help but be mesmerized by the flames, burning orange and yellow as it consumed the people, its heat burning away the sins of their mortal life. And though the smoke stung his eyes and caused it to become hard to breathe, he kept looking on as the blazes of fire grew, until all of them were consumed and became no more.

Then Antonio knelt, forming the sign of a cross as he prayed.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, may their purified souls rest in peace.[/color]

---

Note:
- The Inquisition as we know was taking place in Europe before Spain obtained a papal bull that transferred authority to the Spanish monarchy for tribunals held in Spain. Spain subsequently spread the Inquisition amongst its colonies and Portugal, which is why it's located in Western Europe instead of just Spain.
- I included the part about the Reconquista to provide a back story for why the Inquisition was needed in Spain.
- Oh my goodness, I did not intend for this to get as long as it did – this was originally suppose to be short, but describing the process of going through an auto-de-fé took longer than I expected! I will never write something this long ever again!
- The Inquisition was technically commissioned 1 November 1478, but I’m jumping forward because the first auto-de-fe was in 1481 and therefore, more exciting to read about.
- Dios mio, Dios mio, por qué nos hubierais abandonado?: My God, my God, why have you abandoned us?
- Marranos: Spanish for ‘pig,’ which they called the Jews.
- Conversos: the people who converted to Christianity from another religion
- The auto-de-fé was purely set for religious purposes, despite popular artistic representations of torture. Since it is a public penance, the ceremony consisted of Mass, prayer, procession of those found guilty and then the execution of the sentences. The trial, the questioning and torture all usually take place before this. There is also the part that mentioned that these events soon became spectacles during the seventeenth century, though more solemn than they were prior.
- Right now, Antonio is still a bit wide eyed at the event, only really understanding the event as something that the monarchs said was necessary. This would be interesting as the Italian War thread and the Age of Exploration threads continue. Though this child-like sense of righteousness seems appropriate right now.
- S. Italy may make an appearance later in the thread, when he falls under Spanish control after 1501.
- I probably screwed up a fact somewhere. I just feel it.

[portugal]

15 July 1496

Toledo was a beautiful city. The soaring cathedral towered high above all of them into a brilliant blue sky in the warm summer heat. The Alcázar sat humbly in the cathedral’s shadow as a sign of strength and history. A majestic history, not only for Antonio who held the city close to his heart but also for Lianor, who held memories of the Reconquista close to her heart as well, masking the pitiful memories that had come before. Toledo: the mountaintop upon which they had all finally come together to fight back against the invaders who had hurt them for too long.

“Toledo, meu amor,” Lianor had cooed softly upon first sight of the city as they crossed the river, heaven help her if Antonio somehow heard it from wherever he was. Passing through the narrow roads that reminded her of home and then through the open market place, where she watched the people mill about happily with their purchases, her carriage finally arrived at the Spaniard’s residence. The place was in no way humble in appearance but it blended in well with its neighbors if one was not looking too closely.

With a portion of her hair pulled into the ornate yet fragile red and gold cap on the crown of her head, Lianor was able to feel the warm breeze before she was greeted respectfully and welcomed inside the building, her gown sweeping across the blue tiled floor. Tresses of rich brown hair still managed to spill down her back, ending at the high waist of the rich red gown that stitched beneath her breast in a comfortable manner. She had considered wearing the strange hoop skirt contraption that seemed to gain a little popularity with Spanish women but, with the desire to present herself as herself since she was Portuguese and not Spanish, she resisted from exploring and testing it for herself. Nothing, however, could compare to a good pair of breeches, but the gown was loose and airy enough to cause little discomfort. It was even a happy welcome in the heat. A square cut neckline exposed sun kissed skin, results from her many travels at sea, and allowed for the ruby pendant surrounded by pearls, settling right below her collarbone, and the delicate chain holding the golden cross below her breast to stand out.

It was quite troublesome, having to travel so far in order to parade herself in front of a rival. The discovery by that Columbus had definitely caused problems in her plans to monopolize a direct route to the Indies. She had had enough of those damn middle men making the prices soar—she had as much right to spices and silk as any of the others, and deserved them at a reasonable price! And then eighty years of efforts, ruined! All because Spain had to pointedly display that with the Earth being round, there were two routes to the Indies.

Just wonderful.

Yet Antonio had been most agreeable for the Treaty of Tordesillas, protecting her rights to her own discovery and him to his. Compromise. It was all about compromise. Plus the relishing feeling that there was no way God had led her this long at sea for the purpose of suddenly defeating her efforts. Her small hand, lightly calloused from rope handling, reached for the cross by her breast and her head bowed for a moment of silent prayer.

Please let Spain be agreeable.

Her king needed a wife and Spain just so happened to have a lovely Princess who was quite familiar to Lianor. Ghosts of Lianor’s earlier grief--her hand tightened on the cross--over Crown Prince Alfonso's untimely death could not be ignored. What a sad royal family she had been blessed with by God. How horrible was it that God would call back a man, a prince so beautifully wrapped up in his love to his Spanish princess, to Heaven so soon.

After only a few moments of standing in the foyer, she was greeted once more by an attendant. "Right this way, señorita," he said with a wide gesture of his hand before he turned around to lead her down a short stone hallway. Letting go of her cross, Lianor took hold of her grown and raised it for her feet, following in regal silence with her head held high. Her own attendants followed silently behind her, their own excitement over the occasion—a marriage!—echoing Lianor’s own. A marriage! She could have skipped in happiness at the possibility.

Yet the room she was brought to was unoccupied. Narrowed eyes glanced sidelong at the attendant, who did not make eye contact in return. "Where is Antonio?" Lianor asked strictly, refusing to believe Antonio might be playing games with her. This is important! she wanted to shout and stamp her foot for emphasis, but restrained herself.

"When he received the message of your arrival, he dropped everything to hasten here at great speed, señorita." A charming smile was shown her way, making her glance away before she ended up laughing. "He should arrive shortly." Not laughing at the attendant, of course, but the idea of Antonio hastening towards anything. As late as Lianor was for anything, Antonio was usually several minutes behind her.

It did not occur to her that a messenger had arrived faster there and back than Antonio, if the attendant was indeed being honest. Then again, she was most content to hear that her arrival would make other nations stop all activity to rush to be in her presence—whether correct or not—and so agreeably stepped alone into the room to wait, browsing the bookcase with little interest as she was not the most capable reader, and leaving her row of attendants in the hallway to keep watch for the Spaniard.

____________

A/N: Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Does that make the Portuguese Inquisition a ninja in comparison, since probably just about no one has heard of it? XD

[Spain]

“Señorita Sabela is here?” Antonio’s olive green eyes brightened as he turned to look at his attendant after the announcement. Dressed in a simple tunic and leggings, the Spaniard looked princely even in the clothes of commoners, for he was also an embodiment of them just as much as he was of the Grandées and royalty. He had decided to spend the morning touring his fields, checking his cultivations of the plants that Señor Colón had brought back from his voyages to the Indies, hoping that growing them locally would lower the importation costs. If the crops were a success, he figured that he would try tomates the next time. There mere thought of the new discovery caused him to smile when he remembered the savory sweetness of the first one he tried when he went over to the New World for the first time.

But all desires put aside, Antonio placed a hand on his hip as he looked around, look of satisfaction on his face. This task would have to be put off for later in the day. Knowing his sister, it would be best not to make her wait too long. If past experience was any indication, like a certain memory of when he made her wait (a very long time) when they were suppose to go out to play, he was guaranteed that he would never hear the end of it. “Ah, please tell her that I am on my way,” he said as he wiped his brow, “And tell Juan Paulo to get my clothes ready for when I arrive.”

With that, he watched the man nod his head before mounting his horse and ride towards the house before quickly turning around before mounting his own horse, a black Arabian that he recently acquired from Cesare Borgia, the former Archbishop of Valencia who had since moved to Rome to begin his cardinalship. Despite the fact that Antonio had heard some of the whispers of the gossiping women about the man’s upbringing, but decided to pay it no mind, just as his king and queen have both continued to overlook the matter. After all, he had found his time with Borgia enjoyable and enlightening.

Upon arrival, Antonio rushed to his room to find his clothes laid out for him meticulously and quickly stripped, tossing his clothes over somewhere in hopes that it would land on his bed. It was uncharacteristic for the youth to behave in such a manner, however, considering the possible context of his meeting with the Portuguese, it was best not to keep her waiting for too long. Throwing a camisa over his head, he pulled it down before slipping on a silk doublet, leaving his attendant to help him fix the sleeves as he clumsily pulled on the hose. After throwing on a gown over himself, he quickly pulled on his boots and marched out the door, heading for the receiving room where Lianor waited.

“¡Estimada hermana! ¿Cómo estás?” the Spaniard greeted cheerfully, holding out his arms at the sight of his dear sister. Though there were hints of displeasure on her face, Antonio went on without noticing the signs, embracing her rightly before planting a quick kiss on each of her cheeks. Despite how long it had been since they had seen each other, he could see the child he use to run around with had begun to blossom into a wonderful lady. Bearing features that he recognized to be like his own, he could not help but be pleased to be proud. “It is always good to see you,” he continued, smiling brightly as he let her go. “Toledo looks splendid, doesn’t it?” He gestured towards the outdoors to emphasize his point.

Despite the fact that Antonio’s abode would be considered one of the more lavish residences in Toledo, the development in Toledo in the past couple of centuries was exponential. Buildings, which were sparse, had now sprung up all over the land. Even though the Moors had been repelled from the lands, the libraries remained a treasure cove of knowledge and attracted curious scholars from faraway even today. However, the magnificence of architecture was best reflected in Catedral Primada Santa María de Toledo, which was only finished a few years ago. Built as a representation of the house of God, its towers appeared to reach into heaven, its size emphasizing what it would feel like to be in His Presence.

Smile plastered on his face, Antonio continued to the chestnut table to pick up a container of wine. Taking a goblet, he poured a glass and held it out to his sister. “Please have this,” he said with his arm outstretched, waiting for her to take it, “I would imagine that you are tired from your journey.” With that, he gestured the chair, inviting her to take a seat as before he poured himself a drink and took the chair that was on the other side of the small table next to her seat.

Taking a sip of the red wine, the Spaniard could taste the age of the grapes, the oak undertones and the underlying smoke flavor that were mixed into the process of creation. Though he had been exposed to wine for some time, though he had always preferred something a bit more sweeter. But given the quality of the crops in the past years, this was considered a delicacy.

Looking over his cup, Antonio studied his sister as she sat, knowing that there had to be a reason for her visit. He had been so preoccupied with domestic affairs, he could barely remember the time that he went to see her. After all, it took a lot of time to solidify such a diverse group of people and form a coherent kingdom. But he was certain that Lianor had been working on the same thing, which was not a surprise for as close siblings, they often found themselves going through very similar stages of life.

With the network that Antonio possessed, the Spaniard could venture a couple guesses to what the Portuguese had come here for. He could remember when he attended court a few years ago and caught sight of Isabel, tears streaking down her face and her heart clearly broken at the passing of her late husband Infante Alfonso. Though the youth had made attempts to try to comfort her, the princess refused anyone’s audience, wearing only black and demanding that she be sent to a convert because she would never marry again. King Fernándo II had told him to ignore her requests, though it was hard for Antonio to watch the same scene continue for so long.

“Hermana,” the Spaniard said as he set the goblet down on the table. “So what brings you to Toledo?”

[portugal]

"Senhora!" came a quiet hush from one of her women standing outside the door. Lianor looked up with a start, a small book held in one hand. "He comes!" Having spent the better amount of her time admiring the illustrations more than the words, she was not opposed to putting the book away. She did, however, wait until Antonio had entered, looking as princely as ever, before delicately slipping the book back into the case. Her short stride was brisk as she tried to look dignified even after having to wait for so long--the illustrations in the book were only so interesting--and going to him just as he greeted her.

"Hermano! Buen día!" Lianor said, using Spanish in return although it did displease her, and embracing him and returning the quick kiss on each cheek in kind. The smell of fields and dirt filled her nose and her displeasure abated from the familiarity. "Muy bien, gracias. ¿Y tú?"

"It is always good to see you. Toledo looks splendid, doesn’t it?”

"You as well, Antonio, and the city looks magnificent, as always. You take care of her well." Yet Lianor's thoughts would not stray from the princess whom she hoped Antonio had been taking just as much care of. Rumor had it that the poor princess had wanted to join a monastery after the death of darling, wonderful Alfonso. What a travesty that would be should it have come true!

Lianor lingered behind when Antonio went to the chestnut table. A smile blossomed across her face at the first glimpse of the goblets and her head tilted to the side with innocent curiosity, although she knew he would offer it to her. Regardless of what England might say, Spain had a hint of charm in him, too, as difficult as it was for her to admit it. The young boy was becoming a man right before his eyes. The young man was trying to stake his place out in the world. How unpleasant if she took into account her own future, but wonderful for the moment for what she had in mind: a royal wedding!

Her feet led her elegantly across the floor as she tried to carry herself like one of the proper ladies with her shoulders back and back straight. “I would imagine that you are tired from your journey.”

"Not very tired, no," Lianor lied, accepting the goblet with elegant and light touched fingers. It was one thing to travel across the ocean, with the rocking of the sea changing subtly, almost smoothly as the voyage continued. Across land was another matter entirely. The roads were rarely ever gentle and, if the carriage were to hit one bump or rock, it seemed bound to find all the others with as much jolting and bumping as it could muster. "We spent last evening in a very nice village nearby. Yet another lovely city, hermano, you should feel proud."

She could not keep herself from feeling a little self-conscious as he seemed to study her past his goblet. If he thought her to be so weak and fragile like a true lady of the court, he would be sorely mistaken. The same applied to if he thought her unwilling to defend her claims on the trade route to the Indies. He may be climbing up in the world but so was she.

“Hermana, so what brings you to Toledo?”

Lianor gently set her cup down on the desk in front of her, her fingers playing for a moment on the smooth surface before releasing it entirely. Just about flushed with excitment, she stood from her seat and walked around the desk, approaching Antonio slowly, calmly, and forcing herself to take a deep breath to reign herself in as the smile broadened on her face. The bottom of her dress whisked lightly on the stone flooring for her hands were intent on taking Antonio's within hers, even if the goblet he drank from had to come with it.

"Antonio, mi querido," she said, using the Spanish for his sake. “I know we’ve had problems with our glorious navigations seeming to… involve one another more often than not.” Trying to claim the world before the other and finding a path to the Indies while pushing the other one aside to rot back on the peninsula was indeed troublesome. “I also know that our seeming rivalry in that respect hasn’t been pleasant for either one of us, especially as of late, but we mustn’t forget that we’re family and share so much despite it all.”

Her face was humbly earnest, brown eyes shining with hope, but inside she was hollering: Por favor, por favor, ser agradável, Antonio! "My reasons for coming here are simple and honest, for I prayed to God and when he led me to this place, it filled me with such joy, Antonio!" Her hands couldn't resist squeezing his lightly and her voice slowed to make sure he could hear each word clearly and as radiantly as she spoke them. "My darling Manoel has been in great need of a wife, and he wishes with all his heart to take your sweet, darling Isabella's hand and make her a Portuguese Princess once more, if you would so kindly be willing to acquiescent."

_____________

A/N:
Manoel = King Manuel I
Por favor, Por favor, ser agradável, Antonio! = Please, please, be nice, Antonio!

[Spain]

Antonio chuckled lightly as his sister replied to him in Spanish for it had been a while since she started creating her own language, which made it hard for him to understand her at times. “Muy bien, muchas gracias,” he replied with a grin, “Ésta ha sido una buena semana.” It had been indeed as good as a week as he had hoped for, the crops have been growing well and they had begun to make plans to attempt to recolonize Fuerte de la Navidad on Hispaniola and San Juan Bautista, where their settlements were wiped out by skirmishes between the men and the natives. The Spaniard could almost remember when he was there, swinging his battle ax to cut mercilessly into his enemies until the sand underneath his feet stained with the crimson native blood. Most of it had been in self-defense, though it seemed as it would take more than that to establish a foothold in the Indies.

A hint of malice flashed in Antonio’s eyes for a mere second as he recalled the memories before disappearing again, vanishing behind the smile as quickly as it had come. He suppressed the bloodthirsty satisfaction he received when he saw the scars on Hispaniola’s back, symbols of his victory.

“You as well, Antonio, and the city looks magnificent, as always. You take care of her well."

Straightening up, Antonio listened to her compliments, clearly flattered that she feel the same way about Toledo. “I’m glad that you think so,” he responded proudly, particularly when he thought about the achievements that he had made in the past couple of decades. With the unification of Corona de Castilla y Aragón and Reino de Navarra, he had never felt any more complete, though he was still adjusting to being referred to Reino de España. In fact, he had been working hard to carve his own identity, to understand how he could reconcile so many facets of his personality into one coherent person.

When Lianor got up, the Spaniard’s eyes followed her curiously, finding it strange to watch his sister, who had always held herself to a high level of self control now act like she could barely hold herself together. But regardless, Antonio smiled genuinely, matching her broadening smile. As she grabbed for his hands, Antonio quickly placed the goblet onto the table, allowing her to take his hands into her own. He was surprised to hear the Portuguese begin to speak in Spanish, but nodded in response for it had been years since he had heard her speak it so wonderfully.

“…but we mustn’t forget that we’re family and share so much despite it all.”

The words caused Antonio to tilt his head towards her, eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of their voyages. It had been merely three years since their leaders sat down with the Pope to carve out their spheres of influence. He could not deny the sense of possession that aroused within when he remembered the Treaty of Tordesillas. It helped him secure the investment that he had made, no- his people had made when they traveled to the New World. He made sure that the sacrifices that they had made would go on protected and that he would make good on them. However, he was certain that Lianor knew that the agreement was pretty much set in stone and that he would not change his mind.

“Of course, hermana,” Antonio responded, affectionately stroking her hand lightly with his thumb before letting it go. It seemed strange that she would remind him of their relationship since his actions up to this point have all been a sincere reflection of it. Nonetheless, he had been swept up by the enthusiasm reflected in her eyes. However, her request caused Antonio to pause, a slight confusion creeping on his face before disappearing again.

Manuel is looking for a wife? And he wanted to marry Isabel?

As the pause developed into an awkward silence, Antonio smiled. Though he had not spoken to either the king or queen yet, he could almost hear their protests in his mind, requesting that they expel the marranos from the land before allowing the Infanta to even step foot in that kingdom. Additionally, he was certain that Isabel would refuse the proposal, though her parents would surely force her to remarry. Besides, it was unheard of for the princess to remain a widow for the rest of her life at her age, though at this point, to convince her to agree to the proposal could be difficult. Juana had just been betrothed to Philip of Burgundy, which it left María and Catalina, who were both an age appropriate for marriage. However, Isabel was still young, a mere twenty-five years old, and could still very well produce an heir.

This arrangement could work.

“Well,” the Spaniard started out, running a thumb along his chin thoughtfully, “as you may know, Isabel was horribly devastated by the passing of Alonso. However, there might be one thing that we need to talk about, so please sit down.” With that, he gestured towards the unoccupied chair and waited for her to sit down before he continued. Portugal was looking for a way to produce a male heir and to continue the line. He had also heard stories about how many of the non-believers, mostly marranos had fled to the neighboring kingdom when they set up the inquisition. Antonio was rather concerned upon hearing the news of the recent development, concerned for the salvation of the people in Portugal and mostly for his sister’s well being. The thought raised alarm within the Spaniard as he felt disgusted by the thought of those people living in her kingdom. Their existence would cause a taint in her well-being, we must get rid of them, for her own good and for the kingdom of our Lord. The thoughts caused a strange glint to appear in Antonio’s eyes, gleaming aggressively as he continued his thought process.

Leaning towards her, Antonio reached out, taking her hand as he looked at her intently. “In regards to Manuel's request, I am sure that we could talk to her again to see what she would think about marriage. However, it appears that before the marriage talks can continue, Their Majesties would have a few concerns that they would like to raise.”

With that, the Spaniard looked up to meet his sister’s eyes, green upon brown, anticipating her response. If things should go the way he would expect it to, Antonio expected to be able to kill two birds with one stone.

[portugal]

The slight yet sudden tilt of Antonio's head, his eyes narrowing ever so little at her mention of family, was not enough to make Lianor hesitate from speaking. It was all true so it was important to put it all onto the table, was it not? It seemed almost redundant, especially after their more recent disagreements. With Antonio sticking his flag into whatever ground he could find while Lianor seized and built up whatever ports she could establish, any other disagreements couldn't possibly be horrible enough that he would deny her this simple request. What was a princess amongst neighbors and growing empires? Surely Antonio was not dense enough that he could not see the benefit! Even the princess would prosper, for Lianor had a beautiful royal court and her castles were as strong as any other.

Her words came to an end and she held her now free hands together, letting them hover over her stomach almost like a restraint for the silence which followed. A silence which drew on and on and had her joyous expression slipping. Brown eyes widened and she tilted her head in a small nod, trying to encourage Antonio on to speak.

Then he smiled and all was well again, much to her great relief as she let out a short sigh. The Spaniard was known for his smiles, for his easy-going manner. A smile was not really a sealed deal but it was much, much better than, say, a frown. A frown from Antonio could be a wretched thing. Lianor had heard about his frowns and disapproval looks towards some of his people. Those people did not end up in such a kind position, for she had heard the rumors of his temper even if she had not seen it for herself. Even when they were arguing over trade routes and vast, open waters, with maps and compasses flying across the room in anger, she had simply seen the frustration.

Her eyebrows rose and her weight shifted forward a little in her eagerness when he began to speak at last, wide eyes locked onto Antonio's face and his thoughtful expression. A moment later Lianor's own expression had fallen into one of subdued acceptance of the tragedy which continued to find its way into their conversation. She had expected it would but it was still such a sorrowful thing to hear again.

"However, there might be one thing that we need to talk about, so please sit down."

"Yes, anything," Lianor said, taking a step back before turning around and walking back around the table. For the little distance she went, she took hold of the soft fabric of her dress to alleviate her hands from the strange clammy feeling on her palms. The princess was still young enough to produce an heir, so that couldn't be any concern. With no other prospects or hints of other suitors, from what Lianor had heard at least, surely there was no reason to say no. Her wonderful Manuel would make a fine match! And the bond between their royal houses would be once more renewed. The tragedy had occurred just when the Spaniard was finding his way about the New World, so perhaps their recent disagreements was simply caused by distance, by that lack of connection.

Nothing a royal marriage wouldn't fix, Lianor assured herself. Smoothing the back of the dress as she sat down, she looked straight at Antonio across the table, ready to defend herself against whatever challenge he might present. There was no motion to retake the cup which she had set down earlier, even if the faint smell of it was just as enchanting as the taste.

Perhaps more might come of this marriage, even. A shy smile grew on her lips, one which sought to betray her inner thoughts but which she restrained. She was an Empire and royal marriages were just one way of gaining territory. Like her, Spain was a growing power, but the thought that perhaps she might somehow get him to work in her house crossed her mind. Royal marriages did have a tendency to put one country at a disadvantage to another. Yet as amusing as it was to consider it, she pushed the thought aside. Spain and Portugal had written agreements. Even the Pope himself had come to mediate the last time. On this occasion as well, they would be equals.

Seeing Antonio lean forward and reach out, Lianor did the same, the hopeful look returning at the surprisingly intent look on his face. Has he always had that kind of expression?

Lianor listened carefully, intently, and her spirit soared at what she was hearing. She clasped her other hand on top of his in her delight. "However," he continued, "it appears that before the marriage talks can continue, Their Majesties would have a few concerns that they would like to raise."

But Lianor had heard just what she had wanted to hear: admission that the princess could be talked back into marriage, that the words 'marriage talks' and 'Their Majesties' had graced Lianor's longing ears. "If they are worried Manuel will befall the same fate as my darling Alfonso, God rest his soul, I swear it will not be so! Your most generous Sir and Madam may sleep soundly at night, Antonio, each and every night, for I will make sure of it. Dearest Manuel has also set his heart and soul on this union. He will become the greatest man amongst men for all the devotion he will give to her when sweet Isabel’s hand is given to him in marriage."

[Spain]

As Lianor began her response, Antonio listened, smiling and nodding to show that he was paying attention. If there was one thing that he was thankful for, it was the fact that the issues that he was having merely marriage talk with his sister, not something complicated as the division of spheres of influence or the marriage talks with the Habsburgs (as interesting as it was, the atmosphere was too stuffy for his liking). It gave him more room to sit back and listen, comforted by the fact that he did not have to deal with ulterior motives, not that he paid attention to them since he usually gave people the benefit of the doubt.

“Your most generous Sir and Madam may sleep soundly at night, Antonio, each and every night, for I will make sure of it. Dearest Manuel has also set his heart and soul on this union. He will become the greatest man amongst men for all the devotion he will give to her when sweet Isabel’s hand is given to him in marriage.”

Perfect. His sister's words were precisely the ones that he needed to hear, the certain affirmation that Portugal would be more than willing to bend towards their mission. The mere thought of it caused Antonio to grin more widely than he already did. Perhaps after this is taken care of, Queen Isabel’s dream of the unification of the Iberian Peninsula would not be too far off in the future. The Spaniard had heard enough of his share of the queen’s desire to bring them under one rule and had only recently begun to see the appeal of the idea. With the way Lianor had been growing, coupled with his achievements the last few years, it would have its benefits. Plus, it would mean that his sister would live with him again!

Yet Antonio was certain that Lianor had too much pride in her independence and would probably object to such an arrangement. However, his single-mindedness received enough satisfaction from her response.

One step at a time, one step at a time. It’s always best to take it slow after all, take it slow and handle it when we get there.

A twinkle glittering in his olive green eyes, Antonio placed a hand on his face, finger tracing his cheekbone as he spoke, “I am sure that Manuel is very well intentioned and has all the means to ensure that Isabel remains happy in your household.” Running the same hand through his hair, he closed his eyes briefly, pausing to gather his thoughts and words before opening them again. He had done his best to try to try to find the diplomatic words to address the issue, much like that English fellow across the waters, but then resolved to the sudden outcry.

“Hermana, news traveling throughout the lands say that the marranos and conversos have been encroaching on your lands,” he cried, his olive green eyes brightened as he spoke, “it’s concerning that those people are living on your lands, hermana!”

His eyes continued to burn as he spoke, the tone of his voice passionate as he stood up, taking a few steps away from the chair before turning back to the Portuguese. “Hermana, have you heard about the number of those types of people have gone to your place? How many droves have gone to Reino de Portugal? The king and queen are concerned about this development, they would be extremely worried if Isabel were to go back there, to a place that could be changed so drastically by this!” Antonio rambled as he took two long steps towards his sister, desperation seeping into his voice gradually with each question and fact.

“Lianor,” the youth started as he placed his hands on her shoulders, bringing his face level to hers as he looked vehemently in her eyes, “I can see that you are doing well enough as it is, but it is also important to think about your people. To think about their salvation!”

Antonio could remotely remember the days spent running across the fields, long before the Moors came in and spilt blood on the fields and set fire to the plains, before he found himself split amongst so many different types of people. He could remember the confusion that ensued before he became Reino de España. Fortunately he had Queen Isabel, who was so adamant in solidifying his identity and willing to go to great lengths to achieve that. Seeing Lianor sitting before him, dressed in the finest fabrics, wearing fine jewels, he could see that Reino de Portugal had been prospering from their trade. It was amazing to see how much she had changed over the years! However, with all the pressing issues that the king has had to deal with in the last few years, how long would the king be able to handle the task of looking out for his sister’s well-being?

The Spaniard determined that it would be best if he passed on his brotherly wisdom to her.

After leaving a long awkward pause, Antonio blinked and removed his hands from his sister’s shoulders, taking a step back and his usual smile slipped back across his lips. Gone was the frenzy that blazed in his eyes a moment ago, gaze softening as he reverted back to his usual laidback state. “If we do something about it,” the Spaniard said as he stood up straight, turning and packing slowly in the space before him, “My masters… and I would be able to rest better knowing that Infanta Isabel and mi estimada hermana are in good hands.”

Then Antonio stopped for a moment, finger on his chin as he thought through the process. “But of course, that is your decision,” the Spaniard said as smiled wider, erasing the remains of the intensity he possessed earlier. After giving her a look of reassurance, the youth approached the table and took the wine into his hand again. “Would you like some more wine?” he inquired, waiting to refill her cup before refilling his own and taking a sip from it.

[portugal]

Such a happy face Lianor wore by the end of her small, heartfelt response to him. Passionate and with purpose, she was not afraid for him to have any reason to falter and refuse her again. When she finished and took a slow breath to refresh, waiting in the single moment before Antonio's eyes glinted with some knowing-thought, she quickly checked over for anything she could have missed. Keeping Antonio's princess healthy and alive were her main responsibilities and, with it being Lianor's own young prince who had perished, the Spaniard mustn't have any real reasons to say no. She had promised life and happiness in her country! She couldn't help resisting picturing what a darling couple the King and princess would make.

Such happy thoughts she had, and then Antonio spoke. The smile on Lianor's face seemed to freeze in place as she listened but with a crease forming over her brow as she struggled to comprehend. The first outburst caught her off guard--"…it’s concerning that those people are living on your lands, hermana!"--and her hands slowly, at the pace of a lazy turtle crawling up onto the beach, withdrew back to the safety of her lap.

"Marranos and conversos..." she repeated quietly, stunned at the sudden accusation. She knew people from Antonio's house had been fleeing to hers for the past few years but she had not been much bothered by who or what, exactly. What were a few extra hands when the crops needed tending or when ships needed to be built and set sail? But the way Antonio had said it, the way he suddenly rose from his seat, made her feel suddenly very small in her chair, like a child who had been caught doing something naughty by a parent, but a child who doubted whether it was wrong at all.

Smaller yet when he walked away, seemingly in thought which alone was a stressful matter for her since Antonio was more impulsive than not, and then turned to her again. The light streaming in from the windows behind him offset the faintest of shadows on his face. Lianor listened and listened well. They were both passionate people, her and her brother, but this... Antonio was so passionate it almost had a sense of madness about it.

"The king and queen are concerned about this development, they would be extremely worried if Isabella were to go back there, to a place that could be changed so drastically by this!"

Lianor did not realize her hands had been fisting the soft fabric of her dress until Antonio approached her and she glanced down. When she looked back up, the moment of doubt had left her and she was smoothing out the wrinkles. "Antonio, certainly you can't think those... those people could do as much harm as that. They are so insignificant, so few... I have been doing well regardless of them..."

Then the doubt was back when Antonio placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her right in the eye. She did not cower from him, instead facing him properly and trying to recall her assuredness, but her earlier determination had been sorely unsettled. She had been prepared for marriage talks! They were going to decide who the princess was to bring with her from the Spanish court and what sort of dowry would be given!

"I can see that you are doing well enough as it is, but it is also important to think about your people. To think about their salvation!"

Staring into Antonio's eyes, shining with life and shining bright like clear water in the sun, Lianor was filled with the sudden sense of self-doubt. She was a good Catholic. She went to church with a loving heart. All the baptisms, confirmations, and marriages she attended were in the one God's great house and she had wept many tears in happiness there. The Saints as well were held dear and close to her heart, the images of Saint Christopher and Valentine kept safely in the folds of fabric by her breast even at that very moment. She had even celebrated St. Anthony's Day just last month, with flowers and candles decorating the streets and children dancing and asking for coins in his name.

Despite it all, she held doubt and was reluctant to speak again, her lips slightly parted and her face pale. Would she really be damning her people, her good people, by letting those others continue to flow within her veins? The long awkward pause continued even after Antonio blinked and removed his hands, stepping away from her. Like a summer storm, his passion seemed to tear the room up in a brief passing and then all was calm. Lianor raised a hand to her chest for a deep breath.

"Would you like some more wine?"

"You know they would be in good hands with me." The heartfelt and happy words from before were nearly a memory of the past, and she knew it. Whatever dark place Antonio had been living in, he was trying to pull her in as well. Although mostly silent during his tirade, her throat and mouth felt dry. Nodding to the wine, she picked up the cup and took a long drink from it. Although knowing it came from the same bottle as before, the flavor was fresh and gave her spirit.

"You have put much thought into this, haven't you?" she asked, a little wary of him now but with a growing concern for him as well. "I... have heard rumors of what has been happening within your borders, brother. They are not very happy rumors." She tried to smile but there was sadness in her eyes. "What brought this on, Antonio?" But she knew and she knew it well, her voice dipping in a quiet but urgent whisper: "The Reconquista is over. Or would you have me begin a war with my people once more?"

Cradling the cup in her hands, she, too, could remember the blood and swords and banners. Memories of laying in her small bed waiting for them to come and get her as the stories of how they would cut their prisoners into tiny pieces and throw the flesh into cauldrons for fun. Or to eat. And with the sea at her back and with Antonio's lands being taken alongside her, she had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Yet she had still tried anyway. A dash across an open fields while the pursuit called out to her to halt. Small legs tripping over shadows of fear and splinters bedding into her hand as she gripped the stick for all she was worth.

She could not bear to look Antonio in the eye anymore when a shiver ran down her spine at the vivid memory of the sound of hooves making the Earth tremble, the hot breath of the horse's snout like a smack to the back of her neck and then, when she tried to rush to the side, the heavy hand gripping her by the hair, fingers digging into her scalp. "We do not live in times like those anymore, brother." Reino de Portugal reigned supreme over herself once more, her back straightening and her chin tilting proudly like the Empire she had struggled to become, her voice raising to match but somehow still sounding like a little girl who thought herself to be princess. "We are victorious. We"--she rose the cup back up to her lips--"mustn't let the past try to rule over us," she said, and took another drink.

__________

A/N:
Saint Christopher = Patron Saint of Travelers
Saint Valentine = Patron Saint of Happy Marriages
The rumor about the Moors cutting prisoners into pieces was shamelessly pulled from here.

[Spain]

Antonio merely nodded along as Lianor spoke, sipping his wine slowly. However, the Spaniard stopped when she began her myriad of questions and listened quietly, his olive green eyes never leaving hers the whole time. Though he was relaxed, he could feel the intensity remain inside, driven by the urgency of his mission and the desire for her to understand things the way he did. The Spaniard felt quite strongly, quite sincere, about his concerns, after all, the last thing he wanted to see was his sister fall into the hands of false faiths again, like so many years ago.

He was certain that she had not have forgotten when it was like living with the Moors or with those they set their sights upon. A large haze covered the events of his younger years, obscuring many of the details of how he came into the possession of conquerors. However, he did recall bits and pieces, in fact it was usually the last thing he saw before he sat up in cold sweat the first few years he was discovered laying in the fields by Fernándo de León y Castilla. At first, he screamed and cried at recall of the sight of his dead father, hand clutching his own small hand and commanding him to keep his identity a secret. It would be detrimental to who you represent if you do, he said before the Moors grabbed him and dragged him off to be sold.

Though by God’s divine intervention, it did not happen.

Back then, he did not quite understand what the father was telling him, but he knew well enough as he became al-Andalus that it pained him to watch the collapse of la monarquía visigótica, to witness the slaughter on the battlefields and pillages when they thought he was old enough to understand the purpose of warfare. He could still remember the shock he felt when he finally realized what the trips outside of the castle walls were for, when he finally understood why the men sometimes came back with bloodstains on their otherwise pristine battle gear. It suffocated him every time he recalled it.

But there was one thing the Moors miscalculated, they assumed that at his young age, the Spaniard would forget who his people were and come to embrace their culture. Though he had been a toddler for many years, Antonio was very aware of who his people were during his time spent in captivity, even after centuries of separation. And when he was finally physically old enough to participate in la reconquista, he swore to protect his people regardless of the cost and to bring together a shattered people. Though Lianor was probably unaware of what the youth had experienced due to her station, Antonio resolved to stay silent about his experiences. After all, there was no reason to frighten the young girl about things that had happened in the past, events like that were bound to happen during their very long lives.

"We do not live in times like those anymore, brother. We are victorious. We mustn’t let the past try to rule over us."

When he was certain that the Portuguese had finished, Antonio moved the cup away from his lips, pursing them together slightly as his eyes narrowed slightly. “Hermana, la reconquista is still going on,” he corrected, “it’s not over until we reclaim all the land that was once ours… until Granada has been returned to us, it won’t be finished. Queen Isabel had said so.” As the queen’s name left his lips, Antonio’s expression softened as if he was having a pleasant memory, “Los Reyes Católicos swore that they would see that accomplished during their reign.”

Almost to place emphasis in his words, the Spaniard set the cup down gently on the table, folding an arm on the table while propping the other one up for him to rest his head. Then without wasting a second, the Spaniard smiled before he replied. “As for the rumors? You should know by now that I love my kingdom, I love my land and I love my people,” he disclaimed, “like I said, hermana, this is not merely a decision to go to war with my own people or a conversation to try to make you go to war with your own people. Rather, think about it this way, we’re acting as stewards of our people so the salvation of their souls is our concern, don’t you think so? If someone claimed to convert, but goes back to the former religion afterward, what good is that conversion?”

Removing his hand from the stem of the cup, Antonio used the hand to gesture as he talked, sometimes using it to emphasize his points with an open palm or a flick of the wrist. “It is not to say that the conversos are bad people,” he stopped for a moment before voicing his concerns, “as a matter of fact, King Fernándo has appointed several of them as part of his court, I have worked with a few of them. But as fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, wouldn’t you be pained to see them revert to their old ways? The gospel of Mark even says that if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire. So shouldn’t that apply to those who revert back to their old religion? We should do something to help them hold themselves accountable.” With that question, he looked at his sister intently, trying to gauge her reaction by studying her face, looking for any signs of acceptance or rejection. He had noticed how she had withdrawn her hands into her lap a few times, the excitement and mirth on her face withdrawn quite a bit since she had arrived. He smiled at her reassuringly, he hoped that he did not frighten her too badly, but it was just that he felt this incident was very important, too urgent when it concerned the souls of so many people!

“It is nothing like la reconquista, Lianor, I promise,” he added, “but anyway, about Manuel’s proposal. I agree that Isabel would be well cared for in your hands, but…” Antonio stopped for a brief moment, catching himself before he repeated the whole speech he had just given before starting again, “what do you intend to do about the former conversos in your land? You know what Paul said about yoking yourself with nonbelievers.”

---

- Matthew 18:8 Wherefore if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire Antonio uses this verse to justify the need of physical removal of the part of the person who is causing them to sin. In his eyes, if the person's mind is causing them to sin or commit blasphemy, it is best to remove the whole person. Thus, this justifies the use of auto-de-fés.
- II Corinthians 6:14-16 Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness? What harmony is there between Christ and Belial? What does a believer have in common with an unbeliever? What agreement is there between the temple of God and idols? For we are the temple of the living God. As God has said: "I will live with them and walk among them, and I will be their God, and they will be my people." This passage provides a warning to not yoking oneself with non-believers; though the language is very harsh, in context, Paul was writing this letter to the Corinthian church, who were noted for the immorality and teaching false doctrine (they were still practicing their pagan beliefs). Thus, Paul is attempting to rectify their behavior in his letter to them, providing that if they do intermarry with non-believers, the practices of the non-believer could cause the believer’s faith to wander.. In this case though, Antonio going a bit extreme and is stretching it beyond that of marriage and saying that associating oneself with the former culture could potentially be detrimental to one's salvation as well.
- As a disclaimer, I apologize to those who are Christian, particular to those of Catholic faith, but I'm sure you guys know how I feel about this too~

[portugal]

Such quiet and calmness coming from Antonio while she spoke should have unnerved her, should have made her realize the severity of his determination and what would certainly happen if he was allowed to pursue whatever path he had found any longer. Lianor knew Antonio to be good--a little rough around the edges and a bit of a sly thief, stealing her trade passages by going the other way around--but a good man on the whole with principles and religious faith she could respect. He was no barbarian, not like the Moors in any way. He was no more a murderer than she. They were, after all, nations of reason.

Hearing him mention Granada brought a tightening to her lips just as the expression softened Antonio's expression from speaking his Queen's name. She rose the cup to drink in order to hide it, not wanting him to see it when, of all things, such feelings of a noble cause seemed to radiate from him. She had thought he had reclaimed that city years ago and had half a mind to speak up to say as much, but she recalled word about Antonio allowing the Muslim people to stay. Those people had surrendered and the city was his now, wasn't it? His grievances should have been met, but yet it seemed it wasn't to be. It wasn't enough.

"Los Reyes Católicos swore that they would see that accomplished during their reign."

Lianor's first thought was how much she missed Alfonso, the man who had made her a Kingdom. The next thought was that she couldn't blame Antonio for wanting this with as much passion as he did. If she could feel that sort of possessiveness of the high seas and the invisible roads across the ocean, Antonio's desire to completely own something that was a part of him made more sense than anything. Nonetheless, she disliked him that instant. As though Columbus had not been enough to insult Lianor, now Antonio thought himself in position to tell her how to treat her own people.

If any man could smile despite the topic of the conversation, it was the Spaniard in front of her. And smile he did as he proclaimed his love for himself, his status, and his people. Certainly this path he had found could not allow him to love them all. In a way, his request to have Lianor purify herself was also asking her to remove those people that would love the Princess. And then he was saying that purifying them would save them. She dreaded to see what scheme or surprise he would throw at her the next time they'd meet.

"Rather, think about it this way, we’re acting as stewards of our people so the salvation of their souls is our concern, don’t you think so? If someone claimed to convert, but goes back to the former religion afterward, what good is that conversion?"

The sudden urge to simply down the rest of her wine came over her in a wave. She had not been prepared for this conversation at all and she wanted to smack him for it. That is not a convert, that is wolf in sheep's clothing. It wasn't until a few moments later, when he was reciting the scriptures, before she realized that her thoughts had spontaneously met up with his in agreement.

"So shouldn’t that apply to those who revert back to their old religion? We should do something to help them hold themselves accountable."

She swallowed and masked her face as best she could, but the taint of bewilderment that plagued her would not leave, even when she smiled. If only she could have been more like an elder sister for him. Being older and wiser, she should have wisdom for him now. But she didn't. He had a point, the Scripture said it itself and she knew the cost of allowing such people take over, but at the same time something was telling her this wasn't right. This wasn't how things should be done. There was a tinge of dread in her that even Antonio's best smiles could not make subside.

When he returned to bringing up Manuel's proposal, Lianor would have happily collapsed in a chair from relief. But as she was already sitting, she simply had to sit and listen--afraid for a moment he would continue, worried she would hear more of his passionate yet crazed words and watch, almost a spectator, as he pulled her onto this unyielding path he had created for himself.

"...what do you intend to do about the former conversos in your land? You know what Paul said about yoking yourself with nonbelievers."

Her words were slow and heavy, her back straightening as she fought to keep the composure she had managed to hold onto thus far. "I do not want wolves amongst my sheep," she confided in him, a tightness in her stomach. "But doesn't it say in Romans: Don’t seek revenge yourselves, beloved"--Lianor's brown eyes pierced into Antonio's, searched his face as though some answer or secret was written there that she simply need to discover to solve all of this-- "but give place to God’s wrath. For it is written, 'Vengeance belongs to me; I will repay, says the Lord.' Therefore 'If your enemy is hungry, feed him. If he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in doing so, you will heap coals of fire on his head.' Don’t be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

Don’t be overcome by evil. There was a burning sensation in her eyes and she blinked several times to rid herself of it. The terrible, humiliating threat of tears, but she could tell her eyes were not watering. Antonio had suffered greatly, his lands having taken the grunt and brunt of the invasion. Lianor had managed to reclaim her identity centuries before him, but her house had always been smaller and more obscure in comparison, as loathe as she was to admit it. She had fought back the memories of that unhappy past as best she could. Hermana,[/i] he had said, la reconquista is still going on.

With the thirst of a sailor, she had to hold herself back and drink like a lady of court: slowly, no dribble. She set the goblet on the desk, the contents gone and her tongue fresh with flavor but she felt no better than she had before. Damn you, Antonio, for trying to get me into this!

Wanting to slap him and embrace him at the same time, she continued, "But God has put his work in our hands. If anyone knows the weakness of men, it is us. I..." A short, girlish laugh managed to escape her somehow. Bashful almost. She could not help the strange feeling that had taken over her. Numb in one respect but burning in the other. She was not sure what to think, what else to say, how to appease the fire that he sought to pass to her. Her heart was full of love for her people but, if what Antonio was saying was right, they were in danger. All of them. And yet she still couldn't possibly give him an answer now. "I wish you would have sent me some sort of message about this, Antonio. You have caught off guard, truly, and I am honestly not sure how to go about providing accurate... methods, to answer this sudden request. Nor am I sure I truly want to reopen old wounds."

Despite the windows being closed, she could have sworn she saw how the wedding planning, the escort party for the princess, and the fanfare simply flew out of them. Rising from her chair, she gently brushed her hands over her dress to smooth it down before clasping them low in front of her. Calm. Composure. Regal. "You have given me much to think about and I am sorry to know you have been suffering so long like this alone. Confess your offenses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The insistent prayer of a righteous person is powerfully effective. Whatever happens, I will be sure to include your conquest in my prayers, irmão."

__________

A/N:
- Afonso would be Afonso Henriques, the first King of Portugal, proclaimed in 1139.
- "Don’t seek revenge yourselves..." comes from Romans 12:19-21
-"Confess your offenses to one another..." comes from James 5:16
- irmão = brother[/color]

[Spain]

Antonio burned inside when he was done what he had to say, but it blazed as Lianor spoke. He could sense that his sister agreed with him, saw the dangers of their situation as situation remained. No, she did not understand the urgency of the situation; otherwise she would not be this calm! However, he was slightly relieved when she did say that she did not want those lobos amongst her people. However, it was quickly washed over with a feeling of purpose, the need to push forth his agenda and it did not help that the uncertainty, the timidity in her voice was merely working to boost Antonio’s confidence in his purpose. He tried his best to refrain himself from interrupting her as she replied and told himself that she agreed with him to a certain extent, just more hesitation to be committed her conclusions like he was.

Though his reason told him that she did have a point, but another part of him denied her logic and told him that circumstances had changed since those times, that it did not all apply just like how Christ’s death had undone all of the rules that the Jews had laid out in the Old Testament. Yes, she was right that everyone should give up their wrath to God, but would it still be relevant when it came to those in authority who had to deal justly with his subjects and always watch over the well being of Christendom? Does it still relate to people who had converted but had long since reverted back to their old religion?

"But God has put his work in our hands. If anyone knows the weakness of men, it is us. I... I wish you would have sent me some sort of message about this, Antonio. You have caught off guard, truly, and I am honestly not sure how to go about providing accurate... methods, to answer this sudden request. Nor am I sure I truly want to reopen old wounds."

Lianor’s comment caused Antonio to look at her thoughtfully, his olive green eyes narrowed as he looked at her, studying her face and then moving onto the rubies and pearls around her neck before settling on the crucifix that hung on her breast. To him, the choice was apparent, which caused him to wonder about why his sister was being so hesitant. Opening old wounds, what old wounds were there to reopen? It was not as if they were seeking out revenge for what happened during la Reconquista, that was just the nature of war. But rather, he was only asking that she would join the Church’s cause by acting avidly as stewards of their people and their salvation. He frowned a little as he thought before looking up to meet Lianor in her eyes, placing an arm on the table as he faced her.

“Los sientos,” Antonio finally muttered up as he looked at her, “I understand how you would feel that way, since it has been such a touchy subject for all of us, but I felt like this would be something better discussed face to face, don’t you think? You brought up some good points, though it is important to remember that Romans had also mentioned that God had placed authority on earth as well… that he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves, no? In this case, if the Church has given our kings and queens the right to act as God’s server and bring punishment on the wrongdoer…”

With that Antonio stopped and rubbed the back of his neck, smiling uncomfortably. At one point he started to feel like he was preaching at his sister, just as devoted of a Christian as anyone else he knew. Throughout the whole time he had ignored the verbal cues, the looks of discomfort on Lianor’s face, casually dismissing them as just all part of the shock of getting such a request (after all, she did seem like he had rendered her speechless with his heartfelt speech). Then looking at her gently, he placed his hand on her arm and added, “God has placed us in a position of authority to do his work on earth. If we are given this authority, would it not be honoring to the Lord to not carry out our purpose? We know that blasphemy against the Holy Ghost is the eternal sin. If we are divinely inspired to carry out God’s wish to punish certain transgressions in the present, what’s to say that we shouldn’t?”

Then withdrawing his hand, Antonio smiled at his sister, knowing that he had probably overwhelmed her with all that he had to say. There was a long pause in the moment as he saw his sister straighten up, holding her composure as they always did in court, except that he liked to disregard it when not in the presence of royalty. It had always seemed silly to him to be so formal with siblings, especially a pair like them. However, he could not help but tilt his head, hand reaching up to comb through his hair, as she spoke.

"You have given me much to think about and I am sorry to know you have been suffering so long like this alone. Confess your offenses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The insistent prayer of a righteous person is powerfully effective. Whatever happens, I will be sure to include your conquest in my prayers, irmão."

With that said, Antonio turned back to look at his sister with a sheepish grin on his face. “Muchas gracias, hermana,” he started, “I hope that we would be able to continue to discuss this potential marriage and that you will consider our offer.” Though the pressuring was thinly veiled, he smiled widely and looked at the doorway before turning back to her and pointed at his own eye. “I presume that you are exhausted from your journey, it was pretty silly of me not to notice how tired you were,” he apologized, “I am sure we can always talk about this at another time, no?” Then with that, he nodded and stood up, holding his hand out to her, “I will also keep you in my prayers as well, hermana.”