AC Brotherhood Novelization

by Mirror and Image

Desmond continues his journey to being an Assassin and slowly going insane while reliving his ancestor Ezio as Ezio's worlds crumbles under his feet. Rated for Desmond's language, overall violence, and of course a certain amorous encounter at the beginning of the game.

1. Battle of Monteriggioni

Assassin's Creed Brotherhood Novelization

Mirror and Image

I don't think anyone ever expects to wake up one morning and find themselves caught in the middle of a war between two secret organizations. I know I didn't. But here I am.

On one side are the Templars, better known these days as Abstergo Industries. They're in the business of control. Politics, economics, technology, they won't stop until every single one of us serves them. Literally. Fighting against them are the Assassins, a group dedicated to safeguarding humanity's free will. I was born into the Brotherhood.

A couple of weeks ago the Templars found me. They took me prisoner, strapped me into a machine they'd built and put me to work. It's called an Animus; and it's where I spent most of my time, exploring memories of my ancestors, discovering entire lives locked deep inside my DNA. First I revisited the life of Altair ibn-La'Ahad, an Assassin from the Crusades. The Templars wanted the location of something known as a Piece of Eden, an ancient artifact capable of bending people to their will. Once the Templars had what they were looking for, they decided my usefulness had come to an end. But Lucy saved me.

Lucy...

When things were at their worst, she revealed herself to be an Assassin and helped me escape.

I was hoping that would be the end of my misadventures. But we were just getting started. Back into another Animus I went. Now I'm reliving the memories of Ezio Auditore da Firenze, my ancestor from the Renaissance, searching for a path forward. Through the Bleeding Effect, I'm becoming an Assassin in more than just name.

It will come in handy, as the Templars prepare to enslave us all.

They've found us; they've crashed our hideout and we're fleeing the scene, looking for a place to hide. Only, there isn't any, and time is running short.

My name is Desmond Miles, and this is my story.

---

Requiescat in pace, you bastard cannon firing everywhere concussive rounds God, it is God that dwells within! - dirt was flying people were flying, horses were flying death was everywhere Nulla è reale; tutto è lecito smoke and blood and sweat and earth and chickens and ash and fire and brimstone hell on earth abandoned by the gods No. Not gods. We simply came... before the earth shook as another barraged impacted the horse was dead and the armies were amassing fire was to the left a field that burned the world burned and naught remained but ash and that bastard's men were going to surround him and he would be damned if that man would win again we endeavored to ensure this tragedy would not be repeated. But now we are dying. And time will work against us he saw him across the smoke and blew through the bodies, leaping up and stabbing and gutting and killing everything that stood in his way.

Eyes locked as he ran full tilt at the bastard and he watched eyes grow wide in surprise.

A hand grabbed his wrist to prevent the lethal strike and they fought for footing and he growled out, "How did you find me?"

The question was stupid and he answered with "Mario Auditore led me here."

You must find the other temples. Built by those who knew to turn away from war. They worked to protect us - to save us from the fire. If you can find them... If their work can be saved... so too might this world.

They struggled for dominance, pushing, straining, muscles sore and tight and determined his blade inching closer and closer and closer until Who is Desmond? I don't understand! Please, wait! I have so many questions! - and he was riding through the hills overlooking the battlefield knowing his prey was there and...

---

"Uh, Rebecca? What's going on?"

"I have to run some diagnostics. I'll get back to you."

---

"It is done. The message is delivered," she said softly. "We are gone from this world. All of us. We can do no more. The rest is up to you, Desmond."

"What?" Ezio blinked, spurred to action by such a specific name for a spirit. "Who is Desmond? I don't understand!"

But Minerva was fading.

"Please, wait!" he said, walking forward, reaching up to catch her hand, her shoulder, anything. "I have so many questions!" What was it all for? Why had his family been sacrificed for this enigmatic message to the mysterious specter of Desmond?

But the room was in darkness once more.

And Ezio Auditore da Firenze was alone.

He took a deep breath, unsure how he felt, what he should even feel. He had just met with a god...! He wondered if he should feel touched, or blessed, or anything the Bible often spoke of in its verses. And Minerva, one of the old gods, not the True God. What did that mean? Was the Bible a lie? Ezio remembered Altair's Codex, his writings of the old gods and the worry that the new God of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam were too simplified, too convenient. Would the old Master feel vindicated to learn his thoughts were true? How would the people handle such knowledge?

No, the Assassin shook his head. These questions were too deep for him. What of the prophecy, that some great calamity was approaching, and the spirit of Desmond had to stop it? The End of Days told in the Bible... it had happened once before. Perhaps Noah's flood? Minerva had claimed that few remained to rebuild... was there something he should do about any of this? Some Prophet he was! Everyone acknowledged him by the title and all he had done was anchor some phantom to relay a message. But then, was that not all that prophets did? Ezio didn't like that, he was a man of action, he would much prefer to do something about the encroaching calamity – but what? And how? And when? There had been no specifics at all and...!

He blinked, finding himself out of the glowing hallway of the Vault, and back in the circular pit where he had fought Borgia. A glance showed that the old Pope had disappeared. How long had he been communing with the goddess?

No matter, seeing the strip of clothe imbuing Borgia's title discarded on the floor, Ezio walked over to it and could not hold down a smirk.

Minerva's words were ethereal, otherworldly, even ominous, but in this at least he felt satisfaction. Borgia was defeated now, and to add insult to injury the delusional old man had watched his most hated enemy enter into the Vault that was thought to be his. Let Borgia live with that bitterness, let Pope Alexander VI spend the rest of his days knowing that everything he fought for had been for naught. Ezio doubted the old fox would live many more years, and though he felt a pang that the man would not suffer the twenty-three years that he had, he thought that a decade or so would more than suffice.

Yes, he had more questions, but as Ezio examined the fabric, he decided that this mission had been a success in every sense of the word.

He was free.

He was free of the quest of revenge, he was free of the burden of the deaths of his family, and he was free to live as he wanted now.

And it felt... good.

Standing, Ezio looked to the center of the pit, where the Papal Staff still stood erect.

A Piece of Eden should not stay in Borgia's hands – defeated or not, Ezio would not let the old man have a hint of temptation. He walked over, his boots heavy on the floor, and wrapped his fist around the Staff.

It would not budge.

Frowning, he placed his other hand around the object, pulling with more purpose. Still nothing.

And now to wait, whispered softly in his mind, and there was a soft burst of light, startling Ezio to take a step back, and he watched the Piece of Eden sink into the ground, mesmerized, before thought restarted and he reached out to grab at it again.

Done with you need to wait next event time to sleep.

He let go, surprised, and watched its continued descent. Time to sleep? What did that mean?

"Better in the hands of the earth than the hands of man," a gruff voice said from above, and Ezio looked up, startled.

"Zio?" he asked, surprised to see his uncle in the Vault.

Mario offered a bright grin. "What can I say?" he said affably. "I was late, it seems. I'm not as young as I used to be." Ezio scoffed, but the jovial tone left his uncle's voice. "Quickly. Climb up, we need to get out of here."

Ezio nodded, quick to find hand holds and dart up the circular recess he was standing in.

"You would not believe the things I have seen, Zio," he said once he was out. How could he even start to explain what his uncle had missed? The fight, the staff, the Vault, Minerva...! Wonder began to fill him again, words ready to burst forth from his lips, but Mario held up a hand, cutting him off before he even started.

"Then be sure to stay alive, that I might hear of them," he said pragmatically, already moving down the narrow hallway.

Right. They still needed to escape Rome. Even with Bartolomeo engaging forces and Volpe securing an exit, they still needed to get out of the Vatican. Ezio took a breath and put his wonder aside, focusing on the more immediate needs. "I expect opposition," he said with his rich baritone. "Word of my infiltration must be spreading by now."

"Ha," Mario said, reaching the steps, "and I expect the Borgia to mourn the loss of many lives tonight."

The two of them entered back into the Cappella Sistina and its unpainted ceiling, the cardinals long since disappeared and replaced with lower level monks and priests, milling about and wondering what was happening. Many looked up in surprise to see the two Assassins appear, whispers spinning back and forth, rumors and low voices filling the cavernous space of the cappella.

"What are you doing here?" one of them asked, nervously eying their swords.

A different one had more courage, or perhaps more contempt. "Assassini," he spat, "God will see you pay for your crimes."

A third spouted similar outrage. "You have desecrated the sanctity of this holy place!"

Sanctity? If they only knew...!

Ezio shook his head, pitying the men. "You condemn what you do not understand," he said simply. This was not the place for theological discussion, and these were certainly not the people.

Mario did not even grace the men with a response, turning to his nephew. "We must go, Nipote, now." And like an old ox he barreled his way through the throngs of men, heedless of their protestations and rebuttals. Ezio followed the path he made, also ignoring the curses spat at them.

"They do the Devil's work!"

"Turn away from them!"

"Heathens!"

Several turned their backs to them, as if not seeing them made them nonexistent, but some were braver and tried to block their path. Mario had no patience for them, simply shoving them aside, but Ezio understood that they were ignorant, ignorant of so much that they must be pitied, and it was not in him to cause them harm. Several interpreted his more careful maneuvering as weakness, and tried to push him around, literally.

One managed to press against his stab wound, and Ezio grunted at the sudden reminder of the trials he had suffered over the course of the day, and with a growl he put his pity aside and kicked the man in his balls in retaliation, a hand going to his wounded side as he finally freed himself of the crowd. The two exited the cappella.

"Did Rodrigo manage to hurt you?" Mario asked quickly, his strides long and powerful even as he gave a cursory glance as Ezio's side. Embarrassed, and remembering the many times he had worried his uncle with his reckless injuries over the years, he pulled his hand away and walked normally. The pain had already faded.

A look showed that Mario would not take such showboating.

"Barely," Ezio admitted, flushing, and was quick to write it off. "But my armor blunted his attack. Altair was a true master at his craft, the blow should have killed me, he meant for it to kill me, and yet already the bleeding has stopped, and I suffer no severe pain from it."

Mario looked at him.

"... So long as it is not aggravated," Ezio clarified, coughing against his embarrassment and putting more speed in his steps.

They exited the grandiose cappella and were soon in the main courtyard of the church. Cardinals were milling about, but not the ones from before, Borgia must have shuffled them off somewhere to deal with them, the ones here paid them no mind, and Mario and Ezio skirted the edge of the immaculate courtyard, neither wishing to draw attention to themselves.

"Be ready to fight," Mario said softly, opening a door and leading Ezio down a narrow hall, dimly lit. "I saw guards massing when I was sneaking in here."

"How did you even get in, Uncle?" Ezio asked, fist wrapping around his sword.

"I still have a few tricks to teach you, Nipote," he answered with a grin.

Silence settled over them, Mario gripping the handle of the door that lead outside to the Vatican proper.

Beyond were a slew of guards, and as one their heads all turned to see the two Assassins.

Merda.

Their swords were drawn instantly, Ezio with his precious sword inherited from the great Altair himself, a simple blade with an eagle head pommel and winged hilt that would not break for anything, was as invincible as his light-as-leather armor. One guard's sword snapped under his attack, and Ezio easily broke the guard's arm before sweeping his legs out from under him with his beloved sword. Mario, even at sixty-five, was as spry as Ezio and infinitely more experienced; he took down younger, stronger, vigorous men in two or three moves, so economic were his movements and decisions. Ezio envied that as he pulled into a more drawn out duel with a more skilled captain. Focusing his attention, Ezio taunted and parried, lulling the captain into a false sense of security before exploding in action, pressing a furious attack that left the man defenseless. Ezio stepped forward and stabbed, his sword expelling from the other side of the guard, and the Assassin felt a pull at his own stab wound.

He winced, yanking the sword out and putting his hand against the injury again.

A shove occurred behind him, and he stumbled over his fresh kill before spinning around.

The guard who had startled him was already falling, blood spurting from his neck from a sword wound, and behind him was a grinning Mario.

"I told you," he said brightly, flinging his sword behind him to kill a guard trying to sneak up on him, "I've still a few tricks to teach you."

Ezio offered a grin. "Whatever you say, 'Mentor.' Not bad for an old man."

"Agreed," Mario said without a hint of humility. The two reengaged the fight, slaughtering the guards with ease and leaving easily two dozen men at their feet.

Mario was off like an arrow, not even pausing to see if more guards were coming, and Ezio was fumbling to keep up. Mario darted up some steps and down a narrow alley – now that they were in the Vatican proper, the city inside the city of Rome, there were many more choices for them, and it wasn't long before Mario was leading them up a pile of crates to a series of crossbeams and finally to a roof. "I've secured a way out of here," the older man said. "The roofs are normally teaming with guards but I've made a few select kills and we have a path to follow. Stay close."

"Yes, Zio," Ezio said softly.

He found himself dimly wishing he had worked with his uncle more. Mario, for as long as Ezio had known him, was flitting from one city to the next, almost never home in Monteriggioni as he traveled all over Italia doing the brotherhood's work. For all the training, the words of advice, the practical wisdom, Ezio had only ever worked with his uncle during the campaign for San Gimignano, the infiltration to get to Vieri de' Pazzi, when Ezio was still young and pigheaded and impatient. He had recognized his uncle's genius at strategy, but only now was he beginning to realize how far it extended – to secure an escape rout in the Vatican with only a few select kills?

It was not the first time Ezio realized how much he still had to learn – even at forty years of age.

They took a quick, sometimes circuitous route along the roofs, hopping over alleys and darting over tiles and looping around chimneys. Mario led them up to a viewing platform, and they plunged into the deeper shadows of the covered road leading to it. Two, no three guards were walking about. Mario silently killed one while Ezio extended both of his hidden blades and forced them into the soft tissues of the exposed necks of the other two. All three fell to the ground at once, and Mario was off again, the Auditore crest emblazoned on the back of his cloak visible briefly as they ran down a narrow street that was not in shadow. Several sharp turns later they were up at the roofline again, and Ezio could see the river splitting the Vatican from the rest of the city.

They climbed a church tower, Ezio could see a beam sticking out at the top from old construction, and he already knew what Mario was intending to do. He looked over his shoulder and saw that yes, they were the perfect distance to do a leap.

After a moment's pause, both collected their breath from the climb and the exertion of the day. The sun was low in the sky – a testament to how long they had been working.

"What of the Apple, Ezio?" Mario asked. "Did it sink into the earth as well?"

"No," he replied, pulling out the Apple. "But I have seen why Altair feared its power so; and I have seen the potential that it has." Even now, he could hear whispers in his mind, its desire to help. It glowed in his hand, golden light shifting and swirling, words in his mind of things he could do, things he would see, knowledge he would gain if he only asked.

Ezio was frozen, looking out over the river, knowing the Apple needed to be hidden away or destroyed, but the promises were so alluring, and he turned troubled eyes to Mario.

"This decision is yours alone to make," Mario said. As always, he never told Ezio what to do, let his nephew make his own decisions. "Only do so quickly."

Ezio stepped out to the edge of the tower, his motions suddenly wooden, hard to do. Even Altair, who had studied the Apple for so long, had washed his hands of the accursed thing, Ezio could do no less, and yet... and yet... and yet...

Mario seemed to sense the struggle. He turned back to the Vatican, still weary of guards and pressed for time. "Then give it to me," he said gruffly. "It does not seem to like me; you can do as you will later. For now we have to leave."

… Yes. Yes.

Yes, that made perfect sense; Ezio was in no condition to make a decision that monumental in his state, injured, tired and worn, and on the run from Borgia pursuers. He could decide at home, at Monteriggioni. "Bene," he said, handing the little silver ball to his uncle. Its light immediately dimmed, the whispers died away, and the Florentine felt infinitely better.

And they dove.

---

Though neither met Volpe in their flight, his work was evident in the fact that horses had been waiting for them in the southern outskirts of the city and no one, no one, paid them mind as they traveled about. Rumors amongst the other travelers spread that thieves and bandits were about and to mind their belongings, the guards had their hands full. Ezio and his uncle shared a grin before nodding at all the right places.

Contrary to the dire predictions of Savonarola and his ilk, the world did not end at the turn of the New Year, something Mario had said was inevitable: the world was hardly going to stop spinning because of a date on a calendar, and even if it did, why a year like 1500? Halfway through an eon? Ludicrous. The pair rode up to Monteriggioni around midday, the sun high in the sky and Ezio still regaling Mario of the miracles he had seen below the Vatican in the Vault. All of his theological questions poured out of his mouth, recounting Altair's Codex and studies of the Apple, Minerva and her cryptic words, the invisible phantom Desmond Christ almighty I'm not going to get used to him saying my name and the new dire prediction of the end of the world.

"She told of a disaster that occurred long ago and another that is coming," Ezio said, energy filling him again. What was he supposed to do? How could he prevent it? What did it have to do with that ethereal phantom? What did this mean for Christianity? Had the madman Savonarola been right about the end of the world, only confused on its date? No, he had the Apple to further his agenda, Savonarola did not believe his own rhetoric. But then what-

"Sometime far in future, right?" Mario said, cutting through his knot of thoughts. "The disaster will not occur immediately. If this being claiming to be Minerva was alive for thousands of years, then 'distant' is likely measured in centuries. Do you not think so?"

"... Si," Ezio said slowly, uncertain where his uncle was leading with this.

Mario smiled. "Then we need not worry about it," he said simply.

… And just like that, all of Ezio's worries and questions and confusion were swept aside with his uncle's pragmatism. "Sì," Ezio said slowly, his eyes wide in revelation. "Perhaps our work is finished."

"Would that be so bad?"

"... No," Ezio said, smiling. "No, it sounds wonderful."

But before he could truly begin to understand what it meant to be finished, the earth next to him erupted in a cascade of dirt, both horses startled and reared, leaving the two Auditore hard pressed to settle them. "What on earth...?"

But Mario laughed good-naturedly. "I told you before we left, Nipote. We upgraded the arsenal while you were away."

"...Ah." He did have a vague memory of Claudia updating them on their new purchases. He turned back to his uncle, Florentine irony lacing his next words. "And it is now customary for you to fire cannonballs at visitors?"

"My apologies," Mario replied, his face only mildly penitent. "They should have only installed them a few days ago. My men are still being trained in their use, it seems."

"Yes, it 'seems,' indeed," Ezio said, pursing his lips at his uncle's laughter.

They cleared the line of fire without further explosions, however, and they stabled their horses and entered the city. The people immediately recognized Ezio and his uncle, the patrons of Monteriggioni.

They welcomed him with open arms.

"Welcome back Messer Ezio!"

"Ezio! Look it's Ezio! Let me see! Mama, let me see!"

"The Maestro is back! Look! Ser Ezio! Hello!"

The good will swept over Ezio and he smiled broadly, raising his hand high above his head. "Buon Giorno!" he called out. Several girls cried out, giggling or fanning themselves, as several of the mercenaries off duty catcalled and whooped upon their return. Children ran up and wished a happy new year, shop owners huddled around their doors to get a better look, courtesans ooh-ed and ah-ed, and he saw several thieves watching the growing entourage from the roofs. He couldn't help but smile. "It is good to be home," he said, content. "This place just keeps getting better."

"It's thanks to you, Nipote," Mario said expansively, waving himself. "You provided the finances to rebuild this place, and we couldn't have asked for a more shrewd accountant than Claudia. Between the two of you, Monteriggioni has flourished. They know. And so they celebrate."

They reached the fountain at the end of the main street, the embellished Assassin symbol resplendent and pouring water freely for the citizens. Ezio and Mario dismounted, walking leisurely up the steps. The training ring was empty, Ulderico likely off with Claudia and their daughter somewhere. The villa practically shone in the noon sun, the facade bright and clean, the gardening lush and colorful. It was Heaven on earth, not even the brilliance of Florence could compare to this tiny little city-state that Ezio called home. He was just so... happy. He couldn't stop smiling.

His family was at the main doors. Claudia turned and her face veritably lit up.

"Brother!" she said brightly, darting up to him.

"Claudia," he replied, stepping up and throwing his arms around her. She squeezed, and he returned the embraced just as strong. "It is good to be home. How is Mother?"

"She's fine," she said, eager to answer his question. "She's inside with Federica. Oh, I heard you were returning, but I am glad to see it with my own eyes. I was afraid to hope you'd be back by tomorrow; this is wonderful. The Contessa of Forlì is here to welcome you. La Tigre herself, I had no idea you were so famous!"

"Caterina?" Ezio said surprised. "Here?" Tigress indeed, Caterina Sforza was the regent of Forli, a spitfire and fiery leader of her people who trained the troops herself. Just last year, while Ezio had been dealing with Savonarola and his terror over Florence, Caterina had dug in and prevented the Venetians from marching through her lands to make war with the city of Ezio's birth – with no allies save a few pitiful mercenaries sent by her uncle in Milan. Caterina was a strong ally of the Assassins, had hidden the Apple in her city for a time, and even went so far as to have her first husband killed. Ezio knew her in the most intimate sense, and the thought of the beautiful redhead in his heaven of a home... his smile threatened to split his face.

Claudia smiled, too, so happy to see her brother. "Is it finished, then?" she asked, anticipation coloring her face and voice. "Is the Spaniard truly dead?"

That would... take some explaining. "Gather the others in Mario's study tonight," he said by way of deflection, "I'll explain everything there. There is so much to tell."

"Steel yourself, Ezio," Mario said, knowing just how much the others would have to swallow. "They will have many questions."

"Claudia, tell the Contessa I look forward to seeing her this evening. An ally who has helped as much as she deserves to know just as much as the other Assassins. Are Paola and the others still here?"

"Yes, somewhere. Volpe hasn't appeared yet, and neither has Bartolomeo, but Paola is likely at the bordello, instructing as she always does. Antonio has been racing the thieves, so I'm sure Teodora is with him, and Machiavelli is in the gardens out back."

"Bene," he said. "I'll gather Paola and Antonio, we'll dine together and then I'll tell a story such that no one has ever heard before."

"Of course," she said. "It will give Ulderico and I time to get Federica to bed. Oh, it's so good to see you!" She hugged him again, tightly, before darting back into the house, Mario laughing and following her in.

Ezio smiled after them, contentment washing over him, and he turned and wandered back into the city. There were many people he needed to catch up with.

His first stop was the blacksmith, the brothers Marco and Carlo. Brought in by Ezio himself they had apprenticed under Santino, who had finally retired, and become masters themselves. Though the armor of Altair and his sword had left Ezio in no need for their finest works, he made a point to call on them regularly for maintenance of his hidden blade and other weapons, to say nothing of their artistry with plates and flatware. They were thrilled to see him, lauding him with stories of their children and their business and their adventures in smithing. Ezio reveled in their stories, smiling and laughing and refusing once again to give them his precious armor and melt down for examination.

After them was a quick stop of to the waif of a banker Romeo, handpicked replacement by Adler. He was young and not yet married, nervous of disposition and thin of frame. Ezio went over their finances briefly, knowing Claudia would give him a more detailed report later before Romeo talked of the German Adler in his retirement. Old and sour, both men had fond memories of the banker and his absolute loyalty to the Auditore banks and his bitter words of the idiocy of Florence. They both laughed out loud, remembering his attitude towards customers and his keen eye for financial details.

Vincenzo, former apprentice of his best friend Leonardo da Vinci, was knee deep in a painting and didn't have time for him. Doriano and his sister Arianna were thrilled to see him. Well, Arianna was, Doriano still couldn't understand why Ezio favored such long coattails, Arianna took one look at him and burst in inspiration (something that happened with her often.) She was already working on a new piece for him, all whites and reds, she said, more up to date with current fashion but still so winningly him. "It should be done tomorrow or the day after," she said brightly. "I can't wait to see you in it!"

Ezio smiled, leaving the shop feeling utterly fulfilled and saying hello to the priest before making his way to the bordello.

Would the rest of his life feel this good? Now that the burden of his work was no longer on his shoulders, there was a spring in his step, a sense of relaxation. He had freedom now, all the freedom to do whatever he wanted. Would he join Vincenzo and Leonardo as a painter? Perhaps buy up a vineyard. Maybe writing, as Altair had done?

The possibilities were endless, and he wondered if he could take a year or two to make a decision; "take his time" now that he had it. Yes... that sounded wonderful.

True to Claudia's prediction, he found Paola giving a firm dressing down to the madonna in charge. Sixty-one and with failing eyesight, her arched eyebrows and mysterious eyes commanded the room before turning to Ezio and softening. Paola had been Ezio's first teacher, fresh from the slaughter of his family and angry at the world, she had taken a bitter and vengeful boy and given him to the tools to survive and the shelter he needed for what was left of his family. "Buon Giorno, Ezio," she said softly, her entire demeanor changing.

"Madonna," he said, reaching out and taking her hand, sweeping it into a gentlemanly kiss. Several of the girls in the brothel cooed. "It is good to see you well and doing what you do best."

A coy smile. "You don't know me well at all if you think this is what I do best."

"Ah, but I wouldn't dream of seeing you at your best," Ezio said smoothly, "I wouldn't want to spoil you forever from the potential of men."

"Well played, Signore, I see you've... grown... into the parts you play."

"All with your tender care."

"Excellent," she said, nodding in approval. "Come, let us sit."

They shared tea as the other courtesans waited on them, Paola instructing them with a nod or a gesture, before Ezio explained the meeting he would be holding that evening.

"Such news means you have accomplished your endeavors."

"And then some," he said with an ironic smile. "It took Uncle the entire ride back to completely wrap his mind around the things I saw, I can only hope I can do better tonight."

"If there's one thing about you Ezio, it's that you do better with each time you do something."

After that Ezio took to the roofs, hopping and leaping and darting over to the Thieves' Guild that had been set up a dozen odd years ago for hiding thieves of Venice. Antonio, now fifty-six, was the aristocratic thief of Venice that had taken Ezio under his wing for eight years, beating subtlety and pre-planning and advanced thought into his otherwise thick head. It was a hard eight years, for many reasons, but Antonio had been a level head and a good measure of his progress towards becoming an Assassin. Several thieves recognized Ezio as he entered and smirked more than a little as they pointed him to the master Thief's quarters.

Ezio knew what that meant, and had the decency to knock. Teodora, nun of the most unorthodox nature stationed in Venice; she had charged her bordello with using their bodies to convert men to a softer understanding of the Lord. She had helped Ezio through the painful rejection of his childhood love, Cristina, and she was known, more than once, to bed Antonio.

He gave them several minutes to get appropriately dressed (though he had learned the hard way that 'appropriate' was relative to those two) and walked in. Antonio, was still shrugging on is doublet, but at least his pants were on, and Teodora was fully dressed. They were happy to see him, worried over his journey, and glad to hear of the meeting later that night.

"We'll be there, brother," Antonio said earnestly.

"And will you keep your hands to yourselves?"

"Oh, on that I make no guarantees."

"I will," Teodora promised with a small smirk, completely ignoring her lover's flabbergasted look. "And you, my son? You've a look a peace about you. Have you at last found a corner of solace that you had thought lost?"

"No, Madonna," Ezio said with a sad smile. "With Cristina gone, I doubt I will ever find such a corner."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, Ezio," she said softly. "You'll find her one day, of this I am certain."

Ezio smiled, a little broken, thinking of Florence and Cristina and the blood.

No... there would be no one after her.

But... he didn't need it. He had Monteriggioni, its people, his Uncle, his family, he had the Brotherhood. What more did one need?

It was late afternoon now, and he still had people to visit. His first stop was to the battlements, to have an extended conversation with the mercenaries and their propensity to firing on friendlies. He found a trio of them muttering and cursing about the new cannon. Some were trying to maneuver the machine, and others were saying that wasn't the problem. Ezio crossed his arms and put on the sternest face he could manage.

"So, these are the new cannons?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes, Signor Ezio," one of them said, still pouring over the machine. "Though how anyone can think these are practical are beyond me..."

"We were trying to fire them earlier, could not aim for anything. Almost hit two..."

All three suddenly stood ramrod straight and stared at Ezio. "Mi dispiace!" one of them shouted. "Merda, we're in for it now!"

"I tried to tell them it was a bad idea..."

"Stronzo, don't try to talk your way out of this!"

"We cannot seem to make them work properly, and the fool who mounted them is nowhere to be found!"

"Yes, that much is true. A thousand apologies, Messere, please!"

And their frantic apologies and declamations of blame could only make Ezio smile. He shook his head, snorting. "Then it is up to me to find him," he said in his rich baritone.

They continued to fawn. "We do not want to waste your time..."

"It is not any trouble," Ezio replied, smiling, "I have all the time in the world now."

No one was completely sure where the "fool who mounted them" was, but Ezio followed his intractable instincts and found him, passed out drunk, in one of the northern battlements. He nudged the mercenary with his foot.

"Salve, Messere. We need you to fix the cannons on the battlements."

The engineer snorted, casting bleary eyes up at the shadow looming over him, and turned away. "Leave me be. I do not begin repairs before noon."

"... Do you know what time it is?"

"I make cannons, not clocks."

Oh, one of those. Ezio made a show of shrugging his shoulders, passing it off as a trifle. "If you are busy, someone else will fix them."

That got the man's attention immediately. "One moment," he grunted. "No one else will touch my cannons."

Ezio grinned. "Then by all means, lead the way."

The engineer got to his feet and began to walk back to the cannons, muttering and rubbing the drunken sleep from his eyes. "Soldiers have no respect for artillery. They expect a gun to work like magic. You need to feel her out, give her a little encouragement." He looked to Ezio, hoping to find a kindred spirit, and the Assassin nodded simply. "We are only equipped with simple cannons now, but I got hold of a design from Francia: a hand cannon, something called a Wrought Iron Murderer. Imagine, firing a cannon... from your hands. That is the future!"

Ezio glanced down at the firearm on his wrist, attached to the hidden blade and constructed by Leonardo, the blessing that allowed him to assassinate the Doge Barbarigo of Venice. The future indeed, and Ezio was pleased that he was even slightly ahead of the game. Leonardo always served him well, and was ashamed that he could not see his friend more often.

But the engineer cut through Ezio's thoughts.

"What have you done?"

"We used them," one of the mercenaries said.

"They were not ready for firing!" he shouted, grabbing the man's collar. "You could have gotten us all killed! You didn't hit anybody did you, stronzo? Let me see."

Everyone watched as the engineer spent easily half an hour puttering around the cannon, cursing the mercenaries creatively as he reached under to adjust some metal gear, or boldly peered into the cannon's mouth with a light to check something. He finally deemed it safe and moved on to the others, muttering and cursing all the way. Ezio turned to the mercenaries. "I must go."

"Thanks for your help. If you hear the cannons tomorrow, do not worry, we will be practicing at dawn."

Ezio nodded, reentering the city as the sun began to set. Boxes of flowers had been delivered near the main gate, and a woman was tugging and pulling at one of the boxes with great frustration.

"The men in this town are no better than little girls," she muttered. "An army should be helping me, and look... no one." Her grip on the crate slipped and she flew backwards, landing hard on her backside. "Cazzo," she cursed. "This box is heavy. I always get stuck with these kinds of things..."

And, even after all these years, Ezio could not ignore a pretty face. "Need some help?" he asked smoothly.

The woman looked up, surprised to find an offer of help, and then took in Ezio's face. "Salve," she said in a low, pleased voice. Stepping back, Ezio swept down and lifted the crate. The flowers were heavier than he initially expected, but were nothing compared to some of the armor he wore, and to prove the point took up a second crate for effect. "Where would you like them?" he asked lightly, pleased to see her flush of admiration.

"Follow me, Messere," she said, beckoning him down towards the church.

"So many flowers," Ezio said conversationally. "Your husband must be very lucky."

She laughed, deep and throaty. "I am the lucky one. I have you here to aid me."

"I see," he said, giving a roguish smile.

Her eyes doubled in size as she caught his polite leer. "Oh," she said quickly, "I may have given you the wrong impression."

"Oh?"

"I have no husband," she said quickly, "He died some three years ago. The flowers are for a party."

Ah. "Am I invited?" he asked, still grinning. He loved flirting with women.

She, too, seemed to enjoy flirting, because she offered a coy smile and shy look. "To Claudia Auditore's birthday party in the Villa? If you are willing to help me again, I need someone with class to accompany me."

Oh, now that was a wide opening. "What makes you think I have class?" he asked.

She smiled. "I could tell the moment I saw you. No one in this town walks with such bearing. I am certain Ezio Auditore himself would be impressed."

"Oh? What do you know of Ezio?"

Her smile was more wistful now. "I have never met him, alas," she said. "But I have heard many a story from his sister Claudia. She helped me settle here, you know, when my husband died. She found lodgings, materials, even a job for me; I could not ask for a kinder benefactor. Her brother, she says, is even kinder. Claudia thinks the world of him, but he rarely visits her. From what I gather, he's distant."

Ezio blinked, thinking back over the years. He had always considered himself so close with her, especially when their mother was stricken with grief over their family's losses. Why, he had even threaten to kill Ulderico when he learned that Claudia was preg-

Oh.

"She's right," he said with no small measure of self-reproach. "I have been."

Federica had changed everything when she was born. Ezio, a newly minted assassin, had learned for the first time what family could mean for a man like himself. He had fallen in love with Federica just like a parent, had doted on her and showered her with affection, and had been reprimanded by Ulderico, jealous that he was losing his only daughter to a man he had no hope of outmatching. Out of respect, Ezio had pulled away, making a point to give them time with their daughter. Maria had scolded him on it, saying it was hurting Claudia. Had he been so blind?

Yes.

The distance... it would have to end. He would talk to her, tomorrow, at the party, and beg forgiveness.

"Oh no," the woman was saying in the meantime. "You? The party was intended to be a surprise, Ser Ezio! Promise you will not tell Claudia."

"I will not say a thing," he said, "Provided, you perhaps do something to earn my silence."

He watched her eyes dilate at the very thought before shaking it off. "I'm sure I'll think of something," she said shakily, putting her hands to her cheeks to hide her blush.

A woman of propriety even when struck by desire? Ezio liked her even more, and was glad for Claudia's choice. The two made several more trips with the flower crates, and it was evening when they at last finished. They parted on good terms, Ezio would forever be able to make women comfortable with him, and Ezio entered his villa.

"Zio 'zio!"

"Federica!"

The eleven year old bundle of energy flew up to him and Ezio swept her into a tight hug, spinning around once before dropping her down. "You've gotten so heavy," he declaimed. "I feel like an old man."

"You are an old man."

"Ah, you wound me with your cruel words."

"There's a really pretty woman here, Zio 'zio," Federica said brightly. "She wears clothes like I've never seen before. Why don't I have clothes like that?"

"Because your uncle is pragmatic with his wealth," a deep, luscious voice said from the stairs, and Ezio and Federica looked up to see the Contessa herself coming down the steps, dressed in rich purples, a delicate lace collar, and fine-woven sleeves. Ezio's mind was quickly filled with pleasant memories of Caterina Sforza, her strong spirit, and her very soft curves. He smiled brightly. "Buongiorno, Ezio."

"Caterina," he said lightly, Federica attached to his hip. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence here?"

The countess glanced down at Federica, winking and smiling at her, before looking him in the eye with a serious face. "I desire an allegiance. The papal armies have resumed their march on Forli. Your mercenaries would be a great asset to my cause."

"Your own forces are fierce," Ezio said slowly, sensing the seriousness. "Can they not handle the force?"

Caterina looked away. "My second husband seems to have absolved my people of their faith in me. Four years ago, I was blind to what that man was capable of, even when my own children tried to assassinate him, and in my anger, I did terrible things. I had asked my people if they wanted to capitulate to that stronzo Pope, or dig in for a siege and they... hesitated. Before the assassination attempt... this would not have happened, but I have to live with the consequences, and because of that I cannot force my people to do as I will if they cannot trust me. I absolved them of their fealty, and so my numbers are greatly reduced."

"Do not worry, Caterina," Ezio said, squeezing his niece's shoulder, "Your people will come around to see what a magnificent woman you are. It is likely that I can give you what you seek. But we will talk later, I have a niece to put to bed."

"Zio 'zio!"

An hour later, the dinner table was full of people, laughter, and smiles. Wine warmed everyone in the January chill, and the food was rich and plentiful. Antonio's hands were visible at all times, but not his feet, it seemed, if Teodora's flush was any indication. Paola spoke softly with Maria, and Claudia and Ulderico regaled everyone with stories of their daughter. Mario laughed louder than anyone, slapping the table in his pleasure while Machiavelli, dour as always, ate silently. When the food had finished, the Florentine diplomat leveled a serious gaze at Ezio.

"Well?"

Everyone quieted, and Ezio leaned back, hoping to explain the things he saw. He began with the easiest.

"It is done," he said. "Though not, I think, as any of us expected." He explained the infiltration of the Vatican, Rodrigo Borgia and the Papal staff, Altair's armor saving his life; he explained the combining of the Staff and Apple, the access to the Vault. He tried to express with wonder the moving painting of Minerva, doing poor justice indeed he was certain, and relayed the prophecy of tragedy she had spoken of, the hope of the lost temples – whatever they were – and of the phantom Desmond. "It was as if he were there, standing beside me. I was utterly alone, and yet she spoke to air as if a person existed there. After her warning, she vanished."

"Amazing," Caterina said softly.

"I cannot imagine such wonders," Claudia agreed.

Machiavelli was more pragmatic. "The Vault did not house the terrible weapon we feared. This is good news."

"What of this goddess, this Minerva?" Claudia asked, "Did she appear human?"

"Yes, but her words proved otherwise. All of her kind died many years ago. I wish I could show you the magic she performed."

Antonio asked, "Who is Desmond and where are these temples Minerva spoke of?"

"I do not know."

"Perhaps we must search for him," Teodora wondered.

Machiavelli, however, focused on a different point. "Tell me how it ended with Borgia. Did Rodrigo beg forgiveness? Make excuses? Promise power in return?"

"... No. None of those things."

The diplomat frowned, surprised. "Interesting. I'm surprised he remained so composed."

Ezio shrugged. "I let him live."

Machiavelli's eyes snapped to the Florentine. "The Spaniard lives?!" he shouted, incredulous.

"He is defeated," Ezio said. "He will live in the shame of his total defeat for the rest of his days."

"Fool!" Machiavelli growled, stepping up into Ezio's personal space. "You were defeated, too, and you spent twenty years plotting revenge, do you think he will not do the same? And yet you speak of moving paintings and dire prophecies. Once our enemies are dead we can speak of vaults and gods and ancient places. You should have killed him. We're sure to suffer for it."

Ezio pursed his lips, knowing all too well of what Machiavelli spoke of, but he had made his decision. "I am not here to debate the past. Together, we should discuss the future."

"No," Machiavelli said. "I am leaving immediately for Rome. Someone needs to control the damage you have wrought."

And with that he stormed out of the villa.

The others watched uncomfortably, Maria pale at the thought of danger and Antonio gazing with disapproval – at whom was anyone's guess.

Mario cleared his through. "Ezio," he said, "I do not know why you spared him, but I trust your judgment. Machiavelli will come around."

"It was a good decision," Paola said softly. "Lives must be spared whenever they can. To kill wantonly robs us of our humanity, and that should never happen. If Rodrigo Borgia must be killed even after his defeat, he will make it known."

"Agreed," Teodora said, before standing. "It's a long road to Venezia, and Antonio and I must begin almost immediately. Thank you kindly for your hospitality and information. May your days be peaceful for the foreseeable future."

Similar statements were made, and it wasn't long before everyone was retiring to bed. It was late at night, almost midnight, and with no pressing conversations, explanations, or meetings to have, the weight of the journey began to pull at Ezio. It had been a hard ride, both ways, and his work in Roma had been excruciating, physically as well as emotionally and even spiritually. His loft seemed so far away, but he trudged his way up and found a hot bath drawn up. Claudia? Or Maria? It mattered little, the steam in the chill air was palpable, and Ezio was quick to tug his boots off and slowly disassemble his armor, throwing his black doublet and hood and cape into a pile while he carefully reassembled his armor on a mannequin. Hidden blade on the stand by the bed, and sword by that. His pants were next, and soon he put one grimy foot into the hot water and aaaaah, he was in heaven.

He soaked in the water, fingering the stab wound he had received from Borgia. It had required only two stitches, done hurriedly by his uncle once they were clear of Rome, and now was healing well. His other aches and bruises seemed to melt in the hot water, and he leaned his head back, slowly becoming boneless.

He was very nearly asleep when he heard soft but untrained footsteps.

Caterina Sforza stood by the tub, her form in silhouette.

Ezio smiled, and that was all the prompting the Countess needed. She went through the process of undressing, slow and deliberate and sensual in every movement she made holy shit Rebecca fast forward this; he enjoyed the show, still half asleep, before she coyly walked over to the side of the tub.

"Welcome home," she whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders and rubbing them just so. Ah, he felt that all the way down his back.

"So tight, mio caro," she said, her breath hot by his ear. "We'll have to fix that." And slowly, gently, she rubbed her palms and fingers over his shoulders and back, working her way lower and lower, and all Ezio could do is moan in pleasure as he relaxed even further. Her hands entered the water, moving lower and lower, before returning to his shoulders and then slowly tickling their way down his chest. Ezio looked up, only to have time to see a coy smile before his mouth was captured by hers, and one hand trailed below the water and stroke him Christ fast forward damn it!

His mind immediately woke up to her ministrations, and soon a small foot entered the tub, and he found his arms full of those wonderfully soft curves of his memory.

His brain worked dimly, but enough for him to pull away briefly. "Didn't you get married again?"

"I told you before, mio caro, I bed who I want. And right now, I definitely want you."

… There was no helping it after that. All his worries about taking married women, his old concerns about the hurt he had caused Cristina or the pain Claudia had suffered from Ducio, all of it melted away along with his tension and he just let it happen. If Caterina wanted this, who was he to deny her?

His desire was toyed with in the water, either by skilled hand or tactical hip, wet hands and wet breasts pressed against his chest even as his mouth was preoccupied with the Tigress of Forli. None of the strength inherent of the title was exhibited, it was all soft gasp and gentle hands and teasing strokes. Open mouthed kisses trailed down his neck, his collar bone, and wetly played with the planes of his chest before capturing his mouth again. One arm gripped the rim of the tub, bracing herself as she gently goddamit Shaun this is you isn't it you perverted son of a bitch!

His body thrust instinctively, but she pulled back at the last moment. "Not the tub, mio caro, the metal will hurt later. Take me to bed."

"Your wish is my desire," he whispered.

She all but shoved him to the bed, still dripping wet before climbing atop him, grinding her hips onto his and rubbing her body up and down, triggering all sorts of sensations over his body. He reached up to stroke her back but she pushed him down again, not allowing him any chance to return the pleasure she was endowing him. "I seem to recall you are a stallion, yes?" she whispered into his ear. "Well, then, mio caro, let me ride you."

He could only grin in response, and she sat on his stomach, above the center of his pleasure, and rocked her hips back and forth, letting him feel the wetness build up in her and toying with other parts of his body with her skilled mouth. Any attempt to stroke or explore her was rebuked, he was meant to be utterly passive, it seemed, and soon it was impossible for him to do anything other than moan. Her skills were put to work and he became one burning cluster of need.

"Caterina, I feel I'm going to explode straight up into the air," he gasped, his body on fire with pleasure and desire and lust.

"Oh?" she said coyly. "We can't have that, now can we?" She rolled her hips again, and Ezio was blind with pleasure Rebecca! Lucy! Make this bastard fast forward this you know how much I hate feeling this! Holy shit and he thrust over and over and over, until at last his lust finally burst from him, deep inside her, and they both grunted with pleasure.

Ezio sank into the sheets, spent and euphoric and panting. Caterina lay atop him, eyes dilated and hazy, before curling into his side. "Tonight, mio caro, is going to be all about you," she said in a deep, husky voice, rough from their time together. And just like that she was touching him again, fingers and mouth and thigh, and working his desire back into his body for a second round and he was all too happy to begin it. He god damn it Shaun fast forward right now or I swear to God I'll desynch you sick bastard!

---

"Shaun!"

"Oh, honestly, I'll bet it's the closest he'll ever get, the poor sod, let him have the moment."

"Except he doesn't want it, Shaun! Have some respect."

"Sorry, Desmond, I thought we were being followed; I needed two sets of eyes on the road. Another minute and Rebecca will take over."

---

Caterina was determined to keep them going the entire night, and they did just that. No sooner did one round end that another started. Every time Ezio dozed when spent from their amour, he would wake to find Caterina kissing his thighs or suckling his ear lobes, and the lust would begin again. Not once was he the aggressor, every encounter left him prone and vulnerable to her whims, once even begging for her to get on with it. He was not used to such passivity, but Caterina seemed to be an excellent teacher, and after no less than six different encounters of passion he rather thought himself well versed.

Dawn came and the countess was still insatiable.

"Ready to go again?"

Ezio smirked. "You don't need to ask."

She smiled in response. "One should always have the freedom to choose," she said softly, her face inches from his own.

"Then I choose another round," he said, husky and full of lust.

They kissed, her skilled hands already working, when a distant explosion sounded. "What's that?" she asked, looking up.

"Probably just training exercises," Ezio said, hazily remembering the mercenaries and their newly installed cannons. He would have to check on them later. He pressed his palm to her stomach, below her naval, knowing it was a sensitive spot and getting her attention.

That was when the room exploded. The north window shattered into a thousand pieces and the room shook as something impacted the far wall. They both looked up, startled, to see a cannonball rolling around on the floor, before the ceiling joists, groaning from the sudden assault gave way, cracking and then collapsing over Ezio's paintings and work desk. The mannequin holding his armor was crushed under its weight, but neither Ezio nor Caterina paid it mind, both dashing out of bed for their clothes. Ezio hopped into his trousers, shrugging on his white cotton. Caterina had her white undergown on and was hastily lacing up her bodice when another shell burst into the room, crashing through the first hole and exiting through another window.

"Merda!" Ezio cursed. "I have to find Mario and rally the troops."

Caterina was already ahead of the game. "My men are in the courtyard. I aim to lead them around back and flank our attackers."

"No, you already said you are down in numbers, with the Borgia massing at your borders. We're clearly too busy to give you aide, you have to go back to Forli and rally the men you have. I'm sorry, Contessa."

She gave him a quick, hard kiss, looking at him with shining eyes, before nodding and running off.

Strapping his hidden blade and grabbing Altair's sword, he climbed out of the hole and onto the stone roof tiles, rolling as another volley went flying over his head. Rolling to his feet, he looked out over Monteriggioni, his home, his heaven, his port of sanctuary, and saw it under attack. The main street was on fire, smoke rose from nearly every battlement, and he could hear a cacophony of screaming under the sounds of cannon fire, and one of the towers of the city wall collapsed.

He was looking at hell, and he didn't even have time to process it as a cannon burst at his feet, making him lose his footing; he slid uncontrolled down the tilt of the roof and over the edge. Years of training kicked in, and he rolled in the air, and was able to reach out and grab the upper balcony. It crumbled under his grip but not before slowing his decent, letting him land on his feet with minimal harm.

A firm grip grabbed his arm and hoisted him to his feet. Mario was there, grey temples flaying about in the wind. "It's the Borgia!" he growled, blind eye wide in rage.

"How did we not see this?" Ezio demanded, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. How did this happen? How did this happen?

"They must have massed to the east during the night," Mario said, already on the move and Ezio quick to keep pace. "We need to hold them off until the townspeople have escaped."

"I will take care of it," Ezio volunteered.

"Use the cannons above the ramparts. I intend to lead a frontal assault. By God we'll make those bastards pay for attacking us!"

"But Borgia is defeated," Ezio said, half thinking to himself. "What purpose would he-"

The Apple!

"Do you have it?" Ezio shouted as another cannon blast burst at their feet, digging earth up and exploding it everywhere.

Mario, like Caterina, was already ahead of him. "I am keeping it safe," he said, patting his belt before grabbing the reins of a panicked horse. "I'm off. The Borgia must not be allowed to breach the walls until everyone is safely away." He quickly calmed the beast and mounted, shouting orders before looking down at his nephew. "We stand together!" he said as parting, his horse rearing.

"Together," Ezio agreed. "Uncle... be careful."

"I will." And Mario simply grinned, digging his heels into his horse and galloping off to the barracks to marshal forces. Ezio had his own assignment, and found a horse under the training ring, now in ruins, and with a well-practiced leap he landed in the saddle and grabbed the reins. The horse gave only one buck before he had the animal under control and set off into the city.

The people were in panic, the smell of smoke and black powder everywhere. Frantic cries were shouted from every direction.

"My children. Where are my children?!"

"Papa, Where are we going?"

"My mother. I can't find my mother!"

"Help me! Help me!"

"Oh God. Where are you, Marcello?!"

"Run! Run!"

"Everyone!" he shouted as he darted through the streets. "Get to the villa! Get to the villa! You'll be safe there, get to the villa!"

No less than three buildings collapsed during his ride, frightening the horse and making it almost unmanageable. Fire had erupted at the bank, and the tailor shop was nothing more than a heap of rubble. He veered east, trying to get around the carnage, shouting at everyone to get to his home for protection, and saw that the church was only half standing, two walls ripped away as if they had never existed, pews littering the streets for his horse to jump over.

This was horror!

This... this was... there were no words!

Ezio growled, his voice hoarse from shouting, before he at last hit the city wall. Another building crumpled, and he could not steer the horse away this time, the beast crushed under the brick and wood; he himself only barely managed to leap out of the saddle, reaching up and finding a lamp post to grab onto and hoisting himself up. The smell of ruined meat assaulted his nostrils, combined with all the other scents he was suffering from and his eyes watered in disgust.

He climbed up to the roofs, the streets were no longer safe, and ran along the city wall, desperate to get to the battlements faster. He found a ladder and began a hasty ascent. What the hell were those new cannons doing? He could feel the vibrations of every impact of enemy fire through the wood, and half way up the entire wall buckled; the ladder disintegrated under his hands, and he fell back, seeing the enormous stones of the city wall falling above him. Ezio landed hard on his back and rolled closer to the city wall, pressed up against it as the giant boulders crashed about him, ripping the roof he was on to shreds as it barreled unhindered to the ground. Ezio panted, disbelieving, that he had survived. He looked around, confused, unable to fully process the fact that his home was under attack by the damnable Borgia.

Growling, anger filled him as he looked up. The stone facade had crumpled away, but the inner structure of the city wall held – at least something was built to withstand this horror. He leapt up to the plethora of handholds, hoisting himself up a dozen feet and to the ramparts at last. Auditore mercenaries were everywhere, firing cannons, shouting orders, and then flying up into the air in bloody pieces as the artillery hit. Everything vibrated, either from impact or from their own fire; smoke made it almost impossible to see, white and grey and some terrible black of ammunition soaked in pitch. Ezio leapt over bodies and body parts, slipping in spatters of blood and bodily fluids and fighting his way through people manning the cannons, trying to slow down the onslaught that was exploding all around them.

"Signor Auditore, thank God!" someone shouted.

"What's happening? How are our forces?"

"We lost almost half our cannon in the first volley; their engineers must be excellent, but they're focusing now on getting over us and into the city. We must hold them back until the villagers escape!"

Ezio took a deep breath. "Bene, if they're so focused on the city then we have a chance. Everyone!" he shouted. "Our first priority is taking out the enemy cannons! Everyone aims at artillery, ignore the troops; concentrate all fire on the cannons!"

"You heard him!"

"Adjust the heading!"

"Take out those cannons!"

Marching up and down the line as he could, he grabbed five mercenaries and ordered them to clean up the bodies – grim work to be sure but the paths had to be clear for travel.

"We've lost everything," someone moaned.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven," another was praying.

Ezio couldn't bring himself to think about it, if he did he was sure to fall apart. Too fast, this was all happening too fast.

"Aim carefully, we can't withstand another volley like that!"

"One of the siege towers is almost on us! What do we do?"

Ezio gave another order: "Every third cannon, if a siege towers clears the road, then fire – we can't have the enemy up on the battlements. Go! Fire! Now!"

"Fire! Fire!"

Ezio grabbed a mercenary. "Look out over the town," he shouted, "Tell me how many of the townspeople are left. We have to make it until everyone gets to the villa."

For three hours Ezio made similar orders, walking up and down the ramparts, adjusting his orders as he needed, trying to get as many enemy cannons disabled to give the people time clear out. The engineer from the other day was running from one cannon to the next, fixing what he could and giving tips on how to aim. The Borgia forces eventually figured out why it was taking them so long to trounce the Auditore, and Ezio cold see when their aim changed.

"There, look! That's their powder supply. Aim for that!"

"Reload, reaload! Aaauh!"

"Cristo, we're all going to die!"

"They're destroying us!"

"He's dead! Bastardi!"

A cannon exploded just as Ezio walked by it, sending him and the team manning it ducking for cover. One died instantly, another rolled off the rampart to his death, and the third struggled to reload the cannon.

"I need a new team!" Ezio shouted.

"Signor, there aren't any left!"

"Merda, how are the townspeople?"

"Almost all the townspeople are outside the walls," the courier he had grabbed shouted, clutching a bloody arm. "Less than an hour!"

"Keep loading the cannons!"

"Signor, we don't have enough cannons left and- Soldiers! Soldiers are climbing the walls!"

Ezio growled, hoarse from giving orders. "Keep firing," he ordered, drawing his sword. "I'll keep them from interfering, you have to hold out!"

"We will. God save you, Messere!"

No sooner had Ezio turned that enemy artillery erupted behind him, destroying the men who had just prayed for him. He wrenched his eyes closed for just a moment before tearing down the ramparts. One of the towers was blocked by rubble, but Ezio would not stand for that and instead jumped up to one of the construction pulleys, kicking the lock even as he grabbed the rope. The bricks above him plummeted down, sending him flying up with enough momentum to get him onto the roof of the tower. The siege engine was unmolested, the entire ease side of the city wall had been ripped asunder, barely a dozen mercenaries were trying to block the flood of Borgia paid thugs.

"Show no mercy!"

"No one shall be spared! Take this town for the Borgia!"

Like hell.

Ezio leapt, his hidden blade extended and dove onto one of the men, cutting through the artery like butter and using the corpse to break his fall.

"The assassino himself! Take him and you'll be rewarded!"

Ezio's response was to impale the first greedy pup with his sword, kicking the body off and spinning into a tight arc, his hidden blade slicing through knees and rendering men prone of the ground while his sword decimated throats and shoulders and heads. One man swung wide, and Ezio kneed him in the chest, sending him doubling over gasping for breath; Ezio grabbed the back of the man's head and fired the pistol built into his hidden blade, the noise barely heard over the cacophony of chaos surrounding them before shoving a shoulder into one shocked onlooker and then cutting him down with a sword, taking two steps forward and knocking a third to the ground before stabbing his sword into the gut, ducking under a fourth's swing and shoving his hidden blade brutally into the back, into the kidney; and a fifth was kicked in the knee to make the neck available with a clean slice.

He continued to mow his way down the city wall, slaughtering any who got in his way. Forty years old, and he was the deadliest man alive against these young inexperienced whelps that dared to think they could make any coin off of his death. None had the experience or skill to even offer him a challenge, not after training with his uncle, or Ulderico, or Bartolomeo, or Antonio or Volpe or any of the other teachers he had had over the years. It was not long before some two dozen men lay dead or dying in his wake; even the fully armored, older, more experienced soldiers were not match for him. Ezio had fought armored men before, he knew every chink of armor, every weakness, every move they would make before even they did, and he had almost cleared the path when he heard an explosion even louder that any he had heard that morning.

He turned to see the main gate shatter inward, debris flying everywhere. He could just make out, through the smoke and haze, a man stumble into the city.

His uncle.

Ezio blinked. What was he doing back in the city? What of the frontal assault? Where were his lieutenants and... and... was that blood on his cloak?

Mario fell to his knees, and behind him another silhouette appeared, a young man, almost a boy, strode in in thick armor and an immaculate red cape. Others trailed behind, but Ezio only had eyes for his uncle.

Guards flooded around them, taking a defensive perimeter, and the boy spoke.

"I know you're there, Ezio," he shouted, confident and easy. "The Pope told me about you and your little group of Assassins..." Ezio leapt over the rampart, landing on a roof and plunging deeper into the city, hoping... he wasn't sure what he was hoping only that he had to stop this from happening again.

Father... Federico... Petruccio... Cristina...

No.

He would not add another face to his list of losses. He would not!

"... and this!" the young man added, ignorant of Ezio's movements. In his hands he held a silver ball, glowing gold along intricate grooves. The Apple...!

Ezio's pace doubled, his lungs burning, his muscles straining, his heart fit to burst. Tiles were exploding at his feet, footing was hard to come by, but none of it mattered.

He would stop this!

He did not see the guards on the city walls of the mechanisms in their hands.

The caped soldier, clearly the leader of this invasion, waited for Ezio to show even as Ezio pushed himself harder. Impatience overtook the man and he said something in a low voice to another, presumably a lieutenant and grabbing something, before looking up again. "We've had too much bloodshed," he called out, a bright, winning smile on his face. "I think a cleansing is in order. So, consider this an invitation," he added, raising the mechanism high in the air for all to see, "from my family..."

Mario swayed on his knees, blood seeping from his grey temple, and the man pointed it, taking slow, deliberate aim.

No.

No.

No.

He had to stop-

"... to yours!"

Just a few more feet-!

The explosion rang out everywhere, impossibly loud and filled with pain.

Ezio saw his uncle, he had looked up and seen Ezio, and then the side of his head exploded in blood and brain matter, bits of bone and ear flying off in pieces.

Ezio stared, confused, numb. Petruccio, neck snapping; Federico, slowly strangling; Giovanni, swinging before he had been brained; Cristina, handing him the family crest; and now Mario, head exploding in blood. The images burned into his brain, and he felt weak in the knees. Blood burst from his chest, perhaps his heart had at last broken from all the pain, and then he was falling...

---

"Uncle... be careful."

"I will."

---

Arms above his head.

Rough cobblestones scraping along his back.

Dark sky. Smoke. Quiet. Why was it so quiet?

Mario... Where was Mario's laughter...?

Oh, god...

Ezio nearly passed out again, but he saw one of the men dragging him was Ulderico, Claudia's husband. Claudia...? Where was she? And Federica and Maria?

He had to be strong, he had to get to them, make sure they were alright. He couldn't bear it if...!

"Stop... stop!" he groaned. "I can walk."

"Ezio..." Ulderico said, hoisting him to his feet.

"Claudia, where is Claudia?" Ezio pressed, Mario filling his vision. He swayed on his feet and struggled to stay upright. He couldn't afford to be weak now!

"If she listened to reason she's already escaped," he said in clipped tones. "Everyone's escaped thanks to you, now we need to get ourselves out of here."

Ezio nodded, used to being upright now, and took a deep breath.

The other mercenary who had been carrying him suddenly pointed. "Look out! They are coming! Everyone retreat to the Villa!"

Ezio reached for his sword, dimly shocked it was still with him, and winced as he drew it. Only then did he realize he had been shot, blood pouring out of his shoulder and a sticky, wet, red line down his shirt and now his trousers. How much blood had he lost? The damage was extensive, regardless, Ezio could barely hold his sword even though it was his left shoulder that had been injured. He extended his hidden blade, but he could barely move his arm. He growled. "I cannot fight like this..."

"You don't need to," Ulderico said, his own sword already drawn. He and the other mercenary ran at the encroaching guards and mowed them down, Ezio watching his former sword instructor fell three men in two heartbeats, such was his skill. One managed to break away, advancing on Ezio, obviously thinking the injured party an easy kill. Ezio lifted his sword and blocked the attack, sending pain shooting up his body and he staggered back before adjusting his footing and dully spinning around the Borgia man, making to stab him in the back before remembering his left arm could hardly move.

Ulderico was there, then, and swung with such ferocity that the guard was nearly cleaved in half.

"Grazie," Ezio said, panting.

"Repay me by looking after my daughter," Ulderico said.

"That's not my job."

"It will be if I don't make it, Ezio; and I don't think I'm going to."

Ezio shook his head, his vision swimming briefly. "Don't talk like that."

Ulderico said nothing more, gripping his arm and helping him over and around the rubble of the city. One of the trees had snapped and they climbed over the twisted limbs painfully, Ezio's sharp eyes picking out a flood for Borgia guards racing up the steps to the villa. Bodies were everywhere, making the going slow, and Ulderico and his mercenaries, three more appeared from nowhere, dove into the fray and added to the pile, Ezio limping up after them. Had his legs been hit?

The training ring was in ruins, an Auditore flag from somewhere hanging over it like a bloodied shroud and Ezio felt sick to his stomach.

More guards were on the green of the villa, engaged with a contingent of Auditore mercenaries, and amongst them Ezio and Ulderico both saw the rich frock of someone both of them loved.

"Ezio!" Claudia shouted.

"What are you doing?" Ulderico shouted even while Ezio yelled, "Get inside the Sanctuary!"

"Follow me!" she answered bloody dagger in hand, darting through the battle. Ulderico's forces engaged, quickly turning the tide of the fight and giving the captain and Ezio the chance to navigate the throng to join Claudia, already around the southeast corner of the villa and beckoning them forth. Signs of a hasty retreat were everywhere, the grass upturned, muddy footprints, the lost shoe or dropped parcel as the population of the city had run to the sanctuary of the villa. "Mother is at the tunnel with Federica," Claudia explained, "helping everyone through. I've been at the doors of the villa, looking for you."

"I told you to get out while you could!"

"And I told you that I was not going to lose anyone, ever again. Ezio, where is Uncle? I still haven't seen him, someone said he was leading a frontal assault?"

Ezio's vision darkened, the picture of an exploding temple burning deeper into his brain, and his knees gave out.

"He's dead, Claudia, I'm sorry," Ulderico said, his voice distant as Ezio struggled back to his feet.

Her face paled, eyes wide, and for a brief moment her entire body shook, but then Ezio watched as his piccina's face hardened – a look that he had never been able to spare from seeing on her, and said nothing more. He had failed her in so many ways, hurt was blossoming everywhere and not just from blood loss.

There were bodies everywhere, even the back of the villa, where the fighting seemed to be the most bitter, Borgia guards and Auditore forces both littered the ground, but a handful of mercenaries stayed, bloody swords and axes and staves ready for the next wave. They all nodded to Ezio and Claudia, letting them through with a mumbled "good luck" or "thank you" and the three beelined to Mario's study. Ezio's heart ached with memory of time spent in that office, but the back bookshelf was open and beckoning. One of Volpe's lieutenants, Paganino, was there, eying the opening curiously.

"We thought you had been killed, Ser Ezio," he said, awestruck at the sight of them.

"Not yet," he said bitterly.

The one eyed thief blinked. "Where does this passage lead?"

"To the north, outside the city walls."

"I'm surprised it exists."

"They're coming!" one of the mercenaries from outside shouted.

Ezio ushered his sister in, hot on her heels and reached to press his boot on the mechanism to close it before a hand touched his good shoulder. He turned to see Ulderico with bright eyes, and watched the captain capture Claudia in a tight embrace, kissing her hard on the lips. What...?

"I'm going to lead a diversion," he said in low tones. "Tell Federica her father died a hero, and tell her it was all so that she could live a happy life."

"Ulderico, what...?" Claudia asked, before she was kissed again.

"Ezio," he said gravely. "Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you differently."

Ezio was stunned. "You can't seriously think...!"

But Ulderico had pressed his boot to the stone, the bookshelf beginning to swing shut, and drew his bloody sword. "Lock the door," he said before giving a ferocious shout and disappearing from view.

"Let me through," Paganino, squeezing through the closing bookshelf. "I must go help the troops."

"Ulderico! Ulderico!" Claudia shouted, moving to follow.

Ezio grabbed her arm and nearly threw her back.

"Let me go! Ezio! Please!"

The sounds of battle, swords meeting, shouts and yells, death throws, thuds of bodies, came from beyond the shelf, and Ezio winced at the sounds, hating himself over and over, before reaching up and pushing the wrought iron locks into place. He placed his forehead against the wood, breathing shallow and uneven, as he listened to Ulderico die protecting the secret of the entrance. The battle lasted for several minutes, an agonizing eternity, blood pouring out of his shoulder, and soon it all fell silent.

He turned a guilty gaze to Claudia, her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes had hardened again, and she turned and walked down the steps to the Sanctuary. "Hurry, Ezio," she said in a low voice.

Ezio limped after her, his arm hanging useless at his side. More signs of mass exodus littered the steps down to the Sanctuary, the once pristine altar to past assassins, a place of knowledge and respect and honor of the order now filled with dirt and footprints and mud and blood. Dimly, he wondered if anything else in his life would be defiled, and the thought sent a deep shudder through his body.

"Where's Mother?" he demanded, voice rough. "Is she all right?"

Please, please let even one thing be spared.

"I am here Ezio," and Ezio looked up to see his mother and niece. Federica ran to her mother, clutching her, and relief – however brief – swept over Ezio.

"Thank God," he said, swaying again on his feet before catching himself.

"We could not leave without you," she said simply.

Ezio nodded, understanding. "The way out will be dangerous." He looked to Claudia. "Protect our mother and Federica."

"You don't even need to ask," she said firmly, clutching the bloody dagger in her hand.

The four of them pushed down the tunnels, Maria holding a torch and Federica clutching her mother tightly. It didn't take long to catch up with the rest of Monteriggioni's citizenry, milling about and looking lost. "Ser Ezio!" one of them cried, seeing the Auditore family. "Where do we go?"

"This way," Ezio replied, wincing as pain swept over his shoulder and pushing it aside. What was that old saying? No rest for the weary?

Mario filled his vision, shot in the head.

Ulderico sacrificing himself.

He grunted, pushing the emotions aside.

Pointing the way, he led everyone through the tunnels, casting only a glance at the entrance to the Auditore crypt. "Mother, do you know if anyone was stationed at the other side of the crypt?" he asked.

"No, the attack came too suddenly to properly organize."

"Merda, then we have to hurry," he said, quickening his pace. "This way, everyone this way."

The tunnels were dark save the occasional torch someone carried. Ezio's eagle eyes navigated the shadows expertly, catching every dip and curve of the route, confident in his steps even as he limped and hunched and winced through the pain. His shirt kept sticking to him because of the blood, but he paid it no heed, guiding everyone to the exit.

"Soldiers! I have found an entrance."

The cry echoed very dimly through the tunnel, and panic swept through the people.

"Stop shouting," Ezio growled, "Or they'll know which way to go!"

The cold, bitter logic quieted them mostly, Federica was sniffling at his side and staring at his bloody frame, but Ezio put all his focus on escape and leading everyone out. They reached the bridge leading to the mines and gestured everyone to cross first, extending his hidden blade and standing guard in case the Borgia found them. Maria shuffled past, all but tugging her granddaughter along, and Claudia cast one hard look to her brother before joining them.

"Ezio!" she called, "We are on the other side! Hurry!"

He had only just made it over the bridge when he heard the influx of more soldiers. Growling, he scraped his sword over the rope of the bridge, sawing at it until it broke. Three men fell to into the water below, and with a pitiful swing, Ezio was able to cut the other side, the bridge swinging down the chasm between.

"Cazzo!" One of them cursed.

Ezio didn't even give them a second thought, pushing his way down the tunnel and rejoining the crowd of refugees. A refugee... where would he even go...?

His vision swam again, and he pitched to the side of the tunnel, taking a deep breath, suddenly sweating, before getting a hold of himself. His left shoulder was throbbing so loud his ears seemed to pound in the staccato, and it was several moments before he could focus beyond the erratic beat.

They made it to the far end of the mine, and several people breathed a sigh of relief. Small though the mines were, they were a labyrinth in their complexity, surely the enemy would lose them here. He saw Maria and Federica at the head of the procession, a beacon of calm in the face of the disaster happening around them. Some of the citizens were miners, quick to point out the correct path, and the pace quickened with confidence. Ezio trailed behind, sabotaging pursuers in whatever way he could, cutting down bridges or blocking entrances. In the middle of doing so he heard the distinct shriek of his sister, and saw a collection of pulley bricks falling.

"Claudia...!"

He darted forward, falling to his knees to check on his family. She looked up, shaken.

"Ezio!"

"Did anything fall on you?"

"No. Is Mother all right? Federica?"

"They're at the head of the column, they should be fine. We have to keep moving."

"Si."

Ezio moved to the head of the column again, hoping to prevent further problems from arising. Light could be seen at the end of the tunnel, and a swell of relief passed through the people, some darting ahead to see the gates of the mine, the wrought iron door that Ezio took position at as he ushered people out into the awaiting countryside.

"I see them! This way!"

God damn it!

"Run!" Ezio shouted, "Get out before the soldiers catch you! Run! Go!"

One Borgia man was decidedly quick, and Ezio pulled at the lever of the gates, straining already exhausted muscles and feeling a fresh explosion of pain in his shoulder. The guard tried to dive under the gate, but could not fight gravity, and was impaled by the iron bars.

It was sunset outside; the attack had lasted the entire day. Ezio struggled to remember what had happened before the first shelling, it felt like a lifetime ago. Dozens of people huddled together, a few horses running riderless and others being carefully packed for whatever journey was being set out on.

"Mother," Federica mumbled, clutching Maria's side. "What do we do now?"

Claudia looked to her brother.

Ezio took a deep breath, swaying on his feet, and struggled to think. "... Go to Firenze," he said finally. "Machiavelli is a diplomat there, and he can probably provide some shelter. Paola is there, too, if she survived this, and can keep you hidden."

"A good idea," Maria said slowly.

"Get me a horse!"

Claudia blinked, watching as someone pulled a skittish mare to Ezio as he grabbed the reins. "You are not coming with us? Where are you riding?"

"To Roma," he said.

"What? You can't just...!"

"Go, my son," Maria said, stepping up and touching Ezio's knee as he mounted. "Destroy them... but remember for whom we Assassins fight."

"We fight for the people, Mother, I have not forgotten." He bent down to kiss her, but his body erupted in pain and he shrugged away from it. "It appears that Machiavelli was right. Now I have to correct my mistakes."

And he spurred his horse into a gallop and took off down the road, into the darkness.

He lost track of how long he was in the saddle; the adrenaline drained out of him and so, too, did his faculties. His shoulder was on fire, and he at last figured out that the stitches from Borgia's stab wound had been reopened, causing the blood at his hip. He shivered violently in the January chill – no cloak, no doublet, no blood to keep him warm, and he hunched in on himself as he could to try and retain what little heat he had. He looked up, dimly, to see the moon up, and for a brief moment he forgot what he was doing, wondering why he was outside in the cold. Mario would be sure to scold-

Bone and ear flying, blood and brain matter splattering, a half blind gaze staring at him.

Mario... Mario...

"We stand together!"

"Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you differently."

Ulderico, too, and all the mercenaries, and the people, and Monteriggioni...!

"You should have killed him. We're sure to suffer for it."

Machiavelli was right. He should have killed Borgia when he had the chance and now... now...

"Father," he moaned, head touching the saddle. "I've failed again..."

Strength left him all in one fell swoop, and his body slid off the horse. He was so far gone that the pain of landing on the cobblestones weren't even felt.

All he remembered was thinking that brigands better not loot his body...

---

Author's Notes: Er, while we're nowhere near done, we've officially started this fic, and we humbly submit this first chapter in the hopes it will satiate you all until we finish.

Special thanks to our two betas: Tenshi and Marina, for checking over not only for spelling and our obsessive worry about the flow of this chapter, but also picking through the Italian with a fluent comb and fixing all the mistakes.

As for the chapter itself: dear GAWD we wrote a lemon we're going straight to heeeelll... Sigh. It's not that we haven't read or even thought them up before, but there's something about actually putting words to keyboard; we're such prudes that we can't quite believe we actually did it. Groooooooooaaan...

But though we moan over that, our biggest worry over this chapter is the flow. There's always a disconnect when you have to stop talking about what's happening to establish things in the past. Especially in a fic like this where an entire game, twenty years worth of events, has already taken place - and moreover, deals directly with how the fic begins. We both of us banged our heads over establishing things, both here and later with Desmond. Tenshi reassures us that it's fine, and after rereading it all a month later, it's not too bad, but we're still paranoid.

The most important things to note in this chapter is Machiavelli and Claudia - perhaps for obvious reasons, but suffice to say we're going to take a lot of care with writing them. Also note the damage to his shoulder. We're not going to be subtle at all with how much we play with that.

Poor Ezio. He back at zero.

Next chapter (to be put up when we finish writing the fic; summer...?): Hello Desmond! Did you enjoy your lemon?

Author's Note II: Fixed the Italian mistakes; sorry Marina, uploaded the wrong document. We can't move after the Jan Blizzard (and its 30 inches) and the latest storm that dropped 22 inches of HEAVY WET SNOW. We're gonna go crash now.