An: Had the idea in my head, but I don't necessarily know if I executed it well. Hopefully I did, it seemed that only a few parts here and there troubled me.
Twitter: twitter(dot)com(slash)alexosaurus
Enjoy!
P.S. If you can't figure it out (or haven't played that part of the game), Bianca is Caterina's daughter whom Ezio saved in the 'Battle of Forli' DLC for the second game.
The air over Florence was cool, and the fresh May air was bringing forth the life and bustle of the summer months. The sun reigned high within the sky without a single cloud to mar it's beauty, and it seemed that everyone else was happy except for the assassin walking steadily through the crowds. He was barely noticed as he shoved through Florence, but the few that did noticed that his shoulders were hunched as if grave news had solidified itself into an anvil and fallen onto his shoulders from thousands of feet in the air. His walk; though brisk; was strained, and the usual calm breathing that followed an assassin no matter how strenuous his activity had given way to gasping breaths that fought to bring in oxygen. Something was terribly wrong with the man visiting the glorious city, but the few concerned for the passerby immediately understood his actions when he opened the door to the Sforza house without announcing himself.
"Signore," a man supposedly guarding the door to protect the family's mental state stepped forward. "You cannot just burst through these doors. The family is sitting vigil and mustn't be disturbed."
"I'm a friend of the family," the assassin spat with cool cruelty. "I have just as much of a right to be here than anyone else does."
"I'm afraid you must ask one of the family if you are allowed to stay," the man whispered. "I apologize signore, as I can see you are distressed, but your distress must not be transposed onto the others, especially not-"
"Ask her," Ezio demanded, his head rising enough so that the light could strike his fiery eyes hidden under his cowl. "If you are too scared to be near here, have a maid ask. Describe me to her. Even without a name, she will allow me to sit by her bedside."
"Yes signore," the man obliged, bowing before he stepped away and made his way down one of the many long halls of the house of Sforza. Tapestries and majestic paintings fell from the finely decorated walls stretching high into the air and even after her departure from Rome without Forli in her hands, it was obvious that she had still managed to create a wondrous house for the family she loved more so than she loved her lands of Forli. A large portrait of her was placed in the main room, and as the sound of his boots bounced off the marble walls, a choking sadness bubbled him from his chest.
The painting of the woman glaring back at him was so far from the real woman that he knew, the woman that was able to strike fear into the heart of the strongest man, and who emanated more beauty than that which could be conveyed in a collection of paint. Her shining, brimstone filled azure eyes looked like nothing more than gray circles, and the contours of her torso did no justice to the absolutely angelic figure she was graced with. The curls of her hair in the painting failed the capture the real light within them, and she was left with nothing more than hair that held color, instead of in reality, where her auburn hair shone against the brightest rays of the sun. All in all, this supposed representation of her brought anger to follow his sadness, and he had to physically restrain himself from tearing apart the portrait and calling upon a more suitable artist to redo it.
The sound of quick footsteps down the hall gained his attention, but he made no move to turn and face who was coming after him. A breathless gasp belonging to the lips of one in sorrow broke after his ears, and he expected to turn and see a woman in fear, but instead he was greeted with a strong grasp of thin arms around his shoulder. Stunned by the initial reaction of this person towards him, it took him moments to regain his composure and bring his arms around her. The woman blubbered and sniffled; dabbing at her eyes and stilling herself enough for him to look upon her and try to remember who she was.
"I'm sorry," the woman apologized. "I...It's just...I haven't seen you for almost twenty years, and you being here for my mother is overwhelming. Do...do you remember me?"
Ezio steeled his gaze and stared at her; her face, now the spitting image of her mothers, morphing backwards into the years where he knew her. "Bianca," he whispered, gasping and laughing in a combination of glee and sorrow as he reached forward to cradle her cheek in his palm. "My have you grown. I haven't seen you since you were but a child, and now here you are, a woman obviously able to break hearts just like your mother."
"I have to thank you," Bianca smiled, she indeed the spitting image of Ezio's affections. "My mother told me the story of you rescuing me as well as my brother, but I was far too young to realize the implications of your actions. I'm sure I thanked you, but I must do so once more, with more sincerity."
"You are welcome," he nodded, his hand falling as the sadness of their meeting once more washed over him. "I'm assuming you're here to either allow me further down the hall or kick me out of Firenze."
"She demanded you come see her," Bianca laughed, her own auburn hair falling into her face as she momentarily looked to her feet. "And she hasn't demanded anything for a long while."
His nod was rueful, and he glanced behind him once more before being overtaken by a painful and heavy sigh. The young woman's hand reached for him, and in hopes of giving himself enough courage for his meeting, he took it. As if walking to her death, Bianca led him further down the hall, and towards the room where raspy and lung cramping coughs were vibrating from a single door.
"She does not sound well," Ezio mused, looking to Bianca for some sort of comfort that she wasn't able to give him.
"She isn't well," the woman sighed, every ounce of stress experienced during her thirty two years being multiplied seven fold and pressing against every part of her. "I fear she will not recover this time."
"She had this sickness before?" the assassin asked, dropping the woman's hand when he was only inches away from the door leading into the chambers cradling the woman holding onto her last strings of life. "Why is it that no one told me of this?"
"I don't know," Bianca shrugged, wincing when the sound of her mother's strained coughs seemed to invoke the same pain within her own body. "She had the same thing, but it wasn't this bad. She was over it within a few days, and was back to spending her time with her children and grandchildren. Then she relapsed a few days ago. We thought she would recover the first few days she had it, but then she seemed to turn for the worse, and now I am to prepare for the inevitable."
"Where is he?" a voice once strong called from within. "Leave it to an assassin to keep a woman waiting on her death bed."
A soft chuckle left their lips, and in silent agreement, they left their conversation and Ezio turned to push through the door and into her chambers. He smiled softly, and looked to the priest and maid tending to her. They took his hint and bowed away from the meeting, leaving him with this woman looking weaker than ever before.
"I'm sorry," she wheezed immediately. "For having you see me like this. I hate being weak, and you know as such, but a dying woman isn't allowed to be proud."
"You and I both know that you'll be proud even after five years within the grave, Caterina," the assassin laughed, pulling back his hood before he slowly began to discard the multiple weapons he had on his person.
"What are you doing?" Caterina asked, before she was forced into a fit of coughs, and groaned in pain.
"Taking off my armor," he stated. "Your eyes aren't faulty are they?"
"Not that I'm aware of," she muttered. "But just as my physical appearance has done, I believe that my brain is losing it's luster. The dying don't need their brains for much else other than forming good bye."
"Caterina," he sighed, removing the last of his armor before he walked around her bed and sat down on the other side. "I don't like that you can talk so easily about this."
"And I don't like that you're insisting on being as close to me as possible," she laughed weakly, as he did indeed, moved to sit closer to her. "The doctors say I'm contagious, and I don't want to be the reason for you to get sick."
"I have danced with death more than once," Ezio insisted, moving his arm around her and supporting her pained muscles and bones when she instinctually turned to rest her head on his chest. "If death wanted me so badly, it would have taken me long before now. Besides, if this disease can take Il Tigre as it's victim...we're all doomed anyway."
"It hurts, Ezio," Caterina sighed, bringing her hand to her breast. "It is far worse than when I was sick before. I feel as if metal has found a place within my lungs, and I'm unable to move myself without bringing myself excruciating pain. There is this...this ooze that leaves my lungs when I cough, and I sweat all the time, though I am freezing. I feel as if someone is slamming a hammer against my head, as well as dancing on my lungs. It hurts so much, and no one has anything to make it any easier."
"Don't think about it so much," he whispered, running his fingers into her hair and turning his lips towards her clammy forehead. "The more you focus on your pain, the more it will hurt. I'm here. Focus on me, more so than your wounds."
And so she did, closing her eyes and allowing only the sound of his beating heart to sooth her pounding head. The slow and steady rhythm brought their night in Monteriggioni to cross before her eyes, and a sad whimper left her lips. So warm to the touch, and so kind in everything he does, she wondered what life would have been like if the night they spent together wasn't strictly business. Salty tears fell from her eyes, and the moment they touched his chest, his free hand was cradling her cheek.
"What is it?" he asked. "Why is it you cry?"
"I simply wonder if my decisions were right, is all," Caterina whispered, her fingers weakly twitching against his chest. "Was I right to use you like I did? Was it right for me to leave, when you wished for me to stay? Could I have prolonged this life any further, by taking the opposite path than the one I took the first time?"
"I'm not clairvoyant, so I couldn't tell you the outcome of those situations, but I can tell you that Caterina Sforza has never once wronged me, or used me," Ezio swore, brushing away a tear that lingered on her cheek. "No matter how persistent she believes she has."
"Ezio, you are not the kind of man to give your body so freely. In your younger years, yes I suppose, but since you have grown older, you began to think with your heart. You are not satisfied with simple sex, there has to be an emotional connection for you, or else you don't feel drawn to that person," Caterina explained, whimpering as her own words brought her temples to throb. "I have betrayed that part of you, and for doing so, I am gravely sorry."
"You told me before our relationship was simply politics. I accepted that."
"You accepted that? That what was between us was nothing more than politics?"
"That is all I allowed myself to accept," Ezio whispered, tightening his grasp around her, when she tightened her own around his. "But I don't understand why you are bringing this up. It was cut and dry. We both understood. Why taint that?"
"Because it has always been tainted," she whimpered, pushing herself up against her pain to look him in his eyes. "And I feel sorry for that. Many nights I wish things could have been different, but for some reason...I didn't allow them to be."
"Caterina, lie down-"
"Has this ever beaten for me?" she asked bluntly, her weak muscles working to apply pressure to the space that her hand occupied right over his heart. "Has this organ that runs your actions ever pulsed quicker with me in mind...or do I simply flatter myself?"
"You are a woman far more gorgeous than one I have ever seen," Ezio sighed, catching her when her arms gave out and she fell back into his chest. "Though, I have warped my own mind to protect myself. My heart once pulsed wildly for you...maybe it still does, but who am I to trust the thing that seems to always leave me alone and hurting?"
"I wish the touch of my lips could cure you pain, but I fear that might only make matters worse, as well as condemn you with this sickness. I would wish no pain like this upon anyone, but I am desperate to repay you in these final moments for the kindness you have given to me, even though I broke your heart."
"Do it anyway," he whispered, his gaze sending jolts of almost painful electricity through his body.
"No, I cannot," Caterina returned, tears pouring from her eyes. "It will be too painful for the both of us, and I will get you sick."
"But will it make you happy?"
"Do I deserve to be happy after the things that I have done?"
He simply looked at her, cradling her so lovingly that it made her tired and sore muscles so weak they felt like a jelly. She whispered his name softly, but he took no heed to her weak warning, and instead allowed their lips to touch tenderly, but with passion. Her lungs heaved as she forced the breath from her nose, and before she could fall into her next coughing fit, she tore away from him, and gasped against the pain that the sheer pleasure once occupying her dissolved into.
"Enough of speaking of past grievances," he whispered, guiding her back into his shoulder and running his fingers into her hair. "Enough of the pain. You must relax, you must rest."
"I never rested when I was healthy," Caterina chuckled, groaning when they both delved into laughter. "Why should I rest now?"
"Because, the tiger will always put up the good fight," he started, his voice breaking before he contemplated his next words. "But she will never always win."
A soft smile touched her lips, but that smile fell when a wave of some feeling which he couldn't name washed over her. The sharp pain in her head was dulling to a long and less painful throb. Her muscles refused to work, and she had to fight to be able to meet his eyes, which failed to leave her own. She could hear him calling her name, but his voice sounded like nothing more than a buzz; indecipherable and slightly painful to her head.
"Caterina! Caterina! Amore mio, can you hear me?"
"Ezio," she whispered, sliding her fingers against his cheek after she had to physically force her muscles to cooperate. "It's not hurting anymore."
"No," he muttered, his voice soon rising into that of an almost hysterical yell. "No, no, no! Caterina! Please...don't...not yet."
"Ezio...I want you to tell my children that as long as they have Sforza blood running through them...as long as they have my blood running through them...they will remain safe...and as for you-"
"You can't leave yet, Caterina. No, please, not yet. Don't leave me."
"If what you tell me of your heart is true," she coughed, groaning and trying to tighten the barely there hold she had on him. "Then you should know that we have never been apart."
"Please! You're stronger than this! Hold on just a little bit longer!"
"It isn't up to me," she whispered, her thumb twitching against his cheek instead of spanning in an actual caress. "If it was, I would allow us to live for another lifetime, so I may make amends for the path I should have taken."
"Caterina-"
"The tigress has spoken her last," she laughed weakly. "You must accept that."
"Death is something I am very familiar with," Ezio whimpered softly. "But a death such as yours, will always be one to send earthquakes through the streets, and send fires falling from the heavens," but by his last words, her faded azure gaze had already disappeared behind her eyelids, and her barely there breathing had disappeared all together. Her chested heaved for one last time, and the woman named 'Il Tigre'; the woman that was said to strike fear into all of Romagna, died in the arms of a man whom she loved in a way that was never meant to occur. They had broken nature's intentions, and now payment was due. One was always destined to live one, while the other was brought back into the heavens.
"Requiescat in pace."