Chapter 0 – Prologue, The Hawk

(French translations are shown below after the story.)

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard
Some do it with a bitter look
Some with a flattering word
The coward does it with a kiss
The brave man with a sword"
— Oscar Wilde


France, 1467,

Aged 8,

"Vite, vite, nous devons nous dépêcher fils." A woman, in her mid-30s, tugged an impatient hand at a scrawny, knobby kneed boy, who had stumbled and scraped his knees raw so many times, he couldn't feel anything at all, the sharp winter cold numbing the scratches.

He was scared.

" Où allons-nous maman?" he asked, only to earn a smarting rap on his knees and another forceful tug. He tried his hardest not to cry at the pain, he wouldn't, wouldn't make his mother look at him with a heartbroken face, wouldn't make his mother apologize when he had done wrong, wouldn't because he knew it hurt her as much as it did to him. He wasn't like his father, who gambled and drank and beat his mother. He'll be good; he'd be silent, for her.

He was a good son. He knows she loves him.

She tugged and tugged, and he followed, silent. Their footsteps echoed in the cold stone as they reached in what seemed like, a chapel, he's seen one before, seen the priest say his prayers with a funny looking hat, the children he envied playing during the warm air of spring, sometimes flowers being sprinkled whenever special festivities came.

"Maintenant, être bon et rester ici." She said sternly as she left him along the bottom of the stairs, marching stiffly as she knocked on the doors of the chapel. He nodded and stood quietly, not complaining nor whining how uncomfortably his tight, worn leather shoes were, how his flimsy, thin shirt couldn't keep out the biting cold of the howling December wind, how his skin blistered and aches with each passing second.

"Ferdinand."

He looked up, he saw the priest, smiling at him, arms gesturing to welcome him inside the chapel. His stomach grew cold. Where was his mother? And so he asked, not wanting to seem weak or scared.

The priest's smile wasn't pleasant.

"Je peux voir pourquoi elle négocié un prix aussi élevé, vous êtes tout à fait un spectacle à voir," he waved his hand vaguely and Ferdinand was struggling to break free, snarling and kicking as his captors, two brutish looking thugs who stank of stale sweat and alcohol hauled him up the stairway, pinning him in front of the priest, kneeling. The priest clucked his tongue, and ran a wrinkled hand, mockingly gentle, across his brow. "Une telle tragédie de voir comment la cupidité prend sur nous tous, ne vous inquiétez pas enfant, je prendrai soin de vous, je pourrais même vous donner tout ce que vous voulez, " he said softly, cruel fingers digging into the pale white skin, red bruises blossoming across white as he tilted up the boy's chin harshly, forcing Ferdinand to look him in the eye. "Si vous êtes un bon garçon, ce qui est."

"Mensonges… Tu mens, elle serait, elle ne ferait jamais ça!..." He hissed, struggling some more, until the pressure on his shoulder deemed too much, he cried out in pain. He spotted his mother walking away quickly, pale and ashen looking, clutching a coin purse in her hands as she pointedly looked away from him. "Suis-je?" The priest asked.

"Maman?" he whispered, and she walked even quicker now, wind billowing across her feet; "Maman!" he screamed, she hesitated and looked back. He could see her now, dark red curls that framed her heart shaped face, her pink lips quivering as she looked at him, liquid amber eyes sad and apologetic.

She mouthed, he saw, and crumbled to the ground, sobbing as the thugs dragged him into the now dark chapel.

The priest was chuckling and petting his hair all the way, words that his mother mouthed him echoing in his mind.

Je t'aime. Je suis désolé, fils.


France, 1473,

Aged 14,

The whip cracked harshly, and Ferdinand bit his lip, which was already split and bloodied, courtesy of a recent buyer who tried to step too far for Ferdinand's comfort, which was saying alot. Really. The bastard tried to put his entire hand in him, only earning a good bite to his fingers and a set badly bruised balls, which he was lucky for them still being attached to his body.

How many thugs had been sent to take care of him already? Each year for his birthday, the priest thought it would be funny, giving Ferdinand 'gifts', that seemed to be large, feather-brained human bodies who only knew how to hit and rut, being specifically ordered by Father Augustus that he should be handled with 'most care'. So, this makes this thug, Thug #14. This one even had tattoos. Which were rather crude and tasteless.

Thug #14 seemed pretty frustrated at his lack of noise, for he was now whipping harder and harder, and Ferdinand gritted his harder, willing himself not to scream against the pain, he was aware of his eyes stinging, from the blood, tears and sweat. Then he wondered, for how long was this going to go on? Its not as if Father Auguste was going to kill him, no, of course not, he wouldn't want to scar or lose his pretty pet, not when he hasn't been tamed.

"C'est assez. Laissez-nous." And the cavalry arrives, he mused darkly as thug #10 sputtered as he scrambled out, glaring at Ferdinand when the boy gave him a smug grin, which was quickly concealed as Father Augustus turned to face him, wrinkled face even more wrinkled and papery as he bent down, eyes hard and glinting as he pressed the bloodied lip. Ferdinand bit back the instinct to flinch, memories of his first year flashing back constantly. The cold touches, the burning, the shame.

"Si vous n'avez pas été si têtu, tu ne doit pas subir cela, enfant. Vous avez besoin d'être obéissants, ne vous le savez," the priest's voice lowered dangerously, pale fingers pressing even harder against the wound, blood staining white, like the sheets from the first time- "la façon dont il me fait mal de voir que vous désobéir? Pour souffrir? Je vous offre un abri, de plaisir, je ne demande rien de plus simple, mais les services, mais vous, un enfant ignorant qui ne sait pas! Qui est trop têtu pour le rendement!" He sighed, and traced a pattern across Ferdinand's face with the blood and across his lips, licking lewdly as he pressed dry lips towards his bloody ones, who was still stiff and silent, pushing down the memories that threaten to resurface.

/ "S'il vous plaît! Arrêtez... Ça fait mal... Pas plus... S'il vous plaît..."

It hurt, it hurt so much. He felt too hot, too feverish, too much all at once. He whimpered and thrashed, but the hands that held him down were strong, he couldn't fight them off.

Warm liquid trickling down his thighs, he was broken. But the priest, the priest was doing something, doing something to him, he didn't want to, didn't want to feel this way, it hurt yet it felt odd at the same time. It was disgusting.

"Belle, apprendre à cet enfant," the priest's breath was sickeningly sweet and coppery, blood, wine, and the flowers he wreathed with the children in the chapel, the children he never broke, the children he smiled kindly at and played with. Roses, lilies, it was disgusting. Ferdinand turned his face away, silently sobbing as the priest continued, "Vous, sont à moi; votre corps, votre âme, votre vie," he thrusted hard, and the boy arched, mouth gasping and desperately clawing the sheets, ithurtithurtithurtithurt- "Rappelez-vous ceci."

He cleaned the bedsheets furiously, ignoring the hushed conversations among the other fathers, the sisters who looked at him with pitying yet disgusted eyes.

The red burns. He decides its his least favourite color that day./

His tongue tasted like blood too. His, maybe.

"I, am owned, by no one." He hissed through clenched teeth, laughing softly and maniacally as Father Augustus' eyes widened comically at the language. Just because he was a whore, didn't mean he wasn't bright or sneaky enough to run off to the library in the chapels, or run off to learn afew tricks of stealing and performing cheap magic tricks to earn money. He had time.

"Où avez-vous appris cela?" the priest demanded, tugging harshly at his hair, but Ferdinand just smiled back, not caring even when Father Augustus slapped his face, hard. With the ring. It hurt, but of course, being a slave has its benefits, you get used to it. "Are you afraid? That I know too much? More than you Father?" he asked, softly now, the old man was trembling, eyes widening still, breath coming in gasps and wheezes.

"Qu'avez-vous- Que faisiez-vous?" he gasped out, falling to the ground and clutching his chest, breath coming in short staccatos, pupils dilating as froth started to come out from his mouth, dribbling across his chin. "Démon... Démon! Quelqu'un, quelqu'un! Aidez-moi ... Il ... Je ne veux pas mourir!" Ferdinand stood up shakily, grinning like a loon, and rubbed his wrists, sore from the rope burns and careless cuts he made when he untied himself, back flaring with pain as he straightened. He stared at Father Augustus and his pathetic attempts to reach the door, crawling, gasping futilely as he dragged himself across the floor.

"It wouldn't do you any good, you know," he exclaimed casually, picking up a cloth as he cleaned his wounds, they needed stitches, but it could wait, he could always drop by the doctor's to get fixed, the doctor was his friend after all. How else would he know how to procure a simple poison? All it takes is a little wax for protection, practices on countless poisons to build an immune system, and a belladonna plant poison to the finishing touches.

"A belladona plant only does so much as to cause madness, but why not add afew more to speed up the process? Snakes' poison, for example," he continued, choosing a finer suit from the cabinets the priest had, "The Death Adder, its poison takes... Ah, about, few minutes to spread through the body, causing paralysis, and respiratory shutdown..." He took a light coat, it was rather windy outside.

The wheezing stopped. He smiled widely, and hummed happily as he stepped over the corpse, taking time to memorise the man's horrified expression before he died.


The boy left, coat flowing lightly against the wind as he walked slowly, relishing the breeze that carressed his hair soothingly, blowing away the acrid smoke and dust of the now charred remains of the chapel.

A hawk cried, and stretched its wings to fly, up and up into that endless blue sky.

Freedom.


AN: Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuccckkkk- (Ahem) Okay, not being very crude here but I really am very nervous about THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE OF COURSE THERE'S NO EZIO YET WE'LL BE GETTING TO THAT PART SOON... ANYWAY... (Turns off Caps) First off, I am SO SORRY to any FRENCH READERS OR WRITERS OUT THERE, I used the TRANSALATOR device to use the FRENCH WORDS, MY FRENCH IS ATROCIOUS, I KNOW, PLEASE, SPARE ME. (But of course, if any beta reader, who is interested in Assassin's Creed or someother weird reason, please, help? (I do not admit the unjustified whimper I emitted. No.) God, I' apologize. I promise and swear to study more on French and History from now on.

This is my first ever fanfiction I've ever written, constructive critiscm and reviews are appreciated. I have no patience for ill written messages. I joke. Of course. I'm serious about the critiscm though, I am willing to be slayed and flayed alive.

1) "Hurry, hurry, we must hurry son."

2) "Where are we going, mother?"

3) "Be good and stay here."

4) "I can see why she bargained such a high price for you, you are quite a sight."

5) "Such a tragedy to see how greed takes over all of us, do not worry child, I take care of you, I might even give you everything you want,"

6) "If you are good, of course."

7) "Lies!...You lie! She would- She would never do that!"

8) "Am I?"

9) "I love you. I'm sorry, son."

10) "That's enough, leave us."

11) "If you have not been so stubborn, you would not have suffer this, child. You need to be obedient, do you know, how it pains me to see that you disobey? to suffer? I offer safety, pleasure, I ask nothing more but simple services, but you, an ignorant child who does not know! Who is too stubborn to yield! "

12) "Please! Stop ... It hurts ... no more ... Please ..."

13) "Beautiful, remember this child," "You are mine, your body, your soul, your life,"

14) "Remember this."

15) "Where did you learn that?"

16) "What did- What did you do?"

17) "Demon! Demon! Save me! Help... I do not want to die..."