I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters.

2010. August, 28th

It was going to rain very soon. The sky was darkened by gray clouds, which grew even darker in the distance. Miranda fished her red umbrella out of her shoulder bag and opened it.

She let a car pass and crossed the street. The first few raindrops hit her umbrella and slid down. Only now did the crowd start to search for their own ones. Some just put their hood on and went their way, relaxed as ever. Others cursed and quickened their steps. In a matter of seconds a colorful sea of umbrellas blossomed out and rushed to their destination, wherever that may be. A man hit her in his hurry to get out of the cold and apologized hastily. Miranda dismissed it, smiled broadly and told him that it was okay. He frowned slightly at the cheerful aura she was emitting but went along anyway. Nothing could get her out of her good mood now, not even the already pouring rain - as long as she stayed dry. She had just gotten her most treasured item back, repaired and fully operative. Her Mp3-Player.

Why the hell she had wanted to listen to music while brushing her teeth, she did not know, but she did. After panicking and weeping for some time, because it had been a brand-new model and, more important, a gift from a good friend, she decided to send it to a technician and let it be repaired. Letting the thing fall into the sink was one of the most stupidest things she had ever done but alas, there was a happy ending to the story now. If an expensive ending.

Because of that she really wanted to practically bounce all the way home. She learned her lesson and would never try such nonsense again, hopefully. Her fingers raced across the surface and buttons, checking if the few songs she had on it worked fine and without problems. When she was certain of that, she stuffed it back into her back and adjusted her umbrella to get a better shield against the rain.

There was no strong wind but she had to wonder about how much was pouring down from the skies right now. Wasn't London known for its fog and relatively dry weather rather than this Amazonas-like rain? But then again, we're nearing September, she sighed mentally.

Miranda couldn't see far nor could she hear a lot, partly because she was distracted with trying to avoid puddles in order not to get wet, partly because of the rain that drowned every sound and made looking farther than five feet impossible. Thus she never saw the man coming when she turned around the corner. She felt him rather, because he ran into her at full speed and knocked her over.

Somehow she had managed to not let her umbrella slip out of her hand. She heard him curse and guessed that he must have fallen down, too. With the force he had run into her he must have been too fast to stop himself from falling. At the very least, justice was done, she thought. But fate still seemed to hate her. Mind you, she had just tried to not get wet. At least she wasn't the only one which had to endure the feeling of drenched clothing, most likely mixed with mud, on her skin.

"You just ruined my day..." Miranda groaned and tried to stand up. Her hand slid over something and just as that had happened, everything went white before her eyes. The man cried out, but she couldn't understand his words. She felt his hands around her wrists one moment, then they seemed to disappear, not because he let go, but because... she disappeared. She gasped, feeling herself weakening with every second, feeling helpless. The sound of raindrops hitting the ground disappeared slowly, just like the words the man yelled. Silence greeted her and she seemed trapped in Nothingness.

Everything around her was white. She did not even know whether she was standing or floating in the air, did not know how far this room went. She knew that she was breathing heavily, because her lungs didn't get the the oxygen they needed, but she couldn't hear it. She couldn't even feel breathing in and out; a great weight pressed down on her. God knows how long she stayed like that, looking around, frantically trying to find out what happened to her. Sometimes a flash of numbers, symbols, pictures - they transformed in less than a second - could be seen.

Then white became black and she lay on the ground, unconscious.

1485. August, 28th

The feeling of warm and solid stone beneath her face was the first thing she registered when her mind cleared and she regained consciousness. Slowly she opened her eyes and blinked. Then she sat up and looked around. She seemed to be in some kind of alley, the walls were maybe three feet apart and made of dark red brick. As she looked up, warm rays of sunshine shone upon her, the sky was clear and blue.

Wait a moment! He wouldn't leave her in that state for hours, would he?

What a stupid thing to think. He did already leave her. How considerate of him to move her out of sight, though, she thought sarcastic. In your typical alley, where junkies and bums had their homes.

Miranda searched her bag but nothing seemed to miss, even her umbrella was next to her on the ground, still dripping wet, just like her.

After checking herself for injuries and searching her belongings a second time, she sighed, picked up the umbrella, and stood up. What a sight she gave! Strange that her clothing hadn't dried over night, although she could have been lying in a puddle most of the time, which would explain everything on the other hand. It had rained a lot after all.

Moving towards the direction of the sun, Miranda quickly found herself on some kind of plaza, just not the kind one would find in London: no tourists or cars passing by an enormous church or some ruins or asking how to get to Sherlock Holmes' home; no crowded boutiques and no teenagers sitting around, talking and laughing while showing off the newest trends in fashion. People of varying culture would be hurrying to get somewhere, cursing in their native language that they were too late.

This plaza is filled with women wearing long dresses, some revealing a lot of cleavage, others corded up, moving gracefully; and men with boots that reached their knees and embroidered shirts with wide sleeves and high collars. They all walked on white cobble streets and talked while passing by or leaning on the facade of buildings, which were colored in various bright colors. Most of them had big, arched windows and were rarely not ornamented, and a few balconies were scattered here and there with flowerpots on them. The colors started to peel off on a few walls but that didn't damp the beauty. Occasionally she could see a man in frilly, white clothes stop in front of a woman and start singing about her beauty, only to be pushed away by her husband. They weren't easily discouraged and quickly found new prey, repeating the same cycle over and over again.

Fascinated, she wandered around, taking everything in. Miranda had no idea where she was, but she granted herself a few minutes of ignorance, because everything was so much more different from what she was used to. The sun shone with more strength and even the air seemed clearer. Everyone was tanned, she observed.

She saw a carpenter showing off his products and heard him discuss the price with his customer. They were getting louder and louder until they found a compromise. Money and product changed owners and eventually the men shook their hands and laughed like old friends, then bid each other farewell. To her it seemed like they were going to get into a fight, the locals on the other hand seemed used to this. Just like those two guards, standing a few meters to her right, joked about the carpenters' usual behaviour.

Guards?

There was no other word for them. That's how she would imagine one after reading historic books in school: golden shining armor and helmets that covered most of their faces. They were most likely only painted in that color. One had a sword draped around his waist, while the other had a deadly looking mace with him. Dark, wide pants and leather boots with shin guards made the outfit complete. She guessed that the blue shirts with golden embroidery were the cities' colors, since they had a symbol in these colors on their hilts, too.

That was the moment she let the ignorance bubble pop. Really, where was she? Hopefully it was only a medieval festival. She approached the guards.

"Excuse me, do you know where the next bus stop is?" she asked them politely. If they were clad as guards, and this was a medieval festival, they could be policemen. And if not... it was always good to be polite.

They gave her strange looks. While the one with the sword mustered her clothes, knitting his brows - she must have looked as if she jumped into a river -, the man with the mace answered: "I am not sure what you want. You are not from here, I take it?"

Was asking for a bus stop too much to ask for? Damn it. They were role-playing or so, weren't they?

"Err, no. I'm from... London?" She said cautiously. That was a question good enough for every role-player. He would laugh at her and tell her that she is in London and everything would be fine. Only they didn't laugh. Their brows shot up, a doubting look on their faces. She wasn't sure why but she had a bad feeling and something told her to get away as soon as possible. "Look, I'm sorry, I just had a birthday party behind me and the alcohol is making thinking a bit difficult but I think I can find my way. Still, thank you." She escaped hastily. The men exchanged looks and wondered whether they should follow the woman, but that she didn't see or hear.

It was the first lie to pop up in her mind. Miranda had learned to trust her intuition when it came to other people and the looks these men gave her when she told them where she was from... well, she definitively didn't like them. Since they did not follow her, the lie must have worked and everything was fine for now, right?

Only that now she knew that she was not in London. This was certainly not fine.

Miranda sighed and leaned against the wall of a white house with three floors. It was build of marble and with its semicircular arches on top, columns and niches along the facade, she tagged it as the style of the Renaissance. The building did not give her a hint to her whereabouts, however, since buildings of the past can be found in every big city. Many of them intact and put into use even in modern times because they had been rebuild. Although way too many houses here seemed to be build in this way. Until now she hadn't seen a single modern one, which was strange, since newer building were often build very high. Ugly sometimes, yes, but much higher than these here, making them visible from a respectable distance.

Unnerved, she tucked a strand of coppery hair behind her ear and took her mobile out of her bag – and did a double take. She rummaged through her bag again until she got her hands on her Mp3-Player. It couldn't be!

Both clocks showed the same time, only the time did not match with the current one. Miranda was very certain they had been showing the correct time in London. While right now it was maybe shortly before midday, her electronic devices tried to convince her that it was eight o'clock in the evening.

All right, she wasn't in London and time's a little bit off, too. Who cares? Miranda typed in the number of a college friend of hers and waited for him to pick up. He didn't. Just as she was about to call her mother, worrying how she would explain this situation to her, she realized that she had no signal. Another thing to add on her list of strange happenings. Especially after walking for half an hour like a madman and still not receiving any signal. She even stood on a few crates that were stacked like a staircase once and still not received a damn line.

Now she was aimlessly following the crowd through narrow streets, every now and then stopping to look closely at some goods the merchants presented, always declining to buy anything, or to inspect the clothes of passersby. From time to time she would check her mobile for signals again, with little succes.

A strange thought formed in her head but she refused to follow the idea in that direction. There had to be some kind of explanation for men selling swords, bows and axes in broad daylight. She would hug the first person, who explained it or told her it was a joke or dream. Right now, she found another line of thoughts much more interesting.

Miranda looked up and wondered... would it work? If at home they weren't very pleased to see her climbing on their houses, how would they react here? She had gotten many more strange looks and had heard two men wonder about her outfit and appearance. Maybe the guards had not liked the clothes. Could she be branded a criminal because she looked suspicious to these people? Accused of wearing jeans, a vest top and a shirt over it, well, that sounds sad. Oh, don't forget the chucks of evilness!

This thought was the one that let her hesitate climbing the houses near her. They were perfect, with their heavily ornamented facades and she even saw wooden planks in the narrowest alleys connecting two roofs. Ropes on which lanterns were tied to could be used to move from roof to roof as well – they outnumbered the wooden planks by a lot – but dancing on such ropes like a clown was not appealing. But those houses... god, Nik would kill her if she didn't try them out. Nik was the cousin of her best friend and the one to teach her the unusual activity named 'Parkour'. It was a sport about reaching a specific point - often the top of a building - as fast as possible and only with the help of your own body. She quickly learned to love the thrill.

Someone else made the decision for her.

Miranda stood in one particularly empty alley and muttered to herself, waging the risk. She could make it to the top without too many people seeing her if she hurried. In addition, she was used to more even walls, thus speed would be no problem. Guards on rooftops would be, though. The ones on the ground rarely carried a bow with them, as far as she had seen, and the bows had to be somewhere. What place could be better than a place high up in the air to get a perfect aim at a target?

Suddenly someone ran into her, but she wasn't behaving as passive as the last time. Reflexively she reached down, only to stop his hand in time before he had stolen something from her. How fast he had opened the bag was unbelievable!

They struggled with each other. He tried not to hurt her, which made the fight even, since Miranda had never been properly taught in self-defence or anything along those lines. Right now, she improvised mostly.

And anger made her work very efficiently, she found out. She held him firmly by his shirt and stomped on his foot. He hissed but managed to get her hands off him and bend them uncomfortably behind her back. His height was an advantage.

Her knee rose and hit him between his legs. Not as hard as she would have liked it, but enough to make him loosen his grip for a split second, in which she tried to make him trip with her leg and the help of her hands, pushing his upper body.

He growled, seemingly pissed off, and the next thing she knew was that she hit the wall she just had wanted to climb. The thief towered dangerously over her.

Luck was on her side, though: a guard had seen them and yelled something, which resulted in more guards coming their way. The thief snarled displeased. Then he bend down to her ear, his black hair tickling her face, and whispered one word that would change the course of her whole day:

"Revenge."

He let go of her, took a few steps back and, with a little sprint, jumped onto a window on the left of Miranda. From there he climbed his way to the second one, about a meter higher than the first. He stopped midway and turned to look at her.

"Hurry up, Fiammetta! We need to get the money back safely," he yelled loud enough for the guards to hear. One last smirk and he resumed scaling the wall.

Son of a...!

"Catch the thieves!" her ex-savior-guard now yelled.

She started to climb, forgetting her worries from before, her hands finding the right spots to pull herself up all on their own. The thief was nowhere to be seen, he was good at Parkour, too. If they had met under other circumstances, she might have liked him for that.

Her heart pounded heavily. It was an unbelievable feeling to climb again, especially such a building. The structure was different, allowed climbing without thinking about not reaching a hold due to her small frame. And that she needed, because she had just climbed out of range of a spear. Were they actually preparing to throw stones now?

Miranda was up in no time, the adrenaline made her do no mistakes, and she would have enjoyed the view, would have like to revel in the familiar thrill, but she had to get away from a half dozen guards right now.

Frantically looking around she saw a roof garden out of the corner of her eyes and sprinted towards it. The buildings were connected, she only needed to watch out not to slip on the red tiles. She just had to choose one, that wasn't flat and even, had she? The last hurdle was another floor on which the roof garden was standing. With trained moves, Miranda jumped towards the peach-colored wall, her left leg meeting the wall first and pushing her further up. Her hands reached for the ledge and with the momentum, she heaved herself over the edge and quickly hid in the roof garden.

Minutes passed. Her heavy breathing calmed down. No one came by.

Birds chirped and the curtain draped onto the roof garden provided a good protection against the sun, thus Miranda leaned back, adjusted herself to a comfortable position and watched the curtains sway in a light breeze, lost in her own thoughts.

She shouldn't be here. By now, she should be sitting in her home, maybe reading a book out of boredom or surfing the Internet. Maybe fall asleep on her very comfortable sofa.

Yet, here she was, being chased by guards, tricked by thieves, sitting in a roof garden. Weren't those commonly used in the Orient? No, these buildings and people did not look as if they lived in an arabic state. She beat her head on the wood, frustrated. She still did not know where she was. She got no signal on her mobile and started to doubt that she was even in the right century, which was the most abstract thought. How could she have time travelled? That was something for Sci-Fi-Fans, not her. Although she remembered that there were some scientists that had developed some kind of theory. Something about chaos, she wasn't sure. Good grief, the day had started so good.

How much worse could it get? She certainly did not want to find out.

Positive thoughts would be nice and she distracted herself with thoughts of 'Parkour'. It was an unusual activity she practiced, everyone told her so, but she just shrugged it off. She got to know the sport on her 20th birthday. Meaning about four years ago.

An older college student practiced it. They hadn't talked before, not even acknowledged each other, until one day, while Miranda was hurrying to her part-time job, she saw him climbing an old, deserted building. At the beginning she commented on him trying to be Spiderman but she was fascinated to see that there was more to it. No flashy moves, it was all about reaching a specific point with nothing more than your own body. There was no patent recipe for everyone to overcome a hurdle, even if there existed basic and advanced moves with specific names, the best thing to do was to be creative – and to know your body.

When he reached the top of the building, he seemed genuinely happy and proud with himself. That day she just called out to him and asked him if he could teach her to do the same. She ended up late for work and got scolded. And she ended up meeting Nik.

Miranda grinned. She would have liked to tell her mother and him how useful it had been right now. It saved her life!

Since no one had come by now, Miranda decided to leave her hiding spot. She peeked beneath the curtains, making sure she was alone, and then got out. In the distance, she could make out one archer and...

No way!

There was water. Clear, blue water, which seemed to glitter in the sun. It was flowing along those colorful houses and below small, white bridges. She could even make out a small church with a big white cross on its top and a few trees next to such a bridge. What made her stop, though, was one particular kind of boat:

A gondola.

Miranda mentally freaked out for a moment. There was only one place in the world that had gondolas swimming in its waters – Venice! She was in Venice!

She covered her face with her hands and groaned. She finally got her answer to her whereabouts, but everything just got a lot more complicated. Her brain was busy finding the best solution to get her out of this mess. If there was no bus stop, she had her doubts of finding an airport. Moreover, the cost of a flight would have been expensive. Walk back? As if. Cars were no option, maybe a horse could be found, but she had no idea how to ride one. Her thoughts spun in circles. Why should she return to London either way, if this was another century?

Her brain paused and accepted the logic argument. That did not made her particularly happy. If, in theory, Miranda was stuck in another century, she was all alone in this city. Also she didn't know in which year she might have gotten stuck. Only a hypothesis, she reassured herself. What if Venice was to be attacked and conquered the very next day, though? What survial chances did she have then?

There goes her hypothetical thinking.

Miranda stared at the water again; the gondola had already disappeared behind a green house. Right now the water was a specific point she wanted to reach, her new goal. She had to do something, had to move. She choose the water subconsciously because it had begun with extreme rain in London. The more dominating thought was: she wanted to wash her face.

She jumped onto the tiles, nearly losing her balance and made her way to the water. Over planks and arched stone, balconies and flat rooftops, always out of sight of archers. Once, she saw a child run up here and jump into hay that was lying around for whatever reason. Shortly after, she had to hide herself behind a pillar, too, because a guard was searching for the kid. When he stabbed the heap of hay once, her heart stopped. He didn't reach out for the boy, though, and continued his search. Seconds later the boy hopped out and brushed some hay out of his clothes. His left pant leg was torn at his thigh.

She needed exactly 27 minutes to reach the water according to her mobile. If it wasn't getting signals, one had to use it in other ways. Miranda sat on a flattened rooftop, sweating, and scanned the area. If she moved to the second building in the west, she could climb down a ladder, which was probably the best way of not gaining too much attention. Climbing down a building was more difficuilt, in her opinion, than climbing up, anyway and people would see her. With her luck she might meet the very same guards that chased her before. The problem was, she would have to jump and land on a perfectly triangular roof first. She wasn't patient enough to find another way. She had had to search for another way already three times by now, because of a too big gap to jump over or just because she was worried that she might slip. Jumping was her biggest weakness in Parkour. Everything in combination with jumping was her weak point – she earned the worst score in her class in school. And jumping into the water, getting wet a second time? No. Just... no!

She mustered the wall in front of her with dubious brown eyes. It was made of brick, like many others, the only difference being its lack of color. Hopefully that was a good omen.

Miranda held her breath and took a few steps back. With a sprint towards the ledge, her foot pushing her off the ledge in the perfect moment, she leaped into the sky – and hit the wall.

It was a free-fall of a few meters and even though there was grass down on the ground and no concrete, she had no time to react, no time to turn and try to soften her landing, and hit the ground in a very ungraceful way. Pain erupted in her head and stars danced before her eyes. She cried out and curled up reflexively.

"Are you alright?" she heard someone ask. No, I'm rolling around in pain, just for fun!

Before she could answer verbally, though, she lost her consciousness yet again.

Miranda awoke on something she quickly considered a sofa and the thought of only having dreamt everything occurred to her, which made her body shot up as a result – and herself hiss in pain.

"No, no, no. Don't move so quickly! You hit your head pretty good," she heard a voice say but she couldn't clearly see, less locate the person. The sound of footsteps going away from her, then someone rummaging through things could be heard.

Since she had nothing better to do and was hurt, she examined the room she was in once her eyes were able to focus again, which appeared to be an atelier.

On the opposite wall of the sofa were many bookshelves filled with books or vases and various things she couldn't name. In front of them were two tables shoved together in the form of a L. To her right was a door, most likely the entrance, since she could hear the faint sound of people talking through a slightly opened, arched window with darkened glass. To her left was an archway that led to another room with at least one table and wooden stool. Out of that room came the rummaging sounds. Her eyes focused on a painting, which leaned on one side of the archway. It was almost finished: a woman in a creamy and dark dress and a veil sitting loosely on her head.

Just as she wanted to turn around to see more, she heard a faint 'Aha!' and a man – in his mid-twenties, she guessed – walked towards her.

He was about six feet high, wore a long dark green tunic, with golden embroidery, and puffed sleeves. He wore, like most of the men here, high leather boots, but he was one of the few with a cloak draped over his shoulder. On a belt around his waist was a little bag, his purse maybe. More important now, though, was the fact that he held bandages, a piece of cloth and a bowl of water in his hands.

She reached out to touch the back of her head lightly and when she pulled her hand back, she saw blood on it. What would happen the next time she fell unconscious? Would she gain a broken leg?

"It does not appear to be a serious wound. I would advise you to see a doctor soon, though," he told her and held the water-filled bowl up, "May I?" She nodded simply.

He sat down and made her turn her head to the right side, so she ended up staring at the wall, while he began to wash the blood off. The first nice person she met today, she realized. Or the most compassionate one. This day is a sad joke, after all. A few minutes passed in silence as he finally bandaged her head.

"There! That should do it," he exclaimed smiling.

Smiling fit his face, it made him look good. Not that he wasn't attractive, quite the opposite actually. It's just that smiling made his blue eyes shine even more. She decided that he was a generally nice person, her intuition telling her there was nothing to fear. He stood up and placed the bowl with now reddish liquid on the 'L-Table'.

"I will escort you back to your family, if you allow. I won't tell them how you really gained the wound; you just slipped, did you not?" he offered her with an innocent smile. What a gentleman! However, she needed to lie, fast. She had no one here, after all.

"Thank you for your offer but... I'm feeling a little dizzy and everything is blurry inside my head. I can't remember much," she gave him an apologetic smile.

"How terrible! Do you at least remember your name?" Honest concern filled his voice. He certainly does not make it easy for her.

"Miranda Evans... that's my name. Everything will surely return once I have rested. Is it inconvenient for you if I...?" She motioned towards the sofa. She did now know why she told him her real name but it just did not seem fair to lie any more to such a friendly person. More likely, it was just her trying to find an excuse for her bad lying, which she couldn't even maintain. She decided to disappear tomorrow morning, either way. A good amount of sleep would help her think straight - hopefully.

"Of course not! I can arrange the guest room, as well, if you waited."

"No, I'm fine with this. Really," she reassured him. She did not dare to take advantage of his kindness even more. Otherwise she actually might tell him the truth.

Miranda leaned back and made herself comfortable, while the man went to get her a pillow. She didn't ask for his name. It was better that way.

As soon as she found a good position, she closed her eyes and started to drift into sleep very quickly. The man would never get here in time with his pillow. Somewhere on the brim of sleep, Miranda was surprised to realize that she had been talking in Italian the whole time.

First of all, I encourage you to tell me about every grammar mistakes or wrong spelling of words you find, since english is not the language I was born with.

Otherwise... I hope you enjoyed reading my very first fanfiction! I hate writing beginnings. (Edit: With this slightly changed and improved version of the chapter, I'm happy. Oh, and don't interpret too much into Miranda doing Parkour. She won't be as good as Ezio, not close to his abilities at all.)