Dream,
Fall in love with the unknown,
But get your boots right on the gravel,
And struggle cheerfully alone,
Then breathe,
Take your shadow off the wall.
Take your shadow off the wall.

***********

There were times…

Ezio turned his face toward the wind, letting it whip at the loose ends of his hair. He had been on the roof for the better part of an hour, hands splayed on the warm tiles, supporting his lithe frame.

A storm was coming. He could smell the rain, the dark clouds peaking over the mountains. They rumbled angrily, throwing Florence under their ominous shadow. The sun seemed to gallop through the inky sky as if it were truly the horse and rider of legend, disappearing momentarily only to reappear victoriously on the other side of the cloud bank it was hiding behind.

Only a legend.

Ezio smiled slightly before turning his attention back to the roofs of the city, billowing smoke from the thousands of chimneys a testament to how alive the city really was. Even with weather threatening, the activity never ceased. Like a living, breathing entity.

And how had he somehow found himself on the outside of its warm embrace yet again? Like a lover jilted, he had forced himself to leave time and time again, only to return to the sprawling city with the desire to sleep again under familiar stars. This was his home. Regardless of how many posters with his face had been plastered on the walls, warning others of his past and current crimes, he would always find that his heart ached less when he found himself back in Florence.

And that wasn't the only familiarity that he craved.

Thunder rolled across the valley, accompanied by a flash of lightning. Distant, but still threatening. Ezio pulled his legs towards his chest, head resting on his knees. The scent of rain was overpowering now, drowning out the smoke of the city and the stench of the Arno. Truly, when it rained, there was a catharsis.

If only could take part in such a welcoming cleansing. Then he could release the feelings that had been trapped in him for the past few years. There hadn't been time for grief when his father and brothers had been dispatched of before his eyes. He had been forced to take action, to right the wrongs that had drawn blood at the throat of his family. He had been scared. Terrified. There was no turning back, and the leap he had been required to take was too much for him to handle.

He was still scared. There was a gaping wound where his family had been inside of him. Once, it had been whole. Then, a knife had been thrust there, dividing his emotions until he could stand no more. The pain was almost unbearable.

But what hurt more was his choice to move on, to try and bury the wound under bandages and soothing words. He had tried to make the hurt disappear by engaging himself in the destruction of those who were still twisting the blade deep inside of him.

He was no killer. He was a banker. That had been the plan laid out before him, the path he was meant to follow. Certainly, he had learned the ways of the Creed, had obtained the weaponry and costume and mindset. But there was no desire within him to end the life of another. Even those who had destroyed the core of him. He had done himself and his family justice, but that did not mean that it gave him any sort of pride.

A different path had been forced upon him, and he had no decision but to follow. There hadn't been another option, or he would have taken it. Even now he searched for something, anything, that could place him on a different path. But his fate was not his own, it seemed.

The assassin ran a long hand down his face, scrubbing at his eyes until balls of light burst in his vision. The sun had disappeared now, sinking below the line of darkness like a pebble in a stream. He would not be seeing it again, not until the storm had passed.

And so set his innocence, his childhood, his freedom. Everything he had known and held dear had been torn from him and cast aside. There was nowhere else to go but forward. He could not return to his previous life. There was nothing to return to. Only pain and anger and the overwhelming grief that still plagued him like a spirit.

Ezio found himself toying with the hidden blade mechanism, twisting its moving parts and carefully replacing them where they slotted into place. Leonardo always scolded him for pulling the cogs and wheels out of position, threatening that if he lost one the artist wouldn't repair it for him without a fee.

He chuckled despite himself. The man he had met with his mother, what felt like hundreds of years ago, was very much the same. He was a streak of manic brilliance, always busy with some project and never able to complete it. The workshop, now below Ezio's hands as he was on its roof, was always cluttered. There had barely been space to store what few possessions the assassin had to his name when he first moved in with the artist.

But Leonardo was eager to please, and had purposefully taken on a few more assistants to help him clean the place up a bit. Progress had been made, but there were still times when Ezio felt the claustrophobia overwhelm him, and he would have to take a breather out in the street.

For better or for worse, this was now his home. Ezio smiled to himself, hazarding a glance over the edge of the roof. Assistants were busily taking the paintings that Leonardo had set up earlier in the day inside, hurrying to give them protection before the rain ruined them. Ever the artistic soul, he probably wasn't even aware that there was a storm rolling through. Even now, the assassin could imagine his friend in the dusty confines of the studio, sharp nose inches away from the canvas he was working on, paint brush poised for its defining stroke.

Patience. Boundless patience possessed Leonardo when he was at his work. It defined his movements, the way his face settled into a look of frustration or thought. It was one of the only times that he would be still, not moving from his hunched position over his canvas. The concentration that he possessed, to will such lively, beautiful figures from his mind to the work before him still amazed Ezio. He had never possessed an artistic streak, though he was creative. He had used his skills to race his brother across the rooftops of Florence, or find solutions that troubled his father.

A pang of sorrow filled him like a cup to a flowing stream, and the man turned his head into his knees, letting the memories of his family fade slowly. He could not will them to leave, they would be with him forever. It would take time for the pictures to fade, for his memory to fail him when he desired to bring up those precious moments he had shared with them. There would be time for him to dwell on these feelings that made his chest want to burst. But not now. There was to be a catharsis, a rebirth. No man could allow himself to feel guilt his entire life. Ezio was determined to let go, but there was a strange comfort in being able to feel the overwhelming sorrow curl into his stomach.

Because if he let go, what would replace that feeling? He was afraid of that then. The hole that had been left by his family eventually healing, but not regrowing and becoming whole again.
"Ezio!" The call startled the assassin, and he lifted his head from it's cradle in his arms to look around. Leonardo had clambered up onto the roof with him, and now stood a few paces away, his face a mask of uncertainty.

Pity. He looked away. That was one emotion that he did not need, even from his closest friend.

"I didn't know where you had gone, my friend. I sent out an assistant of mine to look, and I told him to search the high places. You are adept at climbing after all…"

A silence, broken only by another roll of thunder. The artist was hesitating. He was well aware of what feelings were currently swirling through the man before him. It was rare that he even attempted to break him of his rooftop thoughts. When something upset the assassin, his first instinct was to climb. "The closer to the heavens, the closer to God," was what Leonardo had said to him, though the wry smile on his lips spoke of the possibility that he didn't believe his own words.

"I see that you are ah…. Speaking with the stormclouds then, yes?" Leonardo tilted his head, considering the situation for a moment before closing the space between them and settling himself on the tiles beside Ezio.

"This must be freedom for you. Or… as close as a human being can come, I suppose." The artist's words were thoughtful, and he cupped his chin in one hand and peered out at the vastness of Florence before them.

"Yes." The assassin shrugged his shoulders, sighing into his hands as they ran through the tangled mass of hair at the back of his head.

"One can never truly be free. It is natural for a bird to return to earth for comfort and protection. They are bound to the fact that eventually their wings will tire and their heart will weep for what they left behind."

"And you are saying that I am that bird then."

"Not necessarily. What I am proposing is that while there is a home up there," Leonardo pointed to the dark clouds that hovered above their heads with one thin finger, "there is also a need to return to where one feels most stable."

"How then, can I return to this proposed place of safety and stability, if none exists for me?" A huff of frustration, and the assassin again buried his face in his knees, hugging his legs so close it hurt.

"Just because your point of origin is no longer obtainable does not mean that you cannot return home, Ezio." Leonardo placed a comforting hand on his companion's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before dropping his arm back to the tiled roof beneath him.

The assassin stayed silent, instead lifting his head again to view the storm before him. It would be unwise to linger much longer on the roof, especially when the displays of lightning were so terrifying. But he had never been one to shrug off a challenge, even from Mother Nature herself.

"I… will eventually be able to find somewhere that I can go." The thought pained him more than the memories of his family before. He was truly alone now, wasn't he? There was never going to be a warm embrace or a kind gaze at the end of this journey. Only the knowledge that he had succeeded, that his duty to his family was complete and that he could rest. That was what made the hollowness inside of him ache.

"No bird flies alone all of his life, Ezio," Leonardo's words were even quieter than before, and a gust of wind almost whipped them from the man. He turned again to look at Ezio, his blue eyes sharp in the fading light. "Even the eagle, predator as he might be, cannot turn away from his desires. Satisfying that basest need for companionship is what makes us human. There is no error in being alone, but there is in keeping others away."

A rustle of fabric, and the artist had gotten to his feet, surveying the city from his vantage one more time before dropping his hand to Ezio's shoulder, giving it the same reassuring grip that he had before. "Be well, my friend. Find what you're looking for, and then return to where you belong. You'll find what you've been searching for someday." Leonardo crossed the tiling of the roof slowly, his leather boots clicking on the hard clay. He descended on the ladder he had used before, and was gone.

The assassin sighed, standing as well to make leave of his rooftop sanctuary. Turning his head to the heavens, he felt the rain finally burst forth from the pregnant sky, and let a smile drift across his face.

So there was to be a catharsis for him too? Someday, maybe.

Until then, he could only hope that he would not fly alone.