Summary:
Ezio makes some new (old) friends.
Memory 4: Paperboy
When he'd accepted his father's request to deliver a letter for him, Ezio initially hadn't thought much of it- neither the letter's contents, nor its intended recipient, as they were simply one of many associates of his father's.
The Pazzi Conspiracy was nearly two years away, and he knew from his own investigations into his father's letters that he'd not found any traces of Templar activity until nearly a year from now- though that still did not stop Ezio from delicately prying the seal up and checking anyways. He was both disappointed and relieved to find that the subject matter was, truly, about nothing more than banking. He hastily -but carefully- refolded the letter, and tucked it back into a pouch on his belt as he ambled out of the alleyway and onto the street.
The man's name, however, struck him as oddly familiar, and he frowned, absentmindedly rubbing his hand over the scar on his lip as he stopped before the door to the man's home, his other hand raised to knock on the broad wooden door.
Bernardo, Bernardo, where had he heard the name Bernardo before?
Ezio startled as the door swung open abruptly, before he could knock.
A young, dark haired boy, surely no older than seven or eight at the most, stood in the doorway, watching him with a bland expression. Ezio found himself filled with an the overwhelming sense of familiarity once more. He had seen this boy before, somewhere, he knew it.
A moment of silence passed as they stared blankly at one another before the boy let out a pointedly polite-yet-unimpressed cough, and then spoke; "Well… are you going to just stand there in the doorway the whole time, or did you actually need something?" Wincing, he tacked on, "Messare," almost as an afterthought.
"Ah," Ezio blinked at the child's' bluntness, shook himself, and then sheepishly produced the letter. "I have a letter here, for Messere Bernardo-"
The boy stepped forward to take the letter, the door thumping shut behind him as he let go of it.
"My father isn't here at the moment-" the child paused, the neutral look deepening into a frown as the letter, no longer sealed, unfolded in his hands. His eyes flickered from the broken seal to Ezio and back again and then he continued on, quirking an eyebrow as he quickly refolded it. "-luckily for you, Ezio. Honestly, did you even think before you broke the seal?"
Ezio blinked, and scrambled to defend himself. " I did not-"
"That much is clearly obvious, yes," the boy interrupted with a snort and Ezio trailed off, suddenly aware of the absurdity of trying to defend himself to a child. He frowned in dismayed confusion. What about the boy had made him even want to do that?
"Well?" the boy queried, still standing in the doorway with a single unimpressed eyebrow raised. When Ezio did not move, he rolled his eyes, tucked the letter under one arm, and shoved at the heavy wooden door. "Come on, then, I still have some time before I'm expected to be elsewhere and if we're lucky we'll have time to fix your amatuer mistake before my father returns."
Out of a habit that came from raising young children, Ezio automatically reached out and caught the door, shoving it the rest of the way open.
He frowned at the back of the boy's head as he followed him further into the hallway, only listening with half an ear as the other lectured him, absurdly, on the delicate art of forgeries and credible fakes.
"-honestly, you really should know better, Ezio-"
Ezio grimaced. Despite his acerbic attitude, the boy was right -Ezio really should have known better- and then he blinked, wondering how the boy might possibly know enough about forgeries to lecture someone about it.
"-what if this had been a letter you'd intercepted from one of the Pazzi, or worse still, the Borgia-"
Ezio froze in the doorway to the study, staring at the boy with wide eyes.
"How could you know about that? " he hissed sharply.
Bernardo's son turned to look at him appraisingly, and then nodded to himself before pacing over to a nearby desk.
"The same way you do, I'd wager," he replied flatly, setting the letter down on the desk.
Ezio blinked his second sight into place warily, and the boy met his unblinking stare with one of his own, calm and collected. The bright blue aura faded as he let go of his gift to stare at the crest carved above the mantel. Of course, how could he have been so stupid, of course it was-
"...Niccolo?" he ventured, hesitantly. It was surely impossible, but there was simply no other explanation-
"Oh grazia a dio, perhaps you're not a complete and total loss after all, oh great Mentore. Now, come. Help me fix this before you manage to create even more trouble."
"I suppose that... I am rather glad that you're...you." Niccolo sniffed delicately as he settled onto the bench beside him. He waved a hand, and continued rather ineffectually. " and... here. Now."
"It does make my plans much easier." he added, swinging his legs absentmindedly as he leaned forward on the bench, deep in thought. Ezio hastily smothered a grin at the sight. Machiavelli would not appreciate being laughed at, he knew.
"Liberating the codex pages from their Pazzi captors, and saving your family from certain death was seeming as though it would prove a rather daunting task. Seeing as I am, and I quote 'only seven years old, and better off outside playing with others my age than getting underfoot in the business of adults.'" Niccolo threw his hands up in exasperation, and then looked down, grimaced as he finally caught on to what he'd been subconsciously doing, quickly stilling his legs and squirming around as he tried to sit up straighter and recover at least some of his dignity.
"Wretched little child's body," Niccolo hissed in distaste. "No attention span to speak of, and the fidgeting isunbearable ."
Ezio made a noise of absent consolation, refraining at the last minute from ruffling a hand through Nicco's hair, still halfway caught up in trying to imagine a young Niccolo actually playing with other children. The thought was absurd, and he found that he somehow couldn't imagine it -though he supposed it had to have happened at some point, in his first life.
Ezio frowned as he surveyed the imposing architecture of the Palazzo Medici.
Niccolo was right.
If his plan was going to work -if he wanted any chance of countering whatever plans their enemies had in motion- he was going to need to have his fingers on the pulse of the city. Even the thieves could only tell him so much, and he dared not seek out La Volpe -not yet, at least.
For all his research and hunting after his family's murders last time, there had still been pieces of the puzzle missing. The fine details, the whens, the hows, the movements of troops and the import of weapons- knowledge of this kind had now become paramount to his plan's success.
Ezio held little hope, however, that things would remain exactly the same in his enemies' plans, regardless, he'd had seen how much his presence here had already impacted events -the scar on his lips, two years too soon, was a ever-present reminder of that.
However, this was a possibility that he intended to turn to his favor.
"If their plans do change, Niccolo" he'd said, carefully affecting a casual tone, leaning forward on the bench they'd chosen for their secret, impromptu council. "Then let us be the ones to change them."
Which was why it was important that he find himself a steady, reliable source of information- and where better to start than the political heart of Firenze itself.
Installing himself as the assistant to the Medici's falconiere had been almost ridiculously easy- which perhaps spoke to troubling issues with the security of the Palazzo Medici- although, granted, his acceptance had most likely had more to do with the close friendship his family held with the Medici.
Well, that, and the fact that Lorenzo himself had been present when the idea had been suggested.
Regardless, the opportunity the offer had represented had been too good to pass up, despite it's double-edged nature. True, it would perhaps draw his father's scrutiny to find that his son had gone behind his back, and would doubtless put him into close quarters with the man's Assassin-related activities for the Medici household, a fact he knew would likely frustrate his father to no end -but it would also afford him several advantages- if his father saw him, frequently and consistently, in the Medici's household and assumed that the cause of his seeking an apprenticeship was nothing more than the whims of a young man, then he would not think to connect Ezio with any of his preparations in the city outside the Palazzo for countering the Pazzi.
Ezio was not enough of a fool to think that his movements would go unnoticed, especially as his father began uncovering more details about the Pazzi Conspiracy in the months to come.
It also gave him the chance to explore a curious new development in his second sight. As he'd grown older, he'd become acclimated to the haphazard evolution of his gift, so Ezio was not unduly worried when the headeaches he'd had in the past few months -a usually reliable prelude to a new part of his second sight- lead to him seeing through the eyes of nearby birds.
At first, he'd taken to climbing in search of nearby eagles' nests because, for some bizarre reason, eagles and other birds of prey seemed to be the easiest to make contact with. The way the gift evolved rarely ever made very any sense, in Ezio's opinion.
Or perhaps it did- Altair and his brothers had called it 'Eagle Vision' after all.
It stood to reason that the name might have more meaning to it beyond just mere symbolism.
The fall from the rooftop onto the trellis below had been embarrassing, however, and had quickly dissuaded him of any further attempts at trying to climb and simultaneously pathfind through an eagles' eyes until he'd had more practice at it. Though he had remained uninjured, his pride had not, and so he'd resolved to find somewhere he could practice more discreetly.
Preferably as far away from Vieri as physically possible.
Bastard.
Apparently Ezio had not been the only one to consider apprenticeship as a strategy to deflect suspicion, he mused as he followed after Nicco. Had he not already befriended the artist and started working with him as an equal months ago, Ezio might have considered Leonardo as an alternative to the Medici's falconiere himself.
Behind them, Vieri and Duccio persistently followed along, having insisted on going despite repeated implications that they were unwelcome (Ezio) and threats of bodily harm (Nicco- to the hilarity of their hanger-ons, who apparently did not realise that Nicco was very serious.)
Ezio grunted as he gently set the heavy box down, before carefully flipping the lid up and assuring himself of the safety of the fragile contents.
Duccio leaned into his line of sight, trying to peer at the inside of the box. "It's just… jars?" Ezio stared at him flatly, raising an eyebrow as Vieri shoved Duccio out of the way. "Jars? What the hell do you need all of these little terracotta jars for, Auditore?"
Duccio, thrown off balance, stumbled to the side and caught himself on the bench. Ezio winced as the small terracotta jars rattled noisily in their crate. "...Reasons." he stated flatly, before scooping the box back up. Reasons being the preliminary trial runs of a modified smoke bomb- not that he would ever tell those two that.
He exchanged a warning glance with Nicco over Vieri's shoulder as the door swung open to reveal Leonardo. "Ah! Ezio! And young Niccolo.. And..-" Leonardo frowned, momentarily caught off guard by the sight of Vieri and Duccio crowding into the small alcove. "-Messare Pazzi-"
"Leonardo, amico!" he returned the greeting fondly, and then glowered in Vieri's direction. "Those two were just leaving."
"Ah, well, then, that's-" Leonardo blinked as he noticed the box in Ezio's hands for the first time. "Oh, but where are my manners, do come in. You too, Nicco."
Ignoring Vieri's protests, Ezio followed Leonardo inside.
Memory 5: Last Man Standing
Lonely and desperate for some sort of familiarity in a world that might as well be full of strangers and ghosts, Ezio finds himself taking up the task of teaching Claudia to fight, though he quickly finds it a poor substitute for his once-daily sparring sessions with his sister in Roma.
This Claudia is so ... young, and unspeakably bratty . She holds the dagger out at arms length, eyeing it uncertainly as though it were a snake that might bite her.
"Why are we doing this again, Ezio?" she whines.
Ezio sighs wearily, he knows she is certainly no Maestra, not yet -worlds away as she is from the fierce Lioness of Roma he remembers so fondly. Long-practiced as he is at the fine art of teaching even the most bull-headed of students, he does not give in to emotional outbursts at all anymore, but he is, perhaps, impatient and overcome with the desire to see Claudia regain some of that former strength of spirit- he finds the timidness with which she holds the weapon so ill suits her he wants to cry in frustration.
Giovanni frowns fiercely at his son. Of all the times for Ezio to choose to argue back, Giovanni wishes it were any other than this one.
"Your newfound habit of spending many of your days in Leonardo's bogetta painting I can appreciate, your behavior I can understand, going behind my back to become assistante to the Medici's falconer I can tolerate, but this ! This is simply unacceptable , Ezio!"
"Why?" his son snaps, voice uncharacteristically sharp. "Why is it suddenly wrong for me to simply teach Claudia how to defend herself? Is that not my duty as her elder brother- to protect he r?"
"'Your duty as her elder brother-?'" Giovanni exclaims incredulously, and leans forward, planting both palms on his desk. "It is your duty as a child in this family to do as your father tells you, Ezio, and I am telling you to cease this nonsense at once!"
"I simply want to keep her safe!" his son insists mulishly, and then, in a quieter tone that seems almost forlorn, he adds "We won't always be there to protect her."
In the corner, Federico watches the ongoing argument with worry in his eyes.
Giovanni sighs wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turns from the desk abruptly, pacing away. "Ezio, I understand your desire to protect your sister, truly I do, and while your goal is admirable, there are far better ways of handling unscrupulous fools like young Duccio-"
"You think this is about Duccio? That little rat? It is not the rats I am concerned about, but the wolves at our doorstep, Father!" Ezio all but roars, desperation warring with anger in his voice.
"Wolves ?" Federico mutters to himself, baffled, and then, louder, he insists. "What wolves? Ezio, what are you on about? What does that mean, 'the wolves at our doorstep-'"
"Federico!" Giovanni warns sharply, and his eldest falls dutifully silent. "Enough, Ezio, regardless of what protection you might think Claudia may or may not need, the decision is not yours to make!"
A look of such deep, startlingly ugly resentment and rage passes over his middle son's face that Giovanni actually falters midstride, and it looks as though Ezio might actually leap from the chair and continue arguing, or throttle him, or else, but then his son freezes for a moment, and then, all but spits out a angry "Fine!"
And then, as suddenly as it had come, the anger disappears, his son's face going so carefully blank that he wonders if he'd merely imagined the look of utter loathing that occupied it only moments before. "Fine," he repeats, in a softer, more controlled manner. He rises from the chair swiftly, and turns to Giovanni, face and eyes alike impassive, and unreadable. "...May I go now, Father?"
Leonardo's bogetta is devoid of its owner's presence as Ezio roughly shoves open the door and makes his way into the shop. Various half-finished contraptions and paintings rattle in their places where they sit on shelves, lean against the wall or, in the case of the first prototype of Leonardo's flying contraption, hang from the ceiling.
He storms across the first floor of the workshop, brushing past one of many tables with an angry huff. As he passed, the edge of his cape caught a small vase that had been used to hold brushes, and sent them tumbling into a scattered mess on the floor with an almighty clatter.
Ezio froze at the sound, hand twitching reflexively for not-there blades, and then he forced himself to relax and turn around. He grimaced at the sight.
Impressive tantrum, dear brother. Very mature.
Ezio blinked, and turned cautiously to survey the quiet workshop. The cloth-covered easel that sat in his corner of the workshop shimmered with the faint golden glow of important-personal-wanted-looked-for, but other than the faint red of the guards in the square beyond, there was no one else here. He was...alone.
Well? You are going to pick that up, aren't you? Just because Mother is- ...isn't ... well doesn't mean I should have to mother you around as well, idiota.
Ezio caught himself nodding in hurried, placating agreement, and winced.
He half-glanced back towards the easel again, and then took a deep, calming breath, collecting himself before gently picking up the various scattered brushes and returning them to their proper places.
"There," he grunted, half-heartedly scowling. "Are you.." suddenly aware of the emptiness of the room, he trailed off, biting back the...satisfied now?
Task finished, he made his way over to his side of the space, this time taking greater care to be mindful of the dubiously "organized" chaos that was his friend's various supplies and projects.
He retrieved his paints and then set about dragging over a nearby stool, the wooden legs protesting with whining creaks and groans against the cold tiled floor.
He nudged the stool over, adjusting it until he was satisfied with it's position, and then reached for the cloth covering the painting. He stopped just short of grabbing the cloth and hesitated, fingers ghosting across the woven surface, waiting.
A deep silence prevailed over the bogetta, and outside the studio, the distant sound of the vendors in the market and the chirping of birds struggled to reach his ears through the studio's thick walls.
He grimaced and ducked his head, pulling away the cover and tossing it onto the nearby table.
Ezio heaved a heavy sigh as he sat back onto the stool. He glanced up into golden eyes, so alike his own, and found himself returning that wicked, confident grin despite himself. After a moment, he sobered, and blinked back tears, looking away as he plucked a brush from the nearby table.
He forced himself to focus only on the tedious and rhythmic work of meticulously painting the trim along one edge of the rich, red shoulder-cape.
It worked for a while, but despite himself, he could not help a stray glance past the canvas, and-
-Claudia laughed uproariously at him, and drew her arm back, apple clutched firmly in one hand. He ducked his head with a yelp, throwing his arms up protectively in front of his face.
After a moment passed and the bright, golden fruit still had yet to collide with his person, he decided to risk tentatively lowering his arms.
Ezio scowled as a loud crunch echoed throughout the small room that held his personal study in the Isola, and Claudia flashed him a smug grin as she chewed. " Hey!" he protested. "Claudia, you can't do that-" Swallowing, she snorted as he lowered his arms all the way. She opened her mouth, witty retort no doubt at the ready, and then froze, mouth snapping shut, staring at him with wide eyes.
"What?" he queried incredulously, turning to look behind him at the empty, utterly normal room, before whirling around to stare at his sister. "What?" he demanded, sharper.
Claudia burst into hysterical laughter, the apple dropping into her lap, and then falling to the floor with a dull thunk, rolling to stop just short of his feet. He scowled at her.
"What, pray tell, dear sister, is so funny-"
"Oh, Ezio, Ezio, you idiot, you've- you've got- got paint- ALLLLL-"
Dissolving into helpless giggles, she mimed running one hand across her face, and then dragged it through her hair, hunching over on the stool, wiping tears from her eyes. Ezio reached up cautiously to examine the area with a sinking feeling, groaning as he became suddenly conscious of something cold and wet smeared in a broad stripe across his nose and into his hairline.
He lowered his hand and stared in horror at the thick smear of white that covered his fingers.
"It's- It's okay, old man," she mocked, before sliding off the stool with a cackle to lean against the wall. "I'm sure- sure nobody will be able to tell the- pffffff- difference anyways."