STILL TECHNICALLY JUNE 24TH WHERE I'M AT, so HAPPY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY EZIO! To the man who got me into this journey. To the character who made me fall in love with history— to the point of visiting and falling in love with a country and the language. Cheers. You'll always have a special place in my heart, you rogueish man.
ALSO! Happy Pride Month to my LGBT+ readers!
All characters are based on my own interpretations, per usual.
Thanks to wolfish_willow, urisarang, and redhairedmuses for helping a girl out when she needed it most.
Hope you enjoy!
TW(s): Death, blood, canonical violence
~*X*~
Take a Chance on Me
Tristan cursed between each ragged breath that escaped through her clenched teeth, even throwing some rather colorful German ones she had picked up in Frankfurt. Despite the burning in her legs, she pushed through the pain. Tristan had to get to the Palazzo. She had to warn the others. It couldn't be that far, right?
And yet, despite her best efforts to keep them at bay, the thoughts that had been chasing her like rabid dogs congregated, cloying her mind with the last thing scene she had seen before fleeing.
Dammit, you idiot. If you had run the first time he asked, or better yet stayed and helped—.
And what— she managed to snort, derailing that train of thought—get myself killed? Then where would I be? But of course, that did little to convince the doubt still clouding over her head.
Tristan shook it away and gritted her teeth. She had more time to regret, dwell, and/or feel guilty later. She had been tasked with something, and she would be damned if she was going to let them down.
She didn't know how long it took, but by the time she slipped around one last familiar corner and ran that last home stretch to the Palazzo Auditore, her lungs felt like they were going to burst right out of her chest xenomorph-style. She slid to a stop just short of the gate, both hands grasping the iron bars as she doubled over.
"Ay Dios, I'm hitting the gym when I get back," she wheezed between breaths, greedily sucking each lungful of air as she inhaled. The silent If I get back was left hanging on the back of her mind— which she shook off like a wet dog with a groan as she straightened again. "Fuck, I've been sitting on my ass for too long." Who knew that being in front of a computer with nothing but coffee and candy for companions would lead to such a drop in stamina? Blargh. She fell silent when the lack of sound came to her ears. Surely someone would be coming to chastise her, right?
"H-hello?" she said in a raspy voice that would have made Rasputin from Anastasia envious. Unfortunately, it sounded far too loud in the absence of a Florentine crowd, and Tristan winced as a result. She cleared her throat, then tried again in a stronger voice. "Is anyone home? Just your friendly neighborhood traveler checking in to make sure everyone's okay..."
No answer came beyond that of the cooing of birds that nested amongst the cloisters of the Palazzo Auditore.
That's not a good sign. Tristan frowned, a heavy weight sinking to her feet. She swallowed away her reservations as she pushed the gate open, noting with dread how it had been partially open already. Yeah, definitely not a good sign.
The sun was still high enough to peek over the roof and bathed the foyer in light; secretly, she wished that wasn't the case. It had only been a handful of hours since she had been there last, and yet it looked as if a great wrecking ball and crew had come through in her absence. Her hand, still clutching at the gate, tightened to the point of turning white as she took in the chaotic sight in front of her. he supposed it didn't matter what had happened, or even when it had happened; it was clear that she had been too late.
Whoever had been responsible for taking Federico had gotten here first. Her lips turned into a frustrated snarl, and she smacked the gate as a result with a crystalline ding. "Dammit!" she swore in Spanish.
Reluctantly, she pressed forward, believing that maybe there was a clue of some kind. Or perhaps someone had hidden away. It was a slim hope, and yet she clung to it all the same. Then, something crunched under her foot, drawing her from her thoughts as she looked down to see a shard of pottery. The pots that had dotted the foyer had been shattered, spilling their trampled contents across the marble floor. She noted the many boot prints that had left their distinct impressions in the dirt. Some of the benches were overturned, one looking to have been hacked to pieces. There had been a serious fight. Only a few had come for Federico, but here? She guessed there had been many sent to gather Giovanni; the Master Assassin hadn't come so easily.
Something rust-colored caught her eye, and she noted with a heavy stone sinking in her gut, the dried pools splashed across the floor. Blood; lots of blood. She reluctantly followed its trail into a corner. There, she found a slumped over guard with glassy eyes that stared into nothing— a familiar-looking knife buried in the side of his neck. She immediately recognized the black and ornate silver carvings on the hilt as having been Giovanni's.
Close to him, in what she had initially thought was nothing but more debris, were actually the bodies of two other men; crimson and dirt staining their armor and their expressions permanently frozen in one of surprise as they peered at a sky they'd never see again, their hands still clasped around the hilts of their swords.
Tristan bit at her lip as she eyed one of their weapons, a morbid thought worming its way through her mind. A couple of throwing knives were fine and all, but there were more downsides than upsides depending on them alone. She needed something a little more substantial. Swords were good— but she hadn't the faintest clue as to how to swing one, let alone defend herself with one. They weren't like the toy lightsabers you could twirl and thwack your siblings and friends with. Besides, you can't exactly hide a sword.
Her eyes wandered back over to Slumpy's neck. A dagger-like that, though? That could work. She heaved a breath and walked over to him, albeit reluctantly. As she reached him and slowly crouched down to his level, she ignored how young and clean-shaven he was. Or that his glassy eyes could have once been considered a pretty, mellow hazel. Bittersweet was the mask of Death. She had been groomed to act as both its hand and witness, and although the years had come and gone, the ideas and principles still hung upon her brow like a heavy crown. She still closed those unseeing eyes, not liking how they appeared to be staring at her. With a quiet apology and a send-off under her breath, Tristan gripped the knife and pulled. It took all of her willpower to ignore the wet, squelching sound that came with it.
"Sorry, dude. I know you were only doing your job," she muttered as she wiped the blade clean upon the man's clothing. Obviously, he said nothing. The man was dead, after all. Not like he cared anymore. Tristan stifled a sigh as she straightened with her new prize, twirling it and marveling at its balance and design. It had clearly been designed for Giovanni's hand, and his alone since hers looked like a child was holding it, but the grip was firm and didn't slip as she tested with a couple of slashes and stabs. Tristan had to give him credit as she hefted it— Giovanni had exquisite taste, and the person who made it knew their craft. A pity she was going to have to return it to its rightful owner after all of this. Satisfied with her choice, she propped a leg on one of the still-standing benches and carefully slid the knife into her boot, making sure it stayed snug and didn't rattle around before pulling her pant leg over it. Not exactly a practical way of carrying, but it was better than nothing.
It was when she straightened that she heard the shushing sound—or at least what she thought was a shushing sound. Tristan froze, turning in the direction she thought it had come from, already saying, "Hello?" out loud. Unfortunately, birds once more met her answer with their insistent and now annoyed cooing, but she swore she had heard something or someone else.
She dared not move, not even to breathe as she strained her ears. Then, vaguely, she heard a whisper of a breath and a swishing sound.
Tristan slowed her breathing and made her way to the closed office door with trepidation. Ignoring the bloodstains that dotted the wooden door and floor, she grasped the knob and turned. The door effortlessly opened inwards, revealing a darkened office illuminated with only a handful of still-lit candles and a single window facing away from the sun; neither did much to permeate the darkness. Despite the warning bells telling her not to, she stepped inside the doorway.
She managed to get three steps in and honestly never saw the object coming. Still, Tristan certainly felt it as stars danced across her vision, followed by a delayed yet excruciating pain that enveloped the side of her head.
"Mother fuck—," escaped from between clenched lips as she fell to her knees, clutching at her grazed head as she spat out, "I'm a friend!" She proceeded to rip off her hat, letting her long hair slip out. "Fuck, it's me!"
Through blurry eyes, she recognized the slender form of Annetta in the candlelight. Heh, good arm, she couldn't help but painfully admire. The maid, on the other hand, looked practically mortified as she dropped the weapon: a sturdy looking candlestick from her hands. "Oh-!"
Before she was given a chance to continue, another voice butted in with a sharp but youthful, "Who are you?"
Tristan, with one hand still clutching at her head, peered sideways, blinking away the pain. Then, from the shadows where the dim candlelight couldn't quite reach, a young woman adorned in a red and gold dress appeared. While younger than even then Ezio, she still carried a rather haughty air about her— no doubt a result of being the only daughter amongst sons— or at least that was the assumption? Regardless, there was still a fierceness even with the hand-shaped red welt across her cheek and the disheveled state of her hair and clothing. And Tristan had to admire her tenacity for keeping the shakiness from her voice as she spoke despite the white knuckles around the iron pan she grasped as she slowly repeated herself, "Who are you, and why do you wear my brother's clothes?"
The source of her protectiveness soon became apparent when Tristan's eyes found another figure shrouded in the darkness just behind the girl. At first, Tristan thought the figure was unconscious, but a slight head movement negated that. There was still something... off about them, though. As her eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting, she could make out a woman sitting— or more like slumping over in one of the chairs. A haunting thousand-yard stare that saw through the walls of this office and beyond that of Florence was pasted on her features. Tristan spied something clutched in her hands. It was difficult to make out, but it looked to be some kind of box with a strange off-white feather attached. Strange— didn't Petruccio have something similar sticking to his clothes? A tightness formed in her chest when she did a quick glance around the room and realized that he was absent too. Oh no— that same tightness morphed into one of a flickering anger. Not him, too. The hell was wrong with these people to take a child?
"Well?"
Tristan dragged herself to a sitting position and opened her mouth to speak, to say anything even— though she was unsure how to answer her inquiry. Not like she had a chance to when Annetta cut in, coming to her side and helping her back to her feet. She really didn't like the wooziness with the motion and pressed a hand to her head as a result. "Claudia, this is Lady Tristan Meyers of England, and on the behest of her father, she is a guest of Ser Giovanni."
Perhaps it was the potential concussion, but Tristan found herself blinking at the maid in silent awe and bewilderment. Had Giovanni said all that to her in the foyer earlier? Or was that a fabricated tale she made on the spot? Either way, an admiration planted itself in her chest. Tristan had thought the woman had hated her or something. She cleared her throat in awkwardness when she realized all eyes were on her, including that of the Matron, despite the appearance of not actually seeing. It was then the word came to her: Shock. Pure shock. The poor woman just witnessed her husband and son carried off, and God knew what else. No wonder she was in such a state.
"'Tristan?'" She— er, Claudia fixed her a pinched if not a suspicious look. "Isn't that a man's name?"
Tristan stifled a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. The last thing she wanted to do was play Twenty Questions, and yet here they were doing precisely that. "Yes, I suppose it is. Of course, you can blame my sentimental father for that. If you wish to, you may call me 'Trish.'"
Silence ticked by, and her slight smile disappeared. It seemed her attempt at breaking the ice fell on deaf ears—but she could have sworn she saw a small smile on the mother's face as she turned her head slightly. Feeling the pressure, she racked her brain. The year was 1476, right? Didn't she read somewhere about a huge event going on during this time? C'mon think. You bullshitted a few history papers; there's bound to be something you remember! The answer came to her from a rather unlikely source, and she clung to it as her throat cleared and her mouth raced off, "But, yes, what Annetta said is true. My father is well known in the circles around London and, after having sent my siblings away, insisted I leave England as well. He strongly expects fierce fighting is bound to happen upon King Edward's death, whenever that may be."
Score one for random trivia pulled from her Game of Thrones obsession.
"Hmm," the stiffness in the girl's shoulders dissolved slightly, and Tristan was glad to see the pan hanging just a tad looser in her grasp. However, suspicion still reigned supreme. "That still doesn't answer my question about the clothes," the young woman stated, slightly sniffing afterwards. It was barely noticeable, but Tristan's sharp eyes had noticed the pointed drawn-out look at her hair and immediately recognized disdain. "Or your hair, for that matter. I would expect a Lady to have some respect in the attire she wore and the way she held herself."
And the company you keep with my nasty cootie-covered brothers, Tristan couldn't help but add with a mental roll of her eyes.
"Claudia!" the maidservant sharply exclaimed.
But Tristan had already brushed off the insult. She was used to such comments, having dealt with an older sister most of her life. She pretended to shrug sheepishly when in reality, she was reining in a mischievous smile. Ooh, just wait until Claudia sees one of her tattoos. That would really get her knickers in a twist. "Mmmm, unfortunately, I admit that my knowledge in proper attire is quite lacking. It also does not help I had a rather... unfortunate incident with a courier the other day," she picked at her clothes, adopting an annoyed expression. "It suck- I mean, it was unfortunate. So upon my arrival to the Palazzo, I found myself in desperate need of a change of clothes, and your parents were gracious enough to allow me to wear some of your brothers' hand-me-downs until something more suitable can be found."
A devious grin pasted itself shortly after that as she again shrugged. "Also sorry to disappoint, but I am not sleeping with either of them if that's what you thought. The word 'tryst' may be heard when you say my name, but I do have some standards."Like, hello? She resisted the urge to make a look of disgust and shudder. Do I look like a cradle robber to you?
Tristan watched as Claudia flushed a bright pink. She opened her mouth—probably to say something indignant, but wasn't given a chance when Annetta, having previously tried to hide her amusement, stiffened and put a finger to her lips, demanding silence. Straining her ears, Tristan could hear the gate faintly squeaking open. Unless the wind had picked up outside, someone had entered the foyer; and judging by the quiet scuffing sounds of soft boot soles, they were making a beeline straight for the office. Ignoring the throbbing pain dancing the tango on her head, Tristan snatched the closest thing at hand and stationed herself by the door, wielding the very candelabra that had smacked her like a baseball bat. She noted that both Annetta and Claudia (the latter more begrudgingly) were shadowing her movements from the corner of her eye. They were no Charlie's Angels, but Tristan had no doubt in her mind they were most definitely going to wreck someone's day.
All of them listened with hushed breath. One step, followed by a second one as whoever settled their hand on the door handle. Tristan's hands tightened around the broad base as the knob turned. They all waited with bated breath as the person on the other side slowly started opening the door. And they watched as a shadow began to seep in. Ugh, the bastard was a tall one, but like her, he was probably adjusting to the light. Steadying her stance, Tristan took a step forward, leveling the candelabra. Alas, it never hit because the man stiffened, and a hand immediately snatched out, catching her weapon and stopping her in her tracks.
"Oh no, you don't." The man glared at her with bright angry eyes and spoke with a familiar voice that caught her off guard. "Not again." It took her brain cells a moment to catch up, but she recognized that tone anywhere. A sense of relief washed over her despite their last conversation not exactly ending well.
"Ezio?" Tristan blurted, blinking owlishly as she dropped the candelabra. She noted that the swelling on his face had gone down considerably since they last parted. And eerily enough, the cut on his lip already looked relatively healed. Weird. "Holy shit, thank God they didn't get you—.
His eyebrows furrowed at that. "What do you mean..."
A blur of red cut her off in the form of Claudia throwing herself at and embracing her brother. It was brief, but the action spoke a million words of relief and joy at seeing him okay. Tristan awkwardly shuffled from one foot to the other as she reflected just how familiar that was. What, she started to ask herself with a bittersweet smile, what was the last thing she said to her siblings? She didn't quite remember, but it probably had been some kind of fond insult.
"What happened?" Ezio drew her back into the present as he clutched at Claudia's shoulders as they parted ways, wholly ignoring her presence. That was fair; she did almost beat him across the head again just now. "Why are there dead men in the palazzo? And where are father and Petruccio?"
Claudia was visibly shaken, but her voice didn't waver as she explained, "The city guards—they came for them. They demanded Federico, too, but he wasn't here." Then she broke, biting at her lip in a poor attempt to cut back her sob. "Ezio... they're accusing them of treason."
He looked taken aback by that. At least for a brief moment before he carefully framed her face, anger flickering at the edges as he took in the red welt on her cheek. His voice, however, was soothing as he asked, "And are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Mother, though..." She trailed off, half-turning to face the woman still in the chair. "When they started to take Petruccio, she fought them. They literally had to pull him out of her arms. In retaliation they..." She trailed off, choking on the words as tears began to form. Of course, none were needed when the silence that fell afterwards said a hundred things. It started to click in Tristan's mind, and she closed her eyes as a result. No wonder Giovanni fought so viciously.
"Bastards," Ezio spat, and she straightened, wordlessly agreeing with the sentiment, anger flaring up in her chest. What monsters would think a child should be arrested for such a crime as treason.
"And my brother?" He turned to Tristan, drawing her once more from her mulling. She really needed to stop doing that. His eyes wandered the room as if, at any second, the said man would burst from the shadows with his trademark grin. When he didn't, Ezio fixed on her, his scarred lips thinning. "I know he must have been with you if he wasn't here. So, I ask— where is Federico?"
She made a face. Oh, how much she didn't want to do this. She snuck an apologetic glance to the side as she rubbed at her crossed arms. "We were on our way back when they came for him. He greeted one of them; I think his name was Alfonso or something— before the Captain butted in, accusing him. They tried to arrest me as well for questioning, but I managed to get away in time. He... he, on the other hand, did not." Shame made her hang her head when the last image of Federico being surrounded by guards resurfaced. But her voice never wavered as she continued, "Nor did he go quietly."
"Damn," Ezio swore, raking a hand through his dark hair as he began to pace, muttering more to himself as he further proclaimed, "Fuck, none of this makes any sense." He made a couple of rounds before he paused in his movements, and Tristan swore she could hear the light-bulb go off as he turned to Annetta, a very concentrated look skewing his face. "Where were they taken?"
"The Palazzo Vecchio, of course, but—."
Ezio didn't give her the chance to finish, however, as he nodded. "Our home isn't safe anymore, and the guards are no doubt looking for me as well; is there somewhere else where Mother and Claudia can be taken?"
"Y-yes," she stopped, shook her head, and tried again, her voice becoming stronger. "Yes, my sister's. They'll be safe there!"
"Good, take them there then." He turned to his sister, and Tristan couldn't quite grasp what he said to her, but whatever it was had her sniff but give a firm nod as she walked back over to their mother. He turned on his heel and made a beeline for the office door, only sparing a look Tristan's way as he passed.
"Wait," she rumbled, furrowing her brows as she shadowed him to the door. So he wasn't coming along? Well, that certainly didn't bode well. "And where exactly are you going then?"
She nearly ran into his back when he abruptly stopped, an exasperated sigh escaping him as he turned. Patience kept his face neutral, but his voice betrayed his true temperament. "The Signoria, of course. If they're being held anywhere, it would be the very top of the tower. I need to speak to my father and get to the bottom of this. This..." He shook his head viciously, indicating not just the room but the entire situation with a broad wave of his hand. "This has to be a mistake."
"Well, obviously it's a mistak-" she started to scoff until the rest of the words caught up, and she stumbled to a stop, blinking owlishly at him. Wait—. "What?"
In a flash, Tristan cut him off at the door, bracing herself on the doorjamb." Ezio, no offense, but are you fucking insane? They just arrested your father and brothers, and you wish to march right up to their jail cell? For what? Just to get thrown in alongside them? What about your family here?" She hotly indicated towards the back of the office, hissing between her teeth. "Your mother?"
"I'll be careful, of course." Ezio stared down his nose, looking more annoyed that he had been inconvenienced by a buzzing fly than her being in front of him, but there was still an underlying ire there. "Although, it's funny. I don't recall asking your opinion on the matter concerning my family." His eyebrows knitted together in annoyed perplexity. "Why are you even here in the first place? Don't you have a rooftop garden calling your name, Teresa?"
"It's Tristan, and I'm here to help," she snapped, too late realizing she should be acting more like the adult than she actually was. Worse even— she cocked a hip, matching his stare as if she was some kind of teenager again. "Duh."
Real classy there. She blew the chiding voice off, setting hands on her hips.
"Oh?" A brow rose as he stepped forward just a smidge, practically towering over her. She could feel the annoyance and anger rising off of him as they had a little stare down. When his tactic didn't work, his eyes narrowed. "Like you helped Federico? In that case, you can help by leaving." She blinked, and her breath exhaled in one whoosh of air. It was like she had been slapped and visibly flinched. He took advantage of her lapse to shoulder past her, shooting a nasty glare, his voice dripping in venom as he next spoke, "Because I think you've done plenty enough."
"Ezio." A new, older voice spoke up, but everyone knew who exactly it was. It was quiet, and yet there was still a powerful sharpness to it that even had Tristan glancing over in trepidation to the woman seated in the chair. The eyes that had been glassed over had lost their fog and were replaced with a relentless stare that only a mother could possess. She slowly rose from her chair with help from a surprised Claudia, never taking her eyes off her son.
"Maria, I do not believe—." A quick look silenced Annetta, and she stepped back, hanging her head.
Her eyes found Ezio's back once more, but they and her voice softened as she repeated herself. "Ezio—my son, she was not given much of a choice in the matter." Her voice took on a firmer tone, "She's also a guest of this house, and need I remind you, we do not insult those considered our guests. Especially those who've risked their lives in aiding us when others would not have."
Ezio had stopped his back stiffening as if the words had struck him like a bullwhip. He looked pained as he turned around to face his mother, and after an agonizing handful of seconds, his shoulders slumped as he rubbed at his face.
"Fine," he exasperatedly sighed as he spoke to Tristan once more, a pinched expression on his features as if it actually pained him to say them aloud, "If you insist upon staying, you can help Annetta with ensuring they get to her sister's. After that, feel free to do whatever you wish. Leave, stay. I really don't care, but just stay out of my way." He dismissed the rest of the conversation with a mere wave of his hand, wholly ignoring the pointed look his mother gave him.
Minus that last bit— it was a start, at least. "I'll make sure of it. Just—," Tristan hesitated, knowing it wasn't her place. She almost lost face before biting at her lip and sighing. "Just be careful, okay." She didn't know if the subtle nod she received was an appreciative or a patronizing one, but he did make sure to send one last look his mother's way, looking every bit a scared little kid.
He disappeared shortly after that, but Tristan swore she heard him muttering something along the lines of "what does he like so much about her?" And something suspiciously about nightly events and "she must be damn worth the trouble and loud mouth."
Tristan, of course, had no comment but found herself slightly amused nonetheless. The humor faded away, however, as she heard shuffling feet behind her. And when she turned, she was startled to find that the woman who was Federico and Ezio's mother was now beside her. Even if she was grasping at her daughter's arm, there was still a proud and even noble way she carried herself, and Tristan found herself humbled in her presence. And just a tad homesick.
Tristan made her best attempt at greeting her, as awkward as it was. She could see the shock and trauma was still there, waiting in the wings, but something in the woman kept it at bay. Maria glanced her way before it drifted in the direction of Ezio, a sorrowful expression causing her face to suddenly look ancient. "You must forgive my son for his lack of manners; he is quite frightened over this ordeal."
Tristan's lips curled into a forced smile as she too turned her attention to the way Ezio left, but not before examining her. She could definitely see the resemblance of all four children in her features, from the high cheekbones and dark hair. Claudia especially inherited that proud head raise and definitely rocked it. But her smile fell, and she suddenly felt hollow.
"I know; I would be worried if he wasn't." She afterwards hung her head, sighing. "I'm afraid he's right, though. I should have done more to stop those guards when they came for Federico. I should have done something. Helped him—."
When silence met her trailing answer, Tristan raised her gaze to find that Maria had fixed her with a stern look." What more could you have done?"
Her shoulders slowly lifted and fell into a loose shrug. "I don't know? Stayed? Fought? I owed him that much, and in his time of need, it feels like I failed him."
A single bemused brow rose. "And are you a fighter?"
She bit her lip. "I—."
"Remember, the thumb goes outside. Not inside. You risk breaking it that way the next time you decide to tag-team your brother's tormentors." He had ruffled her hair, failing to hide a crooked and proud grin, before glancing at a miserable nine-year-old Brent whose black eye was starting to show. Their father had squeezed both their shoulders, leading them away from the school. "Now, c'mon, who wants some ice cream?"
She closed her eyes against the memory, grimacing, but she answered truthfully. "A long time ago, I was... Or at least I felt I had to be. Nowadays—" She rubbed at her arms, "—not so much. I suppose I accepted the fact that I'm less brave than I thought I was."
Maria's face softened. "You had to grow up quickly."
A rude snort escaped from Tristan before she could catch it, and she rubbed at her face, stifling a further annoyed sound. "You can say that." Almost overnight, really.
"I understand," she said with an incline of her head, her gaze once more becoming somber. "I believe there will be much of that in the upcoming days. But in any case, you are not weak or cowardly for realizing you cannot win every battle. Federico is many things, but foolish is rarely one of them. He knew it would have been too much. So, do not blame yourself for inaction, for I do not."
"But—" Tristan turned to follow her, eyebrows furrowing. Maria fixed her with a single look, and she realized she wasn't going to win this battle. Strangely enough, with that in mind, a weight lifted from her shoulders. A tiny bit. Not much, but enough where it didn't feel like she was going to be strangled. Thus she emitted a defeated and dry laugh, palming her neck. "Yes, ma'am. I suppose you are right in that regard."
It wasn't said out loud, but the Of course I am was there in the slight head raise and discreet twitch of the lips.
Mother knew best and all.
She shook her head. "How far is it from here to your sister's?" She turned to Annetta, who was currently helping Claudia with her mother. Even though Tristan suspected she really didn't need any help in the matter.
The maid spared her a glance, frowning, "Not very. It's on the Arno's bank, not far from here. But best be quick in case they decide to come back."
"I'll be back then."
While the women went about and made their last-minute preparations, Tristan headed upstairs, taking two at a time. Save for the fire having burned itself to mere embers, her room had been untouched by any and all hands. She grabbed her bag off the mantle and started shoving anything that she could need. She paused when her hand brushed against the scarf on the nightstand. Hello, old friend. She thinly smiled as she picked it up. Long time so see. She wrapped it around her neck, feeling comfort in it despite its scratchiness and the faint smell of musty cedar on its surface.
Tristan's eyes glazed over the clothes still on the mantle. With a heavy heart, she realized she was going to have to leave them behind. The very last vestiges of home all in one place... She shuttered her eyes and gathered them, bundling them up and throwing them into the chest that resided at the foot of her bed. She tamped down the motions of despair. She'd be back for them. She had to be.
...and yet.
Why couldn't she convince herself of that?
She shut the chest, latching it once more, but didn't step away. Her hands stayed on the lid as if they were glued to it as she just stared into nothing. This was all so strange, wasn't it? One moment, she was waking up to coin purse abuse, the next, she was helping a family of strangers— in barely two days. One of her hands tightened into knuckles against the wood, starting to shake. Why? Why did she have to care so much? She could just leave and go on her own path. Pack up and out the window she went. She should be trying to find a way home, not weaving herself into another's story. But you know otherwise. A cynical part of her chuckled. You won't because you fucking can't. What could she say? She was a bleeding heart through and through. And even though Maria's words mitigated the shame and guilt, there was still that obligation to return the favor.
She didn't know how long she stayed, but eventually, she shook the thoughts off and pulled her hands free. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your ass in gear. She drew a cloak around her shoulders. In the next second, she slipped back out of her room, shooting what felt like the last look into it.
This couldn't be the last time.
Her eyes narrowed, and her back straightened as she stiffly walked out.
She made a promise to herself as she shut the door behind that it wouldn't be the last time
They were standing by the gate when she came back out again, tightening the strap on her bag to hug her body more. The Piece of Eden had been secured in the deepest and furthest pocket from her available, separated by bits and bobs. Yet, like her long-gone iPhone, lost somewhere in the wilds of time and space— (and hopefully not at the bottom of the Arno), she couldn't help but be reminded of its presence. It was just... there, taking up residence in her head. But, honestly, if she didn't potentially need it, she would have gotten rid of it already.
The three women were also wearing cloaks, but she could see Claudia's face paling under the rim as she took sight of the dead guards. She looked almost ready to throw up. Hurriedly Tristan cut her view off, grasping her wrist.
"Don't look," Tristan murmured under her breath as Maria wordlessly took up residence on her daughter's other side, silently urging her toward the gate's entrance.
"He killed them," Claudia whispered as they left the building's shadow.
"He had to." Tristan sent a glance over her shoulder, but there was hardly anyone on the streets since twilight was slowly creeping into that of the night's embrace, bringing with it a bone-deep chill. She adjusted her cloak to mitigate the cold as she turned back around, face tight. "His family's life was on the line."
"But... to kill them? How does something like this happen?" Claudia asked, sounding on the verge of tears as the gravity of the situation seemingly weighed down her shoulders while she walked. The realization that her childhood was forever shattered and Tristan couldn't help but sadly reflect on Maria's words, knowing she was correct in her assumption. There would be a lot of growing up in the upcoming days. It was just heartbreaking to see it happen so soon. "And why did it happen to us?"
Tristan shared a look with the grim faces of Maria and Annetta both as she squeezed Claudia's shoulders, attempting her best soothing voice as she spoke. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."
Inside though, she was praying. Something she rarely ever did. Hoping beyond hope that she was right.
The journey itself was a brief affair. A suspicion knotted itself in the back of Tristan's head as they rounded another corner and came within sight of a brightly colored building. It was about a story tall adorned in red cloth and what she assumed would have been roses if winter hadn't gotten a hold of them with her icy fingers. It was no palazzo by any means, but money had been well-spent on making it as eye-catching as possible to any pedestrian on the street. Despite it being early evening, it was surprisingly bustling with traffic; many of them men. They soon ascended the stairs, ignoring curious eyes as faint smells of incense and perfumes permeated the air.
She didn't know why but a refrain drifted through her mind as her foot touched the first step, and she found herself absently humming along: "Where many poor boys to destruction has gone. And me, oh God, are one."
While Annetta knocked against the door, a paranoid Tristan once more watched behind them to make sure they didn't have any followers. Luckily, they didn't, and the door opened without much fanfare.
She was the last to enter, and immediately her face flushed as she noticed the many scantily-clad women hanging around and sitting in the laps of men. The inside matched the decorum of the outside. Reds and creme cloth adorned the walls, and paintings of promiscuous positions and scenes left little to the imagination. Annetta had brought them into a...brothel? Tristan found herself rather flummoxed at this realization and had to shake her head to keep from staring at a lovely raven-haired beauty with bared shoulders as she walked by with an eager customer, leading him up the stairs by the hand.
Tristan risked a glance to their escort, but Annetta had already walked ahead, making a beeline for a tall lady conversing with a group of other women of the night, wearing a deep burgundy gown that bordered the words between "elegant" and "seductive." She turned upon Annetta's approach, oozing an amorous flair, and Tristan's palms grew sweaty as she took in the olive skin, slim eyebrows, and chocolate eyes. Not to mention the pearls— actual pearls that adorned her headdress and neck. They soon embraced, and it hit her. She, the obvious Madame, was Annetta's sister?
Tristan glanced sideways, finding some amusement that Claudia's face looked pinched, and she shuffled from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable with their surroundings. Maria, on the other hand, was impassive. The only flicker of emotion was when the two sisters finished their hushed conversation and came closer. She dipped her head.
"Paola," came the polite greeting, and it sounded genuine enough. It became fairly obvious that there was a familiarity between the two ladies.
"Maria," she returned the gesture. "It has been quite some time." The Madame's eyes flicked over their small group, taking in each face. For a while, it dwelled on Tristan's; confusion and unfamiliarity weighing down her brows before finding itself back on Maria's stoic barely-together features.
"It is good to see you. I wish we were speaking again under better circumstances," Paola said softly.
A defeated sigh that practically tore at Tristan was Maria's response as she was led to a nearby unoccupied chair. "As do I."
"And you are?" Paola finally turned to her.
"I'm Tristan," came the automatic reply. Her lips parted briefly afterwards but quickly closed. She got the sense that beyond the who are you, a second hidden inquiry floated on its strings: what are you? Good question. She didn't really know. 'A friend' was... too familiar, and honestly a little debatable. 'Good Samaritan' was just too cliche. She finally settled on a word she thought best described herself, and she carefully replied, forming each word before speaking. "And... I'm an ally." What's the bet that this was another Assassin in the wings.
Paola tilted her head, considering her answer, but she seemed to accept it with a subtle nod and a secretive smile. "Welcome then, to La Rosa Colta, Tristan."
This prompted her to turn to one of her nearby working ladies. This one had honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes with a dusting of freckles along the bridge of her nose that, in another setting, she'd be tempted to count. Tristan forced herself not to stare, for the woman looked eerily similar to an ex. Yet, while years had gone by since they had parted ways, Tristan couldn't help but admire that the emerald-colored dress she wore clung to curved hips and long legs, and briefly— she wondered if she too had an infectious laugh that would draw the attention of any person nearby.
"Cecilia, see to it our guests are given rooms for the night. Be sure to put down fresh sheets for all of them and tell the other girls the rooms of the left wing are temporarily closed for the night." The young woman nodded before leaving quickly to do as she was bidden.
Her purpose now fulfilled, Tristan ripped her bag off over her shoulder before turning to Annetta. "When the rooms are ready, just throw this in one of them, please."
"And where are you going?" Claudia cut in. Tristan pursed her lips with one foot out the door, the other still inside. "I'm going back out there. I don't exactly believe Ezio is in the clear. I mean, I don't doubt his self-preservation, but I would sleep easier knowing he had help."
Does he want your help is the next question? Too bad, she silently scowled; he was going to get it anyway.
"Go, then. I will make sure they're safe." Paola nodded. "We shall be here upon your return."
"But best be careful, Miss," Annetta added, looking grim. "They may be looking for you now, too."
Tristan flashed her a smile, even though she felt nothing but fear coursing through her veins at the thought of returning outside. Thinking on it now, it was probably more of a grimace as she turned away. Tristan quickly walked out of the brothel and, in a strange sense of deja-vu—the night air slapped against her skin, cool and crisp and causing her to bury her nose into the confines of her scarf. She shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. No doubt the temperature was going to drop considerably by tonight. Tristan risked one last look towards the brothel but shook her head.
Where Ezio was now, she had no clue, but she figured the best place to start was the Palazzo itself, and from there, she'd figure out her next steps. Who knows, perhaps he had returned on their way over to Paola's.
It surprisingly did not take as long to get back, but immediately her teeth were on edge as she neared the house. Then, with one hand gripping the knife, she kitty-cornered around and tentatively poked her head through the gate.
Voices met her ears, and she stopped short when she spotted three men of various statures standing in the foyer. Shit, she cursed under her breath, stepping back into the shadows to watch. The first person she saw was none other than Ezio—sporting new bright digs to boot. But the others facing away from her wore armor that shone in the firelight: guards. Shit. And it soon became clear what their purpose was.
One made explicitly clear when they both pulled out their weapons and brandished them at him. They weren't looking for prisoners tonight, and Tristan swore out loud as they advanced on him. Shit.
Ezio unsheathed his own sword and hardly had enough time to parry aside the first strike, his face a vision of surprise. He expected for them to arrest him, but he clearly hadn't expected to be attacked. He stumbled backward as the guard with the sword viciously began to trade blows with him. Tristan watched sparks fly as the two swordsmen dueled, the clang of metal as they exchanged blows reverberating around the palazzo. The other guard, this one holding a nasty-looking warhammer, did little but keep to the edges, snapping taunts and encouragement in singular breaths. He clearly thought that the young man wasn't worth the effort to join in— a most insulting thing, Tristan thought as she advanced forward.
However, just as the guard was bringing his sword down to sever Ezio's arm from his shoulder, the young man feinted— right under the incoming blade. He shifted his balance from the back to the front foot and unexpectedly lunged. Surprise spread across the guard's face as he was caught off-balance, his sword arm thudding harmlessly against the back of his opponent's shoulder
Ezio quickly used this advantage and made a hasty upward thrust, piercing his opponent's chest in one swift movement amidst a roar of surprise and rage from the second guard. She watched in horror as his sword was ripped out of his hands by the dead weight as he swiveled to take on Mr. Hammertime. It was then, Tristan shot out of her hiding place just as he was about to bring down his hammer on Ezio's head.
Her hand moved faster than her thoughts, and in the blink of a second and sharp movement of her wrist, her best throwing knife was gone, having crossed the distance between herself and the guard, soon burying itself into his shoulder.
The man immediately recoiled with a pained shout, dropping the hammer as he turned, making an almost comical attempt at trying to find the blade to rip it out. Having already run the short distance, Tristan never gave him the chance— for she was upon him faster than lightning on a mountainside. In one smooth motion, she ripped the blade out and swept it across his throat in a backhanded slash.
He didn't even have an opportunity to utter a sound as he fell to his knees choking on blood as a surprised Ezio reared back. He looked between Tristan and the dying guard, his eyes slowly narrowing.
"What in hell's name are you doing here?" He made his best attempt at scowling as he bent for his fallen sword, but it was forced. A pale ghost-white mask. It was broken by the way his hand shook as it attempted to grasp at the pommel.
"A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed," she muttered under her breath, earning herself a glare. To which she shrugged helplessly as she crouched, wiping her blade clean. "I'd think it rather obvious that I was watching your back. Well..." She looked down, brows furrowing, indicating the man at her feet. "Hmm, more like his back, I suppose."
Judging by the look on his face, Ezio did not appreciate her attempt at gallows humor. Fair, that was fair... "I meant why are you here and not with my family," he snapped. She noted he had followed her example by wiping the blade of his sword clean on the back of the guard he dispatched.
Tristan blew a stray strand out of her face to stifle the sigh of annoyance. "Please. I wouldn't even be here if they weren't safe. They're fine and holed up at Annetta's sister's place. Despite what you may think of me, I'm a woman of my word, and I made sure of it myself.."
She brushed off the front of her shirt. "Besides, we were worried about you. And I figured I'd owe that much to them to check up on you. So here I am. And I'm rather glad I did."
Tristan gave him a once-over and jolted in shock as she recognized his outfit. White? Red sash? Her eyes widened and a lump formed in her throat as her mind flashed back to that fateful night. No, she thickly swallowed while taking a step back; it can't be. That couldn't possibly be the very same one—.
But it was. It had been altered slightly in the twenty-odd years Tristan had been away, but it was still no doubt the very same robes Giovanni had worn. She shook her head, tearing her gaze away, grateful Ezio's back had been turned—else, he would have caught her staring.
Yet her eyes drifted his way. "…You look so much like your father." She had thought her murmur had been quiet enough, but judging from Ezio's suddenly puzzled expression— not even close. He didn't give it much thought, it seemed, for he was already shaking his head as he turned, sheathing his sword.
"I don't have time for this."
Her lips pursed as she watched him. "Lemme guess... you're not going back with me."
"No—" he shook his head "— at least not at this moment. I found my father, and he tasked me in giving evidence over to the Gonfalonier," he brandished a bundle of papers. "It proves my family had nothing to do with this."
She blinked. A climb up a tower got all that? Impressive.
"Okay, well, in that case," she slipped her knife back in its hiding place. "I'm coming with."
He stiffened before whirling on her. "What? Absolutely not."
"Ezio," it took all of her willpower and a stiff jaw not to snap at him. He didn't need it. Not tonight. Not after what happened. He was just a kid who killed someone. "No offense, but c'mon—there is no damn way a boy like you is telling me what I can and cannot do. Not tonight. And especially not after everything I have gone through the last two days. I am going, and you can either sit here and stomp your feet, or we can go about trying to save your father and brothers." She spread her arms, matching his glare in defiance. The good news, he was pissed at her and wasn't dwelling on the dead man at his feet. Bad news: he was pissed at her. "Your call."
"Fine," he snapped after a considerable amount of debating with himself, angrily smacking his sword's hilt against its sheath with a loud clack. He narrowed his eyes and stabbed a finger her way with gritted teeth. "But I'll leave you behind if you take too long."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Whatever makes you sleep at night. Can we go now?"
Ezio threw one last reproachful look at the bodies before he pulled the hood over his face and stiffly exited out of the Palazzo's foyer without another regard. She took that as his "yes" and promptly shook her head, but her feet faltered when she passed the bodies of the two men who just minutes ago were wanting to kill Ezio. Now they were on the ground, dead. One by her hand.
Another body for the undertaker, she ruminated bitterly, shaking her head before increasing her pace to catch up with Ezio. What a shame.
He was climbing the building when she turned the corner. Panic stalled her feet, and there was a hitch to her voice as she called out, "What... hey! Now hold on a sec! You mean to say we're going that way?"
"What now?" Ezio dropped down with a scowl, marching towards her and practically oozing frustration and anger as he stopped just short of reaching out, strangling her if he wished. If looks could kill, she'd probably be dead thanks to the scathing look of annoyance that was pasted on his features." What about it?"
She sucked in a breath, willing her heartbeat to take a chill pill as she rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms against her pants. Dammit, not now. "I just... what's wrong with taking the streets?" she weakly supplied.
A loud snort answered her, and he gestured, "It'd take too long. Besides, the streets are crawling with city guards who..." He trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as he looked between her and the building, finally fixing on her. Even with the hood up, she knew he was studying her. It felt tempting to snap at him to stop it.
"... you're afraid of heights," he said carefully.
Tristan hung her head, feeling as if she was a little kid again, having to explain why no, she was not going to the very top. A shaky breath escaped her as she clutched a shoulder, rubbing it. "Not as bad as I used to be, but yeah. I am. Er—was." She dragged her hands down her face, cutting back a sound between a groan and a dry laugh. "I have my moments."
She sobered up after that, biting at her lip. Maybe he had been right; perhaps she should have fucked off back to the brothel and left him to his own whims. She wasn't exactly helping him, was she? More like a nagging beast of burden. What could she accomplish anyway?
A long silence was her answer, and truth be told, Tristan expected him to explode, to run off and leave, or maybe a little bit of both. But as the seconds ticked by into minutes, nothing happened. In fact, he surprised her with what he did and said next. He sighed in exasperation but stepped forward only to take her hand by the wrist and gently place it against the wall. Her fingertips brushed against the cool stone, and she looked at him in bewilderment. At first, he looked just as weirded out as she felt but then schooled himself, indicating the wall with his free hand.
"As you've said, the guards are looking for me. And... thinking on it, probably you as well. Which leaves us the roofs. They are the faster and safer way to traverse. So, let me offer you some advice: avoid these places. Notice the lack of texture? Makes climbing very difficult— especially when you're in a tight spot." He then placed her hand on another part of the wall— this time feeling rough edges and bumps, grooves, and climbing materials she noticed that scaled all the way up to the roof.
"We're looking for something like this. Lots of places to grasp onto. And a word for the wise when you are climbing, even if it's quite obvious: don't look down. Instead, keep your vision ahead of you, and just focus on the next handhold. Eventually, you're not going to have enough room in your mind to realize you're off the ground. Keep at it but do it at your own pace."
He dropped his hand from her wrist and stepped back. "Make sense?"
"I.." Tristan looked between him and the wall her hand was still on. She rubbed a thumb over a particular spot before letting her hand drop. Am I really considering this? She rapidly blinked but was quick to swallow her panic as she nodded. "I think so."
He nodded and quickly clambered up but stopped and shockingly went against his own advice to watch her. What good he was going to do if she fell was beyond her.
She lowered her gaze from him to the wall in front of her. It seemed to grow taller and more menacing the more she watched it.
Now or never, Tristan.
She sucked in another breath, and against everything her mind was screaming not to, clasped at the wall. She almost quit right there as a wave of panic hit her. This was no climbing wall with safety harnesses, helmets, and the like. This was the real deal. You slip, you fall, you potentially die. But, her hand tightened, and she proceeded to pull herself up. I need to do this. It was just like a ladder if she pretended hard enough. I have to do this. She set her foot and pushed off of it, grasping at another handhold. At first, the more she climbed, the more perilous she felt, fragile and far too vulnerable on the wall. Her mind was both here yet not, but Ezio had been right. The more she ascended, the less her mind wandered to other places— to other darker thoughts that would have probably frozen her halfway up the building. She kept at it, eventually limiting her brain and actions to basic functions: find a hold, push off with foot, pull up with a hand. Repeat. Before she knew it, she risked a glance up and found she was near to the very top. Surprisingly, even Ezio appeared over the edge, holding out a hand for her to grab.
She sucked in a breath, her arms and legs shaking, but with one last push, she smacked her hand into his, gripping it tight. Between the two of them, they managed to get her over the edge and back on solid ground again— for the most part, if the solid ground was about fifteen feet off the ground.
Her entire body was shaking, and she cursed herself and all the Red Bulls she had hammered in college. And yet, there was still pride underlying it all— she had done it. She had pushed through and had gotten up there. She would have celebrated if it didn't hurt to breathe, much less move and jump up and down. In fact, could she just stay here for a bit? Catch her breath?
That was until she squinted her eyes open to find an upside-down Ezio coming into view, arms crossed and a single brow raised. Oh right.
"Good job," was all he said. The slightest bit of sarcasm tinting it, but if one squinted enough from the corner of their eyes, it could be mistaken as amused sincerity.
She opted to believe the latter and managed a weak thumbs up before letting her hand drop. Eventually, Tristan emitted a reluctant sigh and rolled over, pushing herself to her feet, ignoring the creaks and groans that stemmed from her joints.
From up here, she could see the city sprawled out, dotting with firefly-like lanterns. Even the churches and bell towers were lit up. With the moon waning, it was reminiscent of a painting. However, towards the mountains, large clouds loomed overhead, threatening some heavy and freezing weather in their future. Time for sightseeing later, Trish. You're on a relatively tight time limit. She chastised herself as she turned to Ezio, out loud, saying, "Where to now?" He pointed towards the northwest part of town. She gestured, giving him the 'go ahead' hand wave. "After you, then."
He didn't say anything, but he did take off at a breakneck speed. Her befuddlement turned into shock when he reached the edge— and then jumped.
What the fuck— she narrowed her eyes when she spotted a poorly hidden smirk in the confines of his hood as he turned to face her. That smarmy little bastard... Thought that was going to stop her? She inhaled through her nose, backing up a couple of steps as he gave her the all-clear to cross. Then, before the more rational part of her brain could stop her, she set out on a sprint, and as her foot hit the lip, she threw herself up and over to the next. She said she liked The Matrix, Tristan growled to herself just as she landed with a grunt— not that she wanted to reenact it!
Soon, they were exactly like Neo and Morpheus as they jumped and ran across the roofs in a kind of weird game of Horse. Well, he did all those things— the demented parkour artist he was. On the other hand, she tip-toed and scooted across and just... attempted to respect her mortality more. Oh, not to mention her entire body was beginning to feel sore as if offended at the sheer audacity she had climbed. Ezio, on the other hand, was looking more and more impressed she had kept up. Eventually, he had stopped upon a particular roof, looking down at a rather mundane-looking house. She would have pegged it as any other commoner's home if it weren't for the intense stare he possessed. It was then, she knew they had reached their destination.
Tristan looked at him, then at the ground below, finding it suddenly hard to swallow. Well... what went up had to come down eventually, unfortunately. "So.. uh..." She backed away from the edge, doing her best at a straight face despite the nervous titter to her voice. "A-any tips on how to climb down without killing yourself?"
Ezio side-eyed her, having the decency to look sheepish. "Just one: don't go head-first."
She didn't have much time to question that kind of logic when he backed up, and she watched in horror as the bastard threw himself off, right into the world's most conveniently placed cart—filled to the brim with what looked to be hay.
"Are you kidding me? Hell no, nope, I am fucking not," she hissed as Ezio slid out of the hay cart with practiced ease, leaning against it casually. He looked up at her with a smirk and proceeded to wave her down.
"C'mon, just jump!" the man said cheerfully. "It'll be fine!"
"Uh, do I look like I have a death wish? "
He grew serious. "Tristan,"—hey, he actually knew her name— "we don't have much of choice now, do we?" he shot back, setting his hands on his hips. "I would gladly point you in the direction of a ladder if there were any nearby, but sadly there is none, and we don't have much time to look for one either." He indicated her and then the cart in front of her with a hand. "So like I said, just don't go head-first."
"No shit, I wouldn't have figured that out otherwise," she sarcastically drawled, earning her a disdainful look before it was covered by a hand only for Ezio to pinch the bridge of his nose. One breath. Two breaths. Inhale, then exhale.
"Just..." He dropped his hand. "Just trust me, okay? This is far faster than climbing down by hand."
Can't argue with that logic. She threw up her hands, scowling. "Fine! Fine!" She proceeded to stab a finger in his direction, teeth bared. "But if I die, I'm going to haunt your ass for eternity."
"Well, that's a little dramatic." Even with the hood up, she knew he was rolling his eyes. "But we have an accord, now come on."
Tristan bit her lip, peeking her head over the edge. It was maybe a ten-foot drop, but the more she stared, the more it stretched on for what felt like an eternity. She backed up after that, shutting her eyes and shaking her head. I can't do this.
Oh, yes, you can. Don't let this little shit get the best of you. You're the adult, remember? That did it because Mama raised no quitter. She backed up some more, and with a silent prayer, went for it, jumping right off the edge. For a moment, she was overtaken by that sense of weightlessness as if she was nothing more than dust in the wind. But then gravity took over, and she plummeted straight down with a startled yelp, wind whistling past her ears. Something tickled the back of her mind, and she suddenly got the sense to flip over. She did— just in the nick of time, for she landed in the hay with a soft but safe thud. She quickly jumped out of it, grasping the edges as she stood on shaky legs, but she had enough sense about her to glare as Ezio's face broke out in a triumphant grin, spreading his hands wide.
"See? Told you it would be fine. Now there's no need to haunt me anymore."
"Go fuck yourself," she hissed at him, accentuating her irritation further with a flipped bird. This elicited a genuine laugh as he turned, asking what was the fun of that before beckoning her to follow.
What kind of family did you get into, Trish? she asked herself, looking skyward as if the answer was there. Oh right, yeah, she snorted. Fucking Assassins.
Begrudgingly, she followed, and soon, the two of them stood in front of the house, and Ezio wasted no time in stepping forward, hand already tightening to knock on the door.
Tristan, however... She merely stared at the house. Like the man who resided there, it was mundane. Unimportant, and yet once more, something was nagging her from the back of her head. An experience that she had felt a few times before— like a gut feeling reaction she couldn't quite put her finger on, but most often saved her bacon because it predicted that something was off.
"Wait. Ezio." She grabbed his arm and immediately let go as he shot her a surprised and slightly annoyed look. "Are... are you sure you can trust this man?"
An eyebrow rose before he let out a soft scoff and indicated the house. "He's the Gonfalonier of Florence and a trusted friend to my father. Why wouldn't I?"
Tristan resisted the urge to rub at her hair in frustration. A million damn reasons, and yet a single one wouldn't make sense to either of us. "Just a... bad feeling is all. It practically oozed off when I saw him last earlier." Goddamn, she nearly winced; how dumb it sounded just saying it out loud.
Ezio's face wasn't helping matters any. He looked as if he had bitten into something sour as he slowly repeated after her. "A feeling—."
Tristan ran a hand over her face muffling the groan that slipped out between her lips. "Okay, okay, I don't expect you to understand. I just—it's… it's something that has pulled my ass out of the fire more times than naught." She shook her head, remembering what Federico had exclaimed: You were blue. That had been important. So just maybe... Tristan clasped to that notion, pursuing the subject.
"But have you ever had a bad feeling about something? And it seemed stupid? But you went with it anyway and found out you were right? About a person? A thing? Like goosebumps on the skin, but there's no chill? Or a heavy weight on your mind that you can't exactly explain away yet just know?"
"I..." Doubt crept at the edges, and he pursed his lips before turning away. She took that as a reluctant affirmation and pressed the subject further.
"Because that's what I'm experiencing right now, Ezio. About... this." She waved her hand in a circle towards the house. "Something doesn't feel right. I couldn't tell you why, and perhaps it's just this entire shitty situation going on, but that's just what I'm enduring right now. And I... I know this isn't my place to say, because you're right, this isn't my family. I'm just a nagging stranger. Nothing more, and I understand that this is your call. I am merely an outsider who thinks this smells fishy, but in the end, he is your father, this is your family, and thus, your decision. You know this man more than me. Probably far better than I'll ever get the opportunity to. So, if you trust your family friend, then I'll swallow my reservations and do the same. I just... wanted to ask out of concern."
He stayed silent, fixating on the Gonfalonier's front door probably far longer than needed as he weighed his options. She wondered if he had a similar worry as well. Why else would he be hesitating? Then, finally, he moved in the form of a subtle shake of his head. "I appreciate it. It's just... my father had known him for years before he even became the Gonfalonier. He asked for me to deliver this because he trusts him. And if he does, then so will I." Why didn't he sound convinced?
But... she was a woman of her word, and thus, didn't press it.
"I... respect that." Tristan jerked her head in a nod of affirmation, not quite shaking the overbearing feeling of dread like a coffin being hammered shut. "After you then," she sidestepped and gestured, wanting more than anything to snatch the evidence out of his grasp and run with it all the way back to the brothel. I'll keep watch until you get back."
She then turned and found a nearby bench within relative reach, sitting upon it. It provided a view of the entire street, including the house and any alleyways that could potentially host any dangers. And yet, her eyes found themselves drawn to the house every time, for there was an evil in there."It is done," Ezio said shortly thereafter, slipping onto the bench next to her. The whole affair barely took five minutes, and yet it had felt like infinity and then some. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he bent his head with a troubled sigh."The evidence will be brought to the trial tomorrow, and my brothers and father should be released."
"That's good news," she mused, half paying attention as she leaned back. "I'm glad to hear it's been settled."
"Mm," was all he said in return. Lost deep in his thoughts, obviously
"Well, if that's the case then," she slapped her knees to break the silence before standing up, "it's probably best to get back, then... I'm sure your mother and Claudia would be happy to see you."
Ezio, however, had not moved from his seated position. For a minute there, she thought he had dozed off before he shifted minutely so his chin would tuck to his chest as he leaned back against the bench, crossing his arms. "I'm not going."
"What—."
"I'm not going with you," he repeated, more firmly, lifting his head slightly to where she could partially see the outline of his down-turned lips from underneath the hood. "At least... not at this minute. I have something I need to take care of first."
Tristan rubbed at her head, doing a poor job at hiding her scowl. "No offense, but I hardly see anything more important than ensuring you're alive to your own mother."
He finally snapped his attention her way, eyes narrowing. Like Federico's, they were a rich brown, almost cognac color, but unlike his older sibling, light specks of amber reflected back at her. "Nothing is—" he stopped, looking torn with himself before he closed his eyes and vented a breath. "You're right. Nothing is, but I still want— no, I have to make sure that someone else wasn't affected by this night, too."
She stopped in her ministrations, noting the way his gaze kept wandering a particular direction, brows knitting in worry. It clicked into place shortly thereafter, and she dropped her hand with a stifled breath. ...okay."
"Okay?" He stood up with a prominent frown, clearly confused.
"Okay," she said once more, putting her hands up. "I get it. You're worried they came for your girlfriend and her family too. Which is understandable— so, go. Do what you have to. We're staying at a place called the La Rosa Colta. All I ask for is that you obviously come back in one piece. I doubt I'd hear the end of it otherwise." She mock-winced before waving goodbye. She went to turn but was surprised when Ezio didn't immediately run off. And she raised an inquisitive eyebrow as she faced him once more. She had the notion of asking him what was up before he finally spoke, eyes casting downwards as he palmed the back of his head.
"This is... not easy for me to admit, but I suppose I was wrong about you." He actually managed a smile that wasn't forced as he further hummed." And I can definitely see why he likes you." He afterwards shrugged. "Or at least tolerates you."
"Oh no, that's a terrible idea." She snorted, pasting on a mock indignant face and waving her hands about. "I'm an awful influence. Besides, it's the other way around—I tolerate him. Follows me around like a lost puppy. In fact, I caught him in my room this morning, thinking it was an escape route. He's incredibly annoying in that regard."
A sound that suspiciously sounded like a chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head. "On that, we can agree."
She quirked a smile, albeit a small one that soon faded as a sigh escaped her. "But... in all seriousness," she looked to the side, grimacing. "I may call them such pleasant names as chucklefucks and dumbasses, but I too would go to the ends of the earth for my brothers if it meant they could come home. And I'm truly sorry I wasn't able to stop them from taking Federico. So, I'm hoping to amend that now since he's done a lot for someone like me. Some things I don't think I even could repay."
When he said nothing, she turned and found he had pushed back his hood and, after smoothing his hair, turned to her. He still had quite the baby-face, but she had no doubt that time would age and shape him into a handsome man with a chiseled jaw and a crooked scarred grin. The heartbreak of many to come, she mentally chuckled. But right now, he was nothing more than pensive. "He never did say how you met," he mused aloud, the same marked lips twitching. "I'm... rather curious now, for it's beginning to sound like quite the story."
Tristan shook her head, stifling a laugh. "It's nothing special, I assure you, but you definitely can ask him yourself after tomorrow." She then made the motion of shooing him off. "Now go. Make sure she's safe, lover boy. I'll cover for you. And, if I don't see you tonight. I'll see you at the trial."
He made a saluting notion before clambering up the closest wall and pulling himself onto the roof. The speed and smoothness of the action made her scratch her head in silent admiration. Damn, he is really good at climbing. Must run in the family because, damn, both he and Federico would sorely give the parkour experts back home a run for their money.
Tristan stood there and watched as he raced off across the rooftops. In a blink and a flash, he was gone. And yet she remained, feeling suddenly heavier.
"I hope you're right, Ezio," she eventually murmured into the evening air as she turned, slowly making her way back to one of the main avenues that would lead directly to the brothel. "I really do." A cold wind from the mountains was her only answer as it played with a stray red hair. She felt the breeze press against her back the entire way to La Rosa Colta— almost as if it was the hand of Death itself.
~*End*~
TK's History Fun Facts:
Only a Rose of a Different Color: Say what you will of the Season-That-Was-Never-Released, Game of Thrones is actually inspired by the real-life grab for power that was the War of Roses. And since Tristan is a huge nerd of GoT, yep. This is something she was going to know! It spanned between the years 1455 and 1487, resulting in the Tudors' subsequent rise to power. (A very oversimplified explanation since it's a very complex part of history.)
A House in New Orleans "…and they calllllllll it the Rising Sun." Despite what many people may think, it's actually not about a brothel at all. Its most recent version is about finding ruin in the city of New Orleans. I couldn't help myself and decided to slip it in anyways… because it wouldn't get out of my head the entire time I was writing this chapter. And now you're probably wondering, "okay, so why are we talking about this song in the history fun facts section, then."
This song, first being recorded in 1933, is dated as far back as 1905 in a newspaper article. However, the actual fun fact is that it has quite shocking similarities to a 16th-century drinking song. It's theorized to be old. Incredibly old.
Arms and Armor As requested by Verdigirl (AO3): So, because of you, I decided to throw in a VERY special dagger that I stumbled across looking for this prompt. (Ironically called the "Medici" dagger, lmao.) The dagger itself is called a parrying dagger and was often paired with another sword— usually a rapier and were very fancy-looking weapons. They were often designed to pierce armor and parry sword strikes when needed. Some had wicked waves along the blade to counteract the opponent's strikes.
"To go a-Viking" As requested by Majopi (FFN): Since Assassin's Creed Valhalla came out just recently, I'm more than happy to spout facts about the Vikings. Or Norsemen/Scandinavians (later Danes) as they're actually called; since Vikings, or vikingr (loosely translates to pirate), was a profession and not the name for the peoples. So to go "a-viking" was basically getting on a longship and seeking glory, goods, and knowledge.
And sure, while they did raid and pillage the countries and lands around them starting from the late 700s onwards to the late 1000s, they were often explorers and traders first and were pretty progressive for the time. Similar to Ancient Rome, they often absorbed diverse cultures and languages into their settlements. They were seen as far east as Russia and Asia and set up colonies as far west as North America— a few centuries ahead of Columbus. In fact, their records indicate there were three: "Helluland," "Markland," and "Vinland." Two are believed to be Labrador and Buffin Island, respectively; however, the last location is unknown. While in Valhalla, Vinland is depicted in modern-day New England for plot reasons, it's highly speculated that it could be further north in Newfoundland. (Me, I personally do believe it's farther south. But hey, just speculation.)
If you still wish to participate and request a History Fun Fact, it's not too late! :D Just let me know in the comments
Thoughts? Theories? Random bouts of screaming? Lemme know! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome. If you wish for a more prompt response or just want to chat, you can hit me up on my Discord! (The username is in my profile.)
-TK