TMWolf: Alright, it's update time! Also, I have been tired and probably was while editing this so please alert me to any blaring mistakes I missed. It's been a rough few weeks, although we did adopt our new family member: Axel! A 7 month old Husky who is fitting right in and stealing our hearts. He's super adorable and so worth the wait we had to endure for him hehe. Anyways, updating now, though, and hope people enjoy the Borgia still being dicks, and something Chronos didn't do before but will this time around (as I mentioned earlier) ;)

Reviews... well, no guest reviews so everyone should have gotten a reply! Y'all are the best and I seriously love reading what you have to say, and appreciate any criticism or pointing out errors you do! It's a huge help and I just love to hear your opinions or any guesses as to what will happen... although this time around there's no big underlying plot reason to figure out xD So do let me know what you think and I'll be happy to reply! :)

The song for this chapter is... from ZAYDE WOLF or something or other and their song The Jungle. Not quite exact fitting with lyrics, but I thought the title totally fit, haha.

Now onto the story!

04 – The Jungle

January 6, 1500

Rome, Italy

For what it was worth, Roma was actually a very beautiful city.

It was a shame Catherine felt no joy at the sight of it, not even with it being her first visit—at least in this time. She could recall vaguely, from a former life that seemed almost like a dream sometimes, but was oh-so very real, that she had visited this place. Only, the year hadn't been the fifteen-hundred, but rather in the two-thousands. Her company, like-wise, had not been that of the bitch Lucrezia Borgia and her bastard brother's dog, Micheletto, but her mother and her side of the family. An uncle, if she remembered right, and some of her cousins. It had been their first stop on their visit to Europe and ultimately their ancestral family home—the very same that housed the artifact that would bring her here to this time—and the modern-day buildings mixed with the ancient ruins had been a glorious sight to behold. However, it was nothing compared to the true, original splendor of the Italian city. Yet, her first time here had also been far more joyous; surrounded by those who cared about her and wanted to her be amazed by the glory of the city; to fully enjoy a much-needed vacation.

This visit, though, had not even a sliver of joy to it. The city was not a vacation spot for an innocent, American tourist. It was a prison for an Assassin of Italia, and the cage for bait to lure the infamous Ezio Auditore.

A crowd formed to the rear of the carriage and was growing slightly larger as curious citizens wondered who would emerge. No doubt they hoped for the illustrious Cesare or even the Pope, but they seemed equally pleased at the sight of Lucrezia. She held her head high, chest put out just a little more than usual, and smiled proudly. Micheletto remained his dark, brooding self, keeping a firm hand latched around Catherine's arm. Her hands were still bound, although now in front of her. Guards joined them, these one clad in a much more robust armor; thicker, darker, and more elegant. They were also pikemen and a few swordsmen. A bloated regiment, if the redhead did say so herself, but almost flattering, in a way. All of them here, for her; for the show.

"Citizens of Roma—I give you a prize from Monteriggioni, yet another rebel city conquered and put in their place by your beloved Cesare! Yet another step towards a peaceful, united Italia!" the woman sang, and a cheer rang out. Catherine couldn't help hating them, even if it wasn't really their fault. They were just naïve. Ignorant. Complacent in their lush lives here in the city; never conquered by their "beloved" Cesare. At least, not be sword and fire and cannon. No, he and his father and cursed family had done them in with politics and pretty words, and they ate it up.

She envied such innocence.

"Come then, time to take you to your new home. You get the honor of seeing where my new nephew will be staying," the woman smiled, oh so sweetly as she went by. If not for the dog with his fangs to her throat and the guards right on her heels, Catherine would have gladly wrung her neck.

Her new nephew's home? Hah. Like she would let that happen. No, she would find a way to escape. She wouldn't let her child grow up here, in the hands of the enemy.

Which, in some way, was a shame. The place was beautiful. The bridge alone to the massive fortress was made with some of the best architecture she had seen, and she knew Leonardo da Vinci. The stone appeared ancient, but remained in good shape, and perhaps ten to twenty feet apart on either side stood statues of angels, ever vigilant and radiant in the sunlight all along the length of the bridge. She could not help but wonder, though, if they were watching out for her in this moment, or were her wardens, too? Although, it hardly seemed needed with the immenseness of the fortress before them. The intimidation of it alone was enough to dissuade any attackers—or potential escapees. The countless guards positioned by each statue and walking along the main entryway didn't help, either. Certainly, any escape from the tall, foreboding stone walls seemed neigh impossible. Even with a long look Catherine didn't spot any good exits, save to dive from dangerous heights to the murky water below, something she would be hard pressed to risk if she was kept here too long. Not to mention she'd have to swim all the way to the other side of the bridge with the walls around the moat looking too difficult to scale.

It wasn't a good situation, but she refused to surrender.

"Welcome back, my Lady," a guard at the entryway spoke, bowing his head politely to the blonde-haired woman. Both guards looked at the redhead, confusion flickering over their expression.

"A new guest of Cesare's. She is not to leave—for her own safety. Do let the other guards know, will you?" she smiled, her eyes glancing at Catherine, whom refused to let anything show. The men regarded her for another moment, and then nodded.

"It shall be done."

"Good. Come, Micheletto. The maids should have prepared a room for her thanks to the messenger we sent," the blonde hummed as they trudged on into an open area—a stable, by the looks of things. Not many horses were present at the moment, but there were plenty of stalls to tie more and both hay and water troughs were already prepared. Lucrezia led them towards another gate, also guarded. She paused to regard the red-headed woman coolly. "I would rather you thrown in the dungeon like the scum you are… but the child you carry requires something more… civil."

"You're too kind," Catherine snorted, although she couldn't deny that was a relief. If she had been put into the dungeon, she would have greatly feared for her unborn baby. Never mind whatever sickness she could contract; the child would suffer far worse. At least in a proper chamber her son or daughter could be born healthy. And the longer she could be healthy, the better her chance of escape.

"You would do well to be grateful for my brother's kindness. If not for the child you would be left to rot in the dungeon after letting the guards do as they pleased with you."

"You Borgia are quite the cheerful bunch, aren't you?" she hummed, withholding the curse and snarl she really wanted to unleash. It helped the days-long ride in the carriage had allowed her anger to cool. It was hardly quenched, but it was under control. She could think more clearly and with less emotion, and she knew losing herself to her sorrow and rage would only end badly. It was a weakness she could not afford to let them even see, and so she'd steeled herself the first night in the carriage. She let them think her casualness was sincere, and that there wasn't an inferno waiting to burn them to ash as soon as she could. She refused to let herself think they were completely fooled, though. Micheletto's grip had not faltered the entire trip, and so she had good idea he knew her true intentions—that he could sense the danger lingering within her. Hewould be her greatest challenge at the moment, which made Lucrezia the weaker thread to pull.

She was a strong, intelligent woman Catherine had to admit. Though she seemed flighty at times, she was conniving in her own right and enjoyed pushing buttons. She liked to get beneath the skin of both the redhead and the men around her; teasing them, even. None dared touch her, and no doubt that gave her a sense of pleasure. She enjoyed the notion Catherine couldn't touch her, too, the redhead had noticed. The sneers. Smirks. Coy smiles. She was practically intoxicated with pleasure as she lorded over her prisoner, and no doubt it would continue. No doubt she would come to taunt her; remind her of her predicament.

Good.

Catherine could use that.

Hubris was a power double-edged sword, after all.

"My lady, perhaps we should summon a doctor as well?" Micheletto suddenly spoke up, earning surprise from both women. Lucrezia looked over Catherine, gaze lingering on the few red spots on her garments. The wounds had healed up, but her body still ached and had begun to bruise badly, tanned skin now purple and black. Her stomach was spared, but the rest of her didn't look too good. She imagined her face wasn't much better, which made her glad to not be terribly vain.

"Mmm... perhaps we should. How far along are you?" the woman inquired as she moved onwards again, passing through a stone corridor and up a flight of stairs.

"I'm not sure. Could be a few weeks to a few months," the redhead shrugged. She grinned, "Guess you best plan for nine months of good care."

The woman glared over her shoulder, "Do not try my patience or press your luck, Auditore. Once the child is born and you are no longer of use, you will wish you had taken this chance to grovel."

"And you'll wish you had begged for my forgiveness," the redhead hummed right on back. Lucrezia stopped at the top of the stairs and laughed.

"Ha! Bold words for a prisoner. You really think you will escape? That your husband will save you?"

Catherine didn't miss a beat, her gaze steady, "Yes. He will."

A flurry of emotions crossed the woman's face, the most prominent was a mixture of surprise and confusion. Catherine could only expect it was because the woman had never experienced the kind of love they had—true, real love. The kind where you gave the other your very being and knew, without doubt, they would never fail you. She had defied a god to be with her husband, and already he had dared to face a man who wished to be a god to be with her. The Borgia were but mortals, and mortals died far easier than a deity.

Lucrezia's lip twitched as if to speak, but whatever words she hoped to summon succumbed to silence. She turned back around and led them further into the Castel. The stone walls remained, but while before they had been barren, they were now adorned with some of the most elaborate and beautiful decorations Catherine had ever seen. Tapestries ran along the walls, accompanied by portraits or mirrors. A thick, red rug ran along the entire floor, and a variety of tables and decorative wood pieces or marble busts could be found along the hallway. Such ornaments continued even on the second floor, their venture leading up a winding staircase. There, she was observed by yet more portraits, statues, and even a cabinet with trinkets inside before being stopped in front of a large, wooden door with a single handle and keyhole. Lucrezia pulled the key from a pocket in her dress, twisted it in the lock, and pressed the door open.

Catherine had to admit, the room was better than she expected. It was similar to the guests room at the Villa, albeit a bit smaller and less decorated There was a bed, though, cushiony enough for a woman with child, and a desk perhaps to write or simply sit at. A vanity mirror accompanied it, and across the room was a dresser for clothing. A row of windows set on the far side, but they were above her head. If she tried hard, she might have squeezed through the small opening, but the iron bars would prevent any hopes of that. There were no portraits or tapestries, but there was a rug on the floor.

"You can release her now—but do keep the knife ready. She is a savage, after all," Lucrezia snorted, remaining rather wisely behind Micheletto. The Borgia dog use the same knife to cut her bonds, finally freeing her hands after days of being tied together. Catherine gently rubbed her raw wrists, stepping towards the bed.

"Oh, you're simply jealous I'm wearing comfortable pants and you're in a pretentious, gaudy dress that's really only good for making men wonder if your breasts are going to give them a show or not," she smiled sweetly.

"Watch your tongue!" the woman snarled, suddenly coming forward and raising her hand as if to slap her. Catherine merely raised a brow as she side-stepped.

"You'd strike a woman with child? And you call me the savage!" she mock-gasped before sitting down on the bed. She snickered as she looked to her watch dog. "You can put that toothpick away now. I won't escape. Yet."

"If you wish to continue having a doctor and our maid tend to you, I would advise you learn to hold your tongue," Lucrezia sneered, though smirked a moment later. "Perhaps it would do you well to skip dinner tonight. After all, you have had quite the journey. No doubt your belly would not be able to suffer such delicacies. Do enjoy your stay, Lady Auditore. Let us give her time to settle in then, shall we, Micheletto?"

"As you wish, my Lady," the man bowed his head, glanced at the redhead, whom raised her brow back. The blonde-haired Borgia had headed off already, and, after a second's pause, he, too, followed.

The door closed behind them with a loud thunk, and then the lock rattled and clicked. The redhead knew it was silly to bother trying, but she pushed off the bed anyways and attempted to turn the knob. It didn't budge in the slightest, locked tight. Of course.

Catherine sighed, rubbing her face. She stayed there at the wooden door—just inches standing between her and her freedom—for a good, long minute, and then finally changed course for the vanity. There, she winced. Her face looked terrible. There were cuts she hadn't noticed before, although they had already begun to scab. Her cheek and lip were swollen, and she could see a bruise on her brow. She looked dirty, too, dark smudges in more places than she liked. She lifted her shirt next and hissed at the sight of the dark array of colors—black, blue, purple, and even a sickening brown. The guards had beat her a lot worse than she thought, but at least her belly had been spared.

"How you doing in there, huh? Probably not too happy with me right now. Sorry about that," she spoke softly, touching at her lower abdomen. There was nothing to feel just yet, but there was comfort thinking that the child could sense her. Then again, the child would probably ignore her after she'd done the same thing over the last few days and particularly in the battle. She'd have to be more careful from now on, but she could work around it. She'd managed during Diana's pregnancy up until the last few months, so she had time.

She only hoped she had enough.

Catherine inhaled deeply as she looked up into her reflection. She couldn't help thinking she looked worse the second time around. Bags were thick under her eyes and she felt the weariness now. The anger rose up again in that moment, and the sorrow along with it. Memories followed the flow, the first being of her beloved Mario. Her eyes burned, and it was hard to breathe. She held back her sob and instead slammed a fist into the desk. It didn't crack, but by God did she wish it had.

How had things come to this? How it all gone so wrong?

She wiped away the tears before they could fall and looked to her reflection again. She forced her gaze to become hard, although tears continued to form. She ignored them this time, pulling her focus from the memories of the past. They could only be used to fuel her rage and give her strength, not weaken her. She had to keep strong for her child and find a way out of here, be it her own power, or to hold out until Ezio got here.

"Just you wait, little one. Your father's coming. We're not going to let them have you—I swear it," she spoke firmly, resting her hand on her belly once more.

She turned away from the mirror then, eyes roving the room. She didn't expect the doctor or maid would come anytime soon, so she supposed it was time to get familiar with her new abode. She was, after all, going to be here for a while.

-O-

January 6, 1500

Rome, Italy

Ezio groaned as he came to, the pain from his last waking moments duller than he remembered. He was also not on a horse and not on the ground where he was certain he had fallen. He didn't know how long it had been since then, although he should be still a few days from Roma. He was in a house now, though; nothing too grand or splendid, but comfortable and well-built. It wasn't the style he was entirely accustomed to, but it was of a country-side make as opposed to a more decorated city style.

Movement in the corner of his eyes turned his head, and he found a woman hunched over a bowl—filled with water, he noted—as she wrung out a rag she held. She looked perhaps in her thirties, but her face had a touch of youthfulness. In another life, he might have considered her pretty, but she held no candle to the splendor of his wife, the memory of which rekindled the fire within his belly. He made to move as she sat beside him, wiping at something on his—bare—abdomen, but she pushed back down on his shoulder. It was his wounded one, eliciting a short hiss from his lips. She at least looked somewhat apologetic as she bade him to calm down.

"The pain will end soon," she spoke softly, her smile as gentle as her voice.

He glanced around again, "Where have you brought me?"

"Nowhere, Mister. A man left you here," she shrugged and finally let him move. He shifted towards the edge, mind already working quickly.

"Did he say anything?"

"Only this: you are to meet Mister Machiavelli in front of the Mausoleo di Augusto," she replied, and the answers fell into place. He did not resist as she touched his shoulder again, urging him up. "Let me help you get dressed."

"The same man who brought me here gave me these clothes?" he asked, to which she confirmed with a nod. Ezio was, of course, eternally grateful. He had no proper clothes since escaping his home, and he'd lost Altair's armor as well. He regretted that deeply, the armor having meant a great deal. Perhaps one day he could return and reclaim it—he doubt the armor could fall so easy after all it had endured—but for now the pristine, white garbs would do.

He could not help noticing the outer armor was uncannily similar to both his Father's and Altair's armor. It was layered in such a way to be both protective, yet thin and flexible for movement. The fit was perfect as well, hugging his body in all the right places. The sleeves were tighter than he was used to, but were also flattering. His collar popped out perfectly, with dashes of a vibrant red to add some flare. The hood was just like his other garbs, the tip shaped not unlike a beak and covering his unkempt hair well. The belt fit snug around his waist, both sides latching into an almost overly large metal buckle adorned with the Assassin's mark and resting atop his red waist-sash. A hook for the blade left to him was given as well, which he readily set in place. The ends of the tunic fell all the way down to his boots. His pants were a bit looser than his top but tucked into the leather just fine. And to finish the look—a bracer etched with the Assassin symbol and a bit of Italian flare in the metal. It was hard, but light, and the Hidden Blade looked sharp. All too befitting an Assassin.

He felt a bit more like himself, and just a little bit impressive. The woman certainly looked impressed, anyways.

"Thank-you, my Lady, for all you have done for me. I will not forget it. Should you need help, seek out Machiavelli and tell him the Auditore owe you a debt. I will make good on it," he smiled, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss. He swore he saw her cheeks flush a little as her smile grew wide.

"I pray I do not need such a favor, but I will remember it. I wish you a safe journey, wherever it takes you, Mister," she replied, and then he walked to the door.

The world waiting outside for him was very different and yet familiar. The ancient ruins just down the road were unusual, but he had seen them before. Grassy hills with a busy road ran through, and in fenced areas he could see fields plowed and crops growing. Further beyond was a city, the size of which seemed unfathomable, and yet there he was. He supposed he should not have been so surprised, however, being he had been here not so long ago.

It seemed, despite his falter, he had made it.

"Roma."

"Yes," the woman's voice came, and he turned to find her behind him. "Or what is left of it since the Borgia came to power."

The name made the fire within him flare a little hotter.

"And the Mausoleo?"

"Unfortunately, you cannot see it from here."

Ezio looked in the distance and gestured, "How about from the top of the church?"

"Mm yes, but the stairs up are closed," she frowned with a shrug.

He chuckled, "That should not be a problem. Thank-you, again. Farewell, my good woman."

She spared him a small, final smile before returning inside, leaving the Assassin to the Roma countryside. He looked to the church, noting it should be an easy climb. Should being the important word. Despite the lessened pain, the ache remained, and it felt as though he was not at full strength still. He could perhaps wield a blade, but a climb might be difficult. If he could perhaps get a drought of medicine it would numb things enough and give him the time to heal, but he needed a Doctor—and coin. That, or try to convince them to take pity. The latter was not likely, but he would try.

First, though: he needed to find a procurer of medicine.

Thankfully, his Vision allowed him to scan the crowd in the dirt road, letting him discern between the denizens and his target, who glowed gold in the darkened world. There was his doctor, and so he set forth, though paid heed to the eyes that followed him. To his relief, they did not linger long, and he made it to the dark-clothed man, his face covered by one of their disturbing masks. He could still see their eyes, and in the them he couldn't help noticing a flicker of recognition. Ezio kept his guard up as he approached.

"Greetings. I require medicine," he stated, plain and simple, and waited. The doctor regarded him for a moment, humming thoughtfully, and then gestured to have him step closer.

"Come, let me look," he mused, shifting Ezio's wounded arm this way and that and noting the wince he could not prevent. "Someone your age cannot recover from a wound like this with medicine. Here is something to dull the pain, however. You will heal over time."

"My thanks…," the Assassin replied, bowing his head. He paused, waiting for the doctor to go on, but he did not. He met the man's gaze. "You give your medicine out freely?"

"Not to all… but yours was paid in advance. I was told to aid a man dressed in white."

"I see… I owe someone a great debt then. Thank-you, again," Ezio spoke, holding up to the bottle, and went onwards again. With a quick pop of the cork, he downed the vial's fluid, grimacing at the taste. It worked quickly, and by the time he had reached the church's courtyard, his arm felt almost as good as new. At the very least he could climb now.

"'Someone my age'? Jerk," he scoffed once he was out of ear shot. He was only forty-one! He was still in his prime! His wife certainly didn't think he was old! Of course, he couldn't be truly mad at the man, but still. His pride didn't appreciate the jab, and so he couldn't help but smirk a little as he came up to the church's front.

It was no different than any climb before, and, seeing the coast was clear, he quickly ascended to the top. He could climb plenty well for his age—even if he did feel a bit of protest in his back for it. He made it all the way to the tower, however, and his pride managed to appease itself as he looked out at the great expanse of Roma. It was a new view for him, the former having been from the Vaticano district, and it was certainly different. Far less posh and pristine; humbler and not unlike his home of Firenze. Of course, nothing compared to his birthplace, but it left him with a sense of nostalgia—one he didn't let himself linger with for long. From there, he leaped down into a cart of hay he'd spotted, though refrained from exiting right away as a particular instinct flared. It was the same sense that had helped him escape danger and survive countless battles—a "sixth sense" Catherine had called it. It only appeared near a guard, and so he waited.

"Word has gone out that a peasant is resisting arrest," a voice spoke with a sneer. "We will show him how things operate under the Borgia."

Ezio withheld his growl despite the protests of the fire brewing within him. Machiavelli was waiting for him, and he knew where to go now that he'd spotted the Mausoleo from above, but his heart refused to let the words slide by. The men worked for the Borgia, the lady who'd helped him had mentioned the city suffered for their presence, and now a poor denizen was to be punished for simply resisting arrest?

No.

Ezio Auditore was an Assassin at heart, but above all, he was a good man. His wife had made sure of that, and she would have wanted him to help. Even if he ignored it to quicken her rescue, she would have told him he should have.

So he did.

-O-

Things were worse in the city than Ezio realized. In just a few hours' time he had seen their cruelty. The guards had tried to kill a man simple for trying to take down his hanged wife, who had done nothing wrong but been unable to protect her dignity from a vile man. He was grieving and wished only to do right by his innocent wife, and yet they wanted to kill him for it. He could not clear he guards of blame for following orders, though. They were as guilty as the man who had given the command—the bastard butcher, whom he had taken pleasure in ending the life of. He felt no remorse when he'd struck the man down with his hidden blade, and certainly none as he fought off his guards during his escape.

The Assassin only lamented he had not come sooner—and that the butcher would not be the only one to have to die. If the Borgia already had the loyalty of a butcher, there were bound to be more denizens under their flag. It was bad enough they had the entire city guard, but people of the city? Roma was a death trap as it stood now, and anyone could be his enemy. Catherine was here, though, somewhere, among these snakes, and he had to find her. He needed help, though, and it was for that reason he focused his gaze upon the man standing in front of the tree in the courtyard of the Mausoleo, unaware of his presence until he suddenly turned, brow raising.

"Ezio. What a surprise to see you here," he mused, without looking at all as his words suggested. Yet, the Assassin sensed no sarcasm, so he frowned, his confusion palpable.

"I thought you had sent for me?"

"Never," the man replied at once, and Ezio only felt a little hurt by it. "News of the Villa attack has spread across the city. We were certain you were dead."

"Not yet. I am still very much alive," the Assassin smirked, but Machiavelli did share in the sentiment as he jabbed a finger at his comrade.

"The Borgia must not discover that you escaped them."

"I'm afraid I will have to disappoint you, my friend," Ezio rumbled. He went on, his voice grave, before the man could make a retort, "They took Catherine."

Machiavelli narrowed his eyes, "Catherine? But they killed Mario. Why would they take your wife—alive?"

"I'm not sure, but… it may be… that."

Niccolo look at him sharply, "Her abilities—her use of the Clock."

"Rodrigo knew of it, and the man who attacked, he… he has the Apple."

"What!?" Machiavelli bellowed, earning a few stares that quickly looked away as he gestured for Ezio to follow. "You are certain? Your eyes did not lie to you?"

"I saw it—just before he killed my uncle. He has it," the Assassin scowled, fingers clenching into a tight fist.

"This is not good, Ezio. If that man has the Apple…"

"I fear they wish to use Catherine to determine its secrets. Rodrigo knows Catherine has the will to use such artifacts, and he's seen what it does to those who can't. They may force her to endure its power for them—to learn the secrets of the goddess Minerva I spoke of and those like her."

"We cannot allow that to happen. If they harness its power…" the man rasped, shaking his head. "This is not good."

"Machiavelli," Ezio spoke, causing the man to stop and look back, brow raised again. "Catherine is with child."

His fellow Assassin's eyes widened, and then returned to their usual, calculated stance. His lips pressed together firmly, arms clasped behind his back as he always did when he spoke. He looked like a fierce strategist there, clad in his regal garb. He was certainly worthy of being a fighter of the people, and Ezio could not help the sense of regret he felt at having not listened to the man and for thinking his outrage unreasonable. He had been right. He should have killed Rodrigo—then perhaps none of this would have happened.

"Machiavelli, I—"

"Do you know where they took her?" he asked, moving once more, hands still clasped behind him.

"No. I don't. Not yet. I suspect somewhere in the Vaticano, close to where the Vault is. I don't know where specifically, though. I need to find out—now."

"I am afraid it will not be so easy," Machiavelli hummed and held up a hand to stop Ezio's reply. "The Borgia's power is strong here. More than any Templar's grip you have faced—even more than Venezia. They control everything. Their spies are everywhere. And the soldiers in the Vaticano are not the typical brand you have fought before.

He motioned back the way they had come, "If anything, I might wager she be in the Castel Sant'Angelo, but it is only a guess. And if it is true, then you stand little chance to infiltrate it as you are; weaponless, no resources, and few allies to speak of."

"I won't leave her here with the Borgia!" Ezio snapped, but the man only gave him a slight look.

"I did not ask you to. My words are only to make you understand the task you are undertaking, and that was only the beginning. This is not just about rescuing your wife, but also retrieving the Apple. Neither can remain in Borgia hands, but you can do nothing as you are now."

"You're right," the Assassin nodded, and again he saw surprise on Machiavelli's face. It was not something Ezio considered lightly, and it was an idea that had lingered since he followed the Borgia guard. It was not, perhaps, the most well thought out, but it was a reasonable—and advantageous—goal all the same. "I can't help Catherine like this—in this place. Not yet. The enemy is everywhere and I have no allies, as you said. And even if I got her back today, we could not return to home. We could not go anywhere without risking our enemies tracking us down once more and finishing us off. No, even if we escaped, we would have no peace—not while the Borgia remain in power. They must be taken down."

"I do not recall such bold words at your Villa," the man mused, though not out of amusement or even spite. Rather, a smile dared to tug his lip upwards.

"How could we have known they would reach us so quickly? That they would kill Mario? That they would take my wife? The Borgia—that man ushered me a challenge, and now I will answer it. I will rescue my wife, and we will free this city. I have already seen the horrors of the Borgia—the oppression these people feel. The killing of innocents. If I hope to stop them and save my wife and ensure my family never suffers again, we must rise up against them and the Templars who serve them."

"I admit, I am glad to hear you say so, but be warned, Ezio: Rodrigo surrounds himself with snakes and murderers. Even his daughter Lucrezia has been sharpened into one of his most artful weapons… but she pales in comparison to the man behind the Villa attack.

Machiavelli gestured for the Assassin to follow him again, "He is ambitious, ruthless, and cruel beyond imagining. The laws of man mean nothing to him. He murdered his own brother to take power. He knows neither danger nor fatigue. Those who do not fall by his sword clamor to join his ranks. The powerful Orsini and Colonna families have been brought to kneel at his feet and the King of France stands at his side."

"Give me his name."

"Cesare, head of the Papal armies," Niccolo replied grimly, an expression that Ezio could not help but copy. His frown deepened as his fellow Assassin asked, "What does he intend to do with his power? What drives the man? That, I still do not know. But, Ezio, Cesare has set his sights on all of Italia, and at this rate he will have it."

"Is that admiration I hear in your voice?" the Assassin snorted, not entirely sure he was being sarcastic. He certainly did not find such a quality admirable—not after all this Cesare had done.

"He knows how to exercise his will. A rare virtue in the world today," his comrade hummed, pausing once more and facing the Auditore. "If you are a man of your word—if you mean to truly rise against the Borgia and make them and their allies your enemies… then you face a neigh impossible task."

Ezio's fingers clenched tight as his voice grew hard, "Nothing will stop me from saving Catherine and protecting my family. Even if I must do this alone—even if it meant facing God himself, I would fight the Borgia, and I will not stop until she and all of Italia are free."

"It would seem," Niccolo hummed, lip tugging upwards once more as he regarded the Assassin, "Cesare is not the only one to wield his virtue. But, you will not get far as you are. Here. A proper Assassin could use a sword to go with his Blade."

Ezio raised his brow when a coin pouch was held out to him. He took it and glanced to his right, noting they have conveniently stopped by a blacksmith. He had a feeling it was not just by chance.

"You will help me then."

"As much as I can… but this is only a start. Now, arm yourself, Ezio Auditore. There is much for us to discuss," Niccolo smiled, and, for perhaps the first time since the day his home had fallen, Ezio felt a true flicker of hope.

04 – End

TMWolf: So, as I said, Retribution (btw I DID change the story title. Realized Reckoning didn't mean what I wanted it to mean for the story sooooooo changed it up xD) follows a bit of a different pattern than Chronos. We are going to see a LOT more of Ezio's POV/side of the story, like here at the end. I'm gonna try and split it up pretty even but some chapters are still all 'Cat while others might end up Ezio. We'll see haha. Anyways... decided to add in extra details to how the game went, like getting medicine from a doctor for free lmao. Oh, and, no, I'm not going to do a play-by-play for Brotherhood. Y'all have, or should have, played the game by now so you know what happens. Some things I'll follow, but I'm not going to do a walkthrough, let's put it that way haha. Some scenes I'll show, others I'll skip like Ezio going on detour to kill the beheader guy.

Also, definitely changed up some of Machiavelli's talk, and, man, I originally wanted him to be more sympathetic to 'Cat being preggers 'cause he had kids, but he doesn't have them by 1500 ;( He's not even married yet. And another thing: IT IS SO HARD TO FIND OUT OF IF HE EVEN HAD KIDS. Which he did. But seriously. Poor kids don't get written about much, even on wikipedia xD

Right. So. Ezio's going to be busy rebuilding Rome while he tried to find his kitty-'Cat, and Catherine is... well, not going to have fun. It's a slow, downward spiral for her, sadly ;( But we get to have the fun of watching it soooo eh. Hang tight folks :'D

P.S. Rome is very pretty and sooooooooo worth the visit one day! Highly recommend it to everyone :)