TMWolf: Wasn't sure if I was going to update or make y'all wait a week... but why not?

So.

Big important note: THERE IS ABOUT AN EIGHT MONTHS TIME SKIP. PLEASE NOTE THE DATE.

A LOT of time has gone by for Ezio. A LOT. This is a lot of time of Catherine being on her own, and Ezio trying to keep things together with his family and the city. I'm kinda stretching it a little bit, but this fits the timeline of things happening in the story best. Honestly, I kinda hate doing this in a way, because I feel like I can't SHOW the time skip as well as I should, but... nothing big happens that I want to show until now. So it like sucks for meeeeee soooo muuuuuuuch. But please just understand that Catherine has been missing for over half a year, Ezio has no idea what's happened to her, and it's just... yeah.

Blah. Anyways. Act II starts with this chapter, so have fun reading, and feel free to drop a review with comments, questions, critiques, or what not! :)

The song is from When In Rome - The Promise

Act II

Ares

12 – The Promise

January 30, 1501

Rome, Italy

Ezio inhaled deeply as he woke, sunlight filtering through the milky windows of his room in the hideout on Isola Tiberina. It lit the room just enough to make him stir, and he reached under his sheets, spreading his hand across the mattress. When he felt nothing he opened his eyes, brow scrunched together, and then sighed. He had forgotten he was alone here, in this bed. In this place. He couldn't begin to fathom how long it had been since he had the warm body of his wife next to him, and, not for the first time, he wondered how a man could stand sleeping alone. It was just too empty. Too lonely. To have lived with someone in his arms every night, and now to wake up with half the bed cold? It was torture. A kind of anguish he though he'd never endure again, yet here he was.

He numbed himself to it, though, and forced himself up as he did every morning. Most days, he would slip on his undershirt, trousers, and then his Assassin gear, but today he ignored it for a simple tunic and a casual belt that went with his boots. He tied his hair back loosely and left his room. Ironically, he found the empty hallway of the upper levels of the hideout more warm and welcoming than his own room, despite the only inhabitants being himself, a maid and a few servants who kept it clean, and his daughter. Then again, how could it not when half of him was missing, and his bed only served as a reminder?

Ezio shook his head, banishing the thoughts. Now was not the time for them, although they would always come again and again and again. He dared to say they never truly left him, and part of him never wanted them to. They hadn't when he'd first knew the agony of being alive and dead at the same time, and it was only the thought of his daughter that kept him from being a mess. She was the last light of his life, and even in his hour of weakness in the morning he could not help but suck in her warmth when he spotted her waiting just down the stairs for him. She did so every morning—save for when she slept with him on the odd occasion or if her night was filled with terrors—and he happily swooped her up, spinning her around, and held her in her arms.

"Papa! Ready for your day off?" Diana giggled, tugging at the white collar of his undershirt.

He grinned, "Just let me grab a bite to eat and we'll be off. You ate your breakfast, though, right?"

"Mmmhmm! Now, hurry!" she laughed with delight, and he obeyed. A quick trip to the kitchen to grab a bit of meat and bread, and he hoisted his daughter up higher into his arm before finally escaping a home that often felt more like a prison.

He squinted a bit as the sunlight hit him full force and used the moment to set his daughter down so she could take his hand instead. She pointed towards the market up the stairs to their right and tugged vehemently. He chuckled, ever endeared by her enthusiasm, and happily succumbed to her whims. All the while, he admired the tiny island that had come to serve his Order, and then gazed out upon the city he now called home.

A year had passed since coming to this city, and Ezio could honestly say Roma had changed for the better. An outsider might not have noticed much, and even a native to the large establishment might not have seen it, but things were different. In most cases, it was small matters; businesses once failing now thrived; new shops opened here and there; more children could be found playing in the streets, and people would walk and laugh and talk far more than before. Yet, in some ways, it was much bigger. Borgia Captains, once an imposing, widespread force in areas of the city, were now seldom, and with them went the brutality of the guards. Oh, they were still a force to be reckoned with, but the people did not fear them quite as much. If one looked, there was a gaiety in the air—a jubilance in the people that had not been there before. It was as though a heavy weight had been lifted on the city, and the effects had already spread far and wide.

Of course, the Borgia influence was not totally gone, and it always began to weasel back after enough pause. It didn't help the nobles were still under their heel for the most part, and the Vaticano district was as red with their enemy flag as could be. Certain sections in the countryside were still not liberated, and the French controlled another part, which could not be dealt with so easily—not when their entire army was held up in a fortress to the northeast. That, unfortunately, was not a task that could be taken care of by simply eliminating a few guards. No, the demise of the French general was the only solution, but the man was beyond reach. For now.

For Ezio, the notion that he could walk along the streets of Isola Tiberina with his daughter, her small hands held within his, dressed in normal attire and not be molested by guards, was all he really cared for. It hadn't been more than a few weeks since he felt it safe enough to bring his daughter to his headquarters, brought on by her constant asking to be with him. She'd spent months at Machiavelli's, and while she did enjoy his hospitality—he was now Uncle Machiavelli—and improving her education, she wanted to be with family, and Ezio would be in a coffin before he would let her stay with her aunt and grandmother in a brothel. Machiavelli was opposed to her going, the man having grown fond of her, but Ezio was confident the hideout was secure and with Borgia influence dwindling, he knew she would be safe. Most people on the island that were permanent were loyal to him and the Assassins, and no visitors would know better. That, and no one—not even the Borgia—knew him without his gear on.

"Papa, let's go there!" Diana called, tugging on his hand. He followed her pointing finger and couldn't help but chuckle. He crouched down, motioning with his head.

"What? You want to go the smithy? Now why would you want to do that?" he smirked, and then chuckled again when she pushed some his bangs out of his eyes. The locks had grown long lately, and he hadn't bothered to trim them. There was only one person he ever allowed to do it, and it didn't feel right to go to another.

"I want to see the swords, Papa!" she giggled, pushing his hair this way and that. "You have so many at home—I wanted to see the old man work on them!"

He raised a brow, "Not very lady-like."

"Mama wasn't," the girl huffed, and, despite the ache in his chest her words called forth, he smiled. He pulled his daughter into his arms, mindful of her new blue dress, and brought her up with him. She clung to his black tunic, head pressed to his. "Mama went to the… the smithy."

"That she did. She liked to make sure her sword and armor were in good shape. I have to go there every so often, too," he hummed as he made for the store, the older man and his apprentice already at work tempering a sword in the fires. He had other weapons pre-made and finished, set out for patrons to admire. There were armor sets as well, hand-crafted and expertly made. "So? What do you think? They have more than swords and armor, though. They have crossbows and smoke-bombs and even belts."

"Do you think I could have my own one day? Like you?" he asked, tilting her head curiously. Inside, the smithy's assistant waved, which Diana returned happily.

"Hmm… perhaps when you are older."

She huffed, cheeks pouting, "Giovanni and 'Rico were given stuff at my age."

"That's different—and, no, don't give me that look. You're still too young, and you need to focus on your studies first. We'll talk about you learning to fight when you're older."

"Ugh, Papa," she groaned, but did not press the issue. She focused, instead, on the smithy working the blades until, as she always did, grew bored with that activity. They moved onto the next, which happened to be the art shop. There they purchased a few drawing supplies for the young girl and a painting or two to decorate the hideout—he'd started a gallery, not unlike the Villa, if only to make the place feel more like a home than a headquarters. Diana enjoyed it especially, and had even taken up drawing once more, although wished Leonardo were there to help. Ezio wished his friend was there, too, but he'd not heard from the artist in an age, and while he worried, he knew the man would be alright. He'd find him if he weren't—somehow.

Ezio took his daughter through the market, the small square teeming with people and sunlight, flickering through the space between buildings and the leaves of trees. No guards were to be found, but there was no need; the island wasn't worth their attention, and the Assassin would have made sure they did not feel safe enough to stay. Whatever the case, it made things far more peaceful, and all the more beautiful. The heart of Roma was just to the north and the east, and opposite to that was the vast and just as beautiful countryside. Tiberina was the perfect spot in the middle, and it made things all the better for the man and his daughter. He even had a favorite spot with her, a small bench near one of the higher points, that had a grand view of both the city and countryside, the river diving it down the middle. There he held her in his lap, leaning back against the wall of a building, and hummed softly. Diana fiddled with her new things, including a book they'd picked up, which she read aloud. Her abilities had grown a great deal since her education, and so her level of reading had increased as well. Ezio swelled with pride as she spoke without stuttering, wondering how he could be so blessed with a wonderful child.

"Your tutor must be elated with your progress," he chuckled as he brushed some of her loose hair back, making sure to do it as his mother had taught him. He was her main care taker now, despite her tutor and the maid he'd been given—chosen by Machiavelli personally—and he preferred it that way. His wife normally would have seen to it, as she had some innate affinity for it he lacked and could never fully understand, but they were all each other had right now, so he took enjoyment with it. Diana liked it, too, he'd come to notice.

"Yep! Although, she still fusses over how I talk, but I don't think that matters much. As long as I write okay and read and speak the other languages, what does it matter how I talk in Italian? You and Mama talk this way. Uncle and 'Vanni and 'Rico did, too," she huffed, holding her head haughtily.

Ezio chuckled, "You are quite the devilish child. When did you learn to be so cheeky?"

"Mama said from you, but you say from her," the girl hummed, pulling a laugh from her father. Silence followed once he settled, though, and he sensed a change in the little girl in his arms. He shifted, leaning forward to look at her. The book was flat on her lap, hands spread on top, but her gaze was to the city. Her dark eyes were glazed over some, her mind somewhere else. He waited as she thought, and was attentive when she finally looked to him. "Papa… is Mama where Uncle Mario and Ottavio and 'Rico are?"

His heart dropped as he swallowed hard, "What do you mean, little one?"

"My tutor has me reading the Bible… We talked about Heaven," she replied, looking back out to the landscape. "Auntie and Grandma try to hide it, but when they visit… they mention things. Auntie misses them—says they're in Heaven. They've been gone since we left home… since Mama left. Is Mama in Heaven, too?"

When she looked to him again, Ezio nearly broke. He hadn't done so for a long, long time; months now—not since Rodrigo Borgia had told him his Catherine was gone; that he had been too late. He had held it together after that dreadful night because he had to. Diana had needed him, and Rodrigo had not said his wife was dead. Just gone. Taken away. His second child, too, was supposedly gone, and while he had told himself all this time they were still alive, he couldn't deny the possibility they could be dead. It was a reality he refused to fully accept to, but the thought was there: that he had failed them. He had been too slow; too uncertain; too weak. He should have acted faster, more firmly, and because he couldn't be that man, he couldn't save them.

And yet, he forced himself to hold on to hope as much as he'd forced himself to remain strong for his Diana. He couldn't keep smiling if he didn't, and his daughter needed his smile; needed him to believe. She needed her mother, and, in time, she would need her new brother or sister. So he pushed back his fears, which threatened to render his will to nothing but dust, and smiled at his little girl. He brushed her cheek gently and kissed her brow.

"No, Diana, your Mama is not in Heaven. She is alive. I can feel it—in my heart. She's alive and fighting the bad man who hurt us."

Diana waited a moment before frowning, "Then why doesn't she come home? Doesn't she miss us?"

"Of course she does… it's just not safe for her to come back yet, but she will."

"What if she's in trouble, though? Auntie always told me how you do dangerous things. You and Mama. What if she's hurt?"

He pulled her closer, "Then I'll find her. I'll find her and bring her back—to you. To us."

"…You promise?" she asked quietly, a small hand coming to grab his fingers. He squeezed hers right on back, pressing his head against hers.

"I swear it," he whispered softly. She pulled away suddenly, surprising him, but then shifted so she could look right at him—directly into his eyes. She watched him for a good, long while, as if seeing deeper. A part of him feared she could see the truth, so he did his best to believe in his frail hope.

"…Okay. I trust you, Papa," she said at last, reaching up to touch his cheeks. Ezio let out a silent sigh of relief and kissed her palm.

"You are a kind girl… but I think it is time we head back."

"Aww, do we have to?" she huffed, her inner child—that innocence he adored—returning. She pouted when he nodded, "Ugh. Fiiiine… I'm hungry, anyways."

"We'll have Francesca make your favorite for lunch. Come on then," the Assassin chuckled as he nudged his daughter from his lap. He took her hand in his, and they made back for the hideout. As always, he kept watch on those around him, although he was laxer here. Still, one could not be too safe, and he would be sure to take the main entrance in this garb. He had to pause, though, as an odd conversation reached his ears.

"—wolf men!"

The Assassin frowned as he suddenly crouched down and raised a finger to his lips. His daughter nodded, and, although she didn't fully understand, she pretended to be busy with something. They were thankfully near a bench so he was able to sit there, pretending to be nothing but a passerby with his child as he listened in.

"They've been so crazy lately! They attacked some poor courier!" a male voice rasped. When Ezio followed it, he found an older man, perhaps around his age, speaking with a younger fellow. They both looked stressed, or at least exasperated by things. If it involved the Followers of Romulus, he wasn't surprised.

"They weren't this bad before! I think it's La Lupa!"

The older man scoffed, "La Lupa?"

"Yes! Don't you know the rumors? Some woman dressed as a white wolf has been attacking the wolf men!"

"I know the rumors, but she's a follower, too! She attacks the couriers! She's probably their new leader."

"You think the wolf men would let her lead them? Bah! She's causing the unrest! I would bet my life on it! She's making them more—more wild."

"More like sending them out, making them more bold!" the older man snapped, but then shook his head and waved a hand. "Bah, just talking about is making my gut uneasy. La Lupa or Wolf men or whatever, they're causing trouble. Wish the Borgia would do something about it! All they do is bully us and take our coin!"

The younger man jerked, eyes shooting this way and that, "Don't speak so loud! Sure, they don't come here, but they're always listening! We should just stop talking about it entirely! I don't need the Wolf men or the Borgia or that La Lupa coming after me!"

Ezio let the conversation drift from his focus, mind mulling over what he'd heard. The Followers of Romulus acting up—again? He'd dealt with some before, but he'd only found one other entrance since his first encounter. They were sneaky devils, and their dens were near impossible to find although he knew their sigil. It seemed he needed to go hunting again, lest they cause more trouble for the people. Better yet, if he did, the Borgia had less men on their side—less influence over the people. He did not know anything of this La Lupa, nor had he encountered the person before despite their uniqueness. A follower that was a woman was certainly unusual, although whether she was an ally or foe was hard to tell. He hoped the former, but if it was the latter, then perhaps he had found the key to disrupting the Followers activities.

"Come, Diana. It seems I have work to do," he spoke softly and started moving again.

"Okay, Papa. Gonna fight the bad guys?" she asked, to which he nodded.

"Yes. I have to go take care of some bad men. You stay here with the maid and don't leave until I come back, alright?"

"Don't worry, Papa, I know. And if danger comes I use the tunnels to go to Uncle Machiavelli's."

"That's my girl."

-O-

Ezio peered through the bars of the tunnel, making sure no guards were around, and then slipped out of the underground tunnel entrance and into the afternoon crowd. He was in the more up-scale section of the city, so more Borgia were about, but he needed to pay a visit to a particular comrade—one who might help him locate the Followers and tell him a bit more of what was going on. Rumors were only so much to go on, although more often than not "so much" turned into a lot, and he wanted more details before he rushed in. As such, he ventured through the streets, making sure to avoid too much unwanted attention, and slipped into an alleyway behind a manor. He scaled the metal fence and dropped down into an extravagant garden that even had a fountain. He came to the side door, rapped twice, and after a few moments a young steward opened the door for him. He slipped in and went ahead of the young lad into a study where a familiar face was busy mulling through a book and stack of papers.

"Good to see you, Ezio, although I am a bit surprised at your visit. You normally send word," Machiavelli hummed, book still in hand.

"My apologies—this was an unplanned visit. Don't worry, I'll be quick. I just need information about some rumors I heard today," he explained as he approached. The man glanced at him, acknowledging his words. "Word of the Followers of Romulus came up. Something about them acting up—and a potential new leader. Or ally.

Machiavelli paused in his reading, brow raised, so he went on, "Apparently a woman Follower… of sorts. They said they call her La Lupa. They think she's either a new leader or an enemy. No confirmation. Either way, they think she's causing them to act up. Have you heard of this?"

"Hmm… I have heard talk of the Followers attacking more in the last few months, though nothing terribly serious… but this La Lupa is new. To me, at least. That is the name of the she-wolf that suckled Romulus, suggesting a potential leader, but the Followers have never been known to have women in their ranks. Rather, they treat them quite poorly, so this is quite a strange thing."

"It seems I must investigate then—and stop the Followers causing trouble. I don't know where attacks have been happening, however."

Machiavelli stood, turning to his shelf where he began to shift through books, "Luckily I do… or at least I have been keeping track. As it stands, the majority of trouble lately has been around the Pyramid of Cestius. There should be an entrance there… my men have not found anything, but I imagine you will have more luck."

"The Pyramid, hmm? Very well. Thank-you, Machiavelli. I will report my findings when I return. Oh, and Diana sends her regards," he chuckled, and was almost a little surprised to have the man smile.

"Let her know I send my warmest in kind. I admit… it is a bit less… excitable around here with her."

"Unfortunately for you, I have no intentions of giving her back. I'll see you later, my friend," Ezio chuckled, bowing his head, and leaving the exact same way he came.

He didn't have the route to the Pyramid of Cestius secured in his underground pathways, so he rode by horse instead. By no means a short ride, but not too long either; easily an hour or two at most, and shorter than walking. It was hardly evening by the time he reached the unusual construct; a face of a pyramid made of bricks that had some missing in spots and weathered sections. Vines had begun to grow here and there, and plenty of dust and grime had settled in places. He could not see an entrance. However, with a quick inspection—and a bit of help from his Vision—he finally found the damned sigil set upon a bronze plate, a wolf skull emplaced just above it, and a mark in the stone below. It was set against the face of a brick wall, and, like the other entrances, he rigged it to open with the help of his Hidden Blade. He pressed it open, noting the darkness waiting for him—and a steep slope to slide down on. He didn't quite understand why the Followers enjoyed such sliding, but he would endure it. Grumbling slightly, he lifted the panel, pulled himself in, and let his body slide down the slope.

It was not as easy a slide as he would have liked, and it ended with his body slipping out of a small indent in the wall and onto a fairly cold floor. If not for his gear, he might have shivered. Instead, he was kept comfortable—except for the skeleton bones he felt poking into his chest. He scowled at the sight and quickly stood up, brushing himself off. A glance around told him he was in a catacomb, the rather precise rectangular indents filled with bodies a pretty clear indication. There was only one way to go, and he could not help noticing there were torches set up—someone was using the tunnels. He had a feeling it was the Followers. There was only one way to find out, however, and so he began to walk the tunnels.

It was a much farther venture than he had expected, and possibly one of the lengthiest and most complex lairs he had come by thus far. Beyond skirting around corner of endless graves, leaping across pillars and platforms awaited him, and even after crossing perilous chasms, he ended up upon a wooden dock of sorts that overlooked perhaps the deepest chasm of all. It was in a particularly well-decorated and fancy grave—perhaps a nobleman's'—and the hole went on for quite some ways based upon the torch he dropped. Yet, it was the only way forward, and he knew the Followers were there. He hadn't failed to notice the signs during his trip here, including the fleeting glimpse of a figure racing past his sight in the hallways. So, he took the leap of faith downwards into the darkness.

To his surprise, and annoyance, more catacombs waited him below. Once catching himself on the ledges below and leaping to the new set of tunnels, he again set off. It was bothersome, but if it meant finding the Followers and this La Lupa, he would do it. Still, he would have liked if the Followers used more reasonable ways of getting to their Lairs.

His endurance and patience paid off, however, as he, at long last, came to a large room with a tall, double door, one of them already pushed open. The walls were adorned with ornate carvings in the rocky earth, and the door itself had intricate etchings and thick, metal rings. He passed through without hesitation, of course, and found himself with what might have been a church, but was most likely yet more of a tomb. It appeared still half-constructed in places, but it was occupied: a large fire was burning strong in a make-shift heart, and furniture had been moved around, some chairs overturned, while others upright. Better yet—there, in the distance; by the tall, imposing cross, was a figure. He could just barely make them out, but it was definitely a man and he was adorned in a wolf's coat. Above him, on a platform, was yet another man dressed in a wolf's skin.

At last.

"I seek those who lead the Followers of Romulus!" he bellowed, waltzing forward. The Follower at the base of the cross jerked, caught off guard, and quickly scrambled up towards the platform where his companion was. Ezio rolled his eyes, and made to give chase, but paused as a howl of pain rang out. He frowned, eyes narrowing as curses rang out as did the clang of steel. From the platform a body flew, falling to the ground below. The second follower came from the tunnel above as the Assassin darted towards them. He heard them grunt and then stagger back, slipping off the edge. In their place was another figure, this one with a decidedly different frame. It was a woman by the curves and the slimmer waist, and upon their head was the muzzle of a white wolf, one eye dark while the other still contained a golden iris. They wore white fur along the edges of their vest, and on their hip was an array of daggers to go with the one still in their hand. The Follower's gaze met his, though it was hidden beneath the wolf skin's white fur, almost shining like moonlight in the dark.

"Are you La Lupa?" he shouted to her, though he knew the answer.

"Are you one of the Assassins? You bear their colors," came the reply, and even he couldn't see her body, he could tell it was a woman's voice. It was a bit hoarse, though, and oddly seemed familiar. It was a silly thought, which he pushed away as he stepped closer.

"I am. Are you one of the Followers?"

"Never," she spat, venom in her voice. "I am retribution—to them and their Borgia masters."

"Then we are allies—the Assassins are no friend to the Borgia, and I seek to eliminate the leader of the Followers."

"Then it seems our goals are aligned."

He stepped closer, while she never moved, "Then perhaps we can help one another? I would be grateful for the aid of one who knows the lairs well."

"If you can make it up, perhaps we will see," the woman mused, gesturing with her dagger towards her feet. "They cut the rope."

"No problem—you will find us Assassins are quite the climbers," he chuckled, already glancing around for a way up. It didn't take long.

"Cocky, as well, it seems," she hummed back, and he could not help enjoying her wit, although he was not fool enough to let his guard down so quick.

He paused, though, considering something, "How do you know of the Assassins, but you are not of our enemies?"

"If you prove your worth, perhaps I will tell you. Good luck, Assassin," the woman called, turning around suddenly.

"Wait! What is your name?" he called, but she was already gone. Ezio sighed, but let it go as he began his climb up and mulled on his situation.

He could not consider the woman his ally, but she wasn't an enemy, per se. She had an obvious, deep hatred for the Followers—and the Borgia. That was something useful, and it could mean an alliance, which he needed for one who obviously knew the lairs of the Followers. How else would she be able to get behind them while wearing their garbs? It seemed the rumors had some truth then, although he could not help but wonder how they had come about. Furthermore, how did a woman get involved with the Followers in such a way? Who was she? How did she know the Assassins? Had she been one? From another country? The only Assassins here were himself, Catherine, and then their allies, but he doubted a courtesan would come to this life, and his wife was gone.

Unfortunately, his questions would only grow the longer he waited, so he kept them aside for now, focusing instead on his climb. It was complex, but no different than most of his other ventures and he managed to reach the cross within a few minutes. He vaulted to the wooden ledge after and was only a little disappointed when the woman was not there. She had left quite the bloody scene in the hallway, yet another follower left with his throat slit, blood staining his clothes, but otherwise she was gone. He was not surprised she had not waited, though, and so continued on. If she were truly an ally, they would meet again. And if she were truly an enemy, then they would still meet again, and it would be a clash of swords rather than words.

The journey through the catacombs was shorter this time, and when it ended, he came upon an archway leading into a small, circular room in terms of diameter, but reached many stories up. All around were pillars supporting the walls and floors, and in the center was a massive pillar with multiple levels of wooden platforms that made for an effective way up. All along the upper levels sections were missing, long since collapsed though the rest looked sturdy. The room was dark, lit by only torches. It was certainly foreboding, but he had faced worse things.

A howl rang through the expanse, followed by a malicious laughter and the scrape of metal against stone. A man emerged from around the pillar, a feral grin on his face to match that of his wolf skin. He was not alone, though; more Followers emerged from the shadows and the upper levels. Behind him, the portal he came through was sealed by an iron gate. The first man to appear flashed a toothy grin and spread his arms wide, flaunting his "power".

"Hear us, oh Romulus, what must we do this trespasser?" a voice spoke, echoing from above. Ezio knew at once it belonged to one of the men he sought. His followers snarled and growled like beasts as they came closer. He did not see the man who had spoken, however. No doubt he watched from some hidden enclave, letting his followers do his dirty work.

"Do not listen!" he bade, hoping they might hear him. Though he had killed many of the wolf men thus far, he knew some were simply brain-washed; influenced by pretty words and false power. False gods. Such men might be swayed to see another way. "Only the Borgia speak through him, not your god!"

"Romulus says that the Assassin must die!"

His Followers snarled again, acting more beast than man now. Ezio lamented it, but he would have to kill him. He glanced around quickly, looking for white among the dark coats. So far he saw none, and wondered if the "La Lupa" had been a figment of his imagination, or perhaps she had just been lying. Either way, he would have to fight.

"Go, my wolves! Kill hi—," the voice started, but was cut short. All paused as a body fell from above and crashed to the ground, blood and gore splattering from the broken body. Not a moment later, another follower, this one of feminine frame and a white-skinned wolf upon her brow, appeared on the banister high above. She threw herself downwards, landing upon the railing where she balanced herself well enough to use her dagger to cut the throat of the unlucky Follower who had been too close to it. She dropped down from there, right next to the body of her first victim. Around him, Ezio saw the Followers stir, and, just barely, he made out hushes; anxious whispers.

"Your voice of Romulus—your false God—is dead. Who wishes to join him?" the woman barked, arms spreading in challenge. Snarls followed, along with quick, sharp barks.

"She-bitch!" one hissed.

"Traitor!"

"You dare decal yourself La Lupa! Defiler! Liar!"

"Kill her!"

"Rip her throat apart!"

"Gouge out her heart!"

"Tear out her organs!"

The man began to converge, the woman's presence driving them into a savagely wild, blind fury. If he had any doubt the woman was the cause of the rumors, they were quashed. The rage she instilled in the men was genuine, and already they had practically forgotten him as they converged.

The woman crouched slightly, drawing a second dagger, "You are welcome to try."

The first Follower lunged, aiming for her backside, but she spun, blocking his dagger with her own, and then shoved the other into his gut and pulled it across his body. Blood poured out, along with some of his intestines and he dropped, gasping in agony. She let him go in favor of taking on the next, ducking beneath his strike and shoving one dagger into his groin—Ezio couldn't help but wince—and the other into his throat. Like the other, she let him drop as she drug her weapons free before readying for her next attacker. He would never reach her, though, as Ezio surged forward at the same time and used his Hidden Blade to stab the man in the side, knocking him down. The woman faced him slightly, still ready to block any daggers, and he liked to think she had a brow raised.

"Here to prove your worth?"

"I'm not one to leave a woman to fight wolves alone," he chuckled, and he heard her snort—with amusement.

"Very well, Assassin. Let us hunt," she mused, and the fight was on.

More Followers came, those from above finally joining the fray. They attacked like mad dogs, frothing at the mouth almost, and slicing with their claws. They were not skilled fighters, though; their blows were basic at best, unkempt at worst, and showed no signs of proper training. But why would they? They were meant to scare and occasionally harm a civilian—although sometimes they killed them—which didn't require much in the ways of finesse. As such, Ezio found it easy to block and evade their blows, although some came close due to their great numbers. That they had going for them, but his years of practice kept him aloof and bringing them down slowly, one by one.

When he could, the Assassin watched the woman, and was somewhat surprised to find she was never far from him—her back to his. He hadn't fully noticed until now, but he could not recall needing to cover his back in their fight. She instinctively knew to do it, and when he saw more of her moves, there were hints of technique, covered by an unexpected savagery. She showed no mercy, and her moves were quick, powerful, and left no chance of survival. She was a trained killer. It reminded him of his own skills.

Who was she?

"Assassin!" she suddenly snapped, and he barely had time to dodge as her dagger came by his face, blocking another meant for his brow. It knocked hers from her hand, but she caught his wrist, and spun downward in such a way the man flew over her and hit the ground. Her other dagger found itself imbedded in the man's neck before she wrenched it free, slicing his throat open up to his chin. Ezio watched, wide-eyed briefly, before ducking another Follower's attack, and ending him quickly. The move—it had been so odd, yet familiar. It made his mind race, though he barely had time to comprehend it.

"Do you want to die!? Don't let your guard down!" she growled at him, and he was glad she could not see his embarrassed look. Instead, he freed his sword and tossed it to her.

"For saving my face," he hummed, shifting so his back was to hers. He sensed her do the same, flicking the blade out and then up. She knew how to use it. She knew a lot of things.

"I'm sure your mother still would have loved it."

The rest of the Followers came, and they danced. They moved, as if sensing the other; her sword slicing through flesh, and his Hidden Blade parrying daggers and thrusting through armor to vital organs. As men fell, the two hunters twirled and spun, but always reunited in the center; back to back, never letting their guard down; never leaving the other exposed. It was a dance he knew but had not played out in an eternity, and it brought back a flood of memories he had kept at bay. It brought with it endless of questions, filled with hope and uncertainty, and disbelief, which ate at him as the wolves fell one by one.

And then it was done.

The dance was over. The drums of war ended, and the hunt was complete. All around, wolves lay dead, their blood painting the floor red and their daggers littering the stone with metal. Ezio looked around, both pleased and dismayed at the sight. So much death for a false gods, crafted by the Borgia to draw the people to the Church. Yet, it had to be done. He could not let them go on.

"Your sword—and my thanks. It seems Cesare underestimated the Assassins if they were able to come here without his knowing," the woman mused, holding out the weapon to him. He took it, gaze lingering on her as he sheathed the blade. He still could not make out her features, the white pelt hiding them perfectly, but he could see now she was quite fit and had wide, rounded hips to accent her hourglass shape. She was shorter than him, perhaps by inches, and carried herself like a warrior. Her voice, yet again, was familiar. Nostalgic even. It made his mind—and his heart—race.

It couldn't be, though.

It couldn't.

Yet the thought plagued him.

"I would call you La Lupa, my Lady… but I do not think that is your name, is it?" he inquired as she went by, making for the leader she had slain at the beginning. She turned him over, looking for something.

"No, it is not. A silly title, one they now rue," she replied simply, not looking up at him. "It has it's perks."

"Might I know yours then? We are to be allies, no?" he pressed, heart hammering in his head now. He needed to know her name. See her face. He had to know the truth.

"Shouldn't a gentleman introduce himself first?" she quipped, and his hope soared again. Whatever she wanted from the man, she didn't seem to find, and sighed with exasperation as she stood up. At the same time, the Assassin pulled back his hood, revealing his face.

"My name… is Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

The woman paused and then spun around. She said nothing, her mouth perhaps agape, but then—a gasp. A strange, almost garbled sound of confusion and something else. He saw her shake as her hands reached up to her wolf head cowl and pulled it back.

"You're alive."

Ezio's heart stopped.

Her hair had been cut, the once long locks tamed by a ponytail were now a short, tangled mess that fell to her shoulders with one side slightly longer than the other. He could tell a few strands of her front bangs were a bit matted, perhaps with blood. Dirt had been smudged on her face, but he could still make out her freckles clearly. A scar ran across her face, from the left side of her cheek, almost to her nose. Her face looked thinner and a little paler, but her hazel eyes were still strong and bright. There was a change, though—something in the depth of those irises was off. He could not say what, but even so.

It was Catherine. His Catherine. His wife. His love. His Catherine.

She was alive.

Despite everything and all his fears, she stood before him—right here. Right now.

It was if he could suddenly breathe again. The weight that had held him down for so long lifted, and the world felt new again. The anguish from the morning felt so far away, and a part of him that had been missing for so long came back to him in a rush. It nearly brought him to his knees and at the same time lifted him high above the dark ceiling. The months of sorrow were washed away in that moment, and it was if they never happened as happiness filled him instead.

His feet moved without his knowing, and he had her in his grasp. He held her tight and crashed his lips against hers. Her arms latched around him at once, and a passion he had once forgotten burst inside him. Any pain and agony that might have lingered were completed erased as pure relief and joy washed over him. He let out a sob of sorts, his eyes brimming with tears, and he pulled away only to push his forehead to hers. She let out was sounded like a half-sob, half-laugh as she reached up to cup his face. He could barely breathe or even think with how loud his heart beat, swollen with happiness. His hope had been made real. Catherine was here, in his arms, alive.

He had found her.

"God, I can't believe—I thought…" he rasped, pulling her closer to him.

She drew her thumb across his lips, eyes roving over him, "I thought you'd died. Cesare said he killed you. I—God, I thought… I thought I'd never… but you're here. You're really here. Please tell me you're real. Please don't let this be a dream."

"No—no, no, I'm real. I'm so very real. I'm real, Catherine. It's me. Oh, God, you're here. I found you. I finally found you. I found you," he sobbed and kissed her again. The moment lasted much longer, the world around them forgotten as the lovers reunited, long forgotten joy renewed.

"How did you come here—to this place?" he asked after another pause, barely able to contain himself but forcing his exuberance down.

"It's—so much has happened," she spoke, her voice near a whisper now, and he suddenly realized how hoarse and tired it sounded. Her eyes grew dark, too; something hiding within the green color. Her fingers clenched, and he sensed her tense, but it was only for a moment before her body relaxed and returned to how it was. Questions slammed against his mind, anyways: what had happened to her? Where had she been for all this time? What did the Borgia do to her? What did the Followers do to her?

"You must tell me… but—Gods… Diana! Oh, Diana, she needs to see you! She's missed you so much! Everyone needs to see you—to know you're alive! There's so much to say—to do!" he gasped, cupping her face in his hands. She smiled, leaning into his touch. It was an act they had done so much before, yet he could not help thinking it seemed different. Her smile was off, but what of it? She was alive. That was all that really mattered.

"She's okay? She's alright? She made it out?" the redhead rasped, grasping his shirt tightly.

He nodded, "Yes! Diana, Claudia, and Maria—and Giovanni! They made it out! We have to bring you to the hideout! We have a new home. I've been rebuilding the Order and—oh, Gods, you're alive, and just—!"

"Take me to her, Ezio. Please. I need to see her. I need to see Diana," Catherine spoke quietly, the desperation palpable. He paused, surprised, but nodded, and kissed her one last time, putting all the love he could into it. He brushed a lock out of the way, although it fell back anyways, too short to go behind her ear. He smiled as best he could as he took her hand in his, fingers entwined.

"Let's go home, my love," he spoke softly, and, the carnage around them forgotten, they ascended the spire, and ventured back out into the world above.

12 – End

TMWolf: So, again, a LOT of time has passed even though it's only been one chapter and I hate how it feels like, to me, it's not shown well but blah. *flails*

Also, if you think this is going to go to happy places...

Well that's where you're wrong ;)

Have fun noticing all the signs in this chapter the the ones coming yaaaaaaaaay.