Happy (Belated) New Year! I was hoping to get this done and posted before 2022 ended. And then the first day of 2023... and then the 2nd...

And, well yeah, days later. XD ANYWAY, happy belated birthday to our homegirl Claudia Auditore.

Not much to say besides, ENJOY!

~*XX*~

Dog Days Are Over

January 2, 1477

The morning was a damp and dreary one. Not too thick to potentially inspire a Stephen King fan into summoning unholy monsters from the mist, but just enough that two bundled-up fugitives couldn't see past a small grove of trees across the road. Now and then, a whisper of a breeze brushed past, not quite strong enough to dispel the thick muffling fog, but rather causing it to swirl into strange eerie shapes that distorted and dispersed in the blink of an eye.

By the looks of it, it had once been a farmhouse. The march of time, however, saw it reduced to four crumbling walls, a sagging ceiling, and a bucked wooden floor with weeds stubbornly poking through the cracked foundation. The rest of the farm did not fare any better, with the only thing still sturdy being a single bench built underneath the bare branches of a great tree. Tristan sat down, waiting for her companion to return from… whatever he was doing behind that bush. The horses had been tied out back by the old stable, far from prying eyes. Even though the fog made that problematic. Besides, Tristan had a suspicion that to any passerby, it was nothing more than a haunt for the local kids or a hiding spot for those of ill repute. (Something that made Tristan quietly snort.) Little did the travelers realize it sat atop a long-forgotten tunnel system built years ago.

Where that entrance was, however, Federico had slyly kept to himself. "Somewhere," he hummed while waiting for Claudia and their mother. He had been fidgeting with the thick cloak that Annetta had given him. Eventually, he gave up, stooping to shoulder the thick bag at his feet. He had chosen to wear something discreet under it, packing away his newly gifted robes. Tristan suspected it was because he didn't want them to get dirty so soon after receiving them. Although, the faint glint of metal on his hip indicated that he had prepared for the worst. "Just be sure to be there."

Tristan crossed her arms, making a face. "Well, duh."

Had his answers been annoying? Sure. But looking back, maybe it was because he didn't even know. Perhaps he only knew it had been some abandoned farm because his father had told him about it. Which... admittedly had Tristan worried, but she kept that to herself. Especially when Claudia came down the stairs, forlorn and red-eyed. She no longer wore the opulent or bright colors Tristan had associated with her in their brief tenure together. Instead, she, too, wore plain, drab clothing that wouldn't draw any unwanted attention. Her faded dress, a loan from Annetta or even Paola by the looks of it, hung off her slender frame. Her hair had lost its high status, now down and hidden under a shawl. The poor kid was having a bad time with this, but who could blame her, given the circumstances?

The only thing that truly stood out was the slender, chained silver pendant around her neck as Maria entered with their host. One Tristan didn't remember her having from earlier.

The last Tristan saw of them were the three making their way in the general direction of the Palazzo Auditore. Paola had been the first to turn away, momentarily pausing when she was even with her. "Help keep them safe," she murmured under her breath, fixing Tristan with a look. One that promised many things if things happened otherwise. Of course, she was. She wasn't going to turn her back on the people who took her in and helped now. Not because Paola intimidated her to kingdom come. No, of course not.

After they had arrived, for shits and giggles, she had scratched around for anything suspicious, but it had proven a fruitless endeavor. Wherever the old Assassins had built their entrance, it had been hidden cleverly well.

Tristan blew a soft breath down the inside of her recently returned scarf, now thankfully clean, in an attempt to warm her cheeks as another breeze tickled them. She held the Clock between her fingers, now and then absently rotating it as the sun's weak light caught the broken glass and gold. She paused to bring it up to her face. The bane of her existence looked far worse in the dim lighting. There even appeared to be new cracks forming along the rim, causing tiny spiderwebs to form. Or had they been there this entire time, and she had merely been blind? She followed one in particular as it raced around the edge, taking a sharp dive and cutting across the strange word across the back. She didn't know why she had it out in the first place; it just seemed like a thing to do, and admittedly, the weight and the feeling of something solid between her hands settled her in such a shaky situation.

"I hope it was right about you." The woman's words breezed through her head as she kept staring, taking her thumb to stroke its surface. Weird, since that "It" sounded like a proper noun— as if it was some entity. Did that mean Pieces of Eden were sentient? She wracked her brain for anything her father may have said, but the only bits and pieces that she did remember were merely mentions of all-powerful weapons that could have been Pieces of Eden. Never supercomputer-like things. Although, she wouldn't put it past a mysterious precursor race to create one. "You must balance the scales, Viator. Before it's too late... For all of us." That didn't sound foreboding at all. Thanks, crazy lady. Her frown tightened. Which brought with it another line of thinking: if the Clock she had was sentient, did that make the Pale Lady Cortana, or something?

And she had called her... what was it? Viator? Twice now? The fuck was that even supposed to mean? Ezio had said it meant 'traveler'— which, while a little on the nose, wasn't wrong. After all, she was a time traveler and had been unceremoniously dropped into knee-high levels of Assassins-Templar bullshit. Again. Not to mention, literally used as bait and then nearly as a guinea pig because of it.

"The Prophet's message holds that of our salvation, but it is the Viator who must ensure these truths to be delivered— or else face the fires of our destruction," Tristan murmured from memory, an annoying itch beginning to make itself known in the back of her head. Time travel, Pieces of Eden, a vengeful spirit, an ancient war, and— worrisome of all— a poor schmuck from Abstergo. How was all of this connected? It appeared that something, or someone, had messed with this great giant Rubik's cube, and now she was expected to try and get it back together with all of its pretty colors perfectly even. She dropped her hands in her lap with a frustrated sigh, resuming her slow rotation.

She managed a small smile, but it was gone in a flash as a pang hit her. Perhaps it was a pointless endeavor to dwell on. One saved for later when they weren't fugitives on the bud. However, it was a weird, if not a silly notion— if, no, when she gets back— this whole thing could be the foundation for their next game. Everyone loved time travel mechanics, right?

The last time she had gotten an idea for a new game so intense as this had been on the front porch of the Alvarez Ranch.

No one knew precisely when it was settled, just that it had been in their family since Mexico was still in charge. Much has changed over the years, but the feeling of it being home was not one of them. Something Tristan held in her chest as she settled in one of the rocking chairs that looked out over the rolling hills that backed up against the Gabilán Range.

Andrea Meyers coolly flicked her eyes between Tristan and the red pack as she smacked the bottom against her leg. Summer was in full swing by then, and her mother's usually free-flowing hair was stuffed up inside a battered San Diego Chargers ballcap. They were cooling off with a couple of Ballast Points after mucking the stables that morning with the radio lowly crooning some classics in the background. It had been less than a year since they had lost abuelita to cancer, but they still found comfort in being around the garden she had placed her heart and soul into. The flowers were in full bloom, visited by the bees and an occasional hummingbird.

"Mija," she exasperatedly observed in Spanish, placing her beer on the porch railing. "I thought you were quitting."

"I am." Despite the dread having woven its heavy blanket onto her shoulders at the subject matter to come, Tristan resisted the urge to grin, shaking the pack before sliding a cigarette out. "Last pack, see? Also, I could say the same for you," she jutted her chin out, a brow cocked.

Her mother sniffed, pushing the poorly hidden ashtray at her elbow towards Tristan before putting a handout. "Alright, you caught me. One last time, then. But I swear, Tristan Beatrice Meyers, if I ever catch you doing it again, I swear I'll—"

"Anything yet?" Ezio cut into the memory, his voice scraping against her ears.

Tristan numbly slid the Clock back into the bag, wrapping her arms around it. "Nope." She shook her head forlornly, resisting the urge to look at the now-empty spot besides her. How long had it been since she last spoke to her mom? Had it truly been a year? Some daughter she was, she mulled in anguish.

Ezio quickly (thankfully) occupied it with a huff, his leg refusing to stand still as it restlessly bounced up and down as he, too, stared out over the field. "They're late," he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he placed his chin in hand. "Should have been here by now."

Tristan tore her gaze to send a sympathetic look— schooling her surprise. There had been a thick tension this morning, and what little words the two brothers spoke to each other had been short and curt. Which made her wonder what in God's name Federico had said— no, she shook her head. It wouldn't do her any good dwelling on it. Even with the tension, Ezio still cared, and all of them still had a singular goal in mind. Tristan didn't see this... disagreement, interfering with it. However, if that changed, she'd be more than happy to talk or smack some sense into their heads to get them to recalibrate. "I'm sure they're fine. I think your brother's been through these tunnels before. If anything, he's probably taking his time to ensure they're not being followed."

He made an exaggerated motion as he sighed heavily. "Yes, Tristan, I know that, but—" he ran a hand through his hair, making it further stick up. Although, the unsaid parts that floated in the air between them were just as loud as those spoken. But maybe he's lost with Claudia and Mother. Perhaps they ended up in the wrong place. Or maybe they were caught. Or maybe we can't follow directions, and we're at the wrong place— She willed the intrusive thoughts away as she hugged the bag tighter to her chest, furrowing her brows as she counted in her head. How long had it been, anyway?Not long enough to warrant sudden panic.

Ezio had also opted to pack up his robes, wearing his usual unassuming attire. He blended well with the other passengers that walked through the imposing gates. Despite their tight grips on the horses' reins, it had been surprisingly simple to exit the city. And even though they were here, on this bench, she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yet the result was the same: she and Ezio had slipped out, unharassed and unnoticed. They didn't even need to pull out their false documents all the way as an impatient, half-yawning gate guard immediately waved them through.

"—still can't believe we had passages in our home's walls of all things. And tunnels that were under our feet this whole time." He palmed the back of his neck, sounding equally awestruck and baffled while he chewed on it. "It explains much, though."

"Oh?" She absently hummed, her attention lasering on a suspicious-looking figure in the distance, only to be half-relieved, half-disappointed that it was merely a lone scraggly tree by the road. The damn fog was really playing tricks on her mind this morning.

"Why my father seemingly appeared out of nowhere even though I swore I saw him upstairs."

This time, Tristan swiveled in her seat, blinking. Then an amused smile began to spread across her face. That... sounds familiar. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or to groan, but it was a struggle to keep a straight face as she raised a brow. "Like his office?"

"Yes." He went to nod but stopped mid-action as he glanced at her. "Wait— how did you know that?"

She dipped a shoulder into a shrug, casually playing with a strand of hair as that same smile threatened to spill across her face again. "A... hunch, you could say."

His brows furrowed even further before a snort of realization escaped him. "Federico?"

"Federico."

Ezio rolled his eyes, and the tension left his figure briefly, only to be replaced with an exasperated fondness. "I am not surprised. Sounds like something the bastard would do."

Like father, like son, she mused, glancing up at the silver bellies of the fog banks rolling overhead. Her amusement soured as she realized it was getting darker, not lighter. Out loud, she began to ask, "Think this is going to—"

But Ezio abruptly put a hand up for her to stop; all confusion, amusement, or whatever the in-between he had had was gone, only to be replaced with deadly seriousness. "Did you hear that?" He turned to stare intently at what she presumed was the back of the farm, where the crumbling remains of what looked to be a shed and another smaller building, perhaps a grain house of some kind, stood like a giant's fingers rising out of the ground. She shaded her eyes, following Ezio's line of sight. She didn't see anything, but—

Tristan dropped her hand and was about to ask what he had heard, but then there it was: a scraping sound, like brick against brick, followed by a low creaking. Something was opening, and they stiffened with bated breath. Seconds passed, then a minute before Ezio made a low sound, similar to a birdcall of one of the local birds she had seen while out and about in the city, and he immediately relaxed when an echoing one-note call answered back. "It's them," he said with relief, dusting himself off, and straightening.

Ah, Tristan tugged the scarf down, blowing a stray strand out of her face as she went to follow. The good ol'- fashioned bird call. It was nice that even if there were five hundred years between now and the 21st century, some things remained universal.

They trekked towards the back of the house, and in the middle of what must have been a cellar at one point, a rather clever-looking latch had been opened, revealing the rungs of an old but still functional ladder descending into darkness. Tristan mentally kicked herself as Maria was helped out by a dusty and cobweb-covered Federico. It had been under their feet this whole time!

"Well, didn't you take your sweet time." She sidled up next to him, ignoring his annoyed side-eye. "We were starting to wonder if you had gotten lost in the deep dark tunnels after all." She glanced as Ezio escorted Maria and Claudia over to the horses, dropping her voice when the others were out of earshot. "I hope you didn't run into any trouble?"

"No." Federico went to pat himself off, grimacing as a cloud of dust began to form around him. He then cast one last look inside the yawning maw of the tunnel before lifting the heavy door to slide it back into place with a grunt. Before it settled, she swore she heard the fading noise of what sounded like departing footsteps. But, of course, that could have been anything, and she was merely hearing things. "Just a fox is all."

Her foot scraped against what was once the open door, basking in awe at how well-blended it was against the moss-covered brick. Only if Tristan squinted could she see the faintest hairline of a fissure that indicated something was there. "Amazing," she couldn't help but murmur. This was truly Assassin engineering at its finest, making her wonder if these tunnels had survived until her time. Had her dad known about these?

They joined the others, quickly tying down the last of the supplies between the three horses—two mares with long, strong legs between them and a thicker gelding that looked to be part draft horse. Thanks to all those summers at Abuelita's, Tristan had ensured each of them had been in good health with good shoes and no discernible issues before money so much as exchanged hands. The last thing they needed was to be short-changed by a shady weasel of a stable hand. (Federico had not been joking when he had said that, either.)

Ezio chose the darker of the two mares, quickly mounting and coaxing her forward. Claudia took a tentative step forward, although her gaze kept returning to the city line, the whites and reds of towers rising out of the fog. "Will we ever return?" She quietly asked after a long stillness, hands bunched in the material of her dress.

An awkward silence followed, and the brothers shared a brief but pained look between them. "Perhaps one day we will," Federico spoke first, stopping next to her, partaking in his own form of grieving as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. When she looked up, he attempted his best reassuring smile. "Until that day, our home is wherever we are. Where our family is." He gently squeezed. "Together."

Claudia said nothing, choosing instead to hug him back. They stayed silent for a bit before he beckoned Ezio to come over, helping Claudia mount behind him.

"And you—" Tristan didn't even look at him as she gripped the mane and the back of the saddle, heaving herself up and over. She bit back a grunt as her leg protested the movement, and even worse when it banged against the other side as she slipped her foot into the stirrup. Fuck, she could hear Brent practically yelling at her about just how stupid she was being. She shouldn't be walking, let alone riding a fucking horse.

"I might be rusty, Rico, but I think I can manage," she lied through her teeth, gripping the reins between her hands to focus on something rather than the pain. It wasn't like they had a better option. Besides, once they got into a comfortable pace, she could slip her leg out and let it hang if need be. "How long until we reach your uncle's?"

Federico peered up at her with quite the disapproving frown, clearly debating with himself before he averted his eyes to the sky and the dim coin that was the sun trying to poke through. "Tonight, if the weather doesn't worsen and we're able to keep a steady pace. If not—" he mounted the gelding, a speckled white who didn't move a muscle as Federico pulled his mother up behind him. "We find somewhere to hole up for the night and arrive sometime tomorrow. But Tristan, if it gets too much," he pulled his horse up next to hers, staring pointedly. "Say something, or else."

He didn't wait for her to answer before he turned his horse's head and urged him onto the road. But Tristan glowered at his back all the same, fingers twitching. That suspiciously sounded like a threat. "Try it, Hoodie Boy," she muttered under her breath as Ezio followed next, Claudia's arms wrapped around him. The former was hiding a smirk, though, and she shot a scowl at him too.

Tristan, however, hesitated for a moment, looking back. She ignored the mare's impatient pawing as she waited for... something. She was rewarded with a brief gap in the fog, revealing the very tops of the towers.

"What will happen to our home, then?" She heard Claudia say.

Her chest clenched again. Home.

Ezio's voice drifted back to her as a long sigh. "I don't know."

Florence was not hers, Tristan knew, but—

"You're always welcome here." Her mother had tried her best, but the smile she had pasted on didn't quite reach her eyes. In fact, they were downright sad. "But I know why you're doing this."

Tristan worked out the kink in her neck, purposely avoiding her mother's knowing gaze. When it didn't work, her shoulders slumped, and she frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom."

Andrea dropped all pretense at neutral diplomacy as her smile fell. "I'm many things in my old age, Tristan, but stupid and blind are neither of them."

Old? She had just turned fifty-three with nary a stray grey hair on her head.

Tristan's hand that had been resting on the rail tightened until the knuckles became white. The radio had switched from Southern Nights to one of Fleetwood Mac's. "I'm not accusing you of either. You know that. But what am I supposed to do? Let this opportunity pass me by? I finally have a chance to do something meaningful that doesn't include getting involved with a fucking war."

"And you've done that and then some." Andrea quietly said before puffing out a cloud of smoke, her eyes watching it lazily float through the air. It took a while for them to flick back to Tristan. "All I want for my kids is for them to be happy with whatever path they choose. With however or whomever they want. I am proud of you. For everything that you've accomplished." She sent a pointed look. "And despite what you may think, so is your father."

"Right," Tristan drawled, lips twisting as acid rose in her throat. "Just so proud. His only kid who doesn't want to join the merry band of Assassins and their adventures in Murder and Death. Who, after years of being dragged around the world, is about to start a new chapter in her life doing what she chose to do since that's what she had been taught since birth. And he isn't even here to see her off because of it." She did a half-turn to gesture around them. "Unless he suddenly knows how to turn invisible now."

Andrea's face pinched.

"Do you even know where he is now?"

Her mother's shoulders sagged, eyes drawn to the green rolling hills slowly fading into gold and brown, topped with their oak and stone crowns. She took a long drag from the cigarette before she answered next, voice hollow. "His last letter had mentioned how nice Rochester looked this time of year."

Tristan nodded, lips drawn tight as she snuffed the Camel a little too harshly under her boot, "My point is made." She already regretted opening her mouth, but pride had her turning away, pawing at her helmet and jacket.

"I'll let you know when I land." She had thrown it over her shoulder, tight-lipped. "You can put that in your next letter to dad. Wherever he is now."

She doesn't remember ever saying goodbye, after that. Or even a quick "love you."

Tristan heard her name called, and she reluctantly turned in her saddle, shaking out of the memory. And yet something steeled her heart, gave her purpose. She refused to have those words be the last she ever spoke to her mom face-to-face. Still, though, she occasionally glanced over her shoulder as the city she had become familiar with grew smaller and smaller. Eventually, they came to a small hill and began to ascend. One by one, the towers disappeared back into the fog bank, with the great dome the last; a single bastion of white and red standing guard before it, too, succumbed to the grey. As they crested the hill and went over it entirely, it was then Tristan turned to face the unknown, digging her heels to catch up.

~*End*~

AND WE'VE LEFT FLORENCE.

FINALLY.

But oh, what's this? Do we get a sneak peek of Tristan's past? :):):) Also, fun fact but not a history fun fact since it's more logistics: it takes about ten hours to reach Monteriggioni from Florence on horseback— just in case you needed to know xD

TK's History Fun Facts
I'm going to throw some horsey facts at you since that's the reason why I decided to do TK's History Fun Facts in the first place. I was going to have a bit on Western saddle horns and how they didn't exist in the Renaissance, but that's going to wait until the next chapter :)

Stirrups
Stirrups are believed to have been invented as early as 200 BCE during the Han Dynasty, but they were a far cry from their modern counterparts today, only serving as a tool to mount. By the time 447 CE rolled around, however, this simple but ingenious invention was widespread across all of China as heavy cavalry was implemented more and more in combat. Eventually, by the late 6th or early 7th century CE, it would make its way to Asia and Europe, going through several variations on the way. Some argue that the stirrup is as monumental as the wheel and the word press.

Horses, Horses Everywhere
As of the present, there are over twenty-five Horse breeds whose ancestors originated in Italy, some allegedly ranging as far back as 4-5 B.C.E. And while I won't go into specifics of each and every breed, I do have an idea that the horses Tristan and Ezio are riding happen to be Bardigianos, which are believed to have descended from horses used in the Gaul invasion of Rome!

Thoughts? Theories? Random bouts of screaming? Lemme know! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome.

Have a good one, folks.

-TK