The last chapter was so hard to write. :c Don't worry, I'll be trying harder and harder now!

I don't know how to reply to reviews, but thanks to Cara for saying that this was a cool story! :3

~ January 18th, 1570 ~

Aguila woke up with a jolt.

There was something warm and soft under his head. It cushioned his throbbing skull, making him feel... Less hung over and less sick than he really was. All he remembered was going to a brothel, finding a hand, and passing out in a puddle of his own puke while everyone spoke wildly around him. But now... He was in his cot, staring at the ceiling above his head. It was gray, a disgusting gray that he was always used to. Ebizio raised his hand and pressed it against his face; it felt cold against his wrinkled up skin, and he felt the creases of his stressed frown, and his furrowed brow under his fingers. There was no noise around him at all, which was strange, because there was always noise in the barracks.

Men boasting of valiant victories in missions and battles, and about "snagging that whore on the way back here". Apprentices chirped quietly in the corner, speaking over training exercises and their mentors. But now... Everything was quiet. It was like sitting in a church.

Ebizio groaned as he sat up in his bed, pushing aside his semi-long, grayish black hair from his face. He hated it being long, but he was just too lazy to cut it. Maybe he would ask someone to do so. Planting two feet on the ground and stretching out his legs, standing up, he struggled to maintain his balance. Where is everyone? They're usually here... A lute played in the common, strumming a long and sad song, while people conversed quietly. Although, there was no one there, with him...

Alas... There never is no one with me... Even now, when I am sick on my own weakness...

A dizzy spell hit him, and Ebizio fell backwards on his bed. What was this..? Why was he feeling so? It irritated him. He had to get up, he had to move around. Help with Friedrich's body... And comfort his friend in his time of need. But no, he was here on this fucking bed, dizzy, sick... Because of what? Because he was a mewling babe that was ripped from his mother's breast. That was why. Grinding his teeth so much that it hurt, he adjusted himself so he was in a proper position to sleep. He rolled on his side to face the wall, he let his eyes close, and forced himself to drown out the whimpering lute and the whispering people.

~ A few hours later... ~

Sleep was a bastard. First of all, it grabbed you out of nowhere. It dragged you into its depths of black pitch, and sung you such a beautiful, sweet song. And for once in a man's troubled life, he was filled with warm breast milk again, and nodding off in his mother's arms as she sung him an Italian lullaby. Although, some men did not wish to sleep. Some would tell you that if they did, they would be sent into horrible nightmares. Others would say that they would dream such beautiful dreams that they would cry when they left that world. But Ebizio dreamt no dreams at all. And when he woke, he was being shaken awake.

Someone- a woman -was calling his name sweetly, so he opened his clear olive eyes and looked up. The face was blurry, but he could make out a tumble of jet black hair, and beautiful azure eyes. They were so blue it was like staring into a cloudless summer sky. Her mouth was like a pale, pale pink, but then again, everyone's skins and mouths were pale in winter. A flash of teeth, and Ebizio returned the soft, toothy grin. Alma...

"Oh, Ebizio! You're awake." even though Alma's smile was present on her triangular and delicate face, it was obvious that there was sadness in her voice. Of course, many people were sad because of poor Friedrich Schwarz. Some say he fell over, dead cold, in the storm. Others said that no animal would rip his eyeballs out of his sockets in a freak blizzard. They immediately pointed the finger at the Templars, or so he heard as his mother went on and on, speaking rapidly to him. Her fingers stroked his hair and he allowed another smile to come across his face. He loved her. He would die without her. "Oh, Ebizio, you're growing a beard! I like it." Ebizio allowed his hand to come across his jaw and chin. There was stubble there and he knew that it was dark hair covering the lower portion of his face. "You'll get all of the ladies with that face. But you need to learn to smile more." Alma was always a smiler, a singer, a dancer, an instrumentalist. She played the lute, the flute, the lyre, and the harp. In fact, the Brotherhood said that his father had gotten with her because her fingers were nimble at stroking the strings of the lute and lyre and harp... Although it wasn't those strings she was stroking at night...

"... I wanted to tell you something! Something I found out a few days ago. But you were out training. Or doing something." what could be so important that Alma had to come in the men's barracks? It was true that he did not see her often, because he was an apprentice, and apprentices worked harder than most. Alma's eyes sparkled in such a way that it touched Ebizio's heart, and he allowed a small rumble to come from his chest. A chuckle? That was rare in itself, he thought. Even though he laughed a bit yesterday. "... ... I'm pregnant." his face sank then. What..? "... Now, Ebizio, I know that you didn't love your father... And I knew what he did to you... But..." Alma gave him her pretty smile. "... He loved me... And he loved you... And he gave me a child, a handsome child... You. And now he has given me another one..." Ebizio still remained silent, staring at her. It seemed she knew that that his temper was rising again. She took his hand and patted it. "... When he died in November... He was in his deathbed and he asked for you... But you would not come close to him..."

"He touched me," Ebizio growled through grit teeth, and glowered up at his mother. That was what he hardly did. Look at his mother like that. Hate her. Want to shove his fist down her throat. "... He grabbed my cock and said dirty things in my ear. He... He frightened me..."

"He was sick!" Alma cried desperately. There were tears glimmering in her eyes, and her smile had faded from her face. She was always obsessed with Ruslan, always in his bed, always pleasuring him... And where was he? He was sparring at the age of ten. He was out in the streets at three in the morning, sparring, training with Rosato, and she was under him... "He was sick in the head, Ebizio. He told me."

"While he was fucking you in the ass?" Ebizio asked angrily, standing up from the bed. The abrupt change sent his head swimming, and he tottered to the side. This made him more enraged than before. "While you were sucking his cock and swallowing his seed?"

The words had gone sour in his mouth when he saw his mother's hurt face. Alma's eyes had glazed over, the cloudless sky had grown dark with storm clouds. "... ... I have nothing to say to you..." her voice was as misty and foggy as her gaze. "... You... I hope that God gives you what you deserve..."

As his mother walked away, Ebizio thought about what he had just said. His mouth tasted like wretch more than ever, and he had just realized that he had a fever. He raised a hand to his head and felt the heat come off of his skin. Or maybe it was just a blush? A blush of embarrassment? Of hate, of anger? She would never understand. Alma always loved his father; the day that he died, Alma's cries could be heard throughout all of the headquarters. She cried for days on end, screaming about how that was her fault. Ebizio did not utter one complaint. He could finally sleep easily now.

But now it was all ripped away with the news of a small, whining baby brother or sister. He couldn't be a brother. He would hold the babe in his arms and he would drop it. Accidentally feed it something and have it die. And if the thing lived, he couldn't look down on it as it smiled and called him "big brother". Oh, no, he didn't have the heart for it. His heart was small and shriveled up. How could he have someone clinging to his leg, screaming at him for food when their mother was gone? God damn you, Ruslan, Ebizio thought angrily as he stalked to the common. More than He has already.

The common was loud with conversation. Assassins mingled in corners, arms crossed, and leaning close to the people they spoke with. Their beady eyes shone from under their hoods, and Ebizio was surprised at the look in their eyes. He saw Castiel leaning against the wall, watching the area closely. His short, brunette hair was only slightly visible from under his hood, and his caramel eyes were as cold as ice. Near him was Xanthe, her hood down. She was whispering something to him, and Ebizio's ears strained to pick up their conversation. Ever since that measly mission, where he had heard their voices, he was curious. "... Xanthe, really. Do you really think that someone was in your room?" Castiel asked in his smooth, low voice.

"I swear it." Xanthe wasn't wearing her hood, and her long, curly hair streamed down her shoulders in golden waterfalls. "... Someone was in my room, going through my stuff. Those papers I gathered up, that information... It was all strewn across the floor."

"... It was just a rat," Castiel rested a hand on her fragile shoulder. "... Now, come. Let us get drinks and discuss what we are going to do about Friedrich."

Ebizio pretended that he was not listening as Xanthe and Castiel walked past him. His heart was leaping out of his chest; they knew that he had been there. He had to be more quiet on missions. But who could blame him? Ebizio was actually pretty good for an apprentice. He walked around, looking for his friend, Rodrigo. There were was a sea of black and brown haired heads, which made it hard because Rodrigo was a brunette. Sure, there were some dashes of blonds and reds... But... His friend was not a ginger or a blond.

After a while of looking, Ebizio gave up. He leant against a wall, near where some children were gathering. Innocents... Wait until they grew up. Wait until they had their first kill. Alas, the babbling of rabbits and foxes and ponies and puppies they saw in the streets were cute. Why couldn't he be that young again? Talk about a fluffy furred cat rather than about fucking a woman or slitting the throat of a man he never met? But they squeaked as they sat down and complained as they were hungry... And his mother was there too. Her face was tear streaked as she sat down in front of the children; obviously she had been crying since she had told him the news. It only made him want to send his fist into her stomach and kill the child once and for all. The thought turned as distasteful as the words that he said before, and he felt his face flush. You're such an asshole.

"... Have you all heard the stories of Altair and Ezio?" his mother was asking the children. They perked and turned their eyes to her. Ebizio knew the stories, however... "... Let me tell you about them. The first man, Altair, was an assassin of Masyaf; he was the best assassin that ever lived. He was a handsome and great man in his youth, but he performed such cruel acts in the Creed that his high rank was stripped away, and he was once again treated like an apprentice. He climbed his way back to glory, and once again knew that the laws of the Creed were important, and that one should always listen to them.

"But his Mentor thought differently. He had something called the Apple of Eden in his hands, a horrible, horrible thing it was. It controlled the minds and bodies of the people around him, and he could imagine anything and it would come true. When Altair found out that his Mentor had grown corrupt, he aimed to take him down. But his Mentor was stronger. He sent the whole Creed after him, a whole legion of white cloaks against one man. With his friends, he took them all down, and faced his leader once and for all. He killed the old man, and became Mentor himself at a very young age... And married a beautiful woman..."

Ebizio thought of Altair, standing there on a balcony in all of his glory, woman in one hand and Apple in the other. Standing on a balcony that looked over all of the Brotherhood of Masyaf as they cheered his name and threw flowers and gifts. But Altair's end was less happy than that... Of course, his mother omitted that part, and continued on to another story. "... This story is about Ezio Auditore... He was from Florence, but he was Italian, like all of you. He too, became an assassin, after the evil Borgias killed the male part of his family. After traveling to Venice and Forli and other places among that, he came across the Apple of Eden. And with this Piece of Eden, he defeated Rodrigo Borgia and..."

Ebizio was growing sick. He tried to listen to the story, but drowned out most of it. His fingers curled into fists, gripping at his clothes, and he glared at the children. They seemed very entertained. His mother was occupied, they would not notice if he stomped away. Taking a step forward, he stalked away, head low as Alma purred out the last words to Ezio's story in Constantinople.

"Then he married a beautiful woman, and had children, and everyone loved him..."

~ January 19th, 1570 ~

"Archery?"

"Archery."

The pretty ginger haired woman gave him the smile that made his heart shudder and melt. Her eyes danced and sparkled teasingly at him... Ebizio felt his face flush as Christi shoved the bow and quiver in his hands, and grinned more. "Shoot."

His morning had been quite curious. After waking up from his sleep, Ebizio had went to eat break his fast, which he usually did with Rodrigo. As he picked up his meal (a small, shriveled apple and a loaf of black bread), he searched desperately for his friend, with no success. There had been no sign of him, no laugh, no chuckle or mention of him. For a moment in his wild mind, he had thought that Rodrigo had been a figment of his imagination all of this time, but when he asked Master Anya, she said that he went to get some air. I miss him, the dolt.

"That's great. But I don't know how to shoot an arrow. Why can't we go and spar like always?" Ebizio looked at the weapon. It was pretty, delicately decorated. Made out of maple wood, there was an area where it was painted with black and bits of gray. The arrows, painted in the same manner, were adorned with dappled owl feathers. "Not to mention that arrows are a coward's weapons."

"Now, don't say that." Christi said with a grin. "Altair Ibn La Ahad said that poison is a coward's weapon."

"Yet we still use it."

"Yes. We do." Christi gave him another of her grins. It seemed she knew that was his weakness. "And Ebizio Aguila said that arrows were a coward's weapons. Yet we still use them." she walked behind him with a light, jingling laugh. "... Now... Strap the quiver to your back." she helped him do so with lithe fingers, strapping the thing so it wouldn't fall down. Her hands ghosted up his torso, a touch so light that Ebizio wouldn't have noticed without her giggle. "... You're getting a little chubby there, Aguila. Suck in that gut." Ebizio did so in a quick breath, uncomplaining. "I'm just joking." Rosato laughed louder and clapped him on the shoulder. "... Now. String an arrow like so... Yes! Like that. Now pull, aim, and let go. Remember to pull all of the way! The string is taut, I know. I actually made this one. Now, pull-"

The string was hard to pull back. Ebizio's muscles screamed with effort as they yanked on the string and tried to keep the bow balanced. In front of him, a target dummy that Castiel had designed. It was crude, yet... It had a certain adorable allure to it. Made of cloth and hay, it was made to look like a human. It was finished off with a knight's helm, and all of it was supported by two thick sticks, shaped like a cross.

Aiming for the head, he let go.

The arrow wooshed through the air, whistling loudly, and... Hit the wall directly behind the dummy. It smashed against the gray, cobblestone wall, and snapped in half. The fragments fell to the floor.

Blushing, Ebizio wanted to shove his head into the bushel of hay that was in the corner of the training yard. Grinding his teeth, he turned to face Christi Rosato. His heart was fluttering, his stomach leaping, his stubble bristling under the harsh movement of his jaw. "... I told you." he said, almost silent. "... I can't shoot an arrow." that had been one of the most embarrassing moments in Ebizio's life. The worst one was that time when he accidentally pissed himself in his bunk... But who could blame him? He was having horrible nightmares at the time. And he still did... "... I'll just go back inside."

"No," murmured Christi as Ebizio attempted to walk past her. Her hand planted firmly on his tight chest, and her blue eyes flashed up at him in the most aggressive manner than Ebizio had ever seen. "... String an arrow. You must learn this, Aguila."

"Why?" Ebizio barked loudly at her, his thick brow furrowing deeply. "All assassins need to know is how to hold and use a sword. How to hack off their enemies' heads. Not archery."

"Let us just say that you are upon a rooftop at noon. You are on a mission, and you see an assassin being held by two Templars as a third beats him half to death. The mission is to rescue the assassin by not drawing attention to yourself, and without allowing the assassin to die." Christi prodded him sharply. "What do you do?"

Ebizio thought for a moment. Grabbing a sword and rushing in there would draw attention, yes... The guards' screams and shouts as they fought back would bring more... And they would see him if he ran straight at them. If they did, they would kill the held assassin. Seeing her pompous smirk, Ebizio cleared his throat and looked away. "... I'd... Find a way..."

"No!" she smacked him on the arm, hard. Ebizio scowled and backed away. "What I'd do is take my bow and arrow, hide, and shoot the man hitting my brother straight in the head." she poked his forehead this time. "And then when the two other guards wonder where the arrow came from, I'd strike."

"They won't see it coming." Ebizio snarled out unwillingly as he rubbed his head.

"Si," Christi said. Her voice softened this time, and so had her face. "Now. String the arrow."

The training session was long and difficult. Ebizio was baffled by the cold winds and the stray rain shower that had hit them. When the rain started, he had said to go inside, but Christi denied his action. So he trained until mid afternoon, through cold and rain both, and until his fingers started to bleed heavily. He could not believe the pain that went through his fingers as he plucked the string again after stringing the arrow. He let go of the string and the arrow whizzed through the air once more... This time, it hit the dummy in the shoulder. Ebizio grinned crookedly at the wriggling arrow butt in the dummy. He had done it! He had finally done it... "... You see that?" he said wearily, motioning at the dummy with bloodied hands. "That is the work of a master."

Christi giggled loudly, and covered her smile with a hand. She had been standing under the shade of a tree some ways off, her arms crossed. "... Well, I wouldn't say the work of a master..." she admitted, her smile lighting up his world. "... Maybe the work of a proper and well disciplined apprentice." she walked closer and ripped the arrow from the "guard's" shoulder. Ebizio came close and helped her pick up the rest of the broken and shattered arrows that were scattered around the stone floor. "You'll be a great assassin one day, Ebizio." Christi's voice was far away, and when Ebizio looked up, she was across the courtyard, picking up stray arrowheads that had flown across the area. "I promise you that."

Yes, but will I actually get to be a full assassin? Or will I die in some winter frost like Friedrich did?

Ebizio raised his eyes toward Christi. Her smooth hips and ass was all he saw from this angle, and he couldn't say that he didn't like the view. As he picked up the rest of the wooden pieces, his mind started to roam. He thought of making wild and passionate love to Christi, grabbing hold of her and just... Just doing her. Just take her by the waist and fuck her...

"Ebizio?"

He noticed that he was staring at her. It was not the first time, but Christi was gazing at him back. That, too, wasn't the first time. Older assassins always told him that she was waiting for him to make a move, but he never did. Ebizio was always thinking about how a night with Christi could end up bad. When he pulled down his pants, she could laugh! Or tease at the faces that he made when he was on top of her. But the men kept on saying that Rosato had a crush on him forever, and that Ebizio should do something.

That was when he decided that he was going to man up. On that date. On January nineteenth, fifteen seventy!

"... Christi..." Ebizio strode up to her. She was waiting, like always. It surprised him that her head only reached to his chest, but she was a rather short woman anyway. It was still kind of awkward. Christi didn't know exactly how old she was, or so she told, but said she knew that she was in her early twenties. And Ebizio was only fifteen. "... Oh, Christi..." he took her into his arms, and kissed her. The woman stiffed in his grip, but melted after a moment. Her smell flooded him, her taste... His heart almost leapt out of his chest, and his mind was racing.

After a while, Christi took over the situation. Her tongue slipped into his mouth after a moment of his resistance, and she started to shove him toward the hay patch in the corner. Ebizio moaned, unused to the true and loving passion that Christi was giving him. Oh, someone would find them for sure. They were right there-

Before he knew it, he was planted on his back in the hay. Christi leapt on top of him, and the two wrestled in the soft cushion. The two moved on after a bit, and then came the undressing and the touching and the kissing and the licking and the sucking. Ebizio could not help but cry out her name at times, almost crying at the sheer emotion and pleasure that he was going through. He wanted to scream her name, to shout his love to her, to yell that he was Ebizio Aguila and he loved Christi Rosato to the world...

It was night when they were done. Crickets chirped in bushes, and stars glimmered down at them. Ebizio laid in the hay pile, bare as he was on his birthday and covered with hay. Christi was in the same situation, though her head was on his chest and she was breathing softly. "... I love you..." Ebizio whispered out. Christi looked up at him, and grinned softly. Leaning over, she kissed him on the lips, and murmured the same words. And for once in his life, Ebizio had forgotten about his father, about his mother, about his friend Rodrigo... And about Friedrich and brothels and drink...

All that there was in his world was her.