AC Brotherhood Novelization

by Mirror and Image

Desmond continues his journey to being an Assassin and slowly going insane while reliving his ancestor Ezio as Ezio's worlds crumbles under his feet. Rated for Desmond's language, overall violence, and of course a certain amorous encounter at the beginning of the game.

7. Damsels in Distress

Part Seven: Damsels in Distress

The following day, Claudia came to the warehouse, a perplexed look on her face.

"Ezio."

"Claudia."

She sighed. "A madonna came to see me this morning. She said that she had a gift to give to the man who protects courtesans."

Ezio blinked. "I was not expecting one."

Claudia scowled. She took a breath to say something, but thought better of it and instead growled, "I'll deposit it with Matteo at the end of the week. It's surprisingly substantial."

Ezio shook his head. "Use it as you see fit. I didn't ask for payment."

Claudia shook her head. "Asked for or not, you earned it."

The money helped, and Ezio used it to pay for Etienne's bill to Dante, not that Dante wanted money when he was used to helping people for free when he could. The leftover money went to Etienne as a down payment on getting some new armor for both himself and his apprentices. Ezio had been making do with leather armor for a year now, and he much preferred some sort of metal armor, particularly if he was going to storm the Papal fortress to rescue Caterina once his shoulder had more strength.

Of which, Ezio was getting irritated with how long it was taking to get strength back in his shoulder. It was better, certainly, but his right arm was still stronger than his left and the lack of flexibility was taking even longer to get back.

Still, he kept working on it. He was out with Vecellio, near the Ponte Emilio up on the roofs where he could watch Vecellio and the apprentice's attempts to blend into the crowds. Vecellio was the best of the apprentices, but guards still tended to take a second look before Vecellio could successfully hide his presence.

How was Ezio going to teach them to hide?

Standing, Ezio stretched, popping his back and looked out across the gray February day. They had been working near the Tiber, the river providing a quick get-away if Vecellio was noticed. Ezio had not had a chance to walk with the citizens of Rome for almost a week, as he worked with each apprentice individually to try and help them blend more easily in crowds. The rest were in charge of the hideout and helping others, and there was a Borgia tower near Volpe's inn that they were planning on taking down and looting.

So many things to do. Ezio saw a hay cart and leapt with decades of practice, nestling into the sweet scents. After a moment he got out, trailing bits of hay and came to Vecellio. "Let's head back," he said. "Follow my lead and watch how my hips and feet work. Perhaps that will help."

"Maestro," Vecellio bowed.

It was almost an hour walk back, and Ezio stopped by Salvatore to see if there was anything he could do. The Florentine Assassin was planning to visit Volpe about the Borgia tower at the end of the week, and doing some favors would likely make a horse available when he needed it.

At the stables, Ezio was pleased to see the small improvements that Salvatore had done, and it was clear he was starting to pick up in business as well. He had stable boys and some horsemen who were good at training any new foals that came in. The stalls were all clean and well cared for, and the horses, though still looking a little worn, were clearly better rested than when Ezio had first started coming by.

"Salvatore!" he called. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Vecellio stayed near the entrance, a little horse-shy. "Salvatore?"

"Maestro!" the stable master shouted, running forward. "Maestro, I've been looking for you all morning!"

"What is wrong?" Ezio stepped forward, alarmed that Salvatore was so upset.

"My nephew! Oh Maestro, my nipote!"

Ezio froze, a very different voice saying nipote ringing in his ear with visions of skull and ear flying in a spray of blood. Zio Mario... But Ezio shook that aside.

"What happened?"

"His mother," Salvatore explained. "She was just taken this morning... Arrested to be sold as a slave! They said they'd take him too!"

Ezio's lips thinned. "Where are they?"

"I don't know. My dear nipote and his mother lived near the Ponte Emilio."

Ezio nodded and put a hand on Salvatore's shoulder. "Your nephew, is he safe?"

Salvatore gave a wan smile. "He's hiding in the loft."

"You tell him his mother is coming home and that he's done well to be so brave."

"Si, Maestro."

Ezio turned and swiftly left the stables, Vecellio on his heels. Ezio explained the situation and Vecellio nodded, heading up to the roofs. This was not the time for his apprentices to practice stealth. This was time for work.

The Ponte Emilio connected the Trastevere, the west bank, to the rest of Roma; built in the second century before Christ, it had evolved from a wooden bridge to an arched stone construction with several piers and mooring poles. Ezio saw the slaver easily in the crowds. He was a hunched, sour-looking man, with fur covering his shoulders in the chilly weather, and a missing arm replaced with a metal contraption that just made him look nasty. Ezio didn't even bother to check his Eagle Vision to see that this was who he was looking for.

The slaver had two guards with him who had a young man of barely seventeen between them, bony and in rags like many of those in Rome. They were making their way across the bridge and Ezio started to tail them. It was a long walk, the two guards poking the scrawny youth and the slaver growling and hissing his displeasure. Along the way, it was clear that the slaver was sensitive of his missing arm, glaring and picking a fight with any who stared at his metal replacement for too long.

Almost an hour later, with the slaver's constant belligerent attitude slowing them down, they arrived at the Colle Palatino, the most central of the hills of Rome, and the most ancient. Its many alcoves were barred with people in rags behind lock and key.

This wouldn't do.

Ezio motioned to Vecellio, and the apprentice nodded, staying by Ezio's side as he slipped into the shadows.

"We must ensure the kidnappings continue," the slaver's voice was as harsh and gruff as his countenance.

The woman he was addressing cringed. "But children, Silvestro?"

"To secure his reign, Cesare needs to control the populace. Fear keeps them quiet."

To that, Ezio smiled. The people may be scared, but Salvatore had no problem seeking help. Cesare's hold was starting to weaken.

The woman shuddered. "I can hardly look at you."

"Please, Valeria. Soon this will be all behind us," the slaver said softly, though his voice still wanted to make babies scream.

"Are you afraid of him? Cesare?" the woman asked, glancing at his missing arm.

"I am afraid of no one," the slaver said coldly.

"Did he do that to your hand?" The woman's eyes widened. "My apologies. That was not my place to ask."

The slaver turned. "Go."

"I am sorry." The woman hurried away, looking sadly at all the people in the barred alcoves.

The slaver grumbled to his guards. "Kill her. No, I'll kill her myself. How dare she speak of my hand? Puttana, she has never served a higher cause."

Ezio had been studying the placements of the guards. There were a half dozen, including the two who had thrown the skinny boy into one of the alcoves before locking it up. Not ideal odds, though Ezio could handle it easily. Instead, he turned to Vecellio and handed him a smoke bomb. "Handle the guards."

Vecellio recognized it as the test it was and nodded.

The apprentice studied the layout for a moment before leaping forward, his hidden blade digging deep into the slaver's back. The guards quickly surrounded Vecellio, but he dropped a smoke bomb and started stabbing while Ezio went to the alcoves and started breaking open the cells, letting the slaves eagerly run to safety. Ezio didn't know which was the mother of Salvatore's nephew, but soon Vecellio was helping him as all the guards were dead. Some of the slaves looted the guards, but most just took off running for safety.

When the last alcove was free, Ezio turned to his apprentice.

"Time to head back."

When they returned to Tiber, Vecellio headed back to the hideout, worn out after a whole day about town including an extended battle, and Ezio headed to the stables.

"Maestro," Salvatore was smiling. "My dear nipote's mother has returned. You have my thanks yet again."

A small boy came forward, ten years old with short hair. "You saved my mama," he said, hiding behind his uncle.

Ezio crouched down and smiled. "Only because of your bravery."

The boy looked down. "I ran like a coward," he said softly. "Those men were scary."

"They are scary," Ezio nodded. "But you bravely went to your uncle and got help. And only a brave person would be willing to ask for help."

The boy gave a shy smile, still hiding behind his uncle. "Thank you, Maestro."

Ezio nodded and reached out to ruffle the short hair. "You must keep an eye on your mother now."

"I will!"

Standing Ezio saw Salvatore smiling. "And you look after your nipote."

"I always do."

---

A few days later, Ezio was still smiling over Salvatore and his nephew, remembering his own relationship with Mario, and the sharp pain he had felt for the past year when thinking of his uncle, while still there, was not so hurtful. It also reminded him that he was an uncle and not doing a very good job of it.

So he went to visit Maria and Federica.

Maria was resting when Ezio arrived, and Lucia, fully clothed again, was with Federica, reviewing lessons on the politics of the Borgia court. Ezio hovered in the entryway, not wishing to interrupt.

"But this is boring!" Federica complained.

"Boring or not," Lucia softly replied, "It is necessary. If you wish to understand what your mother is doing, you must understand how the flow of power works." And Lucia started to explain the complicated dealings of the Borgia family and how they came to power.

Ezio couldn't help but wonder. Why teach Federica how the world worked if they were training her to be a courtesan? Granted, Ezio doubted that Claudia would start raising his niece to be a whore, but by surrounding her with courtesans as teachers, what else could she be doing? But there was something else to these lessons. Lucia wasn't teaching Federica how to bed a better client or spot a better paying lover. She was explaining how the Papacy worked, why it had the power it did, and how other countries tried to capitalize on that power. Lucia was even explaining the New World to the west that Corombo had discovered and why the Pope was allowing slavery and how countries were racing to get more power in those new lands.

Just what was Claudia trying to do?

Still, he was here to visit his niece, so he cleared his throat.

Federica was completely surprised, turning and dropping her jaw. "Zio 'zio?" she whispered once she could form coherent thought.

Ezio smiled. "Federica," he greeted.

His niece ran up to him and hugged him tightly, laughing and giggling in joy. Ezio gratefully hugged her back, kissing the top of her head. Then Federica seemed to remember she was mad at him, and pulled away.

"Oh, so now you visit? Did you need something?" she said haughtily.

Ezio worked hard not to chuckle at his pint-sized niece trying to emulate her mother's stubbornness. "I was merely in the area and thought I'd see how my favorite niece was doing."

"You mean your only niece."

"And still the best niece in the whole world."

Federica was fighting not to smile.

"Now," Ezio said, glancing to Lucia, "I heard you were trying to learn how the Borgia came to power?"

Federica scoffed. "He bought it. No surprise," she replied shortly. "That's all he does is buy things. The rest doesn't matter."

"Ah, but why?" Ezio asked.

That brought her up short.

So Ezio pulled Federica back to Lucia, sat down, and started his tale of how the Borgia came to power, the Spaniard's deceits, betrayals, and plots, from the Gonfaloniere of Florence to the Doge of Venice, from the Pazzi to the Barbarigo, and the mysterious Prophet that Rodrigo believed himself to be. With Federica now an enthralled audience, Ezio spun the tales of his confrontations with the Spaniard, the strange Prophecy that Mario had been researching and his battle with Rodrigo, fist to fist, on the eve of a new year and the mysteries he'd found below.

Ezio leaned back as he finished, letting the silence settle comfortably around him before giving an enigmatic smile to his niece. "If that is what the Pope is hiding, what might the other leaders of countries be hiding?"

Lucia gave a sly smile. "Indeed. By knowing their motivations, what they seek and how they've done things before, we can predict what they will do."

Realizing that she'd just gotten a lesson, Federica pouted. "Oh alright! I'll keep studying and stop complaining!"

Ezio doubted she'd stop complaining, but by the twinkle in her eye, she was clearly interested in learning what secrets others were hiding.

Maria stepped out, looking tired. "Ah, Ezio," she said, still sounding half asleep. "Playing with Petruccio I see?"

"Nonna," Federica stood and sighed the sigh of one who dealt with this often. "I'm Federica."

Maria blinked, yawned, and looked again. "Of course you are, Federica," she said smiling. "I see 'Zio 'zio' is here? Has he been a good uncle?"

Federica looked at Ezio, sizing him up as only a twelve-year-old could. "He's improving."

Ezio chuckled.

"Come on, Nonna, let's get you something to eat."

With his niece leading his mother to the kitchen, Ezio frowned, and turned to Lucia.

"Has she been getting worse?"

Lucia shook her head. "Only when she's just woken up, or severely stressed," she replied quietly. "The Maestra has been doing everything she can to make her comfortable."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Lucia shook her head again. "We are doing the best we can with your mother. She is someone we all look up to." The courtesan turned. "But I would speak to you of something else. You banished Giulietta from the brothel, but she fled to a Spanish ambassador. Her lover has been protecting her, but she's been sharing secrets with him. And he has been selling them to the Pope."

Ezio frowned. "I'll take care of it."

"Good." Then the courtesan offered a sly smile. "You'll be staying for lunch, yes?"

How could he refuse that?

Lunch reminded Ezio of when Federica was younger and worshiped his every move, though the almost-teenage sarcasm was still thick. He didn't particularly care since it was better than the cold shoulder she'd been attempting to give him.

After lunch he bid his farewells and headed deep into central Rome, close to the Vatican and amongst the rich apartments of diplomats. He spoke to some of the citizens and guards in Spanish, attempting to find where the Spanish diplomats would be staying and getting halted directions in broken Spanish in return. Once he found the building, it was easy to talk his way in in Spanish, leaving all his weapons save his hidden blade at the door. He was taken to a small room and told to wait as the ambassador was... engaged. That was all Ezio needed. He slipped from the room and easily maneuvered his way through the apartment, following his ears to the grunts, moans and gasps issuing from one of the back bedrooms. He silently crept along the halls until he was at a servant's door that was partially ajar. No doubt some of the staff liked watching a courtesan in action.

And since the staff liked peeking, the door was well oiled an didn't even squeak as Ezio slipped into the room. Giulietta was on all fours, her face and body completely flushed as her ample breasts swayed back and forth as the ambassador kneeling behind her kept pounding into her, his grunts getting more guttural. The two were so involved in their fornicating that even if Ezio had made a sound they wouldn't have heard him.

Giulietta let out a scream of the man's name, and the man merely grunted. Then he gasped as Ezio's hidden blade slid easily between his ribs, through the lung, and into his heart. The ambassador was rigid for a moment, before falling back. Giulietta was clearly still in her orgasm, as she let out a needy whimper. When the ambassador didn't respond, she turned her head and gasped, scrambling back and trying to cover herself with the sheets.

"Ezio, please! I can explain!" He didn't give her a chance as he placed his hidden blade right against her throat. "Please," she begged, her courtesan training kicking in as she dropped the sheets and started heaving her large breasts, "I had no choice."

Ezio pushed the blade closer to her throat. "Leave Roma," he said firmly. "I never want to see you here again. The next time you are," he pushed the blade again, "there will be consequences."

He flipped the sheet over her face, which gave him a chance to escape before she could react. He returned to the room he'd been told to wait in and then found his way back out, collecting his weapons from the guards at the door and chatting briefly in Spanish. He was down the street and ducking into an alley when the alarm of what had happened had finally been raised.

---

April finally brought some warm weather and sunny skies, and Ezio started to take his apprentices down into the tunnels and show them the marks he made to help make for a quick getaway and where to find lanterns. He had them race each other from one point of the city to another, one above ground and another in the tunnels, to show how useful they could be as long as they avoided the masons who were still clearing out the underground pathways without realizing why.

In the middle of the month, Ezio made his usual monthly visit to La Volpe, and he brought Enu with him, as each apprentice needed to learn how to work with the underground for any missions they were on their own. Enu, who was a very quiet individual, could learn from Gilberto's more open mysteriousness and Ezio hoped that it would be an enlightening evening. A battle of wits with the Fox was always entertaining, as well as seeing who could out-cheat the other in a game. Hopefully Enu would get a friend amongst the thieves that he could use as a contact.

"Ah, Ezio," Gilberto greeted once they entered the inn. "Come, you and your apprentice are needed in a meeting."

"Oh?" Ezio raised a brow as they walked to the back room and then upstairs to where the thief clan ran their business. In a corner was a pair of thieves going over a plan of some kind, sketches being made on a slate, but normally there were more about when Ezio came up with his old friend. "Gilberto, what is the problem?"

"Two, but one more immediate than the other," the old thief said, sitting at a table. "The Followers of Romulus have been getting more active near the Colosseo. But that is secondary to the main issue. The Cento Occhi."

Ezio sat, Enu taking position behind him. "What are they doing now?"

Gilberto gave a fox grin. "They've challenged my little band to a brawl. Tonight at midnight."

Ezio gave his own smile. "And here I have arrived."

"And you see why I'm glad you came to this meeting."

"And to your benefit, I have an apprentice with me."

The fox grin grew. "They will not be expecting you. Either of you."

Ezio gave his own smile. "So how many are you expecting?"

Planning went through a small supper and into the night, estimating how many would be there and what sort of underhanded tactics to expect from the Cento Occhi. Ezio made sure to have Enu put forth ideas and question him on expectations until Enu finally gave in and asked Volpe for information, which Ezio praised.

Two hours before midnight, Ezio, Enu and the thieves slipped into the darkness to reach the ruins where the brawl was to occur. Ezio and Enu stayed in the shadows, hidden reserves. They kept their weapons sheathed, as it would depend on the Cento Occhi if the two Assassins would come in with weapons drawn or not.

The moon was bright and the stars twinkled, and Ezio could hear the rival gang approach before he saw them and gave a small whistle to let Volpe's men know.

"How do you know, Maestro?" Enu asked almost silently.

Ezio only smiled.

The Cento Occhi outnumbered Volpe's men almost two-to-one, but they all arrived unarmed, as promised. Insults were traded back and forth for a few minutes before the brawl started. With everyone engaged, Ezio and Enu burst from the shadowed ruins and laid into the Cento Occhi. While all the thieves were good in a scrap, they were better at escape, and Ezio and Enu, both trained warriors, outclassed the thieves in a fight.

The fight was brief and brutal, with Ezio and Enu taking down half of them easily. The Cento Occhi soon lay at their feet, moaning over broken arms, legs, ribs, collarbones, and at least one cracked skull. Volpe's men quickly looted them for anything useful, including quite a few hidden knives that they didn't get to draw with Ezio and Enu breezing through them so easily.

"Our thanks, Maestro," one of the thieves said, handing Enu some of the money that had been looted. "The Cento Occhi will never beat us at this rate."

"Just make sure the populace knows the difference," Ezio said.

"We will. And," the thief smiled. "What do you and your apprentice say to a race back to your hideout?"

Ezio turned to Enu and the quiet apprentice was grinning. "Do you think winner should get these winnings?" he said, lifting the small pouch of money that the thieves had given to him.

The race was on.

Ezio won, though he would have been surprised if they had beaten him, since he had stayed behind the group, found a tunnel, and used it to avoid climbing roofs and dodging late-night patrols. He was calmly waiting for both Enu and the thieves on the bridge when they arrived, and he offered them all a bottle of wine.

Enu wasn't spared much time to rest, however, as the next day was when the apprentices planned to attack the Borgia tower closest to Volpe's inn. It would also hopefully break some of the Cento Occhi's hold on the southern impoverished areas of Rome. Ezio stayed apart, watching them plan, and observing when they finally attacked. It was well planned, but none had expected the captain to be a coward, running at the first sign of trouble. Thankfully Enu's good grasp of the bow led to the captain falling, but it was a near thing and cost them valuable time. Still, the tower was set aflame and the apprentices were able to escape.

Volpe would handle the rest.

The weather continued to warm as May rolled in. Volpe reported that the Cento Occhi were in disarray after the brawl, making it easier for his thieves to explain to the citizens the differences between the two gangs working the city. But the Followers of Romulus still had a stranglehold on the countryside. Not liking this, Ezio started his apprentices with patrolling the hills to help where they could. Having more Assassins would be better, as Ezio could make a small stronghold in the hills that wouldn't need to travel so far, but he only had five who were readily available with him. Machiavelli was too busy in the Papal courts and diplomacy to be able to do this kind of work, and he wasn't the sort to see the benefit either.

One day, Ezio dropped by Bartolomeo's barracks. There he learned that Cesare was just named duke of Romagna and was gearing up to siege Piombino. This soured Ezio's mood, but Pantasilea offered an interesting bit of news while corralling her children.

"The Followers of Romulus have been seen a great deal by Il Colosseo. Given their more random attacks, it was strange to see anything centralized."

Ezio agreed, and with his apprentices roaming the hills, he went straight to the ancient building.

The Colosseo was massive, and Ezio always marveled at the size, wondering how the ancient Romans could build such a structure that could last for so long. It had been used for a theatre, parties, functions of all sorts, for as far back as anyone can remember, and that night was no different. There was a play going on out under the moonlight, and people were moving to the lower levels for some sort of masquerade.

Ezio lowered his hood and followed, entering the depths of the Colosseo and marveling again at all the rooms. There were cages that seemed to hold animals at one time, and new wooden ramps to get from one area to another. It was practically a maze, and Ezio got turned around from time to time, just exploring and realizing that this would make a perfect place to offer more training for his apprentices. Just using the old Papal apartments was not a good idea. It was better to have a variety, and if he could find a secluded enough part of the Colosseo, this would make an ideal playground.

As he explored an abandoned floor that held ancient cages of some sort, Ezio heard a howl in the distance. A howl he associated with the Followers of Romulus. Ezio quickly went toward the sound, listening as voices started to talk as he ghosted down a stairway.

In another small room were three wolf-clad men, hunched like animals, listening to a fourth man who was putting on dark robes and a mask.

"Those farmers haven't given up yet, we'll need to attack them within a week," the masked man said. "Keep my furs safe. You know how I despise wearing the garb of man."

One of his followers growled an assent, holding said furs.

Ezio chuckled, letting his laugh echo around the room. "I knew you followed the will of the Borgia, but I didn't think you'd be so obvious about it," he laughed, stepping forward into the torchlight. "And now you'll attend a party to see what the Borgia want next." He shook his head. "Pathetic."

"Kill him!" the masked man screamed. "Romulus commands it! Make him suffer as Remus did!"

The three turned, knives ready, but Ezio was already on them, a knife flying to land in the throat of one as Ezio's hidden blade sank into the heart of a second while his sword slashed open the gut of the third. The commotion attracted the attention of three other Followers of Romulus, who burst through a door, knives ready. Ezio growled at the interruption, as it gave the masked man time to escape, but he had to deal with the three new wolf-men first. He fired his hidden gun, taking one out, and stepped forward with his sword, deflecting a thrown knife and then slashing open the throat of a second. That left one who managed to grab Ezio from behind and throw him down. But it didn't give him any advantage as Ezio rolled, using the momentum to drive his sword up and through the man's chest, the point of his sword exploding through the furs that covered his back.

Unfortunately, the distraction had done its work. Ezio had not seen where that leader had gone. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the eagle he was named after, and reached for that part of his mind that saw things differently, and looked. To his surprise, there was a clear golden trail that his target had taken. It seemed his Eagle Vision kept improving with use and age, and Ezio thanked this ability as he swiftly took up the trail, winding through halls and abandoned rooms until he reached one of the parties being held at the Colosseo. Many were dressed as the leader of the Followers of Romulus was, but that didn't matter for Ezio. He just kept following the golden trail.

It lead through the party to another abandoned hall and deeper into the bowels of the ancient building, through twists and turns and knocked over debris as the leader continued his mad escape. Clearly, Ezio was gaining on him. He picked up his pace, and found the leader before a short, dead-end hallway with a relief of a bust at the far end. The man had run out of places to hide.

"Your death is written, Assassino," the leader spat.

"By who?" Ezio scoffed. "Your Borgia masters?"

"You know nothing!"

"And you are already dead."

It was a brief scuffle, but Ezio drove his hidden blade into the man's heart with decades of practice.

"Requiescat in pace."

He looked up to the wall, something about it tickling the back of his memory, but he shrugged. The Followers of Romulus had been dealt a blow. It was time to check back at the hideout, call in his Assassins, and see if they'd made any progress as well.

---

For most of the month of June Ezio was barely seen on Isola Tiberina; he and his apprentices alternated from the Papal apartment ruins to exploring the underground chambers of Il Colosseo, Ezio making them go through their paces and climbing higher and higher without the safety of a bale of hay beneath them. The three oldest, Vecellio, Enu, and Varzi, acclimated well, while the sheer trepidation of the younger two sometimes paralyzed them in fear. Ezio exercised patience above all else, coaxing and charming and drawing confidence out of them, but both apprentices just had too much vertigo to go above a certain height, and the master assassin was pressed to figure out what to do with them. It was another problem to add to his list; if he only had three viable people to help him... He needed more.

It was the evening of June 29 when Ezio finally arrived back at the warehouse with his apprentices, sending them to bed for now so he could figure out what to do, when he saw Machiavelli at his desk writing a note, a pigeon in a cage. He looked up and immediately stood.

"How is your shoulder?" he asked without preamble.

Ezio rolled the appendage automatically. "Much improved," he said, "Why?"

"An opportunity has been given to us," he replied. "Bartolomeo just sent word: Cesare has stormed Capua and won, the Colonna cousins you rescued are now captured again, or perhaps dead, reports are sketchy, but it utterly collapses the Aragon. Southern Italia is now ripe for the taking."

"... And this is an opportunity?" Ezio asked, one part of him marveling that Cesare had performed such a feat and one part of him agonizing over what the potential consequences of that could mean.

"It is, because Bartolomeo has also told us that Cesare is back in Roma to have a meeting with his inner circle. I wish the news had come sooner, but he's in the Vatican right now. Now that you are able, we can rid the world of those two poisons."

But... he had just spent the entire day training the apprentices and... No, Ezio shook his head at his own complacence, Machiavelli was right: this was an opportunity, and Ezio would be a fool to ignore it. He was certainly more prepared now, he had scaled several buildings to sketch out the castello that he could see; Volpe had bribed a few guards and had a better idea of their numbers if not their patrols, and even if he couldn't get the Borgia, it was past time for him to get Caterina Sforza. He had already been roughing out a plan to break her out, now it would just be stepped up a bit. Several birds with one stone, he couldn't let something like being tired affect his decision.

… He must be getting old.

… No, he was still the fastest and the strongest, that had to mean he was still young. Right...?

He and Machiavelli left the warehouse and were soon at the square before the Ponte Sant'Angelo, the last setting sun tinting everything it touched in rich gold and red, everything else cooled with purple shadows that stretched to eternity. It was beautiful, the twilight, and Ezio looked up to the stars as they began to appear in the night sky and prayed to his father for strength.

"Remember, you are here for Cesare and Rodrigo," Machiavelli said. "I know you're thinking about Caterina, but they must be your first priority."

"When and if the opportunity arises," Ezio said in low tones, "I will."

"The opportunity is here Ezio, don't let your fear overtake you."

"It isn't fear," Ezio said, "and I already told you I will."

Machiavelli and Ezio stared at each other, Ezio not backing down and Machiavelli assessing, gauging. Finally, he nodded. "I see your conviction," he said. "I look forward to your success."

Ezio walked away from the bridge as Machiavelli began to cross it, the diplomat welcome in its arms. Walking down the riverbank, he found a pier and took the steps down to it. The mooring poles extended out across the bridge, and Ezio hopped across them, keeping himself low so that people on the bridge could not see him if they looked down. There were more mooring poles along the edge of the wall protecting the castello, and soon Ezio was at a repair scaffold, hanging out over the edge so that the wrought iron fence that capped the wall could be repaired. Several links of it were removed, granting the perfect opportunity to get in, and that was all he needed.

Pressing himself to the stone, he lifted his head briefly to see into the courtyard. Three men patrolled it, two as a pair and one with a lance looking out over the river. He watched for several minutes to understand their route, and finally darted over the wall and behind the lancer, ducking into the deep shadows of the far wall and pulling the black of his cape over his whites to keep himself invisible. Damn, if he'd had more time he would have at least changed clothes!

Spying a ladder, he waited until the pair passed and fell in step behind them, matching his footfalls to theirs perfectly to make himself invisible before a ladder took him to one of the higher ramparts. Beyond it was the stable yard; Ezio could could hear and smell the horses below. The door at the end of the wall was locked, but Ezio stepped back, seeing in the final gasp of light a route up to the main wall of the castello. If he could get up there, then he had access to the inside, and from there he could do almost anything. Nodding, he backed up and took a running start. His left arm failed to reach the handhold he was hoping for, and he landed unexpectedly on his feet. Biting down on the curse, he tried again, and his right arm easily made the grab.

… Not as well as he thought he was. It had been over a year since the attack on Monteriggioni, what was taking so long for his arm to heal...? Hoisting himself up, he began the laborious climb, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the night as he slowly made his way up.

An hour later he looked over the lip of the wall and saw a guard passing by. Ducking back down, he waited for the man to pass before hopping over the lip and matching the guard's footsteps. Looking up the Castel Sant'Angelo rose up into the night like a massive black shadow trying to blot out the sky. Looking down showed the courtyard below, several buildings sporadically butted up against the castello walls and dozens of lanterns giving small circles of light that the guards huddled around. Asking his eagle for help, he saw the grounds relatively bare, but any door he could spot was manned by guards. He could distract them to a point, but the larger problem was how. He wasn't going to wantonly kill people, he had enough blood on his hands as it was, and most of these people were likely family men, simply doing their job and unaware that their leader was a monster. Ignorance didn't save them, per se, but it did make Ezio hesitant to kill them. A smoke bomb...? No, that would make them suspicious, and therefore more alert. A distant noise? But with what? There were plenty of loose stones or tile, but would they be drawn by it?

Frowning, Ezio saw he had made his way to the corner of the wall and hopped down and to one of the inner building roofs. It was easy to work a clay roof tile loose, and he flung it out into the empty space of air, watching the guards as the tile landed.

"Another tile, sounds like," said a guard immediately below him.

"If the pope can afford those parties, surely he can afford repairs."

"Not in our lifetime."

… Ezio couldn't decide whether to find the guards pragmatic or stupid, but if they wouldn't budge for a distant noise that they could identify as tile or – he tried again – a rock, then going in via a door was out of the question. Stepping deeper into the shadows, Ezio sat down against the corner of the wall and took a deep breath. No traditional entrances meant untraditional entrances: i.e. a window. He looked up to the massive shadow blotting out the stars, asking his eagle for help. There were precious few windows on the cylindrical building, and as he scanned up and up there were no traces of gold, no hint of intuition on how he could manage to get in without climbing all the way up. Many windows were barred.

… How long would it take to climb the entire building face? He didn't even want to guess, but there were no other options for him.

He sighed.

The brickwork was ancient; originally built as the tomb of Hadrian 135 a.d., almost three hundred years later the tomb was converted to a fortress in 401 and had suffered damage many times since then. Exposed bricks, handholds, and support beams were everywhere, and Ezio took a deep breath. Mentally preparing himself for the excursion ahead, he stood and stepped out of the shadows. The beginning would be the hardest, once he was high enough he would be invisible, but the first hour or two would have to be rushed, or else roof guards would spot him and this mission would end very quickly.

Looking around he waited for his chance, and then darted across a rope strung between a wall and the castello, Borgia flags hanging from it and fluttering in the winds. He hugged the wall and took a deep breath, waiting to see if anyone thought the flags sudden fluttering was odd. He heard nothing saw no guttering of the lamps below. Relieved, he began his climb.

It was well after midnight when he finally reached the flat roof of the tower, and he heaved a sigh of relief. It had taken over five hours to scale the castello wall. Panting, he shook out his hands and fingers, their grip ruined for the foreseeable future, and rolled his aching shoulders. His left hurt more than his right and he had learned with unerring accuracy that he now had different reach for each arm, and his left was noticeably lesser. His left shoulder was also weaker than his right and he kept having to shift his weight before taking a fatal fall, and he had to rest that arm more often. He would have to talk to Dante when this was over, and he had a slight fear over what this could mean.

After twenty minutes of rest, he rolled to his feet and moved deeper into the shadows. He only saw two or three guards on the roofs; to be expected this high, few indeed would think there would be trouble here, and he allowed them their sense of security. Crawling on his stomach, he looked out over the edge of the roof and looked down. Several men were passing through, and as they passed under a lantern Ezio was instantly transported to eighteen months ago.

"I know you're there, Ezio!"

"The Pope told me about you and your little group of Assassins..."

"We've had too much bloodshed, I think a cleansing is in order."

"So, consider this an invitation, from my family..."

"... to yours!"

Dark hair, red cape, neatly cropped beard; still as smug, still as arrogant, still smiling, and Ezio felt phantom pain in his chest, blood and smoke and memory and explosions mixing together to make his entire body still, his intense focus pinholing even further to glare at that man, that damned man, as he spoke to others around him.

"Uncle... be careful."

"I will."

"Forget the Pope, you answer only to me," he was saying, his voice smooth and charming and everything that Ezio immediately hated. "Roma is the pillar that holds our entire enterprise aloft. She cannot waver. Which means neither can you." Ezio glared at Cesare and his blithe assumptions, his rhetoric that his taking over all of Italia was an enterprise. Was Monteriggioni an enterprise? The cannon fire, the deaths, the fires; destroying the church, killing the children, deliberately firing into the city instead of the battlements; was brashly walking into the main gate, or shouting out to Ezio in the smoke and fire, was killing Mario an enterprise? Hate boiled up in Ezio, reddening his vision and spiking his heart rate and clogging his ears. A fall from this height... he could survive it and Cesare Borgia would be dead and Zio Mario would be avenged and Ulderico would not have died in vain and Claudia and Federica would be safe and...

"But remember for whom we Assassins fight."

Ezio took a deep breath and held it, willing his anger in check, making himself calm down. He had learned this lesson already; killing Cesare for his attack on Monteriggioni would solve nothing. He had to let it go. He had to let... Mario go. Ulderico. Doriano. Everyone. What was past was past, killing Cesare would not make it better, would not make his losses feel better, would not make the tragedy better. Killing Cesare was about the people, about Rome, about Italia. It would do no good to kill him in an open courtyard in front of witnesses of unknown skill; it had to be done right, and there was Rodrigo after this and Caterina as well. He couldn't just make a blind jump.

… He couldn't break the Creed's second tenet.

He took another deep breath, working through his emotions.

"What of Il Vaticano?" one of the men, possibly French, asked.

"That tired old men's club? Play along for now, but soon we will have no need of them. I need to get going. You know what to do."

Cesare marched off into the building, the other three milling about. Ezio finally could think enough to study them; one was a cardinal, another with a crown. The third was unremarkable but well dressed. Who were they? He did not know, but he wished them to leave right now, so he could follow Cesare and find a secluded place to fottutamente kill him.

"... He's left us Roma," the cardinal said, surprised.

"She'll be in good hands," said the nondescript man, making the one with the circlet the Frenchman.

Finally, they left.

Ezio's arms shook slightly as he climbed down to the courtyard, four of his fingers were bleeding from the exertion as were both palms and he tugged his gloves off, the leather making the pain only worse. Tucking them away, he drifted from shadow to shadow, asking his eagle for help, and finding faint traces of Cesare to follow: the smudge of a boot print, the scent of sweat and metal. The castello was spacious and grand, and deeply shadowed in the dead of night with few windows. Ezio's boots echoed off the marble floors, and he took great care to move slowly and silently, wishing once again that he was in darker robes to be even more invisible. Eventually he followed the trail up some stairs and to some kind of library. Guards were there and Ezio stayed to the doorway, looking up to a balcony and seeing Cesare meeting with a bright head of blond hair.

"Cesare."

"Lucrezia."

The pair kissed. Intimately. Ezio's eyes widened when he saw one tongue enter the mouth of another, one hand grip a waist while another slipped down to touch...

...! They were siblings! Ezio covered his mouth to mute his disgust. To do that to his own sister, and for her to desire it...!

"I hope you have been treating our guest with kindness," Cesare said softly, his voice only barely reaching Ezio's ears. The charm that radiated out of it sounded oily, expectant, in its softer tones.

"Sforza? She's been quiet lately; perhaps she has at last learned her place. That mouth on her... How I'd love to sew it shut," Lucrezia said, looking away and her pretty face turning spiteful and angry.

"I rather like it open, myself," Cesare said in lecherous tones.

"Oh?" his sister countered in a flat, warning voice.

Cesare only offered a soft chuckle, cupping her cheek in his hand before changing subjects. "Have you talked to the Pope about the funds requested by my banker?"

Lucrezia turned away, her face jealous and shallow, but she took a deep breath and answered. "He is away from the castello, and he might need some convincing when he returns."

Rodrigo Borgia wasn't here? What of Machiavelli's information? Ezio held in a growl, frustrated that the opportunity had shrunk. Why was Borgia away? Where would he have even gone? The pope so rarely left Roma. One of the birds had been lost, but there were still two others to stone. Ezio willed himself even more still, watching the siblings, the... lovers... and waiting for his opportunity to strike.

"That shouldn't be a problem, should it?" Cesare asked in his oily whisper.

"No," Lucrezia said slowly. Ezio watched her take a breath and turn back to her brother. "Only... it gets quite lonely here. You and I spend so little time together these days, busy as you are with your other conquests."

"Soon," Cesare replied to the suddenly shy blond. He turned her around and placed his hand liberally on her breast, leaning into her personal space and slowly backing her against a bookshelf. "Once I have secured the throne of Italia, you are going to be my queen, and your loneliness will be a thing of the past." Her face blossomed from shy to hopeful to expectant. Ezio could see the beauty return to her, eyelashes fluttering and cheeks flushing. She took a deep, heaving breath that made her chest move, and her answer was breathy, throaty, lustful.

"I cannot wait."

Cesare leaned in for another scandalous kiss, a hand reaching up and tangling in her luscious blond locks before fisting them and pulling her head back.

"Now..." he said in a soft, disconcertingly coy voice, "Behave yourself while I am gone."

Lucrezia gave a fuzzy nod, and Cesare strode off, down the stairs and Ezio was quickly backing up himself, only just finding a shadow to disappear into before Cesare descended the stairs and into the hall.

Ezio was hard pressed to keep up and remain silent, and if the bastardo was heading out like that conversation implied he had little time indeed left for this opportunity. He extended his hidden blade, wishing he had been given more time to plan; he was losing sense of where he was.

"Open the gate! The Captain General is leaving for Urbino! Buona fortuna, Padron Cesare!"

Merda. MERDA! The opportunity was gone! Ezio watched Cesare march out of the castello and to the stable yard. There was no way to catch up to him now. Machiavelli was going to be very disappointed.

With Cesare and Rodrigo both gone, that left only one other priority left: Caterina Sforza. She was still alive, thank God, and now Ezio needed to find her. A small miracle indeed, with the sun rising and the light making him more visible. Struggling to remember how he had arrived where he was, he attempted to backtrack. The castello prisons were below ground, Volpe had learned that much, and he needed to find a stairwell that lead in that direction. He wasn't completely sure where he was, however; he had lost track of the halls and corridors Cesare had lead him through. Cursing vociferously in his head, he eventually found himself under a portico, looking out over a courtyard. It frustrated him only momentarily, for now he was oriented in the building: It was a different courtyard than the one he had seen earlier, meaning this was on the other side of the castello, if that was the case then... that archway he had passed... Yes, he remembered where the stairs were from here.

"I love you so, I want to sing it to the heavens."

"Pietro! You must whisper it only to yourself."

Ezio paused, recognizing that distinctive voice. Peering around the portico he saw the red dress, the blond hair. Lucrezia...? What was she doing now? It was near dawn... "If Cesare found out, who knows what he would do."

A man, brunette, sat by her on a bench, indecently close. "Are you not newly widowed?"

Lucrezia turned away, her face flushed in humiliation. "He killed my husband."

Ezio remembered; Machiavelli had mentioned it when he had first arrived in Rome. It was the reason weapons were banned in the Vatican.

The man paled considerably. "Oh," he said in a quick, slightly strangled voice.

"Cesare has always been jealous of my attentions," she said, reaching over and touching the man's thigh, "but that should not deter us."

"No?"

"I will keep our secret," she said softly, barely heard by Ezio, as she leaned in, touching her nose to the man's.

"Lucrezia. Your lips call to me."

And they kissed, just as intimately as Lucrezia had kissed her brother, and Ezio felt a new wave of disgust wash over him. No wonder she was such a fine weapon for the pope, she was nothing more than a high-born whore... now she was deliberately bedding this idiota just to make her brother jealous...? Of all the shallow, cheap, indecent...!

Birds fluttered above, and the two broke apart. "What was that?" the puttana asked, her lips swollen and face flushed.

"I... I am late for rehearsal," the man said quickly, getting up and looking around like a nervous pheasant. His excuse was obvious. "Farewell, my love," he added with a deep bow.

Ezio ducked behind a different pillar of the portico, the shadows still deep enough to hide him in the dawn light, and watched the man – an actor? - dart away. Ezio waited, a man that scared would be paranoid, and the master assassin didn't want to press his luck. As he gave the man time to make his escape, he heard a guard approach. "I heard the entire exchange, mia Signora, and can vouch for it."

"Good. Tell Cesare. We shall see how it feels when the shoe is on the other foot."

"Yes, Signora."

Of all the...! Ezio watched the guard bow and walk off as the blond Lucrezia pick a flower, pulling its petals. "He loves me. He loves me not."

Utterly devoted to her flowers, Ezio knew he was in the clear, and silently slipped back into the building, knowing now where he was supposed to go and finding the archway he wanted. Passing under it he found a stairwell going down, and the lush marble walls and floors were quickly replaced with ancient, dingy stone and narrow passages, lanterns and lamps replaced with simple torches. Guard presence also increased, and any hope of not killing them flew out the window. Sighing, he silently extended his hidden blade and stabbed a guard as he passed around the corner, pulling the corpse with shaky arms to line the wall before continuing down.

Now it was a race against time. Dawn light was visible even this far down, and he didn't want to think about how late it was.

Or how long it had been since he slept.

He had to kill two more guards before he heard a familiar, throaty voice.

"Oh. My back. Please, can you reach this water jug for me? I cannot get it myself."

"... Anything else I can reach, Princess?"

"No. You must come closer. You boys are being so good to me."

"It's easy with a view like yours."

Ezio saw two guards handing a water jug to a pale, bony hand through the filthy bars of a cell. Caterina Sforza was many things, but bony was never one of them, and Ezio realized – not for the first time – just how long she had been locked away; fifteen months was a long, long time it seemed. Something twisted in his gut, seeing such a strong woman reduced to a bony structure... his silence was shed as he marched into the room, extending his hidden blade and ramming it brutally into the first guard, leaving a bloody gurgle as he shoved the body aside. The second guard turned, a curse on his lips but Ezio stabbed again, deep into the stomach and twisting before pulling out and stabbing a second time and ramming the skull into the bars.

Caterina looked up at him in utter shock. Ezio looked down in a similar state. Her skin was ghostly pale, and she had easily lost a third of her weight, gone from pleasantly soft to bony and ragged. She was still in the half-torn garments she had arrived in over a year ago, now even dirtier and more torn – one breast threatened to be exposed, her skirt ripped almost up to her hip. Her face was hollow, her eyes heavily shadowed, dark and haunted. What had they done to her? She was but a shadow of former self.

But, just like that, her dark face lit up, eyes welling with tears. "Ezio... You're alive! You're alive!"

Her heartfelt plea pulled at his heart, and he couldn't stop the wince as he crouched down and began picking the pockets of the corpses.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," he muttered, digging through pockets. "After the attack..."

"I saw the smoke, everyone said you were dead, your corpse dragged through the city. I should have stayed..."

The memories filled Ezio's eyes again, their night together, the hard kiss before he sent her away to her people, Ulderico dragging him away from the fighting... He could still smell the smoke, and he suddenly felt sick. "It... seems to have worked out," he said in a thick voice, finding the keys at last.

"Rescuing me will provoke Cesare's wrath," Caterina said, her face darkening deeply, pain flitting across her features. Ezio cursed Cesare even further for damaging Caterina that badly. He started flipping through the keyring.

"Fortunately for us, he is away. Can you walk?" He found a key of the right size and tried it; failing and trying again. He eyed the leg visible from the tear in her clothing. Her knee was swollen and bruised, her ankle was shaped wrong.

"... No."

The right key finally worked and he swung the door open. Caterina half hobbled, half fell through the door, collapsing into Ezio's arms, cursing under her breath. Ezio closed his eyes briefly, thinking about what he knew of the layout now and how to get out quickly. The bodies were going to be noticed soon if not already, time was against them. The stable yard was the best bet, but how to get there quickly? As soon as they went to the main hall they would be obvious, but there had to be some kind of service entrance...

Wait, that grate he had passed earlier...

Nodding, he pulled his arm under Caterina's legs and lifted her up.

"Ezio, you can't... Your hands..."

"Are perfectly fine," Ezio said with grace and charm, even as it became painfully obvious that his hours spent climbing had taken their toll, shaking visibly. He walked quickly; sweat once more accumulating along his brow under his hood, and hoping his stamina could last long enough. The grate was farther than he had initially thought, and he was breathing heavily through his nose – a sign of his exhaustion, as he set Caterina down and worked the lock and lifted the grate. Below, as he remembered, was a haystack, meaning it lead eventually to the stable. Nodding, he lifted the countess again.

When she saw what he was planning she leveled a heated glare. "Don't you dare," she hissed, but Ezio only offered a winning smile as he hoisted her out into the empty air and she gave a mighty shriek as she fell. He gave her thirty seconds before leaping after her, burying them deeply into the hay. "Figlio di puttana. Never do that to me again!" she hissed as he saw a patrol sweep in and figure out what the noise was. He gestured Caterina to wait. He needed to rest his arms and watch the patrols to see what their patterns were.

"... Why save me, Ezio?" she whispered after several minutes. Her voice was dejected, worn, defeated. "With Forlì taken, I am useless to you."

Ezio hated to hear that voice on such a powerful, self-sufficient woman. He hated to think what she had gone through in her captivity to make her sound like that, and he could all too easily imagine what had happened to her if Lucrezia was any indication. If Cesare was. Silently, he reached out to touch her bony hand, feeling bruises and cuts and scrapes.

"You have a family," he said softly.

She looked away, guilt coloring her face. "It is not your family," she whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse, filled with an emotion he couldn't place.

"Perhaps not, but I've seen firsthand how dear your children are to you. I know how strong you've been for their sake. I respect you too much to see you taken from them." To his surprise, her face became even more pained, and she looked away. He wanted to comment, to ask what was wrong, but another patrol passed through, and Ezio counted back. Not long... He waited for another patrol to confirm it.

"... That night at the Villa. I had to ensure our allegiance to protect Forlì. Do you understand, Ezio?"

Ezio turned to look at her, seeing her darkened face and broken spirit.

… It hurt to hear it out loud, but... "Politics. Of course. I knew it. You need not explain." His nightly escapades had always sprung from an emotion: being close to Federico, trying to forget Cristina, hoping to will away nightmares. It hurt him deeply that Caterina had used it for a colder, more calculated reason. He had hoped that night was about more. He honestly cared for the Tigress, had enjoyed their affair years earlier even when he learned it had broken one of his personal rules. He admired her tenacity, her spirit, her desire to do things her way. She protected her children on her own terms, and she was as fierce as her namesake when they were threatened. There were so few women who were masters of themselves, and he found them beautiful; visions to be respected. He had hoped such a respect was returned but... there was a price to being masters. Caterina was forever looking over her shoulder, forced to do things to keep what she had; almost all of her marriages had been about that, and the one that wasn't had been the biggest mistake of her life, forcing her own son to choose between her happiness and the good of Forli. At Forli, it had been mutual attraction, chemistry; but Monteriggioni had – apparently – had none of that.

"Tonight is all about you."

Yes... It had been all about him, all about making him feel good enough to lend her his troops.

Politics.

He looked to her again, seeing her disheveled state, wondering again what they had done to her. What had made her feel the need to press that point, to deliberately state why she had seduced him that night, why she felt so worthless to wonder why he would risk so much to save her. What had they done to cut so deeply into her spirit?

The first thought made him swallow.

"Did they...? Did Cesare...?" his voice died, unable to form the question, to make it real.

Her gaze softened, slightly. "No. My name must still have some small value. I was left... unspoiled."

The guards arrived a third time, and Ezio was confident of the times now; as soon as they were gone he rolled out of the hay, helping the former countess do the same and lifting her up into his protesting arms again. He moved quickly if not silently, exhaustion making his movements slightly sloppy, but he followed the hallway, killing guards as he had to and making more noise about it as time began to press. It was midmorning now, the castello must have known about his presence, Caterina's escape, by now.

At last, however, they made it to the stables and Ezio helped hoist her into a saddle, her swollen leg pointing out awkwardly before finding a cape and handing it to her, hiding the worst of her lack of dress. Ezio mounted himself, the leather reins torture on his ripped hands and fingers, and they quickly kicked their horses into a trot and boldly rode out into the sunlight and across the bridge.

"Go to Isola Tiberina," he said softly, eyeing the guards as they, in turn, eyed them. They weren't going to make it; they were going to be discovered. He could already see guards running across the bridge. He cursed. "Find Machiavelli there. He will be waiting for me."

"What about you?"

Ezio smoothly leapt off his horse. "Someone has to stay here and distract the guards," he said, drawing his sword.

The countess looked stricken. "Get back in one piece, or I will never forgive myself."

"Go!"

Slapping the rump of her horse, he turned to face the men advancing and took a deep breath. He looked up briefly to the bright blue of the morning sky. "Father... Altair... Forgive me for what I'm about to do..."

The first guard was barely a boy, running blindly to a target with no understanding of just what he was running into. Ezio gripped Altair's sword tightly in his hand, the leather bindings pulling at his palms, and jabbed the blade into the boy's gut, his angle and the lad's own momentum making it pierce out the other side. He shoved the body off as a full patrol encircled him, and the fight was on.

Two things were to Ezio's advantage: his sword and his experience. Against him, however, was the long excursion, the climb, his bad shoulder, and several other things that threatened to turn the tide against him. He asked his eagle for strength, and as the first guard, a lancer, swung, he dodged and split the shaft in two, shocking everyone with the strength of the blow and stabbing the man in the gut, circling around to shove his blade seamlessly into the knees of a second man, spinning around and then slashing at the exposed back of a third, extending his hidden blade and slashing the throat of a fourth, and blocking a dagger and countering to a fifth. He kept moving, afraid if he stopped then exhaustion would overtake him and he would make a mistake, and so instead he was like water, flowing from one target to the next to the next.

Kicking a man at the knee to send him down, Ezio grabbed the back of the guard's neck and fired his gun, the sound reverberating off of the square and adding to the cacophony of screams and bloodthirsty cries and death throws. Armorless or thinly covered men fell at his boots like sacks of wheat, his sword and hidden blade too fast, too experienced, too tightly controlled to be a threat. Altair's sword gave him better range than any guard with a knife or dagger and they, too, were quickly dispatched.

With a dozen bodies at his feet a natural pause happened and Ezio realized he was starting to breathe out of his mouth instead of his nose, a bad sign. The guards had also traded off for more heavily armored men: thicker chestplates and crested helmets and several brutes in full armor.

"He's tiring, press the attack now!"

Like hell.

A smoke bomb would have been perfect about now, but the rush to the castello had cost him dearly in preparation, and so he instead ducked under the brutal swing of an axe from a brute and kicked hard at the hip, meaningless to the brute but giving Ezio enough momentum to add strength to a viscous slash to the exposed neck of a captain, swinging the body in front of him and using as a shield to the next battle axe. The weapon caught on bone, and Ezio circled around the brute, hidden blade easily finding the chink in the thick armor and stabbing into the armpit and twisting before ejecting and spinning around to swing at another guard. A block followed that shook his already abused arms all the way up to his shoulders, and he staggered backward against the heavy strike, his hands numb and his blade slipping in his bloody grip. His bad shoulder throbbed and he was openly panting now, sweat dripping down his forehead, stray strands of hair getting in his eyes. Something appeared at his feet and he looked down to see a crossbow bolt. Damn, the archers had finally gotten into position!

He couldn't wait any longer, he had to get out of here.

His eagle warned him on an attack to his right, but he could feel he was too slow to react, knew the blow would be catastrophic if it landed, and only managed to lift his sword up to deflect when it slid out of his hands. It startled both men, Ezio staring at the captain for a brief moment, before the entire ground shook and an explosion shouted its presence in the air.

… What was that?

Everyone looked back over the bridge, seeing a pillar of smoke rising from the stables. Another explosion sounded, a fireball rising up into the air and transforming into an ugly black burst of smoke.

"Back to the castello!" a guard shouted.

"Protect the Pope! This was a distraction!"

Everyone ran across the bridge, several guards also running away from the chaos, cowardice overtaking them. The people had long since disappeared, and Ezio was left alone, panting, covered in blood and organs and brain matter.

Stillness settled over him, and he looked to his feet. He could not quickly count the number of bodies that littered the ground.

… He had been the epicenter of a massacre – a slaughter that served no purpose other than to buy time. Was that worth it? Did that make the murder he had just committed justified? How could...

Later. He had to think of this later, he had to escape first.

Grabbing the sword he mechanically cleaned the sword of Altair on his sash and only realized belatedly it was just as bloody as his sword. His robes were more red than white, and he suddenly felt dirty; more than just the blood and the sweat. Shaking his head, he ducked down the first narrow alley he could find and began looking for a ladder. He couldn't stay on the streets long.

Ezio lasted perhaps twenty minutes before a street patrol, already hyper alert because of the explosion at the Vatican, spotted his bloody clothes and gave chase. Cursing, he pushed his exhausted body into an all-out sprint, putting as much distance between him and them as he could before ducking into an alley, taking a sharp left and then a sharp right, and jumping into a well, his hands hating him as he clung to the lip and pressed his boots against the edges of the well – anything to relieve the pressure on his ruined hands. He heard the footsteps rush past him, and he waited another thirty breaths before daring to peek his head out. It was clear, and he hobbled back onto the street and ducked into a courtyard to hide and catch his breath.

A band of thieves were there, and they stared at him wide-eyed before he collapsed behind a tree.

"I don't have any coin on me now," he whispered, voice hoarse and sporadic between his greedy gulps of air, "but can I buy your silence?"

"You're the maestro," one of them whispered. "You beat La Volpe in a race..."

"Then he's the one we were sent to find. Vincenzo, find some new clothes; Alessio, bandages; Marzio, wine."

Ezio looked up to the sky, it was near noon. He had been up for nearly thirty-six hours. Sighing, he began the laborious process or pulling off his hidden blade and armor, knowing that a spare change of clothes was coming and bandages would certainly be needed when the adrenaline wore off and he realized how poorly he had likely fought on the bridge. Good lord, so many dead at his hand...

The next few hours were fuzzy at best, the thieves retrieved what they needed quickly – to be expected after being trained by Gilberto, and helped Ezio into his new clothes. He drank the wine greedily, as well as the bread, and was eventually able to get up on shaky feet. The four thieves stayed near him, two disappearing up to the roofline, and Ezio began a slow, circuitous, painful walk back to the warehouse. His brain was filled with the bodies he had created, the slaughter he had committed, the murder he had executed, and felt – not for the first time – just what the cost of this war with the Templars entailed. How could he have done it differently? How could he have prevented the sin he had just committed?

… Just how many bodies lay at his feet over the course of his life? He had only painted the ones he planned on killing, but there were so, so many others. Was this his destiny? Would he be cursed to kill people for the rest of his life, did the Assassins do nothing else?

No... there had to be something else. Something better, bigger, something that somehow, someway, balanced out the terrible deeds they did.

"Maestro!"

Ezio looked up to see Vecellio gliding down from a flower trellis in the middle of a busy street.

"You're alive!"

"Idiota!" he growled. "Think about where you are!"

Vecellio froze, his eyes wide under his grey hood, and bowed his head. "We were so worried, we saw the explosions... we weren't sure..."

"Has Caterina Sforza arrived?"

"I don't know, Maestro, we've been looking for you since we saw the explosions. Enu is still at the hideout, he would know."

Ezio nodded his thanks to the thieves and they disappeared into the crowds. Without the extra bodies he stiffened his posture, still acutely aware of his surroundings.

"Maestro, what happened? Your hands..."

"Go ahead and look for Dante," Ezio ordered instead. "Bring him to the warehouse and let him know that I'm coming, as is a Contessa who is in desperate need of medical attention."

"I can't just..."

"Go, I'll be fine."

Vecellio's face was pained with indecision, before he sprinted down an ally and up a ladder, doing as he was told. He had a good heart. Ezio sat on a bench to catch his breath. Again.

"I wonder what happened at the Vatican, did you see the smoke?"

"Yes, we can only hope those bastardi got what was coming to them."

"The Assassin will kill them all... though it will take a little time."

"If I ever see him, I'll kill any guards trying to give chase."

"And probably die in the process, idiota."

"The guards came to collect taxes again. I've already paid all I can. I don't know what more I can do..."

"My daughter was taken by them. I'm sure the pope has ruined her by now, but I'm too afraid to go and get her. I don't want my other children to suffer..."

"They think they can do anything they want..."

"Someday they'll get their comeuppance..."

"All I need is a little courage, then..."

"The Assassin will help, or else it's all for naught..."

Ezio watched the crowds go by, eyes as hooded as his face, before grunting up to his feet and turning towards the Isola Tiberina.

---

It was midafternoon when he finally arrived, he eased into the warehouse and was pounced upon by all of his apprentices, bombarded with questions and ushered unerringly to one of the rooms where Dante was standing, tending to a significantly cleaner Caterina. The redhead looked up and nearly burst from her chair.

"Ezio!"

"Maestro, just what have you done to yourself?"

There was very little talking after that, Dante taking complete charge of the room and giving crisp orders to the apprentices, asking for candles or rags or other implements. Caterina's leg was bound from ankle to hip, her skin even paler in the daylight, and Ezio could see even more damage he had not noticed earlier. Her leg had to be rebroken and set, among other things, and she was forbidden to move for the next six weeks, on top of being on a strict diet and a regiment of wine mixed with something to help her sleep for the next four days.

Ezio, for his part, was too exhausted to fully understand the words coming out of Dante's increasingly irate mouth as he diagnosed what was wrong with him. He had discovered a nasty slash on his shin he didn't know about, along with a broken toe and a twisted wrist. This did not include the more obvious strain he had placed on his arms, and as Dante rubbed a salve that stung to high heaven, Ezio perked up enough to explain – in part – what he had discovered during his climbing the previous night.

Dante examined the shoulder, nodding to himself before giving Ezio a glass of wine that must have been spiked, because the next thing he knew he was in his bed looking blearily at Varzi, who quietly got up and disappeared.

Dante arrived and sat down by Ezio. "You gave those... apprentices of yours quite the scare," he said slowly. "Maestro, it's safer for me not to ask, but in what you 'do' you need to take better care of your body if you want to live a long life."

Ezio blinked, frowning.

"When we first met you had holes in your shoulder the size of florins, and no matter how much I tried to warn you, you didn't look after it as carefully as you should. You kept reopening the wound until I was forced to bind your arm, do you remember?"

"Si."

"Maestro, the scar tissue on that injury is so thick now that there's nothing I can do. You will never have the reach you did before you were shot because of it. I know you've been working to retrain your muscles, but your shoulder will never be as strong as it was because of the extra damage you did to it before I bound it. I've seen your body, you should be crippled by now, but you've always listened to your doctors before. I would ask that you please listen to me when I tell you that I don't want you exercising for the next two weeks."

"... It was never about listening," Ezio said softly, looking away. "I just... had someone looking out for me." Oh, Zio...

Sighing, he pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the bed. Dante watched with a critical eye, but Ezio only shrugged on his boots with his bandaged hands and walked with achingly sore muscles to the room he assumed had been assigned to Caterina. She, too, was in bed, her leg propped up with pillows. There was more color in her cheeks, and she was eating a thin soup.

"It's good to see you out and about," she said warmly, eying his own bandages.

"Si," he replied. "Where is Machiavelli?"

Caterina shook her head. "I could not find him."

"I brought the Contessa here," a new voice said.

Ezio turned, surprised to see Volpe in the warehouse, and more surprised that he had not noticed the man yesterday. But, then, he was a master thief, after all. "I am grateful for your aid," he said, bowing slightly. "And for your thieves."

Gilberto nodded. "I had initially come to give you some information I've discovered. None of your apprentices knew where you were, only that you had a meeting with Machiavelli and left. I knew about Bartolomeo's message, and I was halfway to the Vatican when I saw the Contessa riding as if the devil were at her heels. She told me what happened."

Ezio nodded, sitting down on a stool and motioning for his friend to do the same. "And what have you discovered?"

"Caterina."

Everyone sans Dante looked up to see Machiavelli at the door.

"Care to tell us where you have been?" Volpe asked, his violet gaze narrow and his posture much more rigid.

"Looking for Ezio," he said. "I heard what happened in the castello. What of Cesare and Rodrigo?"

Ezio winced at what was likely to be another blowout. "Cesare rode off before I could get close to him," he explained, "and Rodrigo was somewhere else entirely."

Machiavelli openly blinked, a frown crossing his features before he schooled himself again. "That is odd. Rodrigo is usually at the castello."

"Very odd indeed," indeed, Volpe said with a trace of irony in his voice. "Where ever did you get your information?"

"... A reliable source. He has never been wrong before," Machiavelli said, eyes lost in thought. "What a waste. No offense," he added quickly, gazing at Caterina.

"None taken," she said softly, looking away. "I wasn't much of a prize to begin with..."

"Your endeavors were not without sacrifice, it seems," Machiavelli said after a beat, eyeing Ezio's bandaged hands. "I'll look after the apprentices."

"I'll stick around as well," Volpe said suddenly. "After the showmanship on the bridge, you will want an extra set of eyes." He gave Ezio a significant look and followed Machiavelli out. Ezio sighed, hunching forward to put his elbows on his knees. Caterina said nothing, and for a long time they just sat there.

---

The next day found Ezio up on the roof, sitting on its edge and looking out over the island and the river. If he looked at just the right angle, he could see the bank, and watched as Romeo flit in and out of the bank and down the street to the new blacksmith Etienne to settle the next installment. He saw a group of young men loitering on the bridge, talking and gesturing wildly, their words sometimes carried on the air currents.

"... Borgia rapers..."

"... the Assassin will get them..."

"... want to help him..."

He had heard similar epitaphs before, and he went back into the warehouse and out onto the street.

"Ah, Maestro!" Ezio turned to see Salvatore darting up to him. "There you are!"

"... What is it?"

"Have you seen these?" the stableman said, lifting up a shredded bit of parchment. Ezio blinked, grabbing the poster and looking at it. It was... a wanted poster... of him. Damn, damn, now what was he going to do? The apprentices weren't used to tearing these things down, and he had promised Dante not to exercise...

"We were worried, too," Salvatore said, seeing Ezio's expression. "It looks so much like you, but don't worry. We've all been tearing them down."

"You... what?" Ezio asked, looking up from his poster.

"All of us," Salvatore said. "Me, Etienne and his boy, that seamstress Arianna, those boys on the Trastevere west bank, even some courtesans. We all know it wasn't you, but the papacy doesn't care about look-alikes, so we've been taking them all down, all the ones we can find, at any rate."

Ezio blinked, uncomprehending for several seconds. "Do you know what they will do to you if they find out?" he asked, incredulous at first.

Salvatore nodded his head. "They'd be hard pressed to stop all of us, and a lashing here and there is worth it, Maestro, after everything you've done for us. Helping you makes us feel like we're doing something. Anyway, I wanted you to know; you'll have to keep your head down for a bit until they find the real troublemaker."

Salvatore ambled away, and Ezio stared after the man for several minutes, lost in the gesture that had just been done for him.

Eventually, he shook his head and refocused, but the men on the bridge were gone. Frowning, he pulled his hood down and slowly ambled into the streets. Everyone was talking about the mysterious smoke at the Castel Sant'Angelo: some said it was an explosion, others thought it a fire, still others thought it was a failed assault by the Assassin. Someone asked if the heralds knew what was happening, and Ezio found one and stood in the crowd, listening to the announcements.

"The consiglio rionale asks all residents to visually ascertain whether or not the street is empty before throwing trash from their widows and chutes. The camerlengo will be using public funds to replace his doublet. Consiglio asks that whoever is using the rione's buildings as a personal playground to please be careful of laundry lines and their supports. There have been many reports of weakened posts snapping and God knows white small clothes are the devil to get clean. Ossonati di Roma is making a far-reaching appeal to all Romans to please be careful when taking bricks and marble from old ruins. A section of the Colosseo fell down and killed a kitten last week, greatly disgusting Senator De Rossi. All pilgrims arriving in Rome should avoid the cittas bridges after dark. Recent rumbles of armed youth have led to death among our esteemed faithful visitors. Avoiding certain colored clothing and accessories when in certain rioni is advised. A resurgence in lightweight coinage has been plaguing the chitta recently. The various Rinoi councils and most guild member shops have the necessary scales on site to preform verification. Remember the penalties for tampering with any official mint issue, is most severe."

Ezio frowned. Using the buildings as a personal playground? That was the only overt mention of the Order, there was no connection or even mention of the explosions or the escape of Caterina Sforza. The rumbles after dark were Volpe and the Cento Occhi, he knew, and likely the rival Thieves' Guild was the source of the bad coin. He stayed for another hour, listening to other announcements but heard nothing else of value.

Working his way back into the streets, he joined a collection of people standing in a loose circle exchanging gossip.

"My mother is sick again... I don't think she'll make it this time..."

"They say they're going to fund the repair of Castel Sant'Angelo through the city funds. What is the Senate doing that they allow the papacy to just rob us like that?"

"I hear there is an assassin about... bad business all around."

"Speak for yourself, he's the only decent man in the entire city. I saw him once in Firenze; he saved us from that bastardo Savonarola. If I see him again I'm going to go right up to him and ask him to kill that damn Borgia."

"Of course you'd ask someone else to do the hard work."

"No! I'll help him too, by God."

"Even if that means dying for him?" Ezio asked, eyeing the man for his reaction. The man paled, coughing and looking away.

"... I would," a girl said, and everyone turned to stare at her.

"You can't be serious!"

"I would," she said again, quiet but intense. "The Borgia killed my fiancé. I have nothing left. If my death made the Assassin's work even that much easier, I'd do it. In a heartbeat."

"Crazy girl..."

"No hope for that one..."

"No one will marry her..."

The group left for their different errands, but Ezio looked to the girl, still standing, looking out at the square with burning eyes. "They robbed me of everything," she muttered, "I'll kill them all." She turned and went back to her work.

Ezio followed her all the way to her home, mind flitting back and forth, before he went back to the warehouse and its roof, looking north to the Castel Sant'Angelo and thinking. Hard.

That night he watched Machiavelli and Volpe stare at each other over the heads of the apprentices while they trained, hanging from pillars to develop grip endurance and aiming throwing knives at a straw dummy. Dante changed his bandages and followed Ezio into Caterina's room as he examined her. "Ezio," she said softly, looking at him fondly before lifting her skirt for her leg to be examined.

"It's good to see the color back in you," Ezio said. "I look forward to your spirit returning, too."

Caterina looked away, her eyes hollow and distant.

Ezio wondered if that would be the new normal for her. They sat together until Dante was finished with his work, disappearing back to his shop to gather supplies.

"You have quite the problem."

Startled out of his thoughts, Ezio looked over to the Contessa. "Pardon?" he asked.

"Those two," she said. "I see Machiavelli is still an acquired taste. That thief of yours can't stand him."

Ezio sighed. "I'm well aware of that."

"Then do something about it."

"Like what?"

Caterina shrugged. "I don't know. But distrust that deep can't last without one killing the other. I know that better than anyone..." she said softly, looking away again. "I lost more than I could know learning that the hard way..." Ezio knew she was talking about her son trying to kill her husband, and he watched her face drift into memory, hallowing out and darkening. She stayed that way for a long time before turning back to the master assassin. "I'm sorry, Ezio," she said slowly. "Saving me did not gain you very much."

Ezio shook his head. "It wasn't about that."

She smiled softly. "I know, but I cannot repay the kindness you have shown me. Milan has fallen, I don't know where my uncle Ludovico is, and Giovanni has been taken down by Cesare. My family is not as powerful as it was. I wonder if this is the end of us..."

Ezio gazed at her for a long moment, trying to think about how he could help her, before he took a breath. "It will do you no good to think like that, Contessa," he said slowly. "You have been through a great ordeal – more so because I could not get to you sooner. I have been where you are, counting my losses and wondering what kind of future I will have." He could still remember the night he and his family had escaped Monteriggioni, Claudia helping a mute Maria with nothing but the clothes on their back, uncertain if an unknown uncle would take them in, uncertain where to run and be safe, uncertain of... everything. "I learned that I had more than I thought; you will, too. You must count your blessings first: your children, your family, your friends. They will carry you through this."

Her face didn't change, the bright smile or sassy grin did not appear, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and her eyes brightened slightly, and Ezio took that as a good sign.

---

For the next several days he wandered out to the streets, sometimes with an apprentice, most times not, milling about with the people, passing off his bandaged hands as a riding accident. The heralds had nothing more to say about the Assassins – Ezio had made sure of that the day he heard the announcement – but there were no new developments concerning the papacy or Cesare. More than a few people told Ezio about their taking down the wanted posters as far as the Campidoglio, and expressed their outrage that the posters were even up since Ezio was obviously such an upright, honorable man. Several people wondered if there would be another attack on a Borgia tower, there was a great sense of relief in seeing smoke billow from their windows, and Ezio found over a dozen people boldly heckling city guards at stairs or on patrol. They were always at a safe distance, and always quickly dispersed if the guards decided to do something, but a year ago no one even dared do such a thing, and Ezio spent his afternoons on the roof of the warehouse thinking.

It couldn't just be anybody, he needed particular personalities if he was going to do this... like that woman who had lost her fiancé... but would it really work?

… Yes, yes it would.

At the end of his two weeks, Dante lifted his restrictions as he lifted the bandages. The cuts had all healed to the point where he could climb without pain, and he had not stopped stretching and limbering his battered limbs, making him almost fit as a fiddle. He summoned Volpe and Machiavelli; after two weeks together he was beginning to think Volpe would burst with suspicion, and Machiavelli was showing an increased moodiness.

Without preamble, he said: "With Cesare gone to Urbino, we must build our forces."

Machiavelli of course frowned. "Weren't you just trying to take care of Cesare and his father two weeks ago? I thought we intended to strike now?"

Caterina, propped in a chair with her foot on a settee, shook her head. "Impossible. Cesare commands a massive army in Romagna. You would never reach him."

Ezio nodded. "With the conquests he has accumulated, I am inclined to agree. Trying to breach his forces would be suicide. I say we work here, in Roma: Erode the Borgia's influence while restoring our own. And in fact, I want to begin right now. I have an idea. Volpe, bring Claudia and Bartolomeo here. I want a full meeting for this. Machiavelli, meet me outside."

Volpe nodded, grinning slightly under his hood with whatever presumptions he was making, and disappeared from the warehouse. Ezio left Dante with Caterina and brought Machiavelli out and over the bridge, into the city proper.

"Look," Ezio said, pointing to the people. They walked past the poor and destitute, people in rags begging for coin or bread, gossiping about how little they had and how unfair it was. "The Borgia rob everything from the people to maintain power."

"... What do you intend to do?"

"We will recruit them to our cause."

Machiavelli's head snapped towards the master assassin, incredulous. "You cannot be serious."

"I am perfectly serious," Ezio said. "To win this war, Machiavelli, we need loyal soldiers. By recruiting enemies of the state, we arm those who have been disarmed by the Borgia."

"They are sheep, Ezio, I have told you this over and over, and still you refuse to see the truth. They are cowards, just as ready to pick your pocket, if you recall. Where were the people when the Borgia took power? When Monteriggioni was attacked? What do you think they will do, told they are hired by an Assassin and sent on an assignment? They'll go straight to the Borgia looking for coin!"

"No, Machiavelli," Ezio said, wanting to curb this debate before it started. Again. "You are right in that people will do whatever serves them best in most circumstances, but it is foolish to think that every person in the world is like that. If that were the case, men like us would not exist, and the Templars would not suffer the opposition we give them. Not all men want to be told what to do, and those are the men that we must recruit. Here, let me show you."

Ezio lead Machiavelli through the crowds and to the house of the girl, watching her leave on her errands and join, eventually, a group of gossips. Ezio joined in the conversation, saying little but gently steering it to the topic of the Assassins, and looked pointedly at Machiavelli as the girl professed, once more, her willingness to die to make life better.

"Why do you believe in the Assassin?" Ezio asked.

"Because he fights for the people," she said softly. "My mother's life was spared in Firenze because of his work against Savonarola; he saved Lorenzo de' Medici when my father was a child. He... he could make it all better, make everything mean something."

Ezio left the conversation and gave the Florentine diplomat a pointed look.

"Rhetoric," he scoffed. "What would she do when confronted with a Borgia guard? She would bow down like the sheep she is, like people all are."

"But who better to fight the Borgia than those most deeply invested in their defeat? Look at the men Bartolomeo hires, he-"

"Mercenaries are hardly a tool to measure anything," Machiavelli said, spitting on the ground. "Bartolomeo is the exception to the rule, I acknowledge that, but mercenaries are men who fight for gold, and they must never be trusted."

Ezio shook his head. "Then you have not met the men he has recruited," Ezio said. "He has handpicked men whom the Borgia have wronged, the force he is creating it not one bought by gold, but sold on purpose. They want to protect their rights, and for their rights they will fight to the death. Those are the kind of people the Brotherhood needs. Those are the people who will stay long after they have gotten their way."

Machiavelli shook his head, still adamant. "Consider the type of person you are talking about Ezio: who is most disenfranchised in Italia? The poor, the destitute, the degenerate. You are talking about people with no meaningful skills whatsoever. They cannot read or write, they are drunkards and idiots, and they would not be able to do what was necessary if their life depended on it."

"We all have to start somewhere," Ezio pressed. "I couldn't do what was necessary either, when I was a youth. I shouted from on high what I intended to do, I could not bring myself to listen to Zio Mario, and I nearly died because of it. But I learned. I have learned, over and over, and that is how I can stand here today and even suggest this."

"You would teach men to read and write, to start at the absolute bottom? How much time do you think you have? How much money? How many resources?"

"But it will be worth it," Ezio insisted.

The Florentine diplomat could only scoff. "Go then. Recruit our first novices. See how far you get." With that, he stormed off.

---

Author's Notes: Whew. So much happened in this chapter.

Caterina first. The thread of "women's issues" continues with her as Ezio realized just what she has had to do in order to be the Tigress of Forli, and how men do/did not have to go through what she went through. He also realized the very real possibility of what could be taken from her in 15 months of imprisonment (more on THAT in a later chapter). He also sees, at least a little, how Caterina has had to calculate her affairs. She's fond of Ezio, but she wanted his Assassins more than she wanted him. This will be mirrored by Ezio later in the fic. Look forward to it. ... Otherwise, we said so much last chapter about women in Rome that we won't bore you as second time.

The assault on the bridge. When we first played Brotherhood we got the serial killer trophy during this, and when all was said and done we counted something like 40+ bodies. A massacre like that is ridiculous in the real world without some kind of semi-automatic weapon, and the idea of Ezio performing slaughter like that - outside the conventions of a video game - is somewhat disturbing. There comes a point where being all badass kill-streak stops being badass. Belying the fact that Revelations reflects this in his headspace, this is a blatant break of the Creed. He deliberately drew attention to himself for the sole reason of giving one person a chance to run away. Is one person equal to 40+ in the Assassin Creed? It's a moral quandry that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Machiavelli. Er, by this point this conversation should have been obvious, and it's not like Machiavelli doesn't have some valid points. Ezio is about to take on an enormous project that even he doesn't realize is as big as it is. But, then, like Ezio says. It's totally worth it. More on that next chapter.

Next chapter: Novices. Lots, and lots, of Novices.

PS. Where did all our regular reviewers go...? We miss you...!

PPS. To the men who reviewed/PMed to our big feminist author's notes last chapter: Thank you. Thank you for your insight, your thought provoking opinions, your encouragement, and most of all thank you for your sensitivity to an issue that is very touchy. To the boys who reviewed/PMed: Wow. There are no words.