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.

13. Death of a Pope II

Part Thirteen: Death of a Pope II

After the all-nighter, Ezio collapsed in bed and allowed himself to catch up on his sleep. The next day was the second of August, and it took him a moment to realize they were in another month. By the fifth, all of his recruits had returned from their assignments with successes, even Vittoria with her painfully new novice Concetto. By then, the novice's armor was ready, as was the uniform Arianna had made him. The boy's cousin had arrived as well, and Ezio referred him to his two bankers to set up a tailor shop on the Isola Tiberina with his freshly returned money. As an added bonus, Claudia's girls had robbed the party blind, and along with the petty cash from the partygoers, the Banker had several chests of money, tripling Ezio's savings. The siblings shared a black grin of satisfaction over that.

After that he sent them to the streets of Roma to find the interrogators and French bullies that were harassing the people. It made for a bloody three days, but by the eighth, twelve people were dead and the city was safe again. The people on the street marveled, wondering what had happened to create such a windfall, and rumors spread like wildfire.

Once they were squared away, and with two of his list of four dead, it was time to gain access to the Vatican, and so he rode south to a certain inn. Volpe had sent word earlier that he had every name of Lucrezia's lovers, and with a word from Ezio a key from any of them could be stolen. Late evening was setting in, Ezio had spent most of his day watching Vecellio discretely in his recovery, talking with his little brother and the new novice Concetto. Sancia cared for him with adequate skill, and his apprentices were helping give tips to the strugglers as they continued their training. Machiavelli was in an out of the hideout, following his own schedule, and it was the supper hour before he could finally ride out.

He ordered wine at the bar of the tavern, sipping it and watching the gambling games at three tables.

"Buongiorno, Ezio."

The master assassin turned to see Gilberto had appeared from seeming thin air, leaning against the bar and looking as if he had always been there. Ezio admired the skill.

"It is time to pay a visit to Lucrezia's lover," Ezio said. "The Banker is dead, as is the French general; the Borgia are vulnerable, and it's time we made our move."

The wily old fox nodded. "I heard as much. I have sent my men out to find him."

"Molto bene."

"Ezio," Volpe said, slightly hesitant. "If I may..."

The master assassin was surprised to his the reticence, shifting his weight on his stool to angle himself to better see his friend's face. "What is it?"

Volpe paused again, drawing from his own mug of wine, before diving in. "I just received confirmation. Someone warned Rodrigo to stay away from the Castello."

… The first assault on Il Vaticano? When Ezio had learned so painfully that he had a bad arm, when he rescued Caterina Sforza? None had known why the pope was away from the castello, but that was two years ago. Why bring it up now? Unless...

"Machiavelli?"

Volpe spread his hands, as if the conclusion was obvious.

"Do you have proof?"

"... No."

Then it was purely supposition. "We must not split apart by mere suspicion," Ezio said slowly. "I know the trouble you have with the man. Frankly, there are days when I, too, cannot stand him; but that does not mean we should be automatically assuming him guilty of something without some kind of proof. Our numbers are small enough that we cannot afford it."

"Ezio, look at everything that has happened for the last three years. He-"

"The Borgia know the location of our spies," a thief said, bursting into the conversation as he burst into the inn. "Their forces are on the move!"

Volpe was already on his feet, upon the thief and demanding information. "Who told them?"

"Maestro Machiavelli asked about our search for Pietro earlier today."

"No one else?" Ezio pressed, unable to accept that the cynical, closed-mouthed Machiavelli capable to doing what Volpe would inevitably imply. "Who else knew of the spies tracing Lucrezia's lovers?"

"Only the guild, maestro."

"Ezio?" Volpe asked, his name sounding like an invitation.

"Get me a pigeon," Ezio said, following Volpe to the back room and past the wine cassocks, up to their hidden room.

"You cannot be thinking about contacting Machiavelli!" Volpe said, incredulous.

"No, Filippo," Ezio said. "He is the fastest, he can gather the recruits and get them here before nightfall. Then we can send them out with your thieves to protect the ones at risk."

"And if Machiavelli intercepts it?" the master thief demanded.

"I refuse to assume he's guilty, Gilberto," Ezio said, his eyes hard, "But for your benefit, I know that Machiavelli is out tonight to visit his wife while she's in the city. He won't be at the hideout."

By midnight everyone had assembled at the inn, Volpe pressing all seven recruits that the Florentine diplomat did not know anything of the meeting. Each recruit was paired with a thief and they were sent off to save the spies Volpe had placed about Lucrezia's many lovers. Everyone disappeared into the night, and the two masters were left to wait for results. Volpe grabbed a bottle of wine, uncorking it and pouring two glasses. It would be a long wait. He slammed the bottle with more force than was necessary, a sign of his concern, and gulped his glass before pouring again. Gilberto glared at Ezio. "You need to open your eyes," he said.

"I still do not believe Machiavelli has turned traitor," Ezio said, taking his own drink.

"First the Villa attack where I find him riding away not hours before the bombardment started, then the Castello that we know now that Borgia was told in advance of your assault, and now this. He is behind it all. You might be able to argue Monteriggioni, but you and he were the only men who knew about the assault on Il Vaticano. And now, conveniently, Machiavelli asks about our spies and then hours later Borgia forces are sent out to kill them. Ezio, the benefit of the doubt has broken; there is no one else who could be behind this. What about other failures that have been happening; that terrible assault on the ambassadors that almost killed young Gaspare?"

"That was a mission that was too soon for them," Ezio said. "Everything went as planned, but it just went sideways." Sancia's clumsy nature had ruined a perfect assault.

"But didn't your archers spy men leaving? Was it before or after the assault? Do you know? And you said that Machiavelli tried to send you back to Firenze as soon as you arrived in Roma. Why was he so desperate to get rid of you?"

Ezio closed his eyes to the memory immediately after the fall; and he at rock bottom, with nothing but his ideals.

"He thought me a fool," he said slowly. "I let the Spaniard live, and he was angry. I don't blame him. He has been dogging me ever since to finish what I started."

"And has he ever once understood exactly what you are trying to do?"

"He has his own ideas."

"All the more reason," Gilberto said, taking another swig of his wine. "You are taking a fractured and broken brotherhood, scattered about Italia, with different masters, different ideals, different skills, and consolidating it to one central location here in Roma. How many assassins outside of your recruits have come in to visit you? Better yet, you are connecting to the guilds beyond Italia – Mario never did that, not even your father had that presence of mind. This kind of unity creates things: opportunities, experiences, connections, and power. The Templars have lasted as long as they do because they are connected all over the world; imagine spreading our Creed across all of Europe and Africa, or even that New World Corombo discovered. Only a fool would fail to see what you are doing; and Machiavelli is a fool."

Ezio frowned into his cup, flushed at the litany of praise, and didn't feel completely worthy of it. He was only trying to survive, and in order to survive the Brotherhood had to change. He had to repay the kindness of the people of his youth, who had reached out when he had been unwilling to see, let alone understand, what he was becoming. How many others needed such guidance? Ezio was but one man, but he wanted to help as many as he could, as he had been helped, and honor the memories of those who had passed.

The hour waned slowly to dawn, both men drinking intermittently, lost in their thoughts, waiting for word to arrive.

Slowly, the pairs returned; no injuries (even the novice Concetto, and that was a miracle if the story was any indication). Everyone gathered in the back room, customers either chased out of the inn or too drunk to hear what the impromptu meeting was about to detail.

"What were you able to find out?" Volpe asked of his spies.

"Pietro is to be assassinated this evening. Cesare sent his butcher."

"Micheletto. The best killer in Roma," Volpe muttered, rubbing his chin. "No one escapes him."

"Until tonight," Ezio said with confidence, nodding to everyone in the room. "What else did you uncover about Pietro? The actor or the poet?"

"The man is an actor and he is performing in a play tonight, at Il Colosseo," another of the surviving thieves said. "He is to be suspended from a cross. Micheletto will come for him with a spear."

"And where is Pietro now?"

All of the spies looked to each other, before they all collectively shrugged. "We cannot tell you, our hasty and total retreat prevented us from keeping eyes on him. But Micheletto waits at the city gates east of the Terme di Traiano. He intends to disguise his men to make the killing look like an accident."

"He will lead us to Lucrezia's lover, then," Ezio said. "We can-"

"Ezio, Machiavelli has betrayed us," Gilberto said, his lavender gaze intense under his hood, confrontational. "We would both wish to deny it, but the truth is now clear. He cannot live to betray us again. Do what needs to be done." A significant pause stretched between the two, everyone else in the tiny hidden room watching the two powerhouses stare at each other. "If you don't, I will."

Ezio put everything he had into his gaze, willing Gilberto to understand, wanting the man to see. "Pietro has to come first."

"Then get out."

… The damage was done. Ezio sighed, signaling his recruits and filing out of the inn.

"What do we do?" Filippo asked, eyeing his former abode with mixed emotions. "He has a good point about Machiavelli..."

"He doesn't," Ezio reassured, "He just doesn't realize it." He sighed again, tired after another long night of no sleep, and now a full day of work to get through. He rubbed his head as everyone mounted up, and he slowly led them into a northern trot, trying to decide how he should play this. Without the thieves, theft of the key would have to fall to the assassins, and he was the only one skilled enough to pull it off. Good as Filippo was with theft, his skills in other areas prevented him from having exactly what was necessary for this assignment. Micheletto was a problem, too, one that had to be dealt with first. Cesare's private butcher had a skill set of his own, and with Vecellio out of commission, Enu and Varzi dead, and his other assassins on missions, that, too, was left to Ezio personally. He needed more time...

"All right," he said slowly after much thought. "First things first. We know that Pietro's life is in danger, and so we have to prevent that. I will ride to Terme di Traiano and sniff out Micheletto's trail. If I can delay him, then the rest of you can set yourself up as guards where Pietro is playing."

"Guard all of Il Colosseo?" Abate asked, incredulous. "How?"

Ezio frowned, still working out the details. "Vittoria, you and the girls say in the crowd, try to ask about Pietro and what he looks like. Ideally, we'll get to him before the play even begins, but that will depend on how long it takes for me to deal with Micheletto. Once you have eyes on him, try to keep him close; if he's spooked he'll run and I don't want anyone to realize what we're up to. Filippo, you and Concetto will be up high; keep him close and look out for any approaching Il Colosseo that doesn't belong: poorly dressed guards, men not watching the play, people asking questions. Deal with them as needed. Abate, Alighiero, get yourselves in the play itself. Steal costumes if you have to, poison someone's food. If the two of you are close to Pietro, if all else fails, you can hide him away until the fighting dies down. Understand?"

"Si, Maestro."

"Then go."

The seven recruits disappeared, continuing their ride north as Ezio pushed his horse east, kicking the animal into a full gallop. He reached the ancient baths by midmorning, the day already warming as the sun beat mercilessly on the master assassin's back, insects buzzing around him. His eyes got a hint of a gold trail, and he followed it. He reached Porta Nomentana, the eastern most gate of the city, and dismounted, walking his lathered horse through lingering ruins of Rome's great history. He rested his mount in the shade of a half collapsed building, looking out to the gate and asking his eagle for help. His eyes immediately snapped to a small crowd at the gate, too far away for Ezio to make out in his proper vision, but he saw the bright angry colors of Cesare, and his entire body stiffened, not realizing the bastard son was going to be at this meeting personally.

A man in rich furs and blindfold stood, aged and confused. Ezio led his horse around the base of the hill, using it as cover, before tying the beast to a rotted post and slowly crept up the hill. He was close enough to make out details, now, and he recognized the clothing. Egidio Troche? Was the cynical senator captured? Unless... the brother? The one who leaked Cesare's plans for Romagna?

"Please," the old man was saying. "We've been moving for hours, I have no idea where I am. Isn't this enough? Please, I have done nothing."

As if the nasal voice wasn't a giveaway, Cesare's next words confirmed it.

"Francesco Troche, dear friend." Ezio pressed himself to the ground, grass filling his sense of smell as he watched the meeting. Cesare's voice was smooth and charming, the epitome of the charismatic persona that had garnered him so many loyal followers. His tone was reassuring, mild, but inside it Ezio could hear a dark, menacing threat. "Would I lie to you? You told your brother about my war plan in Romagna, who contacted the ambassador of Venezia. It caused me much trouble. Much heartache."

The blindfolded Troche brother sniveled, his entire body shaking. "It was an accident. I am still your servant and ally." His words were a little too quick, a little too nervous. Even with Cesare's conciliatory tones, the older man knew he was in trouble.

The smooth tones darkened further, promising blood. "Are you demanding that I discount your actions and rely on friendship?"

Troche quaked in his boots, taking an involuntary step back, closer to a nondescript man that looked familiar to Ezio. "I am asking... not demanding," he sniveled.

Cesare approached the older man slowly, countenance menacing even to a man in a blindfold. "To unite Italia," he murmured. "I must have every institution under my control: the banks, the armies, the ambassadors, even the Church. And yet here you stand, having leaked word of my plans to ruin my army. Were you also the one who arranged for my sister's lover? Are you trying to undermine me, as my father is? Or perhaps you are working for him, giving him all this information and then siphoning it to me to make your own position more secure. Make no mistake, Francesco, that soon everything will under my control, even that withered old man the pope. And if the Church does not fall in the line, I will eliminate it entirely."

Francesco was shaking so badly a breeze would have knocked him over. The master assassin could not blame him, Cesare's ego was bloated indeed if he thought himself capable of taking down the Church on top of uniting Italia. Ezio watched intensely, knowing he could not handle both Cesare and Micheletto. Not alone in the open countryside of Rome with no crowd to disappear in, or spire to climb, or with a horse in desperate need of a rest. "You know that I really work for you, not the Pope," Troche pleaded.

"Ah, but do I, Troche?" Cesare asked, reaching up and cupping the man's face in his hands. Troche visibly flinched, trying to pull away, but the Captain General held the man still. "There's only one way I can know that unconditionally now."

The forgettable man moved, behind Troche and taking position.

"You intend to kill me? Your most loyal friend?" The Troche brother was panicking now.

Cesare grinned magnanimously. "Of course not."

And the older man sagged in relief. Cesare removed his iron grip. "Are you letting me go? Thank you, Cesare. You will not regret-" Those were his last words as Francesco Troche was garroted by Cesare's private butcher Micheletto. The strangling noises echoed those uttered by Federico as he slowly died, and Ezio closed his eyes, pressing his face into the thick grass and willing himself to stillness long enough to stave off the reaction. He loaded his gun, wondering if he should strike now, needing to strike now but knowing that it would give his position away and he simply couldn't afford it. A creative string of curses sprang out of his brain as he listened to Egidio's brother die. How would he even break the news?

Cesare's voice pulled at his ears again. "I have guards waiting to give you the costumes for the play. Lucrezia is mine. No one else shall have her, certainly not an actor. Make doubly sure it is done correctly."

"I obey, Cesare," the butcher said in a low voice.

"Good. And oh yes. Dump Francesco's body in the Tevere."

Ezio didn't dare breathe as he watched Cesare mount and depart to the city. Micheletto took to the task of dragging the body to a horse skittish with the scent of death and wrapping the corpse in burlap before hoisting the dead weight onto the nervous animal. The entire process took nearly half an hour, and afterward Ezio slowly made his way back down the hill to his horse, untying it and hoping the animal had rested enough. He took a deep breath and circled around, his eagle awake, and found the flecks of gold that indicated the trail of the butcher.

As he rode, he considered Micheletto's skills; the man certainly had the strength to garrote another, and the rumors about Cesare's private assassin were impressive: stealth, poison, obviously garroting, and the wherewithal to do the job as often as an Assassin himself. Machiavelli probably admired the killer on a technical level.

But Ezio had nothing but contempt for Micheletto. Ezio had killed men before – had killed by the score in the twenty-plus years he had been an Assassin, but the difference between he and Cesare's assassin was that he knew why he killed. Ezio had a higher Creed to which he followed; he understood that just because nothing was true and everything was permitted, it did not give men the right to act like savages, only to do what was necessary to make the world a better place. Altair had been a great teacher in that regard, his Codex had explored the meaning of the Creed extensively, and it was when he didn't kill by the Creed when he felt the greatest regret. His mind wandered to the slaughter he had been forced to commit on the Ponte Sant'Angelo, killing the guards for simply doing their job for the sole reason of giving Caterina Sforza time to escape. That was not killing for a higher purpose, that was butchery, death without meaning. He had killed men without knowing their worth, without knowing if it was a mistake or not, and that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Altair's mistakes, too, haunted the great assassin, and Ezio knew intimately well the price of being an Assassin. It was why Ezio made a point of showing all possible information to his recruits before sending them out on a contract. It was why he beat the Creed so thoroughly into their heads, to teach them that life was a precious thing indeed, and that taking it was a weighty burden.

Micheletto, by contrast, killed simply because his master told him to. There was no justification, no explanation, no true understanding of why he was doing it. To kill an actor simply because Cesare didn't want to share his incestuous relationship with his sister... the man did not even question the order. He simply obeyed. Micheletto did not think, and a man had to think if he was going to kill someone.

It made him nothing more than a butcher, a hired blade. Micheletto, for all his admirable skills, was exactly the kind of man that Machiavelli despised: there was no loyalty in the man other than to the coin that Cesare undoubtedly paid him. He might bear the name assassin, but Ezio knew the man was no Assassin.

He who was the cause of someone else becoming powerful would be the agent of his own destruction.

With that thought, Ezio decided not to kill the man. He didn't deserve something that merciful, and he would not live much longer under such a capricious master, regardless.

Pushing his horse into a full gallop, Ezio raced across the countryside, following the flecks of gold: horseshoe prints, mostly, with the occasional whisper of conversation that filtered into his ear, slowly making his way west and then north, passing through a small hamlet before the countryside took over again. The harder part was waiting for the right moment. With the hamlet behind him, there was a trickle of people walking to or away from the place, and Ezio wanted to be utterly alone when he made his move. A courier rode past him, off somewhere, and he passed a deserted encampment originally belonging to the French, long since picked clean over the last five months by the locals. His eagle cast a fleck of gold on the other side of the wooden stakes, and the master assassin pushed his horse into a gallop again, hoping to catch up. His animal was exhausted, and he hoped the beast would make it.

Once he caught sight of Micheletto, Ezio ducked his head, hunching forward and kicking his horse again, putting on enough speed to catch up before yanking it into an exhausted walk.

"Chei cani dei to morti," he cursed, putting on a Venetian accent. "Some beast of burden – the burden is all on me!"

Micheletto said nothing, eying Ezio warily, but the master assassin said no more, knowing that to talk too much would draw just as much attention as not talking at all.

Ezio let his horse fall back slightly, carefully pulling his feet out of the stirrups and prepping himself. Once he was out of Micheletto's peripheral vision, Ezio cast one last glance about the empty road and launched himself onto the other horse. The animal startled with the sudden weight, and Micheletto was shocked briefly – and that was all Ezio needed as he snaked his arms around the strangler's throat, pressing and pulling until the angle was right. The horse was spinning in circles, trying to buck the weight off, but Ezio held firm, letting the jarring motions give more pressure to his target's neck. Then he gave a great twist, throwing the man off the horse and grabbing the reigns, calming the animal down. Once he had mastered it, he was off the horse and checking Micheletto. The man was still breathing, bright bruises around his neck. Ezio thought of Lucia, abused in her work but persevering. Not wanting that, Ezio kicked the butcher in the head for good measure before taking his fresh mount.

Francesco Troche's body was still tied, and Ezio hesitated only briefly before remounting and continuing his ride west. Egidio's brother deserved more than being dumped.

Saying and doing were two different things, however. It took Ezio until midafternoon before he could find a church to drop the body off to, leave information to contact Egidio Troche, and then move on to Il Colosseo. By the time he even got to the massive monument of Rome's hold empire, it was twilight, and he knew damn well that the play was likely in full swing now.

Cursing silently to himself, he approached the giant structure and slowly filtered his way to the crowds, hoping one of his recruits would see him.

Several minstrels were performing around the perimeter, strumming their instruments and singing; sometimes they were even on key. Three saw Ezio coming and ran right up to them, singing three different songs at once, one so sharp his tenor pierced Ezio's ears. He tried moving around them, but they persisted, singing about cloaked heroes and white shadows and the revenge of the campione. Two more joined in, surrounding him completely before begging for coin for their "masterpieces."

Damn minstrels!

Ezio reached into his pouch and threw the first coin he wrapped his fist around. The ping of the coin being flipped made all five perk, like dogs, and go dashing after the pittance. Ezio left them to fight over who earned the money, and finally went inside.

Vittoria, his first recruit, approached him. "We were getting worried, Maestro," she said softly.

"I was forced to take a detour," Ezio replied. "What's the situation here?"

"We had to make some changes. Concetto really didn't know what he was looking for, and so we sent him to Alighiero to try and pacify him before Filippo killed the boy. Candida and I haven't found anyone, but we spotted Pietro right away once the play started: he's the spitting image of the Christ. The other women here love him, and to keep them away from him while he 'prepared for his part' he was kept below, past our training grounds. I'm pretty sure several women 'got lost' and found him in his quarters. Candida tried to sneak in as well, but he seems to only like blondes; that eliminated all of us. Filippo hasn't signaled us from above, but with just him up there I'm certain people have snuck in; and with Alighiero with Concetto to keep him quiet, that leaves only Abate on the stage. He's one of the Roman guards. Candida is working through the crowds to see if guards are here or not, and Sancia's gone back to the hideout to try and find you. We were getting worried."

Ezio nodded. "All right. Get everyone but Abate here, we'll have to change our plans slightly."

Nominally watching the play, Ezio asked his eagle for help in scanning the crowds, catching only one or two flickers of red. He knew that would not last long, however, if Micheletto awoke and arrived. The butcher would be angry and likely bring every guard he could find to flood the place, and Ezio was woefully undermanned for such an assault if it was staged. Abate, arrogant as he was, was near Pietro and competent enough to protect the actor if all else failed.

Soon, Vittoria, Candida, Filippo, Concetto, and Alighiero were all in front of him on the second level of Il Colosseo.

"Micheletto has been indisposed, but not permanently," Ezio explained. "He should be out long enough for us to make it through the play, and then we can disappear with the actor and do what we need, but we cannot assume that we are safe because of that. There are too few of us to have us try and blockade the entire theatre."

"Then what do you suggest, Maestro?" Candida asked.

"Making a smaller perimeter. If they're going to attack, we cannot protect the entire place, so it behooves us to instead protect the stage itself. Three of us will keep to the back wings, three to the front, spread out and eyes and ears open. When and if an assault happens, we'll have enough angles covered to see it coming and deal with it accordingly."

The five nodded with varying degrees of confidence. Filippo raised a question. "Not all of us have eyes as good as yours, Maestro."

"Do your best; Vittoria and Alighiero, you both have good eyes, so you two will be in the back with Concetto. I'll stay in front of the stage with Candida and Filippo. Keep your eyes open and your eagles awake. Signal if you see something. Go."

Ezio took his position at the center, Candida on his left and Filippo on his right. The circumstances were far from ideal, but theoretically he was being paranoid. There would be no attack and they would talk to Pietro and get the damned key. Experience told him, however, that such would not be the case.

"My god, my god, why hast thou thus forsaken me?"

"Hark, hark how he cryeth upon Elijah to deliver him."

"Wait and we shall see whether Elijah dare come here or not."

"My thirst is great, my thirst is great!"

Ezio winced. The acting was terrible!

"Yea, thou shall drink no more."

"Mighty God in majesty, to work thy will I will never cease. My spirit I betake to there; receive it, lord, into thy hands. Consummatam est."

And, just as the Christ put his soul to the hands of God, Ezio saw the red flickers of guards sweeping into the audience. Lots, and lots, and lots of guards.

Merda.

Ezio signaled Candida and Filippo, the former courtesan and thief slowly drawing their blades as Ezio extended his hidden blades, hoping the others were doing the same. He looked back and spotted Abate in his Roman costume, eyes locked on Pietro on his cross, and silently willed the man to know what was about to happen. Turning back, he saw one of the guards lift a gun up to aim.

"Merda, cut him down!" Ezio shouted just as the rapport of the rifle went off, sending everyone shouting and shrieking, the circular theatre erupting in chaos. The guards were advancing and Ezio could only hope that Abate was doing his job as the master assassin moved to the first guard that came remotely near the stage, knocking a knife strike away with his gauntlet and slicing his hidden blade in the man's throat. A second Borgia man swept in, a captain, more skilled, and Ezio leapt back at a precision strike, giving himself enough time to draw his beloved sword of Altair. The two engaged in a brief flurry of blows, assessing and tentative, before Ezio pressed the attack and overpowered the man, knocking the weapon away and stabbing him deep in the stomach, twisting the blade and then slashing it out of the body. Candida wielded twin knives, spinning in and around the guards while Filippo had ascended the stage and was throwing knives into the throngs of armor, always hitting his mark. Vittoria briefly entered his vision pulling a shouting Concetto away from the fight, the boy cursing and viscous, as the mute Alighiero wielded his mace to great effect.

This did not change the fact that they were woefully outnumbered. With Vittoria dragging the novice away they were even fewer, and Ezio saw visions of more paintings in his future, more apprentices and novices that he had led to ruin because of his plans. How many would be sacrificed to his leadership?

The fear pressed him to be faster, stronger, more agile than the guards. Altair's sword, unbreakable, was like an extension of his arm, breaking bones and stabbing and slashing and raining blood from any guard stupid enough to enter his circle. The recruits he could see were handling themselves competently, but that did not mean it would last, and Ezio growled, tired and hungry and flooded with adrenaline as he tried to plow through the bodies that were throwing themselves into the fight.

"Hold off the guards!" Ezio shouted, looking up to see Abate struggling to cut down Pietro. "We need to buy them more time!"

"Maestro, we are here to help!"

Startled, Ezio turned to see Taddeo, leading a troupe of mercenaries and flanked by Elda and Sancia, as they massed from behind the guards. When did those two get back...? An arrow exploded from one guard's neck, meaning Sozzi was there as well, and soon the tides had turned. The Borgia guards were mowed down by the change. Taddeo, always a skilled fighter, proved that his additional training as an assassin had made him exceptional, he waded through the bodies like they were nothing more than flowers, his massive broadsword splitting heads from necks and arms from trunks as if they were nothing more than blades of grass, and at his side the tiny former nun Elda swept in and around his swings, throwing knives left and right with the skill of a master thief; the two moved so fluidly as to be considered almost one fighting machine.

Arrows continued to rain down, not one ever missing, and Sancia, clumsy, klutzy, Sancia navigated through the fight with surprising skill to dash right past Ezio and hop up to the cross Abate was struggling with, helping the man cut him down.

"This... this was not in rehearsal!" the actor shouted, his voice so high it sounded like a shriek. Once he was down everyone encircled him in a tight defense. Silence hung over the fight for a brief moment. All the guards were dead or running away.

"... Who are you?" Pietro gulped, covered in pig's blood and looking pale under the stage makeup.

"Your savior," Ezio said tersely. "Abate, get him to the tunnels. Filippo, Candida, go with him. Alighiero, find Vittoria and Concetto and tell them it's safe, and take that brat to task if he thinks about letting his temper get the better of him. The rest of us will cover the escape."

Quickly they left Il Colosseo, always circling, always tense, always searching for more guards before they reached the tunnel entrance.

"I cannot thank you enough," Pietro said as Candida and Filippo went int the tunnels to make sure they were clear. "I-"

"The key to the Castel Sant'Angelo," Ezio countered, "Now."

Covered in pig's blood and stage makeup, the man paled and put on a strained smile. "What are you talking about? I'm simply a poor actor..."

Ezio was out of patience. "Cesare knows about you and Lucrezia, figlio di puttana, who do you think orchestrated this attempt at murder?"

The actor's eyes doubled in size, and he paled even further. Then he sighed, reaching into the paltry loin cloth that was his costume and pulled out the key. "The sex was fantastic," he murmured, putting it in Ezio's gloved hand. "Here."

Pocketing the key and trying not to think about where it had just been, Ezio stood guard as the others slowly filed into the tunnels, Taddeo and Elda last, before his eyes caught sight of a bald man missing an eye. Was that...?

---

There were bodies everywhere, even the back of the villa, where the fighting seemed to be the most bitter, Borgia guards and Auditore forces both littered the ground, but a handful of mercenaries stayed, bloody swords and axes and staves ready for the next wave. One of Volpe's lieutenants, Paganino, was there, eying the opening curiously.

"We thought you had been killed, Ser Ezio," he said, awestruck at the sight of them.

"Not yet," he said bitterly.

The one eyed thief blinked. "Where does this passage lead?"

"To the north, outside the city walls."

...

"I'm going to lead a diversion," Ulderico said in low tones. "Tell Federica her father died a hero, and tell her it was all so that she could live a happy life."

"Ulderico, what...?" Claudia asked, before she was kissed again.

"Ezio," he said gravely. "Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you differently."

"Let me through," Paganino, squeezing through the closing bookshelf. "I must go help the troops!"

---

… Paganino...? Alive? But... Ulderico... he had sacrificed himself defending Mario's study; Ezio had listened to the bitter fighting, holding back a furious Claudia. How had the thief survived...? And... why was a thief anywhere near here? Volpe had made it perfectly clear that the thieves would be no help to Ezio after his defense of Machiavelli. Gilberto would hardly have a change of heart, let alone so soon...

"Hey!" Ezio called out. "Paganino, what are you..."

But the one eyed thief looked up, his single eye locking on to Ezio, his face slack with shock, before turning and running away at full speed. What...?

"Merda," the master assassin cursed, taking a breath and pushing his tiredness aside. "Get the actor to safety!" he called over his shoulder, taking off at a sprint and darting after the thief.

The bald man ran northwest, vaguely towards the aqueducts in the moonlight. He was fast, to be expected of a man under La Volpe, and as he passed under an arch he said something to the guards there, making all four armored brutes look at Ezio and draw their weapons. Cursing, Ezio reached into one of his pouches while he ran, pulling out and then throwing a smoke bomb. The cloud filled the air and as the guards started coughing and staggering, the master assassin took a deep breath and closed his eyes, running blindly through the smoke and bursting from it. His lungs burned for the brief lack of oxygen, but once he was through his eyes locked onto Paganino and he put on a burst of speed. Why was he running? Summoning guards? Had Gilberto's opinion of Ezio truly fallen so far? No, he couldn't believe that... Could he...?

Paganino tried to leap up into another of the ancient ruins, an old terme, but he was not as skilled a climber as he was a runner, and with one massive leap Ezio grabbed at the thief's foot and yanked him down. Out of breath, tired, and filled with menace as he started to draw conclusions, he yanked the one eyed thief to his feet, gripping his shirt and holding the man up slightly, keeping him off balance.

"Why did you run?" he demanded, suspecting the answer but asking it anyway.

"I..."

But Ezio was already using his free hand to tug at the thief's pockets, pulling out a letter and snapping it open. It was a missive in Latin, stamped with both a papal seal and Cesare's crest.

Rage.

Pure, unfettered, boiled over rage.

"You are the traitor!" Ezio growled, his hidden blade extended and edging towards the other man's throat. This man was responsible for the attack on Monteriggioni, this man was responsible for warning the pope of the upcoming assault on Il Vaticano, this man was responsible for almost killing his own brothers in the Thieves' Guild. But most important of all, this man was responsible for Mario and Ulderico's death! Ezio shook with rage, his breath ragged as the memories flooded his mind's eye: the bombardment, the fight on the battlements, the gates blowing open, racing to Zio Mario, watching him be shot... Fighting back to the villa, listening to Ulderico fight to the bitter end... Had Paganino stabbed Ulderico in the back in the middle of the fighting? Did he lead the Borgia troops right to them? Was he why the soldiers were in the tunnels during the escape?

Figlio d'un cane! Pezzo di merda! Bastardo!

Ezio struggled to regain control of his emotions, shaking with the barely contained rage that swept through him. Gilberto needed to see this, so did Machiavelli and-

"Long live the Borgia!" Paganino cried before grabbing Ezio's wrists and shoving the hidden blade into his neck.

"Merda!" Ezio drew back from the corpse as it fell, startled by the willful suicide.

Ezio's mind raced, still reeling from the rage that had overtaken him. Volpe... where was Volpe...?

"Merda," he cursed again, realizing the truth. Paganino had likely convinced Volpe – or had been convincing Volpe for a time – to kill Machiavelli, and now the master thief was sworn to do it. He had to get back to Isola Tiberina!

He wasn't near any tunnels now, and so Ezio took a deep breath and broke out into a full sprint west. He could just make out the city in the distance, and in ten minutes he was in the streets. He saw a construction pulley and kicked off it, riding up to the roofs, leaping over the terracotta tiles and jumping over narrow alleys, tweaking his direction as he needed before taking a hastened and decidedly reckless three story leap from a roof to land on the Ponte Cestio, pulling himself in a tight roll to distribute the impact but still pulling something in his back as a result. He had been running for over an hour now, panting for air as he slowed himself to a power walk, pushing through the few stragglers of the night crowds and heading for the bank. There was a small plaza past it, by Dante's shop, that had a view of the Tevere that Machiavelli liked; if the Florentine diplomat was there, then Volpe...!

He saw the dusky hood and cloak, and he saw the knife in Gilberto's hand. Cursing, Ezio put on a small burst of speed, announcing himself by calling, "I have discovered the traitor!"

Both men froze, Machiavelli and Volpe turning, one with stunned eyes and the other downright incredulous.

"What?" Volpe hissed, quickly pocketing his knife away from Machiavelli's gaze.

"One of our men, he was at the Villa attack. Paganino."

Gilberto blinked. "That's not possible..."

"It is," Ezio pressed, his heart rate still up, still breathing heavily through his nose. "I saw him tonight after three years, I tried to talk to him and he ran. When I caught him, he pushed himself on my blade. Here, he carried this letter."

All three men poured over the letter, the papal seal and Cesare's crest, the orders and missives, all in bold script of Cesare Borgia himself, detailing how to relay information now that couriers could no longer be trusted, what information to plant in the Thieves' Guild, and other damning bits of information.

"My God!" Gilberto whispered, looking up to Ezio with shocked purple eyes. "My own man... I never thought..."

"This is good news," Machiavelli said, "With him dead, the Borgia will no longer know of our moves. It gives us more freedom to move. Yes, very good news."

"More than you know," Ezio said with a trace of his Florentine irony, leveling a glance at Volpe.

"I am once again in your debt, Ezio," Gilberto said, his voice smaller than normal. Humble.

Ezio gave the thief a meaningful gaze. "What debt is there amongst friends who trust one another?" he asked, his eyes flicking to Machiavelli. Volpe caught the look, and more importantly the unspoken words, and for a brief moment Gilberto looked ashamed, before a soft smile creased his features.

"Yes," he said simply. "Thank you for relaying the message in time." He turned to Machiavelli "Come Niccolò, it has been far too long since we've talked."

---

That night the three men got exceedingly drunk, Ezio regaling them with his adventure at Il Colosseo, taking pride in what his assassins had done, and discussing how to next move on their training. Volpe praised Machiavelli repeatedly on his exploits in and around the papal court, congratulating the man on his marriage, and extolling the virtues of being a diplomat. The Florentine in turn talked at length about his spy network, who was in it and how he got his information. It was, perhaps, the most the man had ever said in one sitting that wasn't situated around an argument, and by the time Ezio finally dragged their drunken asses to bed they were closer than the master assassin had ever seen them. By one in the morning all the recruits had returned home, and Ezio at last went to bed.

That morning, the tenth, Ezio awoke to see Volpe sitting at the master assassin's desk, hood down for the first time in years, and reading the damning letter over again.

"How are you?" he asked quietly.

"Ashamed, Ezio," Gilberto said, looking up. "For years I thought Machiavelli a traitor, and I never thought to look inside my own ranks. Have I truly passed my peak that I don't even see treachery like this right under my nose?"

The master assassin shook his head. "No, it just means that you were complacent. The last time I was complacent, Monteriggioni fell around my ears to teach me otherwise. I learned from it. So will you."

Gilberto smirked. "You are so different from when you were a boy," he said. "I would never have thought it possible when we first met."

Ezio shrugged. "We all change. Which reminds me," he added, "Call the Assassins together and... bring Claudia."

The master thief blinked. "Now?"

A soft grin. "Yes."

It took a day for Bartolomeo and Pantasilea to arrive, but when they did Ezio took them down to the main hall, the Assassin wall hangings made by Arianna decorating everything. The fire of the brazier set everything in a gold, almost romantic light. The only recruit missing was Gaspare, still on assignment in Constantinople. Concetto looked about confused, but the others understood why they were here, understood what was happening, and they were all reverent in the ceremony about to take place.

"Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine," Machiavelli said, standing over the brazier. "The wisdom of our Creed is revealed through these words. We work in the dark, to serve the light. We are Assassins."

Claudia stood before the brazier, her face awed at what was transpiring around her, realizing what she was about to partake in. Maria stood off to the side, her aged face smiling, holding the shoulders of a bright-eyed Federica. Next to them was Vecellio, still recovering, and even little Giovanni, watching in wide-eyed awe. Everyone was here, and it was time, now, for him to acknowledge something that had been oblivious to him for years.

"Claudia," he said. "We here dedicate our lives to protecting the freedom of humanity. Mario, our father and maybe even our brother once stood around this fire, fighting off the darkness. It took me ten years to learn how to be a part of this Order, I made mistakes that had terrible consequences, I worried everyone around me, and I took the long road. You, however, you were doing what needed to be done long before anyone realized it needed to be done. Your exploits in financing Zio Mario, training under Ulderico, raising your own daughter with lessons I could never have comprehended until recently. You have, in that respect, been an Assassin for far longer than I. You were fighting off a darkness that is so pervasive that the uneducated accept it as fact. I was one of those uneducated, but you were always patient with me, even when I didn't deserve it. And like all my teachers before, you gave me the room to come to my own decisions. Even when it hurt us both. Even when it hurt Federica, and Mother. I have learned, sister, about the darkness you fight, and so now, I offer the choice to you: Join us."

Ezio held out his hand, meaning so much in that simple gesture.

Claudia smiled, a shy, mischievous smile that reminded Ezio of younger years and happier days, and he knew that she, too, had learned over the course of their strained relationship. He could sense a trite remark on her lips, but the decorum of the setting, the importance of the offer, held her tongue, and she simply nodded.

She took his hand, and he helped her hold it in place as Machiavelli burned her finger. She gasped at the pain, wincing, but kept her back straight.

"Where men hold power over others, we remind them that they are merely men," Volpe said.

"Where women are treated as things, we show them we are equals," Claudia said.

"Where nobility are bigoted, we teach them the real nobility," Machiavelli said.

"Where people are owned, we reveal the freedom of choice," Pantasilea said.

"Where justice is ignored, we fight for what is right," Bartolomeo said.

"Where ignorance is prevalent, we imbue knowledge," Ezio said. "We are Assassins."

Ezio helped put her hand into the waiting basin of water, and everyone seemed to breathe as one. Maria had tears streaming down her face, and Federica looked as though she wanted to run up and hug her mother.

"Ezio," Machiavelli said in clipped tones. "You and I have not seen eye-to-eye on many issues."

...

What? Now?

"Niccolò..." he started. They were in the middle of a ceremony! His sister's ceremony! Surely the dour young man had enough decency to-

"But you are exactly what the Order needed," Machiavelli continued over Ezio's protest. "You have led the charge against the Templars and rebuilt this Brotherhood. You have taken something that had died in Monteriggioni and breathed new life into it, you have taken an order as varied as the city-states of Italia and made it a solid, terrifying force to the Borgia. You have taken that which is undesirable to all, and made them into more than what they would normally become. Now," he said, addressing the small sea of bodies watching, "we must put Ezio where he belongs, at the head of the Assassins."

No one dared breathe.

"Ezio Auditore da Firenze," he said, turning to face the master assassin and looking him right in the eye. "You will now be known as Il Mentore, the guardian of our Order and our secrets."

Shocked at the sudden turn of events, uncertain where this was all coming from, awed by the sudden support of his greatest critic, Ezio suddenly found himself standing alone, the eyes of everyone looking up to him, the word "Mentore," whispering about, expecting... something. Was he supposed to say something? What could he say?

… But he already knew.

"Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember..."

"Nothing is true," everyone spoke.

"Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember..."

"Everything is permitted."

Ezio nodded. "We work in the dark, to serve the light. We are the Assassins."

Little Giovanni clapped loudly, breaking the spell that seemed to be cast on everyone, and the entire mess of recruits rushed up to congratulate Ezio and Claudia both. Hands shook, backs were clapped, words of praise filled the air, and Ezio remembered when he had become an Assassin, the pride he had seen and felt from his Uncle, Paola, Antonio, everyone. He felt it again, now, and he pulled his sister into a tight embrace, wanting her to feel everything he was feeling, wanting her to see what a reward it was to see his family was now so large.

"I do see it, Ezio," she whispered, "and I couldn't be happier."

They slowly made their way up to the roof of the hideout. Claudia looking out to the beam that would be her leap of faith. "In to the Tevere? Really?" she asked, disapproval in her voice. But Ezio's quirked eyebrow in response told her what she needed to know, and in spite of her protests there was a gleeful smile on her face as she walked out, arms spreading wide and holding perfect form as she leapt from the beam with complete faith. She had learned from more than Ulderico, it seemed, and Ezio beamed at the new piece of information.

"A moving ceremony," Machiavelli said at Ezio's side. "But then, you have that way about you."

Ezio turned to the Florentine diplomat, eying the man curiously. "Why the sudden change of heart?" he asked softly.

He smiled in response. "I have always stood by you. I was the one who brought you to Roma, and the one who caused the explosion as you fled the Castello. The mercenari who protected you at Il Colosseo were mine as well. You just did not know it."

Ezio blinked, shocked to learn this. "Why did you say nothing?"

"Because I agreed with La Volpe," he said simply. "Monteriggioni's attack would not have happened so soon after your assault on Roma if not for advance notice that that was the meeting place. Unlike La Volpe, I didn't have the faintest clue as to who it was, and so I kept everything I could to myself. Better that suspicion was on me while I looked for the real traitor."

"And the Castello?"

"I saw how injured you were after the attack. I didn't like the idea of you going in alone, even healed. I had arranged for the explosion back when we first arrived in Roma, and it was easy enough to place the charges in case things went wrong. Fabio Orsini was happy to set them off. When Sancia arrived the other day looking for you, I was receiving Sozzi and the others. I knew you would need help, and I sent a pigeon to Bartolomeo to get word to any troops he had in the area to join you."

And all the positive feelings Ezio had increased, as he realized to what lengths Machiavelli had gone to in order to stay true to the Order. He wanted to induct the man right on the spot, save that he was already an Assassin, and only now was Ezio beginning to see the depths the word actually meant. He smiled, softly, and simply clapped Machiavelli – no, Niccolò – on the shoulder.

In this moment, Ezio felt he could conquer the world.

Yes...

Now he was ready.

"Cesare has returned to Roma alone. What do you think?"

"The decision is yours," Niccolò said, "not mine."

"Niccolò," Ezio interjected, pointing to the man. "You'd better not stop telling me what you think. Why else would I seek the opinion of my most trusted advisor?" He gave a Florentine grin.

Niccolò smirked as well, gesturing out to the night air. "Go kill them, Mentore. Finish what you started."

"... Good advice," Ezio said, walking confidently out to the beam. He took a deep breath of the night air, scented with summer and torchlight, thinking about his sister, his family, his losses, and his gains.

"It is a good life we lead."

Federico's voice waifed in his ears, and he smiled. His life had not been happy in a long, long time. His life would never be happy, not in the truest sense, but... Yes. It was a good life he led.

"I intend to write a book about you one day," Niccolò said suddenly, just as Ezio was about to jump.

A book? On Ezio. How could anyone put it all down...?

"If you do, make it short."

And he leapt into his future.

---

The following day, the eleventh, Ezio spent the entirety of it preparing. With the Banker Juan Borgia dead and Octavian Valois dead and his replacement backed by the French Assassins, Ezio knew this was the time to strike. Word would swiftly reach Cesare, and Ezio would need to make sure the proper return home present was available. The death of Rodrigo Borgia.

Bartolomeo sent a few of his men, but he was needed with his troops first and foremost, fighting the French. That was fine for Ezio, Bartolomeo was too attention-grabbing to be of any use at the moment, beyond diversion. And Volpe was a far better choice for that. The thieves spent the night of the eleventh robbing the Vatican and sending guards on a merry chase throughout Roma, always staying just in sight to keep the guards running. Claudia provided Ezio with some Cardinal robes that had been "left behind" that were good concealment for all of Ezio's many and varied weapons.

He did regret that he had to leave the sword of Altair behind. His knife, throwing knives, ammunition, they could all hide at his belt under the robes. The crossbow would be useless, but the sword... there was no way he could maneuver walk or run in the cardinal robes without it being obvious he was wearing a sword hidden underneath. So, with some misgivings, he left his beloved sword behind.

It was dawn on Saturday, the twelfth of August, when Ezio approached the Ponte Sant'Angelo. His recruits had spread out throughout the area to keep an eye out. None of them were truly trained enough for the Vatican and the Papal guards that crawled around it, and Ezio didn't want to risk them.

It was also fitting, how he had pursued the Spaniard single-mindedly for his entire life as a single personal quest, that he now slipped into the very center of the Pope's power alone.

Slipping through the morning crowds of cardinals, Ezio wasn't even looked at twice as he flowed with the river of people. One small group broke off to pause and converse near an entrance to the Castel, and Ezio joined them. The cardinals were all growling about the power of the Borgia and how awful that family was. It was rumored that the Borgia might not last much longer as an Assassin was said to be out for Borgia blood. Would the Lord forgive them for praying for the death of a foul being that could barely be called human?

Ezio hid his smile.

The sun had finally risen above the horizon and the door for the Castel finally opened for a change of guards. It was years of practice that had Ezio wandering in invisibly with the guards and passing from crowd to crowd. He remained charming and chatty, appearing to accompany certain guards deep into the Castel and appearing perfectly ordinary.

Once he was around to the northern side of the Castel, Ezio easily slipped into the shadows and climbed the stairs up to the entrance of the actual Castel. The key Lucrezia's toy gave him worked and he slid inside, once more in the maze of halls that made up the Castel. He kept his wide cardinal hat down, obscuring his face as his hood normally would.

Ezio worked his way down to the kitchens, hoping to find out where the Pope would have his breakfast from there and then sneak up. He did not expect to hear Lucrezia's cruel voice as he approached. He hid by a door, listening.

"I don't understand," Lucrezia hissed. "I ordered a fresh batch of cantarella last night."

"I am terribly sorry, mia Signora," came a high, strained voice, "but the Pope has taken it all."

Ezio blinked. Why would the Pope need poison? And a whole batch? That sounded like a great deal; poison wasn't Rodrigo's method. When the Spaniard wanted someone dead, he simply had someone else do it, like hanging or stabbing. Poison was specifically Lucrezia's specialty where Cesare preferred his hired dog Micheletto. Why would the Pope use his daughter's method of murder?

"Where is the Pope?" Lucrezia demanded. "I had plans for that poison and he needs to explain why he's taken what's mine."

The cook shuddered. "He meets with Cesare," he replied. "The Captain General should return this morning and will meet the Pope upon his arrival."

Lucrezia blinked. "Strange," she murmured. "He did not tell me of Cesare's return..." And there was no denying the caress that Borgia used for her brother's name. "Where is he?"

"He's resting in his apartments," the cook replied, "At the top of the Castello."

Both Cesare and Rodrigo. Perfect.

Ezio returned to the halls, looking for stairs and slipping his way up through the massive fortified building. The guards didn't give him a second glance, and Ezio spied other cardinals in the Castel, all griping and mumbling about meetings that were being postponed. Ezio turned a corner and saw what he needed. Two guards were standing at attention at a door, and there was no doubt that that was where the Spaniard was currently residing. So he breezed right by without a backward glance and entered the room next door, a large library. No one else was there, not surprising given the early hour of the morning, so Ezio found a book to pretend to read, settled by the door that he left a crack open, and watched.

Over the next three hours, several people came to beg an audience with the Pope, but were all refused. Ezio frowned, knowing he'd need a different way to access the apartments. Hmmm. Glancing around the room, Ezio didn't see any doors to leave other than the one he'd been in, but there were several large windows. And given how warm the room was already for the August day, Ezio thought it only made sense to open the windows. Opening the first one, he turned and noted that the Pope had indeed opened his windows as well in order to try and coax a non-existent breeze. Ezio smiled and resumed his post by the door to observe the hall.

Other people came in briefly over the course of the morning, but mostly to grab a reference of some kind, or scratch out a few notes, then leave. None questioned Ezio's presence which worked fine for him.

It was midmorning when Ezio observed Cesare storming down the halls to the Papal apartments.

"I want to see the Pope! Get out of my way!" he growled, shoving one of the guards out of the way.

Well that was one way to get an audience.

Alone in the library, Ezio easily swung out the window, holding onto the sill, and started creeping over. From the open window, Ezio could easily here the brewing argument.

"What has happened here?"

"I do not know what you mean?" the Spaniard replied with irony dripping from his voice.

"My funds, my troops. Gone!" Cesare growled, his voice almost like a whine. "I go to draw money to pay for a new band of mercenaries, to discover that I have none? And when I send an inquiry back here, they're searched! My men searched! Because the French no longer control the area!" The young Captain General shouted almost hysterically.

Ezio adjusted his footing and kept moving.

"Financial difficulties strike all of us," Rodrigo replied smugly. "Even those with an army."

"You intend to give me money?" Cesare stated more than asked. Almost demanded.

"No," was the Spaniard's cold reply. "I do not."

"Then I will use the Piece of Eden to get what I want," the Captain General growled harshly. "Your help is not necessary."

Ezio shook his head. This family. There was no care for one another. And Cesare was acting like an entitled brat that needed to be put over someone's knee and told "No!" like the toddler he was acting like. There was a pause in conversation, and Ezio could only assume that Cesare was likely eating something. He'd have had to have ridden all night to get here.

"That has been made abundantly clear to me," Rodrigo replied almost sadly. "Are you aware that the Baron de Valois is dead?"

"... No! How long?"

"Five months as you conquer and fight and pillage."

"Did you-?"

"What reason could I possibly have to kill him?" the Spaniard shouted back. "Hm? Was he plotting against me with my 'brilliant', traitorous, Captain General? Plotting how all of Italia would belong to the French instead of the Papacy? Or would Italia belong to someone else?" The Pope gave a small laugh. "There is a balance. I paid a price when I became Pope. I lost what I truly wanted down in that underground Temple to the Assassins. But I still have power. Because I understand power. All you do is want more and more. Nothing is ever enough. Yet you understand nothing!"

"I do not have to stand for this!" Cesare shouted back indignantly. "You, who have never given a damn about anything but your power now criticize me and my quest for power? How hypocritical! Instead you'll plot against me-"

"The Assassins murdered him."

"Why did you not stop them?"

Really, Cesare sounded nothing more than like a spoiled child. It was ridiculous. First he rants about how he wants power, then demands someone else to remove the problem.

It was... pitiful.

Ezio slid along the edge and looked for another handhold to get closer to the Papal apartments. He didn't like how this argument was progressing, and he needed to get there.

"As if I could," the Spaniard scoffed, even angrier. "It was not my decision to attack Monteriggioni, it was yours! And now you reap what you have sown. It's high time you took responsibility for your actions. Figure this out for yourself."

"My accomplishments! Despite," Cesare's voice cracked, "the constant interference of failures like you! I shall get my Apple and do what you are too weak to! I will unite all of Italia under my rule, you old fool."

There was a scuffing of feet that Ezio heard, meaning he was getting closer.

"You are not going anywhere," the Spaniard calmly stated. "I have the Piece of Eden. And you will solve your mess on your own."

There was a beat of silence. "Get of my way, old man," Cesare said quietly and coldly.

"I gave you everything," the Pope iterated again, "and yet it's never enough."

"Cesare!"

Dammit. Now Lucrezia was there? Ezio shuffled along faster. What sort of drama would she be bringing to this now?

"He intends to poison you!" she accused. "My cantarella is all missing and he's taken it! He must be planning on killing you! My love!"

There was the distinct sound of spitting.

"You would not listen to reason," the Spaniard said calmly.

"Father," Cesare said coldly. "Do you not see? I control all of this," he continued, voice raising. "If I want to live, I live. If I want to take, I take," he panted, hysteria starting to color his words. "If I want you to die, you die!"

There was another sound of a scuffle, with choking and gagging sounds.

Ezio hurried.

"Where is the Piece of Eden?" was the only question Cesare shouted.

"Stop!" Lucrezia screamed, starting to sob. "I know where it is!"

Cesare moved from his choking father and it sounded like he slammed Lucrezia against something. "And you did not tell me he had taken it?"

"Cesare..." Lucrezia gasped, "it's me... your queen..."

"You are my sister, nothing more, you whore!" Cesare screamed. "Where is it!"

"You..." Lucrezia gasped. "You never loved me?"

"Where is the Apple? Tell me!"

Ezio was at the right spot, now he needed to climb up to the window. He heard the sound of a spit and then a harsh slap. "TELL ME!" Cesare bellowed so loudly the open windows rattled. "I want the apple! Give me the Apple! It's mine, not yours! WHERE IS THE APPLE!?"

Using the leaping grab that Rosa had taught him years ago in Venezia, Ezio swiftly reached the window. He heard a quiet, "Smart decision, little slut," but Cesare was gone once Ezio was in the room. On the floor of the rich apartment was the Spaniard, choking and wheezing, not even aware of his surroundings, and crumbled against the wall was Lucrezia, dark bruises on her face and neck already forming.

So much violence over a piece of ancient metal.

Ezio walked over to the Pope and knelt by him. The Spaniard locked eyes on him, but didn't really see anything. If he'd eated that much poison, he'd linger, but not survive. "Requiescat in pace," he quietly offered.

"You offer," a wheezed voice rasped, "peace to such... an enemy?" Lucrezia coughed.

"I never wish for death," Ezio replied. "But I kill when I see no other options."

Lucrezia looked to the side, tears still streaming down her face, but she lacked the strength to sob without choking. "I know... I know where that bastard is going," she said around coughs and swallows.

Ezio pulled a piece of paper from the table, and a quill. She wrote where the Apple was hidden and Ezio nodded, tossing the paper into the fireplace. "Thank you," he said quietly. Then he lifted her up and hurried to the door of the apartments. He shifted his voice higher and more strained, as he called for guards. "His Holiness is ill and my lady was attacked!"

Guards quickly swarmed, taking Lucrezia away to see a doctor and surrounding the Spaniard. Ezio easily disappeared in the confusion and as chaos started to dominate the Castello, he slipped out and started to head into the Vatican, St. Peter's Basilica in the distance his destination.

By now the hot sun was beating down and Ezio in his many layers, including more subtle armor under the cardinal robes, was feeling the heat. He debated removing his cardinal robes, since civilians who weren't clergy were part of the Vatican, but he didn't dare risk it with all the Papal guards that practically oozed around every corner. Plus, his disguise as a cardinal would grant him access to the Basilica.

No one glanced at him, and he cautiously reached the Basilica, looking around. The Basilica had been built in 326, built by Emperor Constantine of Rome after he converted to Christianity. The building was shaped like a Latin Cross and very plain, but recent Popes, including Rodrigo had taken to remodeling and adding more embellishments befitting the time and the money they were raking in from selling indulgences.

There was no sign of Cesare, and that worried him. Wasn't he going straight to the Apple? Why hadn't Ezio seen him or passed him?

Keeping his pace fast, Ezio entered the courtyard. Thankfully no one else was around, and Ezio switched to his Eagle Vision. His eyes immediately gravitated to the large leaved egg, perhaps a pine cone monument in the center of the courtyard. Ezio circled the egg, letting his special sight guide him, until, at the back, he found a loose leaf, behind which was the Piece of Eden.

No sooner had he placed his hand on the artifact did the whispers of before start. Just as when he'd handled the Apple for the first time over ten years prior, he could hear persistent voices like they were just around the corner, waiting for him to listen.

The Prophet! The Prophet returns!

He squelched the voices down firmly as the Apple flashed in his hand.

"You!" was the rough voice of Cesare.

Ezio turned slowly, a wide grin on his face as he pulled off the cardinal's hat and simply showed his hood. He and Cesare had never been close enough to get a good look at one another. And with his hood, Ezio remained hidden. Cesare, however, was not so obscured. His pointed beard was dirty with the spit out apple from his confrontation with the Spaniard, and his long stringy hair was unkempt, as if he'd been running. His face bore the scars of the French pox, syphilis in a full flare, and his eyes were almost fever-bright. This was supposedly one of the most handsome men of all of Italia, and he looked hideous.

"Looking for something?" Ezio asked with full Florentine irony, glancing at the two guards flanking Cesare.

"It ends now, Assassino," Cesare growled, pulling out his sword. "My sword will take your life." But for all of Cesare's confidence, all of his bravado, he had swallowed poison earlier that day. He suddenly clutched his stomach, pitching forward, choking and coughing. "Guards!" he hissed. "Guards!"

The two Papal guards unsheathed their swords, stepping forward, and with the whispers of instructions in his ears, Ezio held up the Piece of Eden. With but a thought traced into the artifact's depths, the Apple whispered, Show Desmond! Show Desmond! For when his time comes! Solid beams of light, like lightening, snaked out from the Apple, giving the Papal guards pause as they beheld the strange magic. The light quickly crawled up from their feet, and the guards' eyes glowed. One stabbed the other through a lung and the stabbed guard then shot the other through the heart. The Apple's glow diminished and Cesare was gone, the Papal guards dead on the ground.

Ezio blinked. Then blinked again.

And that phantom Desmond was to use this power?

With a shudder, Ezio shoved the Piece of Eden into a pouch at his belt and vowed to never use the Apple like this again. It was too much power. He didn't even have to lift a finger and his enemies would slay themselves. It was unfair, unethical, unjust... There weren't any words for how much power that was and the temptation it would provide to anyone. No, none of his recruits would ever have access to this. It was best locked away from anyone and anything.

But he'd have to find a hiding spot.

Something like that strange self-lit room beneath the Vatican.

Just not now.

Now, Ezio had to escape.

The whispers diminished, and guards started to flood the small square.

Merda.

Ezio waited until he was surrounded, the papal guards all approaching cautiously after seeing two of their own dead and suspiciously. Ezio let them, waiting and breathing. Beneath the robes of a cardinal, he fingered his pouches and pulled out a smoke bomb. Ezio took a deep breath then threw the bomb down on the ground. In the confusion he easily slipped by, shedding the identifying cardinal robes as he went. Unfortunately, outside the Basilica, more guards were waiting and saw him exit.

It was a race from there.

The Apple was whispering, begging for usage, but Ezio refused. That much power was like strong drink. He'd seen many people over the years who abused their wine, and he would not do that with something that could probably wipe out an army in a blink of an eye.

So he ran.

The Vatican was not as well known to Ezio as the rest of Roma. With all the Papal guards and the seat of the Spaniard's power, Ezio had very rarely ventured in the holy city. But one benefit of the city was that there were very few truly straight streets. Everything was built around itself, carefully leaving buildings as separate as possible, unlike central Roma where long lines of buildings would abruptly end and turn to an alley or main thoroughfare.

He broke the line of sight of the guards quickly, weaving through courtyards alleys and streets. But he could not find a place to hide. The people of the Vaticano were looking at him strangely, without his cardinal's robes, he stuck out more than he anticipated. Clergy of all levels would gaze at him curiously, and the various officials, secretaries, and assistants would always take a second look.

Merda. He still stood out too much.

If he could get to the Tiber River, he could swim across, but that was too far away from where he was weaving through the streets.

Plus, he had to pass the one thoroughfare that the Vatican had, where guards were double posted and patrolling visibly and brutally, stopping people at random and demanding papers, documents, seals, anything to prove who they were.

Ezio was stuck in the one place where everyone was looking for him.

Energy coiled inside of him, demanding he take some sort of action to get away. He called on his Eagle, to try and find a path, but no flicker of gold caught his eye. So he kept moving swiftly, avoiding guards and standing out far more than he wanted with the way people would look at him and then walk around him.

Night was starting to settle around him and Ezio still hadn't escaped the Vatican. His stomach was rumbling, the Apple was whispering, the guards were searching... Where could he hide for the night? A haystack? Not with the way pikeman were investigating every cart that sat around the Vatican. The streets were starting to empty and Ezio was getting desperate. He needed... Somewhere! Anywhere!

"Messere? Messere! Come with me!"

Ezio blinked, looking to a large brutish man, bald and in a black cassock of a priest. Ezio hesitated. He was the most hunted man in Roma at the moment, particularly by Cesare and his power over the clergy and Papal army, so he wasn't sure if he could trust...

The priest grabbed Ezio's arm and dragged him. "Come, Messere, my room will be safe for you."

"Who are you?"

"Friar Giotto, Messere," the priest replied. "Lower your head, appear in prayer, please, Messere, I am to take you to confession. Look like it!"

Ezio bit back a chuckle at having to look contrite for confession when if he truly confessed, it would take forever. But he put on a pious step, slouched his shoulders, bent his head, and clasped his hands in front of himself.

Giotto started to pray in Latin, and as Ezio followed, people stopped taking another look. In fact, Ezio frowned, some of the priests gave coy smiles at Giotto as they walked by.

"Found another confessor for the night?" one called out.

Giotto ignored him and kept on leading Ezio to a small apartment in a chilly basement.

"You'll be safe here, tonight," Giotto murmured, bustling about and pulling out bread, cheese and some late summer fruits. "I confess, there isn't much room..."

Ezio shrugged. "I owe you a debt, Friar."

"No, no, no, Messere," Giotto replied, shaking his vigorously. "This is me repaying you. I was at a church with one of Savonarola's lieutenants dominated us. He made us do such horrible things." The priest shuddered. "I lived in fear of him or Savonarola himself finding out about my own 'vanities'."

Ezio nodded, letting the man have his privacy.

"Messere, you saved us in Firenze. If the rumors are true, I suspect you just saved us from the Borgia." Giotto gave a wide, happy smile. "If I can offer you sanctuary, like any clergyman should, then I will."

As Giotto continued to bustle about getting a tiny meal ready, Ezio switched to his Eagle Vision. The priest was blue, and was not the red of an enemy. At last, Ezio allowed himself to feel safe. He sat in an offered chair as just took a moment to close his eyes and just let himself be. He needed a moment. A moment of stillness. Ever since his father and brothers were killed decades ago, there wasn't a moment's rest. Training, hunting, killing, more training. And when he thought he could rest, Monteriggioni was destroyed and instead of training, he was the teacher training more. Rodrigo Borgia, the Spaniard, the enemy Ezio had pursued for two decades, was now dead. A new Pope would emerge, and without any more family in the clergy, the next Pope wouldn't be a Borgia.

Ezio needed a moment to savor and grieve and process it all.

At last, he let out a deep sigh, and focused on Giotto. A supper was prepared, and it wouldn't be Ezio's last.

---

Night was difficult.

During the day, Ezio had been focused on so many things, from staying alive to conversation with Giotto. The focus, Ezio now realized, had helped keep the whispers of the Piece of Eden at bay.

Now however...

Now, at night, with nothing but the quiet of his own thoughts, the Apple whispered. It reached into his mind, digging deeper and deeper into his soul.

You are the Prophet. Your blood must prophesize. Desmond. Desmond, there is much you must know...

Ezio tried to ignore Are you shitting me? the words. The spirit of Desmond, wherever he was, did not speak to Ezio he did not need, The fucking Apple wants a word with me? words for one who could not be part of this world.

Use the Prophet's blood to prophesize, to calculate. Desmond, the Apple will be yours.

Groaning, Ezio tried to bury his face in his pillow.

Good to know we'll finally get the damn thing.

"Desmond, who are you talking to?"

Nobody Shaun, shut up and go away.

Desmond, you must know. You will sleep broken and awake whole. You must seek the Key. Not the Founder, or the Prophet, but the Key. And you will decide. The decision is yours, and you must decide.

I'm sorry, what the hell does all that mean?

Awaiting your arrival, Desmond.

Wait, what the hell do you mean?

The tendrils of the Apple that Ezio felt down in his bones and his blood finally retreated, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sleep Prophet. You still have much to do.

Ezio never did remember why he slept so poorly that night.

The following day, Ezio stayed in Giotto's apartment. While he didn't wish to keep hiding here, he doubted he'd find someone so accommodating in the Vatican again. He could only hope that the friar didn't show any signs of nervousness over the course of the day. So Ezio stayed alert, his hidden blades at the ready, and did things to keep himself aware. He read the few books Giotto kept in his basement, and watched the streets through a small window, gauging guard patrols and rotations, and sadly noting that the Vatican was still on high alert.

Giotto returned again that night, glancing around nervously. "Messere, things here are a mess." He went on to explain how the Pope was on his death bed and the cardinals were all in a panic. Cesare was also ill with a high malarial fever that seemed to be the same as his father's, though not as bad. With two powerful members of the Church ill, Cesare had ordered his troops to the Vatican to help ensure order.

Ezio frowned horribly. It looked like he'd be staying another day unless he could get some sort of disguise. But Giotto explained how everyone was being randomly stopped, even merchants coming in from across the Tevere and having their wagons and merchandise searched. Many were complaining and indignant, but it didn't last long once the Borgia started dragging people into cells for protesting so much.

"I cannot stay here indefinitely," Ezio said. "It is too much of a risk. Do you know of anyone else who would be sympathetic enough to hide me?" And Ezio did not like risking the kind friar like this, but he didn't see a choice.

Giotto shook his head. "Sympathetic? The whole Vatican. Few here truly like the Borgia for all the lip-service paid to keep in power. But to actually willingly house an Assassin? No, Messere, I can't think of anyone."

"Merda."

"That states the situation nicely."

The night was another difficult sleep. The Apple kept whispering to use its power, to show Desmond how to use the Piece of Eden that he might be ready, but Ezio firmly refused and worked to ignore the temptations. Now, safe and hidden, was not the time to start practicing needless slaughter. The Apple was only to be used as a last resort and nothing more.

And then there were the visions.

"The throne was mine! What do you know? I will lead mankind into a new world! You cannot kill me! No man can murder me!"

He tried to plan how to send Giotto to a pigeon coop, so that Niccolò and the others knew he was safe for now, but he didn't know how to do so without exposing the friar to danger. The Borgia were probably looking after any messages, attempting to seek him out. The best Ezio could do was stay put and hidden.

That didn't mean he'd have to like it.

This pattern of silent days and sleepless nights continued for almost a full week. Giotto kept him informed of things going on, including some sort of bizarre chase of a cardinal through the upper scaffolding of St. Peter's Basilica in the rain, and how the Pope was getting sicker and sicker. There was talking of bleeding thirteen ounces that did no good, and a lead and pomegranate mixture that was refused or taken depending on who one spoke with.

On the eighteenth of August, Ezio finally had enough. He was exhausted from fending off the whispers of the Apple and keeping himself occupied in the basement with nothing to do and no way to get word to his recruits. So finally, Ezio pillaged one of the friar's robes, put his clothes and supplies into a bag, and left, his head bowed in piety with the black priest's hood up to obscure his face.

When he reached the bridge across the Tevere, one of the guards started asking questions in a bored tone. Ezio explained that he was delivering a charitable donation to a church out in the fields of Roma for the peasants, and the guard's quick check of Ezio's bag showed the clothes on top to lend credence to his story.

Across the river and well away from the bridge, Ezio found a quiet courtyard and changed back into his Assassin robes, which the people of Roma knew him best for. Out in the city proper, he could find more people who are willing to help as Friar Giotto had.

Ezio didn't dare go to the meeting point he'd established with his recruits, as it was too close to the Vatican for his liking at the moment, and without knowing who was keeping watch there, he couldn't send a messenger. So Ezio blended into the crowds and started to make his way south to the Isola Tiberina and home.

Much to Ezio's displeasure, however, he was now notorious for all the guards in Roma. It didn't matter that he was sitting on a bench to take a small breather and rest his exhausted eyes, a guard walked right up and tried to shove his hood back to get a better look.

Cazzo. Ezio cursed, his hidden blade extending into the man's stomach and he eased the guard down to appear to be sitting on the bench. He was going to have to keep hidden and moving.

It was midafternoon when another guard saw him and Ezio was too far away to do a silent kill, and the streets were too crowded to throw a knife. So Ezio ran. A crossbow bolt from the roofs whizzed by his head and chipped the wall beside him as Ezio ducked into an alley, cut through a small courtyard, and over a wall to another street, this one residential. Unfortunately an incredibly agile guard was after him, slashing with his knife, and the Apple sang to let itself be used. Ezio stumbled at the distraction and rolled into a main thoroughfare before getting up and taking off again.

"Get him!"

"Get back here, stronzo!"

"He's heading to the captain! We have him now!"

Merda.

But the captain those behind him were referring to, was detained when Ezio rounded a corner. Four large hulking men were there, one of which was grasping the captain by the arm and trying to pull him off balance. Ezio didn't even slow down as he ran up, his hidden blade digging into the man's back and sending him down.

The four men blinked, surprised, before hardening their faces. Ezio's pursuers caught up and all four immediately tried to grab someone. This left Ezio with better odds and with the tight quarters, he and his butcher's knife had the advantage. He sliced open the throat of the first, and spun, digging the blade into the back of another. That left those held by the vigilantes, and Ezio had no problem weaving through them all and slicing or stabbing. Once the squad was dead at their feet, the men were panting and somewhat shocked at what they had managed.

"Disappear," Ezio told them. "Go home. Don't gather, stay to yourselves for a week. And tell no one. Not even lovers or family."

They all nodded and dispersed.

Ezio rubbed his tired eyes and disappeared as well. He found a crowd and once more started making his way south. The sun was setting and he'd be glad to get home, lock up the damned Apple, and get a proper night's sleep.

He was almost back to the hideout when Vittoria appeared by his side, silent and unnoticed. "Maestro," she quietly greeted. "We were getting worried."

"I was held up."

She chuckled. Taddeo and Abate joined her, and feeling much safer, Ezio let himself be led back to the hideout. Along the way, Vittoria gave a brief report of what had been happening while he was locked up in a basement of the Vatican. It seemed that his recruits had been worried and had some had snuck across to search for him. Instead they found the cardinal that had been backing the Followers of Romulus who had led them through a merry chase in the rain. But without a backer, the Followers of Romulus were likely done for now. It was merely a matter of making sure any remnants didn't try to organize again.

Once back in the hideout, Ezio sent out Candida to collect Gilberto, Bartolomeo, and Claudia, while he locked up the Apple, put it in his armoire, and finally collapsed into bed.

---

The following morning, after a breakfast his recruits had prepared that was far too large, Ezio felt far more rested as he sat at his desk while the rest of the Brotherhood gathered.

"Rodrigo Borgia is dead," he announced.

"We all heard on the way in. All the heralds are announcing it," Claudia replied. "He died last night."

"And Cesare?" Niccolò asked in his dour manner.

"Poisoned," Ezio replied. "But alive. He managed to escape, but he will not be able to do much while he recuperates."

"With a new Conclave, we must make sure he is not allowed to assemble his remaining supporters. The coming weeks will be critical." Niccolo rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Cesare may have resigned from being a cardinal, but for all we know, he'll try and buy the papacy so he can do as he will."

Ezio shook his head. "He's too ill for that. But he has called back his troops to guard the Vatican. We may not have much say in the Conclave. I'm not sure we'll be able to get back inside." He sipped his wine. "But with your aid, we can stop his supporters from gathering."

"My men will patrol the city," Bartolomeo offered, still holding the hand of his wife. "But we may need an army, with Cesare's troops and the city guards both in the city."

Frowning, Ezio's mind automatically went up to the Piece of Eden locked in his room. "We have one," he grimaced, but said no more on the subject.

Unfortunately, with both Borgia guards and Cesare's best troops in the city, Ezio and his brotherhood were limited on what they could do. The Conclave had started, and even bed-ridden, the troops flooding the Vatican made sure that the Conclave received nothing from the outside other than food. However, this also meant that Cesare didn't have much say on the Conclave, since he wasn't strong enough to go and offer his bribes and anti-Borgia sentiment was high enough that he couldn't send a messenger.

In fact, with Rodrigo Borgia dead and the prospects of a Borgia-free papacy ahead, many citizens were now proudly declaiming the previous Pope. Of course, given that Borgia policies had Roma almost surrounded by three different armies: Cesare's, the French, and the Spanish, it was no wonder they were declaiming the situation. The Conclave was also complicated in that the cardinals thought it would be safer to hold their elections in the Castel San'Angelo. But that required the sick Cesare (and his armies) to vacate the city. It wasn't until the third of September that they finally met for the first time in their Conclave.

Or rather, it was supposed to. The favorite to become the new Pope was a French Cardinal Georges d'Amboise, and the French made it clear it would be a "major affront" if the Conclave began before he arrived. So the Conclave didn't start until more cardinals arrived. Georges d'Amboise himself arrived on the tenth, almost triumphant with a small squad of French troops making sure he arrived safely. By the time was all said and done, the Conclave didn't start until the twenty-first. Over a month after the Spaniard had finally died.

Ezio and the Brotherhood kept busy, keeping the people safe from the restless Borgia, but they couldn't sneak any sort of communication to the various cardinals with Cesare ordering the city guard to keep near them "for safety" in case of the armies marching in. It was a lot of frustrating work, but nothing catastrophic happened.

Frankly, Ezio hoped d'Amboise would get the Papacy. As much as he didn't care for the French after two wars within a decade of each other, someone outside of Italian politics just might be the best option at the moment. But, the following day, Pope Pius III, Francesco Piccolomini, was elected as Pope. He was a compromise if ever there was one. The Borgia and anti-Borgia were almost split down the middle, and Piccolomini was old, frail, and had a vast sum of experience that no one could really argue. He would last for a few years, let the politics settle, and then they could worry about the next Conclave after a proper breather.

To Ezio's displeasure, Piccolomini reconfirmed Cesare as in charge of the Papal armies. While most of the armies continued with their conquests, Cesare stayed in Roma, no doubt to consolidate his forces and supporters with the recent upheaval to create a new status quo.

The anti-Borgia sentiment, however, was spreading with wildfire. Many were furious that a Borgia was still in control. With all this dissatisfaction, information started to truly flow into the Brotherhood for the first time.

It started with Gilberto. A city guard who was sick and tired of working under the Borgia had caught a thief and passed word along that Cesare was planning to mobilize the city guards to hunt down the Assassins.

Egidio also sent word through Claudia that Cesare had some sort of meeting planned at the Campidoglio, and Ezio gathered all his recruits. They spread out along the roofs and the edges of the Palazzo Senatorio and found Cesare with many captains and commanders of the city guard by the fountain.

"You must find them!" Cesare was shouting.

One of the commanders let out a sigh as if dealing with a child. "They are everywhere and nowhere at once," he explained. "Even with patrols on the roofs, looking for them in the crowds or when they somehow magically escape to the roofs, we can never find them."

"I do not care how you do it," Cesare replied coldly.

The commander shook his head. "We cannot on our own, Signore. You must help us with your troops."

Cesare barked a laugh that ended in a rough cough. "With the French and Spanish fighting all around us? I am ill, you idioti. Micheletto will be here with my armies by the end of the year and then you will see how quickly the Assassini fall."

"That is the point, Signore. They won't fall until your troops are here."

Ezio stepped forward, erect, brash, and proud. "You delude yourself, Cesare," he called out.

"Guards!"

The captains and commanders all pulled out their swords as Cesare mounted his horse and kicked the flanks, running over civilians to get out of there. Ezio only whistled and a storm of arrows fell on the guards. With the leadership so effectively removed, it would be clear to whoever the next leaders were not to mess with the Assassins. Ezio didn't care to use his Brotherhood like this, but it removed an obstacle.

In the chaos and confusion, he and his men escaped without any injury. Cesare, unfortunately, escaped as well.

Tips on Cesare's whereabouts kept pouring in through the various branches of the Assassins, the backlash against the Borgia growing practically by the day. Ezio tried not to be so smug with Niccolò on how helping the people of Roma had worked out so splendidly. He didn't always succeed, but he tried.

For all the good information pouring in, that didn't stop that Cesare was hiding himself as much as possible and recovering from his fever, and didn't go anywhere without a whole squad to guard himself. Ezio was planning how to best take out this squad and then Cesare when word came that Piccolomini had died, the eighteenth of October.

"You're joking?"

"No, Maestro. The Pope is dead. We have another Conclave to prepare for."

Merda.

This time, Ezio would make sure that he wasn't so effectively locked out.

It was tradition to wait ten days after the funeral of the Pope before Conclave began, so Ezio called on Claudia to start pressuring the cardinals in her clientele to find out if Cesare was going to plot something.

Word arrived three days later that she had a lead.

"A cardinal revealed under... stress that Cesare plans to meet with Templar cardinal loyalists in the countryside. The cardinal departs tonight and is willing to lead the way."

Ezio nodded and gathered his recruits again.

The cardinal met them at a small ruin outside the Colosseo and explained that the meeting would be held in the giant theater in two hours. Ezio informed his men to resume the positions they'd used during that disastrous Passion of Christ play. They were set up and hidden when Cesare arrived with a full platoon that he dispersed to the various entrances to keep the meeting private. Pity he'd already missed the opportunity. Cardinals started to arrive, mostly the Spanish, who were more loyal to Cesare than their own king, but there was also a few French and Italian.

Cesare still had this much support? That could be worrisome for the next Conclave.

Once they were all assembled, Cesare once more put on his charm.

"Join me and I will take back Roma!"

The cardinals all glanced at each other, before one stepped forward. "We have decided to elect della Rovere to the papacy," he said calmly. "Pius's death was a sign from God. The Borgia's power is over. We are sorry."

All charm left Cesare as his face twisted with cruelty. "I paid for your appointment."

The cardinal sneered. "Roma is not the same as it once was. Borgia money has become tainted. Have you not walked the streets yourself and seen this?"

"You will regret this decision!" Cesare shouted, a hand reaching for his sword.

Seeking to forestall the violence and ensure that the Conclave wouldn't be intimidated by Cesare's insanity, Ezio leapt down from his hiding spot. "Hired men promise you their blood," he shouted, "but as soon as you need help, they turn against you!"

Cesare paled and the cardinals were quickly scattering.

"GUARDS!" Cesare bellowed.

That seemed to be the only phrase he truly knew anymore. A blanket to hide behind, the cry of a scared child.

But Ezio didn't expect a second platoon to arrive at his screams. Ezio and his brotherhood were almost overmatched. The battle lasted well into the night, and there were injuries. Abate took a glancing head wound, and Elda ended up with a broken arm before Taddeo saved her.

Needless to say (to Ezio's frustration), Cesare was able to escape.

Back at the hideout, Ezio stared at the small chest where he had locked the Apple and debated with himself heavily. Clearly Cesare was getting paranoid, and was calling more and more to his defense. And with injuries, he couldn't keep this up. Bartolomeo was still fighting alongside the Spanish against the French and couldn't spare many men. Gilberto's men could distract, and kill if necessary, but they weren't a trained fighting force. And of course, Claudia's girls had no training in battle.

… He'd wait to make a decision. For now, he and his recruits needed to make sure the Conclave wasn't intimidated.

The Conclave started on time this time, since previous cardinals hadn't really left yet, and after all the stress and worry, the decision was as Cesare had been told. Giuliano della Rovere was now Pope Julius II. Cesare somehow escaped to Romagna.

November brought other difficulties for Ezio. King Henry VII of England was starting to fall to Templar manipulation. With a plea for aide, Ezio sent Sancia, Alighiero, and Sozzi to help out, depleting his forces even more. Federica turned fifteen, which was a very pleasant breather in all the changing politics that swirled around the Vatican and Roma.

Rumors started to fly that Cesare had snuck back into the city once December started raining, and Ezio sent out everyone in search. Information kept flowing in, offering all sorts of other small missions that were good practice for his recruits and to help train his newest member, Concetto.

Mid-December Bartolomeo galloped into the city, with word that Cesare and all his armies were going to be rallied at the gate of Roma.

"Gather the Assassins," Ezio said solemnly. "We'll face him together."

Then, with a heavy decision, Ezio went upstairs and unlocked the Apple.

Cesare was indeed being his charming self at the gate, talking to a ragtag group of guards and a spare cardinal that were still loyal.

"All of Italia shall be united," Cesare announced, "and you will rule beside me."

The crowds parted as Ezio pulled out the glowing Piece of Eden, backing up in the sense of something happening. Ezio stepped forward again, Claudia, Niccolo, Gilberto, and Bartolomeo behind him, all his recruits behind them.

Cesare laughed. "Come to watch my triumph?" he challenged. "Soon, Micheletto and his army will arrive. But you shall be dead before then." He gestured and from allies and side streets, Cesare's men came out, outnumbering them all by easily nine to one.

Ezio only smiled. "We stand together!"

Behind him chorused, "Victory to the Assassins!"

Battle swiftly ensued. Ezio ducked and dodged, preferring to use the sword of Altair, but it was soon obvious that he would indeed need the Apple. He pulled it out, and held it high. He had only done this once before, but the method seemed burned into his very bones, as golden lightening flickered out from the artifact, reaching only Cesare's men. With a focus of will, all the guards within Ezio's immediate radius either killed themselves or started fighting each other.

Twenty taken out in one blow.

One blow that hurt.

Ezio staggered down to his knees, not expecting that the Apple had used, what? His energy? His soul? No wonder Altair called the thing cursed in some of his journals. Ezio was gasping for breath, his vision tunneling as everything seemed to sway.

"Ezio!" Claudia screamed, running to his side and holding her knives over him in defense.

He focused on breathing.

"Vittoria agli Assassini!" was a sudden loud cry. Blearily, Ezio looked up and saw...

No... that wasn't possible.

Holy fuck, it's just like for Altair.

The very citizens of Rome started pouring into the fight as well. Some had cooking knives, or pitchforks, or shovels. Many bore brooms. But they all fought and piled onto the Borgia.

That was...

Ezio didn't have the words.

He pocketed the Apple, not wanting to lose it in what was about to become a frenzy, and even that left him winded as he tried to gather the energy to even move.

"Mentore!" Vecellio joined Claudia by his side, protecting him. And Ezio ignored his surroundings long enough to just catch his breath.

Finally, he was able to stand again, his legs feeling shaky though he refused to show it. His Brotherhood and the very city of Roma itself was winning the battle, so Ezio went to the gates where Cesare was looking worried. A glance behind him and he smiled as the Papal armies were marching down the road to the city gates.

"Throw down your arms, Cesare Borgia," Ezio commanded.

"Micheletto's troops mass behind me," Cesare countered, gesturing grandly. "We will take back my city once and for all."

Ezio looked back to the citizens that were taking down the brutes Cesare had. "This is not your city anymore."

And proudly walking up to Cesare, was Fabio Orsini. Ezio held back a small gasp of surprise.

Niccolo leaned forward. "I sent word that della Rovere would be the new Pope and it seems dear Julius II agreed to put Fabio back in charge."

"By order of Pope Julius II," Fabio smiled as he gestured to his troops, "I arrest you, Cesare Borgia, for the crimes of murder, betrayal, and incest."

"No!" Cesare's jaw dropped to the ground. "No! Noo!" he cried more and more fiercely, a child denying reality. "NO! This is not how it ends! Chains will not hold me! I will not die by the hand of man!"

Ezio only smiled. Cesare imprisoned for the rest of his life? That was just as good as killing him.

---

Author's Notes: Another heavy chapter. Ubisoft loves to pack everything and the kitchen sink into its climax's. I'm a little breathless just proofing this.

We tweaked the Colosseo event - while the idea of Ezio in period costume attending a play is funny on principle, there's a certain amount of logistical leaps that have to happen - like Micheletto not realizing his men have been replaced, that we just couldn't reconcile. It also makes for better drama around the apprentices, because it shows little things like Concetto being young and brash and a little too ready to dive in; or Filippo having no patience for children, or pointing out who in the recruits has "good", ie eagle eyesight. Gilberto, La Volpe, also turned into something of a surprise; we never saw him as a fatherly figure, but he apparently has some very fatherly things to say to Ezio over the course of this memory that we didn't know about. Ezio has a strong cast of supporters around him, and they each have their strengths. Barto is perennially amiable and a brilliant field commander, Pantasilea is a strategist and a quiet source of strength for anybody, Claudia is not only account savvy but inspirational to all the recruits, and she and Volpe can see the goals Ezio is working towards.

Machiavelli does, too, but then he just does things his own way. Speaking of him, much expansion on his part to try and justify his being the giant red herring of the game, and much expansion on Claudia's part to show the world how much Ezio has learned from his sister. Looking on the Brotherhood as a whole, it's no wonder they create a golden age of assassins as the wiki states, even without Ezio the combination of personalities and positions would create great things. Ezio is a great assassin, and a great grandmaster, but he wouldn't be who he was and couldn't do what he did if he didn't have that cast to support him. It's like he said, he doesn't lead a happy life (yet), but he does lead a GOOD life. It's probably one of if not the favorite scene of Brotherhood, when Claudia becomes and assassin and Ezio realized just what he's garnered for himself.

Too bad being happy doesn't come with it. I wonder when that will happen (whistles innocently).

And oh yeah, this guy named Borgia died. That's not significant, no not at all. Except it is, it's the biggest event of Ezio's life since he lost his family to the rope. We kept as steadfastly to history as we could and we tried to reconcile the little mini-missions of the game's conclusion with how it could possibly work in the world we've created. We're not particularly thrilled that Ezio uses the Apple; he's older and wiser now, and Altair has written more than once how dangerous it is, and Ezio watched it kill to people just to show Desmond how to use it (no foreshadowing there, nope...:P). We didn't really WANT him to use it, and it boils down to the fine line of fanfic and novelization. The motivations for Ezio using the Apple for us are different than the game - where we assume it's just a tool for him, but the REASONS to use it are much the same: Cesare is such a spoiled child that he surrounds himself with so many guards that Ezio's small numbers work against him. Desperate times and all that. Meh.

Next chapter: Remember that one scene in Mr. Bowden's book, where Claudia is captured and has her clothes ripped off one at a time? Yeah. That's coming. Trigger warnings abound.