Chapter title is pulled from AC: Syndicate. I am on a roll with the one-word titles it seems xD
~*XVIII*~
Family
The gondola did not take long to burn, and soon what little remained of its burnt husk slid into the murky water with a hissing sigh. The last Federico saw of his father and brother's funeral pyre was that of a wisp of steam that puffed out of existence.
He reflected on the last thing he had said to his father before they had been dragged to the gallows. It had been raw and forever seared into his mind. And yet, as he stood there facing the Arno, he barely recalled what he had said to Petruccio. When everyone else had retired the night before, Federico easily slipped into his brother's room, pasting on his best façade despite the guilt and shame worming inside. Had it been a joke of some kind? A story from his childhood? He supposed it did not matter in the end for the outcome had been the same: he had managed to get Petruccio to crack a smile. And not just any smile either— the one that reached the eyes and caused the corners of them to crinkle.
Heart full, Federico believed it had been a sign of good things to come; that despite all of the tragedy that had befallen them these last few days, his brother was going to be all right. They would be all right.
He shut his eyes tight as another shaky breath escaped him. Fate, the cruel bitch she was, had other plans; any dreams he once had were nothing but like the smoke on the wind.
A subtle scrape of fabric caught his attention and Federico reluctantly dragged his attention from the boat's final resting spot, a great rope constricting his chest when he recognized the figure in the dark. "Mother—" He stopped, fearing his voice betraying him. She said nothing — what was there to say anyway— merely bringing a hand to rest on his back, gently rubbing it as the both of them looked out on the Arno.
"…I need to tell him," He whispered after what seemed to be hours of staring out over the water; despite his voice sounding so damning, so loud in the silence. "But I do not know if I can, or even if I have the strength to do what is necessary." Federico took a steadying breath as his hand absently twisted the new ring on his finger, seemingly getting heavier every second he spoke. "After everything that has happened, it feels far too soon."
He was surprised to find her ruefully smiling under the veil she wore when he turned. "What?"
"You just sound like your father is all." He wordlessly accepted her hand to tuck it into the crook of his arm. Reluctantly, and with one last look at the watery tomb, they slowly proceeded to make their way back to the Rose. Tristan and Claudia had already departed some time ago, his sister so wracked with grief she had to be escorted. He did not need to look back over his shoulder either because he knew Ezio, still in the comforting arms of Cristina, would come back on his terms. Secretly, Federico hoped that he would take as much time as he could.
He absently drifted back as his mother began to speak again in bittersweet nostalgia. "Before you were born, he swore to me he would never give the life he had to that of his children. He would let them wonder and dream in their childhood and not have the tribulations that he and your Uncle had in their youth. 'Better they live in ignorance than by the blade,' as he once told me. Then, when you began to grow older and show promise, I remember how he fretted constantly about the day he would have to reveal the verity of his life's work." She sighed in fond exasperation and Federico already knew where this was going when she spoke next with the faintest hint of humor: "A pity that someone had other plans."
Despite the grief and heaviness of the action, he couldn't help but quirk his lips. "I said I was sorry, Mother. I truly had not meant to be there."
She made a tsk sound through her teeth but said nothing for they both knew it was and had always been a half-truth. She instead watched their surroundings as they walked, a melancholic miasma about her. Not too long ago, he had been so rightfully terrified of her wrath, he had climbed out the window with an unwilling Tristan in tow to escape it. Now there was only an eerie aloofness in its place, and he wasn't sure what unnerved him more between that and the silent city. He found himself willing to do anything to have that temper back if it meant some shade of her former self would appear.
"Mother?" He pressed softly after a worrying amount of time, fearing she had fallen victim to her mind's traps again. Or graver ailments still from what Claudia informed him.
Luckily, none of those fears came to fruition as she immediately vented a breath and the pressure around him loosened a little. "I am fine, Federico. Merely reminiscing is all." She patted his arm, that same melancholy seeping off her despite the tinge of annoyance shading her prideful brow. "Your father—" another sigh escaped her, this one sorrowful before she spoke again. "It is just a shame he never saw you in your robes."
He— or more like his heart stopped. "You mean-?"
His mother had turned her head and she was smiling as she dipped her head in confirmation. Even if it didn't quite reach her eyes, it was a smile all the same. He embraced the action for what it was: a small blessing in this troubling time. Because not two days ago, he remembered she wouldn't even look at him. And when she did, he saw nothing more than an empty house. She lifted her other hand to rest on his arm. "I believe you already know where it is, my son. He was so proud of you." Her smile faltered, face tight with pain, and the hand on his arm flexed before she lifted it to lay it on his cheek. He could not help but lean into it, taking comfort in the warmth, much like when he was a child.
"But before all of that can be done, you should speak to Ezio as your father had intended. He is no longer the child he once was and due to what must be done in the coming days, he deserves to know the truth. The sooner the better I fear in light of what happened, for if we always wait for the one perfect opportunity, we will find that we will eventually run out of tomorrows."
Was it the dread that weighed his shoulders down? Or was the trepidation that threatened to choke him as it wrapped around his neck? It felt surreal, too soon, even. "I," he thickly swallowed, "I will, mother."
She patted his cheek, dropping it.
"Your friend…" She hummed upon reaching a line of sight with the brothel sometime later. "Does she intend to leave with us to Monteriggioni?" It was an innocent enough question, but Federico knew better. While she never donned the cowl herself, his mother's tongue was as sharp as any blade, and he knew well to tread lightly. He humbly lowered his gaze answering as truthfully as he could while helping her up the stairs.
"I know not, mother, but I will certainly ask the next I speak with her. Although, she may have her own affairs to attend to."
Like what, exactly? A bitter part of him wondered. Being left to fend on her own? As wanted dead as you are?
She dipped her chin, accepting both his answer and his assistance. "As you should. Although I am curious if you've finally settled on something, or should I say, someone, other than your gambling and midnight debauchery."
He quietly sputtered, cheeks becoming flushed as he hissed under his breath, "Mother." One time and she hadn't let him live it down since. "I assure you we are nothing more than friends. Just friends."
She raised her shoulders in an innocent shrug as a smile of mischief graced her features. "'I am simply making an observation. She has a good head on her shoulders which is quite a valuable trait. I can see why you like her. Even if you are 'just friends.'"
Federico opened his mouth to protest further but was thankfully saved from any more good-natured ribbing as they found Paola in the foyer, having donned black in solidarity for their loss. She offered her condolences to them both, and he was grateful. None of this would have been possible if it had not been for her hospitality. And yet, like an impending storm, it did not take long for the subject to turn.
Not even enough time to grieve, he bitterly thought rubbing at his face as Paola picked up where they last left off on what supplies they needed and the proper-looking papers for their egress. Federico conceded she at least had sent an apologetic glance his way. It was a difficult conversation to have, especially in light of what just happened. But they had little choice. Every day they sheltered had an increased risk of discovery. He hardly paid attention but nodded and answered when necessary. It was eventually agreed upon that while Paola would acquire the forged documents, it was up to them to obtain the rest of the supplies. He already had a rough idea in mind as to how to do that that. But it would have to wait for now.
They said their goodbyes, and the two older women retired to another room, leaving him and the thoughts that kept him company alone.
He rubbed his face, stifling a groan as he turned to exit the opposite way, towards the stairs that lead up to the wings. To say he was surprised to find Tristan sitting there, her hands covering her face, however, would have been an understatement.
"Hey," she tried her best in smiling as he approached, but it came across more as a stretched cloth close to tearing as she scooted over. Made worse as she used the palm of her shaking hand to rub at her eyes as he sat down next to her. He winced at the action, momentarily regretting his rendezvous with one of Paola's girls earlier. It was a pleasant and much-needed distraction but alas it had aggravated too many wounds to count. "I'm— well I know the words are hollow but—" she stopped to bite back a strange sound and it was then he realized her eyes were red before she averted them. He reflected on that fateful day on the gallows. She had been so strong with her shoulders squared and her spine rigid as she equally dished out both jabs and insults unapologetically. But now—? It kicked him in the chest. "I'm sorry for everything."
"I know." He gently wrapped an arm around her waist pulling Tristan into a sideways hug. "But remember what I said earlier," he murmured glancing at her in what he hoped was a sympathetic one. "This isn't your doing."
She said nothing at first, averting her eyes, and he wondered— no worried that he had overstepped some sort of boundary future women had before she returned the gesture, wrapping her own around him in a light squeeze. He wished there was something more that he could do; to say as she set her head on his shoulder with a huff.
"Paola told me you were thinking of leaving Florence," she said after some time had passed, having not moved.
"Yes." He nodded, letting his hands loosely settle in his lap. "In two days' time. For my uncle's in Monteriggioni and I believe we should be safe there."
He turned and upon catching sight of her grey eyes, Federico almost asked right then and there for her to come with them. It was only right after everything that had happened. After what she had done for not only him but for his family. But the words dammed in his throat though. Would she even want to leave with them? Or perhaps she wished to stay behind.
Frustrated at his cowardice, he simply stayed mum as Tristan nodded slowly in understanding. She was always good for that. "Makes sense given— oh hey, Ezio." He followed her line of sight as the door just shut behind Ezio whose eyes looked to be bloodshot as he stumbled inside.
His brother didn't say anything past a short greeting before he breezed past them, his figure hunched, and face drawn tight. It...it hurt to see him still wearing their father's robes, now spotted with the blood of their fallen enemy. "I should speak to him," Federico wearily said, his hand brushing the front of his throat as the ghostly strands of a long-gone noose began to tighten again. He wished it was just to comfort him in their time of grief. But the knot in his stomach tightened, knowing the full extent of what was to come. It was too soon.
A hand gently wrapped around his own shaking one, and he froze, lifting his head. "Go." Tristan softly said. "It'll be okay. He needs you way more than I do, anyway."
Federico glanced sideways and he managed a weak smile as some of the weight slid off his shoulders. He turned his hand over in hers to squeeze it: a wordless thanks as he dipped his head in affirmation and gratitude.
Will you just ask her already?
He did no such thing, of course as he gave her one last squeeze before standing up. In the next blink, he was following after his brother but found that his steps were not quite as heavy anymore.
Ten seconds.
That's all Federico waited for after knocking before he opened the door. In years past, it had merely been a courtesy; not a request. He was coming in whether his brother liked it or not. Whether he was even alone or not. It had been shorter in the past, but one mentally scarring incident had him wait a second or two longer for his brother to at least appear decent.
This time was different though; as soon as the door swung open, he was smacked by something soft and crinkly against his chest. He and Ezio both watched as it fell to the ground, the former looking up with a raised eyebrow. For one unfair reason or another, he had been the target of many thrown things, but at least this one was soft and had no claws attached either, he silently mused. Nor, and he resisted a dry laugh, was it a knife in the most recent case with Tristan.
Ezio, on the other hand, having not expected a visitor, owlishly blinked, his thoughts having halted abruptly. He soon averted his eyes, flushed with embarrassment, muttering under his breath, "Sorry."
He clearly wasn't, or at least half-meant it, but Federico let it slide as he silently shut the door behind him. He immediately bent over and picked up the crumpled pad of paper and did his best at smoothing the crinkles out. It wasn't remarkably successful, but at least he could read the scrawl now.
... he almost wished it wasn't as acid rose in his throat when he recognized the handwriting of the (now former) Gonfalonier:
My love—
"I found it on his body," his brother said. It jolted him how matter of fact he sounded. as if discussing the city's comings and goings and not having just ended a man's life. Even as Federico's hands became white and shook from gripping the paper to the risk of ripping it, he kept reading all the same. "As if it justifies everything he had done."
Federico said nothing as he finished the last few lines, shortly crumpling the paper and heaving it with more force than he anticipated at the wall as red enveloped his vision. But as soon as it came, as quickly as it had left, and a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him when it finally came to a stop as if the action itself had sapped what little energy he had left. He cast a reproachful look but made a note to perhaps send it to the deceased's family. They deserved that at least.
His hands hadn't stopped shaking as he ran them through his hair. How... how did it go so wrong? He knew there had been little love between Lorenzo and the Gonfalonier, but for this to happen? For the man to use and therefore betray his father as an end to a means? His memory flickered to Petruccio's pale face as they pushed off the boat and the cooling anger began to boil once more. He had to push down the temptation to find something heavier to throw. Betray them? To justify putting a child in a hangman's noose? His father and brother were dead and he had the audacity to... to—
"That fucking bastard." The word hissed between Federico's clenched teeth as he raged. He wanted more than anything for the man to return just so he could send him to Hell once more between his throttling hands.
"Is dead, brother."
He sharply looked up, but Ezio's gaze was directed at the floor, lost in his thoughts. His voice cracked as he took his hands and scrubbed his face with them. "Because I... I killed him."
Federico's rage and hurt dissipated as he took in his brother, only to be replaced with a wave of sympathy. Ezio looked so broken; vulnerable, even. He swallowed thickly but sat next to him and despite how close the two brothers were, he could sense that a giant abyss still separated them. Eventually, Federico let out a noisy breath, echoing the first words their father had told him after his first kill: "You had to do what had to be done."
"Did I?" Ezio dryly laughed before a shuddering sound escaped him. "Why did I have to? He was the Gonfalonier. It's... it was his duty to protect the city. Protect the people. Protect us. I—we trusted him, and in return, he murdered our father and threw our brother on Death's doorstep." His hands were clenched in shaking fists as he continued in a voice that threatened to break with each passing word. "The things he said about him, Federico. About our family. Our mother, even And the people there were treating him like some hero from those Greek stories we were told of. I cannot help but wonder as to why? Our father was just a banker— not some criminal. And Petruccio? Now…" Another shaky breath as his body shifted to the right, picking up another piece of parchment that Federico hadn't seen before then. Ezio bared his teeth, venom threatening to seep through as he continued: "Now they're gone and all that is left are letters and dead men's regrets."
Federico squinted and immediately stiffened. "That is father's handwriting. Did you pull that from Uberto's body as well?"
"It's just a list of names." Ezio passed it over with nothing more than a nonchalant shrug. "Perhaps some old accounts."
But it wasn't Federico realized upon reading the first name. Cold water trickled down his back as he recognized it: Francesco de' Pazzi.
"These aren't just accounts," Federico blurted after going through it, a numbness overtaking him. He felt as surprised as Ezio for saying that out loud but managed to keep his face impassive as his brother turned, eyebrows threading together.
"What do you mean by that?"
He hesitated, putting aside the list before averting his gaze to his hands, but most importantly to the ring that rested on his left hand. Was... was he going to do this? Was he finally going to tell him after all these years? He supposed so. Not like Father was going to tell him "No," anymore. He clenched those same hands into fists, digging nails into the skin of his palms enough to eventually elicit pain. Good, it gave him something to focus on as the rush of emotions threatened to overtake him once more because God, he'd give anything to hear their father say no, or anything else, one last time.
I... I think it's time I told you something. Something father meant to tell you, but never had a chance to. His jaw clenched. The words were right there, why couldn't he say them?
"Fede—" His heart ached hearing Ezio whisper that. His brother hadn't used that name in years. Not since they were children ignorantly racing across the rooftops. "What... what are you saying?"
For now, he chose to say nothing; rather he turned to study his brother's face. Such youth; such innocence. 'No longer the child he once was,' as his mother had said. He contemplated how easily it had been snatched away in a matter of minutes by a single man, a single sharp tool used by their sworn enemies to uproot everything they had known. There should have been more time to prepare... Ezio didn't deserve this. Any of this. God above, was he even ready for this?
His eyes drifted over to their father's robes thrown haphazardly on the back of the chair.
Who is ever ready for this?
He twisted their father's— no, he corrected himself—it was his ring, now. He was the head of the household. Not only did that mean handling the affairs of the Auditore home, but it meant he also had to oversee the welfare of the family. And that meant this kind of responsibility fell onto his shoulders. The weight of such a mantle steeled his decision and he took a steadying breath.
"These names are not a list of accounts but rather of men who are behind our father's murder," he began, trepidation weighing his words, but as he continued to speak, the chains that shackled them began to loosen and eventually fell off. Soon they began to flow akin to a river's dam being lifted as he met his brother's eyes. "And all are part of a greater conspiracy still that only a few truly grasp."
He paused, but only for a second, in fear of losing his gumption. "Our father was not just a banker; the same could be said for us and our forebears as we are not just bankers. We never have been." He reached over and grasped his brother's shoulder. "No, it is because we are also part of something more; something far nobler that transcends all that you know. Ezio, our father..."
And so, he began to tell him. How their father was an Assassin— as was his father and his father.
He told him everything that came to mind, reflecting on his day of being told about the Assassins and Templars, their war, and their family's place in it.
"And now, it seems so are you."
*~End~*
In case you are wondering what the rest of Uberto's letter said:
My love,
I put these thoughts to paper in the hope that I might one day have the courage to share them with you. In time, you'll no doubt learn that I betrayed Giovanni, labeled him a traitor, and sentenced him to die.
History will likely judge this to have been a matter of politics and greed. Know that it was not hate that forced my hand, but fear. When the Medici robbed us of all we owned, I found myself afraid. For you. For our son. For the future. What hope in this world for a man without proper means?
They offered me money, land, and title in exchange for my collaboration. And so, this is how I came to betray my closest friend. However unspeakable the act, it seemed necessary at the time. And even now, looking back, I see no other way…
And that's a wrap! A lot of emotional stuff went down in this chapter and gosh, I feel everyone needs a hug here. Luckily, my man, Rico is good at doling them out and other things.
You bet your butt Maria ships them, yes she does.
AND YES, Federico was on the precipice of getting his very own robes since he's no longer a novice :D
TK's History Fun Facts
DAAAAAM—
It's hilarious because I had a brain fart about whether or not Renaissance men knew what a dam was. To the point I had a [DAM? Research here!] note in my first draft. But luckily, my buddy informed me that dams indeed did exist! Example: The first known dam to be built is the Jawa Dam, which is the largest in a series of dams that are all part of one reservoir system. Located in modern-day Jordan, it was originally constructed around 3,000 BCE in what was then Mesopotamia. Other notable Dams can be found in Egypt, Ancient Rome, and Sri Lanka.
Thoughts? Theories? Random bouts of screaming? Lemme know! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome.
Have a good one, folks.
Ciao,
TK
