Hey folks! I uh... got no excuses for this chapter. Had many plans/aspirations to get it out since January. But work, life, vacation, and a massive rewrite got in the way. So to get a healthy dose inspiration, I went ahead and spent two weeks hoofing it across Italy, and it was MAGICAL. Nine cities! Carnevale in Venice! And even hit Monteriggioni and San Gimignano! In the same day xD (boy my feet were killing me)

Massive massive shout out to calm for betaing and being patient with me as she wrangled together my wandering thoughts and made them coherent. Words cannot express my thanks enough.

Also to infinitecompositions and Verdigirl for historical clarification, and dealing with my rambling DMs.

Last but not least, a big thank you to my bestie, my sister from another mister, my rock redhairedmuses for not only betaing as well but for always being there. She also just posted her second AC story on AO3 Aut Inveniam Viam Aut Faciam, a Jacob Frye/OC centric set in a steampunk version of Victorian London! Go check it out when you get the chance :)

I hope you guys enjoy!


~*XXI*~

Ain't No Rest for The Wicked


Perhaps it had been pessimistic of her (or maybe that was just the gambling habit), but when they finished their preparations, Tristan mused over the idea of making a bet. How long until shit hit the fan? She guessed a few hours at most. It had been a silly idea. A brief blink-and-it's-gone notion she flirted with until she shook her head and got dressed.

Unfortunately, someone did not get the memo because things ground to a crawl after making such substantial progress.

The freak blizzard that had struck Florence like a bowling ball had cast its wintry wrath into the surrounding hills and fields. While the snow had long melted away, they still felt its presence, leaving behind snapped trees and a sopping muddy mess. For now, they could navigate around the puddles and mud that pockmarked the road. But later, they would come across entire sections where the road had disappeared under murky ponds. Annoying? Yes, but at least still doable.

A creek, raging, bloated, and clogged with detritus by the roots of a fallen tree, blocked their path. A couple of creative curses escaped Federico as he yanked his mount backward, and it took them close to an hour to find another way around. By then, the fog had burned away, but proved no welcoming comfort in the creek crossing's aftermath. The clouds stuck around like unwelcome party guests, posturing with their gloomy underbellies and threatening to spill everywhere. Perhaps Miss Fortune had blessed Tristan too well because, boy, howdy, this was just what they needed—another fucking storm.

Tristan huffed into her scarf to waylay the wind nipping at their noses. But the cold and damp were the least of her worries. Her tailbone throbbed and a dull pain crawled up her spine. And, of course, her leg injury was protesting. Don't think about it; her grandmother had often said as she rubbed at her ass, walking bow-legged across the arena after getting knocked off the dozenth time. Walk it off. Hey, it was great, in theory.

... but impossible for what brief distractions she had. Their group had fallen silent. Their attempts at small talk had seemed forced, if not pointless. What more could they discuss when every tree looked the same as the last? When the nearby fields stretched onwards, and the clouds billowed overhead? Besides being on the run, what were they supposed to talk about? "Oh yes, what dreadful weather we're having, wot wot!" (While amusing, why that came out like a Redwall character, she did not know.)

A raindrop glanced off her brow, and Tristan snapped back to reality. Someone, probably Claudia, squeaked ahead of her. Then came another raindrop. And another. Tristan pulled her hood up alongside the others. Before long, it turned into a drizzle that bore uncomfortably on their backs, only broken up by the occasional scrawny tree.

Federico turned off the road and entered a small but thick grove. The trees huddled close together, enough to give them some solace from the increasing downpour. When they stopped, Tristan was the first to heave herself out of the saddle. Between the rain and puddles, she really needed to go to the bathroom. Judging by the rustling of bushes, she wasn't alone.

When Tristan reemerged, she saw Claudia had already settled on a fallen log. Even after she sat on the opposite end, Claudia barely acknowledged her, distracted by a necklace she fiddled between her fingers. Although, now and then, she would steal a glance when she thought Tristan wasn't looking.

Once again, Claudia pulled out the necklace, twisting it to catch the muted light across its surface. This time, Tristan found herself nosy, and she glanced over from the corner of her eye.

Around her neck, she wore a square pendant with a ruby dangling below it. Pearls and red stones were inlaid around the middle with something engraved—words, maybe. It was elegantly crafted and similar to something Tristan once saw in the Uffizi.

"That's a lovely necklace," Tristan complimented softly. "I don't remember seeing it before. Did you just get it?"

Claudia stiffened, and the pendant dropped from her fingers. Even seated on a mossy log, Claudia kept her poise and elegance as a proper young lady. But her eyes, despite never once wavering, were wide like a deer in headlights. Her fingers bunched tight in the material of her dress as if she expected to be chastised for her lack of propriety. Then her eyes dropped, blinking, and with great hesitance, relaxed. A shaky breath escaped her, but she nodded, fingers grasping the pendant.

"Yes," she said, stealing a look of longing at it before she stuffed it back inside her dress, settling her hands in her lap.

Tristan figured that was that until she spoke next. "My father bought it while he was in Milan conducting business." Claudia averted her eyes to the ground, where she scuffed one of her feet, kicking up stray weeds. "He had cut the trip short to return in time. Or—at least, that's what Federico claimed when he gave it to me. 'A special gift for a special daughter.'" Her fingers grazed the necklace, and Tristan had to strain her hearing when she continued. "Lovely gift or not. I wish he was here instead."

Tristan opened her mouth, but Claudia had already stood up to return to where her brothers were. Her gaze never left the ground, but her shoulders were shaking.

Tristan stifled a grimace, a hand running through her hair. Of all the days, her own birthday...

Federico called for them to get back on the road, and Tristan returned to the horses, untying her mare.

Tristan figured the first time trying to mount was nothing more than a warm-up, with her stiff joints and numb ass talking. But when the second attempt gave her even more problems, a tiny flicker of fear formed as she gripped the cantle in one hand and the horse's mane in the other. Ah, shit, this wasn't good. Perhaps she had underestimated how much jostling in the saddle had taken place, and now it was biting her in the ass. But pride be damned, Tristan refused to concede just yet.

"Need help?" came a half-amused, half-concerned inquiry.

"No," she answered far too quickly as she attempted a last-ditch effort to prove Federico wrong, but her foot slipped out of the stirrup, and she found herself nearly on her ass before catching herself again. "Maybe," she gritted under her breath. Oh, that one had hurt.

But when she heard a tentative footstep, she was quick to wave him off. "I'm fine. Just a numb ass is all." I hope.

He didn't budge, though—sigh, of course, he wouldn't.

She risked a look just as Federico tore his gaze away, instead sending a glance at his brother. He did a poor job at an impassive expression fiddling with the ties on his saddlebags, and it was no wonder the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Oh, Federico was planning something. On the other hand, Ezio crossed his arms, an inquisitive brow inching up his forehead. He glanced between her and Federico before he shrugged, gesturing a familiar, it's up to you with a wandering hand before disappearing behind his horse.

That must have made up his mind, for Federico straightened. "Wait one moment." He didn't wait for her to respond before half-turning. "Claudia? This is last minute, but could you trade with Mother and take Tristan's horse instead? She's going to ride with me the rest of the way."

"Dude, the fuck?" Tristan blurted, whirling around, face drawn up in a scowl. "Uh, the fucking hell I'm not. I can still ride!"

"I must agree with the sentiment, dear brother." Claudia's scowl mirrored Tristan's, setting both hands on her hips with narrowed eyes. "And need I remind you, it's not very proper for a lady to ride astride."

Federico mounted but immediately turned in the saddle; what little patience he had grew thin as he retorted, stabbing a finger first Tristan's way. "One: this isn't a debate. Two: you are not fine. The last thing we need is for you to fall off your horse." He directed his attention and finger to his sister, brows furrowing as he shook it. "And you. Mind your manners; she's as much as a 'proper lady' as you are, even if she can be unorthodox—"

"Way to rub it in, thanks," Tristan muttered under her breath. Federico ignored her.

"—Not to mention dear sister," he laid the next part out sweetly, leaning forward to prop an elbow on the saddle's pommel. "While that may have worked on that 'beloved' betrothed of yours—" This time, he ignored Ezio's grumbling. "—I seem to recall a particular someone who would borrow father's horse to race the farmhands' sons. Wearing trousers, if you can believe such a thing."

Claudia's eyes widened before snapping towards their mother, who was making her way back with the aid of Ezio. When her gaze averted back to the smug expression on her brother's face, she scowled. "You swore," she hissed between her teeth, despite the panic flicking at her words.

"And after all these years, I still intend to keep that promise. Mother will never hear of it from me." He winked, pulling the horse's head around and walking over to Tristan's side. He never once broke eye contact with Claudia, who matched his challenge with a fiery glare. "All I ask is the simple favor of getting on the horse. Just until Monteriggioni, and I'll never bring it up again."

"Please," he softly added when she opened her mouth to argue further, his gaze switching between the two. She realized this fight was lost, and Claudia grew flustered, her face turning a beet-red color. Scowling, she stomped over in Tristan's direction, who wisely stepped out of the way. "Tyrant," the younger woman threw over her shoulder as she mounted with little effort before taking—more like snatching—the reins out of Tristan's hands.

"I've been called worse," Federico sniffed, examining his nails. This only made his little sister scowl further before she retreated to the far side of the clearing.

"Forgive my ignorance," Tristan said, palming the back of her neck as all eyes landed on her. "But she's... betrothed? Does that mean—uh, are we going to have to worry about anyone coming after us? Her?" She recognized being betrothed young was a concept here, but witnessing it play out was... interesting and involved many questions. If Tristan was of some fictional noble family now, did that mean she left behind a fictional betrothed too? Or was she some runaway from said betrothal? ... Wait, no. That would conflict with what she said earlier about fleeing the tension in England.

(Who knew writing a complex fictional backstory was so hard?)

"You mean, was betrothed." Claudia's voice snapped unseen from the trees.

Federico ignored his sister, but not without shaking his head, flinging raindrops everywhere. "I'll never understandwhat my father was thinking when he agreed to it, but fortunately, I doubt we'll hear heads or tails from the bast—forgive me, the man. Not with the way this 'scandal' will affect his family's standing in the city—ah, Mother, I hope you don't mind riding with Ezio for a short while."

If Maria had any issues with that or her only daughter being on a horse, being 'astride,' she said nothing. Perhaps it was because she was too busy boring holes in the back of her sons' heads. "Speaking of betrothal, I heard that an unfortunate... accident happened to Ser Duccio." Maria fixed a look on Ezio with such a coolness, Tristan squirmed. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Her younger son shrugged, slow to recognize the vehement head shake Federico was trying to convey over their mother's head. "I swear, Mother. It is nothing the knuckle dragger can't recover from." He smacked a fist into his open palm, muttering under his breath, missing the facepalm from his brother, "Although looking back, perhaps that was a mistake..."

"Ezio."

Tristan suspected the sharp remark was a poor attempt to sound disapproving. Alas, she had to keep up the pretense, anyway. Even if they were outside the city walls and on the run as fugitives, it wouldn't do at all to have a fool son care little about the fallout. But of course, from the sounds of it, whoever this guy was had not been very popular with any of them.

That wouldn't impede Maria from voicing her displeasure, however.

Of course, Ezio snipped back with a roll of his eyes—something about Claudia's sullied honor and how he had found this 'Duccio' fellow (wow, that was really his name? She felt sorry for the man) burying his cheating face in another woman's bosom (nope, didn't feel sorry anymore)—but that was the game, after all. The kids stole glances at one another, not one bit sad or sheepish, perhaps exasperated, somewhat amused, and best of all, alleviated. It showed that while yes, it may take a long time, bit by bit, their mother would slowly become herself again.

Federico fondly shook his head as the half-serious familial squabble continued, turning back to Tristan. He had an expectant look as he crossed his arms, one of them still clinging to the reins. Tristan met his stare head-on, setting hands on her hips. However, their staring contest was short-lived as she slumped, massaging her temples. "I'm not winning this, am I?"

"I mean..." He wrinkled his nose and scratched at it nonchalantly. "While not recommended, you could just walk there if you feel riding with me is below you. Only so long as you don't mind steep climbs since Monteriggioni is atop a large hill."

She glared. Half-hearted, of course. Because deep down, she knew Federico was right, but it still took much effort to tamp down the temptation to tell him to stuff it where the sun didn't shine. Instead, Tristan palmed her face to stifle the groan of defeat before spitting out a Spanish curse Abuelita would have both approved and condemned with a side of saddle soap. "Fine, fine. If you are going to insist, who am I to argue?" She jerked her thumb at him. "Move your ass then, Hoodie Boy."

To her surprise, he didn't break out in grinning triumph or a smug smirk; instead, he edged the horse closer, put a hand out to grasp, and hoisted her up with surprising ease. Although she smacked away any other attempts to assist. Hurt leg or not, she was still fine and didn't need help. To further be spiteful, she made sure to be as uncomfortably close as possible and wrap her arms around him. Her reward was a distressed grunt.

"Normally, I wouldn't mind this kind of attention. Especially from that of a beautiful woman." He rumbled while shifting uncomfortably. "So it pains me to ask if you could please not squeeze so tight? Or if you still feel so inclined, not there?"

She stifled a chortle and brought herself closer to his ear, dropping to a sultry whisper. "You mean to tell me the Auditore don't heal unbelievably fast as you led me to believe? I'm positively shocked by the revelation."

He sighed a deep, slow, frustrated sigh, head tipping back. "I said quicker than most. Not that fast, woman," he hissed under his breath.

"Oh, no!" Tristan couldn't help but make a mock gasp in response. "Are you saying you're in pain right now? Gosh, does that mean I should ride in front until your uncle's?" She exaggeratedly puffed as he turned his head to give her a side-eye. Don't, the gesture said, but of course, she didn't listen, too busy pushing his buttons. "By the way, when was the last time you cut your hair? It's rather long and all over the place and in serious need of a brushing—" She broke off, yelping as their horse abruptly jolted, causing her to crash face-first into him.

"You did that on purpose," she muttered against his back before straightening. Well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my actions.

Shut up, brain. But Tristan got the hint, loosening her arms around Federico's waist.

"What? Me?" Federico feigned ignorance, of course. "I don't know what you're talking about. Perhaps something spooked the horse?" Despite the poorly muffled laugh that escaped him, he attempted to remain innocent as he led them back on the open road. "These woods are full of wild beasts, and who knows—" He broke out in a choked-out growl.

It was Tristan's turn to act innocent when he instantly turned in the saddle to glare. Oh no, she 'forgot' his back had been 'injured' too when she slapped it. "Oh, I'm sure there are. Didn't one visit you last night?" She batted her eyes, smiling sweetly.

"You... you are impossible." He turned, but not before she spied the rather fond half-smile.

It seemed only seconds later when she awoke to fingers tapping at her arm.

"Tristan."

"What," she attempted to respond, but it came out as a mumbled, "Mmm?" As her name was repeated, her body became sluggish in response, and her eyelids became even heavier. The lull of creaking leather and the horse's sway was replaced by the chorus of night birds and the occasional hooting of some distant owl. The mumbled voices of the others sounded like they were on the other side of a long tunnel. She jolted upright when something scratchy against her cheek shifted, the side of her face numb as she blinked. The sun, still shrouded in a cloudy blanket, was just now beginning to dip, yet the thicket of trees towering overhead made it feel later than it actually was. She spied Ezio for a moment before disappearing inside a barn-like structure after Maria and Claudia.

"Shit." She rubbed at her eyes, grunting, the last vestiges of sleep leaving her. "How long was I out?"

"Not long." Federico slid off and gathered the reins in one hand. He rolled his shoulder as he led the gelding towards a fenced-in pasture filled with overgrown weeds. "A couple of hours at the most."

Tristan stifled a shiver and tightened the cloak around herself. Not for the first time, she wished she was wearing her thick, warm snow jacket. Despite not wanting to, she had left it behind, tucked deep away where, hopefully, no one would find it. At the time, she figured there had been no point standing out like a sore thumb or, better yet, trying to explain how she had acquired such a strange wardrobe.

But now? Given that it felt that no matter how many layers she wore, a breeze still managed to get through? It would have been worth the headaches. The borrowed clothes and cloak struggled to keep out the cold.

Tristan brought her gloves along, but because she was a dummy, those were buried deep in a place she couldn't get to right now. She puffed a few breaths into her hands before rubbing them together as she looked around. Her experience with Tuscany, outside of a couple of spontaneous day trips, had been a pane of glass between her and the countryside as it whisked her off to Rome. Half of that trip, she was napping. "How far away are we from Mont- Mount—" She scrunched her face as the name suddenly abandoned her.

"Monteriggioni," Federico supplied, cracking a smile. He twisted, pointing up and over the tree line. "And not far. You can almost see it from here. We'll probably arrive sometime around midday tomorrow." He scratched the back of his head as he made a face. "I must admit I was hoping to get there by tonight, but—"

Tristan leaned over, putting a hand on his shoulder to get him to stop. "You can't predict the future, let alone the weather. Besides, a dry place to sleep out of the rain will do us good."

The stiffness worked itself out of his shoulders, and he flashed a half-smile. "You're right." He raked a hand through his hair, making it spike up. "Unless..." He set his hands on his hips. "You wish to stay on the horse for the night?"

"Hilarious." She stifled a yawn and stiffly shifted to where both legs were dangling on the same side, just in time for Federico to put his arms out to catch her. "A shame about the weather, though," she hummed, patting his arm. "You kind of made a great pillow."

He made an exaggerated rolling motion with his shoulder again. A movement that had Tristan cocking her head. Had he not moved that the entire time she was napping on it? "While my shoulder may not agree, I know when to take the compliment. Even if you did drool."

Tristan rolled her eyes and yanked the reins out of his grasp. "Nuh-uh, I don't think so. Since I unexpectedly napped and all, I'll finish up here. You, on the other hand," she lightly poked his chest, "look like a dead man walking. So, walk your butt inside and get some rest. You've earned it."

"Trish, your concern is touching, but I assure you I'm fine." Federico reached for the reins, but Tristan jerked them away with a warning stare. He shrugged, and went to work on removing the saddle instead. He threw the stirrup over, hands making quick work of the cinch and chest strap. It didn't stop him from talking aloud, though. "Besides, I think I can handle this one."

Tristan scratched at the gelding's forehead, who had decided her shoulder was the perfect rubbing post. "I never said you couldn't, 'Rico. Besides, it's not you or even him I'm worried about."

At Federico's confused stall, Tristan jerked her head towards the bay mare, still in full tack, casually munching on some stray grass. The rope tying her to the post was loose, as if whoever was in charge was in a hurry. "That one tried to take a chunk out of Ezio's ass earlier. And judging by your ol' rat pal's reaction when he brought her out of the stable, I don't think it's a one-off; she does not like men."

"I see," Federico grunted as he heaved the saddle and the accompanying straps off. He lugged it to the rail, set it next to Ezio's, and leaned against it. "Perhaps she hasn't met the right one yet," he hummed, brushing off the saddle's pommel with a wink.

Unamused, Tristan crossed her arms with a knowing look. "Or perhaps she's the strong, independent type who needs no man and isn't afraid to show it."

He put his hands up in surrender despite the bubbling laugh. "All right, all right. You've made your point." Federico tugged what he needed off the saddle, heaving it over his shoulder, but put an expectant hand out. "But at least let me walk my horse over?"

She looked between his face, hand, and back, eyes narrowing. "You're on thin ice, buster," she warned, playful, before slapping the reins into his open palm. "No funny business."

An indignant snort was her response as Tristan turned around to work at loosening the straps. Most of her attention centered on Federico, though, as he removed the bridle and ran a hand down the horse's face. She continued to spy from the corner of her eye as he left for the big barn structure—just in case he tried to pull something stupid. Perhaps it was curiosity or dumb bravery as he walked past, but Federico paused about a stone's throw away from the tied-up mare, eyebrows drawn low. Stealing a glance at Tristan, he made a tentative step toward the horse. As if reading his intentions, the mare paused in her grazing and snapped her head up, ears pinning back, a crystal-clear warning.

Federico retreated, never breaking eye contact with the horse until he was inside with the others. Safe and far away.

Tristan stifled the giggle that had been bubbling up behind a hand. "I assure you, he's a good one." She cooed, reaching around to give a couple of scratches alongside the mare's back and neck, which earned her a couple of exuberant head bobs and an upturned lip. She gently pulled the bridle off, careful not to touch her ears. "Rico's just a little full of himself sometimes. But he isn't like what's-his-face in Florence. Unless he really fucks up, I don't think he needs a heavy dose of karma."

She continued to babble as she unstrapped everything else. It may have taken a few trips, but, finally, Tristan had the tack in a neat pile out of the rain. The horses were inside what used to be the stable's pasture. While potentially abandoned, the stable still stood with a sturdy roof, offering the horses cover with dry straw still inside.

Tristan gathered her things and walked up the stairs. But, soon, she heard voices and recognized them as the boys' as she paused just outside, her hand on the door."—I'm telling you, we should press on just a little longer. We're so close to Uncle's; if we can just—"

"No," Federico interjected. He sounded weary, and yet he made his best effort to hide it as he continued. "It's getting too dark, and the roads are unsafe. The last thing we need is to break one of the horses' legs." He paused, shuffling around before quietly adding, "Or worse."

"But Fede, you saw—"

Federico sucked in a breath and sounded like he was about to snap something before stopping himself. He began again about a minute later, but his voice was softer, more sympathetic even with its strained edge. "Yes, I saw them too, and I hope the storm slows their progress. We'll leave first thing tomorrow, Ezio, I promise. But we have to let them rest. There's no point—"

Tristan missed anything else he had said, for she had already backed out of earshot. She didn't stop until her heel dragged across one board, causing it to squeak. Initially, she had avoided it just on the off-hand that someone was already sleeping, but this time she planted her foot on it and pressed down, causing it to creak loudly. When Tristan finally entered, it was at the exact moment Federico collapsed on his half-rolled bedroll. She wasn't even sure if he had eaten anything.

The others weren't far behind, but they still managed to get some semblance of dinner. And yet, as Tristan settled for the night, tired from the day, a single thought kept bouncing inside her head. Even as the rain and wind came back with a vengeance, pounding and howling at the wood, the storm did little in being able to drown out its static.

Someone was following them.

[Scene break/Image here!]

"Take this."

Claudia turned around, perplexed. She became even more baffled when her eyes landed on the sheathed dagger Tristan offered. "What exactly," she began to say, eyebrows furrowing, "do you want me to do with that?"

"Well, I would like for you to take it." Tristan's eyes averted from Claudia to the others. She had little time until they needed to leave. Federico was with the horses—although he gave "Karma" (yes, Tristan had named the horse. Sue her.) a wide berth—securing their belongings while Maria and Ezio conversed in low voices as they came out of the barn.

Claudia crossed her arms, unconvinced. "Why would I do that?" One hand gesticulated at the hills. "Federico told me we're only a few hours away."

"Yeah, that's what he told me, too." Tristan bit back the retort that dared to slip out, instead dispelling it through her nose with a heavy sigh. Between the cold and the nerves, Tristan was jittery enough to make it seem like she had double-fisted Monsters. "I... I know it's probably silly, and truth be told, I hope nothing happens. I would prefer it that way, actually." She swallowed the nervous laugh that tried to escape. "But for whatever strange reason, if something were to happen, I would feel a little bit better knowing you can stick whomever and whatever with the pointy end."

Behind them, she heard Ezio and Federico sounding eerily calm as they spoke about today's plans. Part of her wondered if she had imagined it all last night as the brothers shoved each other playfully.

The younger woman opened her mouth to protest, but Tristan shook her head vehemently. "I know, I know it's a lot to ask. But I ... please." She wrapped Claudia's hand around the hilt with gentle hands, grasping it in front of their faces. "Trust me when I say that I want to be wrong more than anything else about this. Just... It's best to be safe. Especially out here in the wild, because if we were to meet someone unsavory, knowing you have some kind of protection would be a load off my conscience. Especially if your brothers aren't nearby, and it's just you and your mom."

Claudia's lips pursed, but then they heard Maria speak, and she paused. She swallowed as she turned to look, biting at her lip. Eventually, she conceded with a hesitant nod, clutching the dagger close to her. "Stick them with the pointy end," she confirmed, pulling it out to look at the blade.

Tristan breathed a word of thanks. "Yes, preferably here," she touched her neck before bringing it down to her chest. "Or here. But hide it for now and within arm's reach. I don't want to worry your brothers." She knew they would be pissed if they discovered her doing this.

But she didn't care, and a load of weight she hadn't realized she had lifted the moment Claudia tucked it away under one of her skirts.

Soon they were off again and found the roads were fucking awful. Slippery, muddy. It became apparent that the slop made it too risky for them to ride. So they unanimously agreed: while Claudia and Maria remained on the gelding, the rest would walk on foot, avoiding the worst of it with the horses' reins in their hands. Federico tried to insist that she stay mounted too, but one look had him walking it back. Tristan could stay off her feet for as long as it took to heal once they got to their uncle's. Until then, she'd live. A silver lining to all this was the sight of blue skies in the distance, promising a brighter, warmer day.

She didn't know when or where it happened, just that they had crossed the border at some point. There was a sudden pep in their step, and the home stretch was laid out in front of them. They were even talking amongst each other, including Maria, who, up until that point, had been silent and blank-faced. As they cleared a rise, Tristan shielded her eyes, barely making out a black and grey shape squatting on the hill ahead. Perhaps their setbacks were behind them, and now it was just a few hours until they could be at peace and safe.

Of course, that was until her horse stopped dead in her tracks, jerking Tristan back. "C'mon, we don't have time for this," she grumbled, tugging. Yet the horse refused, her head swiveling towards the tree line, ears flicked forward. As Tristan tried to coax the horse into moving again, a chill went down her spine as a piercing whinny drifted from the trees to their left. Tristan's grip on the mare's bridle grew clammy as another horse echoed it.

"We're not alone," she heard Ezio mutter as a grim Federico stopped beside him. He shielded his eyes, muttering what sounded like an "Ah, shit," under his breath: a sentiment she agreed with as her eyes landed on what blocked their path, a rock of dread sinking in her gut.

"I am really starting to hate this guy," Tristan grumbled under her breath, recognizing the cocked hat. She hadn't thought it loud enough to be heard, yet she heard a chorus of snorts and even a choked laugh.

A lone figure wearing dark and white stood in the middle of the road, hands on his hips as if he had been expecting them all along. She had spotted him twice in Florence. All from a distance, whether he be cursing or scowling, but until this moment, she had never had the 'pleasure' of meeting this Draco Malfoy wannabe face-to-face.

"What? Leaving so soon? And not even with a proper goodbye?"

Tristan almost laughed aloud at how cartoonishly evil that sounded. Almost. If it weren't for the glint of madness in his eyes and the arguably small contingent of men who trickled in, brandishing more than enough weapons than she'd care to admit.

Ezio looked ready to ground rubble between his teeth as he glowered. "What do you want, Vieri?"

Vieri shrugged, lazily taking a couple of steps as he counted on his fingers. "Oh, many things in life—" While his voice was a cheese grater to the ears, it was his aura that put Tristan on edge. It was ugly and reeked of vileness. "A bigger palace. A new horse..." There was a pause when he hooked his hand on his third finger, and she shuddered when his eyes were locked on to Claudia before he continued with a nauseating chuckle that had her skin crawling. "A new, younger wife wouldn't be too bad—"

"We have no quarrel with you, Vieri," Federico snapped, stepping before his sister. There was a razor-thin edge to his words as he spoke next: "What our fathers fought over should be left in the past and in Florence. There's no need for this pointless rivalry between my brother and you to extend past its walls. My family merely wants peace and to mourn our dead." His eyes flicked left, then right, brows lifting at how outnumbered they were as more men trickled from the woods. Yet he stood his ground, never wavering as he refocused on Vieri. "We are of no threat to you. I implore you to forget this happened and let us pass."

Vieri threw back his head and cackled. "You implore me?" Vieri dug around the front of his shirt until he pulled something out on a silver chain. Tristan's stomach dropped as she noted the gleam of a red cross shining in the dim light. "Do not patronize me, friend. Or should I call you by what you truly are, Assassin?"

He laughed again as Federico recoiled, like someone had punched him in the stomach.

"I know exactly what you are. Father told me everything. Especially about your little family of secrets." His face turned into a sneer as the chain dropped, only for his hand to occupy the hilt of a gaudy blade at his hip. "As soon as my father was released from the Signoria—thanks to your own old man and all—he was more than happy to finance this little hunting party to bring you to justice. To have one last goodbye before I reunite you with your father in whatever hell he was sent to.

"So, it'll be fitting to bring him your heads and end your fraudulent line of scum once and for all." Vieri casually swished his sword before pointing it toward Federico and Ezio. Especially look that accompanied the jab spoke of deep-seated anger that went beyond any rivalry. "You were never one of us. Your entire family is nothing but imposters leeching from Florence, and I intend to put an end to it today."

The older man—a kind of captain, if Tristan had to guess—set a hand on Vieri's shoulder, dropping his voice low. "—member what your father said. She and the Grandmaster want—" Ice went down Tristan's spine.

She. A vivid mirage assaulted the insides of her eyes as she took a tentative step back. No, no, it couldn't be.

Whatever else the captain said boiled Vieri's rage over, making him demonic in the daylight as he jerked out of the man's grip.

"Fine," came the frustrated remark before Vieri snapped a hand in their general direction, disappointed. "But kill the rest, including the women. I find myself no longer needing damaged goods—"

A rock to the face shut him up.

Tristan snapped out of her stupor just in time for Federico to wrap a hand around her arm and jerk back. "Tristan, what the hell are you doing?"

Honestly, she didn't remember what happened. In one moment, she was standing beside Ezio. The next, she was in front, hurling a rock with such form her professional Padres pitcher of an uncle would have been proud.

The little shit looked just as surprised as she did when he put a hand up to touch his now bleeding cheek. Vieri lost that surprise when he fixed his eyes on Tristan, a smoldering rage enveloping them.

Federico must have realized this as well, for he cursed. "Dammit, woman, don't you fucking dare—!"

But she ignored Federico's protests. Her focus, no, her red-hot rage, was Vieri. This vile human being—Tristan spat out two simple yet defiant words: "Fuck. You."

She yanked her arm out of Federico's grasp. All the anger, frustration, and fear she had bottled up roiled to the top as she bared her teeth and stomped forward with hands balled into shaking fists.

"If you want me, you're going to have to drag my lifeless corpse out of here. I didn't fucking risk my life to get here only to be stopped by some shrimp-dick and his circle-jerking squad." Tristan abruptly stopped about halfway, one of the throwing knives in her hand as she snarled, "And if you so much as touch either of them, this next one will go between your eyes."

"Is that so?" Vieri pulled his hand away, features drawn up in an Oni mask of rage as he glared at her and the others. "In that case, I will make your suffering slow. My father and his associates may want you alive, bitch. But they didn't say in what condition." He turned his head towards the captain and then jerked it towards their general direction. "Capture her, but... since the Auditore has fallen so low in letting their whores fight their battles, start with the women. I want that one," he stabbed a finger at her, "to watch."

"Federico, what are you—!"

Tristan turned just in time to see Federico's hand smacking the ass of Claudia's horse with a hearty slap and a hiss. "Get!"

Claudia barely got his name out before clinging on for dear life as the gelding snorted in surprise and threw its head back into a half-rear. In the next breath, he bolted like a bullet out of a barrel, the mares hot on his heels. The last she saw of Claudia and Maria before they disappeared into the trees was the young woman trying to wrangle the frantic horse. She yelled something as they crashed through the brush, but the undergrowth soon swallowed it.

Vieri shook his head, appearing bored as he waved his hand towards the two riders already mounting their impatient horses. "You think a little girl can outride my best riders? You are only delaying the inevitable, I'm afraid."

But the mounted men didn't make it two steps before hissing blurs struck them. Like a car crash, everyone watched as, first, one and then the other soldier crashed to the ground, the snapped shaft of arrows sticking out of their necks.

"What sorcery is this?" Vieri choked out as their horses bucked and kicked, bellowing.

A booming voice answered him: "No sorcery! Merely skill!" Another arrow followed this, but this one struck Vieri's sword, flinging it out of his hands. "Leave now if you wish to live. Stay, and prepare to die!"

Vieri retrieved his sword, despite treating it like a snake about to bite him. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to pinpoint where the mysterious voice came from. "Show yourself, cowards!"

"As you wish." A large man appeared from the coppice beside them, catching Ezio off-guard. He wore high boots and a well-polished chest plate. "It appears you're far from home, little boy. Perhaps you should take your toy soldiers and go." He declared, which was met with raucous, mocking laughter from the surrounding men.

"Mercenary dog, this has nothing to do with you!" But the bravado was thin and brittle. As Vieri stabbed his sword in the newcomers' direction, his hand shook, and he inched backward. "I am here on behalf of Florence's people to bring these criminals to justice!"

"Ah, but you forget." The stranger grew grim, his hand landing on the sword at his hip. "You're not in Florentine territory, boy. I will give you one last chance. Leave."

At that, Vieri looked ready to run, maybe vomit, but credit where credit was due; it didn't stop him from ordering in a less-than-confident voice as he raised his sword, "Men, kill them! Kill them all!"

The stranger took the rising challenge, but not before he chucked something toward a surprised Ezio, who barely caught it in time before having to defend himself as a soldier suddenly appeared. They parried and traded blows, being lost to sight behind some bushes.

Federico had his own hands full. He dispatched one man with his sword, flicking in and out in a storm of parries and thrusts. The next time she saw Federico, he grappled with a man wearing lighter armor. Their blades were thrust into the sky as they fought for domination until the smaller man faltered for a hair of a second, and it became his undoing, for with a single thrust of Federico's arm, the man went limp as blood gushed out of his neck.

What happened afterward, she didn't see, for Tristan had her own problems to worry about. Most of the other soldiers went off to intercept the newcomers, but a handful of men, spear-headed by the ornately decorated captain, made a bee-line straight for them. No, scratch that for her. She turned to face the pounding of feet—two problems, in fact. The first came from her left, and the knife in her hand found his throat. The second, however, got lucky as the blade bounced off his plate armor, and he slammed into her like an Oakland Raiders linebacker.

She heard her name as she flew. (Had that been Federico or her brain?) She hit the ground hard, rolling ass over and words jumbled in her head, only to be replaced with searing pain. Her leg screamed as it slammed into something, and stars danced across her eyes as she stopped face-up to the sky. A groan wheezed out of her as she got to her feet. She had landed amongst some brush, their scraggly arms clinging to her hair and clothes as she attempted to stagger to her feet. Only barely catching herself as her leg gave out. "Fuck," she gritted under her breath, pushing herself to crawl. She didn't have time to—Tristan froze, hearing heavy footsteps become louder and louder.

She pulled herself forward again, groping around until she found something solid out of the mud—a stick. A big stick, she corrected as she yanked it out of the ground with a few pulls. It was narrow at one end and thicker towards the other before eventually topping into a burly knot. It felt right in her hand as she pulled it closer and used it as a crutch to get to her feet.

The nearby bushes rustled, and out stepped her pursuer, his armor dark and glinting with sinister dolphins dancing across it. But... surprisingly, he forewent the sword at his side and instead held a dagger aloft, occasionally passing it between his hands as he sized her up. He made experimental swipes and punches, which she easily side-stepped or deflected, but beyond that. Nothing. It both confused and frustrated Tristan as she kept the distance between them.

And yet—he never took a step forward. Why?

A sudden shudder went up her spine as she remembered the bone-chilling words. They may want you alive—Tristan adopted a threatening pose in response, despite her quivering legs. Her vision swam as she set weight on her bad leg, but she never once showed it.

She remembered some quote or another. It went something like 'Talk softly but carry a big stick.' Well, sorry, Teddy, but she was done talking as she growled. "You take one more step, and you'll regret it. I'm not going back. I'm not going to be your Alchemist's or that bitch's experiment again."

To add insult to injury, he looked her in the eye with pity. "Make this easy for yourself, girl. It will only get worse from here if you resist."

She brandished her makeshift club higher, teeth bared: "Suck. My. Dick."

He attempted to clear the space between them but only managed a half-step before stalling. Tristan supposed it wasn't every day a woman with red-streaked hair told you that. Regardless, she didn't look a gift horse in the mouth and lunged, jabbing the stick spear-style towards his stomach.

He recovered quicker than Tristan expected, and he easily dodged away. He slashed downwards, and she awkwardly stumbled to the side, but not before a few strands of her hair fluttered past her face. She used his closeness to her favor and whirled around to strike his side. Before he could recover, she pulled her makeshift weapon back and swung it in an ascending arc, slamming it into his head. He went down, a gasp of air escaping him. The poor soul never had the chance to rise again as Tristan fell upon him, striking down.

Lights flickered across her eyes as she pulled it back and slammed down again. A dreadful thrum from the dark depths of her mind threatening to shake her into tiny pieces.

She brought it down again, and something warm flecked across her cheeks.

And again.

The man stopped moving, but she didn't stop, couldn't stop. Not until the stick nearly slipped from her hands. His face was nothing more than a bloody mess of gore now. Her chest heaved, her limbs shook; everything hurt, yet it didn't stop her from whirling around, ready to fight again, as something snapped underfoot. But, as stupid as it was, she stopped. A man stood with a bow, and another arrow was nocked and drawn. Even with an arrow pointed in her direction, she recognized he wasn't one of Vieri's bootlickers.

He was staring at her, the arrow not moving a single inch before he tilted his head to the left. She blinked just as the sound of running feet pounded behind her and, upon realization, instantly dropped. The arrow whizzed over her head like an angry hornet, and a scream was its reward, followed by a heavy thump. The archer was running towards the sounds of fighting when she got up again. He turned once to give her a 'come on' gesture, and judging by the rapid motion, it roughly translated to 'hurry the fuck up.'

Tristan obliged, half-jogging, half-limping, noting to find the man later to thank him. She muscled through the protesting pain, trying her best to not stumble and fall. Her new archer buddy had disappeared into the bush, but the occasional buzzing of arrows and a scream meant he was nearby. She crashed through the brush and found herself on the road again.

Only to freeze when she saw a huge soldier make a beeline for an unexpecting Ezio who was in the middle of dispatching another.

It was too far for one of her knives this time.

The hand holding the limb tightened, and an idea formed in Tristan's mind. "Hey, at least you hit the thing," she heard Catherine chortle after her first lousy attempt at axe-throwing all those years ago.

"Ezio!" she called out, hefting the stick with both hands over her head. "Heads up!" She brought her arms down and heaved. It flew with a heavy whirring sound and slammed into the man's forehead. His eyes bulged as he staggered back, just as Ezio had turned toward his name. He brought his sword down, lopping the spear's haft and slamming the pommel into his face. The soldier dropped like a sack of potatoes, out cold.

One of Vieri's men soon called a retreat, and the last Tristan saw of Vieri and his Captain were the two of them running their horses ragged with the rest of the soldiers trying to catch up. Meanwhile, out of the copse of trees came the stranger with his entourage, wiping his sword down with a cloth as he walked their way.

Ezio nodded as he approached, offering the sword to him. "You have my thanks, stranger."

"'Stranger?'" The man stopped—more like braked—bushy eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. He shook off his bafflement a second later, and sheathed his sword, chuckling. He wasn't as clean cut as Tristan initially thought. While his armor and weapons were well-taken care of and gleamed in the sun, he looked like a mountain man who had gone off-grid at a chance of becoming a star on a History Channel reality TV show. "I know it has been... a while, but you honestly don't recognize me, Ezio? It's me—"

"Uncle!" Federico suddenly appeared, his long legs outpacing the men shadowing him, relief practically oozing off his person as he sheathed his weapon. Grime and blood covered him, but besides some scrapes and cuts, nothing appeared majorly harmed as he hugged the man and grinned. He slapped the man's shoulder fondly when they pulled away. "It has been too long."

"Uncle Mario?" Ezio sputtered out. If he had said anything else in this baffled state, it was buried as Mario pulled him into a back-cracking bear hug amidst a hearty laugh.

"The same!" Mario clapped his hands on both of their shoulders, doing that fond little shake all uncles seem to excel at. "It is good to see you both. You were only this high the last time I saw you two." He gestured about his hip.

Tristan's lips twitched into a grin; she instantly liked him.

He waved off Ezio's multiple attempts at giving back the sword, insisting he kept it. About that time, there was a commotion, and two men on horses came out of the bush and, in their hands, the reins of three familiar horses.

Maria was stoic, riding behind the older of the two mercenaries. Claudia, on the other hand... Oh sure, she cordially greeted her uncle upon dismounting, but when she marched Tristan's way to shove the dagger and sheath back into her hands, she knew there was trouble brewing. Despite being in the presence of a thunderhead, Claudia surprisingly said nothing to her. Instead, she turned her eyes of wrath upon her oldest brother.

Federico's smile dissolved when he blinked her way and then his sister's, his eyes landing on the weapon in Tristan's hands. "Claudia, when did you get that—"

But Claudia cut him off, yelling, screaming, cursing. It drew every eye, and more than a few raised brows. Tristan couldn't make out half of it. "Why would you do that?"Venom laced her words as she spoke, but it could have been the adrenaline or fear talking. However, Federico didn't take any of it to heart and he patiently waited for her to get it out of her system. When she eventually petered out, chest heaving, he put his arms out, adopting his most apologetic expression. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Bastard." She threw herself at him, hugging him tightly.

One escort rode up, and had a quick word with Mario, who grew serious once more. "I see." He snapped a set of orders, and the man and his companion nodded stiffly before whirling around and galloping off amidst whoops and hollering.

"Best to send a message," was all Mario said as they disappeared around the road's bend.

He gestured for them to follow in the opposite direction. "I heard word you had left Florence and sent my best scouts to find you. But we lost track sometime in the night." He dipped his chin toward the fallen soldiers littered about. "It is a good thing we showed up when we did, for I dread to think what would have happened otherwise." He paused briefly, his face pinching. "I am... sorry. I heard far too late to do anything."

"There wasn't anything to be done." Federico still had an arm wrapped around his sister as he raised his head. "But you'd be glad to know the bastard responsible no longer draws breath."

Mario jerked a nod, finding satisfaction, but then when he went to turn his head, he jerked back, eyebrows drawn low in muted surprise. It was then Tristan realized his one eye was pale and had a nasty scar racing across it. And up until this point, she had stood directly in what could only have been his blind spot. "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch who you are?"

Oops. But she was quick to step forward with an offered hand before Federico or even Ezio could respond. "Uhm, Tristan."

It was... subtle. She almost missed it as his large, calloused hand took her own, but Mario froze as his eye landed on the scarf around her neck for the briefest of seconds. "A pleasure."

"Likewise." Of course, Mario tamped whatever it was down, firmly giving her hand a hearty shake as he reinstated eye contact. But Tristan had the impression it was anything but. She could feel a thick coiling tension wrapping around them, yet it didn't keep the gratitude and relief from his voice as he spoke next. "I heard rumors about a strange woman wanted in Florence. I see now some have merit. You have a good arm, and my thanks for helping my brother's family in this troubling time."

"Of course." She put on her fakest smile and tried to ignore the heartbeat roaring in her ears. "It's the least I could do."

Rumors.

He knew.

Federico took a step forward, but Mario put a hand up, stopping him from speaking. "Not here. We'll have plenty of time for that later," he murmured for their ears only. One of his men came trotting up with a roan stallion with black and white socks that threw his head in a cacophony of ringing tackle and metal, showing off a white blaze in impatience. Mario ignored his horse, mounting as he spoke again, "Now, come. Let's get you all home first."


~*End*~


Mad props to my friends, infinitecompositions and Musetta3 for helping me a ton on this chapter. I had to be reminded that riding side-saddle was a common occurrence for noble women. Even though I think Claudia prefers astride, I have a headcanon (I have many if you cannot tell) that Claudia used to be quite the tomboy before the high life of Florence got to her head. So this isn't an "Oh no, I'm not a proper lady anymore" moment; it's an "Oh no, mom's gonna kill me."

Spoiler alert: Maria probably already knows since Giovanni probably tells her everything, like the gossip he was.

Plus! I NEVER see anyone mention this, but they left Florence on Claudia's birthday.

Anyway, we made it to Monteriggioni and got to meet Mario! But hmmm, some things are kinda sus, huh?

TK's History Fun Facts

To the side, to the side

Riding side-saddle has been a common occurrence since about the 1300s and lasted up to the 1900s. Hawking and hunting were popular sports in the Middles Ages, and women often participated in them with their families. Side-saddle was a method of riding for women in skirts to ride while wearing fine clothing. But let's face it, the common myth of the time was that riding astride threatened a woman's hymen, thus compromising the appearance of being a virgin. So you can imagine how important this was to young girls such as Claudia. Some of these early designs were so insecure they contributed to the popularity of the Palfrey, a smaller horse with smooth ambling gaits, as a suitable mount for women.

Pearls, Rubies, and Coral. Oh My!

I drew upon several inspirations for Claudia's necklace. (Imagine it as a smaller, feminine version of Ezio's necklace from the flashbacks in Brotherhood) One of which can be found in the Galleria Borghese in Rome and another in the Galleria degli Uffizi of Florence. (If you want to see the actual pictures, head on over to the AO3 version of Justitia since they're posted there.) But rubies, pearls, and emeralds weren't just for looks; in fact, they held significant symbolism in Renaissance-era Europe. Since Pliny the Elder dedicated his thirty-seventh edition of Naturalis Historia to the craft in 77 AD, it was believed that wearing or ingesting a particular stone would bring a bounty of blessings upon the wearer, whether it be protection, fertility, health, or with emeralds tucked under the pillows, faithfulness. Raphael's Portrait of Maddalena Strozzi, for example, features four gems in her necklace signifying her vitality (ruby), wealth (sapphire), purity (pearl), and fertility (emerald). It's hard to see, but the emerald being placed in the belly of an unicorn (which is a symbol of chastity), signifies a desire to provide her husband with an heir. (But it's also a very subtle way of saying she's pregnant at the time of this portrait being made.)

Playing Favorites

If y'all remember from the games, Mario often calls Ezio 'nipote.' Sweet right? Do you know who also called his nephew that? Pope Callixtus. He was the uncle of Rodrigo Borgia, who, as we all know, would later become Pope Alexander VI. He too, would also do the same thing with his mistress' brother, who would also become a Pope. If you're wondering where I'm going with this: that's right, folks, the word 'nepotism' stems from the Latin root of nepos (meaning nephew.) They would often give their nephews their titles, lands, and wealth since most Cardinals and Popes had sworn a life of chastity which meant they could father no sons. (Ha ha ha)

oH and my absolute favorite: nipote can also mean niece, grandson, and granddaughter.

Shake a Stick

Otherwise known as "Big Stick Policy," Theodore Roosevelt first coined this famous quote in his 1901 Presidential Speech to illustrate his approach to foreign policy. The idea is that diplomacy backed up by power and a willingness to use it will lead to success. The "speak softly" part is to first negotiate to reach a common ground, and if that doesn't work, use "a big stick." It was never supposed to be taken literally, though lmao.

Thoughts? Theories? Random bouts of screaming? Lemme know! Reviews and kudos are always welcome. Until next time! (and omg whadya mean the next chapter is almost the end?! AHHH)

-TK