![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: The Road
Fandom: Assassin’s Creed II
Pairing: Ezio/ Leonardo
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: ACII spoilers
Summary: Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.
This story continues on from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kissmytypos’s fic, “Good Intentions”, which can be read here.
A/N: My sincere thanks tokissmytypos for permission to write the sequel. Thanks to everyone reading this as well!
Chapter Five.
1
It was always the same routine after that.
Short greetings, discussion of Codex page contents and Leonardo’s generic wish of safety to conclude their meetings.
And Ezio would be on his way again.
While he missed Leonardo’s embrace and discreet touches, their absence was a minor penalty for the normalcy their conversations regained. At the same time, he was not blind to Leonardo’s fleetingly wistful looks, the false smiles he struggled to conjure and the pained expressions that surfaced when he thought Ezio could not see. But Ezio held fast to his decision. He had his reasons and his calling: the Apple needed to be found, if only to thwart the prophecy the Spaniard was obsessed with, and key players in the Templar conspiracy would not eliminate themselves.
Ezio was always alone; in a brothel room, nursing his latest wounds, the result of taking countless assassination contracts to distract himself, and in his loft at the Villa Auditore, where the sky was pallid grey and cold crept into his bones at night, no matter how he huddled for warmth. Even within familiar surroundings, nightmares plagued his sleep: visions of the hanged men, of Giovanni, Federico and Petruccio at the gallows, with their bloated, ashen faces and protruding eyes, ropes cinched so tightly around their necks they left angry, raw burns in their wake. Ezio would strain uselessly against the crowd, powerless to help his father and brothers—then jerk awake in a cold sweat, fearful of the darkness, his harsh breaths turning into sobs.
In those moments, he fervently wished Leonardo was there to comfort him. But although his friend had once been a spark of light in the darkness, his absence was only a bitter reminder that it was Ezio who had turned him away, forsaking the light that could have been his.
2
Ezio strode through the front arch of Monteriggioni, flush with the success of retrieving the Apple again. The first time had been a matter of artfully intercepting a cargo box, but the second required disposing of a tyrannical priest bent on using it to control his cronies and the masses. Now, Ezio not only had the Apple in his possession, but irritation at having relinquished it had disappeared upon finding the last Codex page.
As he palmed the cool, golden sphere in his pouch, Ezio noticed the fortress town had flourished under his investments. No longer did Monteriggioni’s residents wander in a maze of dank, unlit alleyways and ramshackle buildings; they now walked proudly within the bright, rebuilt district, and it warmed his heart to hear some degree of the commerce that marked Firenze and Venezia.
He broke into a sprint halfway across town and soon arrived at the entrance of the Villa Auditore. The gathered presence of the assassins Ezio knew was puzzling; Machiavelli, Bartolomeo, Sister Teodora, Antonio, La Volpe, and Paola had assembled in the hall and were moving to the study, toward the collection of Codex pages. Looking lost and sorely out of place amid the crowd of trained killers, was Leonardo.
“What are you doing here, Leonardo?” Ezio asked, unable to keep the note of confusion from his voice.
The artist turned quickly, startled. As he met Ezio’s stare, a flush of embarrassment and unease crept across his face. Mario appeared behind him just as he opened his mouth to speak and clapped a hand to his shoulder proudly.
“He is here on my invitation, Ezio. I would have thought you would be happy to see him.”
Caught off guard by Mario’s geniality toward his friend but still conscious of their company, Ezio replied as casually as he could. “I never said I was not.”
The veteran mercenary raised a brow at his cool response, then shrugged. “Leonardo has been working with our architect to make improvements to the town,” he beamed, steering them toward the miniature of Monteriggioni.
Ezio fixed him with a stern look. Surely Mario had not spirited Leonardo away from his creative pursuits for architectural advice.
“In addition to his own paintings, of course,” his uncle added hastily, gesturing at the easel that resided in the corner of the room. “I will let him tell you about these projects himself. In the meantime, perhaps you could ask Leonardo to help you make sense of the…” He glanced expectantly at Ezio. “Well, let me know when you are ready, nipote. I will be in the study with the others.”
So that was why they were all here. The discovery of the last Codex page would be a grand occasion, enough to warrant Mario’s preemptive summoning of Leonardo and the other assassins to the villa.
A brief silence followed Mario’s departure.
“Grazie, Leonardo,” Ezio said finally. “For everything.”
Leonardo shrugged. “It was nothing. Just a few flights of fancy that happened to be useful. And of course, the Codex pages are a worthy challenge.”
“Speaking of which…” Ezio produced a scroll from his robes, a faint glow of pride in his motion.
“You found another one?” Leonardo guessed, with a dry wisp of a smile. It seemed he had simply given up on the forced cheerfulness and settled for a neutral expression. His behavior was still guarded, however, as if he was treading carefully around the assassin.
“The last,” Ezio confirmed.
“Ah.” Like his grip on the scroll, Leonardo’s voice faltered slightly, and Ezio saw a flicker of an emotion he could not quite place. He had thought Leonardo would share his feeling of triumph at having located the Grand Master Assassin’s entire legacy. The barest hint of his enthusiasm proved otherwise.
Unrolling the aged document carefully, Leonardo secured a quill to begin transcribing his decryption. “If I just rewrite this part…” He scrawled out a few lines, pausing now and then to examine the page, and for a while there was only the sound of the quill moving across parchment.
Grateful for the lull, Ezio took the opportunity to watch Leonardo work.
The intensity of his friend’s eyes had not faded over time, and Ezio envied the scroll, wishing he could be the page in Leonardo’s hands. He wondered what it would be like, to be the subject of Leonardo’s focus. Whether he would be divested of his own secrets under his friend’s close scrutiny…if Leonardo’s fingers would be warm as he stroked with reverence, a knowing, curious smile playing across his lips as he coaxed the message from puzzling depths…
The quill halted. “Here,” Leonardo said, thrusting the scroll into Ezio’s hands. “Take it.”
Startled out of his thoughts, Ezio nearly missed a glimpse of a different expression, a forlorn one that went straight to his heart, and he suddenly understood. It was the same one Leonardo had in his workshop in Venezia, when afraid of being abandoned; only this time, he feared for his diminished value to Ezio, now that the Codex was entirely decrypted.
It isn’t just about the Codex pages, Ezio wanted to say.
There had to be a way to heal his hurt, even temporarily, and he brought his arms up to sweep Leonardo into a hug, when Bartolomeo’s harsh voice thundered out from the study.
“Are you done with the Codex page, or do you need a tender moment with your wife?”
A swell of nervous laughter arose, the other assassins clearly on tenterhooks from anticipation. Ezio narrowed his eyes at the untimely interruption. As his arms fell away from Leonardo’s waist, he realized Bartolomeo was right on some level; this was bigger than the two of them, than any of them, and he told himself he would deal with Leonardo later, to ease the sorrow from his eyes.
A part of Ezio knew that Leonardo did not deserve a multitude of laters; he deserved a now. But if he did not do this, there would be no later.
For anyone.
Ezio gave Leonardo’s shoulder a thankful but brief pat. “The others, they are waiting for me,” he said, offering a thin, apologetic smile. He left Leonardo standing by his easel alone, with a canvas as dolefully vacant as the artist’s gaze after him.
3
The assembly of the Codex pages revealed a map, locating not only the other Pieces of Eden, but the rumoured vault of the prophecy as well. With this new information, there was only time enough for several things:
To speak of strategy: instilled as the new Pope, Rodrigo Borgia was perfectly positioned to access the vault and the Papal Staff, the other key besides the Apple. Ezio would head to the Vaticano to stop the Spaniard before he could unleash the vault’s contents, while the other assassins would cause trouble elsewhere in the city as distraction, and…
To bid hasty goodbyes, to those closest to him. His mother was as silent as ever, kneeling at her bed in mute, anguished prayer. Meanwhile, Claudia had the audacity to ask if he had come to look at the finances and upon finding he had not, bid him a cool farewell. Perhaps it was his sister’s way of dealing with his departure, as she had so many times before.
And then there was one.
He approached the easel where Leonardo stood, dabbing paint over the faint outlines of a sketch.
“Leonardo.” The name lay heavily upon his conscience. “I must leave for Roma. Rodrigo awaits.”
“I see.” Leonardo nodded at his artwork, giving no inclination that he was at all worried. His brush paused however, hovering almost thoughtfully above the canvas.
“If I do not return, I want you to know…” Ezio stopped. He knew what he wanted to say, but could not give voice to the words.
Noticing the silence, Leonardo turned questioningly, and Ezio decided to forego words, ignoring the squawk of surprise to slide his arms around the artist’s waist and crush him into a rough embrace. His own beard had grown fully now, and he could not help but relish how it scraped coarsely against Leonardo’s, how his friend’s breath was hot and damp against his neck. Ezio breathed in deeply, desperately engraving the moment into memory: the faint scent of oil paints and lavender, the warmth of Leonardo in his arms—elation, too, at how Leonardo clung to him, with equal strength and urgency—
“Roma beckons, Ezio,” Mario called out, sounding almost mirthful. “Let me know when you are ready to depart.”
Ezio sent a scathing glare in the direction of the study and noticed Claudia looking up from her book, a curious stare on her face. “I must go,” he said, pulling away reluctantly.
Leonardo’s palm lingered on the clasp of his pauldron, absently tightening it, and Ezio felt a faint flutter in his chest at how intimate the small gesture seemed. “Stay safe, Ezio. And be careful, my…” He paused, then shook his head and smiled wistfully.
“Leonardo?” Ezio prompted, reaching out to grasp his forearm, but the artist had already turned away.
“My friend,” came the hoarse whisper.
Not trusting himself to speak, Ezio nodded and turned toward the study. Their time was up; the hour for action had come. With every step in the direction of the assassins, his heart yearned to go back, to the cozy room with its tiny replica of the town, the chest of overflowing florins and most of all, Leonardo. But the mission, his mission, compelled him ever forward.
4
It was only later, when they were a safe distance away from Monteriggioni, away from everything he held dear, that Ezio gathered the courage to make a request of his uncle.
“If I fail to stop Rodrigo, I need you to pass a message to Leonardo.”
Mario slowed his horse to an anxious trot beside Ezio’s and cast him a reproachful look. “I thought you had said all your goodbyes, Ezio.”
Having no rejoinder at the ready, Ezio could only frown as Mario’s words drove home the gravity of his mission. His uncle threw a quick glance at the other assassins riding ahead and lowered his voice, relenting. “What was it you wanted me to tell him, nipote?”
“Never mind,” Ezio said, setting his mouth into a grim line. “I will tell him myself.”
He kicked his horse into a gallop. There would be time after Roma; he would find out what Leonardo had to say, perhaps even tell him how he felt in turn.
Everything would be right again, when this business with the Borgia was done, when he returned.
That was, if he returned at all.
(tbc - Chapter Six.)
Fandom: Assassin’s Creed II
Pairing: Ezio/ Leonardo
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: ACII spoilers
Summary: Ezio discovers that there are consequences to his actions, and the road to redemption is never easy.
This story continues on from
kissmytypos’s fic, “Good Intentions”, which can be read here.A/N: My sincere thanks to
kissmytypos for permission to write the sequel. Thanks to everyone reading this as well!It was always the same routine after that.
Short greetings, discussion of Codex page contents and Leonardo’s generic wish of safety to conclude their meetings.
And Ezio would be on his way again.
While he missed Leonardo’s embrace and discreet touches, their absence was a minor penalty for the normalcy their conversations regained. At the same time, he was not blind to Leonardo’s fleetingly wistful looks, the false smiles he struggled to conjure and the pained expressions that surfaced when he thought Ezio could not see. But Ezio held fast to his decision. He had his reasons and his calling: the Apple needed to be found, if only to thwart the prophecy the Spaniard was obsessed with, and key players in the Templar conspiracy would not eliminate themselves.
Ezio was always alone; in a brothel room, nursing his latest wounds, the result of taking countless assassination contracts to distract himself, and in his loft at the Villa Auditore, where the sky was pallid grey and cold crept into his bones at night, no matter how he huddled for warmth. Even within familiar surroundings, nightmares plagued his sleep: visions of the hanged men, of Giovanni, Federico and Petruccio at the gallows, with their bloated, ashen faces and protruding eyes, ropes cinched so tightly around their necks they left angry, raw burns in their wake. Ezio would strain uselessly against the crowd, powerless to help his father and brothers—then jerk awake in a cold sweat, fearful of the darkness, his harsh breaths turning into sobs.
In those moments, he fervently wished Leonardo was there to comfort him. But although his friend had once been a spark of light in the darkness, his absence was only a bitter reminder that it was Ezio who had turned him away, forsaking the light that could have been his.
Ezio strode through the front arch of Monteriggioni, flush with the success of retrieving the Apple again. The first time had been a matter of artfully intercepting a cargo box, but the second required disposing of a tyrannical priest bent on using it to control his cronies and the masses. Now, Ezio not only had the Apple in his possession, but irritation at having relinquished it had disappeared upon finding the last Codex page.
As he palmed the cool, golden sphere in his pouch, Ezio noticed the fortress town had flourished under his investments. No longer did Monteriggioni’s residents wander in a maze of dank, unlit alleyways and ramshackle buildings; they now walked proudly within the bright, rebuilt district, and it warmed his heart to hear some degree of the commerce that marked Firenze and Venezia.
He broke into a sprint halfway across town and soon arrived at the entrance of the Villa Auditore. The gathered presence of the assassins Ezio knew was puzzling; Machiavelli, Bartolomeo, Sister Teodora, Antonio, La Volpe, and Paola had assembled in the hall and were moving to the study, toward the collection of Codex pages. Looking lost and sorely out of place amid the crowd of trained killers, was Leonardo.
“What are you doing here, Leonardo?” Ezio asked, unable to keep the note of confusion from his voice.
The artist turned quickly, startled. As he met Ezio’s stare, a flush of embarrassment and unease crept across his face. Mario appeared behind him just as he opened his mouth to speak and clapped a hand to his shoulder proudly.
“He is here on my invitation, Ezio. I would have thought you would be happy to see him.”
Caught off guard by Mario’s geniality toward his friend but still conscious of their company, Ezio replied as casually as he could. “I never said I was not.”
The veteran mercenary raised a brow at his cool response, then shrugged. “Leonardo has been working with our architect to make improvements to the town,” he beamed, steering them toward the miniature of Monteriggioni.
Ezio fixed him with a stern look. Surely Mario had not spirited Leonardo away from his creative pursuits for architectural advice.
“In addition to his own paintings, of course,” his uncle added hastily, gesturing at the easel that resided in the corner of the room. “I will let him tell you about these projects himself. In the meantime, perhaps you could ask Leonardo to help you make sense of the…” He glanced expectantly at Ezio. “Well, let me know when you are ready, nipote. I will be in the study with the others.”
So that was why they were all here. The discovery of the last Codex page would be a grand occasion, enough to warrant Mario’s preemptive summoning of Leonardo and the other assassins to the villa.
A brief silence followed Mario’s departure.
“Grazie, Leonardo,” Ezio said finally. “For everything.”
Leonardo shrugged. “It was nothing. Just a few flights of fancy that happened to be useful. And of course, the Codex pages are a worthy challenge.”
“Speaking of which…” Ezio produced a scroll from his robes, a faint glow of pride in his motion.
“You found another one?” Leonardo guessed, with a dry wisp of a smile. It seemed he had simply given up on the forced cheerfulness and settled for a neutral expression. His behavior was still guarded, however, as if he was treading carefully around the assassin.
“The last,” Ezio confirmed.
“Ah.” Like his grip on the scroll, Leonardo’s voice faltered slightly, and Ezio saw a flicker of an emotion he could not quite place. He had thought Leonardo would share his feeling of triumph at having located the Grand Master Assassin’s entire legacy. The barest hint of his enthusiasm proved otherwise.
Unrolling the aged document carefully, Leonardo secured a quill to begin transcribing his decryption. “If I just rewrite this part…” He scrawled out a few lines, pausing now and then to examine the page, and for a while there was only the sound of the quill moving across parchment.
Grateful for the lull, Ezio took the opportunity to watch Leonardo work.
The intensity of his friend’s eyes had not faded over time, and Ezio envied the scroll, wishing he could be the page in Leonardo’s hands. He wondered what it would be like, to be the subject of Leonardo’s focus. Whether he would be divested of his own secrets under his friend’s close scrutiny…if Leonardo’s fingers would be warm as he stroked with reverence, a knowing, curious smile playing across his lips as he coaxed the message from puzzling depths…
The quill halted. “Here,” Leonardo said, thrusting the scroll into Ezio’s hands. “Take it.”
Startled out of his thoughts, Ezio nearly missed a glimpse of a different expression, a forlorn one that went straight to his heart, and he suddenly understood. It was the same one Leonardo had in his workshop in Venezia, when afraid of being abandoned; only this time, he feared for his diminished value to Ezio, now that the Codex was entirely decrypted.
It isn’t just about the Codex pages, Ezio wanted to say.
There had to be a way to heal his hurt, even temporarily, and he brought his arms up to sweep Leonardo into a hug, when Bartolomeo’s harsh voice thundered out from the study.
“Are you done with the Codex page, or do you need a tender moment with your wife?”
A swell of nervous laughter arose, the other assassins clearly on tenterhooks from anticipation. Ezio narrowed his eyes at the untimely interruption. As his arms fell away from Leonardo’s waist, he realized Bartolomeo was right on some level; this was bigger than the two of them, than any of them, and he told himself he would deal with Leonardo later, to ease the sorrow from his eyes.
A part of Ezio knew that Leonardo did not deserve a multitude of laters; he deserved a now. But if he did not do this, there would be no later.
For anyone.
Ezio gave Leonardo’s shoulder a thankful but brief pat. “The others, they are waiting for me,” he said, offering a thin, apologetic smile. He left Leonardo standing by his easel alone, with a canvas as dolefully vacant as the artist’s gaze after him.
The assembly of the Codex pages revealed a map, locating not only the other Pieces of Eden, but the rumoured vault of the prophecy as well. With this new information, there was only time enough for several things:
To speak of strategy: instilled as the new Pope, Rodrigo Borgia was perfectly positioned to access the vault and the Papal Staff, the other key besides the Apple. Ezio would head to the Vaticano to stop the Spaniard before he could unleash the vault’s contents, while the other assassins would cause trouble elsewhere in the city as distraction, and…
To bid hasty goodbyes, to those closest to him. His mother was as silent as ever, kneeling at her bed in mute, anguished prayer. Meanwhile, Claudia had the audacity to ask if he had come to look at the finances and upon finding he had not, bid him a cool farewell. Perhaps it was his sister’s way of dealing with his departure, as she had so many times before.
And then there was one.
He approached the easel where Leonardo stood, dabbing paint over the faint outlines of a sketch.
“Leonardo.” The name lay heavily upon his conscience. “I must leave for Roma. Rodrigo awaits.”
“I see.” Leonardo nodded at his artwork, giving no inclination that he was at all worried. His brush paused however, hovering almost thoughtfully above the canvas.
“If I do not return, I want you to know…” Ezio stopped. He knew what he wanted to say, but could not give voice to the words.
Noticing the silence, Leonardo turned questioningly, and Ezio decided to forego words, ignoring the squawk of surprise to slide his arms around the artist’s waist and crush him into a rough embrace. His own beard had grown fully now, and he could not help but relish how it scraped coarsely against Leonardo’s, how his friend’s breath was hot and damp against his neck. Ezio breathed in deeply, desperately engraving the moment into memory: the faint scent of oil paints and lavender, the warmth of Leonardo in his arms—elation, too, at how Leonardo clung to him, with equal strength and urgency—
“Roma beckons, Ezio,” Mario called out, sounding almost mirthful. “Let me know when you are ready to depart.”
Ezio sent a scathing glare in the direction of the study and noticed Claudia looking up from her book, a curious stare on her face. “I must go,” he said, pulling away reluctantly.
Leonardo’s palm lingered on the clasp of his pauldron, absently tightening it, and Ezio felt a faint flutter in his chest at how intimate the small gesture seemed. “Stay safe, Ezio. And be careful, my…” He paused, then shook his head and smiled wistfully.
“Leonardo?” Ezio prompted, reaching out to grasp his forearm, but the artist had already turned away.
“My friend,” came the hoarse whisper.
Not trusting himself to speak, Ezio nodded and turned toward the study. Their time was up; the hour for action had come. With every step in the direction of the assassins, his heart yearned to go back, to the cozy room with its tiny replica of the town, the chest of overflowing florins and most of all, Leonardo. But the mission, his mission, compelled him ever forward.
It was only later, when they were a safe distance away from Monteriggioni, away from everything he held dear, that Ezio gathered the courage to make a request of his uncle.
“If I fail to stop Rodrigo, I need you to pass a message to Leonardo.”
Mario slowed his horse to an anxious trot beside Ezio’s and cast him a reproachful look. “I thought you had said all your goodbyes, Ezio.”
Having no rejoinder at the ready, Ezio could only frown as Mario’s words drove home the gravity of his mission. His uncle threw a quick glance at the other assassins riding ahead and lowered his voice, relenting. “What was it you wanted me to tell him, nipote?”
“Never mind,” Ezio said, setting his mouth into a grim line. “I will tell him myself.”
He kicked his horse into a gallop. There would be time after Roma; he would find out what Leonardo had to say, perhaps even tell him how he felt in turn.
Everything would be right again, when this business with the Borgia was done, when he returned.
That was, if he returned at all.
(tbc - Chapter Six.)
