Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

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‡ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

‡ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

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List of Kinks
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(Livejorunal) Archive
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(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

Comments

bittersweet leonardo/ezo post revelations

[(Anonymous)]

A fiction set after revelations where Ezio and Sofia are together. Can be right after revelations? Melzi shows up on Ezio's doorstep with ___ (a letter he never sent Ezio, a journal about his feeling for ezio, a portrait of ezio that leonardo never finished). Melzi felt Ezio should have it.

Double points if you mention why leonardo disappeared from ezios life after brotherhood.

FILL / 1

[(Anonymous)]

The home, Melzi thinks, is meager. Unasuming. Simple. But Florence could lend even the most mundane things an old-world charm that his mentor had often praised as Italy's strongest point: that is had a way of making all things feel like home. Florence could make even the air-bubbled mortar and the cracking shingles of the overhang feel quaint, warm, well-loved. This home was well-loved. Inside something cooks and it laces the surrounding air with zest and there is the gentle sing-song of laughter that twines alongside it.

Melzi had never understood why Leonardo had longed so painfully for one person. Leonardo, who the world loved. Leonardo, who took a moment, a beauty, an idea, and flourished it against stucco in goldleaf and abgaish, effortlessly. Leonardo, who might have had anyone he pleased. Leonardo, who might have been happy.

How he had suffered quietly over the mysterious assassin from his past. The assassin who had become something otherwordly, a thing of great stories that Leonardo would lavish on his apprentices in lazy afternoon hours when the heat was unbearable and the gesso drying. 'Like a bird with it's wings spread when he drops from a roof, bello', Leonardo had written in the margin of one of his journals in elegant, backwards italian - and then dozens of pages of bird illustrations because he could not safely draw what he really longed to draw. That obsession with birds that had formed. That obsession with freeing them that Leonardo had taken even to france in his old age. Melzi had often wondered if Leonardo considered his quiet suffering, in effect, freeing the assassin from guilt or obligation all those years ago when he might have spoken some truth, when something might still have been done.

Melzi had been in the court of the king of france with the maestro, he had watched courtyards fill to receieve the master artist, noblemen for a mile just hoping to catch a glimpse of Leonardo Da Vinci. It had been lush, brocades and damask and servants and feasts. And, through it all, Leonardo had never tarnished or turned ugly from the praise and the surface adorations of the masses. He had, Melzi finally understood, been grounded by his pain. Until the very end any lack of immediate distraction would turn the maestro's eyed toward a backlit star sky or a crackling fire and all his regrets would burn brightly in the reflection of his clear blue eyes.

FILL / 2

[(Anonymous)]

Melzi had begged for a name. Even when the time for last rites had come, he had begged Leonardo for a name. But Leonardo had just smiled and sat his whithered hand on Melzi's, then closed his eyes. "Like a bird," he had whispered.

The twenty-something artist doesn't know why he stands there, on the steep of the house. He doesn't know why he had tracked Salai down and found, with surprise, that the brat had actually met the assassin, and had a name. Leonardo is dead, now, and it had been too late, decades ago, anyway. But he should know. This Ezio Auditore should know, he thinks.

He removes the small journal from his satchel and stares down at it's blistered leather covers and the the fine, heavy edges of the paper inside, edge to edge in sprawling black indian ink and Leonardo's cramped writing. It had taken Melzi two months and he had broken two mirrors in frustration, trying to decipher the damned thing. But this journal didn't belong with the others Leonardo had left to his apprentice's care. It didn't hold testament to Leonardo's brilliance, to his artistry, to his beauty - it was not meant for the future generations. This journal held all of his grief, and it was meant for only one person.

Re: FILL / 2

[(Anonymous)]

Totally not OP, but I love this so far! :D

Re: FILL / 2

[(Anonymous)]

not op either.

but so heartwrenching; can't wait for more

Re: FILL / 2

[(Anonymous)]

Also not OP, but desperately had to tell you how lovely this is. :)