His head was throbbing. Groaning, Ezio rolled over, rubbing his face against the warm silk, purring at how the cool sheets caressed his skin. He felt safe; completely content with where he was, his mind vaguely recalling soothing hands lifting him up, a familiar voice calling out to him before he was set back down again. The hands and voice had not returned since then - part of Ezio was disappointed at the loss. The owner of the hands had been so kind and gentle, so much like his beloved Leonardo that for one aching moment Ezio had believed them to be as such.
A pity indeed; Ezio knew Leonardo had passed on a mere half a year before he had. The loss of his friend had shaken him, but more than that, it had been the loss of his one love - his soul mate - that had caused him much grief. He had never told anyone, not even Leonardo about his feelings, simply because he didn't wish to endanger the artist any more. The man was already committing a grievous crime by housing an Assassin of his ilk, plus he was still under intense scrutiny from the sodomy trial. And even if those two things had not been a factor, Ezio was still away for days - even months - at a time; even if Leonardo had returned his affections, Ezio would have held guilt at leaving his beloved alone for so long. It had simply been a no-win situation, and so Ezio had locked the feelings up and told himself it was better to remain as friends then to ruin something pure.
Leonardo, bless his soul wherever he might be, had been a true friend and companion, right up until his death. Ezio prayed that his art would be welcomed among the future generations, and not burned in some rebellion among Italy's people.
The quiet sound of a door opening caught his attention then, followed by a man's footsteps across the floor and up a set of stairs. It was only after following the steps so far that Ezio realized that the sounds were getting closer to where he lay. Desperately he tried to open his eyes, but the first look caused him to hiss in pain and cover his eyes. The light was bright, blinding even, and his eyes were used to the darkness. He groped around on the bed, praying that he had merely laid his weapons somewhere nearby. However there was nothing, and Ezio cursed. The sheets were suddenly too constricting, and his nakedness far too vulnerable. He needed to escape from wherever he was, or hide before the door--
Too late. Ezio forced back the cry of alarm as cool hands gripped his shoulders, forcing him back on the bed. He lashed out, attempting to escape the grip, to no avail. He clawed at the arm, gritting his teeth. He would not allow Cesare the honor of killing him - he would fight tooth and nail to escape the tyrant's--
"Il mio amico! Si prega di calmarmi!"
Wait a minute. Cesare didn't sound like that. Ezio stilled, heart pounding as his mind chased itself. That wasn't Cesare's voice - these weren't Cesare's hands. Where was he? Confusion took over his mind and he bit his lip. The last thing he remember was lying down in the villa with his family. Perhaps one of the workers had taken him in?
But they why would they call him 'my friend'? He was not involved with any of them in such a way. Intent on finding out what was going on, he groped for the arms of the person still holding him, following them up to the shoulder. The person shifted, but not in an attempt to get away. "E 'bene, Ezio. Tu sei a casa ora."
Home? He gripped the shoulder, brows furrowing. He felt silk, and fine cotton. Opening his other senses, he forced himself to relax. Downstairs, a quiet murmur of many voices. Some sounded like they were ordering things. His nose detected the familiar scent of paint and rich finery. Perfumes, welcoming scents of wood and iron. And a familiar musk that he felt he should recognize, but couldn't. He had smelled it before, many times. But where?
Above him, his holder laughed, a bright, cheerful sound. "Ancora non riesco a capire? Ti do un suggerimento - ho messo i tempi di lama molte."
Crafted his blade many times? What was he--
The assassin froze, mind suddenly going blank as the pieces fell into place. Wood and iron. Paint. Stairs. A familiar scent and happy laughter.
FILL: Our Paradise 2/?
A pity indeed; Ezio knew Leonardo had passed on a mere half a year before he had. The loss of his friend had shaken him, but more than that, it had been the loss of his one love - his soul mate - that had caused him much grief. He had never told anyone, not even Leonardo about his feelings, simply because he didn't wish to endanger the artist any more. The man was already committing a grievous crime by housing an Assassin of his ilk, plus he was still under intense scrutiny from the sodomy trial. And even if those two things had not been a factor, Ezio was still away for days - even months - at a time; even if Leonardo had returned his affections, Ezio would have held guilt at leaving his beloved alone for so long. It had simply been a no-win situation, and so Ezio had locked the feelings up and told himself it was better to remain as friends then to ruin something pure.
Leonardo, bless his soul wherever he might be, had been a true friend and companion, right up until his death. Ezio prayed that his art would be welcomed among the future generations, and not burned in some rebellion among Italy's people.
The quiet sound of a door opening caught his attention then, followed by a man's footsteps across the floor and up a set of stairs. It was only after following the steps so far that Ezio realized that the sounds were getting closer to where he lay. Desperately he tried to open his eyes, but the first look caused him to hiss in pain and cover his eyes. The light was bright, blinding even, and his eyes were used to the darkness. He groped around on the bed, praying that he had merely laid his weapons somewhere nearby. However there was nothing, and Ezio cursed. The sheets were suddenly too constricting, and his nakedness far too vulnerable. He needed to escape from wherever he was, or hide before the door--
Too late. Ezio forced back the cry of alarm as cool hands gripped his shoulders, forcing him back on the bed. He lashed out, attempting to escape the grip, to no avail. He clawed at the arm, gritting his teeth. He would not allow Cesare the honor of killing him - he would fight tooth and nail to escape the tyrant's--
"Il mio amico! Si prega di calmarmi!"
Wait a minute. Cesare didn't sound like that. Ezio stilled, heart pounding as his mind chased itself. That wasn't Cesare's voice - these weren't Cesare's hands. Where was he? Confusion took over his mind and he bit his lip. The last thing he remember was lying down in the villa with his family. Perhaps one of the workers had taken him in?
But they why would they call him 'my friend'? He was not involved with any of them in such a way. Intent on finding out what was going on, he groped for the arms of the person still holding him, following them up to the shoulder. The person shifted, but not in an attempt to get away. "E 'bene, Ezio. Tu sei a casa ora."
Home? He gripped the shoulder, brows furrowing. He felt silk, and fine cotton. Opening his other senses, he forced himself to relax. Downstairs, a quiet murmur of many voices. Some sounded like they were ordering things. His nose detected the familiar scent of paint and rich finery. Perfumes, welcoming scents of wood and iron. And a familiar musk that he felt he should recognize, but couldn't. He had smelled it before, many times. But where?
Above him, his holder laughed, a bright, cheerful sound. "Ancora non riesco a capire? Ti do un suggerimento - ho messo i tempi di lama molte."
Crafted his blade many times? What was he--
The assassin froze, mind suddenly going blank as the pieces fell into place. Wood and iron. Paint. Stairs. A familiar scent and happy laughter.
"Leonardo," he breathed.