A/N: Firstly, my apologies for the extended time it took to get the first chapter together. This A!A has a tendency to work everything on paper, and then type it in - the sudden bout of extreme light-sensitivity from an inflamed iris, however, prevented A!A from looking at the monitor or even reading their own hand writing. After a good handful of days on eyedrops, however, A!A has been declared well enough to look at lovely glowing screens again, and has finally had the time to get everything typed in.
The first couple of parts, in which the stage is set, will be Leonardo-centered. We shall switch soon enough to Ezio’s point of view, once the lad gets his arse out of Monteriggioni, and after that go a bit back and forth as the story progresses.
Due warning: I also take some minor liberties with the timeline in order to make everything fit together. Various background characters in the games may also have been altered more or less dramatically to make them into (more) interesting people… And, finally; unless otherwise noted, game-canon trumps whatever happened in reality.
Beware the gratuitous Italian, because it just ain’t an ACII fic without it.
Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall, Which is Fairest of All?
Firenze, November 1471
Leonardo hummed to himself, charcoal skittering across the parchment to shape a bird in flight. Absentmindedly, he added a few trees, some rocks, a little brook, and eventually felt sad when he ran out of space on the paper to add to the nature image. He had to practise on not letting his mind wander so much while sketching, and instead stick to only his original purpose. After all, he could save a fortune in paper if he could teach himself to fit five or ten drawings on one sheet, instead of wasting it all on one sketch.
Turning the paper over and starting on his songbird anew - this time continually reminding himself to stay to just the bird, just the bird, no water or water wheels or wagons in the background and could one make a wagon that runs on water? and then he simply forgot all about feathers and birds in favour of gears and wheels and pumps. His mind merrily churning as he sketched, discarded, imagined, and fiddled with the design for something that could work without losing water pressure or requiring a secondary source of energy.
And when the knock on the door finally filtered through the sheer number of thoughts in his head, he had already moved on to another project entirely; testing the strength of various metals and trying to design a new type of wheel at the same time. Looking up with an owlish blink, realising that the sky outside had long since gone dark, he quickly tried to wipe the worst of the charcoal off on a rag - only succeeding in smearing them with paint as well - he jogged to the door, hoping fervently that the person outside had not lost patience and left already.
“Mi dispiace, I was momentarily occupied,” he said as he pulled open the door, wincing at its screech. He had to oil the hinges, and soon.
The man outside appeared less than amused with the apology, but Leonardo felt somewhat relieved that he had the dress of an errand boy, and not, say, a powerful potential patron. “Letter for you, ser,” the man merely said, handing the artist an envelope.
Leonardo frowned immediately at the cross emblazoned on the seal, waving a hand dismissively with a muttered grazie, and completely failed to notice the messenger’s annoyed expression at his lack of a tip as the door fell shut again. Taking the few steps over to one of his work benches, Leonardo unceremoniously shoved the sketches and tools there to the side, placing the letter on the now-cleared space. And stared at it, trying to decipher the contents by appearance alone.
Of course he had been initiated in the order - Verrocchio would not have settled for anything else for his prize student. It had been those contacts that had landed Leonardo in a workshop of his own, where his talents had caught the eye of the powerful though not particularly Templar-friendly Medici family. But he was quite low in the hierarchy, still - useful for little more than the current gossip in the court. Leonardo was still young, and the Medici saw him as no more than one of their many, many pet artists. It would take many years of work before Leonardo would find himself in positions where he would be privy to any worthwhile information, especially when he had to actually struggle to feign any interest in politics - so why would he receive a letter from the Order?
He was not even aware of how his hands were shaking until he grasped the flat letter-knife, and spent a few minutes to merely breathe, trying to settle his nerves. Carefully, he pried off the seal, pulled the folded paper out, and settled down to read. It was, he found, a surprisingly brief message. Void of anything personal; void of anything that could be traced to the writer or to the receiver if not for the stamp of the Templar Cross at the bottom, and was obviously a message that had been mass-distributed.
The Assassin has been seen recently
We suspect he is allied to the Medici
Report any sights of the Assassin
If the chance offers itself, kill him
May the Father of Understanding guide us
A simple warning, then. Leonardo breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. While he feared the Assassins, as any member of the Templar order did - for whom did not fear this sect that thrived on chaos and destruction, and who would strike down any bearers of the Cross, for no reason other than to dole out their own demented version of judgement? Leonardo had heard plenty of stories of the white-clad maniacs; of people who would hide in squalor and filth, and destroy entire governments at a whim, should they see too much order and peace in one place.
Still, Leonardo hoped that whatever Assassin that lived in Firenze would be of the more peaceful sort, and that the apparent alliance with Lorenzo de’Medici would allow for at least some measure of peace and quiet to remain in the city. Not to mention that he was pretty sure he would be dead if such a monster came about, he was also quite certain that even if the opportunity presented itself, he just wouldn’t have the nerve to kill another person - Assassin or not.
No, Leonardo would be perfectly happy if he could go through his life without ever meeting an Assassin.
Re: Ezionardo, Leonardo is a Templar
The first couple of parts, in which the stage is set, will be Leonardo-centered. We shall switch soon enough to Ezio’s point of view, once the lad gets his arse out of Monteriggioni, and after that go a bit back and forth as the story progresses.
Due warning: I also take some minor liberties with the timeline in order to make everything fit together. Various background characters in the games may also have been altered more or less dramatically to make them into (more) interesting people… And, finally; unless otherwise noted, game-canon trumps whatever happened in reality.
Beware the gratuitous Italian, because it just ain’t an ACII fic without it.
Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall, Which is Fairest of All?
Firenze, November 1471
Leonardo hummed to himself, charcoal skittering across the parchment to shape a bird in flight. Absentmindedly, he added a few trees, some rocks, a little brook, and eventually felt sad when he ran out of space on the paper to add to the nature image. He had to practise on not letting his mind wander so much while sketching, and instead stick to only his original purpose. After all, he could save a fortune in paper if he could teach himself to fit five or ten drawings on one sheet, instead of wasting it all on one sketch.
Turning the paper over and starting on his songbird anew - this time continually reminding himself to stay to just the bird, just the bird, no water or water wheels or wagons in the background and could one make a wagon that runs on water? and then he simply forgot all about feathers and birds in favour of gears and wheels and pumps. His mind merrily churning as he sketched, discarded, imagined, and fiddled with the design for something that could work without losing water pressure or requiring a secondary source of energy.
And when the knock on the door finally filtered through the sheer number of thoughts in his head, he had already moved on to another project entirely; testing the strength of various metals and trying to design a new type of wheel at the same time. Looking up with an owlish blink, realising that the sky outside had long since gone dark, he quickly tried to wipe the worst of the charcoal off on a rag - only succeeding in smearing them with paint as well - he jogged to the door, hoping fervently that the person outside had not lost patience and left already.
“Mi dispiace, I was momentarily occupied,” he said as he pulled open the door, wincing at its screech. He had to oil the hinges, and soon.
The man outside appeared less than amused with the apology, but Leonardo felt somewhat relieved that he had the dress of an errand boy, and not, say, a powerful potential patron. “Letter for you, ser,” the man merely said, handing the artist an envelope.
Leonardo frowned immediately at the cross emblazoned on the seal, waving a hand dismissively with a muttered grazie, and completely failed to notice the messenger’s annoyed expression at his lack of a tip as the door fell shut again. Taking the few steps over to one of his work benches, Leonardo unceremoniously shoved the sketches and tools there to the side, placing the letter on the now-cleared space. And stared at it, trying to decipher the contents by appearance alone.
Of course he had been initiated in the order - Verrocchio would not have settled for anything else for his prize student. It had been those contacts that had landed Leonardo in a workshop of his own, where his talents had caught the eye of the powerful though not particularly Templar-friendly Medici family. But he was quite low in the hierarchy, still - useful for little more than the current gossip in the court. Leonardo was still young, and the Medici saw him as no more than one of their many, many pet artists. It would take many years of work before Leonardo would find himself in positions where he would be privy to any worthwhile information, especially when he had to actually struggle to feign any interest in politics - so why would he receive a letter from the Order?
He was not even aware of how his hands were shaking until he grasped the flat letter-knife, and spent a few minutes to merely breathe, trying to settle his nerves. Carefully, he pried off the seal, pulled the folded paper out, and settled down to read. It was, he found, a surprisingly brief message. Void of anything personal; void of anything that could be traced to the writer or to the receiver if not for the stamp of the Templar Cross at the bottom, and was obviously a message that had been mass-distributed.
The Assassin has been seen recently
We suspect he is allied to the Medici
Report any sights of the Assassin
If the chance offers itself, kill him
May the Father of Understanding guide us
A simple warning, then. Leonardo breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. While he feared the Assassins, as any member of the Templar order did - for whom did not fear this sect that thrived on chaos and destruction, and who would strike down any bearers of the Cross, for no reason other than to dole out their own demented version of judgement? Leonardo had heard plenty of stories of the white-clad maniacs; of people who would hide in squalor and filth, and destroy entire governments at a whim, should they see too much order and peace in one place.
Still, Leonardo hoped that whatever Assassin that lived in Firenze would be of the more peaceful sort, and that the apparent alliance with Lorenzo de’Medici would allow for at least some measure of peace and quiet to remain in the city. Not to mention that he was pretty sure he would be dead if such a monster came about, he was also quite certain that even if the opportunity presented itself, he just wouldn’t have the nerve to kill another person - Assassin or not.
No, Leonardo would be perfectly happy if he could go through his life without ever meeting an Assassin.