A/N: This chapter. THIS CHAPTER! Seriously, fuck this chapter. Eight rewrites or something; used nearly an entire pad of paper just on trying to get this one down in a way that didn’t clock it in at 10,000 words, nor was missing any of the stuff I needed set up in it. On the bright side, the overall plot has been sketched out until part 15. And parts six through eight have pretty much been written out already.
And a general plea for assistance: Can any of you dear readers help me obtain a screenshot from the inside of Leonardo’s workshop in Venice? I’m talking about a general screenshot; much like the look you can get of the pre-timeskip workshop in Firenze while carrying the dead guard inside. This may be a plea that applies more to anyone with the PC version, admittedly… Mostly, I just need to figure out if the corpse-room is still present. But, for further encouragement: Anyone getting me that information, however you manage it, will get a (mini)fill on a prompt of their choosing :D.
Firenze, December 1475
It was a mild day, the sun warming the streets and chasing away the cold of the oncoming winter. A myriad of people were out and about, basking in the sunlight, and eagerly discussing utterly vapid and pointless things while fighting innocently for the more sunny spots of cobblestone. Leonardo had laid claim to the small bench in the even smaller courtyard beside his home and and workshop, scowled at anyone trying to enter, and had filled nearly an entire sheet of paper with sketches of the dozens of birds that had flocked to the courtyard - lured in by and now busy with gorging themselves on the seeds he had laid out.
He was occupied with trying to catch the glint of light in green feathers - even though he was working with red chalk, and he added a mental note to his already extensive collection of mental notes to start noting down colours beside his drawings - when the birds were spooked by someone entering the courtyard and coming to a stop next to the bench. Taking a small breath, Leonardo readied himself to scowl and angrily ask why people were disturbing his birds - hoping that it would not have the same poor outcome as when Archimedes had asked the same of a passing guard about his circles.
“You should buy caged ones. They don’t spook so easily,” Andrea del Verrocchio dryly commented, having known Leonardo long enough to wager a guess at the younger artist’s thoughts.
“I prefer to see them free,” Leonardo said, his anger at the disturbance utterly forgotten, and clambered to his feet, very nearly falling flat on his face when he realised that his left foot - the leg on which he had rested his sketchpad - had fallen asleep. “It’s good to see you, Maestro! You look well. Please, how can I be of service?”
Andrea’s smile soured, leaving an annoyed and slightly disgusted expression in its wake. “Order business,” he said, voice kept low, and gave a quick glance upwards, gaze sweeping over the roofs above them. “Can we talk inside?”
Leonardo, mouth suddenly dry, swallowed nervously and audibly, all thoughts of birds forgotten. And inside the workshop, he quickly went about fetching wine for them both, while his old teacher checked the windows and rafters for prying eyes.
Once they were certain that they did not have an assassin overhearing the conversation, they finally settled down - Leonardo managing to stealthily hide the last sketches he had made of his two regular boys from La Rosa while Verrocchio was temporarily distracted with the failed design for a flying machine.
“Interesting idea, Leonardo. Though I still cannot see how something that much heavier than air can fly,” Verrocchio said, accepting the small cup handed to him, utterly obvious to the sketches quickly and rudely shoved into the shelf, and sat down in the well-worn chair.
“A goose is much heavier than air, and it flies,” Leonardo replied, and was about to launch into an enthusiastic tirade of his discoveries in aerodynamics; of surface-to-weight-ratios, and to fetch the multitude of calculations he had done, when his old teacher’s look made his mind stop dead in its tracks. “... It is just an idea I'm toying with.”
Verrocchio’s lips quickly quickly upwards into a wry smile. “Perhaps. In any case… I have unsettling news. Grand Master Lombardi has fallen ill, and it is unlikely that he will survive for long. There are already certain… people who have begun to move for the position. Rodrigo Borgia, in particular, has already eliminated much of his potential competition.”
Leonardo swore appropriately, even if his dislike for the man so far was entirely from second-hand accounts.
“Miei pensieri esattamente, Verrocchio said, appearing amused at Leonardo’s linguistic creativity. “Though I am not entirely sure that is anatomically possible. In any case, our Florentine brothers will likely call us to a summit soon to discuss the matter, and to decide with whom we should place our support.”
“Most are either already men of the Borgia or will be too afraid to go against him,” Leonardo said with a glare at his cup, suppressing an uncharacteristic urge to throw it against the nearest wall, and settled for clenching his empty hand instead. “He has rallied most of the enemies of the Medici behind him as it is, and bribed or bullied many others into joining.” Verrocchio raised an eyebrow at this, and Leonardo continued: “I… have a few sources that have told me as much.” He left out that those sources happened to frequent La Rosa, with a particularly talkative one of those had visited Leonardo’s bottega a few months before, and Emilio Russo’s frequent, encoded letters had kept him updated on what went on in Venice as well. “He has already filled much of our Order with like-minded people, ensuring that he will be able to take the title practically unopposed. And, most likely, manage to set us even further back than the Assassins could ever hope to accomplish!”
“Peace, Leonardo,” Verrocchio said, and gave the younger man a moment to compose himself. “Perhaps the Order will flourish under Borgia rule,” he said, sipping his wine calmly. “It is possible that Rodrigo will manage to push us further towards our goal of uniting humanity under one banner.”
“It is also possible that he merely seeks power for himself, and does not care for any that stand in his way,” Leonardo spat.
“Or that.” The older sculptor nodded in agreement. “The Pazzi, the Barbarigo, and the Borgia have been old and powerful families in the Order. Their wealth and influence have granted us access to places and knowledge we would have been unable to reach otherwise, and their power held in check by a Grand Master true to our cause. I suppose..,” Verrocchio paused, a wry, almost amused smile crossing his face,” I suppose that we have spent so long fearing the Assassins that we forgot to pay attention to il nido del serpente among ourselves.”
“Then what can we do, insegnante? Those of us still true to the Order are scattered, and even less in any positions to move against Rodrigo without risking their lives,” Leonardo asked, frustrated with his own impotence in the matter.
“There are still many of us, Leonardo, and while we may not rank high in the Order, many have power outside it,” Verrocchio replied, unaffected by his former student’s fidgeting. “We do as we always have. Mask our moves, continue our work, and use the Assassins.”
Of course Leonardo had - because fate had nothing if not a cruel sense of humour - decided just a moment before to take a drink to calm his nerves, and found himself at a sudden mix of stunned, shocked, and choking. “What!” he tried to say, only to break into a cough as his whole body tried to dislodge the fluid. “What?” he tried again after that, voice hoarse and broken. A third attempt, preluded by a heavy swallow, finally allowed him to, flatly, ask: “What.”
“The Assassins believe themselves to stand against corruption. All one needs to do is to make an undesirable person appear utterly foul and corrupt, and divert the Assassin’s attention to them,” the sculptor said with far too calm a smile. “And then our piccolo problema will gone in a blur of white cloth dropping from a rooftop.”
Leonardo shuddered, trying not to think too hard on how his teacher had come across this knowledge. “I see,” he said, seeing only too clearly. And he who had thought that the Assassins’ reputation as ruthless killers were solely due to the Templars’ rumours!
“It’s a shame no one yet know the identity of Il Assassino da Firenze, or we could solve our upcoming problem within the next month,” Verrocchio continued, frowning. “However, it is highly unlikely that the Assassin - or Assassins; I suspect several live in Firenze alone - know of our involvement with the Order, seeing as we both are affiliated with the Medici. That should allow us to inquire further.”
“No one has caught Il Assassino and lived to tell about it,” Leonardo said. “I suppose that, if he remained unaware, he could be a powerful ally against Rodrigo and his supporters…”
“And that will be our strategy.” Verrocchio positively beamed. “If it is of any comfort, my dear boy, it will be far from the first time that the Assassins have been tricked into eliminating troublesome individuals within our Order. Why, if one apparently pays generously enough, they will not even question who the target is!”
Leonardo nodded mutely, and, for a moment, the two artists sad still; the silence between them stretching until it approached awkwardness.
“Come, Leonardo,” Verrocchio said, putting down his empty cup on the small table that often doubled for Leonardo as a sketchboard, workplace, and, after a long night where his head would not stay quiet, pillow. “We shall go into the city. See if we cannot begin to sow the seeds among the Assassins and their followers. Perhaps we will be lucky, and our ‘issue’ taken care of before we need to get further involved.”
“Would that not be putting ourselves at an unnecessary risk?” Leonardo cautiously asked, even as he scrambled to his feet as well.
“A risk? Oh, no, Leonardo, no risk at all,” Verrocchio chuckled, brushing a bit of imaginary dust off his clothes. “Why, you are a brilliant young painter in the employ of the Medici, I am a brilliant sculptor who were once at the very heart of Piero de Medici’s court, and, together, we just happen to be concerned and unsettled by the rumours we have heard from our Assassin-friendly patrons. It is a wonderful day, and so we merely take the conversation to the streets, and trust the Assassins’ long ears to ‘accidentally’ overhear our complaints when we withdraw to a deserted spot with low roofs to discuss it in detail.”
“And they call me the madman,” Leonardo muttered under his breath as Verrocchio pulled the door open, and they stepped onto the permanently busy piazza outside the workshop to begin spreading the word of Rodrigo Borgia.
Mirror, Mirror, Which is Fairest of All? 4/?
And a general plea for assistance: Can any of you dear readers help me obtain a screenshot from the inside of Leonardo’s workshop in Venice? I’m talking about a general screenshot; much like the look you can get of the pre-timeskip workshop in Firenze while carrying the dead guard inside. This may be a plea that applies more to anyone with the PC version, admittedly… Mostly, I just need to figure out if the corpse-room is still present. But, for further encouragement: Anyone getting me that information, however you manage it, will get a (mini)fill on a prompt of their choosing :D.
Firenze, December 1475
It was a mild day, the sun warming the streets and chasing away the cold of the oncoming winter. A myriad of people were out and about, basking in the sunlight, and eagerly discussing utterly vapid and pointless things while fighting innocently for the more sunny spots of cobblestone. Leonardo had laid claim to the small bench in the even smaller courtyard beside his home and and workshop, scowled at anyone trying to enter, and had filled nearly an entire sheet of paper with sketches of the dozens of birds that had flocked to the courtyard - lured in by and now busy with gorging themselves on the seeds he had laid out.
He was occupied with trying to catch the glint of light in green feathers - even though he was working with red chalk, and he added a mental note to his already extensive collection of mental notes to start noting down colours beside his drawings - when the birds were spooked by someone entering the courtyard and coming to a stop next to the bench. Taking a small breath, Leonardo readied himself to scowl and angrily ask why people were disturbing his birds - hoping that it would not have the same poor outcome as when Archimedes had asked the same of a passing guard about his circles.
“You should buy caged ones. They don’t spook so easily,” Andrea del Verrocchio dryly commented, having known Leonardo long enough to wager a guess at the younger artist’s thoughts.
“I prefer to see them free,” Leonardo said, his anger at the disturbance utterly forgotten, and clambered to his feet, very nearly falling flat on his face when he realised that his left foot - the leg on which he had rested his sketchpad - had fallen asleep. “It’s good to see you, Maestro! You look well. Please, how can I be of service?”
Andrea’s smile soured, leaving an annoyed and slightly disgusted expression in its wake. “Order business,” he said, voice kept low, and gave a quick glance upwards, gaze sweeping over the roofs above them. “Can we talk inside?”
Leonardo, mouth suddenly dry, swallowed nervously and audibly, all thoughts of birds forgotten. And inside the workshop, he quickly went about fetching wine for them both, while his old teacher checked the windows and rafters for prying eyes.
Once they were certain that they did not have an assassin overhearing the conversation, they finally settled down - Leonardo managing to stealthily hide the last sketches he had made of his two regular boys from La Rosa while Verrocchio was temporarily distracted with the failed design for a flying machine.
“Interesting idea, Leonardo. Though I still cannot see how something that much heavier than air can fly,” Verrocchio said, accepting the small cup handed to him, utterly obvious to the sketches quickly and rudely shoved into the shelf, and sat down in the well-worn chair.
“A goose is much heavier than air, and it flies,” Leonardo replied, and was about to launch into an enthusiastic tirade of his discoveries in aerodynamics; of surface-to-weight-ratios, and to fetch the multitude of calculations he had done, when his old teacher’s look made his mind stop dead in its tracks. “... It is just an idea I'm toying with.”
Verrocchio’s lips quickly quickly upwards into a wry smile. “Perhaps. In any case… I have unsettling news. Grand Master Lombardi has fallen ill, and it is unlikely that he will survive for long. There are already certain… people who have begun to move for the position. Rodrigo Borgia, in particular, has already eliminated much of his potential competition.”
Leonardo swore appropriately, even if his dislike for the man so far was entirely from second-hand accounts.
“Miei pensieri esattamente, Verrocchio said, appearing amused at Leonardo’s linguistic creativity. “Though I am not entirely sure that is anatomically possible. In any case, our Florentine brothers will likely call us to a summit soon to discuss the matter, and to decide with whom we should place our support.”
“Most are either already men of the Borgia or will be too afraid to go against him,” Leonardo said with a glare at his cup, suppressing an uncharacteristic urge to throw it against the nearest wall, and settled for clenching his empty hand instead. “He has rallied most of the enemies of the Medici behind him as it is, and bribed or bullied many others into joining.” Verrocchio raised an eyebrow at this, and Leonardo continued: “I… have a few sources that have told me as much.” He left out that those sources happened to frequent La Rosa, with a particularly talkative one of those had visited Leonardo’s bottega a few months before, and Emilio Russo’s frequent, encoded letters had kept him updated on what went on in Venice as well. “He has already filled much of our Order with like-minded people, ensuring that he will be able to take the title practically unopposed. And, most likely, manage to set us even further back than the Assassins could ever hope to accomplish!”
“Peace, Leonardo,” Verrocchio said, and gave the younger man a moment to compose himself. “Perhaps the Order will flourish under Borgia rule,” he said, sipping his wine calmly. “It is possible that Rodrigo will manage to push us further towards our goal of uniting humanity under one banner.”
“It is also possible that he merely seeks power for himself, and does not care for any that stand in his way,” Leonardo spat.
“Or that.” The older sculptor nodded in agreement. “The Pazzi, the Barbarigo, and the Borgia have been old and powerful families in the Order. Their wealth and influence have granted us access to places and knowledge we would have been unable to reach otherwise, and their power held in check by a Grand Master true to our cause. I suppose..,” Verrocchio paused, a wry, almost amused smile crossing his face,” I suppose that we have spent so long fearing the Assassins that we forgot to pay attention to il nido del serpente among ourselves.”
“Then what can we do, insegnante? Those of us still true to the Order are scattered, and even less in any positions to move against Rodrigo without risking their lives,” Leonardo asked, frustrated with his own impotence in the matter.
“There are still many of us, Leonardo, and while we may not rank high in the Order, many have power outside it,” Verrocchio replied, unaffected by his former student’s fidgeting. “We do as we always have. Mask our moves, continue our work, and use the Assassins.”
Of course Leonardo had - because fate had nothing if not a cruel sense of humour - decided just a moment before to take a drink to calm his nerves, and found himself at a sudden mix of stunned, shocked, and choking. “What!” he tried to say, only to break into a cough as his whole body tried to dislodge the fluid. “What?” he tried again after that, voice hoarse and broken. A third attempt, preluded by a heavy swallow, finally allowed him to, flatly, ask: “What.”
“The Assassins believe themselves to stand against corruption. All one needs to do is to make an undesirable person appear utterly foul and corrupt, and divert the Assassin’s attention to them,” the sculptor said with far too calm a smile. “And then our piccolo problema will gone in a blur of white cloth dropping from a rooftop.”
Leonardo shuddered, trying not to think too hard on how his teacher had come across this knowledge. “I see,” he said, seeing only too clearly. And he who had thought that the Assassins’ reputation as ruthless killers were solely due to the Templars’ rumours!
“It’s a shame no one yet know the identity of Il Assassino da Firenze, or we could solve our upcoming problem within the next month,” Verrocchio continued, frowning. “However, it is highly unlikely that the Assassin - or Assassins; I suspect several live in Firenze alone - know of our involvement with the Order, seeing as we both are affiliated with the Medici. That should allow us to inquire further.”
“No one has caught Il Assassino and lived to tell about it,” Leonardo said. “I suppose that, if he remained unaware, he could be a powerful ally against Rodrigo and his supporters…”
“And that will be our strategy.” Verrocchio positively beamed. “If it is of any comfort, my dear boy, it will be far from the first time that the Assassins have been tricked into eliminating troublesome individuals within our Order. Why, if one apparently pays generously enough, they will not even question who the target is!”
Leonardo nodded mutely, and, for a moment, the two artists sad still; the silence between them stretching until it approached awkwardness.
“Come, Leonardo,” Verrocchio said, putting down his empty cup on the small table that often doubled for Leonardo as a sketchboard, workplace, and, after a long night where his head would not stay quiet, pillow. “We shall go into the city. See if we cannot begin to sow the seeds among the Assassins and their followers. Perhaps we will be lucky, and our ‘issue’ taken care of before we need to get further involved.”
“Would that not be putting ourselves at an unnecessary risk?” Leonardo cautiously asked, even as he scrambled to his feet as well.
“A risk? Oh, no, Leonardo, no risk at all,” Verrocchio chuckled, brushing a bit of imaginary dust off his clothes. “Why, you are a brilliant young painter in the employ of the Medici, I am a brilliant sculptor who were once at the very heart of Piero de Medici’s court, and, together, we just happen to be concerned and unsettled by the rumours we have heard from our Assassin-friendly patrons. It is a wonderful day, and so we merely take the conversation to the streets, and trust the Assassins’ long ears to ‘accidentally’ overhear our complaints when we withdraw to a deserted spot with low roofs to discuss it in detail.”
“And they call me the madman,” Leonardo muttered under his breath as Verrocchio pulled the door open, and they stepped onto the permanently busy piazza outside the workshop to begin spreading the word of Rodrigo Borgia.