Chapter Text
As much as he dislikes it and as much as it fills him with guilt… Ezio takes the angel to the sanctuary below the Villa. The sanctuary is secret enough that the servants probably don't know about it – or if they do, they at least know better than to talk about it or to go there. It's also deep enough that if something… strange occurred down there, probably wouldn't affect the Villa above, wouldn't damage it's foundations. At least, that is what Ezio hopes.
With Mario he sets up a divan down there, with pillows and blankets and other things for as much comfort as they can manage in the stone hall – they even set a table beside it, laden with dry fruits and a pitcher of rosewater, just in case. It still feels like meagre accommodations to offer to a creature of heaven – borderline prison. But what else can he do?
What remains of his family is up in the Villa itself – he can't risk Mother, Claudia, and their servants and guests. Never mind the fact that the Villa stands elevated from the town of Monteriggioni – should something unnatural occur, it would be seen throughout the village.
"He can speak, he can reason – so we can explain this to him and hope he understands," Mario says while Ezio carefully spreads a blanket over the angel's still form as it rests, wings splayed out, on the pillows. "We have only done what we think is for the best for everyone – surely a heavenly creature would find sympathy for that."
"Yes, surely," Ezio says – but how can they be sure? So far the angel has only been out of it, what little moments of consciousness he has had have been confused and bleary. Who knows what kind of man he really is, when in full control of his faculties.
"Nothing to it now but wait," Mario says and claps him on the shoulder. "Go, Nephew, go wash off your trip and then speak with the others. They must be eager for answers now."
"Yes," Ezio says, running his hands through his hair. It really is in terrible need of a wash – he still has the sweat from his battles through the Vatican and under the Sistine Chapel on his skin. "And I have less and less of them to give the more time passes."
"Then better start quickly, before the last of them fade," Mario says and then pulls up the armchair they'd brought in as well, sitting down on it with a sigh. "Go – I'll keep vigil in the meanwhile."
Ezio nods, looks over the angel one more time to make sure he is as comfortable as he can make him, and then he goes.
La Volpe had been kind enough to distract the others away from the office, to let Ezio and Mario carry their burden in without being hindered – they are there now, as he comes up the stairs and to the Villa proper. La Volpe stands by Paola and Teodora, talking with them quietly – and if it's strange to see La Volpe travel, to see them on the road and at Monteriggioni is almost beyond belief. Antonio is there also – he is talking with Leonardo and Machiavelli, their heads bent together. Claudia and Mother are standing by the wall where the Codex hangs in it's frame – judging by the way Mother stands, it's one of her better days.
They all turn when he enters and with something like grief Ezio realises all the windows are curtained, all the doors locked. The whole damn Brotherhood is present, and just when he'd like to see them the least. A bath would have to wait, then.
"Judging by your mode of arrival and the word that you came in, carrying something…" Machiavelli says. "I assume it is done then? You located the Vault – and the weapon Templars were seeking – before Rodrigo Borgia did?"
"I found the Vault, yes. It had no weapon," Ezio says, though considering the things the angel seems capable… one might see it differently. "Though to open it the Papal Staff and the Apple were both needed, and once done the Vault claimed the Papal Staff, so perhaps that is the origin of the belief – perhaps that is where it came from in the first place. The Apple I still have."
"I see," Machiavelli says. "And what did you find in the Vault, then?"
A message from gods, Ezio thinks and shakes his head. "I cannot begin to describe it. A moving painting that floated in air, woven from light, perhaps. She told me her name was Minerva and then she gave me an impossible vision – told me of a terrible tragedy that would come one day, how the Sun itself would burn the Earth –" he trails off and takes out a piece of paper he'd procured and written down during the ocean voyage. "I have written it down with as much accuracy as I could later remember, but most of it was complete nonsense to me. Leonardo –"
"Yes, please, let me see," Leonardo says, quickly stepping forward and sitting down to read it, Machiavelli and Teodora not so subtly peering at the page over his shoulder. Leonardo takes no time at all to read it in full. "The accounting ends in the middle – is there more?" he asks, lifting his head.
"No, that is where she stopped – as if interrupted, halting her speech mid-sentence. She said something had changed – and then she… stopped. I waited for good ten minutes, until she spoke again, and as she did, she changed," Ezio says, running a hand through his hair and then telling the rest of it.
And then he gets to the angel, and understanding begins dawn on many faces – they might have yet to see the angel, but they must have seen them carry the stretcher, guess that it housed on it a body.
"And you brought this being here?" Machiavelli asks, stroking his chin.
"An angel," Maria Auditore whispers. "God in Heaven…"
"Ezio," Teodora asks, stepping forward. "Are you sure of this?"
"I am not finished with the story," Ezio says quietly and looks at his hands. "It took care of his wounds and brought him with me when we escaped the Sistine Chapel – with Mario I took him through the sewers and to our ship and eventually away from Rome entirely. We made all speed to Florence, eventually disembarking near Livorno, after which we travelled in a cart. It was late and so had to shelter from the night at road and chose abandoned farmstead for it."
He stops there. Though he's been turning the event in his head, he can't begin to put it into words. Miracle in it's most devastating biblical sense, seems suitable – and even so, falls short of the actual horror of it.
"During the night, the angel awoke – and proved power," Ezio says to the attentive silence of the audience around him. "I cannot say how much of he intended, whether it was somehow instinctual on his part. It seemed uncontrolled. He took the rundown farmhouse – and he made it new." No, that is not suitable at all. "I can't describe it. It was as if world blended like paints on water and once it cleared, everything about the house was… different. New again."
The silence that follows his words is tense. Ezio looks up to see how much scepticism he's facing – but surprisingly, no one seems immediately doubtful. Just confused and alert, Machiavelli eying the pathway down the sanctuary while Maria is clasping a hand over her chest and Teodora has her hands clasped, as if in prayer. Leonardo is starting at the paper, his expression peculiar.
"Can we see him, Ezio?" Machiavelli finally asks.
Ezio hesitates, glancing at the pathway. "He sleeps and I daren't wake him," he admits.
"I think I have a right to it," Teodora says quietly and lowers her clasped hands. "My house might not be the most socially acceptable as houses of the Lord go, but I serve and I believe and I have Faith… something which I know cannot be said of all of us here."
"Teodora, so harsh," Leonardo murmurs.
She smiles faintly. "I mean no judgement," she says and looks to Ezio. "I will go quietly and I will not disturb him. Please."
Ezio draws a breath and then nods. "Yes, of course, Sister Teodora – go right ahead," he says and then watches warily as she heads for the stairs leading outwards. She's not a conventional nun, no – but she still is one, in her heart and beliefs. Maybe she will be stronger in face of the creature than he feels.
"This a most peculiar turn of events," Machiavelli murmurs. "And this Minerva – I assume you mean the Goddess of the ancients, Minerva?"
"She disclaimed the title," Ezio says, shaking his head. "I asked if she was, but she said that no, she wasn't god – her people simply came before, that they were more… advanced in time."
"If what I can discern from this is accurate, it is likely her people were the ones to create the Apple of Eden, the Staff as well," Leonardo says, waving the paper Ezio had written lightly. "It would make sense, for the Apple to fit the Staff and for the Staff to serve as Key to their vault."
"I'll leave the reasoning of it gladly to you, Leonardo," Ezio says with a quiet laugh and leans back. "I'm afraid I haven't the wits for it." And what wits he had, he's found him at their very end at this point.
"This is incredible," Claudia murmurs. "An angel. An angel here, in Monteriggioni!"
"Did you learn of his name, Son?" Maria asks quietly.
Ezio nods. "Minerva called him Desmond," he says and frowns. "She spoke to him before he was even there, called to him – before she used the Apple to do whatever it was, she said… I anchored him."
Leonardo looks up. "Anchored?" he asks.
"I don't know what she meant by it, but she did say she wasn't speaking to me, but through me," Ezio admits and sighs. "To him, I suppose, to the angel. I don't understand it, Leonardo, I don't understand any of this."
"Anchoring him, speaking through you," Maria whispers, watching Ezio, her expression thoughtful and pained. "Perhaps he is your Guardian Angel, my son."
Ezio frowns at that. "I'm an Assassin," he mutters awkwardly. "Why would an Assassin be given a Guardian Angel?"
"It is not our nature or our titles that defines us, but our deeds and actions. Creature you might call evil in nature can do the kindest things, and it is the choice to do so that matters," Teodora says, coming up the stairs once more, her hands clasped together again. They all turn to him and she nods her head slowly. "Ezio speaks the truth – he is an angel."
Sigh runs through the room, heavy and shocked. Leonardo strokes a hand over his beard, looking away while Maria makes the sign of the cross with a muttered prayer and even Claudia, never the most religious one in their family, murmurs what sounds like half a prayer.
Antonio looks between them, his arms folded. "Divinity and theology aside," he says. "What does this mean for us, for the Assassins – and for our war against the Templars?"
For that, Ezio has no answer to give. And neither, it seems, has anyone else. "Right now I'm just happier knowing he's here, and not in Templar hands," Ezio mutters and stands up with a sigh.
"Yes, that can only be for the better," Machiavelli agrees grimly. "Tell me, how did it end with Rodrigo Borgia? Did he make promises before the end, did he offer you power, wealth?"
Ezio frowns and then realises – he hasn't admitted to that failing yet. And he has no energy left to make excuses. "I let him live," he says simply.
"The Spaniard lives?" Machiavelli demands, stepping closer to him. "You let him live?"
"Yes, I let him live," Ezio agrees. "I left him in the fore chamber of the vault when I went inside and by the time I came out, he was gone."
"He also held a mass just the following morning," La Volpe comments. "I got the pigeon about it just before Ezio arrived – had he not arrived I would've been inclined to believe he failed and died in the attempt."
"Your confidence in me astounds me, La Volpe, truly," Ezio mutters and the Thief inclines his head, amused.
Machiavelli scoffs at them. "Do not make light of this," he snaps and looks to Ezio. "You should have killed him – we're sure to pay for it. Especially now, with what you have brought. Did anyone see you escape with the angel – do the Templars know about him, does the Church?"
"There was no hiding him during our escape, but I did my best to cover his wings. I don't think anyone saw, or realised what he truly was," Ezio says. "In the confusion I doubt anyone was truly looking for proof of angels."
"But they know you brought something from the vault, and like us they thought the vault housed a weapon," Machiavelli says flatly. "And do they know you have the Apple?"
Ezio smothers a sigh. "It's likely," he admits.
"And so they will come for that, if not for him," Machiavelli mutters, waving a hand at the entrance to the hideout. "You should have killed the Spaniard, Ezio, I can't imagine what you were thinking."
Ezio had been thinking that he was tired of murder, but he doesn't say that out loud. "What is done is done, Machiavelli, words can't make it otherwise now," Ezio says and looks away. "There is still much to discuss and likely more once the angel wakens. There is a new future for us to consider."
Machiavelli eyes him and then looks away. "That task was entrusted to you," he says. "Not to the rest of us, and angels and ancient gods aside, we still have work. I will be heading straight for Rome to see what the fallout from this will be."
"If you feel it necessary," Ezio mutters.
"You won't even stay to speak to the angel?" Teodora asks.
Machiavelli hesitates. "I will travel tomorrow," he decides and then whirls on his heel and walks off.
"Well that was dramatic," Antonio says and comes to Ezio's side, clapping him on the shoulder. "Never a boring moment with you, my friend. I will stay also, but I cannot for long – do you think your angel will wake today?"
"It's likely," Ezio admits and looks at the others. "I imagine all of you are staying also, to meet him?"
"Of course," Paola says calmly. "It is not everyday you meet a divine being. But Ezio – you fear him," she says, perceptive as always, and the others turn to look. "Why is that?"
Ezio swallows and shakes his head. "He is very powerful," he says quietly. "Powerful beyond my understanding. And I am not sure it is a power he is in full control of."
Ezio does get his bath in the end, though it is a rushed and not quite as enjoyable as one might wish after long journey. It is pleasure to get out of his armour at least, to send his weapons to the smith to be tended to before doing his best to clean off the grime of travel – but he cannot relax. The thought keeps nagging at him – he is not where he should be.
So his bathing is somewhat hurried and he is already drying off and pulling on a clean shirt when there is a knock at his door. "Ezio," it's Claudia, judging by the voice. "Mario calls for you – the angel is awake."
Ezio swallows. "Thank you, Sister," he says and quickly urns to finish dressing up, pulling on fresh set of breeches– and then, after moment of hesitation, grabbing his still travel dirty robe and pulling that on as well. It is a little more ceremonious than appearing in his shirt sleeves alone, he muses and gets his sash and belt as well, before pulling on cleaner pair of boots.
Claudia is still waiting for him outside his room when he steps out. "Sister," Ezio greets him.
"An angel, Brother," Claudia says, full of confused meaning. "You must take care – Mother is… she is thinking of things."
"What sort of things?" Ezio asks quietly as they head for the stairs.
"She's been mumbling of guardian angels and leafing through her bible again. She is praying now," Claudia says and closes her eyes. "And I can guess what she might be thinking. Why, if you have an angel at your side… why the rest of us do not."
Ezio swallows. "Claudia, I don't think he's an guardian angel," he murmurs. "At this point, I'm not sure such a thing exists, or ever has."
Claudia sighs. "I don't have the patience or the heart for this," she murmurs wretchedly. "Just take care about what you say about him to Mother, whatever he is – and if she wants to see him… I don't know."
Ezio nods slowly and looks ahead. "I'll… keep that in mind." Not that he was that comfortable with the idea of Mother approaching the angel in the first place – though before that had less to do with her ailing spirit and more to do with the danger the angel represented. Perhaps both had their own horrible merit.
Together they head down stairs and while Claudia goes the other way – to attend to Mother most likely – Ezio heads for the office. Mario isn't there – Leonardo is, standing by the wall where the Codex pages hang, peering up at them.
"My friend," Ezio greets him.
"Ezio," Leonardo nods and smiles. "You look refreshed."
"I don't feel it, yet," Ezio admits with a sigh. "It has been an increasingly long few days, I have to admit."
"I can only imagine," Leonardo says and looks down, at the page in his hand – the one Ezio had written. He hands it over. "I think I should perhaps find other accommodations in Monteriggioni, if you still need my services here."
Ezio blinks. "What – why? Has someone said something – was it Teodora's remark? I doubt she was truly judging you, Leonardo and even if she was, you know you are always welcome here –"
Leonardo smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It's not that," he says and looks at the Codex. "You know I break more than few laws of the Church," he says. "With my studies and my thoughts and my interests… Your house has become one of angels, my friend. How does a heretic like me belong?"
Ezio grabs him by the shoulder, turning Leonardo to face him. "Leonardo, my friend – I have lost count of the lives I've taken, and ruined," he says quietly. "Nothing about the commandments forbids strange studies or interests – or thoughts. It does forbid murder, however. There is no devil in this house worse than me."
Leonardo snorts at that, shaking his head. "You do it for a good cause," he says. "My infractions are ones of selfishness and greed and pride."
"And yet they hurt no one else," Ezio reminds him, looking at his face. Then he admits, quiet and guilty, "I… don't tell this to Teodora, but I don't… think religion has much to do with all of this, anyway."
"Ezio?" Leonardo asks, frowning.
"Minerva disclaimed the title of god," Ezio says and shakes his head. "And when a god who claims she is not one conjures an angel, I… there was a moment there, when I thought how a misconception might have become myth and legend and eventually scripture. Who knows how old these beings are, who knows how far back their stories reach. How those stories might have been changed over the years?"
Leonardo blinks at him. "I did… wonder about that myself," he admits. "The Apple of Eden is a device and if a device is the origin of the tale of Eden, then how much has the tale changed in the telling, for the device to become edible at some point? And if the Apple of Eden is a device, then… what was the garden like?"
Ezio shakes his head in wonder. "This is why I need you here," he says. "Why you belong, more so than many others. So please, no more talk of leaving. My home is yours for as long as you need it, Leonardo. Always."
Leonardo smiles at that and nods. "Yes, of course. Thank you, my friend."
Ezio clasps his shoulder comfortingly and then turns. "Now I'm sorry – I believe I am already late."
Leonardo nods and glances at the door to the sanctuary. "Good luck," he says, and with a nod, Ezio heads forth.
The way own has never felt shorter or longer than it does now.
Mario is up and by the stone baluster that stands between the way in and the main hall of the sanctuary, keeping a careful distance – and the angel is up and on his feet, standing in front of the statue of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, staring up at it. With his wings trailing the stone floor loosely and his white doublet still ragged and bloodstained at the back, he doesn't look precisely magnificent – but he does look completely otherworldly and alien standing there, winged and strange, in the heart of the Assassin Brotherhood.
Ezio clears his throat and while Mario quickly bows out, looking uneasy, the angel turns.
And oh, Ezio sees it now – the likeness, what he'd felt before but hadn't quite been able to put a name to. The angel's face had from the first reminded him of someone but he couldn't tell who – now, with the statue of Altaïr standing at the angel's back, looming over him, he sees it.
It's uncanny, how much they look alike.
"Ezio," the angel says, confused.
"My – my lord," Ezio says hesitantly and then goes around the baluster, to meet with the angel without it in the way. He has no idea what to say, what to do, but he has to say something. "At the behest of Minerva, I brought you here, to my home – you are in the fortress Monteriggioni, in the sanctuary under my family Villa."
The angel stares at him, and for a moment Ezio isn't sure the angel comprehends him. "You brought me here," he repeats then and looks away, frowning, lifting a hand and brushing it over his forehead. He shifts where he stands and then winces – looking down and to the wing that had swung somewhat limply to the forward, the feathers scraping against the floor.
"Are you – well?" Ezio says, helplessly scrabbling for something, anything, to latch onto. "You were injured when you – when you arrived. I bandaged your wounds as best I could but –"
The angel shakes his head, looking at his hands, spreading out his fingers and then clenching them to a fist, once, twice, as if testing they worked right. Then he looks down to the wing trailing the floor – and reaches to grab it.
A shiver of golden light runs through the abundance and unable to help himself, Ezio steps back, nervous. The angel, not noticing, lifts the wing manually by hand, grasping it by a joint and holding it up. He looks even more confused than before.
"What the hell is this," the angel murmurs – which is perhaps the last thing one might expect an angel to say.
"My lord –"
"What?" the angel snaps and looks up, frowning. A spark of gold runs down his face, from suddenly gleaming eye down his cheek like teardrop of light. "Why are you calling me that?"
Ezio opens his mouth, helpless, but isn't sure what to say. "What – what should I call you then?" he asks, confused and little nervous. There is more gold flickering under the angel's skin now – he can't hear it yet, but the angel is beginning to glow.
"I – my name," the angel says, growing quiet and confused again. "Just… just use my name. It's Desmond."
"Desmond," Ezio repeats slowly and warily.
Somehow that only makes the angel look more confused, shaking his head and turning away – and back to looking up and at Altaïr. Then he looks down at the wing again, and gives it a tug – and then hisses with pain. "What the fuck," he mutters and reaches back to touch the wing's joint, his fingers tangling in the bandages. "Ow – son of a – "
"My lo – Desmond," Ezio says helplessly. "Please, you were injured, don't – you'll make yourself bleed again –"
The angel hesitates at that and then laughs. "What the fuck is going on?" he chuckles incredulously and collapses to sit on the floor, tugging at the wings confusedly. "What is this, a mod? Rebecca, what the hell?"
There is more gold gleaming through the angel now, sparkling under his feathers like lightning, like golden fireworks – ready to burst out. The angel lets out a yelp and jerks his hands from the feathers, staring at the sparks of gold running down his palms and wrist.
"Oh?" he asks, lifting his hands to examine the flickers in confusion. Then his eyes widen as the light begins to pool on his palm, making his fingers shine through. There's a hum in the air, rising. "O-oh."
Ezio backs away a step and the angel looks up, his eyes shining with liquid golden light again. "Oh, I get it now," the angel whispers in horrified realisation as that unearthly note grows louder and Ezio turns and runs.
Behind him the light explodes again and the world blurs into void.