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Paradisa, unknown
Ezio shifted his weight, carefully, as to not disturb anything on the windowsill. All was dark in the room, save for the last dying embers of the fire; even the moon in the night sky casted more light, silhouetting him against the window. Once he was inside, he would be entirely cloaked by the shadows.
The floors creaked the slightest bit under his boots, and he closed the window behind him with a soft click of the latch.
Borgia's form was easy to pick out, amongst the voluminous blankets of his bed, just an old man with a head of short gray hair and deep-set wrinkles. He didn't seem to hold the same magnitude that he had held when he was pontificating over the journal earlier; without that deep, commanding voice, he was just an old man, asleep in his bed.
It felt cheap, to kill Borgia in his sleep, but Ezio didn't want to risk a scene. There was no point in a high-profile assassination when no man in this castle, other than him, had ever borne a personal grudge against him. Doing it alone also meant it was about their conflict alone: just Ezio and his enemy.
Ezio approached the bedside, raising an arm. He flexed his wrist, purposefully, and the blade on his forearm slid out with a low, metallic ring.
Now, or never.
"You could have just requested an audience, assassin," Borgia said.
Ezio froze. Borgia didn't move, and in the darkness, Ezio couldn't see where Borgia was looking. He didn't dare even breathe, but Borgia obviously knew he was right there, leaning over the bed with a blade, lit only by the smallest glint of light.
"What's wrong?" Borgia continued, in that deep rumble, when Ezio hesitated too long. "Something must be troubling you, or else you wouldn't have stood over me for so long, just watching. You would have just killed me."
Goaded, Ezio willed himself to move, and he reached down with his bladeless hand to seize Borgia by the throat. He shifted his weight, hard, and though Borgia struggled, he couldn't throw off Ezio's weight against his neck. Ezio kept him pinned, other arm raised, poised to strike.
"This is for my family," Ezio growled.
"Wait," Borgia implored, barely above a whisper. Ezio strained to hear desperation in the man's voice, to hear some sign that Borgia was no longer in control, but there was none. Even like this, Rodrigo Borgia spoke as if all the power was in his hands. Borgia continued: "What have I done to your family?"
Anger hit Ezio like a sack of bricks to the gut, and he grew impulsive with it. He seized Borgia by the front of his clothes and dragged him from his bed. Borgia cried out in surprise, and again when his body hit the floor, and Ezio hauled him into the moonlight and shook him, violently.
"My family!? What have you done to my family?!" he snarled, "You're a poor liar, old man."
"With God as my witness, I do not know!" Borgia implored, gripping Ezio's wrists. Ezio shook him again. "You are the Florentine, correct? There is none other here invested in my business."
"Don't act clever," Ezio snapped. He dropped Borgia, brusquely, before reaching up to drag back his hood, revealing his face. "You knew from the moment we first spoke that I would make an attempt on your life."
"Interesting wording," Borgia replied, that sneer creeping into his voice, even as Ezio stood over him. "Evidently you have reason to believe you won't follow through. Use your reason, boy, let your head follow what your heart already knows! You would not kill a man who is oblivious to his crimes. What point would it serve?"
"You're lying," Ezio snarled. "You know! How could you forget?!"
Borgia was looking up at him, indomitable and unflinching, yet so confused –– he seemed to search Ezio's face for an answer, trying to understand why Ezio would be driven to kill him. Ezio knew that Borgia was trying to manipulate him, yet he couldn't see a shred of understanding on Borgia's face. How could it be that Rodrigo Borgia knew nothing of the Auditore, or their fall?
Did Borgia really know nothing?
"Perhaps there has been some confusion," Borgia said. "This place is full of magic... witchcraft. Someone has misled you, boy."
"What cause would they have to mislead me?"
Borgia shook a finger at him, managing to stay on the offensive. "What cause would I have to lie to you?"
Ezio tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Borgia was right, in a sense. There was no reason to lie to him, or to try to convince him that his understanding of history was somehow false. He'd seen his father and his brothers and their execution, what purpose would it serve to try to convince him otherwise? Borgia's involvement was the only thing that could be false, yet he thought he had known of Borgia's true involvement.
Could he have been wrong? Was it even possible?
No, he decided. No, he couldn't be wrong. Borgia was trying to pull something, here, but Ezio had no idea what.
Yet he couldn't kill the only man who had answers for him. He felt like he was going to throw up.
Borgia just watched him, breathing hard, expression critical, still sprawled on the floor.
Ezio backed away, withdrawing his blades with a soft click. He was unable to find words.
Ezio turned and made for the window, undoing the catch and slipping out, silently.
He didn't look back.
Ezio shifted his weight, carefully, as to not disturb anything on the windowsill. All was dark in the room, save for the last dying embers of the fire; even the moon in the night sky casted more light, silhouetting him against the window. Once he was inside, he would be entirely cloaked by the shadows.
The floors creaked the slightest bit under his boots, and he closed the window behind him with a soft click of the latch.
Borgia's form was easy to pick out, amongst the voluminous blankets of his bed, just an old man with a head of short gray hair and deep-set wrinkles. He didn't seem to hold the same magnitude that he had held when he was pontificating over the journal earlier; without that deep, commanding voice, he was just an old man, asleep in his bed.
It felt cheap, to kill Borgia in his sleep, but Ezio didn't want to risk a scene. There was no point in a high-profile assassination when no man in this castle, other than him, had ever borne a personal grudge against him. Doing it alone also meant it was about their conflict alone: just Ezio and his enemy.
Ezio approached the bedside, raising an arm. He flexed his wrist, purposefully, and the blade on his forearm slid out with a low, metallic ring.
Now, or never.
"You could have just requested an audience, assassin," Borgia said.
Ezio froze. Borgia didn't move, and in the darkness, Ezio couldn't see where Borgia was looking. He didn't dare even breathe, but Borgia obviously knew he was right there, leaning over the bed with a blade, lit only by the smallest glint of light.
"What's wrong?" Borgia continued, in that deep rumble, when Ezio hesitated too long. "Something must be troubling you, or else you wouldn't have stood over me for so long, just watching. You would have just killed me."
Goaded, Ezio willed himself to move, and he reached down with his bladeless hand to seize Borgia by the throat. He shifted his weight, hard, and though Borgia struggled, he couldn't throw off Ezio's weight against his neck. Ezio kept him pinned, other arm raised, poised to strike.
"This is for my family," Ezio growled.
"Wait," Borgia implored, barely above a whisper. Ezio strained to hear desperation in the man's voice, to hear some sign that Borgia was no longer in control, but there was none. Even like this, Rodrigo Borgia spoke as if all the power was in his hands. Borgia continued: "What have I done to your family?"
Anger hit Ezio like a sack of bricks to the gut, and he grew impulsive with it. He seized Borgia by the front of his clothes and dragged him from his bed. Borgia cried out in surprise, and again when his body hit the floor, and Ezio hauled him into the moonlight and shook him, violently.
"My family!? What have you done to my family?!" he snarled, "You're a poor liar, old man."
"With God as my witness, I do not know!" Borgia implored, gripping Ezio's wrists. Ezio shook him again. "You are the Florentine, correct? There is none other here invested in my business."
"Don't act clever," Ezio snapped. He dropped Borgia, brusquely, before reaching up to drag back his hood, revealing his face. "You knew from the moment we first spoke that I would make an attempt on your life."
"Interesting wording," Borgia replied, that sneer creeping into his voice, even as Ezio stood over him. "Evidently you have reason to believe you won't follow through. Use your reason, boy, let your head follow what your heart already knows! You would not kill a man who is oblivious to his crimes. What point would it serve?"
"You're lying," Ezio snarled. "You know! How could you forget?!"
Borgia was looking up at him, indomitable and unflinching, yet so confused –– he seemed to search Ezio's face for an answer, trying to understand why Ezio would be driven to kill him. Ezio knew that Borgia was trying to manipulate him, yet he couldn't see a shred of understanding on Borgia's face. How could it be that Rodrigo Borgia knew nothing of the Auditore, or their fall?
Did Borgia really know nothing?
"Perhaps there has been some confusion," Borgia said. "This place is full of magic... witchcraft. Someone has misled you, boy."
"What cause would they have to mislead me?"
Borgia shook a finger at him, managing to stay on the offensive. "What cause would I have to lie to you?"
Ezio tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Borgia was right, in a sense. There was no reason to lie to him, or to try to convince him that his understanding of history was somehow false. He'd seen his father and his brothers and their execution, what purpose would it serve to try to convince him otherwise? Borgia's involvement was the only thing that could be false, yet he thought he had known of Borgia's true involvement.
Could he have been wrong? Was it even possible?
No, he decided. No, he couldn't be wrong. Borgia was trying to pull something, here, but Ezio had no idea what.
Yet he couldn't kill the only man who had answers for him. He felt like he was going to throw up.
Borgia just watched him, breathing hard, expression critical, still sprawled on the floor.
Ezio backed away, withdrawing his blades with a soft click. He was unable to find words.
Ezio turned and made for the window, undoing the catch and slipping out, silently.
He didn't look back.