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Paradisa, unknown
In many ways, Cesare Borgia is a growing cancer, difficult to contain and even harder to eradicate.
While Ezio can never forget who he's speaking to or the context of their relationship, he can often push from his mind the thought that Cesare Borgia will grow to be a tyrant. This young man is very much like Ezio was in his early twenties: eyes opened wide to the cruelty and injustice of the world, running with an opportunity to gain power, fumbling but acquiring the skills necessary to achieve their goals. Applying these new skills to furthering the goals of his family.
The key difference, of course, is that Ezio wants to build a better world for everyone, and Cesare wants to build a better world for himself.
Ezio is acutely aware that someday, he will make a concentrated attack on his young man's life. It won't be a sparring match or a game of fisticuffs or a challenge to entertain Lucrezia. It will be ruthless, intentional, and remorseless. He will extend his blade, slice Cesare's flesh from bone, draw pools of blood, and ultimately stop Cesare Borgia's heart.
Maybe it will be tomorrow. Maybe it will be in months. Maybe it will be in years, even decades, when Cesare is no longer a boy and Ezio is an old man.
He doesn't know.
"Of all the people who fight in our style, you're the most talented," Cesare says to him, frustrated. "You'll teach boys, you'll teach little girls, you'll teach my sister, but you will not teach me? Why not?"
Ezio turns his eyes to Cesare, expression critical. For a moment, he is silent.
"Why do you want to learn from me? You don't even like me much."
"Precisely because you will not," Cesare replies, unimpressed. "Few others here are similar to us in war and combat, and it perplexes me that you would teach countless others but not teach me."
"Why? Because you're the Borgia Prince and you've gotten everything else in your life handed to you on a silver platter? I have no interest in teaching you, boy," Ezio says, simply.
"Do you require your students sleep with you?" Cesare sneers.
Ezio just smirks. "Do you think I've slept with your sister, then?"
Cesare's shoulders tense and his hands suddenly seem restless at his sides. Frustration seems to roll off him, like sweat across his skin, and Ezio is acutely aware of how the little space between him will afford him no protection in a potential fight.
Cesare's tone is a practiced sort of malicious and warning.
"If you have, Florentine, I will bar you from ever seeing her again."
Ezio pushes himself to his feet, languid and relaxed. He laughs, dismissively.
"And how do you intend to stop me, without training?"
The two young men regard each other for a moment, and Cesare's dark eyes narrow, expression souring. It is precisely at that moment that the door to the apartment opens, and there is Lucrezia and Stephanie, armed with numerous bags from their shopping trip.
"Cesare!" Lucrezia gushes immediately, thrilled. "You should see what Stephanie and I have bought from the market!"
Cesare tears his eyes away from Ezio, who is smiling. Later, his eyes say.
In many ways, Cesare Borgia is a growing cancer, difficult to contain and even harder to eradicate.
While Ezio can never forget who he's speaking to or the context of their relationship, he can often push from his mind the thought that Cesare Borgia will grow to be a tyrant. This young man is very much like Ezio was in his early twenties: eyes opened wide to the cruelty and injustice of the world, running with an opportunity to gain power, fumbling but acquiring the skills necessary to achieve their goals. Applying these new skills to furthering the goals of his family.
The key difference, of course, is that Ezio wants to build a better world for everyone, and Cesare wants to build a better world for himself.
Ezio is acutely aware that someday, he will make a concentrated attack on his young man's life. It won't be a sparring match or a game of fisticuffs or a challenge to entertain Lucrezia. It will be ruthless, intentional, and remorseless. He will extend his blade, slice Cesare's flesh from bone, draw pools of blood, and ultimately stop Cesare Borgia's heart.
Maybe it will be tomorrow. Maybe it will be in months. Maybe it will be in years, even decades, when Cesare is no longer a boy and Ezio is an old man.
He doesn't know.
"Of all the people who fight in our style, you're the most talented," Cesare says to him, frustrated. "You'll teach boys, you'll teach little girls, you'll teach my sister, but you will not teach me? Why not?"
Ezio turns his eyes to Cesare, expression critical. For a moment, he is silent.
"Why do you want to learn from me? You don't even like me much."
"Precisely because you will not," Cesare replies, unimpressed. "Few others here are similar to us in war and combat, and it perplexes me that you would teach countless others but not teach me."
"Why? Because you're the Borgia Prince and you've gotten everything else in your life handed to you on a silver platter? I have no interest in teaching you, boy," Ezio says, simply.
"Do you require your students sleep with you?" Cesare sneers.
Ezio just smirks. "Do you think I've slept with your sister, then?"
Cesare's shoulders tense and his hands suddenly seem restless at his sides. Frustration seems to roll off him, like sweat across his skin, and Ezio is acutely aware of how the little space between him will afford him no protection in a potential fight.
Cesare's tone is a practiced sort of malicious and warning.
"If you have, Florentine, I will bar you from ever seeing her again."
Ezio pushes himself to his feet, languid and relaxed. He laughs, dismissively.
"And how do you intend to stop me, without training?"
The two young men regard each other for a moment, and Cesare's dark eyes narrow, expression souring. It is precisely at that moment that the door to the apartment opens, and there is Lucrezia and Stephanie, armed with numerous bags from their shopping trip.
"Cesare!" Lucrezia gushes immediately, thrilled. "You should see what Stephanie and I have bought from the market!"
Cesare tears his eyes away from Ezio, who is smiling. Later, his eyes say.