Assassin's Creed Chronos_Retribution (Ezio x OC)

13 - Omen

(Trigger warning disclaimer. Very dark, sensitive events happen here or are alluded to. You've been warned, and now you can't say I didn't warn you)

January 31, 1501

Rome, Italy

Night had fallen upon Roma during his venture through the catacombs, so the hour was late. The moon looked to be already halfway across the sky, for which he was both surprised and grateful for. It made appearing from a hidden walkway into the city much easier. For himself it was not such an ordeal, but on the way out from the Lair he had finally considered his wife's appearance. She wore a white wolf pelt, a bit worn and torn and stained with blood, and her armor was just as wild. Her blue tunic was tattered and ripped in places and had dark stains. She wore a white under shirt, and her pants were white as well, but looked old from use. Those, too, had stains. He couldn't help noticing she had an odor to her as well—one of a person who had not bathed in some time, but also of death; more than one should ever smell like.

Yet, that would have meant nothing to him over the fact he had his wife back—that is, if not for the silence. He had not noticed it at first, his overwhelming joy blinding him to it. As they ventured to the surface, though, and found mounts to ride back to the hideout, he began to take note. Since they had begun their trek home, Catherine had said nothing. She was quiet and when he looked back her face was impassive—except for her eyes. In those he saw an intensity he did not recognize. A strange, dark inferno that made him worry. The silence, though, was the worst. The mad, deafening silence.

Ezio forced himself to believe it was just his mind playing tricks. She had faced an ordeal he could not fathom, but the happiness she expressed in the catacombs had been real. The passion in their kiss had been real. This moment of silence simply had to be something else—perhaps she was just overcome with relief and maybe disbelief. Hell, he could scarcely believe this was real himself; to have his wife riding beside him on a horse to their new home. It didn't seem real at all. But it was. He knew it was. So he pushed the nagging feeling in his gut, and instead allowed his joy to return and overcome him.

After nearly a year of separation, they were together once more. That was all there was to think of. Or it should have been.

As such, the Assassin could not help frowning as his mind continued to linger upon his observations. Even when they came upon the island, the streets empty at such a late hour, he would glance back at Catherine on her mount, see her eyes essentially unblinking and ever forward. The questions swirled and swelled, but he did not give them sound as they dismounted. Rather, he came to her, brushing her cheek gently. A small amount of relief came to him when she leaned into his touch, but it faltered when she smiled. It was not sincere—or rather not fully. It lacked something. It did not reach her eyes like he remembered

For all the joy he had felt but perhaps an hour ago, Ezio began to worry.

"So, this is the new hideout?" she asked, her voice quiet, and still a bit hoarse. Her gaze went to the tall, stone building, and he nodded.

"Yes—it's bigger than it looks. Come, Diana's room is higher up, but we must go down to enter," he chuckled, holding out his hand to her. Again, her smile did not reach her eyes, but she took his hand, and joy came to him again. To have her fingers within his grasp was just too much for his worries to match, although they would be back.

"How has she been?" Catherine asked, following him as he tugged her within the stone fortress.

He looked back at her, a small smile on his own face, "She has missed you greatly... but she's kept busy with her studies. Machiavelli started her on them, and she's been keen to continue. She's as intelligent as you are."