Chapter Text
Maria Auditore da Firenze was once a proud and sophisticated woman, able to garner respect, admiration, and envy wherever she ventured. When she entered a room, people noticed her. When she spoke, people would listen. Truly, Maria was remarkable to many, even if culture dictated that this was abnormal.
The woman moved with confidence and grace, even in the confines of nobility and womanhood. Truly, Claudia admired her mother. The one she remembers. As a child, she often looked up to her mother, seeing her as the perfect example of how a woman should be. Whenever her mother was around, Claudia knew she had the situation in hand.
Claudia’s memories of the woman her mother was might be clouded, only seen through rose-tinted glass, but they were important to her. If she lost sight of how Maria existed before the execution of half her family, then she would lose yet another family member.
Already, the images of her father and brothers grow blurry. Memories of a beautiful childhood were not overwritten with new moments with her family, as was the norm. Instead, they were the only memories in her mind of them. Claudia can write down her thoughts, trace her brother’s face, or read her father's journals, but time is cruel, and she knows that when she is old and grey, she might not even remember their faces.
She might forget that her father's warm brown eyes would glint yellow in the proper lighting, or that Petruccio preferred green clothing so as not to make him look paler than he already was, or the way Frederico would grin when he succeeded in riling up any of his younger siblings.
And while her mother’s body is alive, her mind is a different story. If Claudia were to forget her lively personality and regal bearing, she would, in a way, be losing her mother completely as well.
Claudia… understands.
The horrific loss of two of her brothers and her father was hard on her, too, after all. But Maria had truly loved her husband and all her children, and when they were so cruelly ripped away from her, and her life was upended, she broke into little pieces. In the aftermath, when Ezio returned with grave news, Maria could not cope.
Claudia thinks that her mother doesn’t want to.
Is it an unfair thought? Ezio certainly thinks that, as when Claudia once shared her thoughts, he grew upset with her. But Claudia finds herself believing more and more each day that her mother does not want to heal or move past the murder of half of her family.
And Claudia does not blame her.
Sometimes, Claudia wonders how she was able to, or if she was able to at all. It seems that way, to her. After all, she wakes up each morning without trouble, goes to attend to her duty in Monteriggioni, socializes with her friends and business partners, and eats full, healthy meals when needed. She does not weep for her family anymore, even when Ezio is far away and hasn’t returned, or when her mother doesn’t eat for an entire day, or even when she finds a lovely downy feather.
But she thinks of them throughout her day. She wonders what her father would think about her choices, knowing that he had intended for her to be a wife and not a banker, and certainly not the pseudo-assassin she was turning out to be. Would he be proud of the progress she had made?
Would he understand the choices she has made, and will continue to make, in an effort to keep her remaining family and responsibilities afloat? She thinks that he would be sad that she was forced into this position, after all, Claudia’s true dream was to raise a family. Always had been, and admittedly, still is.
But he would be proud, she thinks. Claudia was blessed to know, with conviction, that her father loved her very much and would have stood by her no matter what. Some don’t have that, so she should be grateful.
Claudia thinks about Frederico and whether he would be a good assassin like their brother. Would he also be gone all the time? Chasing ghosts and leaving bodies in his wake? Would he have gone down that path to spare Ezio from that life? They both knew, even back then, that Ezio was soft and loving.
Petruccio… would he even be alive? He had been sickly all his life, and it was not likely to change. He was not given much time to live in the first place, most likely to pass away before he reached adulthood. But it would be fate, right? It would have been a sweet relief and not a brutal execution.
With the medical information she has now, she knows that there would not be a cure to his affliction even now.
Claudia grows weary as she goes through her day-to-day activities.
Can she honestly say that she has moved on?
Caught between the future and the past, Claudia thinks she can understand her mother more than anyone. Ezio was intelligent, yes, but matters of the heart continue to evade him. Or rather, he has begun to avoid them as the years pass, and vengeance has still not been sated.
Ezio doesn’t have the capacity to truly explore his feelings or feel empathy for their mother the way Claudia does, not that she blames him. He’s on his own road now, one she had been too young to either steer him away from or join him on, having been just a lost child herself.
In the early days of their new life paths, they had been alone. They had not known their uncle well, if at all, and their mother was not there to comfort them and keep them together. Adrift, they had ventured away from each other, turning to other means of stability and coping.
Ezio went on his quest for vengeance, choosing to never stay in one place too long, lest he lose his targets. He lost himself in bloodshed and sex, never settling and never giving up. She worries about what will become of him when his goal is achieved.
Claudia threw herself into managing Monteriggioni, as in those early days, it was an absolute mess. While she had not been educated as her older brothers were, she was still the daughter of a banker and had picked up many things. Sometimes, when Ezio returned, she would ask him for advice, but often she had to rely on her wits and intuition.
Truly, now in hindsight, she wonders how she did it. Her brother didn’t just give up on them, completely, anyways, as he sent a truly wondrous amount of money at every opportunity. But you can have money, that doesn’t mean you automatically have order and an economy.
‘14 years old and inheriting a mercenary stronghold,’ she thinks wryly.
Claudia had made Monteriggioni her project, something to keep her mind off the loneliness and grief. It had certainly changed her from the vapid and viperous girl of her youth, but perhaps nothing like her mother.
Did Claudia command attention? Did people listen to her when she spoke? Was her word trusted and respected, carried out with confidence in her integrity as a leader?
Uncle Mario would say yes. Ezio, though he is hardly present, would agree. Her assistant (dear, loyal Annetta) would look at her as though she were stupid for questioning it. The head of the guard (with his tousled hair and stupidly broad shoulders) would agree without hesitation.
Then why does she not feel that way? Why does she not live up to the expectations in her own modelled after her mother?
Claudia sighs, finding her way to her office window and peering out. At this time of night, many were already sleeping, or, in the case of the baker and other tradesmen, about to wake up. Claudia had many responsibilities, or so she told herself.
(She did, actually, as Mario had little to no hand in anything that didn’t concern his mercenaries or the strongholds defences. But she should be in bed sleeping already.)
The woman considers her mother.
Perhaps it is because her mother is still here, yet not. She cannot tell herself that her mother would be proud of her; she cannot tell herself that her mother would approve of her actions or support her regardless. Maria is right there in the other room, hopefully sleeping.
But Mother does not tell her that she’s proud of her or that she loves her, regardless. Mother wakes up with no expression, weakly going through the motions of being assisted with being dressed and fed the morning meal. Mother sits in her room, wherever she had been placed that day, and either stares into nothingness or keeps her eyes closed. She might fiddle with her hands or cry silently, but she hardly acknowledges anyone around her.
Claudia might clutch at her dress, a bottle of wine discarded on the ground beside them, as she yells at the woman to look at her or do anything at all. Maria Auditore da Firenze will close her eyes and shake, and Mario will have to pick Claudia up and escort her to her rooms, hushing and soothing in a way that doesn’t resemble her father.
Maria Auditore is a shell of her former self, identity stripped away by grief and terror. Her once regal bearing is weary and frail. Her strong presence is diminished, and sometimes, she can almost blend into the furniture.
The only thing that positively affects her mother is receiving yet another feather from one of her children… followed by a deep melancholy.
Claudia and Ezio fought recently because of it. Claudia didn’t want to bring their mother any more grief than necessary, and suggested that they stop collecting feathers for their dead brothers’ collection. Ezio had a fit, of course.
He argued that the brief moments of happiness were enough to justify continuing the tradition.
Claudia insisted that the sadness which followed negated whatever positive reaction their mother would have had.
Ezio left an hour later.
Claudia went back to her office, and life continued.
Now, Claudia stands in her office by the window, contemplating the usual. She wonders if Ezio even makes time for himself to think about their family in the way she does, and not just about their vengeance. He might break if he does, in her opinion.
Claudia wants her mother to get better. She wants it more than she wants most things, but unfortunately, there aren’t many ways to go about it. Many doctors have tried bloodletting, balancing the humours, running baths and praying and-
Well, nothing came of it all.
Nothing positive, at least.
Her mother was pale and sickly after the bloodletting, so Claudia never tried it again. Her mother was more relaxed after that bathing and the prayers, but not to a substantial degree.
Even Leonardo didn’t have a cure, and that man was the most intelligent she had ever met. Once her mother’s young artistic acquaintance, then Ezio’s good friend, and now her own. They often find time to have tea and snacks these days.
Leonardo, while not one of Maria’s sons, cared about her and wanted to see her in good health, but even he was stumped by the mysteries of the mind. Some of the mercenaries had likened it to battle fatigue (or battle sickness, “weakness”, madness, etc), which Leonardo had been very curious about. Nevertheless, it hadn’t amounted to anything.
“Society isn’t quite ready to understand the human mind, not with our current way of life, I believe,” Leonardo had quietly admitted one night, “Many mental afflictions are contributed to spiritual imbalances, possession, and moral failing. I believe it is a bodily affliction, and something that could be cured, but the resources…”
He had mumbled a few more things, things that Claudia had lost, but she understood.
Doctors, priests, artists… No one had the answer. None of the professionals she had come across, either in person or in literature, had an answer that felt quite right. After so long, she began to believe there was no cure.
Claudia closes her eyes, trying to stay in the moment and not get lost in thought any longer. It was hard, but she had to sleep.
She opens her eyes, lazily gazing over the darkened courtyard and roofs of the people she called hers. She had a responsibility.
One which became more complicated in the next second.
A small body, crawling up the staircase which leads to her villa, slowly makes its way through the night. It’s obviously that of a child, one who found it easier to clamber up the stairs on all fours instead of walking normally, as they were rather tall. When the child gets to the top, they stand on shaky legs, looking around.
Claudia frowns. She knows her people, and she doesn’t know anyone who has a child this age. Understandably, not many had children, and those who did were older. No one wanted to have a child in an unstable environment such as Monteriggioni had been, nor did the mercenaries want to take in their children before a certain age (or a specific gender). When she and Ezio had successfully lured tradesmen and new citizens, they had come without children, or those older than this.
It was only lately that couples were bringing more children into the world, but as far as she knew, there were only two infants in the town. She, sitting in the center of a web of informants, had not heard of anyone having family visiting, nor of any new families.
Perhaps it had happened late in the day, and she would be hearing about it in the morning, but regardless, there was currently a child peering into the training ring out in the middle of the night.
Claudia sighs and fixes her hair a smidge before walking down to greet the child. On the way, she knocks on Annetta’s door, hoping that the woman is still awake.
Of course, she is. Right, she would be waking to attend to her duties..
“My lady?” Annetta murmurs through the crack of the door, probably still dressing.
“I apologize for disturbing you, but there is a young child outside. Could you prepare some food and a blanket while I bring them in?”
Annetta, used to strange things, says, “As you wish, my lady,” and the door fully closes.
Claudia considers the woman a friend, but the other prefers to maintain decorum whenever possible. It is only when Claudia needs a friend or when wine has warmed them sufficiently that Annetta drops formalities. It is through years of needling that Annetta doesn’t wait for her to be dismissed anymore, and so Claudia turns and heads for the doors.
When she exits, she finds the child almost right in front of the doors. He startles, having not expected the doors to be opened. Did he think that no one would notice him? She wonders if she has a little thief on her hands…
The boy tenses and blinks up at her with wide doe eyes. The lighting isn’t good at this time of night, but she thinks they are a brown colour. His hair is shaggy and in knots, his clothes hang from his small frame, and he looks rather hungry. On top of that, he seems far too young.
A beggar, perhaps. She doesn’t know anyone in her town who would have a child this uncared for.
Claudia has not spent much time around children. The only one she had had an extended amount of exposure to had been her brother, and he had been small due to his illness. But this one looks… astonishingly tiny.
“Um,” the boy starts, blinking owlishly at her, “Good evening.”
Claudia raises a brow, but greets him back, “Good morning, child. Who are your guardians, and why are you out here so… early?” The poor thing still looks startled.
“Oh uhh…” he trails off, scuffing his shoe against the ground, “I don’t have any- well… anymore.” Instead of sadness, as one would expect from losing their parents so young, he just looks awkward. Perhaps they have been gone for a long time (long enough for a child of his age, that is).
Now at a closer distance, she confirms that he is very young. Perhaps five or so? Far too young to survive on the streets, says her limited knowledge.
“I see,” she answers, “Would you like to come in?” she asks softly, or at least, she tries to. She thinks she succeeded, as he hasn’t run away yet. How does one talk to a child so young?
The boy bites his lips, looking like he would like nothing more than to enter her villa and the promise of shelter. His little fists clench at his sides, and he debates with himself on whether or not he should accept.
“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” he says anxiously, hands now fiddling with his clothes, if they can even be called that anymore. “I was just exploring…” he trails off, uncertain. Whether this is true or not, he needs food and shelter.
Claudia hums and opens the door enough so that he can go through. She doubts that he is an assassin or a diversion, as there are other, more efficient ways to succeed in such endeavours. Perhaps a spy?
“You would not be a bother. What kind of hostess would I be if I left you outside in the dark?” She says primly, motioning for the child to enter. He looks like he’s battling with himself, which looks… remarkably adorable on such a young face.
It looks familiar, somehow.
She ignores the pang in her chest.
If things had gone to plan, would her own child be this age?
She ignores the direction her thoughts are taking and stays still, waiting for the young one to make a decision.
Finally, he nods and meekly enters her villa.