Chapter Text

‘Rinascita’

Chapter 1; A Simple Message

When Desmond touched the Orb in the Temple, it was supposed to be the end for him.

That is what Minervra had told him. 

Touching the Orb would mean stopping the solar flare from ending the world as Desmond knew it and dying in the process. It would release Juno, which was a very bad idea but it also stopped countless people from dying. For now at least. There was a good chance that the one’s Desmond left behind would not succeed in stopping her. Minerva had warned him of that too.

But Desmond had faith in the abilities of the followers of the Creed. After all, if he made it as far as he had, then better trained and more competent Assassins would surely succeed where he failed.

It was a risk, but it was one Desmond chose to make.

His measly and unimpressive life in exchange for countless ones. Desmond did not believe his life was worth all that much. He barely did anything of importance. 

The start of his life was painful and difficult. His father tried to train him but went too far time and time again. It was a brutal time. No child should be treated so cruelly, son of the current Mentor of the Creed or not. Hiding was difficult, being chased by the enemies of the Creed became unbearable.

So Desmond had left. He fled in the dead of night with the goal to never return. He lived in New York, picked up odd jobs to get by and somehow managed to get a job as a bartender despite being underaged. He lived in a crappy apartment trying to make his ‘dreams’ happen. 

How painfully naive of him to think that he could escape or that his dreams would be feasible.

Nine years of relative peace before being dragged back into the endless battle between the Templars and the Assassins.

Being kidnapped and forced into undergoing an experimental procedure was not exactly the life Desmond had dreamt of. 

The Animus drove Desmond into a state of instability. Some would call it insanity– Desmond himself would– but none of the others liked that term.

Confusion caused by the double edge of the Bleeding Effect. On one hand, it allowed Desmond to learn skills he could never dream of learning outside of the Animus, on the other hand he was dealing with visual and auditory hallucinations.

A prisoner without prospect, trapped in a machine that was slowly driving him insane the longer he used it. 

Even when he was freed from the grasp of the Templars, it did not save him from the Animus. To stop the Templars, the Pieces of Eden needed to be located and secured. It felt like Desmond escaped one prison only to end up in a gilded cage.

The illusion of being free while still being stuck in the damned machine. But Desmond went in willingly. Or at least, that is what he told himself time and time again. The Bleeding Effect made him a competent climber and a decent fighter. It also made him see visions of things that were not there, glimpses of the past he was reliving through his ancestor’s eyes.

Hallucinations that lasted longer than the ‘normal’, nightmares whenever he slept– and sleeping was rare considering the lengthy hours he spent inside the Animus.

Desmond’s life had been over a long time before he sacrificed himself.

Touching the Orb was his choice. It was his first choice since being captured by the Templars. He chose to sacrifice whatever shell was left of him because it would be his choice rather than anyone else’s. 

It burned. 

It scorched Desmond the moment his hand rested on top of the Orb. The burning had seeped into his skin, crawling up from his palm all the way to his shoulder and then towards his heart. It followed his veins like a guide.

The burning was unbearable and lingered.

Then everything went black. It was supposed to be the end, his end, but Desmond did not die. He did not perish when he touched the Orb. His life ended there, but he was not dead.

Instead he opened his eyes again.

—----------------------

There was something about the Renaissance that was both incredibly overwhelming as well as painfully familiar.

In many ways, it felt like home. In other ways, it was nothing like Desmond had expected it to be.

The Animus was not entirely accurate in its depiction of the time. It left some things out and changed others but it was definitely close enough for Desmond to get by. Rome was very different from how it was in Desmond’s time but the layout was mostly the same as were the larger buildinging like the colosseum and the Vatican.

Waking up in the Temple underneath the colosseum was unnerving.

Because Desmond knew it. He recognised the inner room all too well. 

It had him confused. It made Desmond believe it had all been a bad dream. That he was still underneath Villa Auditore, hiding from the Templars while spending countless hours inside the Animus. 

Only when he got out of the Temple and got to the surface did he realise that this was not the case. 

That he was not Ezio Auditore but Desmond Miles. 

The sky looked too real. The people were nothing like the handful of different designs he had gotten used to seeing. The horses didn’t walk funny. 

And Desmond was not invisible to the crowds. He could not blend in. Because unlike Ezio who could blend in to a certain extent– despite his white robes standing out like a sore thumb on occasion– Desmond’s clothing were far too unfamiliar to be able to blend in.

People stared as Desmonnd wandered, completely entranced by what he was seeing rather than noticing the eyes on him.

It was only when guards started yelling at him that he realised he was not exactly in a fortunate position.

This was not just Heavy Bleeding, like Desmond experienced the past few weeks, this was real. 

Terrified at the implications, Desmond did what he had been taught to do best.

He hid.

For the first few nights, Desmond mostly just hid inside one of the many church towers. Trying to understand what happened. How he got here. How he was still alive. Half of him still feared this was another hallucination. The Bleeding Effect had given him lengthy hallucinations before and a part of Desmond expected to wake up at any moment.

But minutes turned into hours, hours into days and days into a week. 

A full week in Renaissance Italy without a vision or hallucination of any kind. A week of wandering the streets and markets and observing the city from above. The longer it went on, the more Desmond started to realise that this was not in his head. This was real.

Sometime during that week he managed to get his hands on some attire that would blend in better. Nothing fancy, just so people stopped looking.

It made obtaining money for food easier too.

Money worked differently. There weren’t just florins but many other coins. It made things more complicated since Desmond had no idea what each coin was worth. Pick-pocketing some richer folk was easy and it allowed him to buy food.

He bathed often during the first week. Getting dirty was painfully easy and knowing the type of diseases that were around at this time, Desmond knew better than to test his immune system by getting sick. There would be no modern medicine to save his life. 

It still felt like he was spectating rather than actually living. Like he was currently Ezio Auditore rather than Desmond Miles. 

Every night, Desmond stared at his hands, they were scarred, lines travelling up his arms and to his heart. They ached, still stinging with the burn and while it was less intense it was still present. Light lines on his skin which held an undertone of gold but otherwise looked like normal scars. 

Desmond had bought gloves to hide his hands because of it. Relearning the art of blending into crowds came naturally. Desmond kept his hood drawn most of the time. He still wore his hoodie but he had covered it with robes which fitted with the time. They felt like a knock off version of Ezio’s robes but Desmond was not complaining.

It felt like life lived him, following his feet wherever they went, buying or stealing food whenever he was hungry, ducking into alleyways to avoid guards and assassins alike– Desmond felt like a ghost.

He liked listening to locals. Whether it was important conversations or simple gossip. How Desmond could understand the language was anyone’s guess but he could understand the locals as much as they could understand him. He spoke Italian fluently without even a day of studying.

At the end of the first week, he had found an upgraded outer robe with a nice big hood. It lacked the typical assassin-beak but then again, that might be in Desmond's favour. He had also found a particular tower he liked to stay in which was near a river so he could bathe and close enough to a market so he could have easy access to food.

It was then that Desmond started to branch out.

He started to explore Rome again, noting important structures and locations. Whatever he could remember. Desmond looked at where Ezio’s allies were set up, scouting without daring to draw close to Tiber Island. Somehow walking up to the headquarters of the Brotherhood did not seem like such a good idea.

Desmond wandered everyday, moving further from ‘his’ tower as he got more comfortable with moving around the city.

The Borgia occupation had not vanished completely. There were still watch towers in some districts but most had been liberated. Half the city centre was under the control of the Assassins.

And it was hardly a secret.

Locals whispered about it often but none of them seemed awfully upset by the Borgia being driven out of their city. While opinions on the Assassins varied, no one seemed to like the Borgia and they could agree on the fact that it was good to see them driven away.

Desmond was content not to get involved. 

After all, history had already been written. Ezio might still be in the middle of his mission but Desmond knew he would succeed. 

He just kept his head low. Desmond avoided eye contact with the merchants he bought food from. He kept his gaze turned to the ground, knowing that there were Assassins keeping an eye on the crowds from the rooftops. They were blue when Desmond activated his Eagle Vision. He wondered if they had Eagle Vision too, and what colour Desmond would show up in if they happened to spot him. He had seen them walking through the streets and witnessed a few assassinations. He saw enough to know they were keeping a tight grip on the district. Any oddities would be reported.

Which was bad because Desmond was a walking oddity. He knew deep down that this would likely get a continuation in the near future and–

“Oehf!”

“Ah! Cazzo ! Be more careful, friend.”

That voice.

Of course. Desmond’s cursed luck struck again. 

He had run straight into Leonardo da Vinci and knocked the poor man to the ground. “... Scusi… ”

“No matter, no matter, help me up.”

Reaching down, Desmond held his hand out for Leonardo to take and pulled the man to his feet.

Leonardo grabbed onto his arm and Desmond frowned a moment as he watched the man’s eyes widen as he gripped tighter for a moment before letting go again. Once Leonardo was back on his feet he looked at Desmond for a long moment, “Right, now what had you in such a hurry, friend?”

“I am very sorry for running into you.” Desmond replied rather than explaining, “Excuse me–”

“Hold on. You look rather well able. Could you spare a moment to help me? To make up for knocking me over.” Leonardo asked, already taking Desmond’s arm to pull him along. “You see, I have this painting but it is too heavy for me to move alone and without an apprentice I need some aid. Could you spare me the time?”

“No–”

“ Benissimo ! Come, this way.” Leonardo grinned, “What is your name? I am known as Leonardo da Vinci.”

“...Dominico…” Desmond lied.

—---------------------

It did not take ‘a moment’.

Leonardo had Desmond help him with errands all day. It was not like he had much better to do but the connection between Leonardo and the Brotherhood was lingering in the back of Desmond’s mind as he moved boxes through Leonardo’s workshop. 

They had lunch and dinner together upon Leonardo’s insistence, which was by far the best food Desmond had eaten in a while. By the time it was starting to get dark that they were finishing up.

“–All I am saying, friend, is that you would be more than welcome to work for me on occasion. I could use the help. For appropriate pay, of course.”

“I am not fit for such work.” Desmond replied, lifting more heavy boxes to move them to their new place. “Where do these go?”

“Just over there.” Leonardo pointed to the back of the workshop, following Desmond. “You can read, no?”

“I can.”

“See? Perfect for becoming my apprentice.”

To his surprise, Leonardo pulled them both behind some crates as he loudly instructed Desmond while motioning him to set the crate down. Desmond obeyed and frowned as he was handed an envelope. 

“Deliver this to Rosa in Fiore. I will be in your debt, Assassino.” Leonardo whispered before continuing his story as if nothing happened.

Feeling his eye twitch a bit, Desmond pocketed the envelope and felt like hitting himself.

If the Borgia were still around, then it was not a reach to say that Leonardo was still under their control. Depending on the stage of Ezio’s Liberation of Rome, Leonardo had probably not been able to find Ezio and Ezio did not know to seek him out.

But why trust a stranger to deliver a message–

Halting for a moment, Desmond looked at his hand, seeing the gauntlets strapped around his wrist and realised just why. 

Word of Ezio’s Assassins must have spread far and wide. Desmond happened to wear a Hidden Blade. Leonardo had constructed plenty of Hidden Blades and likely knew them in and out. 

That’s why he looked so shocked when he let Desmond pull him to his feet. And that is probably why he seemed so eager to get Desmond roped into being his apprentice. It must be lonely, being isolated from his friends and allies only to work for the enemy.

Desmond remembered how desperate Leonardo had looked when he first managed to approach Ezio.

Of course the man would take the first chance to send a message through an Assassin. Desperation and hope likely drove Leonardo to trust a complete stranger on the chance that their hidden blade meant that they were involved with Ezio.

Cursing at his luck and his conscience being unable to deny the kindred Leonardo da Vince, Desmond resigned himself to do the task. 

“I shall take my leave now, Leonardo.”

“Ah, what a shame.” Leonardo grimaced, “Well, at least we got some work done.” 

“That we did.” Desmond agreed.

“Be sure to fly by whenever.” Leonardo replied.

Resigned, Desmond nodded, “If I am nearby.”

Finally able to escape the desperate inventor, Desmond mentally groaned the moment he sensed a presence following him. A glance behind told him they were Borgia guards, likely tailing whoever visited Leonardo. 

Desmond could not kill them without getting Leonardo in trouble. It meant losing them in the crowd.

Not a tough task in the slightest but Desmond had to be careful to make it look natural. Like he was not trying to lose them but it happened because of the crowd. Luckily, Rome had a decent nightlife. 

When Desmond was sure they could not find him anymore, he started to head into the direction of the brothel Leonardo asked him to go to. 

Just a messenger.

That was all.

Desmond was just a messenger.

He would buy a drink to blend in, wait for a courtesan to give him a sliver of attention and hand the note over. Then he would leave. 

Easy.

Plan in place, Desmond made his way to the brothel which was quickly growing more and more popular. 

It was bustling when Desmond arrived. Many men were flirting shamelessly while working ladies did their jobs. Desmond merely nodded respectfully as he passed the ladies to enter the establishment and found a booth in a corner.

Due to Ezio, Desmond was not exactly new to the scene though he had little interest in buying the ladies’ time. Unlike many, Desmond preferred a connection with his partners, one that was hard to form in only a few hours.

Settling down, Desmond smiled politely at the courtesan who approached and ordered a drink from her, handing her some extra coins since he was wasting her time in some way. 

When she returned with the mead Desmond ordered, she flirted, “Looking to spend the night, Signore ? My name is Paula.” 

“I am not seeking pleasure, Signora Paula ,” Desmond showed the note, the name ‘Maria Auditore’ visible, “Is your Madame in?” 

“ Si Signore, ” The courtesan straightened and nodded, “I will go find her for you.”

“ Bene, grazie Signora. ” Desmond held out some more money before sitting back again and observing his surroundings. 

He was getting looks from the working ladies. Long thoughtful looks as the courtesan spoke with them briefly. 

Some of them approached but Desmond politely declined their attention. Each of them looked slightly surprised when Desmond called them signora and the looks did not go away. They were used to crude comments, not polite conversation. But Desmond liked to think he had some manners and was not a total asshole.

He was halfway through his cup of mead when Paula returned, “Follow me, Signore .”

Downing the rest of his drink, Desmond followed Paula and let her take his hand to guide him through the crowd. They headed up the stairs and Paula opened a door, stepping in and pulling Desmond in with her. 

The office they had walking in looked rather humble compared to the rest of the building. A simple room with a desk filled with stacks of paper and bundles of money. The walls were covered in paintings but lacked much other decoration besides the colourful carpet and the wallpaper.

Behind the desk sat none other than Maria Auditore, writing with a quill as she glanced at Desmond.

“ Grazie, Signora Paula .” Desmond gently lifted the hand still holding his and raising it politely before letting go. “ Saluti, Madonna Auditore. ”

“ Ciao stranger.” Maria replied, “Paula said you had a message for me?”

“ Si ,” Desmond nodded, fishing the envelope from his pocket. “I was asked to deliver it to your establishment.”

“By whom?” Maria asked, setting her quill down before accepting the envelope. Her eyes widening as she looked at the handwriting on the envelope told Desmond she already knew.

“Leonardo da Vinci.” Desmond replied, “I shall leave you to read it.”

“You ought to wait, to deliver a reply.” Maria insisted but Desmond shook his head.

“I am no messenger, simply looking out for a new acquaintance.” Desmond replied, " Buonanotte, Madonna. ”

Before Maria could protest, Desmond let himself out and headed down the stairs and out the door before vanishing into the night.

—----------------------