a late wip wednesday
I recently played through AC Revelations for the first time in 6 years, and was very quickly reminded just how much I love the relationship between Ezio and Sofia (and especially how it's expanded upon in the novelisation of the game), so I very quickly whipped this up on Wednesday.... then forgot to post it lmao. I just love them, okay?
He falters in his purposeful stride through the park when he finally spots Sofia. She hasn’t noticed him yet, and so he takes the opportunity to just drink in her visage. She’s sat with her legs folded beneath her on a Persian rug, with various foods and wines in front of her, and— And he chuckles, because she’s surrounded by white tulips, the very same flowers she had asked him to fetch her. He hides his bunch behind his back as he approaches her.
At the sound of his soft footfalls on the rug, Sofia looks up at him with a smile, and his heart pounds. He smiles back, a touch confused and slightly taken aback. “What is this?”
“A gift. Sit.” He does so, but first he bows deferentially first and hands her the tulips he had gathered. He stretches out next to her, leaning up on one elbow, and he watches as her smile widens, and it feels like his heart is beating between his ears. “Che belli, grazie!” The woman next to him inhales their sweet scent deeply, before turning her head to look down at him. “I wanted to thank you for letting me play a small role in your adventure.”
Ezio smiles, pushing his hood down. It’s risky, revealing his face to the public — particularly in the wake of Tarik Barleti’s death at his hands, with the Janissaries after him — but he finds he doesn’t care. In Sofia’s company, he feels comfortable enough to let her see him sans hood. One strand of his greying black hair falls in front of his eyes. “A small role is enough for this adventure, believe me.”
Sofia laughs, looking away from him for a second and shaking her head as though she’s slightly exasperated with his consistent non-answers. “You are a mystery, Ezio Auditore.”
He pouts playfully, placing his free hand over his heart. “Mi dispiace. I do not mean to be.”
“It is fine,” Sofia says, then pauses. Her cheeks are pink, and she looks down at him, her teeth tugging on her lower lip. “È affascinante.”
His eyes widen slightly as he turns his head to look up at her. Her words ring in his head. It’s attractive. His breath catches in his throat, not wanting to celebrate prematurely, and he instead turns his focus to the food she’s laid out for them — a blend of foods from both of their hometowns: moleche and rixoto de gò from Venezia, and panzanella and salame toscano from Firenze; figs from Tuscolo and olives from Piceno; a dish of macaroni and turbot. It’s all paired with a Frescobaldi, a Toscano wine. “Sembra squisito.”
“Any luck with the final code?” he asks, though his mind is decidedly not focused on their work, and Sofia glances away with a smile.
“Ah, the code. Sì. I solved it many hours ago.” Ezio can’t help raising an eyebrow at this, amused that Sofia has clearly already fulfilled her end of their bargain and just sent him to collect tulips so that she could put this picnic together. “You will get it soon enough.” She looks back at him, then, and the emotion glittering in her eyes — oft touted as the window to a person’s soul — breaks down the last defences around his heart, his heart that pounds like a war drum in his chest. His eyes flit down to her lips, and he wonders how they would feel against his own. He does not act on his desires, however, instead allowing the woman who has captured his heart to pamper him.
The last person to do so had been Caterina Sforza, the eve of Cesare Borgia’s attack on Monteriggioni, but he holds no fondness for her now. Her sensual treatment of him had been for an ulterior purpose, to secure an alliance between the Assassins and her forces in Forlì — all thrown to the wind with her capture and the destruction of Villa Auditore. She was dead now, anyway, he remembers Machiavelli telling him of her death before his departure for Acre.
He has no such doubts as to Sofia’s intentions, because as much as she holds herself back, she wears her heart on her sleeve, and his heart thunders away in his chest at the juvenile hope that this time — just this once — his instincts are correct.