AC2 Fic: Counting
Title: Counting
Rating:T
Characters:Ezio/Leonardo
Summary: Based off the carriage scene, where Ezio tells Leonardo to go on ahead and takes on a small army by himself.
One, two, three.
That’s easy enough. Not too many. Catch one, maybe two by surprise. Fight the last one honestly. Get back in the wagon without a scratch. Play the role of returning hero. Let Leonardo fuss over him until he’s sure he’s completely uninjured, then they could be on their way.
Four, five, six.
Ezio’s heart sank a little. Still, not so bad. Perhaps not escaping completely unscathed. Throwing knives take out the first two, kill the third soldier easily. Last three put up a fight. He’d still win though, and Leonardo would take care of him. Stitch up whatever small scrape he got and fuss over it like it was a mortal wound. Perhaps he’d try to kiss it better.
Seven, eight, nine.
Things were getting tricky now. Throwing knives, take one, maybe two by surprise, yes, yes. But then what? He was a clever fighter. He’d figure it out somehow. Steal the massive axe from the brute, use that to lodge in someone else’s brain. Take on the last couple with his sword. He’d almost certainly have real damage from that, but still nothing Leonardo couldn’t fix. He might be limping for a few days, but he’d be fine by the time they reached Venezia.
Then they rounded the corner, and Ezio lost count.
There was no getting out of this one. He would go down fighting, just like he’d always known he would. At least he was fighting to protect life, instead of to bring death. Maybe he’d be able to take enough of the soldiers with him before he fell that Leonardo could escape.
No. He was deluding himself. Leonardo, poor, innocent, wonderful Leonardo would die. Completely unarmed, he’d only have his hands to shield him from the cruel weapons. He’d be cut to pieces before he even had a chance to run.
“No.”
He said it aloud this time, and Leonardo’s head popped out of the wagon to see he was talking to. Flashing Leonardo a cocky, arrogant grin, he handed over the reins.
“Go, Leonardo,” he ordered. “They are here for me, not you. I’ll catch up with you later.
Leonardo looked like he might protest even as he took the reins, but Ezio didn’t give him the chance. Flashing him one last grin to assure the artist he’d be fine, Ezio jumped off the cart.
One, killed by his hidden blade as he landed. Two, his partner, cut down as Ezio stood up. So far, so good. Leonardo was nearly across the bridge now, and they weren’t chasing him. Ezio had said he would be fine, and that had been the truth. He had said he would catch up with him later, and it was a lie. He would die here, defending Leonardo. And so long as Leonardo escaped, it was a trade he was happy to make.
Three, throwing knife. Four, five and six. The pile of bodies grew and Ezio still stood. The last men fled, screaming for mercy or begging the Lord to protect them from the demon. Ezio sank to his knees in the blood and the gore and the death surrounding him and stared at his hands. He was alive. Wounded, but nothing fatal. Despite his expectations, Ezio had survived.
Grimacing, he limped over to a nearby stable and stole a horse. First walking, then cantering, he made his way towards Forli and the docks. After all, there was someone waiting for him there.
Just one, impossibly important person.
Rating:T
Characters:Ezio/Leonardo
Summary: Based off the carriage scene, where Ezio tells Leonardo to go on ahead and takes on a small army by himself.
One, two, three.
That’s easy enough. Not too many. Catch one, maybe two by surprise. Fight the last one honestly. Get back in the wagon without a scratch. Play the role of returning hero. Let Leonardo fuss over him until he’s sure he’s completely uninjured, then they could be on their way.
Four, five, six.
Ezio’s heart sank a little. Still, not so bad. Perhaps not escaping completely unscathed. Throwing knives take out the first two, kill the third soldier easily. Last three put up a fight. He’d still win though, and Leonardo would take care of him. Stitch up whatever small scrape he got and fuss over it like it was a mortal wound. Perhaps he’d try to kiss it better.
Seven, eight, nine.
Things were getting tricky now. Throwing knives, take one, maybe two by surprise, yes, yes. But then what? He was a clever fighter. He’d figure it out somehow. Steal the massive axe from the brute, use that to lodge in someone else’s brain. Take on the last couple with his sword. He’d almost certainly have real damage from that, but still nothing Leonardo couldn’t fix. He might be limping for a few days, but he’d be fine by the time they reached Venezia.
Then they rounded the corner, and Ezio lost count.
There was no getting out of this one. He would go down fighting, just like he’d always known he would. At least he was fighting to protect life, instead of to bring death. Maybe he’d be able to take enough of the soldiers with him before he fell that Leonardo could escape.
No. He was deluding himself. Leonardo, poor, innocent, wonderful Leonardo would die. Completely unarmed, he’d only have his hands to shield him from the cruel weapons. He’d be cut to pieces before he even had a chance to run.
“No.”
He said it aloud this time, and Leonardo’s head popped out of the wagon to see he was talking to. Flashing Leonardo a cocky, arrogant grin, he handed over the reins.
“Go, Leonardo,” he ordered. “They are here for me, not you. I’ll catch up with you later.
Leonardo looked like he might protest even as he took the reins, but Ezio didn’t give him the chance. Flashing him one last grin to assure the artist he’d be fine, Ezio jumped off the cart.
One, killed by his hidden blade as he landed. Two, his partner, cut down as Ezio stood up. So far, so good. Leonardo was nearly across the bridge now, and they weren’t chasing him. Ezio had said he would be fine, and that had been the truth. He had said he would catch up with him later, and it was a lie. He would die here, defending Leonardo. And so long as Leonardo escaped, it was a trade he was happy to make.
Three, throwing knife. Four, five and six. The pile of bodies grew and Ezio still stood. The last men fled, screaming for mercy or begging the Lord to protect them from the demon. Ezio sank to his knees in the blood and the gore and the death surrounding him and stared at his hands. He was alive. Wounded, but nothing fatal. Despite his expectations, Ezio had survived.
Grimacing, he limped over to a nearby stable and stole a horse. First walking, then cantering, he made his way towards Forli and the docks. After all, there was someone waiting for him there.
Just one, impossibly important person.