Chapter Text
Ezio does not know much about babies. Desmond is so small, barely the size of his forearm, with golden brown and skin and a small cap of fine black hair covering his head. Is he supposed to be that small? He is sleeping peacefully, as the goddess – as Desmond’s mother – had promised, but what of when he wakes?
Do gods eat as human’s do? And if they do, where is he to get milk? And clothing, blankets that are not the fine unearthly gold of the one he had arrived in, toys – a crib!
In a daze, Ezio walks from the Vault. Rodrigo Borgia is no longer in the chamber where he had left him, but the Papal staff stands where it is still set in the floor. With one arm still cradling Desmond to his chest, Ezio reaches out to grasp it.
It will not move, no matter how hard he pulls. And then, when it does, it is to sink into the ground, and bring the ground with it, until Ezio is in a crater, surrounded on all sides by high walls of the same strange metal the vault had been in, and the Staff is nowhere to be seen.
“Better for it to rest in the earth, then in the hands of man,” comes a familiar voice from up above, and Ezio sags slightly in relief.
“Uncle!”
Ezio is a man grown and blooded and weary, a man of forty, a man the same age his own father was when he died. Despite that, there is something intrinsically reassuring about having his uncle there. The part of Ezio that is a little boy, and a carefree young man, and blood-soaked young adult rests easy, knowing that here is someone he can trust. Not just to be trustworthy, but to know what to do.
“One man against an army, I was a bit worried,” his uncle justifies his presence here. “Though I see I did not need to be. Climb up.”
Ezio would normally do just that. There are small hand and footholds in the walls, that would normally allow him to climb up without the slightest effort – but this is not a normal situation.
Can he do it one-handed, without any harm befalling the so small, so fragile form that is still peacefully sleeping in his arm.
“Uncle,” he looks up at Mario, voice pleading, and that is odd enough for his uncle to turn and peer down at him.
“What is wro – nephew. What is that?”
Mario has spotted the bundle Ezio is holding. His face would be funny in any other situation.
“He was given to me,” Ezio tries to explain, gesturing with his free arm as he tries to put the experience into words. “In the vault, there was a woman made of - made of light, Uncle, who claimed the name Minerva, and gave him to me. He will have a task when he is older, and I am to protect him until he can complete it. Then she vanished.” Ezio looks down at Desmond once again, eyes soft, and once more runs a finger over his cheek. Desmond sighs soundlessly, and nuzzles closer to his touch, still deep in slumber. Ezio can feel his eyes softening, before he looks up again at his Uncle.
He has never before held a babe this small. In his memory, he cannot recall ever having held a babe at all, though he must have, when Petruccio was small.
Mario stares, before jumping down, joining Ezio.
“That is some tale, nephew,” Mario shakes his head in awed disbelief, and reaches out to help Ezio make a sling from his cape – which require unwinding it from around Desmond, and revealing the shimmering gold which otherwise swaddles him.
Mario takes a sharp breath in at the sight. “And yet, I cannot argue as to its likelihood – especially here. Come, we must leave this place. You can tell me more once we are safe.”
Ezio looks down and cups one hand over Desmond’s soft, downy head, then begins to climb.