(no subject)
Firenze, 1513
Nine months ago, Ezio was more concerned with leaving the Order and sorting out his last duties to it, and this moment hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd known there was a baby coming -- how could he not? -- and he was excited to have a family, and he'd mulled over that thought almost obsessively, but somehow, the reality of actually holding his baby in his arms hasn't hit him until just now, when he is standing the head of their bed with a tiny, screaming baby in his arms.
Their daughter.
"She's got lungs," Ezio says, at a loss for words.
"I've just given you a daughter and that's the first thing you say?" Sofia replies, voice still high and breathy from the delivery. The look she gives him is both snippy and elated at the same time, and she leans back into the pillows, exhausted. The midwife reaches over with a wet cloth to wipe Sofia's forehead.
He just stares down at his baby for a long moment, the baby continuing to wail away. He almost feels shaky: he hasn't held a child since he was a child himself, when Claudia and Petruccio were very small, and his daughter is so fragile and new to the world. His arms have never felt older, his hands have never felt rougher.
This is his daughter.
"Ezio," Sofia says, a bit more tenderly.
"She's beautiful," he says. "Like her mother."
He glances to Sofia, who somehow manages to glow despite being a disheveled mess. Her curls are still stuck to her face, her breath is still a little heavy. They just look at each other for a moment, quiet and full of wonder and apprehension and joy while the baby wails on. He can feel his eyes tearing up and he shifts the baby to one arm so he can take Sofia's hand in his.
"Thank you," he says, finally, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Thank you for bearing me a daughter."
Sofia laughs, somehow, invoking that endless strength and tenacity he loves about her. She manages to sit up just enough to meet him half-way when he leans to give her an actual kiss.
"Thank you for giving me one," she replies. "But perhaps we should delay before we have another. E 'stato doloroso..."
"Only a woman could bear that pain and still laugh afterwards," he says, letting go of her hand so he can wipe at his eyes. Their daughter keeps on wailing, even as Ezio passes her to the midwife to be bathed and dressed. "But I think we'll have our hands full in the meantime."
Sofia is pregnant again within the year.
Nine months ago, Ezio was more concerned with leaving the Order and sorting out his last duties to it, and this moment hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd known there was a baby coming -- how could he not? -- and he was excited to have a family, and he'd mulled over that thought almost obsessively, but somehow, the reality of actually holding his baby in his arms hasn't hit him until just now, when he is standing the head of their bed with a tiny, screaming baby in his arms.
Their daughter.
"She's got lungs," Ezio says, at a loss for words.
"I've just given you a daughter and that's the first thing you say?" Sofia replies, voice still high and breathy from the delivery. The look she gives him is both snippy and elated at the same time, and she leans back into the pillows, exhausted. The midwife reaches over with a wet cloth to wipe Sofia's forehead.
He just stares down at his baby for a long moment, the baby continuing to wail away. He almost feels shaky: he hasn't held a child since he was a child himself, when Claudia and Petruccio were very small, and his daughter is so fragile and new to the world. His arms have never felt older, his hands have never felt rougher.
This is his daughter.
"Ezio," Sofia says, a bit more tenderly.
"She's beautiful," he says. "Like her mother."
He glances to Sofia, who somehow manages to glow despite being a disheveled mess. Her curls are still stuck to her face, her breath is still a little heavy. They just look at each other for a moment, quiet and full of wonder and apprehension and joy while the baby wails on. He can feel his eyes tearing up and he shifts the baby to one arm so he can take Sofia's hand in his.
"Thank you," he says, finally, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Thank you for bearing me a daughter."
Sofia laughs, somehow, invoking that endless strength and tenacity he loves about her. She manages to sit up just enough to meet him half-way when he leans to give her an actual kiss.
"Thank you for giving me one," she replies. "But perhaps we should delay before we have another. E 'stato doloroso..."
"Only a woman could bear that pain and still laugh afterwards," he says, letting go of her hand so he can wipe at his eyes. Their daughter keeps on wailing, even as Ezio passes her to the midwife to be bathed and dressed. "But I think we'll have our hands full in the meantime."
Sofia is pregnant again within the year.