(no subject)
Firenze, 1518
Ezio had never felt so out of his element in his life.
For so many years, he had picked up skills as needed or on whims, anything that would allow him to infiltrate and blend into crowds. He could scale buildings in record time. He could leap from the tallest buildings in any city and emerge safe and unscathed. He could figure out how to work new machinery with a bit of trial and error, and if he erred, well, he still emerged ready to try again.
None of it had ever come close to involving child-rearing. He could count the number of children he'd interacted with as an Assassin on his fingers, and even then, he'd only been responsible for them for a few scarce moments.
So for a man whose life hadn't involved children for over thirty-five years, having children was so bewilderingly new. Even with a nursemaid, Andrea, taking care of the basics, he had no idea how to interact with them. How to play with them. How to talk to them. Older children could at least understand reason and could be placated when upset, but smaller children's demands and interests were abstract and more often than not boring to him. He had no idea how to interact with them. The crying was maddening and upsetting when he couldn't calm them.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," he admitted to Sofia, one night, in one of those rare moments where there wasn't a baby crying. She had looked at him, almost incredulously, and replied: "You think I do?" They'd had a good laugh over that.
But despite that, Ezio was thoroughly and unconditionally in love with his children. He traipsed all the way back to the villa from the fields every day, just to check in on them, even if it was just to linger around or give them a hug. He annoyed Sofia by giving Andrea the day off and leaving the children to them all day. He spent endless hours teaching them new things, showing them things, telling them about things. He and Sofia would curl up on the couch with a child in each lap and Sofia would read stories from around the world, and Ezio would punctuate them with jokes and life experiences and tidbits he had learned on his travels. He made Sofia nervous by carrying a five-year-old Flavia to the roof to see the countryside from above, but he was positive that no how brittle his bones were getting, he would never let his daughter come to any harm. As the children grew out of baby-talk and got into that phase of questioning everything, Ezio would indulge their every whim and make sure they got whatever answers were out there.
Truth be told, in many ways, he felt like he was trying to cram all of the experiences any other youth would have into significantly less time. He was at loggerheads with the children sometimes over it, as sometimes they were too young to grasp was he was trying to explain, or too little to learn something he wanted to teach them. The worry that he'd never see them any older was always nagging at the back of his head, and Sofia saw it well before he did.
"You don't need to rush them," she said, after one day where Ezio accidentally drove Marcello to tears. Ezio had been trying to teach him how to ride, but Marcello was still scared of even a small pony. "They'll be ready someday. If you want to leave them memories, don't leave memories of a dictator, amore."
She was right, of course -- she usually was -- but it just wasn't what he had wanted to hear.
"I just want them to have everything I had in my childhood," Ezio argued. "My brothers, Claudia and I were fortunate to have opportunities most children would not even dream of. My children deserve it, too."
Sofia leaned to kiss his cheek, his beard tickling her face. "I know, Ezio. But there is plenty of time for that still."
Ezio's urge to grumble at her melted, immediately. He admitted defeat on that point and gave her a smile, nose-to-nose for a moment, and she smiled back before going off to tend to her crying son.
"if Marcello won't ride, I will!"
Ezio glanced down at Flavia, who had snuck up behind him and grabbed onto his pant leg. He smiled, then stooped to pick her up. She put her arms around his neck, perched quite comfortably in his arms.
"Let's go catch that pony, then."
Ezio had never felt so out of his element in his life.
For so many years, he had picked up skills as needed or on whims, anything that would allow him to infiltrate and blend into crowds. He could scale buildings in record time. He could leap from the tallest buildings in any city and emerge safe and unscathed. He could figure out how to work new machinery with a bit of trial and error, and if he erred, well, he still emerged ready to try again.
None of it had ever come close to involving child-rearing. He could count the number of children he'd interacted with as an Assassin on his fingers, and even then, he'd only been responsible for them for a few scarce moments.
So for a man whose life hadn't involved children for over thirty-five years, having children was so bewilderingly new. Even with a nursemaid, Andrea, taking care of the basics, he had no idea how to interact with them. How to play with them. How to talk to them. Older children could at least understand reason and could be placated when upset, but smaller children's demands and interests were abstract and more often than not boring to him. He had no idea how to interact with them. The crying was maddening and upsetting when he couldn't calm them.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," he admitted to Sofia, one night, in one of those rare moments where there wasn't a baby crying. She had looked at him, almost incredulously, and replied: "You think I do?" They'd had a good laugh over that.
But despite that, Ezio was thoroughly and unconditionally in love with his children. He traipsed all the way back to the villa from the fields every day, just to check in on them, even if it was just to linger around or give them a hug. He annoyed Sofia by giving Andrea the day off and leaving the children to them all day. He spent endless hours teaching them new things, showing them things, telling them about things. He and Sofia would curl up on the couch with a child in each lap and Sofia would read stories from around the world, and Ezio would punctuate them with jokes and life experiences and tidbits he had learned on his travels. He made Sofia nervous by carrying a five-year-old Flavia to the roof to see the countryside from above, but he was positive that no how brittle his bones were getting, he would never let his daughter come to any harm. As the children grew out of baby-talk and got into that phase of questioning everything, Ezio would indulge their every whim and make sure they got whatever answers were out there.
Truth be told, in many ways, he felt like he was trying to cram all of the experiences any other youth would have into significantly less time. He was at loggerheads with the children sometimes over it, as sometimes they were too young to grasp was he was trying to explain, or too little to learn something he wanted to teach them. The worry that he'd never see them any older was always nagging at the back of his head, and Sofia saw it well before he did.
"You don't need to rush them," she said, after one day where Ezio accidentally drove Marcello to tears. Ezio had been trying to teach him how to ride, but Marcello was still scared of even a small pony. "They'll be ready someday. If you want to leave them memories, don't leave memories of a dictator, amore."
She was right, of course -- she usually was -- but it just wasn't what he had wanted to hear.
"I just want them to have everything I had in my childhood," Ezio argued. "My brothers, Claudia and I were fortunate to have opportunities most children would not even dream of. My children deserve it, too."
Sofia leaned to kiss his cheek, his beard tickling her face. "I know, Ezio. But there is plenty of time for that still."
Ezio's urge to grumble at her melted, immediately. He admitted defeat on that point and gave her a smile, nose-to-nose for a moment, and she smiled back before going off to tend to her crying son.
"if Marcello won't ride, I will!"
Ezio glanced down at Flavia, who had snuck up behind him and grabbed onto his pant leg. He smiled, then stooped to pick her up. She put her arms around his neck, perched quite comfortably in his arms.
"Let's go catch that pony, then."