Chapter Text
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He wasn’t quite sure what made him here. What sort of witchcraft and sorcery, for indeed it was such. It was like Altair was standing in a fog, a great glittering fog full of ice and diamonds. He didn’t moved, and then at once it cleared. There was a young man and a chair in the clear, white place. His dress was strange but familiar like he’d seen it in a dream.
Slowly he walked over to the young man. “Hello,” they said with a bizarre, thick, accent, and Altair knew he wasn’t speaking Arabic, or any language Altair knew, yet he could understand him just fine.
“What is this place?” because what else could he ask.
“I don’t know. It’s a nice place though,” the young man smiled and he looked old. How peculiar. “Who are you?”
“Altair.”
“Altair? The Altair?”
“Possibly.”
The young man jumped up from the chair and grabbed Altair’s hand, shaking it vigorously, “I’m Ezio. You’re such an inspiration, I thought I’d let you know,” he said, smiling great and wide at him.
Altair blinked, taken aback. “Really?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Ezio continued to smile.
“Oh, well, thank you.”
“I know all about you actually,” Ezio continued. “You’re one of the greatest men our Order has ever had.”
“Heh, thank you,” because he did know how to be humble. “Though it seems strange that you know everything about me. But I know nothing about you. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”
“Of course, of course!” and Ezio sat on the chair again. “I was born in Italy, in Florence, do you know where that is?” Altair did not. He shook his head. His lips twitched in amusement when Ezio started talking about his home. Clearly he loved the city, and growing up was so different than it had been for Altair. As Ezio talked Altair was filled with greater knowledge, all the words and events wasn’t saying suddenly filled Altair’s mind.
Altair saw an old man in an old city, tired, and ready to rest, cutting through Templars. He saw a young man watch his family get hanged. He saw vengeance on the edge of a sword enacted with brutal prejudice. He saw love won and lost, mostly lost. Loves he’d never have and loves he could never hold. Altair frowned at the young man.
Altair walked over to the chair, Ezio looked at him, still in a good mood. “Ezio,” Altair said and leaned against the chair, he reached out and pressed his hand to the side of Ezio’s face.
“Hmm?” he asked, “What is it Altair?” and he grabbed Altair’s face.
“It’s time to rest,” Altair said somberly.
“What?”
“It’s time to rest. You’ve had a long life. Now it is time to rest.”
Ezio blinked at him and his smile faded a little, “Yes,” he said, “I suppose it is.” Then he smiled again, “You must rest too,” he said.
“I cannot,” he said. Now he knew why Ezio was familiar and unfamiliar. They’d done this many times now. Each time Ezio was unwilling to let go, unwilling to move on. “We are tied together. I can’t go without you.”
“Oh,” Ezio seemed very troubled by this, still holding onto Altair’s hand. “We’ll go together then?”
“Yes. That seems like a good idea,” Altair said and allowed himself to smile just a bit.
He wasn’t quite sure what made him here…