The young man inhaled deeply as the wind spread its fingers through his hair, carrying with it the scent of sea and salt. He studied the crystal blue water as the boat slowly approached land, and decided that the Mediterranean was quite different from the oceans he knew back home. Everything about this strange country was new and different in some way; glancing up, he thought even the sky looked slightly changed. Bluer somehow.

But the point was that he didn't find it at all unpleasant. Taking another deep breath, filled with the smell he was accustoming to, he figured he might as well get used to Italy- as they may be here a while.

"Anders!" The boy jumped, relaxed demeanor shattering as he whirled around to face his father, nodding respectfully.

The man smiled, "Lost in thought again, eh?"

Anders bit his lip, but bashfully replied, "Ja, Fader."

He received a tired sigh, and a light rant…

"Normally, I would have no objection, min son," He began sternly, "But this trip is an important one. I don't think you've ever been this far from home, have you?"

The boy made no response other than a dumb nod.

"In that case," The middle-aged sailor continued, "It would be worth your while to pay attention. As I always say-"

"I know, Fader, I know," Anders muttered, rolling his eyes, "No need to-"

"'Surprise has many distant relatives, but surprise and opportunity are twin brothers.'" He finished anyway, grinning. Anders covered his face with his palm and slowly allowed it to slide down.

"Tak, Fader…" He mumbled.

"Mister Larsson!" A call from the lower decks drew the attention of both father and son. Peering over the wooden railing, Anders noted the pier was much closer than where he left it- however it was not the pier addressing them.

"You are requested on the docks, sir!" The sailor explained, gesturing helpfully to the sweltering city of Rome. Anders' grey gaze fell on the rotting wood planks in distaste- not at the current upkeep of the area, but at the large amount of people who seemed anxious to greet their ship.

The young Dane did not usually delve in foreign affairs, and consequently knew nothing of Italy's current situation. He noted the men waiting at the pier seemed to be in uniform- all red, with a bull insignia painted lavishly on their white capes. Judging by the armor and weapons they carried, he surmised they were not average traders.

"If you'll excuse me, son," A clap on his shoulder shook the boy from his thoughts, "It appears I'm needed elsewhere."

"Of course, Fader," Anders said softly, as at that point his father was already out of hearing range. He blew a tuft of light hair out of his eyes, slightly irritated as he moved further down the boat. While normally, he didn't leave the ship until after all the goods had been moved off, curiosity got the best of him. From a vantage point securely hidden from his father's eye, and the eyes of those he approached, Anders watched the scene anxiously.

A man wrapped completely in gleaming silver armor took a step towards the Danish sailor. A scarlet plume flew from his helmet, something Anders would have found quite amusing were he younger. The Italian held a piece of parchment, and was watching it skeptically.

"Messer Hans Larsson?" He read, expressing difficulty with so few vowels in a name.

"Sono Io," The father replied, with equal difficulty. Anders frowned at the smooth, unfamiliar language the two began to converse in.

"Sembra che abbiamo un problema," The guard cleared his throat- and that was all Anders could make sense of before he began to spout at such a fast rate his words seemed to collide and diffuse each other. From the puzzled expression on his father's face, Anders assumed he was having difficulties as well.

The stranger's tone remained flat as his last paragraph came to a halt. He folded the parchment and glared at Hans accusingly- obviously expecting him to say something.

"Non capisco," The sailor began edgily, shifting his weight, "Io non transportare oggeti per gli Assassini."

Anders could only guess at what his father had said, but it did not seem to make the guards any happier. He detected hostility in the captain's response:

"Tu li trasformeremo in o subirne le consguenze."

Anders tensed as he watched the men approach his father in a manner that was clearly meant to be intimidating. His grey eyes widened as their gloved hands hovered over their sword pommels. However, the Danish sailor only folded his arms and glared down at the Italian defiantly.

"Come ho detto," He said slowly, and Anders' heart swelled with pride at the bold claim even if he didn't understand it, "Non sto portando articoli per gli Assassini."

There was an anxious silence as the two men summed each other up, both unwilling to budge. Finally, the bull-caped guard spoke:

"Allora sei in arresto." He said loudly. The blood left Anders' face as he saw the patrol group unsheathe their weapons solemnly.

There was hardly time for his father to rip out his dagger before the first blows came. Anders' stomach dropped when his eyes fell on the deck railing, where the sailor's sword still sat, leaning against the wood casually.

Not sparing another moment to think, the Dane flew across the boat, snatching the heavy iron before calling to his father:

"Fader, your sword!" He yelled, costing the man valuable seconds as he turned to catch the thrown weapon.

Anders whipped around, remembering his sword was still in his cabin. He knew his father wouldn't last long- but already he saw two or three sailors moving to help him, enraged at the sight on the pier. The Dane burst through the thin cabin door and raced down the slippery steps. Stumbling down the narrow hallway, he finally made it to his closet of a room, about to yank the small sword from his cot when-

"Stop right there, figlio." A voice growled and Anders choked on the arm that pulled him back, constricting his windpipe. The tall teenager found himself pressed against someone very strong, and something cold tickled his throat.

"Who are you-?" Anders coughed, struggling.

"A man looking to make a profit," He responded carefully, and tightened his grip on the squirming Dane. "You're the captain's son, aren't you?"

The voice seemed oddly familiar- with shock, Anders realized the man was the same one who had called on his father earlier- he was a sailor.

"You know something!" Anders tried to sound accusing, but each breath brought less and less air, "You know about the ambush! Who's behind it?"

There was a dry laugh in response, "I don't think you're in a very good position to be asking questions, boy."

Anders growled in frustration, but then picked up his foot and brutally slammed his reinforced heel into his captor's toes. The sailor gasped and his grip slackened enough for Anders to shove an elbow into his stomach and break free. He fell on his cot, clumsily grabbing his sword. He jumped up, whirling around to receive a full blown punch to the nose.

A loud crack rippled the air and Anders staggered, dazed- his eyes glassing over a moment with many stars. In aggravation, the sailor grabbed his shirt collar and tossed him out of the room. The jolt of hitting the cabin wall awoke him, and he became aware of the blood spilling over his face and clothing. He also realized he had dropped his sword.

In terror, he looked up to find his assailant holding the weapon menacingly.

"They'll pay the same for you dead or alive, bambino," he muttered warningly, "Do as I say, and I'll think about it some more."

Anders allowed himself to be jerked to his feet and dragged up the stairs, into the sparkling sunlight. His nose throbbed and stung at the same time, and he tried to cover it only to be disgusted at the feel of the mangled flesh.

There was a thud as he was dropped on the pier, getting a much closer look than he preferred at the rotting wood.

"…Anders…?" The voice was raspy, and he looked up to find his father's face just inches from his own. Horror spread through him as he studied the man's broken form. His right eye half-shut and blue, a gash tearing violently through his left side, His arms twisted and shattered…

Anders gaze was taken away by the loud crunch of a boot, right by his ear. He turned, glaring at the Italian guard with fierce hatred as he began to speak to the traitor rapidly. After a few moments, the sailor announced:

"Hans Larsson," He spoke in Danish, a bitter relief, "Your ship has been confiscated by Captain Marcello Cheorso de'Borgia. You have resisted the power of the church and stand accused of heresy."

"Fader, I don't-" Anders began weakly, but his father quickly hushed him, his expression stone cold.

"You will be imprisoned until executed at the Piazza del popolo."

"And what of my son?" He said clearly, spitting some blood on the deck.

"That remains to be seen," The sailor replied, toying carelessly with his blade.

"Prendetelo, ora!" The Borgia snapped, and the two were jostled back up. Confusion made him lightheaded as Anders was tied at the wrists and escorted from the boat- none of him understood what had happened. Executed? Who were these people? The biggest, glaring point he could not begin to comprehend was why?

Citizens stared as the group paraded down the streets of Rome- conversations stopped and the vendors' tirades dried up at the sight of them. Only a few moments had passed when-

"Father," Anders said shakily, "I'm not going to let them do this to us."

"Anders, what are you-?"

Using strength he had hidden from his enemies, Anders broke free of his escort and bolted, heading for the nearest alley.

"Fermarlo!" The enraged exclamation meant nothing to the young man as an arrow wedged itself in the bricks not a hair to his right. He heard footsteps pounding behind him, and had just rounded a corner when something struck his leg.

Anders cried out in pain and sunk to one knee, staring at the second arrow that had hit its mark. Blood was already spurting onto the dirt path, and agony clung to his leg, burning hot.

Chomping down on his lip, he tried to stand, to keep running- but someone grabbed him.

"I've had enough trouble out of you!" It was the same sailor yet again- only this time he didn't seem as patient. Anders turned to face him, eyes wide with pain and shock.

"They're going to kill you eventually, anyway!" The man huffed, unsheathing a different, more expensive sword with an emblem Anders did not recognize, "Might as well get it over with sooner than later!"

The first blow was wider than he expected- Ander leapt back, but not enough to stop the blade from grazing his forehead. A red slash appeared above his right eye, and it stung as though cut by ice winds. Anders hissed, drawing back with a hand covering his bleeding head. When the next arc came, he ducked to the left, adrenaline fueling his mad dash to the street.

He burst out of the alley and into a buzzing crowd. A group of ladies gasped as they lay eyes on him, and one of them shrieked- alerting his pursuer and crashing any hope he had of blending (Not that it would've worked very well anyway).

Anders kept running, plowing through herds of people and taking every sharp turn he could find. His vision was blurring, and breathing was becoming his primary concern. Sound slowly vanished until the only thing he heard was the pounding of his own heart- fast and desperate.

The young sailor ran until he simply couldn't anymore. From what he could make of his surroundings, he found himself somewhere on a walkway near a river, lined with gondolas. He stumbled, throwing his weight against the wall for support. He limped down the path with his hands gripping the stones weakly, until he spotted a shaded area behind one of the many buildings.

Making one last effort, he lunged at the space, hitting the wall solidly and sliding down it, drifting into oblivion.