Author's Note: I found this going through old files I'd written for "Above the Serpentine". It's nothing much, really, just a little drabble I had forgotten about. It's rather nice, I think, so I thought I'd share it.

Ezio talks about Philippe II, Duke of Orléans, who popularized Champagne in the early 18th Century.

At Our Feet

Altaïr sat at the edge of the roof as darkness slowly descended on the city that sprawled messily below him. The sounds of fighting drifted to him faintly, distantly, sounding more like an ocean breeze than a riot, almost peacefully in that great irony of life. A little away, a gargoyle was keeping him company, its horrifying face twisted into a grimace of disgust and rage at what it was seeing, or, perhaps, at what it had to have seen in all the years leading up to this time.

Footsteps behind him, so quiet only Altaïr could ever even hear them, the high chink of empty glasses brushing against each other and the darker tone of glass touching a full bottle.

Altaïr turned his head to watch Ezio approach. He spread his arms out in a gesture of greeting, the glasses and bottle in his hands caught the fading light, sparkled like his eyes.

"You think this is cause for celebration?" Altaïr asked darkly.

Ezio shrugged. He sauntered forward and sat down between Altaïr and the gargoyle. "A new world is being born," he said. "For real, this time, I think. And like every birth it's full of blood and pain. But why would it not be cause for celebration?"

Altaïr looked away from him, back over the city, but predictably Ezio was unfazed by the subtle rejection.

"I know you don't drink," Ezio said.

They had had that argument before, in ages past. Why do you still follow the laws of a religion you've never believed in to start with? And why do you still follow them now, after everything that's happened? After everything you know and have seen?

Ezio continued, "Aren't we both old enough to know when to disregard the rules?"

Altaïr was perfectly silent for a long moment. The fading light drew the profile of his face in stark contrast, the scar showing white. His mouth suddenly twisted into a smile. "I hope it's better than that vinegar you tried to tempt me with last time."

Ezio chuckled. He put the glasses on the stone between them and poured the wine. It danced in the glasses, caught the distant starlight and held it captured in its brilliance. "I think you will be pleased," Ezio grinned. "I was at Philippe's court for a little while. This is the best that came out of it."

And Ezio laughed again. He edged forward on the roof, let his legs dangle over the edge playfully.

Altaïr reached for the glass, held the stem between his fingers and lifted it against the sky.

Ezio picked up his own, watched Altaïr over its brim and the sparkle. He arched his brows. "A toast, then?"

The acrid smell of smoke drifted to them, almost as faint as the light above, as muted as the sound. The air was still clear, so high above the world and the turmoil at their feet. A thin, faint clinking filled the silence between them when Altaïr put his glass against Ezio's. "To the future," he offered.

"To the future," Ezio agreed. "Whatever it will hold."

End