First try at La Volpe... it's hard. Harder than I ever thought it was. I was listening to NTM's song 'Laisse pas traîner ton fils' (Don't let your son wander -in the streets). It's a very beautiful and tearing song. And I suddenly got this idea of La Volpe reflecting on Giovanni - and the boys. I saw loads of fanart with La Volpe and Giovanni but I guess I needed something more... angsty.

Summary: While Giovanni soared like an hawk across the rooftops of Florence, La Volpe looked at the streets and pondered. What if Giovanni disappeared? The streets are merciless to eaglets.

Warning: None, as far as AssCreed goes. Really: no pairing, no smut... nothing... OOCness on Volpe's part... possibly. I never know what the man thinks...

I saw things you never saw. Things hidden under the dirty streets. Things rain never washed down the cobbles. Things that are screaming in the night. But how can I tell you? You roam the roofs – like the eagle you are fashioned after. You don't see the ground on which men writhe and die. Your kills are clean and silent. What would you know? Those wretches staring blankly at the person they just killed – because they never knew better. Kill or be killed – that's the streets' law. I wish you would never have to see that. Sometimes I see your eldest running – as though after you – he cannot see you. I do my best – make my men watch over him. But I am just a man.

You are holding the skies in the palm of your hand, my friend. The streets belong to none. Don't fall – never let your wings be torn. The ground is a filthy place – if you fall, they fall. No one deserves the streets as sole parents – the street does not love – it kills – fast or slow – summer or winter – cold or accident – it destroys. The daylight is a sheen of brightness but doesn't reach the whole of it. You know that I know. I am growing older – I feel it. I have to be strong – remain as I once was and inspire fear and awe. Permanent fight. The day I lose is the day I die.

I am weary, Giovanni. You look as you always had – you look at me and I know that you can see it too. And still, you don't listen. Still taking those missions. You know the stakes – and you still go. Yesterday, I saw Federico caught in a brawl. He got away – barely. He's no match for them. Fighting the Pazzi kids is not fighting men hunting like mad dogs. When you live down there, you have to learn the ways – try not to become a dog yourself. Few are those who make it – few are those who grow up to be thieves willing to abide by a code. Most don't. They try to live. The kids stealing because no one gives them. No one told them what was good or not. Or beat it into them. Don't let your children in the streets. Don't. I saw a kid die today. He was young. As young as Ezio... maybe fourteen. His body broken – fell from a roof. Tried to reach an exposed treasure – thought it'd buy him freedom from the streets. A guard caught him and got him down. No one cared.

You tell me that they are smart enough. Smart, not street savvy. Few are those who live long enough to use such knowledge. I survived because I moved away – because I was the fastest. Built a reputation. No, it's not a way for them to learn. It sounds easy – you have no rule, no one to tell you what to do. You have no obligations. You can get away with whatever you want, proven you are quick-witted.

Don't let your sons in the street. Don't die, Giovanni. Else the street will hold them. Your master will never protect them. He cannot – maybe he would not even think about it. Mourning the loss of his henchman. His friend. Don't die, don't let them drift to that dark maze ceaselessly spreading. They never look so terrible than from a roof. There I stand and no one dares to approach. I cannot smile anymore, not when I see them. I did not have a choice, Giovanni. But you, you have it. Leave it while you can.

I should have known – you would never listen. I talked to Maria – have not dared to for a long time. But I did. I know you contacted my thieves – it is time. Some would say that you are reaping the destruction you sowed. The destruction that came after the kill. I could probably scale the Palazzo della Signoria to free you – you would be able to run away. Federico as well, probably. But your youngest son – not so easily. I am watching from afar. I want to scream at you – to hold you by your shoulders and just shake sense into you. To no avail. If you escape, not even Lorenzo would be able to guard you from the hounds on your trail. The hunting bird got caught and blinded. Uselessly perched on a beam, unable to see the danger but knowing it is close by. The undergrounds are shifting. Watching your Ezio running in the streets – to the Palazzo. Untrained eagle – and yet, he avoids the guards. The colours are vivid in his mind, to be sure. And still I watch. He climbs towards you – I don't need to be close to know what you will say. Maybe it was written but I cannot believe in fate. Because only men can be so cruel to each other. He falls – a perfect leap. In the direction of your villa. The guards are too focussed on the streets. They don't watch the roofs. I have to see you – because deep down, I can't help thinking that it will be the last time. In this life anyway. So I takes the front route across the roofs and up the tower. All too easy. I may be older than I was twenty years ago but I'll be damned if I am not the fastest one in this city. I could have smiled – you seem to always know when I am close enough to hear without you needing to talk loudly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Not to free you, probably."

A bitter bark of laughter. "So why, pray? To tell me I was an idiot."

"Probably. Alberti won't help you."

"I know..."

"You lied to him."

"I don't want him to see that. And who knows... maybe it would work out." You smile that smile of your but now the warmth is gone. I could reach for you – I won't. There is no time and you know I am no sentimental man. "It had been so long... maybe I forgot that I wasn't untouchable?"

"For an assassin, I never dared to tell you but, you can't lie. Not even to save your life."

"You would know all about lying, Gilberto." That biting edge of accusation.

"Forse..." I have to go before the guard changes. I can tell that you know that as well. I am loath to leave, knowing what they will do to you and your sons. Despite being a liar extraordinaire, I can't lie to you. Not now, not ever. Alright, I might have, when playing a nasty prank on you.

"You should go. Your reputation would never survive it if you get caught."

Iit's my time to let out a humourless chuckle. "I don't expect to be caught alive. Not really." It's hard to look at you in the eyes – and like many years before, I feel like a thief. You should be talking to Maria, not me. It's even harder when I know that it is the last time I would talk to you. You are a cruel man, Giovanni. That's why you never stayed in the streets, always reaching for the roofs. I can handle the streets – you would destroy them. Without even having to think about it. And I can't even blame you.

"Don't make such a face, Gilberto. I am guilt-ridden well-enough, you are just adding to it."

"Not my intention, really." And it is not indeed. But again. It is not the fox's place to save anyone – whenever the fox does something to help others, it would spell doom for it. Cunning and lies are the only ways for a fox to outrun hounds. "I could free you..." And you know I am lying – to you – to myself.

"This freedom would be no freedom. I don't worry about myself. I always knew it would end like this. I worry about my children." You are ready to break – I never saw you breaking down. I can't even bear the thought of it.

"You have one word to say, anything." Ask me anything and I will do it.

"You would never go back on your word when given to a dead man." I can't help the hiss that comes from my clenched teeth.

"Never thought dead men could be so cruel."

"Watch over them. And help him. He would not survive the streets without help."

"Fine."

Your fingers curled around the bars. I don't think – just catch your hand. There are things I would never say out loud. Things I cannot say anymore. But they are real. You are so cold. So unlike the young man I met – the man you became. Not my place to burden you – I leave now.

"The Fox and the Eagle... could've been a fable."

"Fables never end well for the fox, Volpe." The last words I hear before falling backward. I am bad at farewells and hate it. How can I say 'farewell' when I see the gallows being built? I could burn them but they would find a way. I pick my way across the various guards' rounds. I am close enough to see the noose – a noose that would soon wrap itself around your neck. Hanging. Death of thieves. You deserve so much better. Two other nooses and I am reminded that you are not the only one. They plan on killing the three of you.

The sun rises – the clamour of the mob is deafening. My men roaming the streets, securing alleyways. A flash of white – it can't be. A bright, soundless shadow that falls in the street. Not you – he could be you. You would be so proud of him, 'Vanni. He cuts through the crowd – untouched by the enraged filth of men and women's bloodlust. You never feel the bloodlust when you fall victim to it. I hear him – the coward, treacherous pig who sold himself to the Spaniard. The Spaniard triumphant. Templars. And you – the curse falls into deaf ears. The deafening sound of the wooden mechanism – the sickening crack of bones. I don't see you – I can't bring myself to. For someone so complacent about dealing death to anyone blocking my path, to shy from the vision of death. Not any death. Yours. And then, the tearing scream of your son. Looking again – not at you – at him. Like witnessing a phoenix birth. Assassins' rise from blood – killing you gave birth to their greatest foe.

He flees – not out of fear – he is not ready. Not yet. I promise you, Giovanni. We will teach him our ways – he will learn the ways of the streets. And he will rule them. Even if this is the last thing I do, never again will an eagle fall helplessly to the ground, to the merciless grip of the city's filthy entrails.

Never again.

Random translation: "Forse" = maybe, probably... depends, really. (My ancestors must be rolling in their graves at this... derp.)