asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

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Okay, just wanted to say that I'm not the above anon, but... uh... I did have this idea, if the OP wants me to finish it? It's going to turn out drastically different from the Disney one, because already I've added in Victor Hugo's Frollo instead of Disney's, but.. uh... enjoy? And depending on how badly you want a terribly sad/haunting ending, I can work with it.

*****
He looked when he felt a hand on his shoulder. His master was standing there, dressed in the judge’s robes with a basket on his arm—with a brown paper package tied up with red string. His eyes grew wide, and he perked up. He had forgotten his master had promised him a present today. He watched the hand slide from his shoulders to see his master’s hands start moving. He smiled.

“Ready for lunch?” they signed.

He nodded eagerly, looking at his master with his eyes bright.

“You’re certainly eager today, Quasimodo. Whatever for?” they teased.

He squirmed, glancing at the package before looking back at his hands.

“Now why on earth would this package be for you?”

He blinked, then signed back. “Why would you bring the package up here in the first place?”

He watched his master chuckle and almost forgot to sign “Thank you!” before he snatched the package when it was offered out. He tore it open, dancing awkwardly at the sight of brand-new dolls after the layers of paper had been removed. It was, actually, a whole family, with a mother, father, and two little kids. He limped over to his makeshift little Paris, knowing his master was following, and set them all outside the little bakery, where the family was supposed to go. He danced again, adjusting them and talking to them even though they couldn’t hear him. He promised them they’d love their little bakery, and he had made it all for them.

He looked when he felt the hand on his shoulder again, and he could feel his stomach growl mightily. He limped over to the table and pulled out the chair for his master. His master thanked him and sat, and he moved to his chair, sitting and peeking over his shoulder to check on the baker family, which were all still there. He looked when he felt the vibrations, and saw his master setting out the plates and the food, and he squirmed. He couldn’t wait for prayer to be over so he could eat.

“You’re very eager tonight,” his master said, and he could see him chuckle as he took his master’s hands.

“I want to eat, and then I can watch them set up for the Feast of Fools!”

“You do that every year.”

He bowed his head, letting his master pray, and then signed his response. “But they always look like they have so much fun!”

He watched his master get more serious, frowning as he gave him a concerned look. “Quasimodo, you know that if you go out there, I can’t protect you.”

He lowered his head and signed back. “I know. They don’t listen to you, right?”

His master nodded when he looked up.

“Then why do you go?”

“Because the people love to throw things at authorities, and none of the others in the church will do it.”

“So?”

“The people need a day to make fun of those in charge, or else we risk upset and riot.”

“But don’t they love you?”

“I may be a good judge, and a kinder Archdeacon, but there’s nothing that says the people image me up there, and not, say, one of my counterparts.”

He pursed his lips. He didn’t understand why they would do that. Still, when he felt his master take his hand, he sighed.

“So, will you go?” was pressed into his hand.

He bit his lip. He wasn’t entirely sure he should. He hadn’t before, always afraid of the people of Paris and their reactions, but he had heard rumors that the loveliest man and woman in France were going to be there. He knew he shouldn’t take such pleasure in watching gypsies dance (his master had always warned him of those people), but he was super curious about what made them so beautiful. He shrugged.

“You’re getting bolder. Last year you shook your head no repeatedly.”

“I get bored up here, master,” he signed.

“I know, Quasimodo. And I apologize that I can’t do more for you. You read much too fast for me to bring you new books, and your dolls can be only so entertaining.”

He sighed, hunching over. “Perhaps I will go out. I will stay silent.”

He glanced at his master, who was digging around in his pockets. After a bit, he pulled out a small lambskin pouch and set it down. It was lumpy and dark brown, and he was curious to know what was in.

“A small amount of money, should you chose to go out. Use it wisely, Quasimodo. Guard it, too.”

His eyes grew wide at his master’s gift. He actually had money to use for food outside. His master occasionally bought him a treat from the outside world, something tasty and delicious, and he would wonder about where it came from, and now he finally had a chance. His master was trusting him to do wonderful things, and like the talents parable, he would pay his master back tenfold.

He ate his meal in a wonderful mood, happy that his master was willing to trust him, and hoping that he could make him proud. When they were done, his master rose, kissing his head. He was amazed that his master still loved him, despite the burn-scarred face carrying over most of the left side of his face and the eye that had sunken in because he lost it in that same fire. His arms were strong but burned as well, and it was with a kind heart that his master had taken him back in after he rescued him from the court fire.

He had already raised him from birth, and his master had told him his mother had abandoned him on the steps of Notre Dame. He had loved him, despite the fact he was orphaned and probably a bastard, and then, after a new judge had come to the city and tried to take his master’s position, after he had been burned. He had gone into the court and pulled his master out after the citizens had demanded his master be returned to the position of presiding judge, burning most of his body, but instead of being left to die, his master had taken him to the bell tower, away from people that his master said could make him sick, and nursed him back to health. He had gained his limp then, too, when a burning log fell on his leg, and he hardly made it out of the fire, but he had done it, and his master had been okay. It had been haunting to see the flames and not hear a thing. They had been so beautiful that his distraction was what gave him the burns as his clothes had caught fire.

He followed his master as far as he could and called out eagerly as his master left.

“Thank you! I promise I’ll make you proud, Master William!”

He smiled as bright as he could as he limped back inside to marvel at the pouch of money and play with his baker family before he had to ring the bells again.

And the next morning, after ringing the bells, he pulled on a cloak, wrapping it tightly around himself as he tucked the coin pouch into his tunic, into a small pocket he had sewn inside. He tucked the first doll he had made, a doll of his master, inside as well, and he was ready. He was excited. He was going out into the world for the first time since the fire. He hopped over the edge, carefully maneuvering down the back of Notre Dame to go and see the world.

Why didn't the size change on the first part?

Anon, you get internet babies. Just, all of them. I would love to see you finish this! Same with the other anon, I'd love to see different versions. As it's always wonderful to see other people's versions of things.

Personally, I can't wait to see how it all just explodes into a mass of feels. (even though I'm already having lots right now)

Can't wait for more anon, simply can't!

I'm glad I stumbled upon this... Just... So glad. It made me listen to the soundtrack again, and geez... Anon, OP, thanks for reminding me of the awesome soundtrack. I really can't wait to see what happens in this. I just hope those stupid gargoyles aren't in it. They made the story kid friendly, and just... It made such a deep movie so annoying.

And as he pulled the hood further over his face, he was dumbfounded. He had been outside once, during the fire, and this was nothing like then. He watched the people mill around, bustling and hurrying, and he decided now was as good as ever. He limped off, standing up straight as he tried to take in everything. From down here, everything looked so much different. He could see the bright yellows and purples in the flags flying, tents selling all kinds of things. He could read most of the signs: flowers, clothes, sweets, and so much more that he was almost overloaded. There were so many smells he didn’t know existed, and the beautiful horses with guards on them were astounding. He found himself wandering over to where one horse was, a hand outstretched. He didn’t hear the guard telling him to back off, but when the horse butted against his hand, he laughed and petted it gently.

When he looked up again, the guard looked amazed. He waved and limped off, going through the crowds streets and marveling at all the life all around him. He gaped at the colors, the smells, and he wandered around, keeping his profile low, until he found another person with a cloak around them and the hood pulled down over their eyes. He squatted there awkwardly, trying to peek at the person, and he jumped when the person looked up and there was a pigeon sitting in the hood. His eyes grew wide, and he watched an actual head appeared. He blinked, still amazed, and watched the head appeared to chuckle. The man had a scar over his lips and beautiful golden eyes. He stepped back, suddenly feeling woefully ugly next to this man, and he squawked in protest when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

He was going to die. The man had probably seen his face and thought he was a monster, and now he was going to die. He felt something be pressed into his hand, and he blinked as the person gathered the pouch from the ground he hadn’t noticed and vanished into the crowd, the pigeon flew away. He looked at his hand to find a gold coin, and his eyes widened. He patted his tunic, still feeling the pouch and his doll there, and he smiled warmly. He had been given his first gift not from his master.

He limped his way into the main square, holding onto the coin tightly as he looked around for something to eat. He watched a person pay another with a gold coin to get some sort of meat-and-pastry thing, and he squirmed, tucking his coin into the pocket in his tunic so he could get some later—after he rung the bells as midday. He wandered around a bit more, reveling in all the things going on around him, and even tried his hand at a game that they had set up. He had won, some sort of sweet, and he ended up sharing it with a little girl dressed in rags. She had seemed so excited, bouncing off when her mother came, and he could see her telling her all about the treat. He limped off, climbing back up the tower at midday and rang the bells, then scurried down for what he actually wanted to see.

He weaseled his way through the crowds to see people dressed up in the funny clothes, and a man in a hooded orange outfit threw his hands in the air and said, “Come one, come all!”

He squirmed as they drew closer, and he could have sworn the man with purple eyes was staring at him.

“Close the churches and the schools, it’s the day for breaking rules! Come and join—”

He couldn’t read the man’s lips after that, but he knew what was said. He watched with excitement as the funny-dressed people seemed to explode in a cloud of smoke to make all kinds of people. There were people rolling and people on stilts, people swinging on poles and people leaping about, and people that flipped upside-down to be a different person. He was entranced as confetti seemed to litter the skies, and he watched all the clowning around. There were all kinds of hideous and ugly masks, he felt much better about his own appearance.

He jumped when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, and saw the man in the orange say, “It’s the day the devil in us gets released—”

He jerked away when he felt him try to pull down his hood, and he fled from the man in the orange as fast as he could, over to a stall and stood there, watching the goofy people horse around as he smiled and laughed. He clapped his hands gleefully, watching, and yelped when the man in orange appeared again, twirling him around and throwing him into the crowd, where he stumbled, bumping into someone. They laughed and pushed him away, and he tumbled again, wishing his leg wasn’t bad so he could steady himself as he tripped and rolled, crashing head-first into a tent.

He fumbled with the sheet that came down around his head. When he finally pulled it off, he scrambled to pull his hood up and hunched over, noticing several sets of feet there, and he pulled to his hands and feet to start crawling off, only to be stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He stopped, realizing that he had gotten into bad things, and he couldn’t even hear them talk.

He could feel someone crawling around, and he looked up to find a set of bright blue eyes looking at him. They closed as the man smiled at him, and he shrunk back as he watched the man say, “Hello! Who are you?”

He blinked, then realized he wouldn’t get punished for accidentally falling in, and he sat back, signing, “Quasimodo.”

He watched the young man blink, straightening up. Then, the young man took a board of slate and something else from another man who looked like he could be his brother. He took the offered objects and scrawled his name.

“Quasimodo? Like the Sunday? What a horrible name!”

He blinked, pulling back as the other man turned to yell at someone behind him before sitting beside the man. He watched the younger boy say, “What if we called you ‘Desmond?’”

He tilted his head, and the young man took the board, erased his name, and wrote the other name.

“It’s a much nicer name,” he saw the man say. “It means something like ‘man of the earth’ in a foreign language.”

He blinked, then nodded. He liked the name. The boy beamed.

“Good! I’m Kadar, and this is my brother, Malik!”

The other man nodded at him, and he nodded back.

“And this is Adha, and this is—”

He jerked when he saw the golden-eyed man from earlier come around and extend a hand, helping him up. He jerked back when he saw him reach for the hood, and he slapped his hands to face to try to keep himself hidden.

Until a pair of female hands slowly pulled them away from his face.

He tried to shrink back, because the women in front of him was gorgeous, and his master had made sure he knew that he was ugly, and that ugliness was a crime. But the lady simply smiled at him and said, “Hello, Desmond. Welcome to our tent.”

He blinked, surprised that they weren’t flinching away from him—as the people in the sanctuary had done, screaming and pulling away from him. There were four of them, the man from earlier, who gave him the coin, the pretty lady, the two brothers.

“You’re deaf, aren’t you?” the woman said, and he nodded, his eyes concentrating on her lips.

“How’d he get deaf?” he saw Kadar say when he looked at him next.

“The bells,” he murmured, looking down.

He avoided the man’s gaze when he felt a finger under his chin push his face back up. He gasped when he felt a pair of lips on each cheek, and then the people were guiding him out of the tent and saying, “We’ll see you in a bit. Take care.”

They pulled his hood back up for him. He watched Kadar peek through again and grin. “Great mask!”

He blinked, and suddenly, he wanted to keep his gold coin forever. Although, the feeling was short-lived as he felt the man in orange approach, turning to see him look straight at him but not actually come over to him, just gesturing as if to summon him forward.

“Come one, come all! Hurry, hurry, here’s your chance—see the mystery and romance—”

He didn’t hear the rest of it as he limped over to the stage, noticing his master sitting at the far end and waving, noticing the soft smile he got in return. His master looked rather haggard with the remnants of soft squishy foods all over him, but his master was still smiling at him, and that was what’s important. And then, all of a sudden, the man in orange was in front of him, and he exploded into purple smoke.

Then where were two people on the stage, dancing. The same two who had kissed his cheeks in the tent.

And the pigeon took up perch on his shoulder.

He was completely entranced by their dancing, watching them. They were so pretty, and he felt a pang of jealousy that they were so beautiful. All the others around him seemed to be cheering and hollering. They needed to learn that this was something to be treasured. He was going to hold this memory near to him for the rest of his life.

And then the man winked at him, and the lady gave his master her shimmery scarf. Maybe his master would let him use it to make a doll of her.

He smiled and clapped when it was over, not even realizing they had been dancing for so long, and the man in orange appeared on stage with them as they bowed. He thought the man had vanished completely. Maybe it was that magic stuff his master had talked about that was bad for his soul. Still, he watched them pull people onto the stage, wondering what was going on, until the man came over to him and pulled him onto the stage.

“You’ll do great: I’m sure,” he saw him say, and he drew the hood tighter around his face.

He leaned forward, watching as the lady pulled the mask off the first person, and when the whole crowd seemed to react negatively, the man pushed him off the stage, laughing. This continued down the line, the pile of men on the ground getting bigger and bigger, until they reached him and his hood was pushed off. He jerked backward when the lady grabbed at his ears, then staggered back, reviled. He shrank down as the people began to react like his master had said they would, as they had in the sanctuary. He stepped back as they began to say things, and he could see his master get up from the chair he was in, the woman in armor by his side donning her helmet visor to step in, but then he felt a set of hands on his shoulders, and he looked to see the man in orange smirking.

“Ladies and gentleman, don’t panic! We asked for the ugliest face in Paris, and here he is! Congratulations! You’re the king of fools!”

He blinked when he felt a crown drop onto his head, and he looked to see the bells dangling around, the crowd cheering, and all of a sudden, he was being lifted into a decorated seat by the man and the lady. He had a death grip on the chair arms as the chair was lifted into the air, and he saw them approach a platform, where he was set down, and then the lady pulled him up, draped him in a fur cape, and even gave him a scepter, and he was wide-eyed as the people all cheered around him.

And then he felt something smack him in the face. He reached up and wiped his face, seeing a tomato and having just enough time to register it before another smacked him. He blinked and tried to duck when another was thrown, but ended up slipping. He scrambled to get up as he felt another tomato hit him—and then something that wasn’t all that soft smacked him in the side, and he felt a rope around his leg, and another around his neck when he tried to turn to get it off, and he choked as he felt it pull him back, and he struggled as hard as he could as he tried to curl up to stop the things being thrown at him because they hurt, and they weren’t soft at all, and he couldn’t get them to stop as he closed his eye and tried to pull the rope on his wrists off. He squirmed, refusing to open his eye and glad he couldn’t hear anything as he tried to get loose as something hard smacked his side. He cried out for help.

And then it all stopped.

He was ready to cry. This is what he got for stepping outside of his bell tower. He was never leaving again. It had been so much fun, but this wasn’t worth it. He refused to open his eye, and when he felt the ropes loosen, he curled up into a ball, covering his head. He whimpered when he felt a hand on him, then something soft caress his cheek. He cracked open his eye to see the lady from before gently wiping off his face. He pulled back, crawling to the edge of the platform to get away and not even checking as he limped away as fast as he could, through the square and through the gates to his home and into the church. He didn’t ever want to leave here ever again. He didn’t want to leave the comfort of his bed, of his covers, and he didn’t want to do anything ever again that would involve pulling them down from over his face.

He didn’t want to look at his master when he felt him sit. He had shamed him. He had disgraced him. He was so thoroughly embarrassed he wasn’t ever going to leave his tower ever again. Even though his master was rubbing his back, he just wanted to cry. He was going to throw away the cape and burn his little Paris town. Nobody that mean deserved a spot in Heaven. His master had even told him that people had to behave nicely to get there, and he had done his best.

He wasn’t sure how, but his master slowly lured him into sitting up and leaning into his arms as a hand gently cradled the side of his face. He hugged him back slightly, listening to his stomach growl, and he watched as his master stood up.

“Would you like me to get you something to eat, Quasimodo?” he signed.

He looked at his lap, then signed in response, “They called me ‘Desmond.’”

“Who? The gypsies?”

He nodded, and he watched his master kneel in front of him with a soft smile.

“Is that what you want me to call you? I will admit: I’m not the most creative. My pets on the streets were named ‘kitty’ and ‘puppy.’”

He offered a soft smile and nodded minutely. His master chuckled.

“Very well.”

He perked up, then hugged his master. He let his master take the cape and fold it over his arm before pulling out the shimmery scarf from earlier.

“Did you at least make some good memories?”

He nodded, and his master smiled gently.

“And here, you may have this to make her clothes.”

He took the scarf gently, reveling in the cloth as he looked at his master with wide eyes. “For me to use? Really?”

His master nodded. “As an apology for today. I’ll go fetch you food, Quasi—Desmond.”

He smiled warmly and nodded, then pulled out the pouch of coins and offered it back. He felt it get lifted from his hand, and he watched his master leave before getting up. His master always knew how to make him feel better. He washed, changed, and limped over to his Paris, making sure the people here were nicer than the people out there, and he put the doll of his master back. He placed the doll of himself in the bell tower, and he started to make the bodies for the two gypsy dolls. When his master returned (with the food he had wanted to try earlier), he enjoyed a peaceful dinner, telling his master he wasn’t ever going to leave the bell tower again.

He rang the bells again, and the night passed quickly after that.

So high up above the chapel itself, he didn’t notice as the newest captain of the guard entered the church, her armor polished and her sword at her side. She had been given the job of tracking down the gypsies, and one of them was in here now. She was pretty sure it was one of the dancers that had helped the poor thing off the platform.

It had almost surprised her, she mused as she kept an eye on the beggar that had entered, how hesitant William Miles has been about assigning her this. She snorted as the beggar began to look around. He had commanded her not to touch the gypsies as the two guards that had started throwing things at the poor creature were hauled off. He had commanded her not to touch the gypsies after the guards died. He had commanded her not to touch the gypsies as the guards started searching for them.

He commanded her to find them only after they attacked the other guards.
Yes, she mused, the church was something corrupt, indeed. Miles tipped her off they had a nest, because he tolerated gypsies for years, and they had nested somewhere near for a safe haven. No longer, he had told her. He could not ignore them anymore with the attack on the other guards.

Straightening up, she strode over to the beggar.

“Hail, gypsy.”

The old man whirled around, and the hood came down to reveal the man she was looking for.

“You,” he hissed. “You’re that bastard who chased me in here.”

“If that’s how you wish to know me, then yes. I’m also the one who picked the coins you lost and dropped them in that hat of yours.” The man snorted, and she bowed at the waist. “I’m Maria Thorpe, and you are?”

The man watched her silently.

She straightened and scowled. “I asked for you name.”

“Why does it matter if you’ll arrest me?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “I can’t, you moron. You’re in a church.”

The man tilted his head back to observe her with those golden eyes. Something inside her sparked, and she could feel it in her belly.

“You’re not like the other soldiers.”

“I’m not French, but English. Unlike the Godless heathens here, I have respect for the church.”

She watched the man frown, staring at her. She wondered just how long something this beautiful would last inside something so prison-like.

“What do you want?”

“Your name would suffice.”

“Altair Ibn-La’Ahad.”

“You’re a foreigner then,” she stated.

He said nothing more as a pigeon landed on his shoulder. Their eyes met, and it was like one of those stupid stories she had heard about—but instead of love, she could distinctly feel lust, and judging by the look that came across the gypsy’s face, so did he.

“Good job, Maria,” she heard from behind her, and she could see Altair get into a defensive position.

She turned around and saluted. Archdeacon Miles was there, watching them with a weary face.

“You know, gypsy, I didn’t want to have to arrest you. I wasn’t going to until you attacked our guards—I wouldn’t have lifted a finger if it had been just those two guards who tormented my son.”

Altair hissed at her, “You tricked me.”

“As you know, gypsy, as I’m sure you do, I cannot touch you while you’re here. Undoubtedly, you’ve already claimed sanctuary.”

She nodded in agreement when Miles looked at her.

“Very well, but you are confined here. As much as I hate to do this, you will not leave this city alive. Twenty-three men are dead by your hand alone. Leave, and your life is the court’s.”

Maria exhaled as she led the men out of the sanctuary, not noticing when Miles walked over to the gypsy and stood in front of him, scowling. He jerked back when the scent of the man hit his nose. He could smell the fight on the man, and he could still see him killing in that outfit of his—although it was better put on the ground, while the man was in the bath, and that smell was being replaced. That scent was inviting, alluring—
And absolutely demonic.

“What do you want?” the man growled.

He frowned. “I wanted for you to walk free.”

“You can’t fool me: I know what you were thinking.”

Miles snorted. “You wish you knew what I was thinking. It’s a pity I’ll have to kill the man who saved my son’s life.”

Meanwhile, his son had finished the two dolls, deciding to make the other two tomorrow, the two of the brothers. Desmond was going to have a whole happy family living with his doll in the tiny tower. He stared at the two gypsy dolls in their beautiful clothing, smiling warmly. He stretched and stood, deciding to go see if the priest needed help cleaning up. As he crawled through the rafters into the main sanctuary, he was surprised to see the male gypsy peering out of the windows with the priest. He tilted his head as he paced anxiously, angrily. He slipped closer to stare at their lips.

“Do not act rashly, child,” the priest said below him to the gypsy. “You created quite a stir at the festival. It would not be wise to provoke Miles’ emotions further.”

“We killed the men who humiliated that poor boy! Why would the judge go after us for helping his child?” the man snarled, pacing furiously.

“He may not want to, but it is his duty to protect them—”

“That man—he’s not as innocent as you’d think! After that Thorpe woman left, he came over and—”

“Be patient, gypsy. All things will happen for a reason. I cannot help you, but there may be someone here who can.”

He wondered what his master had done.

The man snarled, “Who?”

He watched as the priest pointed to a statue of Jesus, who his master had often told him to pray to. He watched as the priest walked off, and then watched the male gypsy stare at the statue. People were still coming and going in the sanctuary, so he’d have to be careful if he wanted to get closer. He watched as the gypsy slowly calmed down, then rose and moved closer to the statue. He tried to get a little closer. He wanted to see what the man was going to do. He watched as the man started dancing—here, in the church, the gypsy started dancing—in a slow and graceful way, and he could feel his heart skip a beat as he watched, moving slightly closer.

Until he saw angry motion in the corner of his eye, and the people were yelling and pointing at him. He froze momentarily before limping off quickly. This church was his—and he wasn’t even safe here. He hurried up the stairs as fast as his bad leg could carry him, and into his bell tower, where he slammed the door shut and hurried up to his bed, climbing in and pulling the covers over his head. His bell tower: he was never going to leave. He would stay up here and make a bunch of gypsy dolls until they covered everywhere, and then he could pretend to have lots of friends.

He whimpered when he felt a hand on him through the covers. He curled up tighter and cried out when he felt someone tug on the covers gently. He wasn’t coming out—not ever. He felt the person get off the bed, and he waited for what he felt like was a good amount of time, then peeked out from under the covers—

And jumped when he saw the gypsy staring at him. Those golden eyes kept him pinned where he was, and he wanted to believe he saw compassion there, but that wasn’t going to happen for someone as ugly as him. He shrunk back even more when he saw a hand move to touch him, but then he felt it caress his cheek gently, and his eyes were drawn to the gypsy’s lips.

“You’re the deaf man from the Feast.”

He pulled the covers tighter around his head.

“If I had known that wasn’t a mask, I never would have pulled you onto the stage.”

That hand was still rubbing over what little unburned skin he had left on his face as he stared into the gypsy’s eyes.

“What did you say your name was?” he saw in his peripheral vision.

“Desmond,” he murmured quietly, and he saw the faintest hint of a smirk on the man’s face.

“Well, Desmond, I’m Altair.”

He smiled slightly, slowly pulling off the covers and sitting up.

Altair rose after that, looking at him as he said, “This is a nice place you have here.”

He perked up at the compliment, and the gypsy raised an eyebrow before murmuring, “Why don’t you give me a tour? I’ll be here a while.”

He blinked, and Altair held out a hand.

“Come on. I’d love to see what secrets you have hidden up here.”

He beamed and took the hand, rising and showing him everything. He showed him his bed, his wardrobe, all the trinkets his master had bought him, the chimes he had made from the leftover glass pieces he found. He showed him the hand-stitched blankets because it got so cold, and small plants his master had brought him for a garden. He showed him the water-fetching system and even how to get hot water. He showed him all the bells, every single one, and he could see the soft smile on the man’s lips as he gave him the tour. He even admitted to Altair that he hadn’t rung for the evening because he wasn’t sure he wanted to—especially after the way the people had treated him. That earned him a laugh he thought would have sounded gorgeous.

They eventually ended up back at the beginning, where the tiny Paris was, and he squirmed as the gypsy noticed it, raising an eyebrow. He watched him look at all the little people, all the tiny impressions. When he went to touch the doll of him with his golden coin as the base, Desmond jerked, but the gypsy stopped and looked closer. His face turned into one of confusion, then into one of pity.

“You’re lonely,” he saw him say, and he looked at his feet, wringing his hands.

He had placed his doll in between the lady gypsy and Altair so they could hold hands. He had been planning on making a whole family of dolls. Sheepishly, he nodded, still not looking as he wrung his hands and stared at his feet, reluctantly looking up when he felt a finger tuck under his chin. His toes curled at the soft kiss on the cheek, and then he jerked back, frantically signing that Altair shouldn’t kiss him because he was so ugly and disgusting—if the people’s reactions from earlier hadn’t proved that. Altair stared at him blankly, and then he realized the gypsy couldn’t understand the signing that his master had taught him.

“Y-you shouldn’t kiss me! I-it’s bad! You should save your kisses for the pretty lady you dance with! I-I don’t deserve it! I’m…” he looked down at the floor again and pressed his hands together. “I’m ugly. I don’t deserve it. I’m lucky my master still comes up to visit me.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then felt the hand leave, and two entered his field of vision, rapidly signing, “You deserve love more than anyone else I know of. Even in the Court of Miracles, I’ve never seen someone more worthy of love.”

He looked, shocked beyond all belief, and saw a smug look on the man’s face.

“H-how do you—”

“I have inside contacts,” he said. “I know nothing else but that.”

He stared at the gypsy. It had to be magic. It had to be. His master said gypsies were masters of magic. And then it got worse, because Altair led him to the bed and offered to stay with him. He could feel his heart trying to burst through his chest. It was the first time in a long time that anyone ever volunteered to stay here with him. He smiled, hugging the man tightly, and then settled down to sleep. He felt so happy and warm inside, and his blood was rushing in his ears, and he could feel a tightening in his belly he was so wound up from knowing that someone beside his master actually cared. He almost could have sworn he was in love.

As he drifted off, he could feel the vibrations in the gypsy’s chest, something he once remembered as “singing,” and it helped him fall asleep quickly. He felt warm and loved, and the Feast’s horrible ending was almost nothing more than a bad memory to be erased. Tomorrow he would show the gypsy the view from the top of the towers.

Of course, the same pleasant feelings could not be said for William. He has his hands in his hair as he sat in his chair, trying brutally to get the images of the gypsies out of his head. He had given Quasi—Desmond—the scarf to get rid of it, to hope it would help sooth his frazzled nerves.

It hadn’t: already, he had touched himself when the images of the taunting demons grew too strong in the bath.

Still, he had to make it through this. He would pray for forgiveness and ask for the Lord’s protection. He had been celibate all his life, even when the other monks and priests had married (much to his chagrin, and much against the vows they had taken), and now, he believed, it was coming back to haunt him. He knew that even in the church, corruption was rampant, and he had planned to set it straight—was setting it straight. He had to set this straight: it was his calling, his mission from God. He knew this, in his bones, in his prayers, in the answers he received from the Lord. He had to set the church straight—at least here, in Paris.

He jerked as he felt the hands of the male gypsy wrap around his chest. The gypsies were going to kill him. His eyes shot open, and he banished the images in front of him, denying them root to grow stronger.

Truth be told, he didn’t want to trap the gypsy in the church, but the gypsy had murdered more guards after the two who deserved to be killed had died. That was wrong. That was the problem. He wouldn’t have pursued them if they had just kept at the two guards who had started the humiliation for his son. No, then they had to go ahead and slaughter the guards that had given chase once the bodies were found. He could have given them freedom if they had just disappeared, as he was used to them doing. This time, things were not so good. They had openly assaulted and murdered the other guards pursuing them. He couldn’t protect them anymore.

But at this point, as he heard that damn witch whisper something absolutely filthy while the man’s hand found its way down his pants, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.

He could always have Desmond help the gypsy escape right into his hands, force them to repent, and then take the lady as his bride. Assuming she would cooperate, which wasn’t likely. His son was so ignorant and had probably already made friends with the gypsy in the church. It had probably wandered up there in its attempts to find an escape, and Desmond had attached himself to it.

Perhaps Desmond would keep the gypsy captured there. Unlikely, but still an option. If that were the case, he could ignore his own urges for the sake of his son. He had to remember his son. Of course, he could always have his son charm the gypsy, then escape with them and follow him. He groaned as the man squeezed his penis gently, breaking his thoughts as the woman laughed against his neck, her tongue doing wonder—monstrous–things to his neck as she pressed against him. He swallowed, trying valiantly to banish the demons.

Yes, he mused, it was either death, marriage, or his son.

Nevertheless, ignorant of his master’s plans, Desmond slept through the night with the gypsy and upon waking found Altair was watching him.

“You sleep soundly,” he saw him say, and he smiled in return, yawning as he forced himself to get up.

He felt as if he were brutally ripping himself away from Altair. He sat up and rubbed his eye as Altair moved behind him. He forced him out of the bell tower, telling him he didn’t want him going deaf as he rang and told him to come back up once his master left. He would save some of his breakfast for him. The gypsy left with a soft look, and he went up to ring the bells. He remembered what they sounded like, the deep gonging sound. That was before he went deaf, a long time ago.

When his master came up with breakfast, he was more than eager to greet him. They sat down as the man smiled at him, looking exhausted. He unpacked the basket with gusto, squirming at the sight of the all delicious looking food. After prayer, he wolfed down half of it, then remembered to save some for Altair.

“Why do you look so tired, master?”

His master jerked slightly, then rubbed his eyes. “I… had a long night thinking about the gypsies.”

He tilted his head, and his master frowned.

“Which brings me to a point: you need to be careful, Desmond, around the gypsies that come through here. One has claimed sanctuary here. Watch out for him.”

“Why?”

“He watched the murder of two of the guards from the festival, then slaughtered the ones that came after his friends. He fled here, and my new guard captain, Maria, went in after him, but he claimed sanctuary.”

“Then what?”

“I managed to corner him, but I got… distracted. Be careful, Desmond. Gypsies are masters of magic, and they can use it to manipulate you and your thoughts. You must be extremely cautious when dealing with them. If the gypsy here comes to your tower, cast him out before the devil gets you.”

Desmond blinked. Perhaps that was why the gypsy cuddled with him last night.

“They will do whatever it takes to get what they want. That includes getting out of here, and if he does escape here, he will continue to wreak havoc across all of Paris.”

“Why?”

“That is the gypsy way: to do evil and serve Satan.”

“They do?”

His master nodded. “Promise me you’ll be a good boy until I deal with the gypsy problem.”

He nodded. “Of course, master.”

He was almost happy when his master left and the gypsy appeared soon after. The man sauntered in as he sat on his bed and thought about what his master had said. He laid down, not happy in the least.

“What’s wrong?” he saw the gypsy say as he knelt down in front of him.

Desmond stared at him before pulling the covers over his face and trying to hide. He didn’t want to talk to the gypsy man if his master said not to. He waited and waited until he thought the gypsy was gone, and then he peeked. He didn’t see him immediately, and he sat up, sighing for an arrow dodged. He rose and walked over to his Paris, his eyes growing wide when he saw his Altair doll missing. He looked about frantically, and he flinched when he saw the gypsy man at one of the open windows, studying the doll in his hands. He approached warily.

Only to have the man turn around and startle him by staring at him.

“This is an incredible replica of me.”

He looked down at his feet, wringing his hands. He didn’t want to lose his favorite doll. He just wanted his doll back. He jerked when a finger tucked under his chin and gently guided his head back up.

“You’ve got a lot of talent.”

His ears were burning. Only his master had ever told him that. He shrunk back when he felt Altair kiss his cheek.

“Why are you so unaccepting of me all of a sudden? Just this morning, you seemed happy to have company.”

He looked away. “Master said you do evil. He also said you work for the devil.”

It took him a while before he could actually look him in the face, and then Altair asked, “What have I done that was evil?”

“You murdered the guards!”

“They were attacking my friends. They wouldn’t have relented.”

He looked away again, wringing his hands. He really wanted his doll again. Dolls were so much easier than people to deal with. He just wanted to go to bed and forget this ever happened. He never should have gone to the Feast of Fools. He glanced at Altair, who was frowning. The finger under his chin dropped, and the gypsy turned around, only to turn around again.

“You should come with me to the Court of Miracles,” he said, hopping onto the railing to sit. “You’d live a good life. You deserve a good life.”

“I do have a good life!” he exclaimed, scowling, then looking back down. “And gypsies are bad.”

The gypsy waited until he looked at him again, then looked unimpressed. “Am I bad?”

He looked back down, still nervous. Then, reluctantly, he shook his head. He shifted, uncomfortable. When he looked again, the gypsy had a soft, but smug look. He rubbed his hands as he looked back down, then shifted and continued to stare at the ground. Finally, he peeked back up, and the gypsy seemed to be at conflict with himself. Then, the man sighed, cursing one of the brothers (who he recognized by the name) he had met in the tent. And in speaking of which, he needed to make the dolls of them after he got his other doll back.

“Why can’t you stay here with me if you’re not bad?” he murmured.

If the gypsy wasn’t bad, he should stay, then Desmond could help him convince Master Miles that it was all a misunderstanding, and that the gypsy man should be free. He would be more than happy for the company, too. They could play with the dolls together, and they could read books together, and they could have fun together. They could have lots of fun together. And maybe Altair felt the same feelings for him as he did for the gypsy—that happy-nervous, let-me-make-you-smile feeling.

Altair had sighed, frowning as he looked around, then pointed. Desmond looked to see him pointing at the small garden he had. He was confused but looked back at Altair anyway. The gypsy had his doll clasped between his hands as he sat on the railings, occasionally twirling it between his fingers to watch the clothes flow in the wind.

“Plants have certain things they need to grow, right?” the man asked slowly, and Desmond nodded.

“I’m like a plant. We’re all like plants.”

He raised an eyebrow, not enjoying the sinking feeling he got as the man spoke.

“I need my freedom to stay alive. Keep me here, and I’ll wilt.”

Desmond straightened, looking back at the plants, then back at the gypsy, then back at the plants.

“Why? I do just fine here,” he said as he looked back.

“You’re a different plant than me.”

He tilted his head. “But…” and then it hit him. “So… you can’t stay?”

He didn’t like the shake of his head. “No, I can’t. I’ll wilt, Desmond, and die. But you can live anywhere. You should come with me. I can’t live here. I need a very specific home.”

“The Court of Miracles?”

“Exactly.”

He could feel his heart sink, and he looked down. He realized there was no way the gypsy would ever want to stay with him. He had pretty lady friends to live with and lots of friends back home, compared to one ugly monster who had to stay in the bell tower because of its ugliness. He never should have gotten his hopes up someone loved him enough to stay with him outside of his master.

“Fine. I’ll help you escape tonight,” he uttered.

He didn’t turn around for an answer before he limped over to his work table and sat down, pulling out a block of wood as he carved the brothers and tried to ignore the pain in his chest. He ignored the gypsy as he came over and watched him carve, still toying with the doll of himself. He ignored him when he placed the doll back and hid before his master came up. He almost missed his master, if it weren’t for the gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Desmond?”

He stared at his master.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked back down at the doll, then sighed and rested his hand against the table. “It’s the reason why no one loves me because I’m an ugly monster?”

He felt his master kneel down beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and pulling him close as he signed out awkwardly, “You are not an ugly monster. In my eyes, you are beautiful.”

He smiled slightly at that, looking at his master. “You really think I’m beautiful?”

“I’ve told you a million times I do.”

He looked back down at the gypsy doll. “Then what about everyone else?”

He felt a hand caress his cheek, and he saw him sign, “That is their problem. This world is corrupt, Desmond, and being scarred and maimed is a crime which no one understands.”

He pulled the gypsies down from the bell tower, along with his own hideous doll. “I want to look like them. I want to be able to live in the world and be loved because I’m beautiful.”

“You are loved, Desmond. I love you with all my heart and soul.”

“Then why won’t you give the gypsy man his freedom?”

His master paused. “Because I can’t, Desmond: he slaughtered twenty-three men, and his comrades murdered even more. He must pay for his crimes or remain in the church.”

He didn’t respond but pulled his master’s doll down and made him and himself and the two gypsies all hold hands.

“Will we ever live in peace?”

“We had before, Desmond. Before they attacked our guards.”

Desmond leaned into his master’s embrace, staring at the four of them. He stared at them for a long time, feeling a hand brush over what little hair he had on his head, and eventually, he moved away, looking at his master.

“Can we have dinner?”

His master smiled. “Of course, my son.”

He ate all of his meal that night, saving just the snacks his master brought for the gypsy. As his master walked away to go take care of some unruly prisoners, Desmond stopped him for a big hug, muttering a thank you and telling him he loved him.

He had never been so happy to have those words returned.

He limped back to the room and called out to the gypsy, walking over to the window and waiting. Altair appeared like magic, staring at him as if to be gauged. Desmond smiled, no real warm feeling behind it, but he loved the gypsy, and his master had always told him to be a better person than the rest of the world. He would give the man his freedom, then forget him. He could heal from this, just like he healed from the burns. He turned around.

“Okay. Hop on my back and I’ll get you down from here.”

He waiting until he felt him settle on his back, then climbed onto the railing and dropped. He swung from gargoyles and scaled the walls quickly, landing on the same pad that he had landed on to go to the Feast. It hid them well, and he let Altair down.

“Okay. You’re free.”

Altair was studying him with a frown, and Desmond could feel his own smile waver.

“Yes?”

He watched him pull off a necklace and press it into his hand before leaning in close. “If you ever need to find us, this necklace will tell you how.”

His eyes widened as the gypsy kissed him on the lips, then vanished into the night. The gypsy had kissed him, and not just kissed him, but kissed him on the lips. He had no idea why the gypsy would do that. But perhaps the gypsy must have missed his cheek, and that was all. It was awfully dark out. He shook his head, dismissing the thought that the gypsy actually cared for him. He didn’t let himself acknowledge the flutter of his heart or the warmth in his blood as he climbed back to his bell tower and put on the necklace. It had been a mistake. Simple as that.

William could only wish things where simple. At this point, he didn’t even know the definition of the word as he paced back and forth in front of his fire. Maria had been searching for the nest of gypsies. He had been searching for the nest of gypsies. The guards had been searching for the nest of gypsies. Their theft and petty crimes could not be overlooked anymore. He had even captured some and had them interrogated. It hadn’t worked. He could almost see the images of the gypsies swirling in the fire, dancing, laughing, mocking.

He paced for hours, thinking, praying. He knew the Lord answered the calls of the righteous. The Lord had saved him from the streets, blessed him with love, and even helped his brother with his alcohol addiction. The Lord would help him now in his time of need.

And then it struck him, as beautiful and brilliant as the Lord’s creation of the world. It was beautiful, wonderful, and his son wouldn’t get dragged into the mess. He allowed himself a lazy smile as the images of the two in the fire dissolved with a screech.

Those gypsies would be his.

But, Desmond’s gypsies were already there to keep him company. He had finished the two brothers and was playing around with them before he saw something move in the corner of his eye. He looked, and he could feel terror growing. His master’s new captain was brazenly walking in, as if she owned the place. He had no idea what she was doing here, but she was probably going to humiliate him more. He frowned at the idea of having his tower, his only safe spot, taken away from him. With a low growl, he rose, feeling anger spread lazily throughout his body. This was his place. She could stay in the sanctuary. He wasn’t going to be kicked out of his own bed. He snarled, causing the lady to jump, and he limped over.

“Go away!” he yelled as he pushed her, causing her to stagger.

She said something, but he couldn’t understand her as he swung his hands, pushing her out of his tower and into the stairwell. She was speaking too fast. She must be here to torment him some more. He wasn’t going to stand for it in his tower—even if he had to push her out the side to her untimely death. He snarled, pushing her again when she held out her hands, and when she drew her sword, they were already in the stairwell to go down. He snarled as she kept talking. He couldn’t understand her at all. He could understand only slow speak.

Finally, she caught on, her sword still at the ready to attack.

“I’m here for Altair.”

He snarled and lunged, knocking the sword away and pushing her again.

“No! Go away! No soldiers up here! This is my spot!” he screamed.

She managed to right herself as he followed her down a few more stairs, but he didn’t make any more moves to attack. She was invading unwantedly. He was getting sick of being tormented everywhere he was. He could see her chuckle, then sheathe her sword and cross her arms.

“Very well. I have a message for him.”

His eyes narrowed as she backed off a bit.

“Archdeacon Miles is about to go crazy trying to catch the gypsies. If he’s still up there, he needs to be extra careful. Tell him that.”

He followed her to the door to the sanctuary before she turned around and gave him a judging look.

“He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

He jerked back, his old friend Fear settling in his stomach as anger left. He swallowed, trying to figure out what she was doing. He could see her laugh.

“Of course, I guess gypsies specialize in dealing with people. Goodbye, Desmond.”

He watched her leave before fleeing back to his tower and playing with the dolls until he went to bed.

Meanwhile, William was pacing up the stairs to the tower. He knew when Desmond slept. He knew the boy’s patterns well. If this plan was going to work, he was going to have to not be caught. He didn’t want Desmond suffering for anything else. The boy deserved to be left out, but now this was war, and he’d have to be careful if he wasn’t going to have him be drug in. When Maria told him she thought that the gypsy had escaped using Desmond, William knew it to be true. Still, his son held no blame. He was probably just trying to be a nice person.

He knew the gypsy had seen him comfort his son and eat dinner with him. He had felt him watching from the shadows. He wasn’t surprised that Desmond had been duped into helping him. Maria had confirmed his suspicions. He paced over to his son’s bed, watching the boy breath.

Bingo.

He could see a necklace around his neck that had never been there before. He had a sneaking suspicion that the gypsy had tried to lure him away from his bell tower with the promise of the Court, and had probably given him a map when he decided not to follow. He pulled out a small sheet of parchment and a stick of coal, and set about drawing the giant charm around his son’s neck. The game was on, and William didn’t intend to lose it.

His captain could play traitor; his son could play innocently too, but ultimately, William would emerge victorious. And just because he loved him, he would even make sure his son had a good time in the game as well.

So the next morning, after Desmond had risen and washed up, rung the bells and sat down with his dolls, he was unbelievably happy to see his master come up with a small package with their breakfast.

And the breakfast smelled hot, too.

He set the table quickly and sat down as Master Miles unpacked the basket, and he squirmed and wiggled. His master laughed and promised him the package hidden in the bottom after they ate, so Desmond was all too eager for prayer as he started to wolf down the food, but slowed down a bit later to enjoy the hot treat.

“You know, Desmond, I’ve been thinking,” he saw signed, and he tilted his head as his master took a bite.

“About what?” he signed back.

“About what I should do with the gypsies. And as I started looking for them, I found out some interesting things.”

He leaned in to watch him sign.

“Apparently, in the Court of Miracles, the lame can walk; the blind can see… and the deaf can hear.”

He straightened up, setting his fork down at that idea. He would like to be able to hear again.

“And I was thinking that I could pardon the gypsies if they would let us use this so-called Court.”

He perked up. “Really?”

“But I don’t know where it is.”

He slouched back down, his mind wandering briefly to the necklace Altair gave him.

“And I’d love to send someone out after it, but all the gypsies hide from the guards.”

“I could look for it!” he shouted, feeling almost delirious with happiness.

“I couldn’t have you look for it, not after the way the people treated you before,” his master signed.

“You could have a guard dress down and come with me!” he said, beaming and proud of his thoughts and cleverness.

He would actually get to see the Court of Miracles. He would get to be on a mission for his master, to show him just how much he loved him in return for everything he had done. He could take his dolls, show them their replicas, and see Altair again. He was bouncing in his seat, hoping his master would let him attempt such a quest. He could see Master Miles watching him momentarily before he pursed his lips.

“If I let you go, you must take Captain Thorpe with you.”

He pulled back, frowning. He didn’t want that woman with him. She was stupid and mean. But, if he went with her, he could go visit Altair. And that would be fun. He could show off his dolls. He nodded.

“Yeah! I’ll do it. I want to go,” he signed, and he smiled at the flash of pride in his master’s eyes.

“Very well. You will set off tonight. I will have Maria wait for you outside the church.”

He nodded vigorously as he finished his meal before it got cold, chattering ceaselessly about his plants and how well they were growing. He took the package when offered, tearing it open and nearly bouncing at the seed packets that he saw for his little garden. Once his master left, he picked up a few scraps of cloth and made himself a tiny pouch. He put in the dolls of Altair, the lady, and the two brothers, eager to show them off. He also tucked in the nuts that his master had left him for a snack and made sure he had his necklace.

He was so excited: he was going show his master how much he loved him.

He blinked when the lady from last night appear in the doorway of his tower. She looked so much different without all her armor he almost didn’t recognize her. Still, he swallowed when she approached him and said something rapidly. He blinked, not understanding a word she said. Finally, she caught on and slowed her speaking.

“Are you ready? We’ve got quite a task in front of us.”

Maria couldn’t believe Archdeacon Miles had sentenced her to work with this beast to find the Court of Miracles. No gypsy in his right mind would give a map to someone as malformed as this person. Of course, it was also arguable that no gypsy was in his right mind. Now, she had to crawl along the belly of this foul city with a creature that looked like the perfect representation of how she viewed the place. Of course, from what she had heard from Archdeacon Miles, this poor creature didn’t deserve to live here, too kind for its own good.

Still, wrapped up in her cloak, she watched the poor thing pull out a necklace, offering it out. She took the offered charm and looked at it, quickly identifying it as a map to the city. She nodded. They’d have to follow it, and it looked like it was going to lead them to a cemetery.

“Can you read it?” she heard him say, and she had to pause.

The creature’s voice was beautiful, almost as beautiful as that gypsy Altair’s voice. She looked up, hearing it for the first time in a non-threatening tone. She could see his golden eyes, a vague reminiscent of the gypsy man. After a few minutes of quiet, the poor thing looked down, wringing his mangled hands, thick with calluses from pulling the bell ropes. She was willing to bet that it was actually startlingly well-built underneath those clothes, and the scars were simply on skin.

If the poor thing hadn’t been burned so badly, it probably would have been married off younger than most couples and already working with kids.

She straightened, chuckling. Listening to herself, she realized she was getting soft. Of course, her first lines of thought clued her in to how desperate she needed a one-night stand with someone. She shook her head and waved a hand at her side to catch the man’s attention.

Slowly, “I can. Don’t worry. Your voice is beautiful.”

The creature jumped, and she laughed at the wide-eyed stare she was given, gesturing the thing over. It limped over to her slowly.

“I won’t bite: I promise.”

It stopped, jerking back, then looked down. “S-sorry.”

She waited before leading him off, through the grimy streets. She hated this city, hated the food, hated the people. Of course, there was this creature, this hardly-human monster, that was, if she were to be quite honest with herself for just a moment, was more human than the rest of the base, disgusting filth that wandered the streets of this God-forsaken city. At least Archdeacon Miles was working to clean it up. She wrapped a hand around the creature’s shoulders, guiding quickly and quietly, purposefully overlooking the tenseness and the fear it gave off. She led it to the cemetery, then over to one of the tombs as the map suggested. She frowned, looking around.

And then it wandered over into an open mausoleum that had been ransacked a few years ago, it seemed, and Maria found herself compelled to follow. She walked down with it, into some catacombs, and frowned. This was not what she was expecting. It grew dark, and she stepped closer. The poor dear seemed completely oblivious to all the death around it. It seemed so happy and excited to be in a catacomb, watching the rats scurry and the water drip.

And then the worst thing possible happened.

Out of nowhere, lights appeared, and she and the beast were surrounded by the gypsies. She could see their weapons, and she could see the malicious looks they had, and she knew they had been trapped. She whirled around just to check that, yes, they were surrounded, and she found herself back-to-back with the thing.

“Hi!” the deformity chirped when a man in orange stepped forward. “We’re looking for the Court of Miracles so that I can hear things again!”

Maria pinched her nose, her shoulder sagging and every ounce of hope she had for getting out of here alive dying. The creature was also stupid. She had to question Archdeacon Miles’s motives for sending him with her. She heard the gypsies laugh, and then a soft, lilting voice started to sing. It was definitely malicious, but it was slow and steady, making it appear kind until she listened to the words.

“So you’ve finally heard of that mythical place called the Court of Miracles—hello, you’re there!”

She could feel the dumb beast take her hand and walk off with them as they pushed her forward. He seemed to be completely unaware of the malicious undertones of the soft song.

“We say that the lame can walk, and the blind can see, but the dead don’t talk, so you won’t be around to reveal what you’ve found. Welcome to the Court of Miracles, where it’s a miracle if you get out here alive!”

She walked alongside the monster, who was smiling and watching all the gypsies as they all danced like gleeful children to the hideous tune she could hear. It was bouncing to an unknown beat, and all Maria wanted to do was run her sword through its chest. The gypsies rolled and tumbled, as if putting on a show for them. They were definitely going to die. She stumbled along as they were pushed onto a large platform in an even larger room full of the damn people, and there was already a crowd gathering. Maria recognized the platform: the gallows.

“Justice is swift in the Court of Miracles—I am the lawyers and judge all in one! We like to get the trial over with quickly because it’s the sentence that’s really the fun!”

So that man had been the one singing. The orange man stepped up, onto the stage, dressed in something akin to a king’s outfit. The man in orange was standing by the lever to pull for the trap doors. The orange man chuckled, trailing a hand along her hand.

“Now, I’m not unfair, and I realize just by watching you that you don’t want to be here, and this poor, demented creature probably got duped into coming, so I’ll cut you a deal, my friend.”

She looked at the deformity, who was watching her. It probably couldn’t read the lips of the speedy talkers. She smiled softly, and it smiled back, content to wait and see what happened next.

“Don’t worry,” she said slowly, and the creature nodded, smiling warmly and looking at all the people, his eyes alight with amazement at the decorations and the people.

“Ah… such innocence. I hope it survives,” the man said, pointing a finger up at the ceiling as if it would help. “So, do we have anybody willing?”

“What do you mean?” she growled.

The orange man laughed. “It’s a tradition. The poor, unfortunate souls who sometimes wander down here are given a chance to be snatched up for marriage—or are left to hang. We can’t have them going out to tattle, now, can we? So they marry a gypsy, and they become one of us.”

Maria scowled. “There’s no one that will marry the beast beside me.”

She looked when she felt a finger tap her shoulder, and she saw the creature looking at her, worried. She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t. Worry.”

It nodded and sat down awkwardly, staring at its lap. As it wrung its hands, she heard it humming quietly to itself.

“Well, that’s not my problem, is it?” the orange man said. “Well?”
She looked out at the crowd of gypsies.

“I’ll take her,” she heard, and the crowd parted to reveal the same damn gypsy that still made her loins stir and her reminder that she hadn’t slept with anyone that damn attractive in a long time.

Their eyes met, and she knew this man would take good care of her. Definitely the care she wanted, and most certainly the care she needed. She also bet that with enough persuasion, she could convince him to follow her into the war, where she could get her position back after explaining why she had been sent to Paris in the first place. Her commander liked her more than that, she knew for certain. This would be covered up and forgotten.

“And the other?”

That made her snap back into reality. She frowned, looking out at the silent crowd. There would be no one who would marry it. No one could want to marry that thing. It was hideous—and it was stupid. She looked at it, sitting and rocking as it hummed to itself.

“No one? No takers? Not one? So he’ll be swinging alone tonight, then. Probably a good thing. He is the Archdeacon’s dog, after all. He’d probably go home and—”

“No,” Maria said before she could stop herself. “No, it wouldn’t. That thing wouldn’t go home and tattle, and if you think that Archdeacon Miles doesn’t already know where you guys are, you’re mistaken. He’s two steps ahead of you, and this… this thing is the least of your worries.”

She didn’t know why she was sticking up for it. She had no idea. It was for the best that it would die.

“Still,” the orange man said as her new “husband” walked forward to pick her up, “we can’t very well let him go out and about now. He’s got too much knowledge.”

“I’m not saying you should let him go. He needs to be dead.”

There was a merciless laugh from the orange man.

“But I am saying that Archdeacon Miles will invade this place if you kill his son. He’ll wipe you all out before you can even blink. He’s got more power than you know. Trust me: you want to let him walk free.”

“I’ll take him,” she heard called.

The creature stood up, looking so utterly gleeful as she watched a blue-eyed boy jog ahead of Altair.

“I’ll take him, and take him home. I’ll stay with him to make sure he doesn’t say anything.”

“Are you sure, Kadar?” the orange man asked.

“I’m positive, Gilberto. Let me have him.”

Maria couldn’t believe someone had willing taken that creature.

And Kadar couldn’t believe that bitch would say that Desmond needed to die. He smiled as he hopped onto the platform. The boy was on his feet, pressing a doll into his hands—two, actually. He looked at them and realized that they were exact replicas of him and his brother. He laughed, kissing the boy on the cheek.

“Do you want to go home?” he signed flawlessly after handing him the dolls back.

“How do you know how to sign?” the man signed in response after hurriedly tucking the dolls into the pouch.

Kadar smiled. “I learned in a foreign country. The sign language that your master taught you is not so different from the kind in Spain that they use.”

He laughed as Desmond’s jaw dropped. Kadar couldn’t deny he was irreversibly attracted to the kid, ever since he first met him in the tent, and he supposed that the scars were supposed to make him ugly, but he had always had a thing for a heroic, strong man with a kind heart. That had been the only thing stopping him from going after Altair, the kind heart. He figured that Desmond would be the best man he could be with, then. He hugged Desmond back, then turned to look at Gilberto.

“His life is mine. I’ll take him back to the church and make sure he doesn’t say anything.”

He noticed the guard’s surprised expression, and he smiled innocently. He didn’t know why Gilberto was so paranoid about traitors outside the ranks. He should be more concerned about traitors within the ranks.

And Kadar had had about enough of Gilberto’s reign.

He linked his arm with Desmond’s as he led the boy off the platform, out of the catacombs and into the streets. The boy was bubbly and merry, talking to him all about his little house and how he had missed him. He had missed him from the first day he saw him, apparently.

That made Kadar happy. He had never been missed as his own person before.

Since, Desmond rambled on and on, pulling out the dolls to show him again and beaming from the praise he gave him. He knew he made the right decision. Here he would be free, with this boy, instead of under Gilberto’s oppressive rule. He was going to be safe, too, from the inevitable death that the others would suffer at the Archdeacon’s hands. He was sick of having to check in and checkout whenever he would leave, of the senseless murder of innocents that Gilberto seemed to favor. He was sick of the starving life—and he knew that Desmond was well fed in the tower. And if he went deaf, too, he would do so gladly—especially after Gilberto had the nerve to tell him he was worthless as a gypsy, when he brought in more money than Altair. He was a better dancer, too. He was finally free.

As they approached the gates of the church, they were met by Archdeacon Miles, who arched an eyebrow.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events, but I can’t say I’m entirely surprised,” the man said, and Kadar smiled innocently.

“I know which side will win. You can’t fool me, and I know you won’t slay me—even if I never call sanctuary, because you know that I’ll stay here and keep your son company. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

The archdeacon leaned back slightly, smirking. “It seems I underestimated the gypsies’ intelligence.”

Kadar laughed as he felt his brother jog up behind him. Desmond greeted him whole-heartedly as he looked at the archdeacon.

“No, you underestimated my intelligence. I’m not stupid. I know that you know where we hide, and I know that Desmond lives a good life. A confined life, but I can adapt. I’m gonna save my own skin while I can—and laugh when the others are killed.”

The archdeacon frowned, folding his arms as Desmond hugged Malik tightly. Kadar smirked.

Archdeacon Miles scowled, leaning in. “Don’t you dare lead my son off the path of righteousness.”

Kadar smiled innocently. “I won’t. I just want to be happy, and I’m certain that Desmond will make me happy.”

There was silence for a moment before the archdeacon sighed. “Very well. I suppose I’ll have to trust you’ll take good care of him in case I die?”

“Naturally. Oh, and let me give you some advice about Adha.”

The archdeacon looked surprised.

“She’s not unreasonable,” Kadar said. “Separate her from the pack, and she regains her sensibilities. I’m sure if you explain to her that the best way to save Altair is through a marriage to you, she’ll see the truth in it. Don’t worry.” He smiled again. “And she’s the loyal type. She’d never admit it, but she’d totally bang someone like you. I’ve seen her do it before.”

Archdeacon Miles stepped back slightly. “W-what?”

Kadar beamed, patting Desmond’s arm and kissing his cheek when that healthy, child-like visage was turned upon him. He started leading him and Malik inside, shouting over his shoulder, “If you encounter any problems, come talk to me, handsome!”

He let Desmond lead them up to his little tower, and he heard Malik fall behind him. He knew his brother knew all of this already. Both of them were sick of Altair’s antics, fueled by Adha’s goading and everyone’s blind praise. They knew they would be safe here, and Kadar got the sneaky suspicion that his brother liked Desmond, too.

The boy was kind; the boy was friendly, and the boy was a hard worker. Okay, so he had a bad scar or two. That didn’t matter. Desmond was still better than everyone in Paris put together. And as the man limped around to tidy up the place, offering the bed until Kadar insisted that all three could sleep on the bed meant to hold maybe two. But, he just wanted to cuddle, which Desmond seemed more than happy to do. As he settled in for the night, he realized this might have been the best decision of his life.

OKay! We're getting there! Sorry it took so long for an update. I wanted to finish it, but then that other anon reviewed, and I realized it really had been a long time since I updated, and I didn't want to keep you guys waiting... anyway, I hope you two enjoyed. No gargoyles, but plenty of traitors and good fathers. <3 Lemme know what you thought, even if you thought it was terrible!

Terrible, amazing, fabulous. Meh, either way... HOLY MOTHER OF MERCY!!!! Writer!anon... you deserve a metal. A big ass metal. <3

When he woke the next morning, he was comforted by the weight of Desmond on his chest and the warmth of his brother at his side. He was the first up of the three, and he expected the deformed man to be the last—if the smile gracing his face was any indication of how well the boy was sleeping. Kadar found himself rubbing the boy’s back, listening to the soft murmurs he made until Malik woke. He smiled at his brother, who frowned.

“You realize we’re trapped up here.”

Kadar grinned. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why do you look so happy?”

“Because Gilberto is going to be dead soon enough.”

“You really haven’t forgiven him for that.”

“How could I?” he hissed, only remembering Desmond was still there after the boy murmured in his sleep again.

“I can’t blame you,” Malik said, staring at the high walls. “Even I’m still irritated about it.”

“I’m a better dancer than Altaïr. And every time I go out, I always come back with more money! Altaïr has the looks. That’s it. He’s good, but I’m better.”

Malik sighed.

“Besides,” Kadar said, staring at the crown of Desmond’s head, “you know how much I’ve hated the gypsy life. I’ll have great company up here with Desmond. I won’t go hungry because I fuck up and lose my food rations for the night. ‘Sides, Desmond is nice, and he won’t hate me just because of who I am. If anything, he’ll love us even more.”

There was silence for a while before his brother say, “You really do care for him, don’t you?”

Kadar was silent this time. Yes, he did care for the boy. His heart had broken when Altaïr had pulled him on the stage at the Feast. He had specifically told him not to, that after he thought about it, that mask wasn’t a mask, and Altaïr shouldn’t touch him. Of course, Altaïr had to pull him up even more, then. The boy was too nice for his own good. He cared about everything and everyone. Kadar was sure that he took care of the mice and the birds up here, and it was clear from the garden he had noticed last night that the plants received high priority. It was hard to find someone so genuinely nice and caring. The boy would probably take better care of them than he had anything else. He kept rubbing the boy’s back.

Not to mention, the scars were, to him, attractive. He wanted to kiss every scar on Desmond’s body and shower him with love. If he didn’t have to worry about the archdeacon, he would find so much pleasure in the boy’s body and give the boy so much pleasure in return.

“Yeah…” Kadar said as he heard someone entering the room. “I do.”

He stopped when he heard a chuckle. “So that’s why the bells haven’t been rung yet. I should have known.”

Kadar craned his neck to see the archdeacon standing there, an amused look on his face.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wake Desmond. He’s late ringing the bells, and breakfast will be cold shortly.”

Kadar snorted and shook Desmond’s shoulder. The boy woke slowly, trying to cuddle into them and he almost let him, but the bells should be rung. Finally, he got Desmond up and he and Malik were ushered downstairs by the archdeacon as the bells rang out loud and clear.

“You look better from yesterday,” Kadar mentioned, smiling brightly at Archdeacon Miles.

The archdeacon snorted. “I slept easy for once.”

“Oh, really?”

“My prayers were finally answered through you,” the man said, adjusting the basket on his arm. “God has blessed us.”

“By the way, my name is Kadar, and this is Malik.”

“I’m sure you already know my name,” the archdeacon said with a soft chuckle.

Kadar said nothing, bouncing on his heels as he smiled at the man. Finally, the last of the ringing was gone, and they ventured back up to find Desmond setting the table for them. The boy offered Malik his seat, setting up the plates for them, and Archdeacon Miles was writing on a piece of parchment of things that they’d have to purchase for the two new people. Desmond chattered merrily about how he would give them the tour of his tower today. Kadar signed back flawlessly, telling him he couldn’t wait.

And as it turned out, it really was the best decision Kadar could have made. Desmond lived almost like royalty. He had food brought to him for all three meals, and plenty of snacks left for the in between times. Although he sewed his own clothes, they were made of nice material, some of the most expensive fabrics Kadar had seen. And Desmond was planning on making them clothes. There was even a tub hidden in the back, and they could draw hot water to fill the tub. Kadar didn’t ask, but he assumed that it was something in the basement of the church that Desmond had designed in his spare time. He felt certain that the boy was smarter than he realized, using his spare time for all kinds of things.

And not only were hot baths (that Kadar distinctly remembered never having underground), but that garden that Desmond grew actually spanned quite a bit of the floor. He had built it up off the ground, stored some extra dirt in a sack below it, the scraps of food that he had left over from dinner or a meal scattered over the soil, even with earthworms that the archdeacon had helped him find. It had sweet smelling flowers and even a few fruit and vegetable plants that they could eat when he harvested them.

On top of that, hidden below the main platforms of the tower, out of the eyesight of everyone, was a small library. It was of various books, from primers to popular literature, organized neatly and waiting to be read again. Desmond had built himself a low chair with pillows attached to it. Malik seemed to be smitten with the small library.

Of course, Kadar’s favorite thing was the dolls. Desmond seemed thrilled he was more than happy to play with the dolls with them, and he couldn’t help but laugh with the antics that he had the baker family pull off. Living with Desmond was almost like living with a child. A giant child, but still, a hard-working, eager-to-please child, and that was something Kadar could live with.

Within the next two days, there were two more chairs, a second bed to push against the other for the three of them, and more dining ware for them. Archdeacon Miles came up promptly for breakfast and dinner, bringing the two of them food and having the priest leave lunch on the steps, his knees too bad to make the trip and up and down the stairs. The archdeacon even left a few used instruments and basic music with them so Desmond could teach himself so that Kadar could dance for them.

And this happened for about a week. Kadar was ecstatic. William was proud to see that the gypsies were getting along well with his son, taking care of him and nurturing him, teaching him the instruments he left them. His son was a bright fellow, and as William prepared to face the risk of his death, he wanted to make sure they had plenty. Of course, those long nights he spent in prayer helped soothe him over that the gypsies would take care of Desmond well. He knew this to be true, deep in his heart.

However, as he rallied the guard, tracing the map to the three locations’ entrances, he was fully prepared to die. He knew the gypsies were cunning creatures, and he had the guard charge all three entrances. It wasn’t much of a fight, William noticed as he entered after the soldiers. The only three who gave him real problems were his own captain and the two gypsies who had been plaguing his dreams. He didn’t even have to lift the sword at his side, which was good, because he didn’t know how to use it. Still, as he paced the rows of prisoners, he felt better. There were few corpses strewn about, and he even found a few citizens who had been taken captive. They seemed more than relieved as they were let free to return to their families.

He paused in front of Adha, who was kicking up a shit-fit against the guards restraining her. He watched her for a moment before smirking.

“Take her to the dungeons. Leave her in an empty cell. I want women posted outside the jail cell—just in case.”

The guards nodded, carrying her off as he continued down the line to his captain. He sighed, shaking his head.

“It’s a pity, Captain Thorpe, that we must meet under such unfortunate circumstance, but given how eagerly you fought for the gypsies, I’m going to assume you wish to die with the rest of them.”

Maria held her head high. “You can’t kill me.”

“Oh? I can’t? I fail to see where this is stated. Traitors are traitors.”

Her lips twitched in irritation as he had them all caged and drawn to the middle of the square. It took forever to get that many gypsies caged and hauled off, and it was well into the early morning when he finally had them all there. The city-goers were eagerly starting up a pile of wood—and he had his gypsies to burn at the stake. The captain and her “husband,” as well as the man in the orange, a man with a scar similar to Maria’s husband except with long hair, would all be the first to die—and hopefully the only ones. They had been identified as the murderers. He had hoped to let the rest of the gypsies free outside Paris. He was nothing if not fair. Nevertheless, William ignored them for the moment, letting them take the brunt of the city-dwellers’ anger. He paced through the halls of the prisons, led to the cell that they had taken Adha to, and he paused just before he reached it, dismissing the guards that had followed him, but keeping the two female guards he had trained especially for female prisoners. It was now well into morning, and Adha had been left alone for quite some time. Hopefully, what Kadar said was true, and she would be reasonable, because he needed her.

Inhaling deeply, he stepped in front of her cell. She looked frazzled, and rightfully so having been roused from sleep. She was dressed in a light skirt and a tight shirt that showed her belly. She was quite risqué in terms of dancers. She noticed him immediately, frowning at him, but he noticed the quick once-over she gave him, the frown changing into something more of a “resting” face as she leaned back against the wall from her slouched-over hunch.

“Hello there, gypsy.”

“Hello,” she said slowly, stretching out in her skirt and giving him another look-over, slower this time.

“Your name is Adha, am I correct?”

The lady shrugged. “Perhaps. It depends on who’s asking.”

“A man who’s talked with one of your comrades. Does Kadar ring a bell?”

Adha face went from one of complacent scrutiny to one of surprised hope. “He’s alive? Gilberto told us you slew them the moment you saw them. We never questioned him.”

“Why would I slay men who volunteer to love my son—and love him genuinely? After everything he’s been through—you would know, having cleaned off his face at the festival.”

Adha looked away. “We never meant for that to happen.”

“I understand. But I don’t understand why you attacked the guard this time, instead of hiding like normal.”

Adha was silent before sighing. “We’ve had… issues with our leader recently. He’s been… suffocating. Altaïr has had it the easiest, so I don’t understand why he attacked or so why viciously, either, but with all the mounting tension, I supposed that tension finally snapped.”

William nodded once, staring at her, and only through the grace of God not letting his eyes slip down to her chest.

“I see. Altaïr killed the most of the dead men, although your gypsies did quite a number.”

She sighed. “It’s time for Gilberto to step down. I’ve tried to advocate for him taking up an underling, a second-in-command, but he doesn’t listen. I take it you’ve spoken to Kadar? I always knew he was going to be the one to snap.”

“Oh, really?” he prompted.

Adha pursed her lips. “He was my pupil, and he was good. Altaïr, however, had the looks and the natural grace, so Gilberto sent him out more often than not to bring in money. When Kadar confronted him because he regularly made more, Kadar, I mean, Gilberto called him worthless, and that he needed to stay behind to help with the women and the children since he was more feminine than most of the women down there. Oh, it irritated the Al-Sayfs, who had loyally served Gilberto since they were children. I’m not surprised Kadar jumped on the chance. I had heard him speak fondly of Desmond before and how he wished the boy was down there to keep him company.”

William nodded. “I see. So you would trust Malik and Kadar to take care of my son when I pass away?”

“Without a doubt. Those two are fierce protectors, thrifty with money, and smarter than most of the others.”

He nodded, frowning as he looked up at the ceiling.

“But I sense this isn’t why you’re here. At least, not the biggest part.”

Archdeacon Miles snorted, looking at her again. “I think you know why I had you separated.”

She snarled. “If you think I’ll give myself up easily for a quick fling only to go to my death—”

William laughed, unable to help himself. “You honestly think I’m a man of such things, so profane and unholy? No, I come to offer myself, to ask for your hand in marriage. Perhaps under unfortunate circumstances, but I would never sleep with a woman before pledging myself in holy matrimony.”

Adha seemed genuinely surprised, and William shook his head.

“I am not a normal man. I’m a man of God. I would never ask for you to surrender yourself to me unless we were married.”

He was silent for a few moments before continuing.

“So, I come to make you a deal.”

“Of course I’ll marry you,” she said without preamble, and William cocked an eyebrow, but she continued. “I’m not going to play a gambling game of life and death. You’re not bad looking, and while I might not love you, you have connections to my star pupil… and I bet given time, you’d be an animal in bed. Your honor and pride won’t let you mistreat me. Why shouldn’t I marry you?”

He chuckled, rubbing his eyes as he felt weariness set in now that the worst of it was over. “Kadar was right. You are quite sensible when separated from the pack. But what of our freedom?”

“What is freedom if you’re dead? I can see through you. You won’t be one of those wicked-cruel husbands. You know what I need. You’ll let me have it, won’t you?”

He was silent, staring into her eyes as he frowned. Of course he would give her quite a bit of freedom. That didn’t mean, however, that she was going to have all her freedom. He had no intention of risking upset from the Lord by letting her get away as she used to, or by marrying a heathen. She would be cleaned up, taught proper, and then put in charge of various things.

“I told you. So long as you don’t make me watch the hangings of my friends, I don’t see why—”

“Actually, you may be able to help me in regard to your people. I wish to let the other gypsies free. They did not participate in the murders; they have done no wrong, and they have no reason to die.”

He watched her arch an eyebrow, pursing her lips. There was silence for a moment, then she chuckled.

“Truly, you are a fair judge. Paris does well to have you in the courts.”

William shrugged. “I will not be held responsible for innocent murder when I approach the gates of Heaven.”

Adha laughed, rising and walking to the bars. He stood just out of her reach, watching as she leaned forward, against the bars, and his eyes almost slipped to look at her chest, but he managed to stay strong.

“You’ve got a lot of trust in that faith of yours.”

“I am a man of God. Why would I not?”

“You’re also the only man who hasn’t stared at my chest, even though the clothes I wear are hardly fitting for covering my skin.”

“I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. I am not a normal man. I speak with the Lord, and he responds.”

Adha nodded, her amused look turning into something much more seductive. “Then let’s do this, tiger: let’s have a quick marriage now, and go to bed. We’ll have some fun, and in the morning, we’ll deal with the problem of my people.”

It took every ounce of willpower not to succumb to the alluring looks she was giving him. He had to remain strong for just a little longer.

“No. I will release your people today. Perhaps later tonight, but I must first address the people of Paris with my choice.”

She frowned. “Will I be left here?”

“I can give you access my house, if you wish.”

“How about wherever Kadar is?”

“The church? I can leave you there until we’re done. But you must remain there for your own safety.”

“Fair enough. As long as we’re married by tonight, because I can’t wait forever, honey.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can arrange that. But a longer marriage must take place later, a proper marriage for the people.”

“Yeah, fine,” she said, reaching through the bars with a slender hand. “I can work with that, but I’m talking about tonight: I want you in bed, baby.”

He shook his head, stepping out of her reach. “At least, if anything, you’ll make life interesting.”

“Oh, you have no idea, dearie.”

He let a weary smile dance on his lips as he pulled out the keys. As soon as the lock clicked, she was out and molding herself to his side, linking their arms together and smiling warmly at him. She patted his hand, ignoring the guards on defense. William had to take a moment to adjust to the odd feeling of the woman against his side. He blinked, looking down to find her looking up at him, and odd look he’d almost classify as relief etched into her features.

“So… do we have a prescribed time for breakfast?”

William blinked. “Does it matter?”

“Just curious if there is, or if I should worry about myself.”

“You’ll have no worries about food while you’re in my care. I’m going to pick up lunch for my son and the other two gypsies. You can eat with them, if you like.”

“But I would much rather eat with my new husband-to-be.”

She gave him a cheeky grin, and he started walking off, Adha firmly anchored to his side. Yes, he mused, it was a good thing they would undergo a quick marriage, he thought, adjusting to the feel of her against his side. He wasn’t sure he could wait much longer, his senses already going berserk, and a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was already getting addicted to the feel of her against him. Perhaps forty years of celibacy was going to come rushing out all at once. He walked with her to his house to pick up the food that he had hired the cook for. The house itself was relatively small.

“You’re so humble. Most men of your position would spend it all frivolously.”

“‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’ Matthew 6:19-21.”

Adha nodded as he took the basket of food, letting her see the entryway and the four rooms on the first floor. “This is still pretty big.”

“There are three other families living here with me, families who were evicted because of the death of their husbands. They all had babies and children under two.”

“Goddamnit!” she exclaimed as he adjusted the basket on his arm.

Both he and the chef paused, looking at her as she pulled away.

“For fuck’s sake, you’re such a good person! Why the hell are you even here? You should be, like, in the Pope’s palace or some shit like that!”

He blinked, then chuckled as he accepted the basket and walked her out. The chuckle turned into a full laugh as he walked alongside her. When he finished laughing, he looked at her to see her scowling at him.

“I could never be in the Vatican. I am happy here, and here is where I was placed for the purpose of cleaning up this wretched city.”

She huffed, reattaching herself to his arm. “Good luck with that.”

He walked with her past the giant pile of wood the villagers were making and into the church.

“What’s that for?”

“The people who killed the guards. They, and they alone, will die.”

“What about your captain?”

“She will die, too, shamed for becoming a traitor.”

Adha was silent as they walked up to the bell tower. Then, just as he was about to ask her if she were okay, she shrugged. “Can’t say I feel sorry for any of them. Especially Altaïr.”

He pushed open the door and walked her up the stairs. He could hear laughter coming from the platforms Desmond lived on, and he smiled softly. As he walked her up the stairs, he had to laugh when he saw his boy and Kadar playing with the dolls—and it looked like they were having quite a good time. Desmond perked up when he saw him, and he let go of Adha to receive the bear hug. Adha, meanwhile, was tackling Kadar in a hug.

“Adha will stay here while I address the people. Is that okay?” he signed.

Desmond nodded, peeking into the basket before pulling him over and setting up the table. William gave up his dinnerware for Adha, promising her dinner together as he walked out to address the people and the gypsies.

“So, Adha, you’re getting married to him, right?” Kadar asked.

“Of course!” she said, smiling merrily. “You think I’d let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers? I can give up my freedom for being taken care of. ‘Sides, I’m sick of Gilberto.”

Kadar nodded, and Malik agreed.

“Speaking of which, he’s going to sentence Gilberto! We should hear it!”

“Oh, really?” Kadar asked, already picking up the pace with his eating.

They raced through it, and Desmond seemed perfectly content as he ate, too. When they were done, Kadar pulled Desmond over to the balcony to watch. Archdeacon Miles stepped onto the platform, his arms outspread in front of the cages and the four isolated behind the bars as the people amassed in front of them.

“People of Paris,” he began, and they all watched him, “as you know, we have quite a problem on our hands. The gypsies, who we have long tolerated in our streets, have finally gone too far. They have murdered many of the young men who protect our city. It is time, then, for justice to be dealt.”

He lowered his arms as the people cried out, and Kadar snorted. People were always bloodthirsty, it seemed, always eager to watch someone die. The archdeacon waited patiently, observing the people, before looking up briefly to where they were. Kadar grinned.

“But,” he said when the crowd quieted, “I am not unfair, and this you know. Behind me are the four who were witnessed slaughtering the city guard.”

Kadar could feel the static of the excitement.

“These four will be burned at the stake for crimes of witchcraft and murder. Is this not fair?”

A roar of agreement rang throughout the crowd.

“So then I ask you, ‘Under the gaze of God, who has blessed this city, should we not let the others go? Shall we not just expel them from Paris, under the promise of certain death should they return? If you say no, will you willingly look God in the eyes and tell him that you murdered dozens of innocent people?’”

There was silence, and then Kadar watched as the people slowly looked at one another, chittering quietly.

“Do you wish to be held accountable for the deaths of men, women, and children who have done nothing wrong save provide for you entertainment for years?”

Kadar had to admit he was impressed as he watched. Whoever this ‘God’ character was must surely be with him if he could contain an entire city of blood-thirsty warmongers.

“Let us let these people go, and burn the four who stand proven murderers. We will let God deal with the rest of them on the roads as they leave their home. We have been commanded to show mercy, and so we shall.”

There was silence, and Archdeacon Miles gazed sternly at them.

“Those who accompany the gypsies to turn them out will be allowed to sit with me at the burning.”

Suddenly, a whole slew of hands where in the air, accompanied by the jeers and shouts, the hollers and calls, to be picked. Kadar shook his head. Archdeacon Miles looked out over them for a bit, then picked out several to accompany the guards.

“Put the others in the pillory,” the archdeacon said with a growl. “And shave their heads. Send word to the general Captain Maria is to be burned, unless he is willing to explain away why she fought for the gypsies.”

The guards at his side nodded once, and William sighed, rubbing his face as he turned to look at the four in the cages. He stared at them for a while, at Maria and Altaïr. It hurt to know he was going to have to watch them burn. They were pressed against the bars, snarling and howling. They looked as if they belonged together, and he could only shake his head as the guards piled on them. He had enjoyed the gypsies so much, received so much pleasure from watching them, caring for them, and now they had to be expelled from the city.

Still, he had more important things to take care of.

He paced back into the church and up the stairs, leaving the guards and the citizens to their assigned tasks. The priest was more than accommodating as he and Adha exchanged their vows, and he had never been luckier that night as all the lust that had been building over the past couple of days seemed to come out. For a while, he had thought he was going to die, but as the night drug on, and Adha drug him out, he realized he was in good hands.

The next day passed in a flurry of activity as he prepared for that night to burn the gypsies. He didn’t visit his son, sending Adha out to see them and forbidding her to talk of the death plans in front of the boy. He was not going to take seeing Maria and Altaïr burned at the stake easy. The boy grew attached to people quickly having had so little contact since he was up in the tower. William was also convinced that the gypsies had placed a spell over him, and that that spell would make the execution even harder to watch.

The chair in his personal library never seemed comfier as he cradled his head in the dark. The others in his house left him alone, and he could occasionally hear their whispers outside the door. Not even Adha could bring him out of this. He was going to murder—execute, he reminded himself, for heinous crimes—his son’s first friend outside of the tower. And he knew that the gypsy had just been manipulating him, just been using him, but William knew that Desmond was going to suffer because of this.

He refused the lunch tray that Adha brought him, leaning back in the chair as he inhaled and exhaled, trying to justify the act he would commit. He may have dealt the same punishment to other convicted witches, but now that his son was entangled in the web, he wasn’t so sure. His own feelings were getting in the way. Nevertheless, when he heard the knock at the door reminding him that he had to go to the square, it was on creaky bones and a heavy heart he set out to do his duty.

Desmond, however had had a blast of a day. Adha had brought him a puzzle and a new toy, and she had stayed with him and the brothers for most of the day. He amused himself with them, ignoring the sad looks she sent his way. He knew that he looked pathetic, but that was okay, because he had rescued his master. He even told her this at one point, and she had just smiled softly and taken his hand as she shook her head.

There was probably something he didn’t understand, but that was okay. He smiled at her anyway, trying to cheer her up. Kadar was eager and perky, and even Malik was in a good mood, smiling and keeping his biting tongue at bay. Adha seemed to be the only one that was sad, and she didn’t seem any happier when she left at lunchtime, either.

Nevertheless, he was pulled to the window ledge at sunset by Kadar, who was chattering much too fast for him to understand to his brother, and Malik was laughing and enjoying himself. He smiled merrily regardless, liking the feel of Kadar’s arm around his waist and the way that Malik seemed perfectly content to cuddle against his other side.

He watched as his master stepped up onto the same platform as last night, a torch in his hand, which was good because it would get dark out soon, and the gypsies tied against the poles there would need light. He wondered why Altaïr was tied up there, howling and shouting according to the way his lips moved, but dismissed it as part of the punishment for killing all those guards that day. He smiled, waiting to see his master untie them. When it took a while for him to do anything, Desmond dismissed himself to use the bathroom and stopped to pick the book he was reading from. He looked when he saw Kadar punching the air and cheering, talking and laughing with his brother, and he tilted his head as he walked over.

He blinked at the large bonfires in the center. He had seen a few of them before but never bothered to go down and investigate why his master would light such big bonfires. Still, they supplied a nice amount of light, even up here, and he was content with the distance between him and the fires. He didn’t like them much.

Of course, as he studied them, wondering why the brothers were so happy about fires, he because to notice something odd. There was something in the center moving and squirming, something in the center of each of the fires. He had never seen something like that before, but they all had a nice lump in the center of the brilliant flames.

And then it struck him.

That was Altaïr burning in the fire, tied up on the pole.

Desmond watched in horror as he saw Master William stand there. There was no way his master would burn them. No way. He stared at the fire, watching, whimpering as he could see them screaming. He backed up a step, seeing that familiar black skin bubbling and popping as the four of them burned, and he was paralyzed. He remembered that, that feeling, and his arms began to burn again as he swallowed. His master needed to save Altaïr from the fires. Altaïr was going to die otherwise. He whimpered in pain as the feeling of the blisters forming and popping from the lick of the flames magnified as the entire world began to turn black and orange.

“Desmond?”

Altair was burning. Master Miles was burning them. Master Miles was burning the man who gave him company, who gave him the map to the Court of Miracles. He could see the world turning into something gruesome, dancing with flames before his eyes. He could feel the heat and the pain as his skin burned again.
“Desmond!”
He could see the flames swimming in his vision. They were evil. They were beautiful. They were the epitome of sin. Brilliant oranges, yellows, reds, and blues swirled in his vision. He could feel the heat again, engulfing him. He could feel it licking at his skin. He couldn’t move. Those people were burning, and he couldn’t move. He was going to die, stuck inside the fire that was eating at him. He was going to die. The fire danced around him like the gypsies, and he could hear crying. He had to save them. He had to tell Master Miles to pull them out. Before he knew what he was doing, he was shimmying down the side of the cathedral, limping over to the platform regardless of the people. He had to rescue Altaïr. He could hear him screaming, begging for mercy.

Mercy.

Mercy.

Couldn’t there be any of that for the man who had given him a kiss and a friend?

He crashed into Master Miles, fisting his hands in his shirt and blathering senselessly as his entire body burned with pain he had thought was long behind him. His master turned to look at him, and he could almost swear he saw upset in his expression. Desmond tugged at his shirt, screaming to pull them out of the fire, and he struggled and sobbed against his master’s chest when the man hugged him close. He had to pull them out—couldn’t he hear them screaming in pain? He screamed at him, telling him to stop the fire and save them as he refused to look. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t step into the fires again. He couldn’t risk everything again when he had three new friends and someone who cared about him. He could hear again as he felt the heat of the flames and sobbed against his master’s chest. He could hear the roar of the fire and the screams of the people trapped inside. He could feel the fire licking at his skin and chewing him up. He couldn’t let them die. He couldn’t let them burn. He had to save Altaïr.

He didn’t know how long he screamed and cried into Master Miles’s arms, but finally, he felt his tears run out as he curled against his master. He could still feel the heat; he could still feel the pain. He was in pain. He couldn’t save Altaïr. He blew his nose on the handkerchief pressed to his nose before he saw signed, “I’m sorry, Desmond.”

He curled up, sitting in his master’s lap and feeling a hand brush against his scalp. It hurt. Altaïr was dead. He was nothing more than a black lump like the other bodies in the fire from when he almost didn’t escape. Altaïr was dead, completely dead. He would never come up and grace him with his beauty ever again. He wanted to cry. He had loved Altaïr. Altaïr had been his first crush. Altaïr had given him his first taste of freedom. He had given him that golden coin he used for the stand on his doll. He had slept beside him. He had offered him a different life.

“Desmond, they had to die for all the lives they had taken,” he saw coming from Adha’s hands. “They were bad people.”

He just hunkered down, completely numb to everything as he was led back to his tower. He couldn’t believe they had just let Altaïr burn. They had killed his first outside friend and his first kiss. He lay on his bed, pulling his legs against his chest and crying again. His head hurt. His scars hurt. His insides hurt, and his heart hurt. He wanted Altaïr back. He wanted him back now. He didn’t want to know that he was dead. He didn’t want to know that Altaïr was a black lump of crispy flesh like the burnt meat he had seen. He wanted his friend back. Of course, he was being too greedy. He knew this. Altaïr was a plant that needed lots of freedom to grow and thrive. He was not. But still, Altaïr was dead now, and he would never get to see him ever again. It hurt.

It hurt worse than the scars that seemed intent on burning themselves again. He thought that pain was behind him.

And even when he finally got around to ringing the bells again, or eating with the others again, he didn’t think he’d ever enjoy it the same way again. Even when he rang the bells for his master’s marriage to the pretty gypsy lady that he had seen with Altaïr, he couldn’t feel happy again. He couldn’t watch the marriage because of the bells, but that was okay and fine with him. He knew that he wouldn’t get to see Adha much anymore, but that was okay because at least she was okay.

Altaïr, however, was dead.

And even Kadar’s cuddles did nothing for him. Even his dolls did nothing for him. Even the prayers and the reading that Master Miles taught him and brought him did nothing for him. Altaïr was dead, and he had seen him burn at the stake in agony. Altaïr may have done bad things, but he didn’t deserve being burned. Being burned hurt, and that Desmond knew well.

It was almost several years later before he began to heal, when Kadar pinned him against the Paris replica and started kissing him and touching him. He knew it was wrong. Master Miles had told him so, and he had read it in the Holy Word, but it felt so nice to have that kind of attention, to explore the depths he never would have gotten to with Altaïr. He could feel himself taking comfort in the way the brothers lured him into the beds, got him all messy, but made him feel so good and took a bath with him. He felt a deep-seeded contentedness lodged deep in his heart and made the pain he was accustomed to lessen as they gave him all their attention. He knew that God would confront him when he died, but as he felt Kadar moving inside him, touching him and making his blood sing, he couldn’t care less. He was healing because of the brothers and their “love.”

Even when Master Miles almost caught them a couple of times, Desmond would wait to confront his sins at the gates of Heaven.

And hopefully, he mused as he cuddled into the bed with Kadar and Malik, all of them messy and cooling down, he would get to see Altaïr again.

I hope you liked it, anons. :3

THIS WAS BOOOTIFUL! But I'm just as sad as Desmond that Altair had to die... weh...

Oh my gosh. I was beginning to think I had royally messed it up somehow. I hadn't heard anything!

I'm so glad you liked it! :D

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