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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2011-11-16 12:25 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2011-11-16 12:25 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4
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The Hunchback of Notre Dame pt6
(Anonymous) 2012-08-05 04:15 am (UTC)(link)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!
Re: The Hunchback of Notre Dame pt6
(Anonymous) 2012-08-05 02:32 pm (UTC)(link)The Hunchback of Notre Dame pt7
(Anonymous) 2012-08-29 04:12 pm (UTC)(link)“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.”
The Hunchback of Notre Dame pt8
(Anonymous) 2012-08-29 04:15 pm (UTC)(link)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.
The Hunchback of Notre Dame ptFIN
(Anonymous) 2012-08-29 04:16 pm (UTC)(link)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
Re: The Hunchback of Notre Dame ptFIN
(Anonymous) 2013-01-02 12:17 am (UTC)(link)Re: The Hunchback of Notre Dame ptFIN
(Anonymous) 2013-01-02 02:33 am (UTC)(link)I'm so glad you liked it! :D