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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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L'aigle et le révolutionnaire 2/?
(Anonymous) 2013-01-21 05:45 am (UTC)(link)The homes of many of the aristocrats were called Hotel de (insertfamilynamehere).
Late Winter 1785, Paris
Connor stared out of the coach as it made its way through the streets of Paris. In layout they were much like the streets of Boston or New York, crowded with people jostling and talking and generally going about life. But the people were a far cry from the relatively well-fed populace of the cities in the United States. Many looked to be starving, their eyes gleaming desperate and hungry in the wan winter sun. Stick-thin children ran among the crowd, begging and no doubt stealing what they could.
There was an air of animosity, of desperation in the air, the same that he had felt in Boston all those years before. As Achilles had said then, the crowd was a powder keg, reading for the sparks that would ignite the whole thing into a deadly blaze. The Marquis was right. A revolution was brewing.
“The harvests have been poor,” Lafayette said. He was sitting opposite to Connor, looking out the same window. “And the government is bankrupt. Largely due to the war in America.” He smiled wryly. “It is fitting that the liberty of our American brethren will lead to our own. The King and Queen have not cut back on their excesses, to better fit their empty coffers. Instead they remain oblivious to the situation.”
“Would a rebellion fix things?” Connor asked, as they passed a group of scantily-clad women gathered on one streets corner. It was obvious from their clothes and the thick paste of makeup on their faces what they were selling. “A rebellion will not make the crops grow, or fix the economy.”
The American government was still struggling to pay its debts, as evidenced by the bankruptcy of France, its main benefactor in the war, and had not yet managed to piece together and enforce a system of taxes anyone would agree on. So far the American government had persevered, but in France where it seemed things could get very omp;icated very fast, with the long-established monarchy and the many relatives of the King who Connor understood all had some claim to the throne, it seemed unlikely such a revolution could survive.
“You’re right, Connor,” Lafayette said. “But as in America, it is not merely the starvation and taxes that must be changed. They are only symptoms of a greater infection, one that has corrupted France for many generations.” He glanced outside again, and grimaced. “The poor are considered a different species, with virtually no rights, at least none that can hold a candle to any opposition by a noble. Something akin to the basic rights of the people in American must be adopted in France.”
Lafayette fairly glowed with enthusiasm as he spoke these words, the same driving force that had granted him so much success in the American Revolution. He seemed to know one direction, forward, and would figure out how to maneuver around obstacles once he got that far. It had been Connor’s approach towards the Templars, and he still regretted it. Not taking the time to learn more of the circumstances, not pausing to think his actions through…
The goal had been accomplished, and for now the United States were free of the Templar influence, but if Connor had been less bloodthirsty, less driven, then perhaps…
No. It was not the time for regrets. He only hoped he could help here. For liberty, and equality, not for any political party or man or group.
He was yanked out his thoughts by the coach jerking to a halt. Unbeknownst to him they had made their way into the wealthier part of Paris, and Lafayette announced as he climbed out that the hotel they were stopped outside of as Hotel de Lafayette, the residence of Lafayette and his family.
Connor followed Lafayette outside, into the cold winter air. The paving stones were slick with ice, and the breath of the servants who hurried to unload the luggage from the top of the coach formed white clouds in the air. Lafayette paused, turning to Connor.
“I apologize for not remembering to ask this earlier,” Lafayette said. “However, what name will go you under in France? And what title?” Connor had only given Lafayette a vague idea of his job, making it clear he served a higher cause, but not elaborating more than to say that causes like the revolutions were supported by it, and men like Charles Lee condemned to die.
Connor hesitated. “Connor Davenport,” he said after a moment. He did not wish to draw unnecessary attention to himself by using his real name, which would probably cause the French even more consternation than it did the Americans, or Kenway, which might attract the attention of any Templars in the country. “I am merely a fellow soldier. An officer under Washington with you.”
The marquis nodded. “Very well,” he said, his attention clearly elsewhere as he looked up at the impressive façade of the Hotel de Lafayette, happiness and impatience warring for dominance in his expression. He walked up the stairs, Connor and the men carrying luggage in tow, and the doors were pulled open by a stout servant.
Another servant took Lafayette and Connor’s hats and coats, with which Connor parted reluctantly. He was so used to wearing his assassin’s robes, with their convenient hood, that he felt exposed without them.
Connor had no time to take in the splendor of the front room before Lafayette put a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the sitting room, off to the side.
A woman practically launched herself from the coach she had been sitting on to embrace Lafayette, talking so fast in French that Connor couldn’t understand a word. Lafayette laughed and embraced her back, kissing her on both cheeks and on her lips.
This woman could only be Adrienne, Marquise de Lafayette, Lafayette’s wife. Connor stood awkwardly at the edge of the room, watching the two exclaim their affections to each other in words too rapid for Connor to catch. Madame Lafayette was a plain woman, with large doe-like eyes and a kind smile. As soon as she had properly greeted her husband she turned her attention to Connor.
“And who are you, monsieur?” she asked, looking Connor over curiously. He was wearing the clothes he usually reserved for sea journeys, not wanting to arrive in Paris in a uniform that might mark him as a target immediately.
Lafayette smiled. “This is my friend and fellow revolutionary, Connor Davenport.”
Recognition dawned in Adrienne’s eyes. “Ah, yes, Monsieur Davenport. Gilbert has told me much about you,” she said. “He has gone on at length about how you saved General Washington from an assassination scheme.” Her eyes sparkled, and she covered an impish little smile with a wave of her fan. The design caught his eyes- the fan was a cream color, matching her drew, with a splash of red. But at the angle he was looking from, towering over her, he couldn’t see what the design was. Something nagged at the back of his mind.
Connor inclined his head, not particularly wanting to discuss that episode in his misguided service under Washington and not quite sure how he was supposed to address the Marquise. “I have heard much about you as well,” he settled for.
Lafayette laughed. “Connor is a man of few words, but those he speaks have weight.” He eyed Adrienne, a look of anxiety flashing across his features. “How are the children?”
Adrienne smiled. “They’re doing fine.”
As if on cue, a small voice behind Connor said “Papa?” Connor spun around, to see a little girl standing in the doorway. A moment later a harried-looking governess appeared, along with another little girl and a little boy. The first girl, the eldest, stared up at Connor, edging past him before running to her father.
“Anastasie!” Lafayette swept her up in his arms, laughing. “You've grown a foot since I last saw you!”
She giggled. “It hasn’t been that long, Papa.” But as she embraced him back her eyes were shining with unshed tears. The other two children ran to Lafayette, and Connor watched the Marquis reunited with his family. He felt a pang of some incomprehensible emotion. A little jealousy, a little sadness. Family was… not something that had gone well for Connor, and the thought of trying to start one seemed so imposing. Never mind he had had little time to be interested in women, or actively seek them out. But now seeing Lafayette with his family… It made him long for something he hadn’t even known he had been missing.
“Who’s that, Papa?” piped up the little boy, staring at Connor with wide eyes.
“That’s Monsieur Davenport,” Lafayette replied. “He’s from America.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “That’s where you were!”
Lafayette smiled. “Yes, I brought Connor back so he might see France.” He turned to Connor. “This inquisitive little fellow is my son Georges, and these are my daughters, Virginie and Anastasie.” The youngest girl, Virginie, hide behind her mother’s skirts, her little hands clasped together in front of her dress.
Connor smiled, and nodded to the children. “It’s very good to meet you,” he said.
“I’m going to go to America one day!” exclaimed Georges. “I’m going to chase out the British once and for all, so no lobsters will ever set foot there again!”
Lafayette laughed. “I’m sure you will,” he said.
“Children, I’m sure your father and Monsieur Davenport would like to rest after their long journey,” Adrienne said, beginning the herd the children towards the door with the expertise of one who had been handling little sons and daughters for years. The governess helped her, picking up Virginie and leading the others out of the room. Connor heard the sound of several pairs of little feet running up the stairs, and grinned.
“I’ll see you at dinner, Monsieur Davenport?” Adrienne said, fluttering her fan about her face again. “Armand will show you to your room. Your trunk has already been delivered there.”
She seemed eager to be alone with her husband, so Connor nodded and walked towards the door, intending to head up to his rooms to unpack and the explore. He was far from tired, after the days of relative inactivity on the ships, and the hours traveling in the coach.
“Monsieur Davenport,” he paused at the sound of his name, turning to look at Adrienne. She raised the fan to her lips again, and now he could see the design on it clearly. Swirling, stylized and interwoven with other symbols, but unmistakably the insignia the spirit had painted in his mind when he first started out on the path that had led him where he was today.
The symbol of the Assassins.
“I do hope you’ll find our home to your liking,” she said, her eyes unreadable over the blood-red sign of the Brotherhood.
(I'm hoping I'm not doing Adrienne a dreadful disservice by casting her as an assassin, she was quite a remarkable woman by all accounts, but probably not prone to running around rooftops. But I thought this would be interesting, and if Ubisoft can do it to Machiavelli...)
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-01-21 10:30 pm (UTC)(link)Also like perf writing wow ;w;
Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2013-01-22 12:22 am (UTC)(link)Not the OP but a fan nonetheless
(Anonymous) 2013-01-24 03:01 pm (UTC)(link)