asscreedkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
Entry tags:
Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only
Fill Only
Join or Die
✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.
✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.
✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.
✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.
✩ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.
✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.
✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!
List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion
Siren Song [ 4 / ? ]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-29 07:52 pm (UTC)(link)There was distrust in the eyes of those who watched him enter the village.
Haytham was no fool: he understood perfectly well why the Mohawk looked at him with such hostility. The white man had been steadily encroaching upon the land of the natives--all of the natives--and he was a living, breathing symbol of a losing battle. Oh, it didn’t matter that Achilles strode mere feet ahead of him or that he was an Assassin; that innate distrust would linger.
Well, at least he was quite used to being stared at by this point. Back on the Homestead, the welcome of his fellow Assassins was... frosty at best. They saw his presence here as a bit of an insult. After all, why did someone have to be sent here to fetch something? Did the Assassins in England think that they weren’t good enough? Haytham had tried to smooth over the cracks by saying that it was for personal reasons that he had come, but his words fell upon deaf ears.
Only Faulkner seemed to give a damn about what he said and why he was here, and when the man left the port for duty, Haytham was left with nothing but the wait. He’d tried to convince Davenport to let him leave the Homestead, even if just to blindly try and track Birch, but the Mentor would always keep him on his property, promising that the meeting could be any day now and wouldn’t it be a shame if he wasn’t here?
Back then, Haytham thought that Davenport only said those words to keep him under his scrutinizing watch, but now that he saw these people, he was starting to think that the wait time had been real and not just some sort of weird test.
Their long and silent walk eventually took them inside a longhouse where an elderly woman sat before a fire. She exchanged words with Davenport in a curious language that sent chills down his spine, the words both eerie and beautiful to his ears, and then he sat down. Haytham turned to the Mentor for some sort of additional instruction, but receiving none, he too took a seat, hands resting on his thighs.
Another woman entered the longhouse, this one much younger, and it would have been a lie to say that she didn’t immediately catch his attention. She was wild and beautiful, confident and fierce, and she gave him such a look that he couldn’t help but feel like his very soul was being searched.
There was not an ounce of fear in her dark brown eyes.
When she at last joined them by the fire, conversation immediately broke out. It seemed to go on and on, with much gesturing toward him and raising of voices. By the time everything settled, Haytham had no idea what was going on, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to be receiving any help, if the dark looks being cast his way were any sign to go by.
Then, quite suddenly, Davenport rose as if to leave, but when Haytham made a move to follow, he shook his head. “Stay here.”
The clan mother and the Mentor left, leaving him alone with the younger woman, and she gave him another searching look before moving to fetch a wooden box tucked away amongst the many behind her. “You have been granted the right to use the crystal ball.”
Perfect English.
He stared at her, dumbfounded, and she rolled her eyes at him, shoving the box into his arms. “Don’t act so surprised,” she muttered, clearly annoyed that this idiotic white man would make such an assumption. “Now did you want help finding your trinket or not?”
“Ah...” Haytham offered her an apologetic smile. “Yes. Yes, I did. Thank you.” Carefully, he lifted the lid, expecting to find some sort of Mohawk artifact, but instead, he was greeted with the sight of a perfectly spherical ball--a Piece of Eden. Haytham tried to hide his look of surprise, but he doubted he was able to totally mask it.
So this was the reason behind all the secrecy then. Haytham could understand Davenport’s hesitancy now, could see why he’d be unwilling to reveal that such a thing existed on American shores. After all, what if he’d been a Templar, waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his true allegiances? Certainly, it didn’t change the fact that the lack of trust between them stung, but he understood now.
Curious to see what the crystal ball would do, Haytham cautiously placed his hands around it, and the thing pulsed under his fingertips, as if alive before the world was swallowed in white.
“Haytham Kenway.”
The voice was nowhere and everywhere at once, and he looked around him, his eyes squinting against the brightness of the light that surrounded him; there was nobody there. The minutes ticked by, and slowly, oh so slowly, he was able to make out edges and planes in this bleached white environment: trees and rocks, grass and streams--a forest.
“Haytham Kenway. You have been brought here for a great purpose. You must find the amulet. It cannot be left in the hands of the Templars.”
“Who are you?” he asked, trying to shield his eyes from the light, but his hand offered him no protection.
“I am the one who has guided the Assassins for generations.”
Years and years of studying the ways of the Brotherhood meant that Haytham had an impressive grasp of the organization’s history, but even then, the answer was not easily apparent. After all, the Assassins had had many notable Mentors over the years, but death was not something that could be escaped through skill and intellect. So who--
Suddenly, it all clicked into place: the ghosts that Ezio Auditore spoke of.
Haytham had never expected to encounter one in his lifetime, had almost thought them nothing more than hallucinations, but here she was, her words reinforcing what he already knew: he had to get that amulet back. “What must I do?”
The forest around him burst into flame, white disintegrating into red, orange, and yellow, and the woman’s voice grew tenfold in volume, drowning him in the sound. “Protect the secrets of this land, and the amulet will come to you. Grasp it within your hands, and it shall be yours.
“--But should you fail...” Her tone became ominous, and Haytham felt the chill of fear lance down his spine, despite the heat of the fire--a warning of things to come. “Tragedy will follow you until you join once more with your blood. Then and only then will the key return to you and will the world be safe from destruction.”
Like a man dunked in water, he was thrown back into reality, his face painted with shock; cold sweat ran down his spine. The ghost’s words rang in his ears, and Haytham pressed a hand to his chest, his pulse racing. His lone companion in the longhouse gave him a long stare and carefully lifted the crystal ball from his grasp, returning it to its place of safekeeping.
“She spoke to you,” she said--not a question but a statement. When Haytham provided no additional response aside from a slight nod of the head, she smirked, but there was no humor in the gesture. “What will you do?”
He thought of the burning forest, and he thought he knew what he had to do. It went against all logical thought to not pursue Birch, but Haytham would listen to this ghost and trust in her guiding words--he would stay in this village and wait for his opportunity to snatch the amulet from the Templars.
“Is there anywhere I can stay?” he finally asked, and after a moment, the woman nodded, as if she had been expecting him to say that from the start.
Re: Siren Song [ 4 / ? ]
(Anonymous) 2013-05-10 07:12 am (UTC)(link)Siren Song [ 5 / ? ]
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 05:37 am (UTC)(link)The winters were fierce in the wilds--the wind frigid and biting, the snow heavy and deep. He was never able to quite shake off the cold that chilled him to the bone, nor could he forget the loneliness that he felt. Haytham’s bond with the people he now lived with was little better than it had been at the start, but somehow, he still felt more at home here than he ever had at the Homestead.
Davenport had been all too willing to help him move away from his property, an unhappy glint in the man’s eyes whenever they spoke.
To be quite honest, the Mentor’s disapproval of him seemed to have only increased since Haytham had been granted permission to use the Piece of Eden that the Mohawk kept. Haytham couldn’t make sense of it, and it was only when he’d voiced his bafflement about the whole matter to Ziio that it all clicked into place.
“He has never been granted the opportunity to hold, let alone use the crystal ball,” she answered easily, tossing more tinder onto the fire. When Haytham merely stared at her, Ziio smirked. “Achilles is a proud man. A certain amount of jealousy is to be expected.
“He probably thinks of you like an upstart.”
Haytham offered Ziio a wry smile that was neither here nor there, delving no further into the problems that plagued him. Oh, she was just about the only person who would speak to him here in the village, but despite their odd acquaintance, there were still matters that he kept close to him--first and foremost his doubts about coming here to the colonies.
After all, what had he accomplished thus far? Nothing.
Birch was lost to him, the trail gone cold, and there was nothing to protect this village from. No trouble befell this place. How long would he have to stay here until the amulet came to him? How long would it be before he could complete his task and return to his homeland? His entire being itched for action, for something--anything--to happen, because this idleness was surely going to be the end of him.
“Davenport has nothing to fear from me. I’ve no intention of bothering his Brotherhood more than I must,” he finally replied with a quiet sigh. Ziio quirked a brow, unbelieving, and shrugged her shoulders; Haytham could never shake the feeling that she thought him to be somewhat idiotic, and the thought made him chuckle dryly. “I speak the truth, whether or not you want to believe me.”
“Then what are you here for? Isn’t the amulet something the Assassins want?”
“He told you that much, did he?”
“He said enough,” she replied, but there was something odd about the inflection of her voice now, like she was hiding something. “There’s more to us letting you make use of the crystal ball than just having Achilles say a few words to us.”
“Oh?”
Ziio rolled her eyes. “Stop trying to be coy and ask if you have a question.”
“I wasn’t trying to be--” The look she gave him forced him into momentary silence. “I was told that I was to protect this village,” he finally said, exasperated. “But as of yet, I haven’t seen anything that needs protecting, aside from the Piece of Eden.”
She continued to stare at him for a moment longer before suddenly rising to her feet, offering her hand to him. Ziio had that same look in her eyes as she had when she’d first offered him a place to stay; Haytham still didn’t know what it meant, still didn’t know what it entailed. “I have something to show you.”
And without another word, she marched them out of the longhouse and into the cold.
Haytham grit his teeth against the weather, pressing one hand to his hat to keep it there, while the other clutched at his cloak, pulling it close. More than once, he sought to protest this sudden excursion, but the wind would always swallow his words, the cold instantly making him regret the decision to open his mouth in the first place.
Further and further away they went into the woods, and all the while, Haytham wondered where she was taking them--and in such a hurry, too. Hope flared within him, and he struggled to keep up with her, knowing all too well that he’d be lost in the forest without her guidance. At last, he felt her hand close tight around his wrist, and through the heavy fall of snow, he thought he could see a faint smile pulling at her lips.
Despite the cold, the press of her fingers against his skin was warm.
“Was it really necessary to come here now?” he asked irritably, when they took refuge in a cave, and Haytham could hear the exasperation in her sigh, could almost see her roll her eyes at him despite the inky blackness that surrounded them. “After all, what’s so special about--”
“Just wait a moment,” came her biting reply, and the warmth of her hand disappeared from his wrist. The sounds of clicking rocks filled the air, and then light flickered into life as Ziio worked the weak flame into a hearty fire; shadows danced across the rough walls--except... not all of the walls were of stone.
Deep within the cave, the surfaces were smooth and cool like metal, too perfect to be made by Mother Nature’s hand. Haytham smoothed his fingers over it, disregarding the native drawings on the walls, and his movements only stilled when he felt Ziio draw close.
“This place is a secret of our people.”
“Is there nothing more?” he asked after a moment, tracing a single fingertip over the circular hole in the wall. Whatever could belong here? Haytham narrowed his eyes at it before turning his attention to the woman at his side.
“Are you always so difficult to please?” she countered, her annoyance tempered with a note of humor; Ziio nudged him in the side with her elbow. Haytham had the grace to feign embarrassment at her comment, but he still felt the sharp sting of disappointment when nothing else appeared before him, when nothing else happened. All that could be said of these walls was that they had been made by Those Who Came Before--nothing more and nothing less.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” he said at last, forcing himself to smile and show some appreciation; Haytham doubted that she was fooled by his faked gratitude though. This... wasn’t what he wanted (what had he been hoping for?), but Ziio had given him this much, enlarged his understanding of her people just a little more. No, best not to linger too much on his disappointment; he must accept what has been given to him.
Haytham ran his hand across the smooth surface once more, focusing his attention to the added drawings this time. “Can you tell me about these?”
The shift in conversation caused Ziio to narrow her eyes at him, but she nodded, acquiescing to his request. If she disapproved of his behavior, she did not mention it, so she regaled him with the tales of her people as the shadows danced upon the walls and the wind howled outside.
By the time her storytelling came to an end, the storm had given way to sunlight--a new dawn.
Re: Siren Song [ 5 / ? ]
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Siren Song [ 5 / ? ]
(Anonymous) 2014-01-08 08:37 am (UTC)(link)