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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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✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.
✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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Discussion
Grief's Madness 9/? (TW: self harm)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-06 12:02 am (UTC)(link)Scratch.
A moan.
Charles opened his eyes, annoyed at the disturbance. He rolled over when he realised Haytham wasn't with him. The scratching continued. In the darkest, furthermost corner Charles spotted his master, crouched, a bucket in front of him. Haytham was rubbing something over his hands. A damp cloth, maybe. It was hard to tell.
Rising with only the slowest movements - Haytham was occasionally still jumpy - Charles slipped from the bed and padded across the room. Something wet his foot. Haytham's body jerked, twisted away. Continued to scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
"He was innocent," said Connor.
Lee realised that Connor's hands were glistening with blood and water, the scraping was a flat stone, wriggled loose from the cabin wall and rubbed over his hands and arms. The wetness under his foot was a smudge of blood.
"He betrayed us," said Lee.
"He betrayed you. He was innocent."
Connor scraped at his arms. Leaning forward, Lee snatched at the rock, growling when Connor yanked it away.
"Sir, give it to me."
"No."
There was a brief scuffle, Connor trying to sweep Lee's legs from underneath him, but missing, and Lee carefully grabbing his upper arms and dragging him out of the corner. Blood smeared across the floor, and hands covered in scratches and abrasions clutched at Lee's nightshirt, petals of red blossoming across it. He ducked the hand attempting to bring the stone down on his head.
"The tailor did not have to die!" screamed Connor.
"Neither did the Inner Circle," replied Charles.
"They were dishonest and disloyal men. They only thought of their own greed."
"William Johnson would have saved your village," said Lee quietly.
With a scream, Connor smashed one hand to the side of Lee's face. Lee recoiled, touching his face briefly, before finally forcing the stone from Connor's hand. Then he twisted Connor's arms to fold over his chest and shouted to the guards to fetch the doctor.
***
The smell of toasted bread and butter woke Duncan. Stephane was already up, crunching his way through a thick slice with cheese. A tray of food was on his bed, including apples, porridge and more toast. The domesticity of it all almost made Duncan forget the horrors of the week he had been through.
"I do not want you to talk," said Stephane. "But I will need you to talk. Eat, and tell me what happened."
Duncan poured himself some milk and took the porridge. He didn't want to talk, true. If he could, he would box it away forever, but there was more than his life on the line. For the greater good.
The porridge was gluggy and it stuck to the roof of his mouth, but Duncan supposed it was his churning stomach that made it difficult to eat. He didn't think he could swallow it but he did, eventually. The last of the porridge was washed away with a swig of milk. With a rattling sigh, Duncan put his mug down.
"Haytham Kenway is alive," he said slowly.
"What? But we saw his body, he is dead! This was -"
"Haytham is alive in Connor. I don't know how he managed it but Lee has manipulated Connor into believing that he is Haytham. I tried to find Connor - someone had spread the information that a Captain Davenport was being held in an encampment a few days ride from New York, so I followed the trail. They caught me as I managed to break the lock on the cabin he was supposed to be in."
Duncan took another mouthful of milk, feeling quite ill. Stephane watched him and reached to pat his comrade's knee. It jerked away. Duncan wasn't ready to be touched.
"And then they put me in a cell. Then he - he came with Connor. Lee came with Connor and he sounded exactly like Haytham but his eyes were wrong, they were Connor's eyes in Haytham's body. But it was Haytham that spoke to me, stared me down. And I was a child again, waiting for him to leave so I could scream for help."
He lowered his head.
"I begged like a child for Connor to take hold of his senses. They linked their arm with Lee and walked away. Connor is dead, Stephane."
"Nothing is written," said Stephane. "We can unpick the threads of deceit."
Numbly, Duncan nodded, and he tried to eat some more before they left the inn for another full day of riding. It tasted like sawdust.
***
Haytham inspected his bandaged arms with detached interest. He picked at a loose thread and sighed. Books were scattered around the room, half-read. The guards shifted as he stood, under strict instructions not to allow Connor to rise to the surface.
But he was bored. Especially so after his first kill in months. He hadn't liked doing it, but what sort of example would he be setting if he'd let the man go free? No, it was for the greater good of the Templar Order that he had executed Babbington. But he had enjoyed being in action, chasing down the Assassins. They had escaped this time, but Haytham doubted they would come back soon.
Grief's Madness 11/? (TW: as above) also author can't count
(Anonymous) 2013-05-06 01:52 pm (UTC)(link)A rig of pulleys and rope had been wrenched into place, teams of men heaving the gates upright, others using large mallets to bash the industrial nails into place, securing the marine hinges to the fence. Timber was not ideal, but it would do for now. Sandstone would be quarried locally, once he’d secured a trustworthy contractor (since the Babbington incident, Charles found himself even more hesitant to employ external help), and a proper wall would be built, like the castles of old.
It would still be a town, of course, but it would be a town with particularly thorough defences.
An almighty roar rose from the men as the gate creaked, and they strained to suspend it above the ground. The men with the mallets drove the nails home, fixing the gates. They cheered as it was finished, the men releasing the ropes. The gates moaned as they settled in their hinges.
Wood now. Sandstone and steel later.
***
When the Assassins finally convened, it was not in the darkness. They huddled in a marketplace, idly pretending to browse fruit, staying in motion to avoid eavesdroppers. Stephane did most of Duncan’s talking, the other man still quiet after his capture. Maybe it was shame, maybe it was fear, but he had eaten more than what he had at breakfast, so Stephane had to trust Duncan to speak up if something more sinister was at play.
Dobby leaned into a farmer’s stall and purchased some vegetables. She was toting a wicker basket with her, a slab of meat already in the bottom, wrapped in newspaper. Their den, small though it was, had a proper spit and they intended to have a good roast for dinner. She seemed unconcerned to the civilians around her, but the twitch in her right hand, wanting to go for her knife, was obvious to her fellow Assassins.
“I do not suppose that you managed to find out what Lee intends for Connor? Figurehead, trainer, slav-” she queried, for what had to be the seventh time since the conversation had started.
“No,” said Stephane, cutting her off.
They did not want to think of what Lee had forced Connor to do. The mere fact that Lee had slid so far into insanity to believe that transforming Connor into Haytham had been a rational idea was enough inspiration. Lee and Haytham’s relationship had been close, the Assassins knew that much. Turning to sodomy didn’t seem out of the question.
“There were more than five hundred men stationed there, and some families as well. They intend to stay.”
Grunting, Jacob passed some coin to the seller, discreetly hanging back a little from the main group. A military camp was one thing, but families were another. They did not kill the innocent. They were not Vikings that mindlessly pillaged and burned. They were not, and Jacob’s teeth bared at the thought, Templars.
“It is too many to go up against without knowing exactly how many civilians are in there,” sighed Clipper. “Their fortifications are increasing with every day that passes.”
He rubbed at his temples in exasperation. Taking on a fort was Connor’s forte, not his. Perhaps if there hadn’t been families, they would have been able to sneak in, but this was a whole new game.
Jamie spoke up, tugging at his hat, “We need to strike when they’re distracted. Make them laugh while we stab them in the gut. What is Lee preparing Connor for? Presumably a debut into society. Clearly Lee is allowing Connor control.”
“Haytham seemed to be in power when he visited me. He decided whether I lived or died,” said Duncan.
When the other turned their attention to Duncan, he glanced down, unable to bring forth a level of confidence that he had enjoyed previously.
“I cannot go with you,” he announced.
“But you know the-” began Stephane.
“Yes, I know, but I cannot go back. I am deeply sorry. I will help with your preparations,” said Duncan, lifting his head but staring at a point that was over Stephane’s shoulder. He gave them a wry smile, “Besides, someone has to look after the dens. I will need to check on the Homestead as well - Connor would not like it if his community had been abandoned for so long.”
Dobby huffed, but didn’t say anything. Duncan had a point - despite their desperate need for extra hands on the rescue mission, the Templars could and would easily retaliate by burning the Homestead to the ground. That wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Connor.
"It is better," agreed Jamie.
He gave Duncan a reassuring smile.
"Now," he continued. "About that distraction..."
***
A carriage rolled to a halt outside of a small shop. The driver hopped from his seat and removed his hat as he entered the shop. His assistant held the horses, and from the shop the first man emerged with four men in black and a grieving family, weeping for a man that met death too early.
Re: Grief's Madness 11/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-06 02:00 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Grief's Madness 11/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-06 02:08 pm (UTC)(link)Grief's Madness 12/? (TW: as above)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 04:49 am (UTC)(link)Skilfully, Clipper and Dobby had constructed a riot near the edge of New York. Those who fled were no good, those who fought (and fought well and honest), were pulled aside. This was third time the riot had been started. Out of it all, with Jacob, Duncan, and Stephane disguised as Bluecoats to disperse the riot before the real Bluecoats arrived, they had taken fifteen men and seven women. Of those, eleven men and three women agreed to a more vigorous training. Clipper was having the time of his life with the women - they had taken to shooting as if they had been practicing since they were in the cradle.
They didn't know what they were training for. Jacob had admitted to feeling guilty about using civilians, but they had to. Five Assassins against six hundred Templars and one Master Assassin was less likely to win than five Assassins and fourteen novices.
The current group were hopeless. Four men had some qualities of what it took, but only one of them really stood out. Jamie pointed to him, and Stephane swooped in to pluck the man from the main fight.
So that would make it fifteen novices, if he agreed.
A troop of Bluecoats caught his eye, as they marched closer to the Assassin-induced riot. Jamie gave three sharp whistles in warning, and immediately the people began to disperse, aided by threats of arrest and a solid few thumps of a musket stock. The disguised Assassins gathered, casually making themselves appear natural, saluting the troop as they passed, while Jamie scooted back from the roof's edge, and Dobby, Clipper, and their latest novice shared a haystack.
Jamie sighed - they were going to have a hard time training these people up to the level they needed to be in the time they had. It was risky and stupid, and Jamie hated it. They were sending these people to be slaughtered. If the Aquila hadn't gone into hiding, then they could have asked Faulkner and the crew to help. Jamie suspected the ship was somewhere south, south enough to fall off the edge of the world if that wasn't a ridiculous concept.
They needed trained Assassins.
Sighing, Jamie scanned their surroundings to check for more Bluecoats, then whistled the safety signal. The recruit looked quite dazed as Dobby and Clipper pulled him out of the haystack. Then he sneezed. And sneezed again and again until his nose was red and dripping, then he sneezed some more. Jamie groaned and buried his head in his hands.
The man was allergic to hay.
***
“I heard you needed help.”
Clipper raised his musket, finger off the trigger, but ready to fire if needed. He looked up - it was surprising how many people didn’t look up - and immediately found the source of the voice. A woman in black robes and a yellow and red scarf leaned over the roof ledge. She smiled, a scar on her lip twisting with it, and Clipper had the distinct impression she was laughing at him.
“Well done,” she said, lightly jumping onto a ladder, sliding down it, and gracefully landing next to him.
Now this was an Assassin. Clipper felt ashamed of himself, for standing next to such an artful member of their Brotherhood. Sisterhood. ‘Hood. At any rate, she clearly had more experience and more skill, and a natural capacity for the arts of the assassin that made Clipper nervous. He didn’t think he would ever be able to match up to her.
“You are Aveline,” he said.
She smiled.
“Very good, mon ami,” replied Aveline. “Now, is it true?”
Clipper didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. He nodded. Aveline’s shoulders slumped, albeit slightly. Only another Assassin would have noticed.
“Well then, Mister...” she trailed off.
“Clipper. Just Clipper.”
“Clipper. A sweet name. Suitable for your speciality. I would not mind having you come to New Orleans to tutor some of my apprentices on the true ways of the shooter.”
A red blush rose from Clipper’s collar. She laughed, petted his shoulder, and said, “Do not be bashful, your skills are superb according to the letters Connor sent me.”
“You would not say that if you met my family.” He shrugged, still quite red. “Will you require lodgings?”
“Ah, yes, about that,” said Aveline. “I have brought ten of my most experienced apprentices with me. They are close to being able to teach novices themselves. I do hope this does not intrude upon your plans.”
Soft thumps of feet landing against the dust and mud of the road behind them made Clipper turn. Aveline’s apprentices had arrived. They were dressed in a similar manner - they had a quasi-uniform, and the feeling of shame returned to Clipper. He knew that it was better that he wore civilian clothing, but their uniforms echoed a strong tradition throwing back to their European founders. They looked good. They looked strong.
They ducked their heads to him, and Clipper realised that they were deferring to his lead.
“Oh, oh, I don’t - I mean, I am not the leader,” he stammered out. “Connor is but...”
“Do not worry yourself,” said Aveline. “You mentioned lodgings?”
“Ah, yes, I believe that we will all fit. It might be a tad squashed, but I am sure it will not matter. We would be grateful for the help.”
Clipper looked away, uncomfortable with so many pairs of eyes on him. He could still feel them on his back as he snatched up a stick and drew a rough map on the road. Aveline peered at it, trying to make sense of the scribbly drawing. The tip of the stick pointed to a squiggle, and scratched at it as Clipper explained, making it more and more convoluted.
“It looks like a whale,” she said finally, confused.
Clipper realised the apprentices had huddled around them as well. He was reminded of a lacrosse huddle. They all seemed confused. Throwing his stick down, Clipper scuffed it out. It did not look like any sort of sea creature at all. (Secretly, he agreed that the map was rather messy, but he would never admit it.)
“Well, I was never very good at drawing. I was supposed to fetch medicine, but I am sure Jamie will understand if I bring you back instead,” he announced.
He smiled nervously at Aveline, and she smiled back, allowing him to lead them to their den.
***
One month.
They only had one month before the Lodge was complete. And when that happened…
…Charles smiled, and fingered the amulet around his neck. The Piece of Eden. No doubt that the Assassins would try to take their former leader back, but it was too late now. He had destroyed Connor’s hatred, tamed Ratonhaké:ton’s fears and truly brutal and savage personality, and imposed a much better, much fairer, much more elegant personality upon him. He doubted that Connor remembered anything of his previous life, his mind filling in the details with the vivid accounts of the journals that Haytham had left behind. Cruelly left behind.
He hoped Haytham would forgive him, if there was an afterlife. But Connor was a lovely substitute, if not entirely perfect. There were minor mannerisms that Charles hadn’t managed to entirely erase. Connor tended to tilt his head to one side when he inspected something, mulling what he saw over in his mind a thousand times with a thousand corrections before speaking. Haytham did not tilt.
It was minor. Charles had accepted it, and moved on. Haytham hadn’t been particularly fond of his Pomeranians (he liked larger dogs, ones that wouldn’t get underfoot, Great Danes, Pointers, and Rottweilers), and he was fearful that the new Haytham would be the same. However, when Spado followed Charles down to the cabin one day, and wriggled through the hands of the guard, Haytham had leaned down and petted the black dog with a gentle smile on his face.
This was also something Charles had accepted, quicker than the first oddity. If Haytham now liked all dogs, not just large dogs, then he was happy by that. He trusted him not to harm them. He trusted him.
One month.
One month, and Haytham would be Haytham in the eyes of the Order as well as the population of the Lodge complex.
Re: Grief's Madness 12/? (TW: as above)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 11:34 am (UTC)(link)The last bit made me feel really nervous. Its good to see that some of Connor is shining through :') I hope he does remember his old life in the end, for his sake, as unlike with haytham, theres no one who can really tell him about anything ehhhh, 14 and earlier? if we assume achilles is dead and his tribe has already gone west. Faulkner might be able to help though.
Im definitely excited for the next part and i love the pacing of this; a lot of other fics take fooooorever to get to each interesting event
Re: Grief's Madness 12/? (TW: as above)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-19 09:22 am (UTC)(link)Connor is pretty smashed up. Unfortunately, there will be pieces that will take a long time for him to remember.
Thank you for reading! I'm glad you like the pacing!
Re: Grief's Madness 12/? (TW: as above)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Grief's Madness 12/? (TW: as above)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-19 09:23 am (UTC)(link)LOVE THIS!
(Anonymous) 2013-05-08 09:44 pm (UTC)(link)i can't wait to continue reading!
Re: LOVE THIS!
(Anonymous) 2013-05-19 09:34 am (UTC)(link)<<<< New part is being threaded off part 1
(Anonymous) 2013-05-12 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)