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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.
✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.
✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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Discussion
Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [11/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-15 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)It is a blue sky that greets him as he finally reaches the top of the mountain pass, the veil of ominous clouds that has dominated the skies for weeks having dispersed after a final burst of snowfall during the night. Glancing back Connor frowns at the distinctive tracks he has left, his persisting limp having created a telltale furrow with every dragging step. Doubtless the sprain, combined with the less-than-accommodating weather conditions, can be said to have slowed his progress significantly. By now Haytham should be back in Boston, back with the Templars where he can do damage and back under the watchful eyes of Yvette and her spies. He pushes those thoughts aside, trying not to dwell on it in much the same way that he's spent the entire trek trying not to dwell on it. The two of them have parted ways, perhaps for good, so he needs to keep his priorities straight.
Still, making his way slightly closer to the cliff's edge and the familiar valley below, the teenager feels a need to linger here. In his present state of mind this home is simultaneously both inviting and foreboding. Watching the distant wisps of smoke rising from the manor's chimney, he wonders if it would have been easier simply to have done the foolish thing and taken his companion's offer. Of course it wouldn't, he knows that, but still... When he has not been concerned with decidedly not thinking about the grandmaster, and all the complications the man is creating, he has been worrying that somehow Achilles will know. The gruff man is keenly perceptive, surprisingly so. Maybe all it could take is one good look for him to figure out what the novice has done. Because no matter how much he tries to convince himself that he believes otherwise, Connor is still aware that he is treading a very thin line these days.
Although he sincerely doubts that anything has really, perceptibly, changed about him the nagging fear persists. Haytham's sudden switch from the golden yellow of a target to the calming blue of an ally could be entirely innocent, he tells himself. His sense and perception of the man doesn't have to have altered so drastically, it could simply have been because of his mission's effective ending or a temporary side-effect of what had happened in the cave. It doesn't have to mean so much, it doesn't have to mean anything.
None of that has prevented the nightmares of finding the homestead suddenly populated by red silhouettes though. He is quite conscious that after two nights of broken sleep and then hours of sitting awake there must be shadows developing under his eyes. It doesn't help that he remembers how much easier his nights had been in the Templar's company, if anything it only makes him feel worse. For once he is thankful for this bracing cold. Shivering slightly, he folds his arms tighter around himself and does not miss Haytham or his warmth.
He cannot stay up here and delay forever though. Even if hunger or discomfort don't drive him down back to the house then someone is bound to come through the pass eventually and discover him there delaying. A fairly regular flow of messengers and Assassins travel to and from the homestead after all, and Dobby may not even have returned from her surveillance post in Lexington yet. The longer he puts this off the harder it is going to be. With a little reluctance, and difficulty, he finally pulls himself up from the fallen tree-trunk on which he had been sitting. Stiffness makes him slightly unsteady on top of the dull ache of his ankle. Rather than face the long, unpleasant slog down this side of the pass he has already set his mind on taking that old, much favoured shortcut. Carefully he picks out the designated spot and takes the leap, although really it turns out as more of a controlled fall than an executed dive. In those few seconds before he hits the pile of ferns beneath the weight briefly lifts from his shoulders.
Breath temporarily forced from his lungs by the force of landing Connor lies there, recovering and stalling. The usual sounds of the woods around him are absent, due no doubt to the oppression of the snow that lies thick over the land. There are no leaves left for the wind to rustle reassuringly through, and there is no wind today either for that matter. Straining he catches a faint crunch of footsteps which, slow and deliberate as they may be, resound loudly in the relative silence. Most animals will still be in shelter, so he doubts their success. Any creatures venturing out today will surely be spooked by their approach long before they get a chance at a shot. He has just braced himself and regained his feet when a rifle discharges nearby, closely followed by a rather loud curse. Of course Clipper would insist on coming out even in the cold.
'You don't honestly expect me to believe that there was a misfire, now do you?'
'Was distracted is all. By all your loud breathing and moving. I had the shot lined up perfect and then you went and moved.'
He barely has to walk ten paces into the trees before he finds them; Duncan smirking while the younger novice scowls indignantly, a long rifle slung casually over his small shoulders. It isn't entirely surprising that the Irishman is the one on watch duty, for all their squabbling the two of them always do seem particularly inclined to each other's company. In spite of their respectively being the oldest and youngest Assassins-in-training, one is usually not far from the other around the homestead. Clipper never is particularly happy to be reminded that at eight years old he is effectively the baby of their group though. It certainly doesn't make him any less deadly with a rifle.
It is the Irishman who spots him first and raises a hand in greeting; 'Hey there, Connor, back in one piece I take it?'
Feeling nervous despite himself, he shrugs, managing not to let it show too much. 'Mostly. How goes the practice?'
'Pff,' Clipper immediately scoffs, already affronted, 'it'd be better if someone weren't so unrepentingly loud. I-'
'Can pop a muskrat's head from a quarter of a mile away, we know.' Duncan cuts him off, ruffling his hair. All of them realise just how much better off the muskrat population in Virginia is in the absence of their little sharpshooter. But rather than launching into any further teasing as he would normally, the man glances at Connor and switches tone. 'Now, how about you go ahead and see if you can't find us a horse or two to give Connor here a hand?'
Looking between the two of them with a mixture of frustration and hurt on his face, the young one clearly realises that he is being left out of something. He bites his lip, hesitating. While he's always naturally excluded from the major matters of the Brotherhood the boy isn't blind, he's seen all the tension and worry that've been plaguing almost everyone else recently. That keen curiosity clearly wars with his impulse to do as he's told and be helpful, ultimately losing. Clipper's feet only drag for a few steps before he speeds up, possibly realising that the sooner he goes the sooner he can be back.
Watching until the small figure is out of sight, Duncan is finally free to round on his newly returned comrade in search of information. 'So, did you find him?'
'Yes, I found him.' Connor sighs. Although reluctant to go into further detail he has a feeling it may prove wise to practice answering the questions that must naturally follow his absence. Certainly the older novice is a far less intimidating listener than their mentor, or any of the master Assassins for that matter.
'That bad, hey?'
'No, just...' He struggles to find the right word to explain it. Well, maybe not quite the right word but a safer one. Ultimately he settles for the mostly truthful he can think of; 'Exhausting.'
Duncan nods sympathetically, having already drawn a similar conclusion from his appearance. 'It was always going to be that way I suppose, having to be around a Templar like that. You don't think he suspected anything, do you?'
'I do not think I would not be here if he had.' Connor frowns; that possibility and its consequences hadn't really crossed his mind.
'Probably not, from what I've heard.' The Irishman seems to quickly think better of his words, quickly continuing and switching subjects before anything can be made of it. 'So what happened to your leg then?'
'Slipped on some ice.' At the incredulous look he receives the native feels obliged to amend somewhat and add; 'I was jumping from a tree onto a roof, over the wall of a fort.'
'The last thing I would have thought you would've had to worry about was slipping on ice.' Duncan laughs. Any tension, imagined or otherwise, between them evaporates as he claps him on the shoulder.
Nevertheless he is grateful to hear the approach of the returning Clipper, who comes trotting back towards them dutifully with a pair of saddled horses in tow only to find that the prohibited subject has already been discussed. There is no doubt in Connor's mind however that he's going to be cornered later, at least once, in order to tell the full story. Dobby for one will be keen to worm as much out of him as possible, especially given what she saw at the inn, and the Irishman is hardly going to be giving up after a tantalising morsel like that. The only escape he is likely to find from the various interested parties is if he hides out on the Aquila, and even then the questions will just wait until he resurfaces. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later, in theory at least.
While he mounts with only the slightest of troubles it takes the others a little longer to negotiate sharing the second horse. It's nice to have been pushed from the centre of attention, at least for the moment, giving him a proper chance to gather his thoughts again. He doesn't dare look for the auras of his friends, not yet at any rate. Happy to see them as he is Connor can't deny that he feels an unpleasant tension in his stomach, one that he doubts can be blamed on his lack of sleep. This is probably just because he's had to continuously keep his guard up recently, he reasons, it will go away as soon as he readjusts to being out of imminent danger. It means nothing, just as that blue aura meant nothing really.
After some squabbling Clipper finally ends up settled in the saddle in front of Duncan and they are free to set off for the manor; a short ride, true, but it provides a welcome break. An amicable hush hangs over the journey for the most part. However the sharpshooter keeps shifting around in his position to make quiet little inquiries of his riding partner, using the opportunity to try and drag at least something out. This strategy doesn't look to be paying off though as the young one sinks into further and further into a pout as they go. Connor on the other hand itches to ask questions of his own, about the Brotherhood and about any developments in Boston, but knows that this is not the time for them. The last thing he really needs is to get into extra trouble with Achilles for mentioning such matters in front of the inquisitive boy.
He certainly can't bring up the subject of General Braddock, and the potential assassination he may be preparing to mount on the man in partnership with the Templars. In hindsight he wishes he'd said something about it when he'd had the chance, then he might have at least gauged the sort of reaction the news could provoke. This might easily be the single worst thing he has to report, given that a number of more compromising episodes are not going to get any sort of mention here. How he deals with Haytham is simply not relevant right now. But still... Glancing over at his companions he is worried that perhaps he has crossed a line, done the wrong thing. Perhaps the Brotherhood would have rather he found out what he could and then simply let the grandmaster die when he had the chance, retrieving that artefact of Eden while he was at it. If his stomach twists even more unpleasantly at that thought he pretends he doesn't notice it.
Upon their reaching the stables it's pretty clear that nobody else is in the mood to brave the cold, the yard deserted and still. This is something of a relief to Connor, allowing his minor struggle with dismounting to go unnoticed. On the other hand it all but confirms his suspicion that Achilles will be waiting, in his study most likely, ready to grab the teenager for an extensive debriefing as soon as he hears his footsteps in the hall. If he's really unlucky Tallmadge or one of the others will be waiting with him. He could always take his chances, sneak in the back door and try for the temporary sanctuary of the kitchen...
'Don't worry, Connor, you go on ahead.' Already having commandeered his animal and started leading it away, the Irishman easily waves off any attempts at an objection.
Irked by his exclusion still, Clipper has already disappeared into the stalls with the other horse. Despite not being quite tall enough yet to deal with the task of unsaddling them alone he is apparently determined to stay and do as much as he can. Another one of his stubborn protests that he's old enough to do this so surely he's old enough to know at least some of what's going on. It won't work of course, it never does.
Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [11/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-15 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)Pushed on purely by the fact that he doesn't want the others to come up and find him still standing there, he steels himself, turning the doorknob and stepping through into darkness. Cautiously he shuts the door behind him with as little noise as he can manage, similarly keeping his footfalls soft, slow and quiet out of years-old instinct. Adjusting to the abrupt lack of snow-glare and light in general takes him several seconds, wherein he subconsciously edges closer to the stairs and the 'safer' side of the building. All of the novices are well-practised at navigating the place as quietly as possible, after years of avoiding annoyed older Assassins and also trying to successfully eavesdrop on those very same older Assassins. Fortunately, for him, Connor always has been the best at stealth and sneaking without entirely appearing to be doing so. But as soon as he draws level with it, the door to the study swings open.
'Here you are, we were beginning to worry.' Achilles's hearing is near uncanny. Opening the door wider he gestures; 'Come in.'
Being ushered into the mentor's study has never boded particularly well, to the younger residents of the homestead at least. One can never really tell whether the old man is in a good mood or not, until he starts talking and by then it's already pretty much too late. As usual Connor tries to find distraction in focusing on his surroundings, not that anything here has ever particularly changed within memory. A book might have been taken down from a shelf and the jumble of paper, ink and quills on the desk will no doubt be arranged slightly differently; that is all the change the man ever seems to suffer to his ordered apartment. The eyes of the stuffed eagle perched between the windows are as piercing as they always have been, doing a good job of seeming to follow one around the room. It's an unnerving, unforgiving stare that makes it rather easier to meet that of the room's living occupant.
Having sealed the exit securely behind him, Achilles moves back to his desk and sits. He indicates the chair across from him, waiting patiently for the teenager to comply with the wordless request. Hands clasped together under his chin he merely regards him, subjecting Connor to exactly the close scrutiny he had hoped to escape. It is far from the man's intention to be so intimidating, he knows that, but his own tension is putting him on edge already.
'I trust the weather was not unduly harsh.' Though he knows better the novice still hears the faintest tone of accusation in this innocent remark.
Hesitating only a second too long, conscious that this might be some sort of trap, he goes with his instinct and replies; 'It was no worse than any I have previously experienced.'
'Good.' Achilles's mouth upturns at one side, the closest to a smile one usually gets out of him in these interviews. 'You were successful?'
Instantly dropping eye contact, dwelling instead on his hands as they fidget with one another in his lap, the teenager struggles to find the right way of putting this. He's had two days to figure out the details of this exchange, and he still hasn't got the least idea. 'I... established contact with Haytham and I have managed to learn some details about the Templars' intentions here.'
'Your bearing does not fill me with confidence, Connor.' Crossing his arms and leaning back the mentor awaits further elaboration, expecting bad news.
'Their current objective is to gain the trust of my people, for the sake of information. He did not tell me much but the reason for Haytham's arrival here, as well as the particular interest in my kind, seems to be connected to an artefact of Eden he has in his possession.' Catching the way his mentor's expression abruptly darkens the teenager is quick to explain further; 'Not one of the Pieces themselves, just an amulet of some kind. The markings were clearly of the same origin, but it had no obvious power to it, no clear purpose.'
'Everything those infernal creatures made or do has a purpose. Even if it is not one of the main Pieces, anything of Eden in the hands of the Templars is trouble. Kenway still has it I assume?' While he already seems to know the answer, the man is speaking less out of criticism and more out of resignation.
'Yes. He would not have parted with it willingly.'
Achilles gives a humourless sort of smile but says nothing, gesturing for him to continue, aware that this is not quite the entirety of what he needs to be told just yet.
'His purpose in seeking me was to discover whatever I could tell him about the object. I am unsure how much he knew about it already, but I told him very little; that I had seen markings of a similar kind before, in a place forbidden to outsiders.' Even the Brotherhood haven't been permitted there, although he is sure the elders could be convinced otherwise now. It is the least of their secrets, after all.
'And this satisfied him?' The master Assassin looks sceptical.
Feeling his cheeks start to flush slightly, Connor dips his head. 'No, it was not to his liking. He was... persistent, determined to know where this place was or to get me to take him there, to win my trust if that was what it would take. I had to let him believe that there was a possibility-'
A hand raises, stopping him from digressing too far. Fortunately the mentor is not keen to hear every detail of his thought process, not at this moment in time anyway. 'How exactly does he intend to do this, to gain your trust?'
'I... We...' He breathes deeply. 'By killing General Braddock.'
Silence.
Visibly deep in thought, Achilles is frowning. Whether this is a good sign or not remains anyone's guess. Eventually, after what feels like an age, he starts to speak again, initially seeming to be musing aloud rather than addressing his pupil. 'Braddock, hmm? So Kenway wishes to kill two birds with one stone... When is this killing to take place?'
Still not entirely certain where he stands, the teenager proceeds cautiously. 'Three days ago we infiltrated the British fort Necessity in search of him, but the general had already returned to the front. Instead we discovered a map detailing plans for another of his “expeditions”, set for the summer months, and I suggested that it would be a better idea to ambush him then; to enable us to plan and to create a more plausible explanation for his death.'
Achilles simply stares at him, apparently searching for some extra detail or answer in his features, which he has attempted to carefully school. Minutes tick past before he asks, words coming slowly as he enunciates; 'Kenway is willing to wait for months in order to kill this man, with the hopes of earning your trust, on the chance that you will choose to further enlighten him about the location of these mysterious markings of Eden you mentioned having seen?'
He can't seem to quite believe it. And in all honesty, when put that way Connor finds it fairly hard to believe himself. Of course, that is not quite the whole story there. But while the novice knows that full well, does the mentor? Does he suspect that there is something more to this turn of events, to the grandmaster's preoccupation? As they look at each other across the expanse of the old mahogany desk the younger is almost certain that he does.
'Yes.'
'Should the chance remain of securing the answers they seek do you believe the Templars will continue to focus their attention primarily on this matter?' It's a pragmatic question, rather than the accusation the novice was half-expecting to hear.
'I believe it is a strong possibility.' He may not be able to fully account for the rest of the small colonial Order, but the teenager is fairly confident that Haytham at least will not be turning his attention on the Brotherhood yet.
'Tell me, how long were you in the man's company?'
Feeling his blood turn colder, this turn is the sort of interrogation he had been both expecting and dreading. Surely that is suspicion, or even knowledge, in the mentor's look, is it not? Inwardly panicking, doubting his previously firm resolution, Connor briefly considers telling him everything, regardless of the consequences. A fraction of a second and that foolish idea is cast aside, he had carried out his mission and established a potentially useful connection with the grandmaster. This is not an accusation. He is an Assassin and nobody is questioning his loyalty. His voice stays steady. 'Almost three days.'
'And what is your opinion of him?'
'Dangerous.' Rather than trying to over-think it he opts for a fast and simple response, one of the first words to come into his head. Best not to explore the various other facets of his opinion, particularly out loud.
Achilles gives a nod and sits back, apparently satisfied with that choice. Hands clasped under his chin in an attitude of contemplation he gives another of his little smiles. It nevertheless remains impossible to tell quite what he's really thinking. 'I think I have interrogated you quite enough for now. You look in need of rest, go, tend to your injuries and we will discuss this further later.'
Gratefully grasping the dismissal, despite being a little thrown by quite how sudden it is, the teenager is practically at the door before he fully processes the words. Injuries. Plural. Fighting back the instinct to turn back at this realisation, to seek out some sort of confirmation in his mentor's expression, he instead reaches one hand for the handle. His other strays up to his collar, tugging the material up again as subtly as possible. He needs to leave the room now. Just because Achilles has seen the rather conspicuous bruise on his neck doesn't mean that the man has any idea of its cause, or anything related to that. Even so, Connor is certain that he has not succeeded in escaping suspicion.
It could be his imagination, or the lack of sleep, but he is sure that as he steps out of the room a quiet warning from the master Assassin follows him; 'Watch your step, boy.'
^ Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [11.5/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-15 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [11/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-16 02:15 pm (UTC)(link)Aaagh, this is tense! Do I love you for updating, or hate you for making me worry so much about fictional characters?
Also, well done you for getting through uni! I hope everything went well for you! <3
Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [11/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-17 03:13 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [11/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-18 12:22 pm (UTC)(link)Anyway, I was so happy to see the update and it really is great news to know the story isn't abandoned. *showers author anon with love*