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
Fill for a post I can't find now...
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 05:11 am (UTC)(link)Not sure if I'm allowed to post like this so please tell me mods if I am breaking any rules.
Forgive the terrible writing (it's my first drabble).
Warning: angst, death, implied suicidal thoughts, regret, completely ignores Forsaken and adds a whole really weird interpretation to Haytham’s past
Journal of Haytham Kenway
April 4th, 1781
I remember my first foray into the Greek classical arts. As with any young aspiring gentleman of an upstanding and gentry family, I had been studying Greek and Latin, and my father Edward had deemed me ready to read Sophocles's Oedipus Rex. At the time, I had not particularly cared for the play. Oedipus, I decided, was a fool and in his own arrogance, he caused that which he sought to prevent. Father laughed at my contempt and teased me, warning me that all men were capable of making such mistakes.
I did not believe him.
I, I maintained, cheeky and self-assured as only a boy much beloved by his family can be, could never make such a dreadful mistake, never display such abominable hubris. For was I not a Kenway, with the best in classical education, with a wise father and with a nurturing mother? And was not our Great Britain a great nation, though nowhere quite as strong as the Spanish Empire. How, I reasoned, could I ever be in the position to make the kind of mistake that Oedipus made?
Those were happier times for my father, my dear, wise father, died not long after. Smallpox, the doctor told us. And my lady mother, beautiful, loving and kind, followed him only days after from a broken heart. I was the only Kenway left and passed into the care of relatives who, though adequate guardians, were distant and a far cry from my loving family.
Perhaps that is why I latched onto him with all the desperation of a drowning man. He was kind and generous and brightened those days with the rose-hued light of burgeoning puppy-love. I met him suddenly, after contemplating my role in life and perhaps ending my continued existence (yes, weak, I know, but it was a dark time for me), and he shone with all the righteous fury one may expect a man to have when confronted with a boy thinking of ending his life. In all honesty, I mistook him for an angel at first, as exotic as he was.
My angel, come to save me from despair and darkness. He was vibrant and impassioned, but strangely forthright and honest. No angel was he, he claimed, but a ghost from the future. And he promised to watch over me, to protect me as best he can for I was important to the world, to the future, and to him. No one else could see him, and he existed for me alone.
Well, that kind of message goes to a boy’s head easily, but it was exactly what I needed. And so my boyhood and subsequent youth passed with him by my side. Where my aunt and uncle doubted and ignored me by turns, he had faith in me. Where the other boys my age would jeer at my orphaned status and attack me, he would soothe my wounds afterwards and taught me how to defend myself. Where I questioned myself and once again ventured into dark thoughts, he bolstered me and, through words and ethereal hugs, brought me back to myself.
Through his stories, I learned about Altair and Ezio and their noble mission of peace and freedom (I especially enjoyed hearing the Templars’ final moments with Ezio). Through his teaching, I learned how to climb walls, defend myself in combat, use Eagle Vision to discern people’s true intentions and create my own hidden place to keep myself safe (though I wonder now at his insistence that I not join the Brotherhood as I had initially wanted). Through his guidance, I opened my future to opportunities and possibilities and became acknowledged as an upstanding and model member of society, despite my lack of true parental figures. And through it all, I grew up on his never-ending fount of love and affection and began to crave the ghostly warmth of his arms, the brightness of his smile, the glow of pride in his eyes. There was sadness in his gaze too, but he would only shake his head when I inquired after it.
He was beautiful, my ethereal, loyal ghost, and the day I fell in love with him, he vanished.
The quill stills, and Haytham stares unseeing at the growing blot of ink on his journal. The funeral, his funeral would be tomorrow. Doubtless, all his precious homesteaders and Assassin recruits and that Achilles would be there, to mourn his passing.
Haytham’s hand tenses around the quill. He would probably not welcome Haytham’s presence were he still alive. And certainly Achilles and those recruits would cry foul at his attendance and make things difficult. If they caught sight of him. As if they had any right to keep him from being there, from seeing his face one last time before…
Haytham curses as the quill snaps and black ink splatters on the journal and his clothes. He would need to ask Charles for a new quill.
Journal of Haytham Kenway
April 5th, 1781
The day My Ghost vanished, I railed at him. He had promised me an eternity of companionship, comfort and, above all, PEACE and broken that promise in only a single decade.
I could neither forgive nor accept his betrayal.
I swore to find him and fetter him to my side forever. I would never again allow him the freedom to leave me and, somehow, somehow I would find the means, the knowledge, the power to make him mine for all eternity and punish him for his desertion.
I excelled in my studies in the zeal of my research and gained entrance to Oxford, one of the finest institutions of learning in my nation. I poured through texts and old books, hoping to find a way to rediscover My Ghost and bring him back. I studied the arcane, the little-known, the obscure, but…I could find nothing.
Nothing, but the Templars for it was during my frustration after wading through an old text at Oxford that I came to be acquainted to a certain Mr. Reginald Birch. Mr. Birch had heard about my search for ancient texts and lost knowledge through a mutual contact at Oxford and introduced himself as businessman and a purveyor of just such things. He spoke of Those Who Came Before and obtaining power to bring peace and order to the world. He spoke of my own potential role in the Templars as one of the most brilliant students Oxford has ever seen.
To this day, I am surprised that he didn’t kill me when I attacked him with my hidden blade.
“Consider my offer,” he advised after having restrained me. “Consider my offer and consider that, in a Templar world, in a world without the insanity known as freedom, known as chaos, there would be peace. Consider that, in a world with order and people like you in control, you could never lose those you care for, for the circumstances of being left behind, of losing, would be yours to prevent.”
I joined the Templar order that very day.
“Master Kenway”
Haytham carefully sets down his quill atop his open journal. “What is it Charles?”
“The funeral of the boy,” here, Charles’s mouth briefly twisted in distaste, ”Sir, you are not attending it?”
Haytham picks up the quill and begins to write. “Surely, Charles, you do not think me driven by sentiment? For an Assassin?”
Haytham is surprised when the quill is plucked out of his hand and his journal slammed shut. He looks up at the man now holding his quill. “Charles, have you lost your mind?”
He is discomfited by Charles disappointed and knowing look. “Forgive me my trespass Master Kenway, but this pretense must end.”
Haytham draws himself up and faces his second. “And what pretense is that?”
“This pretense that you care not that your son is dead.”
Haytham stiffens. “He was an Assassin, Charles. He was our enemy, and I am hardly one to shed tears for an enemy.”
Charles look turns pitying, and, for one brief moment, Haytham contemplates killing him.
“As much as I personally despised the boy, sir, I know that you came to care for him. And as necessary as his death was, it is even more necessary that you face your grief and are able to move on. For the good of the Order.”
With that, Charles carefully sets the quill down on top of Haytham’s journal and leaves.
Journal of Haytham Kenway
April 6th, 1781
The boy, that Assassin, Connor. Oh how you do not know that you are at the root of all this.
I loved Ziio because she reminded me of My Ghost. Her exoticness, her openness and way with words all resonated with my memory of My Ghost. And I admit my draw to the Native peoples of the new land I found myself in stemmed from their resemblance to My Ghost. For the first time in many years, I dared to hope that, with so many people who all looked eerily like My Ghost, that I would be able to find him again. I dared dream that with the power locked in the precursor site, I would compel My Ghost into existence and snatch away his ability to leave my side.
Alas that the key did not fit!
I wonder what would’ve happened if it had. Could I, indeed, have been able to use the power to bring peace and order to the world? Can I then have used my power to order My Ghost back? It is useless wondering, for it never came to be.
Ziio was my one night of comfort, of remembrance and the closest I would get to My Ghost for another 20 years. She is one of the few things in my life that I do not regret. Wherever you are now Ziio, thank you.
“Master Kenway,” Charles pleads. Haytham sets down his quill and looks up at the other man.
“Master Kenway, please reconsider.”
“I will not Charles for it is meaningless, pointless,” Haytham intones calmly.
“Master Kenway, I beg you to reconsider.” Haytham arches a surprised brow at the troubled man before him.
“I find it rather odd that you are pressing so hard for this Charles. You hated the boy, and he you, if you recall?”
Charles pursed his lips. “I worry for you sir. I saw how hard you worked to turn him against Washington and, forgive me, witnessed your distress when that boy denounced the both of you. I saw your hope that he might be turned before Fort George and I...I cannot think but that you will not be well if you do not see him before he is consigned to the earth.”
“Charles-” “No sir. Please, for your own sake.”
Haytham stares at the quill in his hand as Charles shows himself out of the room.
Journal of Haytham Kenway
April 7th, 1781
I wonder why I did not recognize him before? Perhaps, perhaps he was too young then. His manner was brash and he was resolute, naive and unchanged in his beliefs. It was vexing that he would not listen to a single word from me, his own father.
And his ideals! Youthful, young, ignorant and dangerous! Freedom! As if freedom has any true value over that of peace. Freedom causes chaos, and, through chaos, death. Order is what we needed in our bid to separate from the crown. Order and a strong guiding hand. Freedom means precious people being killed, being taken away, disappearing. Why can’t Connor understand that? He fights for the very people who will drive his village away!
And he will not listen. He is vexing, infuriating even. He fights against me and ruins my plans and if my plans are ruined My Ghost would never
I did not mean to kill him. He is a frustrating, maddening thing, my son, and I
Truly, I did not recognize him. He was too different. It wasn’t until he moved to kill me with his hidden blade and then
Why did he change his mind? He could have killed me. Why did he
Was it then that I recognized him? He smiled at me. Sad, proud in a way. And I recognized him. And he died.
Was this how Oedipus felt?
Haytham stands before the casket, ignoring the chase his Templars are leading the Assassin recruits and Homesteaders on, ignoring the prone form of Achilles as the man lays unconscious behind him (he will have to reward Charles for his foresight in disabling the old Master Assassin early on).
He kneels down and brushes his lips against the cold ones of the form within.
“Requiescat in pace, My Ghost.”
Implied Haytham/Connor
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 05:20 am (UTC)(link)But seriously, if someone could point me to the prompt again, I'd love to put this in the correct place.
Here's the original prompt~
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 05:41 am (UTC)(link)Should be down there somewhere :)
And I would also like to add how heartbreaking and beautiful this was.
Note to mods
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 07:06 pm (UTC)(link)Mods, should I repost this to the original prompt?
//unsure about proper protocol in this instance//
OP LOVES YOU!
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 06:07 am (UTC)(link)Re: OP LOVES YOU!
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 07:07 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill for a post I can't find now...
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 06:33 am (UTC)(link)... not OP but really want to see them finally reunited
Re: Fill for a post I can't find now...
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 07:10 pm (UTC)(link)