Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ good arrangement

in the end, it is a good arrangement. in the end, you may even grow to love one another. rated 18+ for smut.

EIVOR AND HIS brother, Sigurd, stand before Ceolmund —a powerful Saxon king crowned with the aid of the Norsemen standing before him. Now King Ceolmund of Lothian wishes to secure a lasting alliance with the Raven Clan, one that would not fade at the hands of time. It is marriage the new king speaks of. A marriage between his only beloved daughter and one of the men who laid a crown and kingdom at his feet.

Ceolmund looks to Sigurd to accept, but he shakes his head and dips his shoulders forward in a display of genuflection. "I cannot accept this gracious offer, lord, for I am bound to another already–" Sigurd's gaze falls upon Eivor "–but my brother..."

He is cut off by Eivor, pulling harshly on the baldric securing his greatsword. "What are you doing?" Eivor hisses under his breath. He had come to secure an alliance and crown another Saxon king who'd look upon the Danes and Norse in favor —not to marry a stranger with no forewarning and on his brother's whim.

Sigurd turns, his gaze sharp. A curt reminder that he is Jarl of the Raven Clan, not Eivor. "Calm yourself, brother," he snaps. There's a pause, heavy with silence, and Sigurd's smile turns into that of a serpent's. "It's past time you wed anyway. Don't you think?" Eivor glares at his brother, but Sigurd ignores the harsh look and turns back to King Ceolmund. "My brother," he starts, motioning to the warrior standing to his right, "the honorable Eivor Wolf-kissed, will accept."

Ceolmund rises from his throne, stepping onto the short dais —arms outstretched toward Eivor. "I should hear it from thine own lips," he says, meeting Eivor's unease gaze. What he is asking is no small task, but with Sigurd's hasty acceptance, he has hope Eivor will follow his Jarl's wishes. In truth, a piece of him is relieved it is Eivor Wolfsmal and not Sigurd. "Will you forge the bonds of an alliance and lasting friendship between our peoples through marriage to my daughter?"

"You honor me, lord," Eivor tells Ceolmund with a knot forming in his throat, making it hard to speak. He bows his head. "I accept your offer of an alliance through marriage."

MARRIAGE, THE WORD sits bitterly on your tongue after your father, King Ceolmund of Lothian, comes to visit your chambers in a decaying Roman fortress. "Mother would be ashamed!" You spit, fraught with the sudden news of your impending marriage to a heathen —a matter in which you had no say. "Using me as a bartering piece. A pawn in your games." You'd trusted your father to

"He's a good man," your father refutes. Throughout three moons, he felt he had come to know the man who would marry his daughter —an honest man who wished to do right by his people and protect them even if it meant shedding blood and sweat for quarrels that were not his own. Ceolmund could not ask for a better man —Christian or pagan— to marry his daughter.

You would rather be sworn to the likes of King Aelfred than one of the godless invaders crawling over England. "He's a heathen!" You cry. "A barbarian!"

Ceolmund pinches the bridge of his nose, drawing in a long breath. There will be a feast tonight to celebrate his coronation, where he will make the announcement and begin wedding preparations. He will not ask you to feign happiness, only civility. "Please," Ceolmund says, holding your shaking hands, "all I ask is that you do not insult our new position or friends tonight." But even that seemed to be a hefty request now.

"Princess," Eivor greets, his clear blue gaze kind and voice softened by a cup of ale. "If I may have a word?" Across the table, your father nods, imploring you to take leave of the feast to speak with the man you'd be marrying in less than a fortnight. You lay your hand in Eivor's as you rise and follow him from the keep, into the cool air of a spring night to a bench facing a northern vista with snowcapped hills far off in the distance. A frown purses his lips as he sees despair mingled with fear overtake your expression —like a newly caged bird who lost her song. "I know you are not happy with this arrangement," he starts, gaining your attention. From his tone, you can tell he is not particularly happy either, "but know I will not harm you, and I will protect you until the Valkyries summon me home."