Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ call of home

return to me with your shield or on it, you told him, and brasidas brings back his shield and a laurel wreath for his victories. rated 18+ for smut. 

THE DAYS ARE long without Brasidas at your side, but the nights are even longer. War had called him away to Methone, his wit and shield needed to repulse the Athenians plaguing the sea-side Messenian polis. Intended to be a short campaign lasting no more than two moons, it has stretched on into seven. Regiments came and went, but your beloved was never among them though the Spartiates spoke of his courage in battle and his ability to craft lucrative strategies on a whim. There were even rumors among the Lacedaemonians of the two kings' interest in Brasidas' feats with the word promotion whispered at feasts.

Life cannot stop with his absence, though. There are still crops and livestock in need of tending and trades to make in the agora. You wipe the sweat from your brow and readjust your grip on the scythe. It was time to reap the golden fields of barley. As you work the blade, Pherenike gathers the crop into tight bundles for storing for the winter. Pausing, you set the scythe down and walk toward the stone well near the small farmhouse.

Taking a drink of water, you sigh, recalling your last moments with Brasidas —a gentle and bittersweet kiss in the heart of Sparta. Come back with your shield, you told him while forcing yourself to smile. Or on it, he finished, placing the shell necklace he wore in your palm. Reaching up, you run your thumb over the smooth shell, longing for the day you could return it to your husband. Shaking your head of the memories, you return to the fields working in the midday sun.

The day's work is cut short by Eudoxos shouting whilst racing up a winding path to the farmstead early in the waning hours of the sun. "What is it?" You ask, offering the helot a ladle of water as he catches his breath. He had gone to market to purchase a ream of linen and trade a basket of salted lamb for fresh apricots but returns empty-handed though wearing a widening smile.

"A trireme arrived in Gytheion," Eudoxos announces after hearing the news in the agora. You dare to hope this will be the ship that bears your husband. The months are long, and you miss your husband more with each passing day. "They say Brasidas is the trierarch," he adds. If word had reached the polis, then by the day's end, you should see Brasidas marching up the worn path through the fields of grain to your home. The next hours will seem like days.

"Brasidas," you cry. He drives his spear into the soft earth and drops his shield. You leap into his waiting arms —embracing him tightly as he lifts you and turns. His smile so large the edges of his golden gaze crinkle. Even with your feet on the ground, you are not eager to let go of him, for it truly feels like home again with his return.

"What a fair sight you are," Brasidas muses, stroking the backs of his fingers over your cheek and brushing away the dirt stains from working the crop. He bends forward, lips brushing over yours —it has been so long he fears he has forgotten how to kiss you properly— but with a quiet laugh, you chase away the distance and his worries.

You kiss him like you've done a thousand times before, falling into the rhythm as though you never parted. His kiss, in turn, is gentle, echoing the longing he has endured since departing from your arms on a cold winter's morning. Your fingers comb through his beard as you part, foreheads resting together. "I've missed you," he breathes. You trace the new scar on his cheek, wondering if it is the only wound he bears from this campaign. "A mark of victory," he notes softly, still cupping your cheek in silent adoration.

"You must be tired, love," you note, stepping back and lifting his bronze shield emblazoned with the red sigil of Sparta —it had served his family well for nigh six generations though now bore new dents and scratches.