Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ brother

in which you learn of what occurred in sciropscire 

CEOLBERT SHRUGS OFF your affections —he is a man now, soon to be the ealdorman of Sciropscire. It would be unbecoming for his allies and the men he will command to see his sister still coddling and doting on him like a young boy. "Sister, please," he laments, brushing away your attempt to give him a quick peck on the cheek. His pleas are met with laughter. Ceolbert may be a man in the eyes of your father, but he will always be your little brother —the boy you helped raise after your mother was taken from this life too soon. Despite his annoyance with your actions, Ceolbert breaks into laughter too, smiling as he distances himself and turns to his pale mount.

Another comes to stand at your side, his gaze darting between you and the boy, still unsure why you would not accept the invitation to accompany them on this endeavor. There were some affairs where a woman's touch remained unparalleled, especially when a Song of Ragnar was around to royally fuck things up with a hasty ax-swing. "Ivarr," you greet, looking up at him. His scarred lips twist into a smile at hearing his name —a sweet song he will miss more than he wishes to admit. "Take care of him," you tell him. It is a command.

"He's not a boy," Ivarr reminds you, an amused lilt in his voice. You know this well by now. It has been many years since your brother was a carefree boy with the quarrels between kings and usurpers. He has partaken in battles now, has bled for his home and countrymen, has killed for them too.

"No," you concede, "but he's still my little brother." Turning to face Ivarr, you poke the center of his chest, an ill attempt at making a threat. "If anything happens to him," you start, doing your best to stand a little taller, "you'll answer to me." The wrath of the gods would pale in comparison. Ivarr nods. A silent promise. He will do his best to see the little ætheling back to Mercia safely and become an ealdorman. But speaking of Ceolbert is not the only reason he's sought you out. A moment of silence passes, and your gaze flits from his chest to his scarred face —the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his twisted lips. "I will miss you, Ivarr," you admit, feeling foolish in doing so.

A part of you knows whatever this relationship is cannot last —Ceolwulf would not permit his daughter to marry a Dane, not even in the name of an alliance. But in the time since you've become allies with the Ragnarssons...your mind begins to wander, brought back to reality by Ivarr's rough fingertips brushing along your cheek and jaw before settling on your neck.

Wordless, he bends down as you reach up. It surprised you the first time Ivarr kissed you —his lips and kiss were softer than you'd imagined, a strange juxtaposition from someone with his reputation for cruelty, but the danger was still there, lurking within. Your fingers curl under the leather strap running across his chest, pulling him closer. Forgetting yourself and that you are not in the privacy of your chambers or out in the countryside under the moonlight.

"Must you do that in front of me?" Ceolbert laments —it's like watching two seals fighting over a fish. He still isn't quite sure what to think about you and Ivarr. After all, you're his sister, and Ivarr is, well, Ivarr. He's brash and cruel, and Ceolbert still can't be sure the Dane is capable of true affection. But regardless of his or your father's thoughts, Ivarr the Boneless has made you happy, even in these trying times.

Ivarr's scarred lips twitch against yours —a half-smile— before he parts fully, stepping back. "Still a boy," he declares, chuckling whilst going to his dappled mare. You follow after him, stopping between his and your brother's horses to bid them a final farewell before they turn to the east.

CEOLWULF SITS ALONE in despair. A scroll clutched tightly in his hand. He does not look up when you enter the longhouse —asked by his personal guards to return from the river to the fortress for an urgent matter. Ceolwulf looks up as you approach the throne. The crown resting upon his brow feels heavier than ever. "King Rhodri would not settle for peace," he answers, unable to bring himself to speak the whole truth of these tidings —my son. You know a failed truce is not enough to elicit such a despairing bearing when the novelty of having taken Mercia's crown is yet to fade. Ceolwulf does not stop you from taking the scroll as he cannot bring himself to speak the truth, lest he has to face the reality of it. My son and heir.