Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ chasing fireflies

in which you misinterpret a moment between Eivor and Randvi but it all works out in the end

"DO YOU EVER miss Norway?" Ceolbert asks, untangling his fishing line. The young ætheling has been in Ravensthorpe for no less than a full moon's cycle. He's good company —eager to help and learn under your and Randvi's tutelage. The River Nene burbles past the growing settlement, flowing out to the sea. A fish takes the bait, a piece of three-day-old bread, and you start hauling in the line. A small perch is on the hook, too small to worry with. You free the fish and let it back into the river, searching for a larger catch to add to the evening's pot of stew.

"At times," you answer —knowing you miss the snowcapped peaks, the winter lights dancing in the sky, and the pink-purple sunrises most of all. England is not so poor a substitute, with green rolling hills, pale sea cliffs, and the lonely ruins of a once-great civilization. "But all my friends and those who I love is here now" —you smile— "what more could I ask for than to be among them?" And for you, home will always be where they are, regardless of where in the world you may lay your head to sleep. Though, of late, Ravensthorpe has felt a little less like home with Sigurd and Eivor gone so often.

Ceolbert echoes your smile. He's heard stories from Eivor and his brother about you, and now that he's grown to know you, he realizes none of them held any embellishments. Despite only being a handful of years older than him, there is already a dignified shrewdness surrounding you, especially when compared to his compatriots. You've already taught him a great deal, and he's eager to learn more. "Eivor often spoke of your wisdom," he notes.

"So," you muse, "he does listen." The young ætheling laughs and starts pulling in a decent size brown trout to add to the basket. You often cursed Eivor for his stubbornness and how it seems he often disregards your counsel in favor of the more reckless options, but it does soothe your heart to know he remembers your words —even if he does not listen. There's a tug on your line, and you begin to pull in the catch, a bullhead just the right size to join the evening pot.

A familiar squawk draws your attention to the sky —a raven circles above before diving down, eager to make off with a small fish or two from the basket. But you know the raven and his oil-slick colored feathers, and instead of making off with one of your daily catches, he settles on your shoulder and begins to preen his belly. "Hello, Sýnin," you greet, offering one of the bait worms as a snack. Casting your line out into the river again, you wait for another fish to bite; knowing where Sýnin goes, Eivor will not be far behind. But until then, it feels like time has slowed.

You spot the sails emblazoned with the Raven Clan's sigil coming around one of the river's bends, and Ceolbert notices how you seem to light up —and your smile when you first spot Eivor Wolfsmal standing at the prowl. The ætheling takes your fishing line and the basket holding the day's catch and starts back toward the heart of the settlement as you make your way to the docks.

"Eivor!" He steps from the longship, not sparing a moment before engulfing you in his arms. You press your face into his scarred neck and breathe a long sigh —now Ravensthorpe feels like home again. Eivor's lips brush against your temple before he parts, keeping you close at his side as the others unburden the longship with goods and supplies. "How did you get on in East Anglia?" This journey was not planned, but one made in haste after Rued's Clan attacked in the night, an offense he could not let stand.

He drapes his arm over your shoulders. "The Raven Clan has new friends," Eivor tells you. Oswald is an unlikely ally for sure, but one who will answer the call should it ever sound.

"That is good to hear" —you smile. "We must celebrate," you tell him, knowing the people would want to hear of his tales, just as they had when he returned from treating with the Sons of Ragnar. The thought of readying a feast sets your mind racing with a long list of chores.