Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ flowers and stars

a quiet picnic in a meadow with your two favorite boys, eivor and synin.

"WHERE ARE WE going?" You ask, laughing as you trail behind Eivor through the thick forest underbrush. He doesn't answer. This is supposed to be a surprise and if he told you then it wouldn't be —all his efforts would be for nothing.

He looks over his shoulder, smiling. "We're almost there," he says. Overhead you hear the cry of the raven, Sýnin, and pick out the dark shadow passing through the canopy of leaves. You must be getting close to wherever he is taking you.

You come to a halt at a glade wrought with wildflowers of all colors. There's a coarse wool blanket laid out in the very center, held down in the early autumn breeze by a skin of drink and a woven basket filled with bread, soft cheese, and fruits. Eivor's warm gaze is focused wholly on you, gauging your reaction. His heart fills with warmth upon seeing you face light up with a smile. "What's all this about?" You ask. The day you wedded had not yet come to pass, nor had either of your namedays.

"Do I have to have a reason other than wanting to spend time with you?" He challenges, knowing you'd been feeling down as of late worrying with the harvest and your sickly mother. Shaking your head, you reach for his hand and tug him into the clearing. You're always grateful for the time the gods give you with Eivor, even if it is hard to come by. He settles in next to you and lays out the small smörgåsbord, filling two small wooden cups with spiced mead.

You and he talk about the coming winter and harvest over the meal and reminiscence of times long passed. He thinks back to the day you'd been bound in the eyes of the gods. It'd been a spring afternoon —you'd worn a crown of wildflowers and a pale blue dress. Freya herself could not have looked any more beautiful. He'd been the happiest man on Midgard.

For ages, Eivor was certain he could live away from the world, and he had until the gods led him to you. Now it's impossible to imagine a life where he didn't get to fall asleep every night with you in his arms.

Eivor tugs at one of the beads in his hair until it pulls free. Glancing down at the bronze bead pressed with a protective rune, he then passes it to you and takes up a lock of hair by your left ear. His thick fingers are surprisingly deft when it comes to plaiting hair. He finishes the braid and slips the bead into place, making sure it's secured. "Now you'll always have a piece of me with you," he explains.

The simple gesture makes your heart flutter —even after five years of marriage, Eivor still finds ways to surprise you. Ways to make you blush like a young girl. Leaning into him, you find his lips for a quick kiss, but Eivor is not eager to relinquish the moment. He wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you closer. His lips taste of sweet mead and yellowberries.

He sighs as you part. "You're tired," you note. He'd worked into the night to help bring in the last of the crops in the field before the first true cold of the year set in. You pat your thigh and Eivor reclines, using your lap as a pillow. His eyes are bluer than the sky above and filled with adoration. You card your fingers through his golden hair, humming a lullaby your mother would sing. He watches your brows furrow in concentration as you add another braid into his hair.

It's not long before Eivor has drifted off, his faint snores filling the calm air. Sýnin even settles in next to Eivor. Careful not to wake him, you lean to the side, plucking a bundle of wildflowers. Humming again, you start weaving the stems together and forming a circle until it is large enough to be tied off and serve as a crown. You make another flower crown, though this one is smaller —more apt to fit you without becoming a necklace. With the few flowers left over, you craft a circlet just large enough for Sýnin.

Birds sing their songs, and the warm afternoon sun shines down into the glade. Unable to stifle a yawn, you shift —laying back where Eivor's head rests on your stomach.

When you wake, it is dark. Eivor is carrying you through the trees, the moonlight filtering through the canopy reveals the flower crown situated atop his head. Sýnin is perched on his shoulder, proudly wearing the circlet you'd crafted atop his proud head. My two perfect boys, you think with a content sigh. "I'm not lame, you know," you mumble into Eivor's chest. The glade had been a good way from your small farmhouse.

"But it gives me an excuse to hold you," he replies, and you feel the deep rumble of laughter in his chest before hearing it. Sýnin goes to his roost when you and Eivor return for the night. You help each other out of your heavier day clothes and then he's tugging you back into the bed. Warm, thick arms wrapped around your middle. Eivor dips his head forward, pressing a sweet kiss against your lips. You smile, carding your fingers through his beard. If only every day could be so perfect.