Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ a good day

alone in the woods eivor stumbles upon a fair sight.

THE MORNING AIR is warm and filled with birdsong. Eivor adjusts the weight of his axes and bow, pushing the sleeves of his tunic up above his elbows as he treks farther into the dense forest of Anglia. Crops had been sewn and in honor of the first harvest from new soil, he had called for a celebration. Now he hunts for the unfortunate beast who will be at the center of the table —boar or deer, either will be roasted on a spit and devoured.

Ahead is a small clearing and a spring of crisp water surrounded by stone and trickling out as a small stream. Mingled with the sound of water bubbling from the earth is a familiar voice humming a song —soft and sweet. Eivor nears the spring and kneels in the thicket, smiling to himself. So, this is where she ran off to so early, he thinks after having woke to an empty bed. He shifts, moving a branch and peers over the short rock wall.

Spread out on several of the rocks are yours and Eivor's clothes, freshly mended and scrubbed after helping work in the fields and now drying in the summer sun. You could have returned all the garments to the reed-basket and returned to the settlement, but the cool water is inviting after a hard morning's work. Stepping down into the pool, you let out a long sigh —leaning back against a smooth stone. Slipping from your shift, you set to washing it and leaving it to dry over a rock too.

The cracking of a branch draws your attention to the nearby thicket. A dark shadow is crouched down behind the greenery —too small to be a bear or wolf, but the right size for a man. You reach for the basket, gripping onto a short dagger within it. "Show yourself!" You shout, keeping your voice firm and unafraid.

Bushes rustle and more twigs snap. A tall man rises and steps forward, holding his hands up in surrender. His hair is blond and held back in a warrior's braid —much like his neatly plaited beard. Clear, piercing blue eyes focus on you as he steps up to the far edge of the spring. "I did not mean to startle, fair lady," he remarks, smiling despite his poor excuse of an apology.

"But you thought to watch me from the shadows?" You inquire, pleased to see some semblance of shame color his scarred cheeks at the accusation.

Eivor crouches, his gaze trailing over your face before darting to what lay concealed beneath the water's surface. It is as though he has stumbled upon Freyja herself, though he sees no chariot pulled by cats nor is the boar, Hildisvíni, anywhere to be found. "Only so that I may gaze upon your beauty," he replies, reaching behind his back. He produces a single cornflower —almost the same shade as his eyes— and holds it out for you to take.

Wading forward, you lower the dagger and take his gift. You had seen patches of them growing in the barley fields on your way into the forest. The pale blue blooms had always been one of your favorites —your husband would bring back pressed and dried cornflowers from voyages. "Do you speak so sweetly to every woman you meet naked in the woods?" You challenge.

He does not answer, though his smile is telling enough. Eivor motions to the spring. "May I?" You shrug, backing away to give him room. You watch as Eivor sets aside his bow and throwing axes and loosens the leather belt holding his quiver and sword. Deft fingers undo the line of leather knots on his worn leather jerkin —it falls to the ground and is soon followed by his burgundy tunic.

"The clothes," he begins, looking over your shoulder, "they belong to your husband?" You nod in response. "He's a lucky man," Eivor says, fighting to hold onto his charade —I am a lucky man. The gods have been too kind.

You smile, the first he has seen since stumbling upon you. "The best man I know," you muse. Your husband is a leader of men —selfless and determined— but above all, he is a loving husband and father. You could have asked for no one better to pledge you love to.