Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ chasing waterfalls

quiet time alone with eivor has become a precious commodity, and you're not willing to let this moment go to waste.

YOU'VE SPENT MOST the day searching the paths around Colcestre looking for your husband. Eivor Wolfsmal had shown up covered in blood and muck from a successful hunt with Bristan only to disappear after a short kiss for a greeting before you could mention the scroll sent by one of Randvi's scouts. Alfida mentions a spring and waterfall south of the stone walls when you return to the decrepit Roman villa with nothing to show for your search.

Following a winding stream a few yards from a well-traveled path, you start to hear the soft roaring of a waterfall. Breaking through the trees, you stop at the edge of the pool —your search ending. Eivor stands beneath the waterfall, stripped of armor and weapons, wearing only a pair of freshly sewn linen underpants. Unbound, his golden hair falls past his shoulders —concealing the top of a dark blue-black tattoo of raven wings.

You know every inch of his body from several long years of marriage and friendship before that. Have learned the stories of how he received even the smallest of scars and know where to kiss him to make him play into your hands, yet you still take a moment to admire him. Thick, strong arms with a broad chest to match and legs corded with muscle. A fine man.

He doesn't notice you stripping on the bank, nor does he hear you wading through the shallow pool for the roar of the fall, so when you reach out and brush away a splotch of dirt on his lower back, he jumps a little, even if his mind tells him the touch is familiar. "You startled me," Eivor says with a low chuckle, glancing over his shoulder before turning to face you.

"That wasn't my intent," you smile, pressing one of your hands to the center of his chest. Little seems to have changed since you were both rowdy children —you were still the only person able to sneak up on Eivor, even without the aid of a roaring waterfall. You tilt your chin up, and Eivor is quick crane down, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "I've been looking for you," you tell him, smile faltering. He knows something is wrong.

Eivor grasps your hands, pulling you away from the waterfall toward the pool bank. "What is it?" He asks, brows furrowed.

"Randvi sent word–" you splash water toward Eivor, distracting yourself from the pang of sadness twisting your gut "–Ceolbert has left Ravensthorpe at his father's wishes." Eivor raises his brow, surprised to hear of the æthling's departure. He knew the boy could not stay forever, but it always warmed his heart to see you and Ceolbert interacting —exchanging and sharing Saxon and Norse beliefs and traditions. "He regrets not being able to give you proper thanks or a farewell."

For months, Ravensthorpe had been Ceolbert's home, the people became family, and you like a mother to him —or so he had told you over a pot of stew one night. If the Nornir were kind, your and Eivor's fate would cross with Ceolbert's once again. "He's a good lad," Eivor remarks, draping his arm around your shoulders.

"Aye," you laugh, "so long as we can keep him from Ivarr." Ivarr Ragnarsson has little reservations in life, but from the time you spent with him and Ceolbert in Ledecestrescire, you know he cares for the boy in his own way, however twisted it may be. Eivor's lips curve into a lopsided smile, his clear blue gaze shifting from you to the cloudless sky where Sýnin circles overhead, keeping vigilance.

You lean into Eivor's side, cheek pressing against his chest. Despite traveling to Essex together, you've hardly seen each other in the past days. He turns his cheek, lips brushing against your temple. "I told Bristan we would be leaving in the morn," Eivor announces. Estrid remains in Rollo's capable hands, waiting for passage to Francia, and Bristan is to marry his childhood sweetheart. Easy enough tasks to secure another alliance for the Raven Clan. The morning hunt with the Ealdorman of Colcestre was to find a beast worthy of serving a new ally.

You poke at Eivor's stomach and glance up at him, mirth shining in your eyes. "Ah, so you were cleaning up for the feast." He nods, and a new smile kinks your lips. "Wise choice, husband, you were starting to smell," you tease, tugging on a lock of his golden hair.

Eivor feigns offense, splashing water at you. "And yet somehow you always smell of roses and raspberries, wife?" He queries, raising his brow in challenge. You narrow your eyes at him and shove him back into the water, the both of you laughing. It's difficult to remember the last time you both felt this carefree —it must have been years ago before you ever even set sail from Fornburg.

You tread water, circling him, but he's quick as a viper when he lurches forward and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. "Eivor," you laugh, pushing on his shoulder when he drags his beard along your neck and jaw. Smiling, he settles his lips on yours —a proper kiss, the way you deserved to be kissed every time. Your fingers slide back into his hair, holding him in place as he parts your lips and swallows the soft sigh you make.

Sýnin perches on the rock where Eivor left his clothes drying and croaks —a low gurgling rasp— reminding you both the hours in the day are quickly slipping away. Eivor rests his forehead against yours, a soft smile on his lips as your fingers trace over the scar on his cheek before combing through his beard. As much as Eivor does not wish for the moment to end, it must. "Let us go prepare our speeches and farewells," he notes.

Smoothing out the skirt of your woolen dress, you turn, helping Eivor with his bracers and the buckles of his ornate hidden blade. You look up at him —it's always a little odd seeing his hair unbound. He looks softer without the warrior braids and hair beads. "Always liked your hair like this," you muse, brushing the damp locks from his face, fingers tracing the raven tattoo above his ear and down to the mottled patch of skin on his neck.

"I'll remember that," he tells you. Eivor wraps his arms around you, holding onto this short reprieve as long as he can —his lips brush over your forehead. You smile, tucking your face into his chest. So long as you were with Eivor, you would always be home.