Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ happy accident

maybe your arrow hadn't missed its mark after all.

THE BOW CREAKS in your hand, sounding its resistance. The deer raises its head from grazing but when it looks round the woodland, it does not see you behind hidden behind both a tree and thick underbrush. The pale furs wrapped around your shoulders blend into the snowy surroundings. Your shoulders taut as you pull back on the silk bowstring, an arrow nocked and ready to lose. Tonight we feast you think, it would be good to return with fresh meat after a long morning and afternoon of tracking. Breathing in, you release the bowstring.

A second later something scares the deer and it skits off deeper into the forest, but your arrow had not missed its initial mark. There is a loud grunt that does not belong to any animal. Dropping your bow, you dart toward where the arrow had hit. The bear of a man is on his knees, hand pressed around where the arrow struck his arm. "Eivor!" You exclaim, kneeling at his side. He looks up with a wide grin and breaks off the shaft of the arrow. "Damn you," you curse.

He is laughing. "Would it have killed you to miss?" Eivor inquires.

You look him in the eye and lay you hand over his, adding pressure to the small patch of wool blossoming red. "I never miss," you smile, partly teasing, and while it earns another chuckle from Eivor, it's the truth. "Come on, my bear," you muse, "let me tend your wound."

It's not a long trek back to the village, you'd not gone out far for the day's hunt and despite his newest injury Eivor is in high spirits for the Midwinter Solstice.

A little girl spots you and Eivor passing through the open gates and charges with a wide grin as though it'd been weeks since she'd last saw both of you. Eivor scoops up his laughing niece and places her on his shoulder. Siggy notices the splintered shaft of the arrow rising from his wool and furs and points at it, frowning. "Who did that?" She asks.

"I was attacked by this fierce warrior," Eivor tells her, nudging you in the side with his elbow. A wave of heat rushes to your face. It was an accident. "She thought I was a deer!" He exclaims.

"But you're a wolf!" Siggy laughs, tugging on one of his blond braids. Eivor's smile is as wide and bright as Siggy's and is enough to make your heart ache.

You hate to be the one to spoil the fun, but he is injured after all and even scratches can bring down the mighty. "Siggy, why don't you go play with Halfdan?" You suggest reaching to pluck her off his shoulder. She pouts, but you gently push her toward her brother and another girl playing a game of dice.

Taking Eivor's hand, you lead him back to your home and immediately motion for him to sit on the bench at the table. He's surprisingly obedient for once —usually, he's a stubborn patient who'd rather bleed out than accept his injuries might need to be treated. Scurrying around, you gather your growing collection of medicinal supplies and deposit everything on the table next to where he sits —already stripped of his heavy cloak, jerkin, and tunic.

He's a warrior, through-and-through. His arms and chest are thick with corded muscle. Hand scarred and calloused from the axe and sword —and the plow. The arrow had struck the outside of his left arm. It's not as deep as you initially assumed. The barbs of the arrowhead hadn't even sunk into flesh. He grimaces when you snatch the arrow free, but it's all over in a trice —fresh blood wells up and sluices past his elbow.

Eivor grips onto your hips, pulling you across his lap. His beard tickles your neck as you try to focus on cleaning and binding his arm, but he's insistent with his clever distractions. "Stop that!" You chide, laughing and swatting at the hand moving up your back. He stills and allows you to finish tending to the small cut. Tying off a knot in the strip linen you sit back —resting your hands on his shoulders. Those amiable blue eyes have not stopped smiling the entire time. "I'm sorry for shooting you," you admit with a puff of forced laughter.

"You know I've had worse," he replies, cupping your cheek —thumb running over your cheekbone.

You roll your eyes, recalling the times he's shown up at your door half-dead. There have been times when you truly worried he wouldn't overcome the fever but the gods were merciful and always answered your prayers. "Don't remind me," you tell him softly, fingers carding through his beard —the same shade as a golden field of summer wheat. A life without Eivor would be incredibly mundane.

"Like when you shot me in the heart," he remarks offhandedly, but it's his way of saying I love you. Your eyes widen. You've stood at Eivor's side for years now and only ever dreamed that he may have felt the same way you did one day —unbeknownst to you, he thought the same. His warm breath hits your cheek, followed by the faint prickle of his beard at your jaw before his lips are fully against yours. By the gods, you've waited so long for this moment and it's better than anything you could have imagined. An arm tightens around your waist as yours wrap around his shoulders and neck. His lips are soft but firm, and taste of ale and dried apples and his arms feel like home.

There's a second's pause as you both part, smiling and flushed before you lean back into him —placing your lips to his. You've waited too long to let these moments pass. Eivor pulls back with a reluctant groan when the wooden door creaks open and Halfdan pokes his head in. His mother was right —he'd found Eivor at your house. "Mother wants to know when you're coming to the feast," Halfdan asks. It's already begun and whispers were starting up about why you and Eivor were not present yet.

"We'll be there soon," you tell the boy and Eivor nods his agreement. Halfdan takes the response and bounds off back toward the mead hall.

Eivor holds onto your waist as you try rising from his lap and steals another quick kiss before letting go. You offer him a fresh tunic —the other needs to be mended and washed now. He shrugs the burgundy tunic overhead and pulls on the brown leather jerkin. This time when you take his hand, you thread your fingers through his completely. "Let's go, my bear," you smile, and Eivor returns yours with a grin of his own as you both step out into the falling snow for a night of revelry to welcome the winter.