Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ a small price

hard months has left your relationship with eivor strained, but after a soured meeting he seeks to make amends. rated 18+ for smut.

"THIS IS NOT what we agreed to, Eivor!" You shout from the other side of the long table after the hall has emptied of emissaries. People from the broken kingdoms of Anglia convened within the bounds of the settlement, each laying forth ultimatums to ensure peace between the Christians and your people lasted through the winter months. The small grievances and concerns you had kept pent up for most of the growing season come bubbling out in your anger.

Eivor Wolfsmal halts his pacing and turns, facing you. "What other choice do we have?" He replies in kind —voice raised and frustrated. The settlement numbers too few to raise an army, and each life is precious for survival and growth of your new home. Even a drop of Norse blood spilled in a petty squabble with the Anglians would be too much. "I do not wish to see our people's blood spilled for a quarrel that isn't our own!" Eivor swore to keep neutral in any campaigns involving Ragnar Loðbrók's sons —a warmongering band of Northmen who sought glory and riches over the simple life you'd left the shores of the Kattegat for.

"So, you let them rob us instead?!" The promise of peace had come with a hefty price in favor of the Anglians —coin, and portions of an already scarce winter stockpile. You step back from the table, running your fingers through disheveled braids, drawing in a deep breath. It had been nothing but one hardship after another since landing on the shores of this new world, and weeks of pent up frustrations set your temper ablaze during the now adjourned meeting.

Eivor braces his weight on the table and wonders what his brother, Sigurd, would have done if presented the same issue. But Sigurd knew the value of life and would not be so eager to spill blood needlessly. "A small price to pay for the safety of our people and home," he notes, voice turning softer but no less firm.

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin, indignant. "Considering we've lost half our winter stores of grain to blight and now this, I hope you're right," you tell Eivor, staring into his eyes —no longer a clear blue, but a stormy sea. It is difficult to remember a time you had been this upset with your husband, but today's meeting had been the last line on a mounting list of aggravations.

Running his hand down his face, Eivor sighs, assuring himself the privations would all be worth it in the end. He rounds the table, leaning against the edge with the faintest of smiles twisting his lips. You had always been more comfortable in battle or working the fields, but politics remained an unfamiliar realm, one that took time to navigate successfully. "By the gods," he breathes, resting a calloused hand on your cheek —thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, "you're beautiful when you're angry."

Flattery and sweet nothings have often allowed Eivor to wiggle out of many quandaries, but when the livelihood of the settlement is at risk, you won't let him forget it. "Don't change the subject," you retort, knowing what he is up to, yet you are not sure what good dwelling on was already decided would do.

He sits on the table, extending one of his hands for you to take. Sighing, you uncross your arms, laying your hand in his. "I know we've been distant as of late," he says, tugging you toward him, thinking of the days when you only saw each other before the sun rose and after it set, "with everything going on." Eivor pulls you to stand between his spread legs as he leans forward, lips caressing yours, a whisper of a touch, gently teasing as you try to kiss him —his hand on your cheek keeping you still.

A mischievous streak arises in him as he goes back and forth, playing hard to get —anything to see you smile and hear you laughter after the trying days. He nips in for a quick, chaste kiss before pulling away, kissing the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your forehead. Every time you try to turn your head towards him, his hands keeps you still. "Eivor," you gently chide, laughing, "let me kiss you." With a low chuckle, he relents, leaning in slowly, his eyes fluttering close as his lips meet yours, fully and wholly.