Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ oath bound

both you and eivor make oaths to the gods to finally tell each other how you feel, but the timing is almost never right.

THE AIR OF the longhouse is stifling, but the feast carries on with singing, dancing, and drunken sparring —many will remain until the morning light. The winter solstice falls upon Fornburg, and so comes the end of Jól. Cheeks flushed, you step into the crisp night air from the feast hall unseen, pulling the woolen cloak tight around your shoulders fore setting off to a small house near the edge of the settlement. All Fornburg had been in attendance for the celebrations save for one —the person whose company you missed the most. You rap on the doorframe and hear the shuffle of feet and the low, gurgling croak of a raven. "Eivor," you greet, smiling when he opens the splintering door.

He pulls you inside from the cold and takes the cloak from your shoulders, laying it next to his across a stool by the door. "You didn't have to leave on my account," he notes, turning to tend the fire. For the past several years, you often found yourself in Eivor's presence to finish out the celebrations. You could drink, sing, and dance, but the last night of Jól never felt complete without seeing your best friend.

Sýnin hops across the floor to you, squawking madly and flapping his wings despite the small stint on his leg. Eivor was a mess when he brought Sýnin to you two nights ago with a broken leg. Your steady and gentle hands would have the raven back to his mischief in no time. "No," you say in turn, picking the raven up and settling him in your lap as you take a seat by the hearth, "but I wanted to." He sits next to you, lips tugging into a smile as he watches you scritch the feathers on Sýnin's head. "You shouldn't have to be alone." You lean over toward him, shoulders brushing.

You know this time of year is difficult for him, bringing unpleasant memories and feelings of anger and sadness. Ever since King Styrbjorn named Eivor Wolfsmal a son nigh ten winters ago, he has taken no part in Jól or the accompanying winter festivities. The celebrations forever tainted by the night his parents were slaughtered by Kjotve the Cruel. For that reason, he prefers solitude when the time draws near. Though he's always been happy to accept your company —even more so now that you've both grown older.

EIVOR SPOTS YOU leave from the trading post with a pouch of silver beads and threaded stones after exiting the longhouse. Sigurd asked if you would craft a necklace for his wife, similar to the one you wear that she has remarked on before. It is a gift he wishes to present to Randvi by the end of Jól. He falls in stride with you, noticing a new gleam in your eyes that makes his heart start to beat quicker and throat constrict. "I swore my oath today," you tell him with a smile, taking hold of his offered arm, "Sigurd as my witness."

Sigurd did not ask what you'd sworn to do, though based on the warmth that rose to your cheeks, he is certain it has something to do with his brother. Even before his parents were murdered, you and Eivor had been close, but now after more than two decades, you were nigh inseparable —only parted when the tides of war called upon him. All of Fornburg seemed to know your feelings for one another stretched beyond those of simple friendship, but you were both too stubborn to see it, let alone do something about it.

The two of you stop at the doorway of your home and father's workshop. "I swore an oath too," Eivor notes, surprising you. This will have been the first Jól since he was a young boy, where he swore an oath. You raise a brow in question, but he will not speak of the vow made between himself and the gods. He takes a step closer to you and bends down, placing a quick kiss on your forehead before retreating toward the longhouse to rejoin his brother.

"Eivor!" You call before he is out of earshot and he turns, "join us for supper tonight." Eivor smiles and nods, following the trampled path back into the heart of Fornburg.