°Banshee°

Twelve years had passed since they had first settled in England. The midsummer sun stood high in the sky, beautifully illuminating the bustling town as the mid-season breeze swept along the scent of wildflowers, brewing mead and the iron of their blót. The festivities had turned from the cattle-sacrifice to equally bustling preparations for their feast when an exhausted messenger stumbled over their borders.

The boy was young, and hadn't seemed to reach even his twentieth winter. His skin was tanned, he was limping, and his clothes were the starkly white kind which the settlement had not seen on anyone but their Hidden One, his hood was raised and yet this boy's apparel seemed entirely unsuited even for their midsummer weather. Sunniva — who had been the one to find him sneaking in the shadows of their oak trees — could guess he was not from here, and indeed, the boy could not speak either Norse nor Saxon. When he collapsed in her arms he whimpered in a language she did not understand, he clutched her tunic and tried to speak to her, yet all she could understand was the name Hytham. Perhaps, then, something truly clicked. She hoisted his arm over her shoulder and murmured some encouragement she knew he couldn't understand as she helped him towards the settlement.

'He must be a Hidden One,' she thought. 'And if not, well… Maybe Hytham can at least understand him.'

By this point, most of Ravensthorpe were still bustling about next to the Longhouse, and so few were on the mud-beaten roads that lead to the harbour and the specific green building she was looking for. She helped the boy over the steps of the porch and knew that the creaking of the wood under their feet would alert the man of their presence. The doors were open, and indeed, Hytham had returned from the blót and was back by the scrolls he never quite seemed to leave. The warm summer light filtered through the open windows, the breeze moved the black banner that was pinned to the wall and grabbed at the red sashes that had been added to his uniform after his return to the settlement some odd years ago. He was not so much of a whelp anymore, Sunnvia thought, although he wasn't much younger than her either. He was, by his own account, going to meet his 35th winter this year. His face was still young and rounded, his body was still small and lean, but the grey in his hair — which had grown longer — was stark and the cane he sometimes was forced to use made him seem older from a distance.

She watched him for just that short moment, trying to gauge if she was interrupting something important, but the boy's legs were shaking from the strain of however long he must have walked and so she knocked on the threshold to be polite.

"Hytham?" she called out, although she could see him perfectly well from where he stood by his shelves of scrolls. Hytham turned around and greeted her with a hasty smile.

"Sunniva," he acknowledged. Then his gaze turned to the boy in her arms. He seemed to scan his figure, eyebrows knitting together at the sight of the familiar hood, and yet it seemed to take another moment for him to even process who this might be. Indeed, for he could see even now that this was not someone he had met before, and therefore, not one of his students. He knew every initiate in these lands and not even the correspondence between him and his mentor warranted Hidden Ones carrying the messages, even when the purpose of this boy's visit remained unknown. "Who… Who is your friend?"

"No idea," she admitted, before nudging the boy inside. "I found him by the eastern border and he nearly collapsed in my arms, and, well… He wears your robes."

"Ah," was all Hytham could say at first. Indeed, even Sunniva saw the connection. Strange… "Well, give him here, then."

Sunniva didn't question it, but moved the boy to Hytham's arms instead. The boy merely whimpered and didn't seem very aware of anything, still panting so heavily from the walk. Perhaps Hytham should have been more excited to see one of his kin around here, someone who seems to have travelled far to be an unknown Hidden One in these lands, but he honestly just felt as lost and confused as the boy himself probably felt. Hytham very simply helped him into a chair to allow the boy to rest. Trusting that the boy would be of no harm, Sunniva bid Hytham a short farewell, left the bureau and went in direction to the Longhouse. She knew, after all, that it was against protocol to bring the boy to Hytham before she had talked to Eivor, but she knew that the Jarlskona wouldn't mind too much. Sunniva was, after all, sure that Eivor would have brought the stranger to Hytham, too.

Hytham stayed close to the boy, returning to sorting his scrolls while the messenger recuperated his energy. Eventually the younger regained his strength and managed to look around the bureau that was so different from the bureaus of his homeland, but still had a southern charm that made it homely. Fabric hung from the rafters and the dirt floor was covered in exquisite rugs, there were maps of this foreign land to which he was paying his first visit and their banner — the symbol of their creed — moved with the wind somewhere next to him. His gaze landed on the man who he hoped, desperately, was the master he was seeking. He seemed matured enough, mainly judging by his greying hair, but he didn't seem as old as most masters the messenger had seen. Yet he wore the red sashes that would mark him as a leader, and he knew this land was largely void of Hidden Ones. He had been told as such when he was sent on this journey.

"Are you…" the boy rasped, voice hoarse and hesitant, "…Are you Master Hytham?"

Hytham turned to the boy, momentarily shocked. Perhaps it was that the boy was speaking to him, perhaps it was that he was speaking in Greek. A language he hadn't properly heard since…

"I am," he replied, keeping himself from wincing with how rusty he felt speaking such a language. So many years of just Norse and Saxon and written Arabic… "And who might you be?"

"Apprentice Iohannes," the boy said, still out of breath. "From the Byzantium Brotherhood."

Hytham couldn't help but the way he peered at the boy — Iohannes — with such curiosity. Byzantium, Constantinople… Places that had once been his home just like Ravensthorpe was, places that felt so far away in time and memory. Somewhere in his chest, there was a pain that he knew didn't come from the still-mending ribs, and yet there was a curiosity, a stronger urge to know why on earth this boy would have travelled so far and then seemingly had travelled further to seek him out. Before he could speak, however, Iohannes rummaged through the large satchel he had tied to his waistguard by his belt. He brought out a delicate scroll tied with red silk, and he seemed to want to hand it to Hytham, but stopped in the last moment.

"How do I know that you're actually Master Hytham?" he asked. "Can you… Can you prove it?"

Hytham merely stared at him for a moment.

"If you were searching for a Hidden One in Ravensthorpe, I am the only one you will find," he said bluntly. After all, the majority of the initiates he had recruited and the assassins that had relocated from the mainland were set up in Lunden, where he supposed this Hidden One had travelled from. "You could have asked anyone here and they would have told you I am Hytham."

Indeed he could have, if he knew how to ask such a thing in Norse. But Iohannes knew that he wouldn't be able to do such a thing, and he knew, once more, that there was — supposedly — only one Master Assassin in England… He had no choice but to trust he had found the man whose hands were meant for this message.

"Very well," he mumbled. He held the scroll out once more, fingers trembling gently still. "I, uh… My master, well… My master bade me give this to you."

Hytham couldn't help but to raise his eyebrow.

"Your master, from the empire?" he asked. "You were made to carry a letter from such a distance?"

His curiosity was piqued, but when the rolled up letter was in his hands, he merely held it, didn't bring himself to open it just yet. Iohannes' ears burned from where they peeked out from his dark curls.

"It's important," the boy mumbled again, seemingly shy. "My, uh, my master didn't… Say, why it was so important, just that I should get it into your hands, no matter what."

No matter what. It was a strong ask for a mentor to risk their student's life for a message, indeed. Whoever had written this letter must be important and the contents even more so. Either way, it was as patient as Hytham could be. He gave the boy a polite nod before he turned his attention to the scroll, untying it with a graceful motion and letting the parchment unfurl. His eyes immediately scanned the bottom of the page for the name of the sender, expecting a stranger, some unplaceable name or perhaps moniker of this Byzantium master, but instead, he just froze, and blinked.

Leo VI.

He reread it again. And again. But each time the name remained the same, and his entire being seemed to soften reading the signature. Leo VI. His Leo… The boy he hadn't seen in nearly two decades. He should have been in disbelief, and in fact, perhaps he was, but he was too taken by the waves of nostalgia that swept him along like a tide, a type of warmth that made his ears ring.

"Did you know," he asked then, voice perhaps a mere bit shaky. "That you carried a message from the prince?"

Iohannes stared at him with quite some bewilderment.

"I did?" The boy seemed to be as much in disbelief as he was. "Why would you be getting letters from the- from the prince?"

Indeed, why would he? And why through the Hidden Ones? He didn't know, and he supposed that Iohannes' guess was as good as his own. Suppose there is only one way to find out. He shook his head, swallowed dryly, took a deep breath, and started reading.

------

It was just another hour until sunset when Hytham made his way to the longhouse to speak to the Jarlskona. His heart was still stammering wildly in his chest and his body had those little twitches it had developed with age when he was strained or exhilarated. Now that he had gotten to put his feet up, Iohannes trailed after him with his hood raised, following him like an unsure kitten, all while getting his first chance to properly look around the settlement and the midsummer festivities. It was far from the sophistication and regality of the golden city, he knew, and it seemed clear to the older assassin that Iohannes still had thoughts of the barbaric north in his head, the one that was too cold and uncivilised to be worth travelling to. Perhaps it was the 'primitive' buildings or the… Safe to say, resourceful decorations that unnerved him.

'At least we can be grateful he just missed the Blót,' Hytham thought.

The actual feast had not yet started, but the cooking fires were burning already; the wood-smoke didn't sting his eyes and his nose the same way it did when he first came to Fornburg, but Iohannes coughed as soon as they stepped inside. Hytham nudged him with his hip and gestured to one of the many tables, telling him to sit and eat once the food had been placed. The boy seemed hesitant, but was well-trained to listen to authority, and slunk into a seat near to where Hytham stood. By the time Hytham properly began scanning the room, the target of his search stepped out of Randvi's alliance room.

Eivor, Jarlskona of nearly seven years now, was still in her prime. The raids were fewer and further between but she was still active, an avid fighter and traveller. Her clothing was still decorated with golden metals and embroidery that remained harmonious with her braids and her weapons were as sharp as ever. The bear-furs she wore made her seem even larger than she already was. She was as formidable, if not even more so, as the day Hytham had first laid eyes on her, and he had never been prouder to call her a friend.

The Jarlskona's eyes seemed to land on him almost immediately, and her face split up in a bright grin. They lived in the same settlement more often than not nowadays, but she always seemed so happy to see him. Her arms were open wide when she stepped closer.

"Hytham!" She threw her arms around him in a surprisingly soft embrace, as she knew his injuries had not been kind to his age. Still, that did not stop her from showing affection to one of her closest friends and advisors. The hug didn't last for long, however, as she soon pulled away and put her hands on his shoulders. "Ready for the feast, my friend?"

"Actually, Eivor…" Hytham smiled halfly. "There is something I'd like to discuss with you, first."

"Oh?" She looked him over for a moment, and then her eyes seemed to catch the cloaked stranger by one of her tables. The one Sunniva had spoken about, but that Eivor hadn't had time to investigate just yet. A new recruit, she would have assumed, if not for the fact that she would have known about them already if they wore the white robes. The stranger noticed her gaze and seemed to cower away from it, seemingly wanting to hide back into the shadows. Perhaps it was the fact that he had been 'spotted', or perhaps the boy was merely intimidated by the woman's large stature and piercing gaze. Either way, Hytham, of course, witnessed the silent exchange and decided to step in to clarify.

"This is Iohannes, a brother of my Creed in Miklaagard. He came to me today bearing a message from the city."

As he spoke, Hytham guided Eivor over to her throne, less so Iohannes — who didn't even understand the language — wouldn't overhear, and more to keep Eivor's powerful presence from scaring the poor boy to death. Eivor kept her eyes first on the boy, and then on Hytham, as she sat.

"Do you recall when we travelled to Lunden together, and I spoke of the first mission I had in that city?" he asked then, hoping it would give her the necessary context.

"I do," she said, although seemingly wary. "You were protecting the prince from his own father, the emperor."

Hytham smiled halfly again.

"Indeed. Well…" He hesitated only momentarily. "His father, the emperor, has seemingly passed, and the boy is to be crowned next summer."

Eivor leaned back in her chair and looked at her friend for a long moment.

"And what does that have to do with you?" she asked, perhaps rather boldly. Hytham scratched the back of his neck in that endearing way he always did. "You wish to attend the coronation?"

Hytham blushed, and shifted the weight of his body from one foot to the other. He felt awfully aware of Iohannes observing his every move, as every initiate should, but it also meant that this young stranger was seeing him blush and fumble like a fool.

"I— Well… It is so that I've been personally, formally… I have been invited, Eivor. To- to attend…" It felt unreal even now to say such a thing. But he had reread the letter at least ten times and even Iohannes — previously unaware of its contents — had read it and confirmed that it said what he thought it said. Perhaps it was only now, when speaking to an outsider, that Hytham was fully processing what this entailed. "I wished to ask if you thought it would be… Ah…"

Eivor grinned, at least a little bit.

"Are you asking for permission to attend, my friend?" she asked, seemingly amused. "You know you don't require permission to come and go as you please."

Hytham turned even redder at her teasing.

"I wanted to ask if you thought it… Well, wise." He wanted, oh he wanted to be there. To see Leo again, at the very least to not disappoint him. He had made a promise, and Leo had found him to invite him… He had been in his life for less then a year and even now the boy remembered. How could he say no to that? But he didn't say any of that. He needed to be rational… "As you know, Miklagaard is at the very least six weeks of travel by ship, and, well…"

Six weeks of travel by ship or on foot was a long, strenuous journey, and especially for a man in Hytham's position. He had responsibilities in England, and worse than that, he was still injured and crippled. Eivor had been there when Hytham finally came home from his expedition down to Alamut, and had seen the toll the travel had on him. He had been alone, then. Faring for himself on the distant roads with little else but his weapons and a purse full of coins to pay merchant ships to take him with them. He had — despite the travel being to hotter climates — been pale and gaunt, and his injuries had been under constant pressure and torture for weeks. He had left and came back in one piece, higher ranked than before, but it had taken him many weeks to fully recover from such a trip and he had been gone from Ravensthorpe for over a year, having to take frequent breaks in his travels which had nearly halved the distance he could travel in a day. There was a reason he didn't even travel as close as Lunden more than once a month, and even then, he was often ferried on Eivor's own longship. The journey to Miklagaard, as she understood it, would by technicality be shorter than the journey to the Caliphate, but not by a whole lot.

Indeed, they both knew the toll it had taken on him, but he had been only wise enough to not swear off long travels for the rest of his life. It was an oath he was destined to break. As a grandmaster, he was meant to travel wherever his assassins needed him, and whether his final resting place would be Ravensthorpe or Alamut, he had not yet decided. His life — however long it may be — would contain long journeys regardless if he happened to take this one, too. He could have attempted to explain more, but he fell silent as Eivor rubbed her scarred chin and thought.

"Next summer, you said?" Eivor stretched her legs out in front of her, and crossed them by the ankles. "So you'd need to travel by, say, spring?"

"Seems so."

Eivor hummed. She thought for another long moment, seemingly debating the same logistics that Hytham was. One of duty, and honour — for being invited personally to the coronation of an emperor was certainly not something many experienced in their lifetime — and of pain and injury, of weariness and lost time. They both knew, while the coronation itself and the celebrations may last only a few weeks, the time Hytham would spent travelling back and forth could mean he was gone, once more, for anywhere from a half year to a whole. His flock, the assassins he trained and oversaw, would be without a shepherd.

"I assume, from your stories, this prince was… Close to you?" Eivor asked then, tilting her head slightly to the side.

Where they close? What was he supposed to reply to that? That he had seen a boy barely a decade younger than him, a boy he knew for maybe only half a year, as his own son? That he had mourned having to leave him even if he knew he had to, even if he tried to forget it? That he had risked his life, his mission, and his creed for him? He couldn't tell her that, even if he wished, if he didn't want to be ridiculed. She'd be understanding, he was sure, but… It was ridiculous. He had half a mind to turn around and tell her to forget it, but he swallowed dryly and stood his ground.

"We were…" He trailed off, hesitated. Eventually he just sighed. "I'd wish to attend, Eivor. He… He meant a lot to me, and… I did promise him that I would…"

If he was still in Constantinople when it happened, that was. But he wasn't, he wasn't technically breaking his promise, but he hoped to avoid technicalities.

Eivor nodded, thought for another moment, and yet seemed satisfied with that answer.

"So you're oath-bound, then." She nodded again, and then rose from her seat. Her hands clasped Hytham's shoulders again, firm and steady and grounding, and she smiled kindly at him. "We will set sail by the next spring thaw."

Hytham's mouth had already opened to say something, anything, whether it was gratitude or argument, when he properly realised what it was Eivor had said.

"We?" he asked, bewildered. Eivor merely grinned.

"Of course. Well, unless you'd rather go alone…" Her tone was almost teasing as she said it. She put one of her hands on his cheek, and Hytham became momentarily aware of how odd her affections must be looking to Iohannes. It got his face to burn even worse than it already was over a gesture Eivor must have done a thousand times before. "It is a long journey, Hytham. I, as your friend, would feel much better knowing you're not alone on that road."

She shrugged lightly before she continued.

"Besides, it has been too long since I travelled beyond England's shores, and I've never been as far as to Miklagaard."

"I don't know for how long I'll be gone," Hytham murmured meekly. "Could Ravensthorpe function so long without their Jarlskona?"

"They have Randvi, and Sigurd." She grimaced at the last part. She loved her brother, and he had recovered a lot from before he left the title of Jarl to her, but neither seemed too keen to see him on this throne again. But she laughed lightly and clapped his shoulder. "They will live, I promise you."

"Oh. Oh, well then…" He thought about it. Indeed it would feel safer with Eivor… And he knew the tides — of the ocean, or of memory — would not so easily swallow him with her by his side. She would make sure he made it back home. In the end, he smiled. "I… I thank you, Eivor."

Eivor merely smiled back at him, her large hands a comforting and steady presence on his shoulders. Before she could attempt to say anything more, however, the people of Ravensthorpe began to fill the Longhouse for the feast that would soon begin. Many greeted them both as they walked past, none seemed to pay attention to the stranger among them. For a moment, they looked over the crowd, before Eivor turned her attention back to Hytham.

"Eat, and be merry, my friend." She gave him another friendly pat before she let go of him. "And make sure our guest feels welcome."

Hytham bowed his head to her, and Eivor couldn't help but to chuckle at such a sign of respect. She watched as he moved to take his seat next to the stranger that had travelled so far just for this, yet her attention was soon stolen by others who wished to speak to their Jarlskona, and so she glanced one last time at the friend she held dear before she continued on with the festivities.

They had a long road ahead…

-------

Iohannes' gaze followed Hytham's every movement as he sat down, but Hytham didn't turn to him just yet. He filled their cups with water and waited for the student to ask what he so clearly wanted to know.

"What… What did she say?" he finally whispered. "Are you allowed to go?"

Hytham couldn't help but snort.

"I told you, I was not asking her for permission," he reminded him. Indeed he knew Eivor could not and would not dictate when her people came and went, least of all him, with duties elsewhere. "I will attend. I will write a formal reply within a few days."

Iohannes swallowed dryly. Hytham finally turned to look at him.

"You would do well with rest, by the way. I am sure your Master understands if you are some days behind schedule in such a long journey." There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke, knowing more than well the stress of travel and the eagerness of students to return to and please their masters. "You are welcome to stay for however long you need it."

Iohannes fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, quite an endearing motion that made Hytham momentarily wonder how old the boy actually was.

"Thank you, Master…"

Hytham grimaced lightly.

"Please," he said. "Just call me Hytham."

starting with rebecca. my girl. i think she is disabled. in brotherhood, i think it was, we get a scene where she mentions being REALLY into extreme sport but sustained an injury and had to give it up. she mentions finding hacking and tech just as exhilerating as jumping frm a plane on a snowboard but.... yknow those just dont add up. i think she got into tech because her leg specifically never healed correctly and she literally could not continue in extreme sports. a woman like her doesnt strike me as the type to just give up something if there isnt a permanent reason for it... if anything, i think she'd have risked it as soon as she was healed enough and maybe fucked herself up worse before packing it in. so i think shes got a dodgy leg or something, cant do stuff she used to do. (i am flatly ignoring the fact in syndicate we see her jump from.. was it buckingham palace or some other fuckass london building. i dont remember LOL)

following up, shes a horror nut for sure. shes an adrenaline junkie. she definitely watches horror movies to wind down after a long day. i think she especially would enjoy the horror films specifically made between the 80s and 90s, a la Scream, return of the living dead, evil dead, etc.

pivoting to my favourite yucky, shaun. following everyone else in the fandom, i think hes got autism. but im giving the reasons why. he is very very prickly and snaps a lot, but as SOON as desmond asks him somethign to do with the history they are currently uncovering, shaun melts immediately and is very clearly excited and happy to infodump everything hes learned so far. literally like a flip is switched in his brain. theres multiple scenes of this. otherwise, hes not really.... Good. with conversations. most that arent, yknow, involving history, has him fumbling and insulting people (more on this in a second) instead of contributing to a conversation "properly"

following on his insults, i think its a defence mechanism. i think, like most, he was bullied a lot as a kid/teen and decided if he insults people first then that gives them a "proper" reason to hate him, rather than picking him apart and hating him for something else. give people somethign easy to grasp at and they dont look at him too long. this links back to the autism.

a little extra, i think either one of his parents were from scotland, or he went to college in scotland for a few years. this is based on nothing other than the fact his voice actor was born in dundee, and i personally think it would be fun if he used a bit of scots here and there and poisoned the pool of what english people sound like.

leaving shaun in the dust, we got desmond. my best friend ever. i have a lot on him, so ill (try to) keep it short. i think he deals with a LOT of phantom pain from the bleeding effect. he is going through his ancestors memories, where they get punched and stabbed and shot (more on these in a while too.) and we generally know/assume the bleeding transfers pain to the subject experiemcing it. so i think des deals with so so so much pain randomly throughout the day. if he isnt suffering night terrors, he will be kept up half the night with wounds that arent there.

i also personally like thinking he was born with a cleft lip, and thats the reason for his scar. its implied in the desmond memories on animus island the scar is from training on the farm, but i dunno. i like the thought of him having been born with a cleft lip. i feel like the scar simply being from getting a bloody lip when he was . an age younger than sixteen, a bit boring. we already can assume the same for altair's scar, and we KNOW ezio got his from having a rock thrown at him. i feel like it works a lot better if desmond was born with a cleft lip and, in turn, showing he was always going to be born into the assassins. (<- talking out of my ass)

alongside that. in ac1, sometimes his model gives the impression of him having a lazy eye and i simply ran with it. theres nothign very substantial here, i just noticed the eyes on his model were a bit off sometimes and decided to run with it. i think its Cool to have a character with a lazy eye.

i also think to an extent, des has schizophrenia. sure its "jst bleeding" but cmon.. im saying schizophrenic des.

otherwise, rapid thoughts about ezio and altair.

i think altair is definitely disabled. he gets tossed around SO OFTEN, not to mention the opening scene with robert de sable where he is tossed through scaffolding and lands pretty heavily. hes gotta have a fucked up body from that. i also personally enjoy putting the reason why he cant swim as something that was Taken from him when al mualim stabbed him in the opening, too. he lost a LOT of abilities after that moment, and i personally like to think him being able to swim was also taken, especially given the fact one of the main missions is at the docks.

as for ezio, he for sure deals with chronic pain. hes been stabbed, slashed and SHOT!!!!!! so many times, not to mention all the times hes fallen during parkour sequences, and you want me to believe hes still able bodied? nuh-uh. that man has got to have a dodgy hip/knee/leg in general at LEAST, alongside having a fucked up arm/shoulder from getting shot in acb. he has a lot of scars on his stomach from being stabbed, too (by the pope, by stalkers)

and now, because im running out of steam, 2 minor things on two valhalla characters lol.

eivors intersex. this ones important to me. im sick and tired of having to pick a gender for them. theyre both. theyre neither. intersex eivor.