and lo, there were ficbits...

[communi_kate]

So some of you may remember that I offered a ficbit based on a prompt of your choice to anyone who commented on the last chapter of An Assembly of Bones over at my blog. I've finished five one-paragraph stories which are posted below. However there's still time, so if anyone wants a ficbit based on any of the fandoms I've written for  (Final Fantasy, Assassin's Creed, Prince of Persia, Mass Effect, Dragon Age etc) then leave a comment of any of my posts detailing your requests and I'l get back to you with a (very) short piece of writing.

Ficbits are:

 

 Assignments pt 1, for nerrianah, and pt 2, for everbright.  Malik and Altaïr; banter and speculation on the nature of the pieces of Eden.

 "So tell me," said Altaïr, "how you left to search for one Eden fragment and returned with two."

It was a few days after Malik's return. They were in the Master's study, sorting papers in the dim grey afternoon light. It was a cold grey day, with lowered clouds, and even the huge stained glass window behind Altaïr's desk cast precious little light.

"I-" Malik began, and hesitated. He had not been looking forwards to explaining himself to Altaïr. His mission had been a success, but there were certain things that he had overlooked.

"A lucky discovery," he said eventually, embarrassed. "Although I did not think so at the time."

"How so?"

Malik outlined the Templars' pursuit across the desert and the discovery of al-Ghurab's orb with as much dignity as he could muster. Altaïr waited until he had finished before he said "You make it sound as if you nearly did not return."

Malik shrugged. "I did," he said. Privately he thought that he had given Altaïr a rather optimistic version of events.

"A skilled Assassin maintains control of his environment," Altaïr said, unsmiling.

"There are times when a place is impossible to control." Malik snapped. He did not like where this line of questioning was going. "Are you calling me unskilled?"

"Far from it. An unskilled man would not have returned."

"Do not mock me, Altair."

"Then at least return the favour," said the Grand Master of the Assassins wryly.

Malik snorted and turned back to the papers he had been arranging. "I did the best I could."

"I do not doubt it," said Altaïr, while a flurry of sleet beat against the stained glass window behind him. "You know you have my gratitude. Every orb snatched from the hands of the Templars is thousands of lives saved."

"I wish I thought that." Malik shook his head. "Two orbs is only twice the trouble in my opinion."

"Two orbs is twice the opportunity to learn."

Malik's eyes narrowed. "You told me that the world needed to do without the Eden fragments for a while. And since when have you cared about learning?"

When it was clear that Altaïr had no intention of answering him he asked, "What are they even for?"

"They tell me that they're relics of those who came before."

"They're talking to you now?" Malik said in surprise. "That is foolish. We know they manipulate minds. They're devices of control. And you should not-"

"The Assassins seem more resistant to their influence," Altaïr pointed out. "As you learned yourself. But why? We have so much to learn. Is it our training? Mental discipline? Or our bloodlines? Why are we the chosen ones?"

"Why have you changed the subject so quickly?" Malik retorted.

Altaïr gave him a small, wry smile. "They are important questions," he pointed out.

Malik resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to persuade Altaïr to renounce the orbs. It was not easily done. "Maybe. But we are not chosen. Those who think themselves chosen are inclined to think that everyone else is excluded," he pointed out. "Besides, Marîd developed some measure of resistance and he is not a born Assassin. Maybe control can be developed?"

"We should teach the young," Altaïr agreed. "Train them to exorcise these demons so that we may start anew without fear."

"That is one of your better notions," Malik conceded.

"I'm glad that we agree for once." Altaïr said. He made a mark on a sheet of paper. "You can start with the fidai'in. Tomorrow."

"It is not my job to teach novices." Malik argued.

"It is n-"

"And if you tell me that it is now," Malik said, "then I shall use my knife on you."

Altaïr smiled. "I cannot think of a better teacher. Although after hearing of your foolishness in Morocco, I have my doubts."

"Foolishness? Whatever it was that I did, it cannot be more foolish than certain of your plans!"

They both broke off as a fidai'i came hesitantly up the stairs. He took one look at the quarrelling Assassins before retreating silently back down.

"You know," Altaïr said after a long moment of silence, "that I am the Grand Master now? I must set an example for the novices to follow." He paused again. "I could have you demoted.

Malik snorted. "We both know that you won't."

Altaïr glared at him. "And we both know that you are right far more often than not," he said. "But do not take such risks again. Masyaf cannot afford to lose you."

"I have no intention of that," Malik said. "At least for a while. You give good advice, Altaïr. Maybe you should follow it once in a while."

The Grand Master snorted. "I'll consider it," he said as he picked up another sheet of paper. "Besides, after a year of this...this clerk's work, the Templars will seem a welcome distraction, I assure you."

Malik shrugged. "They'll still be around."

"Unfortunately, yes," Altaïr said, and grinned, teeth white even against the pale wool of his hood. "But so will we."  

 

 Feathers, for sapphyashi, pre-game Auditore family shenanigans.

"A race?" Federico said doubtfully as he lounged against the sun-baked wall of the Auditore family palazzo.

"A race?" Ezio said, lounging in a near-identical but not quite as louche position further along the wall.

"A race." Petruccio replied. He raised a chubby hand and pointed above his head at the palazzo roof, where a white seagull's feather dangled precariously from the gutter above the second floor balcony. "Whoever brings me the feather first wins."

The elder Auditore brothers exchanged glances. Neither Ezio nor Federico needed any excuse to exercise their rivalry. "When?" Federico asked.

"Now."

Federico plucked at the strings of his velvet doublet. "Does it have to be? This is my best jacket."

"That's just an excuse," Ezio scoffed. "You know that you'll lose."

Federico gave a long-suffering sigh. "Maybe, Ezio, one day you will learn the value of keeping up appearances."

"Maybe one day I'll have to," Ezio snapped.

"Of course. Your charming temperament alone is such an attraction-" Federico bit back another insult as Petruccio coughed. "I'm ready. Let's go."

"As ready as you'll ever be," Ezio muttered.

His elder brother elbowed him in the ribs.

Petruccio produced a spotless white handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish. Federico spat on his hands and took up a position as close to the wall as he could manage. Ezio yawned, sighed deeply and joined him.

Petruccio held the handkerchief high. "Go!" he called as he brought the scarf down. His order changed into a coughing fit as his brothers rocketed forwards, in a cloud of dust, clawing at each others' sleeves in vain attempts at sabotage.

Federico reached the wall first but Ezio climbed faster. Federico tried to kick him in the ribs but missed by a mile as Ezio clambered up the wall. He wedged fingers and toes in gaps that should by rights be too small for either and hauled himself upwards like one of the tiny geckos that prowled the sandstone walls in summer.

He reached the gutter half a head before Federico and stretched his hand out for the feather.

He never touched it.

A small pale hand snaked upwards through the carved wooden grille of the balcony's overhanging ceiling and took the feather gently from its resting place. Ezio's outstretched finger raked through the space where the quill had rested just as Claudia stepped out onto the balcony below.

"Petruccio?" she called. "I have your feather."

Petruccio smiled radiantly as Claudia let the feather fall. It spun in lazy spirals towards the ground. Petruccio caught it as it fluttered to the floor.

Two disappointed faces peered down at their little brother.

Claudia gazed sweetly up at them. "Don't look so surprised," she called. "This is not the first time either of you have been outwitted by a woman."

"I take exception to that," Federico called.

Claudia smiled. She blew them a kiss, sidestepped neatly and vanished into the room with a wave of her hand.

 

Revelations, for yumearashi. Ezio finding out about a bastard child.  

 They were, appropriately enough, in bed when Caterina told him. Ezio was in the middle of drawing slow circles on her nipple with the tip of his middle finger when she sat bolt upright and said "Ezio?"

"What?" Ezio said absently. He didn't look up, intent on his task.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

Ezio's hand froze. He said the first thing that came to his mind, which was almost always a mistake. "Congratulations."

His comment was greeted with the frosty silence he deserved.

"Is it...?"

Caterina sighed and swatted at his bent head with her hand. "Of course it's yours, you fool."

Ezio blinked. He slid his hand down from Caterina's breast to the concave plane of her belly. "How long-"

"Long enough," she said. "Two moons, by my reckoning."

"I-"

"You?"

"I will support you. You know-"

Caterina pulled away. Naked and regal, she looked every inch a duchess."Here's what I know," she told him. "Two moons is close enough for peasant work. This child must be my husband's, Ezio. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he said reluctantly. "But-"

"But nothing. It is the thought that counts. My husband's thought, to be precise. I canpt afford to have him shown a cuckold."

"But he's an idiot."

"He's a Medici," Caterina said. "And he is still my husband." She cradled one hand protectively over her belly.

"I did ask you." he said.

"And I refused," she said firmly. "You would make a terrible husband, Ezio. We have been over this before." Although her words were harsh, her tone was gentle.

"But we will make a beautiful child," he said. "He will be a great warrior, just like his mother."

"He will be beautiful." Caterina twisted one of her own red-gold curls around her finger. "And he will certainly be a fighter. But I do hope for his sake that he has more sense than his father."

"For his sake, I hope that he has half of his father's luck," Ezio said. He dropped a kiss gently on the crown of Caterina's red-gold head.

She smiled. "You are impossible."

"Nothing's impossible." Ezio bent down to pick up his shirt. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Caterina said. She looked at his shirt with distaste. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Leaving." Ezio offered, but he let his shirt slide to the floor.

"Why? We have plenty of time." Her smile turned sad. "Besides, this might be our last opportunity for a very long time. You must not think the worst of me if I make the most of it."

"But you're-"

"Pregnant? Yes. But there are ways around that." Caterina arched one eyebrow. "And at least I will not become pregnant twice."  

Ezio made a resolution to be more careful in future as he pulled Caterina towards him. Because he was Ezio, he broke it a week later.

But at least, as Caterina said, it was the thought that counted.

 

Disarm, Malik/Altaïr, for auragirl.

 Altaïr's mouth was warm and hungry, his stubble rough against Malik's chin. He smelled of sun and freshly washed linen. Taken by surprise, Malik had no choice but to concede the kiss. He had no intention of giving up the fight. As Altaïr's eyes slid closed Malik leaned his weight into the stalemate. The other Assassin's eyes snapped open. He stepped back an instant between Malik's blade would have cut his throat.

"I am going to kill you," Malik said precisely.

"You can try," Altaïr said as they circled each other. It was very early in the morning, early enough that the sun's molten light slid from their blades like liquid fire. The sunrise was beautiful; saffron-yellow sky striped with lavender clouds against a ridge of purple hills-but neither of the fighting men noticed it. They were too intent on each other.

"I will do more than try." Malik threatened.

"That would be difficult to explain," Altaïr murmured.

"Not as difficult as this." Malik retorted.  He attempted another stalemate. This time his blade slid from Altaïr's sword, but he had his chance a moment later when Altaïr circled and stepped in close.

This time it was Malik who leaned forwards over their crossed swords. The kiss was far shorter than he would have liked-he could not hold Altaïr at bay for long-but he had never felt the need. One day, he thought hazily as Altaïr's tongue slipped between his lips, they would go too far and Altaïr would cut his throat. At times like this, Malik thought it would almost-almost, but not quite-be worth it.

He disengaged and tried another thrust. This time he didn't have quite enough reach. Altaïr pressed him back; blade hovering a bare inch from his throat in a move that would have bee a killing stroke in any normal match.

Malik snarled. As Altaïr smiled mockingly and stepped away he leaned back and kicked the other Assassin in the chest. It was not a move he would have tried in a real fight, but it caught Altaïr completely by surprise. He dropped his blade. Malik trod on the flat of the blade to stop Altaïr snatching it up and let the tip of his sword drop to the sand. "It seems that I have won," he said.

Altaïr's eyes narrowed. He stepped in past the reach of Malik's lowered blade, and grasped his right arm. His fingers bit into the flesh of Malik's upper arm and he looked involuntarily down at Altaïr's hand for a moment. As his gaze returned to his partner's face he realised-too late-that a knife had materialised in Altaïr's right hand.

"It's not over yet," Altaïr murmured. "I told you I would win."

"I counted on it." Malik retorted, and let his sword drop to the sand.

 

 

Comments

[sapphynashi.livejournal.com]

AWESOME. *____*

I love how your story arcs show Altair developing the hunger for learning that we see in the Codex, but he's still as badass as ever. And saddling Malik with teaching novices, oh my. XD

I was so happy to read about Auditore siblings one-upping each other during my lunch break today! Especially this exchange:

"Maybe, Ezio, one day you will learn the value of keeping up appearances."

"Maybe one day I'll have to," Ezio snapped.

alkfhka Ezio's impetuous charm. ♥ And then climbing and attempted sabotage! Claudia upstaging them both! I think gen AC2 fic is my favorite.

Although when it comes to shipping of any kind, I do prefer Ezio with Caterina and am happy that your fics tend to lean that way! Caterina is an awesome, awesome lady, and I love the relationship you portray between her and Ezio. It feels very natural and true to character, not overly romanticized, forced, or cliche.

I am kind of "huh, okay" when it comes to Altair/Malik. It's not that I can't see it, I just... don't have any strong feelings. Except maybe happiness that you write them both so well.

Thank you for these! :D

[xahra99.livejournal.com]

Historical Caterina is even more awesome! Check out http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caterina_Sforza .Her last confession went something like 'If I wewre to tell the story of my life, it would shock the world' although to be fair that probably wasn't hard to do in them days. And it's not as good as Marco Polo's, which went 'I did not tell half of what I saw,' to a priest who wanted him to confess that he was a dirty rotten liar.
God I love history.