Hello, people!
Well, I arrive here with another fic which I translated of another one that I wrote today because of Tintin's birthday, which was yesterday... It has a little hint of Assassin's Creed (just a little people, don't worry), and maybe is something sad about its content, but well... Excuse my poor English, by te way.
This fic was inspired on a melody from Two Steps to Hell called "Tree of Forgivness" which link from Youtube I pass here:
/watch?v=dFZ7X1sQHPw
Well, I hope it like you.
Hugs!
Vicka.
P.s: Tintin (and maybe Assassin's Creed) don't belong to me, they belong to their owners.
A chosen path .
Bucharest, Romania, 1911.
A man and a child observed the splendid night landscape of Bucharest from the dome of the Cathedral of St. Joseph. The shining Moon illuminating the Romanian capital plunged into the dream of the brief rest; they could feel all sorts of sensations, all sorts of odors could perceive and up them could see a facet previously unknown by the child that took the man's hand. This one, whose head just couldn't see, he turned to the child of reddish brown hair and, with a smile on his lips, said to him:
- It is time to go home, my son.
- Yes, father.
That said, first man and then the child jumped from the tip of the dome and landed on a few ferns without any wound. Walking around on the deserted streets of the city, the man stopped and, taking the child by both shoulders, showed him a symbol in one of his bracelets and told him:
- If someone comes for you and bears a symbol like this, then go with him.
- Why, father? -asked the eight-year-old male.
- Because that someone is a person of my full confidence... And he will take care during my absence at any time...
- Father...
- You must be strong, Valentine. Be strong and fight for what you want...
Then, the man stripped of one of his bracelets and placed it in the arm of Valentine while he added these words:
- This is the best ally that an Assassin may have, my son. Love it and respect it with all your soul...
- Yes, father.
Father and son were given a hug and, after separating, both sought to your home...
&%&%&
- Father ... – muttered a reddish man of 25 years old while he is watching with nostalgia the graves of his family at some point in the snowy forests of the Romanian Carpathians.
With three roses in hand, the man deposited each one of the flowers on the tombstones of his loved ones. Incorporating with slowness, he prayed in silence while, a short distance from his position, a man with dark beards looked at him with sadness and curiosity.
From life he could expect everything excepting the fact that his young friend was a small box of surprises, especially in regard to his life. Ever of ever he had imagined that Tintin had a childhood so bittersweet. In fact, he never meant that the boy has sustained in his small hands a knife and a firearm rather than a spoon and a pen, which he could run by dangerous roofs before playing with the ball with other children of his age, he has even had to finish the education that first her father and then his uncle had him instilled from the first moment that was born at the same time that his mother died.
At the moment, he, Captain Archibald Haddock, was the only one who knew exactly who was the most famous reporter from Belgium and the youngest of his profession.
He was the only one who knew that Tintin was not simple and typical boy that left the orphanage with dreams and hopes to achieve. He was the only one who knew that Tintin was the son of a Belgian father and Romanian mother, both deceased in different circumstances. His mother died during childbirth, and his father was terribly murdered under torture by heartless men who were trying to break his fighting spirit.
He knew that last fact because the own Tintin, who was hiding anywhere, had witnessed that death at the tender age of eight years, although he could not finish of witness by the arrival of a man who was a close friend of his family; that man had covered the eyes and had taken him secretly until they found them.
The man's name was Nikolai Pavlov, and was partner of Michel, the father of Tintin, from the Guild of the Assassins. He was the men who had commissioned himself of the boy's education and his training as an Assassin; it was thanks to him that Tintin could travel around the globe in search of interesting stories what publish in major newspapers of the world.
Unfortunately, Pavlov ,that great man and mentor who was once to Tintin, had died from a mortal wound a year ago, death which had practically been a signal for the young that the time had come to remove the sober colors clothing from the reporter freelancer Tintin...
And put the red and white clothes of Valentine Léroux Ynigov, the Assassin.