A/N – Thanks to all my reviewers: MaryandMerlin, Altair Ibn-Lee'Ahad and kookie-douwh. I've returned to this don't worry kiddies.
Disclaimer – *look at all the prior disclaimers*
Chapter 7: Baptism of Fire
Ælfwig arose from his seat at the table and collected up the map of the codex that had been marked with the locals of their targets; he quickly rolled it up and bound it with a red seal marked with a strange triangular emblem which curved at the bottom and flared at the sides.
"What is that symbol?" Mercia curiously questioned the seemingly troubled Assassin master.
"This... this is the mark of the assassins; it is the ancient emblem of our creed – our heraldry and our history lie within the symbol. Our order goes back further than just England; our order has existed from the beginning – for as long as Templars have threatened the peace and stability of the Earth, we the assassins have stood against them" Ælfwig explained to her, his voice potent with authority and wizened with age and experience, Mercia was about to ask another question but he cut her off as there wasn't enough time.
"The cross of St. George is the mark of the assassins working within England, it is a tribute to the original founder of the order in this country – legend tells of a great knight who rescued the princess and slew a dragon. Truth however deviates from this tale; the heroic knight of legend had no nobility to his name and wasn't even a Saxon – no, he was a traveller. He came to England to retrieve the ancient artifact I told you about – the one William holds in his possession – and whilst George was successful in retrieving it from the corrupt king who wielded it, unfortunately he lost in the fight with 'The Dragon' which was a mere illusion replicated by the Piece of Eden. It was seemingly lost until William had secured it"
"So wait? What we've all been told is... a lie?" Mercia managed to squeeze a question in whilst Ælfwig collected his breath, and he responded as quickly as she asked:
"Yes, our order is ingrained within the heart of this country yet only a select few know about us and our origins. You are one of those select few. Mercia Aethelgrad, tonight I will perform your induction ceremony, tonight, you become an assassin"
* Later on that night *
Dark brooding beasts of stormy grey and malignant black circled the ruins of Stonehenge that night; gnashing their teeth sending thunder roaring and screaming through the midnight air – piercing the veil of tranquillity. A lone flare stood alone in the darkness, an enlightening fire in the enigmatic blackness of the night.
Mercia made her way up to the cauldron of coal and fire where Ælfwig was barely visible to her amongst the dancing shadows that flickered in the light of the fire; he spoke which surprised her as she couldn't even see his lips part:
"Our order has always lived by three rules – the three tenets of the creed which guide our actions and help us to remain hidden and aids us in our goals:
Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent: the goal of the assassins is to bring peace in all things – we believe that we only take life if it is for the greater good. We only kill to protect the people from a greater tyranny.
Hide in plain sight: Be unseen, let the people mask you so that you become one with the crowd – the greatest feat an assassin can achieve is to assassinate their target in plain sight then vanish into the darkness like they were never there.
Never compromise the Brotherhood: your actions must never bring harm to the others of our order, directly or indirectly you must never put your brothers and sisters at risk. The actions of one must never bring harm to all"
Mercia listened attentively as Ælfwig continued with her induction into the order; she had studied the ceremony in one of the books he had left in her room and she knew what was coming.
Ælfwig continued, signalling to Mercia that it was her turn to participate in the ritual as well "Where others blindly follow the truth remember..."
"Nothing is true" Mercia whispered, quietly confident
"Where others are bound by morality or law remember..."
"Everything is permitted" Mercia responded again but with more confidence.
"We work in the dark to serve the light. We are the assassins. Nihil esse verum; licet omnia" Ælfwig finished the ceremony and Mercia stepped up to the cauldron, knowing of what was coming, she readied herself as he drew a pair of metal tongs from within the burning cauldron.
Mercia presented her ring finger and he moved the tongs over before clamping down. Searing pain coursed through her body and she bit down on her lip as hard as she could to prevent any cries of pain escaping. Ælfwig had put away the tongs and pulled her in closer for a deep embrace as she nuzzled into him, he whispered into her ear:
"The pain is temporary, but the mark is forever, it symbolizes your commitment to the order" he then held her tighter and he could feel her arms wrap around him too as he cuddled her softly in front of the fire.
Mercia leant up for a kiss and Ælfwig provided happily; their lips brushed each others gently before they began to kiss more intimately – she had pushed him onto his back and she began to lie just over the top of him. Ælfwig was taken by surprise by her sudden dominance but didn't complain to it, he began to feel up and down her petite form and then pulled her in much closer as the kissing grew more and more passionate with tongues exploring each others mouths and then he rolled over so that he was on top and she was on the bottom.
Giggling slightly Mercia took to her new position by slipping her slender hands underneath Ælfwig's robes and feeling his chest (which she'd been meaning to do for a while but never gotten round to it). Unfortunately, Ælfwig removed her hands from under his clothes and gently kissed the burn mark on her finger – before kissing again on the back of her hand and then a few more light trailed kisses up her arm until he reached her collarbone where he started to plant a few more harder sucking kisses across her collarbone and then her neck all the while she held him tighter and her hands explored his back.
Not being one to allow herself to be pinned down, Mercia then flipped them over again before pulling his thin linen top off and exposing his well muscled torso; she then proceed to start kissing him fervently whilst he felt up her sides and then started playing with her small breasts, gently squeezing them to which Mercia responded by breaking the kiss and trailing down his neck. Softly at first before surprising him with a light bite in the hollow of his collar bone – he seemed to like this as she could read his body language and he wanted her to go on, so she proceeded to kiss down his chest enjoying his reactions as she would occasionally and plant harder sucking kisses much to his pleasure. Ælfwig however would yet be disappointed as just as Mercia stopped just after reaching the bottom of his chest, teasing him.
Clearly he wasn't happy about being teased as he decided to punish her by flipping them over again and removing her robes exposing her toned stomach; Ælfwig leant up and tried to undo her bra but he wasn't going to prevail as she pushed him back down onto his back before leaning into his ear and whispering that he was a naughty boy. Continuing in his naughty trend, he then pulled her back in for another passionate kiss before they were suddenly interrupted by something moving in the distance.
Ælfwig broke the kiss and looked up at a shadow that flickered past the cauldron – a wild beast he presumed. They both rose to their feet suddenly and he slowly moved towards the ruins (which in their little game of roly poly they had moved further away from without realising) whilst Mercia slipped back into her robes and then promptly joined him just on the outskirts of the ruins.
Signalling to her to not move until his order, Ælfwig then peered around from a small pillar which they were resting against – he could see a shadow just fly past the fire, but he could make out that it was a four legged beast with snarling jaws and fierce claws – a wolf possibly. Stealthily he creeped around the perimeter of the ruins until he had reached a pillar that was about half way around and taller than most of the other ones; and this was because like most things of the base – it had been designed by the assassins. Ælfwig pressed his insignia ring against another small notch (similar to the entrance pillar) and much to the astonishment of Mercia who was watching attentively from her designated safe spot as he activated this second mechanism. Then with very little effort he removed a sizable chunk of the solid stone revealing a hidden armoury – he pulled out two swords and tossed one back to Mercia before signalling her to move again and flank the beast.
With the nimbleness and precision of a mountain goat Mercia made her way around to the other side of Stonehenge without drawing the attention of the creature that lurked in the shadows in the ancient pagan ruins – Ælfwig gave her the signal to charge and they both lunged from their hiding spots and ran to the centre where the cauldron burned away dimly now. But there was no beast after all. Only Alfie who had decided to take a nap near the fire where it was bright and he was safe.
The two assassins shared a relieved laugh and then a deep embrace in the pleasant illumination of the dying flame before returning to the base for the night. An exhausted Mercia plonked straight down onto her bed joined by Ælfwig who cuddled her as she turned and nuzzled into him before happily falling to sleep; he smiled and watched her sleep before softly kissing her head and joining her in sweet dreams. After all he knew that tonight would be the last time they could share such special moments – tomorrow was the start of a new era: the end of the templars, and the killing the French ambassador would be the start of it all.
* The next morning *
Mercia was awoken once again by her little furry alarm clock; however this time he had chosen the more affectionate (if somewhat more disgusting) option of licking her face until she woke up. Happily accepting this she picked up the little pup and cradled him in her arms until a firm hand on her shoulder snapped her out of it and she sat up and looked around.
"Merci? Come on it's time to wake up now we need to ride south to London" Ælfwig called out to her trying his best not to be imposing.
"Uh.. what? Why?" her reply was rather groggy and she wasn't quite sure of what was going on but he explained it to her.
"Look alive sunshine: tonight Foulques l'Oison meets with King Harold and we cannot have that happening" Ælfwig pulled her out of bed before continuing "Pack up all of your stuff and meet me outside the ruins – we must leave within the next 20 minutes"
Mercia nodded and as soon as he left the room she slipped her robes on and then her personal decorated silver-black armour and attached the hidden blade to the inside of her vambrace before attaching Thorn and holster to the belt of her armour – she was ready. Upon reaching the top of the ruins Ælfwig had one last gift to present Mercia: a new horse – a powerful stallion with a glossy black coat and a thick mane.
Together they rode south, now that she could keep pace with his own horse at full gallop, conversation had run quite dry as she struggled just to not fall from her powerful steed. They carved their way through the scenic landscape: peaceful rolling verdant meadows devoid off all civilization except the occasional farm; small forest clearings which were peaceful and quiet and from time to time small towns where they would stop off to gather supplies.
Reaching the outskirts of London town Mercia was quite amazed at what she saw – she had never seen such a collection of people together in one place before; in all directions hurried crowds scuttled across the stone pavements all heading in different directions. The two assassins dismounted before walking into the heart of one of the bustling crowds – they were now one with the people, unseen to anyone on the outside.
This disguise served the two well as they managed to pass from crowd to crowd: from peasants in the farmlands surrounding the town to civilians in the market district then into the carnival performers outside of Westminster Abbey then finally a group of scholars that took them right into the Abbey itself without being detected. Once inside disguising with the crowds was no longer of any use to them so they sneakily broke off once in the main hall and took into a side passage away from the sight of any potential observers.
Mercia was amazed at what they saw as they traversed the internal halls of the abbey, the architecture was much more advanced than she'd saw before and the walls so were so intricately designed with exquisitely detailed etchings of prior kings and religious figures. Metal grates housing off different sections were also designed with an avid attention to detail, floral patterns and religious crosses and intricate arches all amazed her – she found it difficult to even concentrate on the mission at hand. It was only when Ælfwig called on her and whispered the plan into her ear that she starting paying more attention to the mission at hand:
"Merci I need your full attention ok? The meeting between Harold and Foulques is taking place in just a few hours in the crypt underneath the abbey – now I know that Harold is currently out of the town and is travelling here by royal escort, which some of our brothers in the north are working on holding up. Now comes our part – we need to kill Foulques and dispose of the body before Harold makes it to the abbey"
"Ok, how are we going to do this though, surely he'll have some kind of protection if he is the French ambassador? Mercia pondered but Ælfwig of course had pre-planned for that as well and assured Mercia that he had an ample distraction that would allow her to make the kill without drawing too much attention.
The two then finished working their way towards the dungeon underneath the abbey; it was dark and rancid and rats scurried around their feet and it was nothing like the pleasantries of the abbey above them. After being startled by a few decaying skeletal corpses behind rusted iron bars in decrepit little cells they encountered one alive prisoner – a sight which shocked Mercia even more than the dead ones.
"Right Merci you go on ahead, if you follow the route out of the dungeons you should find the crypt and once you're there hide out of sight until Foulques and his men appear" Ælfwig whispered to her, Mercia listened attentively and proceeded on by herself through the dreary darkness of the Westminster dungeon.
Collecting up all of her courage Mercia struggled on through the narrow corridors that twisted and spiralled around like something out of her nightmares – she was couldn't take anymore of it and had to go back and find Ælfwig but suddenly there was nothing but darkness in the opposite direction and a demonic skeletal hand seemed to emerge from the floor and grab at her leg. Furtively Mercia stomped at it but dared not venture any further back in the direction she came in – it seemed that something was willing her to continue in the direction she had started, was it that strange God again? Why would he not leave her alone she thought to herself.
Doing specifically as commanded she ventured further through the dungeon; past multiple decaying corpses and torture implements that were spiked and covered in rotting blood. Finally, she had made it to a large iron door that was partially open. Praising the merciful God that she had eventually been granted a release from this hell she slid the large rusting door open and with a crunching metallic shriek it gave way and swung open for her. However then Mercia thought on and remembered her mission and figured it would probably be a wise move for her to close the door again so that when Foulques arrived he wouldn't realise some one else was there.
The crypt was (whilst still rather unpleasant) a welcome change from the dungeon, the floor was stone and dry and there was no corpses laying about (they were in coffins) and the walls housed no prisoners but merely plain solid slabs of stone built up encasing the room in all angles and the flags of various houses of kings were draped on the walls: most recently the royal blue flag of Edward the Confessor with his insignia of a 4 armed golden cross with 5 golden birds. Mercia then scanned the room for an adequate place to hide herself whilst waiting – and that's when she had her most ingenious idea to date: an empty coffin. Using the hidden blade, she cut a small hole into the side of the casket so that she could observe the room and more importantly the impending arrival of the French ambassador.
It was difficult to breath and she nearly passed out a few times in the half an hour or so she was waiting; but Mercia promptly snapped back to reality when she heard mutters in French coming from just round the corner – she positioned herself so that her eye was aligned with the hole she had cut out and witnessed as the great iron door heaved open and three figures stepped into the room: two heavily armoured Norman knights with fearsome flamberges drawn in front of them and behind them stood the French ambassador himself, Foulques l'Oison.
He stood behind the two knights and Mercia couldn't make out too much detail but she could see that he had shoulder length black hair and was wearing ornate golden armoured chest plate that fitted over a royal French garment and when he turned she could just make out his cape which protruded from the fur collar of his outfit and was adorned with a blue lion on a red and white background. Foulques then ordered his knights to check for assassins – Mercia was shocked and frightened in equal measure – how did he know that she'd be coming for him?
A deep heavy stomping reverberated and echoed around the secret tomb; the two brutes approached her casket – she felt like it was over, any second now they'd open up the lid and she'd be caught and killed. A creaking sound shot through her ears and she could tell they were about to open it up. Mercia turned away and curled up. She knew it was over.
CRASH!
The knights turned from the coffin and looked away; a loud noise emanated from the dungeon and the two armoured brutes wasted no time charging towards the epicentre of this strange disturbance.
"Find l'assassin! Kill him! Séparés tête de ses épaules!" Foulques screamed after the two knights who had departed the crypt and left him unprotected.
Mercia realised that was the distraction that Ælfwig mentioned earlier and she capitalized on Foulques' vulnerable state; she quietly slid the lid of the casket off and charged at the French ambassador, covering his mouth before he could scream for help and stabbing him through the back with hidden blade.
"Imbécile! You know not what you do! We are all mere pieces on this échiquier we call life and you are a pawn! A fool! Marrionette!" Foulques spat his last words through the blood in his mouth at Mercia before succumbing to his injury and collapsing on the cold stone floor.
"May you find the peace in the next life that you couldn't find in this one, requiem in pace" Mercia gave the Frenchman his last rights before cleverly disposing the body in the empty coffin so that Harold would be none the wiser when he attended the meeting.
Fleeing from the scene of the assassination, Mercia encountered Ælfwig and the prisoner who had been freed and revealed himself as another assassin who had been captured with the bodies of the two knights at their feet surrounded in a pool of blood.
"Mercia! I'm so glad you're alive!" Ælfwig greeted her with a warm hug "What happened? Did you succeed?" he questioned her.
"I did it, Foulques lies dead and the body has been hidden" She replied solemnly.
Ælfwig nodded and hugged her again; she really needed that right now and didn't say anything just enjoyed the embrace. Once they had concluded their niceties the three assassins made their way out of the dungeon following the winding twisting pathway back to the abbey. They couldn't walk out though, they'd be seen easily be the guards patrolling the site – the only way to get out would be to blend with the denizens of the evening mass which was currently taking place; the three assassins took their places on the pews in the back of the main hall and pretended to be paying attention to the priest as he spoke, but they took the opportunity to talk amongst themselves quietly and to plan an escape of the town.
"Greetings fellow assassins thank you for liberating me from that infernum foramen – allow me to introduce myself. My name is Taillefer, I am the master of the French assassins' guild and the head of the resistance against Norman rule. I was imprisoned here by Harold when he thought I was working for William, we need to get out of here now but when we get to New Minster I'll be able to give you more useful information" The French assassin explained himself.
From what Mercia could see of him he was quite a tall man – he seemed quite skinny but that was likely to be due to his imprisonment; he had messy black hair and thin pencil line moustache that sat above his upper lip and extended past the edges and down to his chin were it met with a small goatee.
"New Minster has been compromised; we've relocated our main base to Stonehenge – and how do you know all of this? Have you trained here before?" Ælfwig questioned him, to which he responded with a light-hearted laugh and went on to explain more.
"Can't you remember? We trained together when we were younger before I went to France?" Taillefer seemed sincere and Ælfwig trusted him on it and he did remember vaguely.
"Ah! I remember now! Welcome back friend"
One of the guards looked in their direction and the ceased talking to each other and feigned taking part in mass
* 20 minutes later *
"Mass has concluded, go now my children and live in service of the Lord" The priests dreary voice finally echoed its final repetitive religious slur.
The congregation then took to their feet before assembling an orderly queue before an en mass exodus of the Abbey to which the three assassins easily blended into and escaped from the guards who were patrolling in search of the missing French ambassador. Once they had escaped from the town and saddled up their horses (well Taillefer stole a guards horse since he didn't have one) they all rode away from London; they had a lot to talk about on the long trip back to Stonehenge.
Lost in Azura's Translation Guide:
Latin to English:
Nihil esse verum; licet omnia - Nothing is true; everything is permitted
Requiem in pace - Rest in peace
French to English:
L'assassin - The assassin
Séparés tête de ses épaules - Seperate his head from his shoulders
Imbécile - Imbecile
Échiquier - Chessboard
Marrionette - Puppet
Infernum foramen - Hell hole
Thanks for reading people please R&R and I'd be glad to answer any of your questions, comments or ideas – also who do you think Mercia should go after next, consult the list in chapter 5 thank you
