#assassin au.

[becomestorm]

‘   we have to keep going.   ’

over time ren found it more difficult to reign in their emotions, distancing themselves from their homeland might not have been as hard as it was for jaune, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. still, how were they meant to survive if they became so lax so close to the borders ? bandits netted the surrounding nations waiting for any news of the wayward prince, even a few months after his disappearance. the bounty on their heads still hadn’t dropped, but they had been seeing less and less trace of their former family and watching eyes. then again, that could be just them lulling the fighter into a false sense of security, ren wasn’t so confident in their talents that they’d be able to handle a liè assassin flawlessly.

were they up to something   ?

exhaustion wore on all of them, pushed to the brink as ren’s paranoia to escape the borders became persistent. in their eyes, it was a miracle they hadn’t been attacked yet. strolling through the woods and idly picking herbs and mushrooms along the way should have been relaxing, but ren kept bow and arrow on hand, swords at hips, ready to strike at a moment’s notice for days.   ‘   i ...   ’   tension made their words strained, unknowingly putting their horses on edge.   ‘   i don’t ... i don’t know what we’re going to do yet. i don’t care. what matters is making sure you’re safe and aren’t going to die the second we let our guards down.   ’   @becomeshield   /   semi - plotted starter.

[becomestorm]

there had been healers in the guild.   all their life, ren had gone to them and stayed in the medical ward whenever their issues persisted for more than a few days, such as a broken bone, a grievous injury, or an illness. it felt in a way that they’d taken them for granted, especially now that they were so far from home and came so close to dying. they’ve never experienced recovery anywhere other than mistral and so it hadn’t quite sunk in   —   in their still delirious state   —   exactly where they were. ren was making a mess of their makeshift cot on the floor of the tower room, attempting to move onto their preferred side when pain would lance up their shoulder. the assassin drifted in and out of sleep, muttering occasionally in mother tongue, sometimes with subtle rapidity enough to be conceived as nightmares. they’re barely coherent, even when they were awake, but when they did they addressed her blurry form as “ weiss ” instead of their regularly distant “ princess. ” it was a barrier that a more sober ren took down rarely, in fleeting moments of affection.

ren beckoned her closer in a rare spell of cohesive thought, when in touching distance weakly tugging on her dress fabrics like a child calling for attention.   ‘   —   there was a reason i   ...   i think   ?   for being stupid   —   ’   they were clear headed for a second, but it had been but a moment, now the vague idea drifting farther away from them. ren had been speaking about why they were caught by the palace guard, although that was quickly slipping into oblivion.   ‘   there was - there was a guard.   over ... overheard something   —   ’   had they always been this tired   ?   their vision was getting dark.   ‘   king   ...   flowers   ...   ’   the cushion beneath ren’s head smelt like flowers, and vanilla. it was weiss’ scent. weiss’ flowers.   ‘   did you like the flowers   ?   ’   ren’s speech was slurring, words from the normally articulated assassin burring together. by this time they’d completely forgotten their original intentions.   ‘   —   they’re pretty,   like you   ...   and sad.   like you.   ’   ren lifted their good hand over their eyes, the sunlight streaming into the tower was starting to hurt their vision.   ‘   mama said lilies were sad flowers   ...   but you’re   ...   you’re happy when  - when i give them to you.   ’

when the assassin wasn’t delirious with pain and fatigue, they might just try to end their life on their own to save from the embarrassment of verbally spilling their honest feelings.

‘   —   you’re so pretty when you’re happy.   ’

@fractaele.

[becomestorm]

it's a small town, but large enough to have a market, large enough to hear news from the kingdom over the mountain; 'did you hear? the king's son is missing!' 'i heard he was dead.' 'vanished in the middle of the night!' 'the arcs have fallen.' little do they know, their prince was currently trying to barter for fresh linens, ignoring as best he can the remarks and claims of their prince abandoning his people. the only sign he hears them is a hand pulling up the hood of his cloak.

there were bounties on both of their heads. fifteen thousand lien for jaune to be brought back alive. two for the assailant who spirited him away ; eight thousand lien alive, five thousand dead. it was a significant amount of money, and anyone who caught them, whether peasant, noble, bandit, bounty hunter, would be set for life, especially if they caught both of them. the past month had been spent skittishly lingering at the edge of towns, ren pick pocketing what they could ; rations, lien, camping supplies. they’d considered sneaking into a military camp to acquire additional weapons but decided it to be too risky at this time, the crowns guard would be on too high an alert.

the rumours hardly phased ren. they’d been raised as an assassin who cared not for the opinions of those considered inferior, they were raised to leave their emotions behind, trampled in the dirt. they thought very little of them, until they realised how affected jaune was by them. it was a very simple thing to tell him that what the people said didn’t matter, that his new title of a disgraced prince would not define him, but the mind was a fickle thing and he had already been through too much in the last few weeks. news came every other day that the assassinations were becoming more frequent. a lady here, a duke there. ren’s old guilt were rapidly ascending the ranks of the monarchy in order to overthrow them.

how do you convince someone they weren’t abandoning their people, when his family was tearing apart at the seams ?

‘ come here, my p — ’ stupid. stupid reckless mistake. they’d almost said prince. the market was busy enough so that only jaune and the merchant might’ve overheard. ren tugged on the material of his cape, biting their tongue because the closest amendment they’d thought of was “ my jaune ” and that wasn’t any better ( some curious, possessive part of them liked the way it sounded, wondering if the trill down their spine would thrum louder if they said it out loud. ) ‘ — my … friend. ’ they pulled the prince away from the merchant by the hand, escorting him out of the markets and out of earshot. ‘ if you become cold at night time, i have an extra cloak you can use. we can find blankets in the next town. ’

@becomeshield.

[becomestorm]

she held a rag to her face, panicking at the mess her father had left behind. what a rampage it was this time, he left even before he realized she had been hit by shrapnel. a hiss expired, the gash it still stung. putting bloodied cloth on the floor, she began to gather the pieces. glancing at mirror, she saw bitter reflection of the ichor staining her mask &. them standing there beside her. startled, she turned, not realizing they had slipped in undetected. "it's ... it's nothing! really!"

i’m coming for your life —

this time they had arrived at the tail end of an argument.   they’d never seen the infamous king jacques up close, only from afar in galas and public ceremonies among the safety of the crowds   —   often during a reconnaissance mission. the assassin never really thought about the king either, about his mindset, or his personality. he was out of ren’s immediate mission circle, tasked to fall at the hands of an assassin group much more skilled than they. ren would eliminate the princess, their comrades would kill princess winter, prince eis, and prince whitley, while more would be tasked with murdering the king and queen. this had been the first instance since they’d met that ren came upon the aftermath of jacques’ rampages. the first time it hadn’t mattered, because they had a mission to complete and the shrapnel scattered across the floor provided the perfect disadvantage for the princesss. this time, something molten and heated welled in their bones as gloved hands curled into fists, teeth grit, brow furrowing under mask.

‘   come, princess.   ’   they placed lilies down on an ornate table, artefacts that were regularly neatly aligned tipped and broken, some strewn across the floor as if flung, fast and violently. they unpacked blades, bow and quiver by the window. their boots swerved as best they could over broken debris, occasionally catching the crunch of glass or porcelain under leather heel. like the first night it seemed weiss was caught unawares by her father’s senseless temper, dressed in sleeping gown and subject to cuts along her bare skin. ren knelt quietly to pry the pieces from her hands, dropping them to the floor where they’d be collected later. they grasped her hands in her own, bidding she rise with them, and once she had they quickly and swiftly swept her up into their arms, carrying her to the bed. it made them wince to think about how weiss would have done this, when they could audibly hear the tiny pieces of clay, glass, and metal ‘neath their steps.

they knew not where to find another undirtied cloth, so retrieved one of their clean face scarves from their pack. bringing back a bowl with fresh water ren absently picked up where she had left off, dabbing at her face with a gentleness that took significant restraint.   ‘   there’s no “ nothing ” about it.   ’   they murmured quietly, growing fire beneath the syllables which shook with anger. no, there was nothing noble about their profession, but there were particular lines ren would never cross. harming innocents and harming children in pursuit of their targets was one of them.   ‘   i’ve killed men for laying hands on their daughters. those who contracted for their deaths understood the gravity of that young girl’s worth, whether it be her mother, her scared siblings, or her concerned companions.   ’   they returned back to their pack, carrying with them a small tin of medical salve to sooth the sting. they washed their hands before gently applying the ointment to the cut. touching her like this was hard, if only because they’d never held something so soft before   (   weiss, in a moment of vulnerability   ) , ren   —   with grip designed to wring life and bring death   —   had never feared crushing someone beneath their hands.   ‘   none of this is okay, weiss. none of this is your fault.   ’

‘   it’s not my role to associate with the king, but i really will kill him for you.   ’

@fractaele.

[becomestorm]

there was a soft melancholy in watching jaune interacting with his subjects, even under the guise of a simple, ordinary farm boy. fair hair and blue eyes were common enough away from the crown city so that the populace wouldn’t connect him to the wanted posters ren so regularly tore down. people who had never seen the prince in person had no idea that a royal, not just any royal but the missing heir, walked among them. even still, it became clear in the months since the prince’s “ kidnapping ” that jaune’s care towards the people who would eventually become the princes’ subjects was always genuine. regularly, the assassin volunteered to assist jaune in a menial task for these people, that of which jaune was “ going to do anyway, with or without your help. ” that unrelenting kindness, the willingness to see the good in people — even those who could betray him at any moment — was a trait from their childhood that never dissipated. even the harsh teachings of the king could not erase the compassion with which jaune conducted himself. which was all well and good — after all, that pure kindness was one of the things which drew ren to him in the first place — but when focused on ren, in any degree, the former assassin found the onslaught of such benevolence unbearable. it was like staring directly into the sun.

they thought about how they felt unworthy to remain in jaune’s presence constantly. was it unhealthy that from the second ren had been forced to “ die ” what remained of their existence had unknowingly been dedicated to their best friend ? that whatever shred of a ren who could live without the prince in their lives dissipated with the memory of that shy, sweet boy ? probably. what was their definition of unhealthy ? jaune’s safety being in correspondence with ren’s will to live ? most likely. but they’d chosen this. if they thought about it properly, then the prince was the first choice they’d ever made, in everything that mattered. the life afforded a lie heir meant that everything was chosen for you, whether you liked it or not, but ren and jaune meeting had been completely by accident. ren had chosen to remain friends with him. they chose to defy their family when they told ren to stay away. they chose to stay and protect him from other assassins during their years spent apart. they chose to let him live. they chose to run away with him. there was no inherent obligation, or tether to keep them together when the chance to sever their relationship had come time and time again. to ren, remaining with jaune was the ultimate declaration of freedom. ren had never considered jaune a burden, never fantasised about an ideal life without him, because there wasn’t one.

so when jaune asks one night, cinders of a nearby campfire just barely winking out, stargazing under an eternal sky : “ you can leave, you know. whenever you want. this is your chance. there must have been something you wanted to do ? something you wanted to be ? ”

ren thought, oh.

no one had ever asked ren what they’d wanted before. no one had ever afforded ren this kindness.

this is my choice.

“ i want to be with you. ”

@becomeshield. / prompted from.