Chapter Text
The morning market was already warm, though bearable compared to the afternoon heat. Patrons and shoppers went about their business, strolling from stall to stall, the awnings and canopies offering a brief respite from the sun. Spiced meats and fruits filtered through the air, snacks for the market goers as merchants called out their wares, flagging down anyone who made eye contact with them a second too long.
An arm loosely locked with her handmaiden, a young woman began her stroll from her small compound through the market streets. A white and beaded silk scarf draped on her head and one side tossed over the opposite shoulder, the two barely got to their first destination when a commotion broke the relaxed but loud peace of the market place.
They snapped their heads towards the sound, not seeing much until a slight young man slipped between the crowd, eyes latching onto their form, particularly the young woman. His face brightened with relief as he ran to them.
“My Lady! Please, I need cover!”
Narrowing her eyes, the lady gestured to his leather knife holster strapped across his chest, “Take that off, you fool, if you can't even hide yourself from guards. And your tunic too.” The boy complied, quick fingers familiar with the buckles as he shrugged that and then his white tunic over his head. The handmaiden snatched it from his hands, stuffing it into her basket and covering it with her own red scarf.
Next, the lady tugged him behind her and hissed, “Keep quiet, you are my stable boy.” Just as a pair of guards broke through the crowd. Immediately, the three of them pretended to become focused on a stall full of trinkets. The stall owner said nothing, though her eyes darted between the three of them and the guards. However, anyone close enough to her compound tend to have loyalty more firmly for the lord there than with the city guards.
After a long moment of surveying the area, the guards approached their group, “You there!”
Turning to them with a guileless expression, the lady tilted her head to the side, “Can I help you, sers?”
They eyed the boy suspiciously, “We're searching for a thief. A boy.”
Aghast, she placed her hand tenderly on her chest, “Do you- are you suggesting my stable boy is a thief?” Behind her, the boy put on an equally hurt and astonished expression, shrinking into himself to appear smaller. The handmaiden helped by wrapping a comforting and protective arm around his shoulders.
“Loran is a good boy!” The Lady insisted, “A bit simple but he would never steal from anyone! Why, he's practically been raised within my husband's household-”
“My Lady,” One guard interrupted, growing frustrated with her prattling, “Have you seen anyone run through here?”
Taking a long moment to think, purposefully too long in order to make them impatient and irritate them further, the young woman nodded slowly and pointed, “I believe I heard something from over there-”
They immediately ran off to the left, not even hearing the end of her sentence. There was a pause as they waited for the guards to be out of sight, before she whirled around to the boy, cutting off his sniggering. Paling at her furious expression, Loran tried, “My Lady-”
Her hand snaked out and latched onto his ear, tugging him close, “Foolish boy! Has the Mentor taught you nothing!?”
Whining, Loran begged, “I'm sorry, my Lady! I thought-”
“No!” She hissed back, “You didn't think.” Keeping a firm grip on his ear, the young woman turned to the handmaiden, “Marie, it appears our outing will be delayed. Will you please accompany me back to the compound?”
Amused, Marie nodded, “Of course, my Lady.” The handmaiden leading the way, the Lady pulled the boy all the way back to the compound by his ear, Loran whining the entire way. The guards standing at the entrance bowed as they chuckled in amusement at the complaining boy as they passed them.
“He should be in the training pavilion currently, my Lady!” One called after them.
“Thank you, Sebastian.” Was her prim response.
It didn't take them long to enter the training pavilion, wide arches to allow a breeze to filter through whilst protecting the occupants from the unforgiving sun. At their entrance many of the currently training younger ones began to laugh at Loran's misfortune. None to gently, the young woman released the boy, making him stumble before the Mentor, whose arms were folded. The disappointment was palpable even with his calm expression.
“Loran.”
It was only his name that was spoken, but the weight of the Mentor's irritation was enough to have the boy truly contrite and ducking his head down. “I'm sorry, Mentor.”
The man arched a dark eyebrow as he faced the Lady, “What did he do?”
“According to the two guards who were chasing him? Theft.”
That had the man frowning, snapping to Loran, “You got caught stealing!?”
“But-!”
“No excuses!” The Mentor cut off, “You should be spending more time training your stealth than with your blades if you got caught stealing! You are to be making junior disciple within the next year, and you are still being caught for something that the greenest of novices learn how to do!”
“I'm sorry, Mentor! I didn't see them!” Loran tried to argue, only to wilt at the dark expression settling like a thunder cloud over the Mentor's face.
“If your situational awareness is that terrible, you shouldn't even be let outside of the compound, risking the rest of the Brotherhood.”
Loran fell to his knees, bowing forward until his head touched the stone. “Forgive me, Mentor! I beg for one more chance.”
Rubbing at his temple, the Mentor bemoaned, “How many chances have we given you, Loran? How many times have you failed to follow through with your word? Shouldn't you be giving up by now?”
Instantly, Loran's head snapped up, eyes filling with determination, “I will never give up, Mentor! I will do better! I promise!”
“Your promises mean nothing if you can not keep them.” The Mentor replied softly, stepping closer to the boy and staring down at him. There was a myriad of emotions flickering over his face, never settling on one. The silence was deafening, and the Lady wondered if she should step in. However, she knew the Mentor to never be cruel, only hard on his students out of worry. After some long seconds dragged by, the Mentor sighed heavily.
“Get up, Loran.”
The stubborn boy shook his head, “Not until you accept my promise! I will do better! I won't sneak out, I won't get caught stealing, I'll practice my stealth more-” Holding up his hand quietly, the Mentor stopped the boy’s begging in his tracks.
“Enough, Loran. Get up and go to your bunk. I would have you think on your behaviour. Come find me when you believe you have the true reason on why I am upset with you.”
“But-” Loran tried to protest.
“Go.” His tone was final. Mouth clicking shut, Loran ducked his head down as he rose back to his feet. He hurried out of the pavilion, only pausing to accept his things back from Marie. Turning to the other students, the Mentor called, “Dismissed! You have an hour before the lesson restarts. Spend it wisely.” The students ran out of the pavilion, keeping quiet with their teacher's turmoil of emotions on their minds. Once all of them have filtered out, Marie being the last to leave with a lingering glance their way, it was soon just the Mentor and the Lady left to themselves. Without the students watching, the Mentor slumped, exhausted.
Desmond ran a rough hand through his shortly cropped hair, “That boy, I swear.”
Stepping closer, Sansa placed a soothing hand on his arm, “He looks up to you, husband. He's only trying to gain your attention.”
Sighing, brown eyes cracked open. With a roll of them, the man muttered, “Too much like me. I knew what a little shit I could be at his age, and I don't want him to get hurt.”
Hand trailing down his arm to instead take one of his hands into hers, Sansa squeezed it encouragingly. “It's not your fault, Desmond. Maybe talk to him. Perhaps explaining more on why such secrecy and caution is needed, he would stop acting out.”
With a steady gaze on her, Desmond nodded as he muttered to himself, “Could help.” Then, he let his head fall into his free hand with a groan, “I'm not even his father, why does it feel like I am!?”
Laughing, Sansa reached up to take his other hand as well, leaning into catch his eye, “Because you are a soft-hearted man who can't say no to orphans.”
His response was to tug her into an embrace, grumbling in her hair, sari having slipped down, “I'm only twenty, Sansa. I'm not old enough to be a dad to this many kids.”
With the last five years exposing her to Desmond's strange words, Sansa translated them easily and snorted a second later, “Maybe stop taking in every street urchin you come across then.”
“Never.” Was his sullen response, and Sansa ended up giggling a little into his shoulder before she pulled away.
Cupping one hand to his cheek, she brushed a thumb over the scar that cut over his lip, the man leaning into the contact. “Go easy on him, Desmond. He's only trying to make you proud.”
“I'm already proud of him.” The man muttered, confused and frustrated, “I'm proud of all of them. This isn't an easy life, and I don't give them much of an option-”
“Hush now.” Sansa reprimanded with a small scowl, “You give them plenty of options. You have forced none of them onto this path, this is all by their own choice.” Sighing once more, the man nodded, stepping back.
Her hand fell but he caught it. Staring resolutely down at their clasped hands, his calloused fingers tracing the lines on her palm, Desmond whispered, “I hope I'm doing the right thing.”
Curling her fingers around his, she dragged his hand up to her mouth, placing a soft kiss on them. Hands that have killed and saved, and she pressed all her love into that one fleeting kiss. Looking up at him, Sansa gave him a warm smile, “You are. I truly believe that you are, Desmond.”
The relief in his eyes at her resolute opinion had the man relaxing, tension seeping from his shoulders. Gaze soft, Desmond stepped closer once more to bump his forehead against hers, “Thank you, Sansa.” Closing her eyes, said young woman leant into the contact in response.
Five years ago
Climbing up over the balcony railing, Desmond purposefully scuffed his foot across the stone ledge, and with practised ease dodged the blade that went sailing where his head previously was. Blinking once, the boy grinned at the disapproving expression of the knife thrower. “How many knives do you think you've lost by now?”
Rolling his eyes, Desmond's father approached him, the boy hopping down from the railing to enter into the office, “None. I send people to retrieve them. And must you continue coming into my solar this way?”
Punching the man lightly in the arm once they were close enough, Desmond replied cheerfully, “Keeps you on your toes, old man.”
Roughly ruffling his hair, not that there was much to ruffle with how close cropped it was, Oberyn Martell refuted with a hint of offense, “I'm not an old man! I'm a man in his prime.”
Desmond snorted, “Keep telling yourself that, dad.”
When Desmond died, he couldn't say opening his eyes to blurry surroundings and unfamiliar arms holding him was surprising. It was similar to being in Ezio's memories in the animus on the day he was born, forcing the little body to kick and stay living. After all the experience he's had in his past life with falling into bodies not his own, Desmond took to his new life easily.
The new land he was in was reminiscent of both Altair and Ezio's time period, with his new home, the Kingdom of Dorne, being hot and sandy as Masyaf had been. His mom was absent, Desmond having been given over to his dad not too long after being born. From what he gathered, his mom was a prostitute, his dad an actual prince. And for a while, Desmond waited for the disinterest or dislike to arrive, being a bastard of a noble, but it never came. It took some years as he learnt about his surroundings and new culture that bastards were loved in Dorne, an exception compared to the rest of the continent he lived on: Westeros.
It seemed, for once, he was lucky. Because he was loved by his father and older sisters, he was cared for and never forced into anything besides lessons, which Desmond willingly attended. He was in a strange new world, and even before all the shit with Abstergo he always tried to gather as much intel on his new environments from when he ran away from the Farm.
And man, what a world he lived in.
Dragons existed not even that long ago, there was bizarre magic over the Narrow sea, and some insane past wars. This was not a world where one should go into without being physically capable at protecting themselves, and Desmond had no problem throwing himself into Assassin training as soon as he was able to fully run without tripping, along with the actual training provided by the Master at Arms.
His family thought his perchance to climb and sneak around to be adorable until he got a little older and Desmond was able to sneak up on them, scaring them shitless. But he could feel the older instincts from the ancestors of his past life still linger in his head, and already knew without making the conscious decision that he would be building his own brotherhood here, and this time there was no Isu technology or Templars to fuck it all up.
And standing before his dad, a request on the tip of his tongue, he would begin his mission on ensuring the peace and protecting the innocent. “I have something to ask of you.” Desmond began, his father's jovial expression melting some at his son's serious expression.
“Ask away, my son.”
“I want to get the Stark sisters out of King's Landing.”
Oberyn's face went blank, though there was that typical fire at the name of the capital city, and those who resided within its walls. “And why would you wish to do such a thing?”
Standing his ground, Desmond steadily gave his reasoning, “They are a pair of innocent girls caught up in the middle of a petty power play, and I can't in good conscious leave them there knowing I could do something.”
Folding his arms, Oberyn pointed out, “There are already rumours that they don't even have both sisters, just the one.”
“Then we get just the one out.” Desmond insisted, not swayed. “She's alone with the Lannisters, father. It isn't fair for her.”
“Life isn't fair, Desmond.” With a gruff sigh, the older man paced away from Desmond towards his desk, showing his lack of interest in his son's request. However, Desmond was stubborn when he wanted to be, and dealt with Bill Miles a good chunk of his past life. This dismissal would do nothing to dissuade his decision.
“And if you had the chance to get Aunt Elia out of the Red Keep?”
“Do not,” The older man whirled around, that fire now blazing in his eyes, “Bring Elia into this.”
“You're leaving another girl to be trapped and harmed by the Lannisters!” Desmond argued, stepping forward, “Doing nothing is just the same as helping them keep her captive! If we have the ability to help, then we must.”
“You don't even know this girl-”
“That doesn't matter!” He yelled, “This is a girl with a large amount of political pull, and there is only so far someone can be pushed until they begin to learn to inflict harm on others. She's a child surrounded by enemies, who is she going to learn from?” It wasn't his only reason, he had plenty of them really, but the idea of someone being warped by their circumstances to become bad when it could've been prevented was certainly at the top of his list. He'd seen what happened when some became disillusioned with the world or their cause. He saw what happened with Lucy.
Oberyn scoffed, jaw clenching before he stated, “The North is currently winning to begin with.”
“The tides of war can change, dad.” Retorted Desmond, pointing out, “And you know the Lannisters will use any means necessary to win and keep themselves in power. Hell, I would kill the king himself with the right opportunity.”
“Don't say that, Desmond.” Oberyn hissed, coming back over to him, a furtive glance around the room causing himself to do the same, “We are in our home, but you may never know who is listening.” He said that as if the older man hadn't spewed treasonous words himself on a daily basis. But he was a father to the core, and worried about his family more than himself.
Softening his tone a little, Desmond continued, though still with defiance, “I will go there myself, if I have to.”
“And are you going to rescue all the poor girls in the kingdom, who are similarly helpless?” The words were derisive, meant to hurt. Desmond held back a flinch.
A ridiculous part of him wanted to say yes. He wanted to believe he could, because he had done so before. If he could save the entire world from being burnt by the solar flare, he could try and save all the helpless in this one if he tried hard enough. But knew that was a hopeless, and impossible, endeavour. Didn't mean he wasn't going to try and help as many people as he could. “The war is making it worse. Removing one of the Stark girls takes a political piece away from the Lannisters. Ending this war should be our goal, we must take away this advantage from them.”
Assessing him for a long moment, his dad softly exhaled, “Peace is a fool's ideal.”
Desmond nodded in begrudging agreement, “It's not achievable but you can still achieve something similar. There's no harm in trying, because at least I could say I tried.”
That sharpened his softening expression, the older man glaring once more at Desmond, “Are insinuating that I did not try to get Elia and her children out of the lion's den, Desmond? Because I would be careful with your next words if you are.”
And this was why Desmond knew his dad preferred daughters over sons. When they argued, he found it impressive and something to be proud of. When Desmond did it, it was annoying and doubting his judgment. Desmond may have said his father loved him, didn't mean they never got at each other's throats. However, Desmond knew that Aunt Elia was a painful topic, and genuinely replied, with only a small bit of hesitance, “I would never say you didn't try, dad. We all know you did. But coming from the front in plain view is not always the best tactic.”
“And what would you suggest?” Oberyn tiredly asked, running a hand through his hair, “You sneak in over the walls, carry her out like it's that simple? You don't even know the layout of the city, much less the Red Keep. You are skilled, my son. But you are still a child, and have not yet experienced the world around you.”
The words irritated Desmond, wishing to reveal that he wasn't, in fact, a child no matter what his current body showed. However, he would sound insane, and that would be counter productive for his goal. “Then help me find another way, dad.” The younger man requested. “There's got to be some other way we can get her out of there. If she's safe, then maybe the Northern armies could begin to retreat back to their own lands to fortify against their enemy. With no war ravaging the Riverlands, then less crime could be inflicted on the small folk. The Lannisters would turn to focus more on themselves with no immediate war, and we could find a way to remove them as well during the lull.”
With the way he snuck around the palace, Desmond had heard many mutterings about Targaryens and the return of their rule. He didn't care too much about who was the rightful ruler on the throne, just wanted to carve out a place for himself in this world, and keep as many innocents alive as possible.
His father slumped onto his desk seat, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “The North fight for more than to just rescue the daughters. They executed Ned Stark, and they are at war for justice against that injustice. They would not just retreat because the Lannisters have no hostage.” And though his father made a very good point, the son was determined with his plan. So Desmond waited, watching as Oberyn contemplated. Then, with a heavy sigh, Desmond knew he won even at the grief filled gaze that was sent his way, his father reminding him, “You can't save everyone, Desmond.”
A wry smile pulled at his lips, thinking about his past life and ancestors, and agreed, “No.” However, he would not be swayed from his decision, “But I can try to save as many as I can.” Was his resolute response.
At fifteen, Desmond knew by this world's standards he was considered a young man. Eligible for potential marriage if he so chose, and with him technically having noble blood despite being a bastard, he could have his own household. He already had a few personal servants and guards, most he picked himself based on loyalty, their current skill set, and how willing they were to agree with Desmond's increasingly bizarre and strange schemes. One of them, a boy just a year older than Desmond going by the name Obah, was straight faced and appeared as if nothing was ever interesting or amusing. But Desmond knew better. The kid was just as much of an adrenaline junky as he was, and immediately joined him as he began climbing the Sunspear Palace's roofs when they were younger.
Said roof tops was where his personal guard found him, watching the setting sun cast an orange blaze of fire across the city and surrounding sandy landscape. With a stifled sigh, the older boy sat next to Desmond. “Did the discussion go well?”
Leaning back on his hands, the other sent Obah a humourless smile, “I pissed him off and mentioned Aunt Elia twice.”
With a barely concealed wince, Obah muttered, “So not good.” A pause. “Does that mean we're breaking into the Red Keep ourselves then?”
“This is why you're my favourite.” Desmond chuckled, leaning to nudge the other teen's shoulder with his own. Obah swayed with the motion, a tiny smile creeping up on his usually blank face. “But no, we're not breaking in it seems. Dad wants to talk with uncle about getting the girl out.”
“Only one?”
“He mentioned about rumors of there only being one Stark girl with the Lannisters, so we'll plan for one, adapt for two.”
“Alright.” Obah agreed readily. Really, Desmond loved that this guy was down for anything.
Desmond's budding household consisted of three personal guards, a stable boy, and three maids – who were also being trained to fight alongside his guards. He had a tiny section within Sunspear set aside for himself, alongside his more current and permanent residence in the Water Gardens, but he knew that one day he wanted to have his own keep. Can't really build a guild of assassins right under your father and uncle’s noses. He had his eyes on this old compound on the edge of the city, a few centuries old and crumbling. It used to be a private hold for a branch family of the Martells, but fell out of use.
If he dropped enough hints, Desmond might be able to get it soon. Uncle Doran had approved of Desmond creating his own household after the boy had firmly insisted he had no interest in taking the power from his cousin Arianna. Not that he could even if he tried. Even with bastards being more appreciated here, they would never allow a Sand on the throne unless last resort. And that woman could have Dorne for all he cared, as long as she didn't hurt innocents, grew corrupted with power, or tank their freaking economy, then they were good. But with him out of the palace and minding his own business, it eased any worried nobility of him wanting to try take it from her. And when Desmond reached sixteen, his uncle had promised him some personal land and funds to build up his own household.
Desmond was fucking stoked.
With a gusty exhale, he tilted to the side so that his head fell into Obah's lap. The boy blinked down at him, hand already beginning to sift through Desmond's short brown strands. There was a part of Desmond that wanted Obah, more than just their close friendship, but held back. Though a bastard, he was still Obah's lord and the power imbalance made him uncomfortable with the thought of pursuing the other male, on top of Desmond being mentally over thirty at this point. He wanted more, but held back, because he was genuinely happy with the comfortable friendship that they had, resting there in the quiet.
Walking the palace halls by himself two days after his talk with his dad, Desmond was interrupted from his musings by Ellaria. He brightened at the sight of her and little Loreza trailing behind her. He was exactly in the middle of his eight sisters, and loved them all, ecstatic to have siblings in this life. He was certainly a common punchline though, being Oberyn's only son.
His littlest sister bolted to him the second he turned their way, stooping down to catch her before she collided with his legs. She giggled as he faked grunted, “Oof, you've gotten heavy Loreza. Better stay away from all those tarts.”
“I'm not heavy!” She protested with an adorable pout. “You're just weak.”
“Weak!?” He gasped, “I'll show you weak.”
And with her already captive in his arms, he began to tickle her fiercely, her delighted shrieks filling the hall way. Coming closer, Ellaria smiled fondly at the pair of them. “Mama!” Loreza yelped, “Rescue me!”
With a sad shake of her head, the mother feigned regret, “I'm afraid you insulted your brother's pride, there is nothing I can do to help.”
“That's right,” Desmond added, blowing a raspberry on her neck, making her squeal. “My weak manly dignity was injured and I must react accordingly.” However, he did let up on the tickling, dropping her panting body to the ground. She wavered before collapsing onto the floor in a giggling heap.
Above her, Ellaria informed him, “Oberyn and Doran are looking for you.”
Sobering, Desmond nodded, “Thanks, Ellaria.”
Tsking, the woman reached up and patted his cheek gently, “You can call me mother, if you so wish. I've told you plenty of times and I know you aren't adverse to it.”
He only shrugged in response, glancing away. Moms in general were a touchy subject for him. His mom in his past life was a distant figure in his memories, she loved him but never stepped in when Bill was angry or upset with his inadequacies. His birth mom in this world was not even a memory, having given him to Oberyn barely a week after he was born. He was a son after all, and even in Dorne sons mattered. It felt strange to call Ellaria mother even after she practically raised him.
However, he was weak to the women in his life, and gave in. Darting a kiss to the woman's cheek, Desmond murmured, “I'll be on my way, mama.”
Smiling sweetly at him, the woman gestured to the hall behind her, “Best not keep them waiting.”
Nodding, Desmond then glanced down at Loreza, who was playing with the laces of his boots. Nudging her leg a little he said, “I'm off, squirt. Play with you later.”
Hopping up, the girl flung her arms around his waist as a goodbye before darting off and away from them. Sharing an amused glance with Ellaria, they parted ways, Desmond off to talk with his dad and uncle.
He didn't know what their answer would be, even after his talk with Oberyn. So when he entered the solar, and saw where his uncle was sat behind his desk with his dad off to the side, arms folded, Desmond's curiosity turned into trepidation. There was a calculated gleam in his uncle's eyes, and from his father's posture, he was tense. The door clicked behind him, steps loud as he approached the desk, eyes darting between the two men. “Either it's a no, or you have a plan I'm not going to like.”
They shared a glance between them at Desmond's opening words, before Uncle Doran cleared his throat, “Have a seat, Desmond.”
Absolutely not. Desmond stayed standing. At his silent refusal, Oberyn sighed, exasperated, “It's a yes, but only if you agree to the plan.”
“I would be happy to hear the plan before I agree to it.” A pause. His father was frowning that frown that told Desmond he was amused but exhausted by his son's behaviour. Uncle Doran however pursed his lips, uncertain on how to continue. Desmond decided to take a seat, relaxing into a sprawl as he waved his hand, “Lay it on me. What's the plan?”
“Marriage.” Was his dad's frank answer.
Desmond blinked. “You're getting married, dad?”
The man dropped his head into his hand heavily, however it lightened the mood as Uncle Doran snorted, turning to look at the man, “Yes, little brother. Are you getting married?”
“No, I'm not.” The man loudly declared, before scowling at Desmond, “You will be, if you want to save the Stark girl from the lions.” Desmond stilled. Registering that, he leapt to his feet, starting to pace around the room in thought. This was why he didn't want to sit in the first place, knowing he would need to move in order to think.
Despite being reborn with a bunch of sisters that adored him and a father that actually liked him, Desmond found this world sucked a whole lot more than his previous one. For one, there was no plumbing, but he was slowly working on that issue. Another was how traditional and old fashioned the world was in the way they treated people and genders, however that was something he had seen in his ancestors' lives before, so he had adjusted to it with a surliness. Desmond hated the thought of others being less deserving to live or treated fairly just because they were born in a lower social class. Granted, that still existed in his world, but not with such a huge divide and apathy as it did here. Being born a prince's son gave him far better treatment, but that was only due to being born in Dorne. Anywhere else and he probably would've been fucked.
But one of the main things he knew about this world that he did not enjoy was the way ages were perceived. At fifteen, he was seen as a young man, and able to marry if he wanted to, despite himself fully in the mindset of 'I have the memories and common sense of a fully realised adult, but I am in the body of a child which means I will not have any romantic or sexual interactions with people my age because that's gross and collides with my morals'. His current plan was waiting until he turned eighteen so he could finally have sex again. Those few months of being in and out of the animus having completely shot any libido – except for those awkward moments when he left the animus after Ezio decided to fall into bed with some prostitute – and Desmond hadn't had the chance to even kiss a person, let alone fuck. However, alive once more meant he finally could. Desmond just wanted to wait until he was at a comfortable legal age – his past life's standards of legal not this place's fucked up one's – to finally have sex again in order to not feel gross. It was agony at times, but running across roof tops, planning a future brotherhood of assassins, and designing hidden blades did a lot in keeping himself occupied and distracted. And his hand helped too.
And now, he would have to get married to a girl to save said girl.
Rubbing at his mouth, Desmond paused in his pacing at ask, “How old is she?”
Doran picked up a letter, “She is the eldest daughter of Ned Stark, which I believe would make her thirteen.” Grimacing, the teen went back to his pacing. Obviously, he would not touch her, damn whatever traditions would demand a consummation to make the union a legal one. And he wouldn't be shocked if she was terrified to marry a stranger, let alone have him bed her. However, there were ways to lie and work around that issue.
Neither his dad or uncle knew he was a reborn man, so he couldn't argue that he was too old for her, as he would seem like an idiot, being only two years older. “They mention her having begun her bleeding. She is deemed a woman grown by that standard.” His uncle then pointed out, seeing the problem his nephew was taking issue with. However, he was just a little off the mark, Desmond inwardly mused. But it was close enough to work with.
Scoffing, Desmond glanced their way, “We all know that means fucking nothing. If she got pregnant at that age, I highly doubt she would survive it. She's too young to carry a child, she's still a child herself!” He couldn't help but exclaim.
“And so are you.” His dad finally spoke up, dark eyes watching Desmond knowingly. “You always call yourself a child, thinking fifteen is not old enough to be seen as an adult. What is wrong with a child marrying a child?”
“Uh, besides it being just wrong? And that children should be far more focused on being children than having to worry about marriage and making children themselves?”
“Her hand could be offered to me instead.” Oberyn pointed out, “Or even Doran.”
And Desmond's lip twitched to snarl, “I will kill them. Offering a child to a man as old as her own father.” He began to stalk back and forth again, further agitated even as a plan began to form. In this instance, the backwards traditions would work in his favour. She would be deemed as his property, which meant she was under his protection, safe and secure from her enemies. And they would probably have to go to the capital in order for him to marry him, they would want that seen first hand, and not just ship her over on the first Dorne bound vessel.
Which meant an easy way into the castle and an excuse to learn the lay out of the place. Obah and Abed have been coming along well in their training, especially their stealth. He knew Abed had some reservations still about killing, so he couldn't be the one to make that kill, but Obah on the other hand didn't have much of an opinion on taking a life beyond not hurting those that don't deserve it. As for the girls, Annalise and Pryia could be deemed stab-happy, and very eager to help with the murder of a monarch. He thought them adorable.
“How did you get them to agree to a marriage?” Desmond wondered out loud, because it seemed too easy. Why would they just allow to marry off one of their biggest pawns to a bastard in Dorne.
Oberyn snorted, “Promised to not join the war on the North's side. They couldn't handle it coming from two fronts.”
His uncle held the letter out to Desmond, who came closer to take it. Scanning the contents, he rose a brow at the insinuations and underhanded threats. To make a long letter short, the Martells promised to not join in on the war front, for either side, if the Lannisters gave them the Stark girl. After all, they deserved something from the lions after they brutally murdered Dorne's beloved princess and her children. In addition, she would be married to a bastard, and none of her children would be first contenders for the Northern throne. Though, that meant that her not marrying a Lannister would mean they wouldn't have a secured heir to the North that the lions could control. However, everyone knew that the North was currently winning far more than losing, and the Lannisters just finished surviving an attack from Stannis. Dorne promised food and trade for the city to recover on top of no war.
The Lannister's reluctantly agreed. Dropping the letter back on the desk, Desmond scrubbed at his face. “It seems I will be getting married.” He then glanced up at the two men, suddenly filled with dread, “Please tell me I don't have to be the one to tell my sisters?”
The riot of laughter from below his hiding spot in a large tree was met with sullen silence. His sisters reminded him of cackling hyenas surrounding their prey. Arms crossed and pouting, waiting for them to get bored, he jolted when something heavy hit the tree. Grasping a branch to not tumble out, Desmond snarled down, “Fuck off!”
It was Obara – because of course it was – who had hit the base of the tree with the butt of her spear. She gave him a smirk and mocking wave, “Come down, little brother. We want to hear all about this girl you're marrying.”
That sent his sisters off into another round of teasing. It was all the older ones, the younger ones watching and giggling at the interaction. Glad they were having fun, Desmond internally grumbled. He had picked the best tree for this, because though Obara could absolutely kick his ass still – he was getting used to his awkward teenage body still and all its growth spurts – he was the best climber of them all and this tree was particularly difficult if you weren't as experienced in climbing like Desmond.
“There's nothing to talk about.” Desmond snapped back, still holding tight after another hard thump to the tree. “I'm marrying her to get her out of King's Landing. What more is there to hear?”
“I think it's sweet.” Tyene cooed, on his side but not bothering to stop the third hit of the tree by their eldest sibling. “Very heroic and like the songs.”
“He's an idiot to marry to save a girl he doesn't even know!” Obara argued, turning her glare from Desmond to Tyene.
The young woman did not wilt, too used to the expression. Instead, she rolled her eyes, “Why are you so worried, sister? Strangers marry all the time.”
Jabbing a finger in Desmond's direction, Obara snarled, “Because our brother has a foolish heart! He wears it on his sleeve and is too eager to please others! He'll martyr himself for a strange girl just because he thinks it's what's right.”
“Because it is right!” Desmond had to defend himself, shifting in the branches to glare down at them. “She's a little girl trapped by her enemies. They killed her father in front of her for fuck sake!” It reminded him too much of Ezio and the death of his family. It lodged in the back of his throat and knew that it would not shift until he got the girl out of that lion's den.
“You would fall on your sword if you thought it was right!” Obara yelled back. And damn her for being right. He did die for the world.
Sighing, irritation whooshing out of his lungs with his breath, Desmond leapt out of the tree, crouching with the landing. When he straightened up, he didn't fight as Obara grasped the front of his tunic to pull him into a tight and uncomfortable hug. The armour dug into him painfully. But he accepted the affection nonetheless, rare as it was. “Don't worry about me so much,” Desmond mumbled into the leather, “I can take care of myself.”
The muscled arms tightened further around him. “Maybe. But you are still too loose with your heart, brother.” Then she shoved him away from her, digging a finger into his chest as she growled, “Whatever you're planning, because I know you are planning something, don't do anything that will cost you your head. Because then I would be honor bound to seek vengeance.”
“Aww,” He couldn't help but coo, placing a hand to his heart, swatting her finger away in the same move, “I knew you loved me.”
Being grappled and shoved into the nearest fountain was expected. But hey, at least it cooled him off a little from the sun's heat. The unimpressed expression on Sarella's face when she helped him out was hilarious.
In his own quarters, which consisted of a bedroom, a private greeting room – or as he called it, his living room – and then a room across the hall way that bunked Abed, Obah, and Habib, his private guards. He had his three personal servants, picked up from the streets just like the other two, that were housed in another room close by. Desmond made sure all their shared rooms were spacious enough and provided them a nice salary because he was cool like that. His stable boy, called Lyam and ten years old, bunked with the other stable boys, but could be seen following after his guards or maids most of the time, as Desmond tend not to ride much beyond practice and exercising his horses.
He had four. Desmond was both smug and ashamed for how rich he was.
Within his lavishly decorated living room – there was a pile of silk and beaded pillows in a corner that he took to napping in, when his massive bed was not comfortable enough - Desmond was sprawled across one of the lounge chairs, his six people – barring Lyam who was currently playing with the other younger servants, on his break that Desmond made mandatory for his household – perched or leaning on the wall around him. Waiting.
It was taking him some time to gather his thoughts and plan for this wedding, which for him was a cover to assassinate some very important people. All six of them knew this, and were waiting on their designated roles in this plan. They were the only ones that knew. His dad maybe had suspicions of what he was planning, but because he hated the Lannisters the man wasn't going to stop him.
However, instead of explaining his plan, Desmond blurted out, “Am I really that obvious?” He shifted his head from looking up at the ceiling to looking over at where Abed was sat on the other chair.
The teen tilted his head to the side like a curious bird, “Obvious in what way, my Lord?”
Making a face at the title, Abed only did it to annoy him Desmond was sure of it, he elaborated, “Do I wear my heart on my sleeve.”
“Yes.” Obah bluntly stated, and the other five let out a smattering of laughter that echoed around the room. It was a nice sound, even as he shot a scowl over to where Obah was tucked into the corner. Then, he approached Desmond, coming to lean against the back of the lounge chair, “However,” He began with a considering inspection of Desmond's person, “It's only obvious to those that know you. Of course your sisters are able to see it.”
“Did you watch them bully me in a tree and do nothing to stop them!?” Desmond accused, only mildly offended and hoping to change this new and vulnerable topic even though he was the one to start it.
Obah was not swayed however. “You can lie when it matters, and have everyone convinced you are a relaxed and non-confrontational, but those that really know you, know how much you care. You have a big heart, Desmond, and you give it freely.”
Making a face at the rare show of sincerity on Obah’s face, Desmond sat up, “This topic is not why we're here. Forget it.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The six of them intoned. Desmond was sure only two of them really meant it.
Sighing, Desmond began, “As you may have heard, I met with uncle and my father two days ago, where they told me that I would be marrying the eldest Stark daughter. Her name is Sansa and she is thirteen. Not only does this marriage allow me to get an innocent girl away from the Lannisters, it gives us an in. We can get into the castle, figure out the layout, the guard shift schedule, and plan on how to kill the king.”
“Only the king?” Marie asked. She was an eleven year old street urchin who had stabbed a man in an alley way when Desmond found her. The man was trying to buy business from her that she wasn't selling, and Desmond's first words were to praise her stabbing skills. She was a sweet girl that hid a truly bloodthirsty animal, and Desmond was doing his best to direct that towards people who deserved it. Why did he constantly keep finding little murder gremlins to add to his household?
Desmond shook his head, “Not just the king, if we can swing it. Tywin is a definite target as well. Maybe even find a way to kill the Mountain while we're at it, but I honestly don't think we can plan that without needing more time in the capital. And with him not staying in a fixed place it would make it difficult to pin him down and attack.”
“Makes sense.” Annalise murmured, tucking a brown curl behind an ear thoughtfully. Next to her by the window Pryia nodded in silent agreement, her eyes focused on her sewing. All three of the girls were being trained as well, but far more discreetly. Because even if his father could get away with his daughters being taught to fight, it would be suspicious if humble maids could wield a blade.
The six of them would be coming with, the girls mainly to ease Sansa with female friendship. Desmond didn't entirely understand the way girls and their bonds worked, he was just as baffled when Lucy and Rebecca immediately hit it off despite not having met before. He was banking on that with his future wife and his maids. Plans formulating, Desmond finished up by informing them, “We leave in a fortnight. You're dismissed.”
They filtered out, however Obah decided to stay behind, the door closing softly. The two males eyes one another before his closest friend and guard commented lightly, “I think you're doing the right thing.”
Desmond scoffed, looking away as he ran a rough hand over his head. “That's what I think I'm always doing. The right thing.”
“Do you not want to?”
Looking down at his hands Desmond wondered to himself, not for the first time, what his ancestors would've done in his place. He was certain they would've done the same with building the Brotherhood, but he doubted they would've put it at risk by marrying a girl. Saving one person over many doesn't seem to be a logic Altair would've followed. Maybe Ezio, but even after living their lives, he didn't live in their emotions, their most private thoughts, so he could be completely wrong with his assessment. However, he mentally reasoned with himself that he was actually trying to save the masses by removing Sansa from the board, no longer a pawn to be used against her own family.
Scrubbing a hand over his hair, the reborn man grumbled, “I don't think I could allow myself to be selfish and live a life ignoring others who I could help. Don't think I could forgive myself.” And he grew up on the stories of Elia, mainly the good ones, so the entire plan also had a personal touch to it too. Desmond would've loved to have known his aunt. Would've loved to have another member part of his already large family.
“Is this because of your past life?” Obah wondered curiously, and Desmond snapped his head up at that, surprised. He had confessed to the other teen a few months back about his memories, slightly drunk and desperate to not be alone with his thoughts. He had thought Obah had brushed it off as drunken ramblings because his friend never brought it up again. Until now.
“You still believe me?" Asked, incredulous, "I thought you thought I had a momentarily lapse of sanity and decided to ignore it.”
Huffing a short laugh, Obah came to crouch before him, leaning his weight on his spear, dark brown eyes were warm as he replied, “I, unfortunately, suffer the affliction of believing everything you say, Desmond. I would follow you through all the Seven Hells and back, you need only ask.”
A wry smile twitched at Desmond's lips, “What did I do to deserve this loyalty?”
He shrugged nonchalantly, “We've been friends since we were children playing in the Water Gardens and you stopped a noble boy from shoving sand into my mouth. You gave me a home, Desmond. That is not something to forget lightly.”
Ducking down, Desmond pulled Obah into an embrace, tucking his head into the older boy's shoulder. “Thank you, Obah.”
A reassuring hand patted his back. “Of course, Desmond.”