#Speaking of! i liked the adrestia. i liked sailing around and i liked ship battles

[darkaac]

Fin.

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

thirty-six - absolution

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

LESYA TUGS AT the ropes on her wrists, but the knots have no give. Searching the belly of the trireme, she finds him sitting across from her, his head low, armor still stained with soot, mud, and blood from the battle. The struggle against her bonds only brings back the sudden surge of pain in her bandaged thigh and bruised arm. Deimos lifts his head, catching her harsh glare. Even so, a wave of relief crashes over him. "I'm your prisoner now?" She hisses, snapping him from whatever fog had taken hold of his thoughts.

He doesn't reply, but silence is answer enough —the Cult has taken her prisoner. They will go to Delphi, or perhaps to Athens since Kleon has taken charge of both the city and Kosmos. Stilling, she looks down at the ropes, can hear the echo of burning trees mixed with the rise and fall of the Aegean's waves. "What you did was reckless," Lesya mutters. 

"Trying to save you from an inferno?" Deimos asks, raising his scarred brow as he leans toward her. There's a tinge of mirth in his tone. Even after crossing blades, he hadn't hesitated to put himself between her and a burning tree. Protecting Lesya is second nature to him. It had been for years —they could fight on and off the battlefield, but he would always try to save her from pain. 

She shakes her head, recalling their training and days long past. Biting down on her lip, Lesya glances at the hull of the ship, unable to meet the warmth shining in Deimos' tawny-gold eyes. "We were taught to save ourselves, not one another," she reminds him. 

"And when have we ever listened?" He challenges. Ever since they were children facing the trials, Enyo and Deimos always looked out for one another, and time wouldn't change that. They never took all of Chrysis' teachings to heart anyways. Elsewise, neither of them would be here now in the belly of a trireme sailing back to Athens. 

"You should have left me." Lesya's voice cracks. She thought freedom from the Cult would mean freedom from the killing and the horrors, but she still found her blades dripping with blood at every turn. There is no muting the taunting voice of Enyo in the back of her mind every time she wields a weapon, no calming the bloodlust craving monster. There is no escape from the endless cycle. It will be the same for him, no matter how much they dream or speak of a simpler life.

"Deimos," she breathes, a broken prayer, "when the game is done and all the pawns are spent, where in Hellas will we go?" Kassandra telling her not to return to Sparta after what happened in Boeotia brought the realization upon her —there is not a single polis in the Greek world that would welcome her and Deimos, if they did, it would only be to see them at the chopping block. "The Spartans would gladly have our heads, as would the Athenians." Their crimes against the two city-states are too numerous to count. "There's no place we haven't desecrated with bloodshed. Nowhere and no one will want us."

Silence settles between the two champions. Deimos weighs her words carefully, not denying the truth of it. When the Cult falls, they will have no safe haven to turn to without facing persecution. Even so, he can tell there's something different in her gaze, a new kind of defeat in her voice. He reaches for her, rough fingertips brushing across her jaw and bruised cheek. "What've you done?" Deimos asks. 

"Killed one of the Spartan generals–" her eyes flash up to meet his, despite the guilt in her tone there's still pride shining in her eyes "–your step-brother, Stentor." Deimos knows the name. He knows Stentor as the son of Nikolaos and as an informant for the Cult of Kosmos —one of the Redbloods they speak of. He doesn't say anything, just runs a hand over his face with a slight sigh. Yet another ally lost by Enyo's hand. Deimos cannot help but wonder how things would have turned out had she remained at his side. He imagines by now the Cult would have Hellas beneath their heel.

She holds out her bound hands, laurel eyes shining with something Deimos thinks he's never seen before —fear and weakness. "Take these ropes off," Lesya says, nigh pleading, but Deimos does or says nothing, just sits back with his dark gaze flitting across her face and the bruises and scars. She can see it in his expression, doubt —a voice in the back of his mind saying she will run as soon as the bonds are severed. "We're in open water–" a smile tugs at her lips, even she could not hope to swim to shore from this far out at sea "–where would I go?"

Deimos slips one of her twin blades under the ropes, cutting them loose. Lesya rubs her wrists, lost in a daze. "Lesya," he breathes, cupping her cheek —the rough pad of his thumb tracing over the scar running through her brow, a mark left by his blade. She lifts her gaze to meet his and feels her chest tighten as all their past encounters come racing to the forefront of her mind, all of them a culmination of what she'd told him on that Megarian beach. I love you. Lesya swallows the lump in her throat.

"I meant what I said," she tells him. Nothing could change the way she felt about Deimos, not after all the years they stood side-by-side, not after the things they'd done. She could never want anyone else, only the broken boy named Alexios, who grew into a twisted weapon. Lesya leans into his touch, turning her cheek to press a short kiss to the center of his scarred palm. 

He stares, lips parted, a funny feeling in his chest —he thinks it might be remorse. Remorse for not telling her sooner. Remorse for turning his back on her when she'd first told him. "I know," he whispers, leaning forward, still unable to tell Lesya he feels the same too. For now, though, it doesn't matter. She shifts, tilting her chin up so their lips brush against one another. It's hesitant, like when they were younger, but then Deimos' hand slips from her cheek to the nape of her neck, pulling her against him and swallowing the startled gasp that leaves her lips. Lesya melts against him, thinking everything feels right once again now that she's back in Deimos' arms.  

WHEN HE WAKES to the clash of thunder in the middle of the night, Lesya's warmth is no longer pressed against him. Her armor is gone, as are her blades. There are no signs she'd ever been there save for the cut rope and bloody scraps of linen. He peers around the bowel of the trireme, finding only the dark outlines of resting rowers —no need to fight Poseidon's wrath so far from land.

Sitting up, he ties his black-and-gold chiton around his waist, eyes still searching the darkness. Certain Lesya is not there, he rises, making his way above deck with the thrashing wind and pounding rain. The wooden planks are slick from water and the blood of three beheaded Cult guardians. 

Deimos strides to the commander of the guard, his face twisted in anger. They are in open water with no land in sight on any horizon, nor is there any sign of another ship. Lesya should not have slipped through their grasp so easily, should not have slipped through his grasp either. "You let her escape?!" Deimos roars, expression twisting to anger and rage.

"She killed the guards!" the commander refutes, though his tone is also a pitiful cry for clemency.

Deimos bends at the waist, picking up a spear. He surveys the point —dull but still deadly. "Apparently not all of them," he remarks, thrusting the spearhead into the man's gut and forcing him back into the dark, churning depths of the sea. Deimos ascends the steps to the quarterdeck, the wind and rain pelting his face and chest. He grips onto the rail, looking over the deckhands fighting to keep the sail from tearing and across the choppy water surrounding the trireme. Lightning flashes across the sky and far off on the horizon, Deimos sees it, a ship with dark sails emblazoned with an eagle clutching a serpent in its talons —the Adrestia. 

[taglist:  @wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fucking-dip-shit @elizabethroestone @maximalblaze @balmacedapascal @kitkitvm @dynamicorbit @thepreciouspurrsian ] it’s been a hot minute since the last update hasn’t it? 

[sassysatsuma]

Follow You - 3/?

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Odyssey

Rating: M

Characters: Kassandra, Brasidas,

Ships: Kassandra/Brasidas (slow burn, Spartans to friends to lovers)

Summary: “Against all of her better judgement, Kassandra already felt bonded with Brasidas, a friendship that she’d tried to fight for fear of what it might become. He was a man she admired, respected, trusted. A man who in another life may have even been someone who could have had her heart. He was everything she should avoid, everything that could make her vulnerable.A potential weakness that she couldn’t afford.“

An Assassin’s Creed Odyssey AU, where Brasidas joins Kassandra and the rest of the Adrestia’s crew.

Author’s Note: Takes place after ‘And the Streets Run Red’ main quest mission, so be wary of spoilers!!The developing love story of Kassandra and Brasidas in an AU where he joins the crew of Adrestia and becomes Kassandra’s trusted second in command and confidante. The slow burn, Spartans to friends to lovers romance that I wanted Ubisoft to give me. Feel free to like, reblog or signal boost!

Read it below the cut or here on AO3.

“But there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.  And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.”

Mumford & Sons

The closer the Adrestia came to Naxos, the sicker Kassandra became.

It was an odd sensation, hurtling through the waves towards a woman who she hadn't see in 17 years, Myrrine the unattainable goal that she'd been searching for ever since she'd washed up on Kephallonia's shore. Her mater represented everything that Kassandra had been missing; the family she longed to be a part of. Seeing her again had been her true drive ever since the moment she’d lost sight of her on Taygetos, before the world slipped into darkness and she woke up, broken, bruised and alone.

Myrrine had always been so far away, even when Kassandra had her own ship and crew and the means to follow her. But now she was just so close.

Too close. Although Kassandra wanted nothing more than to see her, there was a growing part of her that felt raw, opposed towards the very idea. The seeds of doubt were already in her mind, the worry that she'd not be enough, that she'd be a disappointment. That someone simply being alive and able to find her mater after everything would not be enough. It was terrifying to feel so out of control and vulnerable, a sensation that grew and grew the closer they sailed to Naxos.

Kassandra didn't deal well with feeling weak, in truth she wasn't used to the emotion. And so, she did what she always did when faced with emotions she didn't want to feel. She hid away, retreating into herself for fear of letting the crew see her so exposed.

It almost worked too.

It was the early hours of the morning and Kassandra was below deck, hunkered down in what was considered her "quarters". In reality it was simply a portion of the ship's hull that was cordoned off and called hers, thin planks and curtains cutting it off from where the rest of the crew ate and slept. Inside, Kassandra kept only the sparsest of possessions; a chest for her armour and weapons and a smaller, ornate trinket box that held oil and a bone comb for her hair. The only other furniture was a place for Ikaros to call home, fashioned from an old, gnarled tree branch that protruded from the floor. A favoured resting place for her most trusted friend when he grew tired of circling the skies above the Adrestia and the waves.

Now Ikaros was sitting atop his perch, squawking content whilst Kassandra fed him another hunk of meat from the end of her knife. It was supposed to be hers, but with her appetite well and truly lost, she figured that at least one of them should benefit from the meal.

"Hungry tonight, aren't you?" She smiled softly, stroking the downy feathers at his throat affectionately. Ikaros squawked again, although this time the sound was quieter, as affectionate a sound as the bird could make. "Get some rest, friend. I'm going to need you in the morning."

"Shouldn't you be resting too?" A voice, most definitely not Ikaros' startled her and Kassandra jumped in her skin, cursing under her breath at the chuckle she earned from the intruder. She looked to her left, to where Brasidas held the curtain that covered the doorway to one side. He was grinning as per usual, his face softly lit by the low lamplight of the room.

"I could say the same to you."

"I'm not the one meeting my mater in the morning." He shrugged, surveying her with those eyes that read her so easily. "Should I stay or go?"

"You can stay." Kassandra nodded in response, trying to be as nonchalant as possible in her agreement despite the little voice in the back of her thoughts scolding her for giving them even more time to be alone. She turned her back on him, returning to her bedroll and sitting down with crossed legs. "But close the curtain, I'd rather at least maintain the pretence of privacy."

She watched him closely, his movements careful as he did as she asked, replacing the curtain as though it had never been disturbed. Bare footed, he stepped towards Ikaros, reaching out and rewarding the bird with a soft stroke to the head as he passed. Traitor. Ikaros had accepted Brasidas right from the start, something that the bird did very rarely.

It had been one of the reasons that he had earned Kassandra's trust so easily, her companion the best judge of character that she knew. Now, that trust merely pushed at her resolve.

"I didn't bring wine this time." Brasidas smiled, seating himself in front of her. "I thought you'd disapprove."

"It's probably best to meet my mater not smelling like a taverna." Kassandra laughed. "Thanks."

"There'll be plenty of time for her to learn the truth about her daughter..." He teased, dodging her attempt to swat at him with the back of her hand. "I'm joking of course. You tend to smell a lot better than most mercenaries."

"And you'd know that how, I wonder?" This time it was her turn to taunt him, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. "Sounds like someone has a sordid past?"

"Sordid?" Hardly. I've just fought a lot of mercenaries in my time."

"Sure... fought."

"I fear that you think I'm far more interesting than I actually am, Kassandra."  He raised an eyebrow curiously, still smiling although his eyes were there again, perpetually reading hers. "I'm not known for my gift of seducing every mistios in my path. Apologies."

Just this one then. The thought chased across Kassandra's mind before she could stop it, but she kept her face blank under his scrutiny. Already chiding herself for letting their conversation twist into almost flirting, Kassandra paused, already too aware of the need to shift to more innocent topics. It was then when she realised that for everything Brasidas knew about her, she knew so little about him. He was always so quick to speak about everything but himself, happy to laugh and joke and deflect whenever directly questioned.

She decided there and then that needed to change.

"Maybe it's because we always end up talking about me and never the other way around?"

"But you're so much more interesting than I am, mistios."

"I doubt that."

"Says The Great Eagle-Bearer!" Brasidas grinned. "How could a humble soldier compete with one blessed by Zeus himself?"

"You could tell me and maybe we'll find out?" Kassandra rolled her eyes, her overly inflated title feeling all the more alien when spoken by a man she considered a friend. "Tell me about yourself, Brasidas. Where's home?"

"Sparta."

"Obviously. But where?"

"You misunderstand..." He paused, all at once looking as on edge as she’d ever seen him. She watched as he all but considered lying to her, an anxious hand rubbing at the back of his head.

"… Home has always been an abstract idea to me. There was a place where I grew up, yes. A family too. But it isn't something I long for in the same way that maybe you do."

"And where is this family?"

"Dead, mostly.” His reply was blunt, but the sigh that left his lips betrayed his true emotions. “My mater went to Elysium not long after I was born. I’m told my pater was never the same after she died. He was Tellis, a man from a humble family but as loyal a Spartan as you could find. He was the man who taught me and my brother the importance of our shields, who pushed us to embrace our agoge training and to honour the Gods."

"You have a brother?"

"Had." A sad smile flickered across Brasidas' features. For a moment his eyes left hers and flicked around the room in a desperate attempt to buy himself time. When his gaze returned to hers, there was a sadness reflected in his eyes, although it was also tinged with pride. "Iasonas. He was my elder by a couple of years and the very image of my pater. We trained through the agoge together, then sailed together as soldiers. He was everything I ever wanted to be."

"How did he die?"

"In battle with the Athenians. We were separated, Iasonas chosen to lead a garrison of men whilst I was sent abroad to spy. His ship was surrounded by the Athenian fleet and overcome. I was told that he died honourably."

"Brasidas..." Kassandra found her mouth empty of words, guilt creeping into her thoughts at the realisation that she by being so wrapped up in her own grief she’d never stopped to think about what tragedies might have befallen her friend. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, his death isn't your burden to bear. It was painful, for a time... I held myself accountable for not being there with him when he needed me. But I know now that if I’d been there, pater would have lost two sons instead of one that day."

"Everything you said about Phoibe..."

"I’d known that loss.” Brasidas nodded in agreement, fixing her with a kind smile. “That night above Athens, I saw everything in you that had filled me when Iasonas died. Seeing a friend go through that was difficult. I wanted to help."

"You did." Kassandra stated bluntly, caught somewhere between sympathy and empathy for his loss. "Others tried, but only you managed it."

"The Gods have given me a great gift, to be able to get through that thick skull of yours." He laughed softly, at home on more familiar ground. Leaning back on his hands he surveyed her with curious eyes. "Or perhaps... it's because we are more alike than we think?"

"Which mountain did your pater throw you from?" Kassandra teased in return, her smirk breaking into a full-blown smile when he laughed heartily at her joke. There was always a pure kind of happiness that flooded her soul whenever she made him laugh, the sight as beautiful as it was endearing. "We could compare scars."

"I imagine pater wanted to throw me from a mountain many times growing up. He was always so frustrated with me. Iasonas was always the better fighter, but I had an interest in so much more. I lapped up every story about the Gods, thought myself a modern-day Prometheus for a time with all my schemes. As I grew older, my interest switched to history and politics. I cared more for how Sparta was ruled than for fighting purely for its honour."

"And pater didn't approve?"

"Pater didn't understand." Brasidas shrugged. "Politics, history... these were things he considered less important. My interest in them only seemed to anger him. He used to joke that I was the most Athenian of Spartans... but it was never something that he took pride in."

"He sounds as blind as Nikolaos." Kassandra shook her head, his words ringing all too familiar. "You fight better than most Spartans I've met, but a country needs more than just warriors. I don't pretend to understand the Athenians and their symposiums but their enthusiasm about philosophy and learning isn't always a sign of weakness."

"And that is why I like you, Kassandra. You've travelled, seen the world for what it really is. Seen both Sparta and Athens for what they truly are. People like us see the best and the worst in both. Our paters are from a different world. A different time."

"For all his faults, Nikolaos was always proud of me. He found no weakness in showing it. I can't imagine what it was like for you."

"It was a childhood, no worse of better than any other. My pater was a great man and I was fortunate to have my brother." Brasidas smiled fondly. "Just as you are fortunate to have Myrrine.”

"And what if I'm a disappointment?" Kassandra's voice faltered at that, her anxieties suddenly crashing back to the forefront of her thoughts. She looked up at him with worried eyes. "What if she expected more?”

"There isn't a mater in the world who wouldn't be proud of you. Believe me, you couldn't be anything more if you tried."

"And you are biased." Kassandra shook her head, her hands reaching up to comb her fingertips through her knotted hair. For once it was loose, hanging down past her left shoulder in unruly thick tendrils. It was only when the hair passed from between her fingers that she realised her hands were trembling. "We're getting close."

"Are you ready?"

"How can I be? I'm about to meet the woman I've feared dead for so long, a woman who thinks that I'm dead. How do you even begin to prepare for that?"

"I'm not sure you can." Without further word, Brasidas stood, a fluid movement that startled her with its suddenness. Half expecting him to leave, Kassandra watched closely as he stepped around her, lowering himself to his knees again behind her on the bedroll. In an act of by now characteristic kindness, his hands chased hers away from her hair and he took it between his own fingers, gently pulling the strands into a braid identical to the one that she normally wore. "The Fates have already decided your path, Kassandra. All that remains is for you to follow their lead."

It was the gentlest gesture she could remember. His fingers were soft, knowledgeable as they twisted her hair together diligently, a constant ghosting presence against her scalp that brought with it more comfort than it should have. Without realising, Kassandra relaxed into his touch, long held tension dissipating from her shoulders and neck. She couldn't remember the last time such a small action had brought her so much peace, her heart aching for the closeness that she worked so hard to deny it.

And then it hit her like a wave. Phoibe. Memories of all the nights on Kephallonia when she would let her braid her long hair, whilst her friend spoke wistfully of eagles and blessings from Zeus. On those nights they had talked for hours, Kassandra telling Phoibe what little she remembered of Sparta whilst she told her tales of when her parents had been alive. Those nights had been the start of them becoming like family, Kassandra living in the fantasy of the childhood Phoibe had shared with her loving parents.

A childhood they'd both been robbed of all too soon.

Suddenly the pain was back, reminding her that Phoibe would never beg to braid her hair again.

Vulnerability followed in an instant, playing on her anxiety and pushing her over the brink. As Brasidas tied off her braid, Kassandra felt a tear slip from her welling eyes, the salty liquid painting a long, slow line down across her skin. She turned her head away, praying to whichever God might be listening that he wouldn't see her weakness, but with Brasidas nothing went unnoticed.

"Kassandra?"

"It's nothing." She shook her head dismissively, pulling her newly formed braid gently from his hands in the process. She turned, looking to where Ikaros sat on his perch and blinked away her remaining tears. "You just reminded me of Phoibe."

"There's no shame in feeling."

"But there is shame in weakness." Kassandra sighed, returning her gaze to his. "There's more honour in strength."

"Now who sounds like a stubborn Spartan?" Brasidas' smile possessed a warmth that blinded her and she faltered, transfixed by the creases that framed the very corners of his lips. "Don't turn into your pater, Kassandra. You'll break my heart."

With a tenderness that she'd denied herself of for so long, Brasidas reached forward, his thumb and forefinger resting under her chin and slowly lifting it upwards so that she looked upwards. All at once, Kassandra's heart thundered in her chest; the sudden realisation of just how close he was dawning on her. Frozen in place by brown eyes that had fully ensnared her, she was helpless to do anything else but watch as he pressed closer, his lips grazing hers with a gentleness that felt like a question.

His question didn't go unanswered for long.

She kissed him back, leaning into his touch, completely lost to every inch of him. For a single, blissful moment, they stayed that way, locked in a soft embrace that threatened to end them both. Brasidas never pushed for anything more, although his hand moved to frame her face, his thumb rubbing away the damp trail her tears had left behind. When he finally broke the kiss, he didn't withdraw, instead keeping their faces close as he rested his forehead against hers.

"We shouldn't." Kassandra spoke first, her words betraying her emotions as she struggled to save face. She didn't pull away, she didn't have the heart to, but the beating of it in her chest had her scrambling to save herself from falling further despite it all.

"... We aren't." Brasidas smiled, still so close that his breath tickled against her lips. "You think too much."

"And you don't think enough."

"Perhaps that's what the Fates intended." He pulled back at that, broadening the gap between them. For a moment there was silence, his lips parted as though he had more to add. Instead, he lowered his gaze, smiling to himself before moving to stand. Kassandra started to stand too, but his outstretched hand stopped her, a shake of his head telling her that he didn't expect her to follow. "Sleep first. Focus on your mater. I... should have picked my timing better."

With that, Brasidas was gone, the room feeling so much colder without his presence within it.

Ikaros squawked indignantly in the background, but Kassandra barely heard him, her hand tracing her lips as she fought to process the kiss they'd shared. Her mind was split, halved by the fear of letting him get so close and by the relief of knowing that he cared for her just as much as she cared for him. It was a strange duality, one that comforted just as much as it scared her.

He was a weak point, a chink in her armour to be exploited. But he was also a place of strength and comfort when she was determined to give herself neither. Perhaps Brasidas was right. Perhaps the Fates had made them to be as two sides of the coin on purpose. Or perhaps that was simply Kassandra's traitorous heart talking.

With the night only promising more questions and precious few answers, Kassandra took her friend's advice, rolling over towards the oil lamp that lit the small room and extinguishing it, plunging both herself and Ikaros into total darkness. Fumbling for her blanket in the darkness, she pulled its comforting weight up and around her body, settling into her bedroll and the warmth that came with it.

Perhaps a rested mind would bring the clarity she so desperately needed. Even if it didn't, at least the peace of sleep would give her relief from the emotions flooding her system, if only for a little while.

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

twenty-three - one day

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

LESYA CRACKS HER knuckles before winding a piece of linen around her hands —Kassandra is doing the same. The Eagle Bearer is only a few hundred drachmae away from being able to pay Xenia for the information regarding her mother, but after taking so many contracts and doing menial tasks in the seas surrounding Keos a day’s break is well earned. Kass decides to press her luck and spar with Lesya, she needs to be kept on her toes and there is no better person to do so.

The match does not last long. “By the gods,” Kassandra pants, hunched forward with her hands on her knees —she thought it would be a fair fight if neither of them used their weapons. All her experience as a misthios could not compete with the severe and ruthless training Lesya had endured. She is a living weapon, whether the twin blades are in her grasp or not. “I’m glad we won’t face one another in battle.” 

Kassandra and Barnabas take their leave of the beach, but before Lesya has a chance to unwrap the cloth around her hands' Tundareos sinks into a boxer’s stance. He smiles —having watched his sister and the misthios compete, but now he wishes to try his luck against her again. A rematch for how easily she bested him on the ship. He fairs just as poorly as Kassandra and comes away with a bruise blossoming on his shoulder and rubbing the stiffness away in his pectoral. 

Tundareos tosses his sore arm around Lesya’s shoulders, both of them heading back to Koressia for the evening. Halfway to her brother’s small home, a glint of gold catches her attention. She slows to a stop, gaze following the hooded figure. Deimos. Waving Tundareos ahead, she falls back and slides into an alley between two burned storefronts. Even cloaked, she recognizes him —no one else holds their shoulders and head the way he does. Catching him, Lesya reaches out and jerks the dark hood back. “Why are you following us?” 

Deimos spins on heel —there is a strange glint in his eyes, one Lesya cannot place but it fades when he steels his resolve and hardens his expression. “Orders,” he says, producing a small scroll of papyrus from his belt. 

She takes the slip from him, quickly reading the messy script. Athens is at a tipping point. We cannot let the Eagle Bearer return to the city or our fallen champion. Stop them by any means. Orders mean nothing if they are not executed. “And I thought it was because you missed me,” she remarks, feigning hurt despite the kink in her lips. He rolls his eyes, closing the distance between them with a single stride. 

“Lesya–” he shakes his head. The way he says her name is an unspoken plea. Don’t do this, don’t make this harder. Deimos lifts his hand, cupping her cheek —gentle assurance this is not a dream as she frequents his often. People fear him, but not Lesya. She hangs onto his touch as though it is a lifeline in a stormy sea. With a sigh, her laurel eyes slip shut. 

“You’ve never been a good liar, Deimos,” Lesya reminds him —his touch falls into nothingness. Lying, like stealth, was her forte. When force would not work but sweet words would, she was always the one to claim their victories. It was only Elpenor’s hushed agreement that spared him after he stole Lesya away in the moonlight —paving the way for her freedom and his torment. He glances at their feet, hands turning into fists at his side.

A fleeting, bright smile crosses her lips when she tilts his chin up, thumb finding a scar hidden under the stubble of his beard —tawny-gold eyes boring into her own. Lesya searches his face, finding the same troubled glint as before. Something is wrong, though he will not speak of it. “Alexios,” she whispers, wanting him to hear the name and who he truly is. He is not Deimos anymore than she had been Enyo. It is all a lie in the end, though repeated falsehoods often take the appearance of truth. 

Stepping back, Deimos turns and peers out to the docks from the narrow alley. “That’s not who I am.” He says as though he is trying to convince himself. Alexios died in the night on the slopes of Mount Taygetos and Deimos was born into the world —bloody and broken. A testament to how he would live life. 

Lesya slips her hand into his, feeling the rough and raised scar across his palm against hers. A reminder of the blood he has shed to keep her safe. It does not matter if he is Deimos or Alexios, Lesya only knows she loves him. “You could be, though.” He looks back at her and spreads his fingers —folding them around her hand but says nothing. For you, he thinks I could be. “Stay with me,” she breathes, hopeful.

But Deimos knows it does not matter how much he wants to stay, he cannot. The Cult of Kosmos will forever haunt them should he leave, so he stays for her —to keep her safe, to keep them from finding her. Every monstrous thing he has done has been for her. And all he can manage to say is, “I can’t,” even if the melancholy in his dark eyes say otherwise.  

“Then stay with me tonight,” Lesya amends. Deimos will not deny her the night —they each need a good night’s rest that comes with lying next to one another. She does not know where else to go on Keos, so she leads Deimos to Tundareos’ home and points up to the rooftop. They both scale the side of the stone house silently, falling back into pallet beneath moonrise. Absently, Lesya takes one of his arms, turning it over in her lap and begins to unlace the ties of his gilded vambrace. 

He watches her, heart beating in his throat as she follows the scar on his forearm with her fingertips. Lesya flicks her eyes up, meeting his steady gaze. For her, it is easy to tell something is wrong. Deimos has never been one for words, but now he is strangely quiet, and his tawny-gold eyes hold more pain than ever. “What happened?” She asks, reaching for his other arm. 

The gathering of the Cultists flashes at the forefront of his mind. Everything is a lie, he wants to say, but the words do not come. A weapon to be used until dulled then discarded he thinks, bitterly. Deimos shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he answers, looking past the burned buildings to the sea, “the timing isn’t right.” He still must sail for Athens before Kleon suspects defiance. Lesya slides the second vambrace from his arm, laying it next to the first and says nothing. 

Golden light from the setting sun turns Lesya’s copper hair to flame. Mesmerized, Deimos does not even notice she has unhooked the fading white pteruges at his shoulders and unclasped the black-and-gold cuirass until they both fall away. He swallows the lump in his throat when she crawls into his lap, her hands cupping his face. “I’ve missed this,” she whispers. Lesya does not miss the days of torment, but she misses the nights, his touch, falling asleep next to him. 

Deimos’ smiles, briefly —arms wrapping around Lesya’s middle, and then she surges forward, kissing him, unable to bear it any longer. He reclines, drawing her back with him, lips never parting until she rolls to the side —propping her chin upon his chest. “One day,” Deimos rasps, a promise —one day we’ll be together. But one day seems so far away. Lesya smiles again, soft and warm, as she settles into his embrace, hand resting over the steady beat of his heart.

When morning comes, Lesya is not eager to let Deimos go, she holds onto the moment for a long as she can before helping him into his armor. He rises from the pallet and sighs, knowing he must travel with the tides. She pulls him back after he takes the first step, jumping up onto her toes. He leans into the kiss, fingers gliding through a waterfall of silken copper. 

“Until our paths cross again,” Lesya murmurs, the words dancing across his cheek. Deimos presses his lips against hers again, committing the curve and cracks to memory —he never knows which kiss could be their last. Breaking away from the kiss, he slips from Lesya’s gentle embrace. Their paths will cross sooner than either anticipates. 

In the east, the sun continues its march upward into the sky. She stands there for what feels like hours, having watched the Aerion sail from the docks and into the horizon. Silently, Tundareos joins her on the rooftop and engulfs her in his arms. Only then does she notice the dampness on her cheeks and the taste of salt on her lips. Her brother holds her tight, without question —he had seen Lesya and Deimos in the night. 

“Kassandra has been searching for you,” he says when she steps from the embrace, wiping her eyes. He told the misthios he had not seen his sister since the previous evening whilst knowing she lay asleep on his roof. “Here–” Tundareos hands her a rolled flatbread filled with honey and mashed fig. Lesya takes the small meal with a smile as they both head toward the Adrestia to find Kass. 

The Eagle Bearer has already met with Xenia —learning her mother was once a pirate sailing at the leader’s side under the moniker Phoenix but had parted ways some time ago. News of Myrrine is not all she has to offer. Herodotus has received word from Athens, bearing ill news from the city. Sickness has settled over the city and spurred mobs into riots. Athens is in danger of collapse, a tidal shift in the war. Though she wishes to search for her mother, Kassandra knows they must go to Athens. 

Lesya only nods, knowing Deimos will be there and remembering the scroll written in Kleon’s hand. We cannot let the Eagle Bearer return to the city or our fallen champion. Her thoughts are broken when Tundareos claps his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll sail for Athens, too,” he announces —he may sail under Xenia’s colors, but the Ippalkimon is his ship to command. She looks up at her brother, grateful to the gods that they had led them to one another.  

 @wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fjor-ok-skadi @fucking-dip-shit

[sassysatsuma]

Follow You 2/?

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Odyssey

Rating: M

Characters: Kassandra, Brasidas, 

Ships: Kassandra/Brasidas (slow burn, Spartans to friends to lovers)

Summary: "Against all of her better judgement, Kassandra already felt bonded with Brasidas, a friendship that she’d tried to fight for fear of what it might become. He was a man she admired, respected, trusted. A man who in another life may have even been someone who could have had her heart. He was everything she should avoid, everything that could make her vulnerable.A potential weakness that she couldn’t afford.“

An Assassin’s Creed Odyssey AU, where Brasidas joins Kassandra and the rest of the Adrestia’s crew.

Author’s Note: Takes place after ‘And the Streets Run Red’ main quest mission, so be wary of spoilers!!The developing love story of Kassandra and Brasidas in an AU where he joins the crew of Adrestia and becomes Kassandra’s trusted second in command and confidante. The slow burn, Spartans to friends to lovers romance that I wanted Ubisoft to give me. Feel free to like, reblog or signal boost!

Read it below the cut or here on AO3.

The calm waters off the coast of Attika did not last.

It was as if the cult had entreated with Poseidon himself, sending all of his wrath to bear down on the Adrestia as soon as they left sight of the shoreline. The calm waters of the bay quickly had become a thing of the past and the Adrestia had lurched and heaved, her bow swamped as it crashed against dark, jet black waves. Every able member of the crew was set to task on deck, fighting to pull in the gigantic main sail whilst others tried desperately to keep the ship on course and away from any sharp, ship killing rocks.

Kassandra had left command to Barnabas and his decades of experience, instead rushing as fast she was able to the prow of the ship, bailing out the water that washed over the bow from the hulking, swelling waves beneath them. With Brasidas and Odessa at her side, they'd worked tirelessly through the night, until their backs ached, and their drenched clothes clung to their bodies like a second skin.

In the commotion, Kassandra had sworn that she'd seen Brasidas laughing, as if the seas were just another opponent for the Spartan to outwit and overcome.

For Kassandra, the storm was the beginning of the worst hangover of her life.

By dawn's first light, Poseidon relented. The grey pink sky, although still mostly blanketed in cloud broke just enough to allow the sun's rays to shine back down onto the shimmering water and with it the wind dropped and the deadly swells lost their anger. As the sun began to steadily rise in the sky, the true damage of the storm was brought to light, the Adrestia battered after her twilight battle. The deck was a mess of splintered planks and debris, the main sail partially hoisted from its moorings, caught by the high winds before the crew had been able to fully secure it. Men and women littered the deck, pale and shell shocked from their night of excursion, those who had made it through the storm unscathed tending to the injured with water and whatever supplies they had.

It was a miracle that even amongst all of the chaos, no lives had been lost. Kassandra had thanked the Gods for that, promising them a proper sacrifice when they next made landfall.

Bitterly however, she wondered how she hadn't already sacrificed enough.

"You're bleeding." Kassandra had been slumped over at the back of the ship when Brasidas found her, her aching head cradled in her hands. His words were accompanied by a squeeze of her left shoulder, his concerned smile what greeted her when she finally reopened her eyes.

"What?"

"Your arm." His touch left her shoulder and he kneeled beside her, deft hands already extending her arm outwards towards him so that he could examine the damage. Kassandra winced, a hiss leaving her lips as she suddenly became aware of the deep slash across her left bicep, blood running in rivulets down her arm. It wasn't a deep, threatening injury, but could still become badly infected if she left it untreated.

"I'll clean it." She tried to shrug him off, but it was a weak action, her head still hammering within the confines of her skull. Her right arm reached across her body, pulling at her skin to examine the wound closer. She hissed. "Malaka."

"Let me. Barnabas will only have me scrubbing the deck if he catches me idle." Brasidas smiled, reaching for the water skin that was looped around his belt. Unfastening it, he uncorked the bottle with his teeth, before gently pouring cool water into the wound, washing away the blood as it was flushed down her arm and onto the wooden deck below. "It's barely a scratch, you'll live."

"A shame." Kassandra laughed darkly, wincing at how the sudden noise made her head pound. "Death would be a mercy right about now."

"The perils of honeyed wine."

"Maybe someday I'll learn to avoid it."

"I wouldn't count on it." Brasidas laughed, taking a clean rag from the pouch also secured to his belt and dabbing gently at the cut to dry it. "I've met both of your parents, remember? Hard-headedness runs in your family, mistios."

"Fuck you." Kassandra muttered, although there was a tinge of humour in her words that didn't go unnoticed by her friend. "Stubbornness is a Spartan trait that ails you just as much as me."

"And yet I feel absolutely fine this morning."

"Malaka... I had a head start on you with the drinking. Had you been there the entire evening, it would be a different story."

"Sounds like a challenge, mistios." He smiled, although his eyes didn't look up from his task as he wrapped the makeshift bandage around her arm, securing it with an almost impossibly neat knot. "One night I might take you up on it."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from the Great Brasidas of Sparta." Kassandra smirked, admiring his work on the bandage. She twisted her arm experimentally in its socket, impressed when the bandage didn't hinder her movement. Looking back to the man kneeling in front of her, she raised an eyebrow, for the first time taking in his dishevelled appearance. He was still just as drenched from the night before as she was, his armour lost like hers and replaced by the grey linen robes he wore underneath. His short hair was stuck down against the skin of his forehead and around his ears and the normally perfect braid that crowned his head was messy, the thick strands loose from their confines and sticking out at all angles. Kassandra laughed, her smile teasing. "I'll admit, you've looked better, friend."

"As have you." Brasidas took her comment with good humour, straightening up so that he was no longer kneeling in front of her. "You're so pale this morning I half expected to find you spilling your guts over the side of the ship."

"So sorry to disappoint. But at least I have an excuse."

"You have me there." He grinned, watching as she stood slowly to stand beside him. "But truly, how do you feel?" In a way that was becoming characteristic of him, Brasidas' tone switched, the warmth of his smile there but accompanied by a more caring, knowing tone in his voice.

"Better for having a friend who understands." Kassandra spoke plainly, nudging him with her elbow in an attempt to show the sentiment she felt where her words failed her. "It'll take a lot of time as you said. But thanks to you I feel... less alone than I did last night."

"Perhaps it’s a sign that you should talk more, eh? You have a fine crew here, Kassandra. It's plain to see that every man and woman on this crew cares for you. I'm confident they'd all listen, should you give them the chance."

"Now you're starting to sound like Barnabas. Maybe it was a mistake after all, letting you join the crew. The last thing I need is someone else who talks more sense than I do."

"Apologies. I'll try to keep my wisdom to myself." Brasidas beamed at her. "It will be difficult, but I'll try. For you."

Their shared laughter lifted a weight off of Kassandra's shoulders, but it was soon replaced by the glowering expression of Aspasia, who made her way up the steps towards them, still dry and relatively well kept thanks to her evening in the ship's hull with Herodotus. The storm had been no place for either of them and Kassandra had sent them both down there for their own safety, but in the light of morning when she was sore and exhausted, the sight of the woman looking in such perfect condition still riled Kassandra more than it should have. She sighed to herself, already anticipating the source of the displeasure on the other woman's features as she approached.

"A word, mistios?" Aspasia nodded in Brasidas' direction, although the smile that she wore was blatantly false. "Alone?"

"Of course. I should be helping Barnabas with the sail anyway." Ever aware of his surroundings, Brasidas didn't need telling twice. Ignoring Aspasia all but completely, he placed a hand on his chest, giving Kassandra a respectful, shallow bow. "You know where I'll be if you need me."

"... Aspasia, I trust you slept well?" Kassandra said as soon as he was out of earshot, almost managing to mask the sarcasm in her voice. Almost.

"Jokes, Kassandra, really?"

"Sometimes it's for the best. But tell me, how can I help you?"

"I would have words about our newest addition to the crew." She folded her arms, no elaboration necessary as to who she was referring to. "I would have thought it prudent to speak to myself and the others before you made such a decision."

"There was little time." Kassandra waved her hand at Aspasia dismissively. "I was given an opportunity and I took it."

"Yet there was time enough for you to drink yourself into a stupor?" The other woman raised an eyebrow.

"My best friend was murdered. Or had you forgotten?"

"You speak as though you're the only one to mourn Phoibe. Or the only one who lost someone they loved to the cult." Aspasia's words matched Kassandra's in bitterness, but her eyes showed more fire. "I loved that child and felt her loss just as keenly as you. But we have obligations... priorities that have to come first." She paused, her voice softer this time. "There will be a time to grieve for them the way that they both deserve, Kassandra. I promise you."

"Then I apologise. I acted rashly, without thinking."

"Can the same be said about your decision to bring Brasidas with us?"

"No." Kassandra shook her head, resolute. "That is the one thing that I don't regret."

"I don't trust him."

"No one is asking you too."

"His presence on this ship would suggest otherwise."

"My ship, the last time I checked." Kassandra rolled her eyes, surveying the woman in front of her carefully. It was difficult, she appreciated, the fact that in Aspasia's fall from grace in Athens she had gone from a role of leadership to one now little more than a refugee, but Kassandra's good will only extended so far when it came to Aspasia's need to throw around her advice and orders as though the Adrestia was hers. She had already irritated Barnabas to the point of madness and they had barely been sailing a day, the captain withdrawing to the other end of the ship whenever Aspasia was near.

Bastard. Kassandra needed the support, especially then when the sun itself felt loud.

"You've trusted me so far, what's stopping you in trusting me about this?" Kassandra's words were measured, but there was a stern quality there that she knew the woman would hear. "I love this ship and its crew. I would never do anything to jeopardise either of them."

"True, but in this I fear that your judgement might be clouded. He's a Spartan, Kassandra. And a spy." The words left Aspasia's tongue bitter, her arms folding again as she looked down the length of the ship, eyes fixed on where Brasidas was stood, long, lean body stretched out as he helped the crew inspect the main sail. Kassandra's gaze followed but for a moment, although she was careful not to let it linger. The last thing she needed was Aspasia getting any delusions about her motives for bringing him with them.

Even if there was some truth within those delusions.

"And he's a friend. What of it?"

"You open us up to unnecessary risk-"

"I bring with us another warrior to fight the cult." Kassandra hissed, a tired hand rubbing at her eyes. "Brasidas and I have spilled blood together and have bled the same. I trust him to be at my back when I face the cult. Considering that this is my ship... I think that is all that matters."

"You're as hard-headed as Perikles." Aspasia shook her head, throwing her hands up into the air. "I pray to the Gods that you don't find the same fate."

"And if I do find myself at the end of a Spartan spear, I'm sure you'll be satisfied in knowing that you were right all along."

"By the Gods, Kassandra! That isn't what I meant..." She paused, clearly reigning herself in from another outburst. "But you're a captain now. A leader... sometimes you have to trust the intuition of someone other than yourself."

"And I have. The only problem here is that in this one instance, I've chosen not to take your advice."

Aspasia was speechless at that, her mouth hanging open as if Kassandra had torn the words from her very lips. In reality, Kassandra had no desire to argue with the woman, her frustration and bitterness exacerbated by her own exhaustion. It was frustrating, yes, having to defend a friend she genuinely did not believe to be a risk, but in reality the real betrayal in Kassandra's heart came from the feeling that Aspasia didn't trust her judgement, even after she had sacrificed everything and done every single task the woman had set for her. It hurt, to be scolded as a child when she was anything but, her actions being the one thing that had kept Aspasia alive in the first place.

Kassandra took a breath, using the time carefully to push away her frustration and keep her composure. She'd had every intention of continuing their debate, her mind desperately searching for the right words with which to make Aspasia understand. However, she was robbed of the chance unceremoniously as Barnabas appeared, hovering in the corner of her vision, his face giving away the fact that the news he brought was anything but good.

"Barnabas?" Turning her attentions away from the angry Athenian before her, Kassandra looked to her captain. "How's the ship?"

"Wounded, commander. The hull is taking on water, slowly, but without repairs we won't be able to stay afloat forever." He sighed, his good eye giving one quick, confused glance to Aspasia. "The main sail is also torn. Not completely, but enough to weaken it."

"Do we have what we need to make repairs?"

"Some, but we need dock to make them properly. Poseidon might be appeased for now, but we're unlikely to survive another storm if his mood changes. At least the winds were a blessing of sorts as they drove us towards Keos. Docking there would allow us to make repairs and trade for any salvage we don't already have."

"The Pirate Islands?" Aspasia finally found her tongue again. "We'll lose what little we have left of the ship before we even have the chance to repair it."

"Xenia owes us more than a few favours."

"And we trust a pirate to honour anything that she owes?" Aspasia shook her head. "If we push on to Delos, I have friends there who'll help us."

"Delos is too risky, commander. I agree it would be a safer option, but with the low wind we are relying entirely on our oars. The crew are exhausted... it will take everything they have just to make it to Keos."

"Then we have no choice." Kassandra nodded, acknowledging Aspasia's concerns but trusting in Barnabas' experience more. The man had never failed her and she doubted that a better captain existed within the Aegean. "Plot a course for Koressia. We'll dock and make repairs and in the meantime I'll lead a small hunting party to gather food for the crew."

"This is madness!" Aspasia hissed.

"The Gods have left little choice. Delos would be the safer option, but I won't risk everything just to reach its shores when Keos is so close. I'm sorry."

"Then let us pray that you are right and Xenia is feeling generous. Otherwise everything we lost yesterday will have been for nothing."

 -x-x-x-x-

 In the end the Gods had little to do with Xenia's generosity. Ultimately it was the promise of a future treasure hunt and a fat coin purse that swung her favour, plus an additional expense to the steward at Koressia dock which he likely pocketed for himself.

Aspasia was displeased, Barnabas was worried about his ship and crew and Kassandra cared little for the lost gold, considering it little more than inconvenience in the face of what they would gain from docking somewhere so close by.

Even so, she left a full guard on board the Adrestia at all times. Just in case.

The crew were starving, the majority of the dried provisions in the hull ruined by water damage. Barnabas had been able to procure some replacements, although food on Keos was never in plentiful bounty. But Kassandra knew that if for nothing but the morale of her warriors, she would need to provide them with something more than salt fish and stale bread, fresh meat with which they could fill their bellies and recover their strength from the exhaustion of the night before.

Fortunately boar were a plentiful commodity on Keos, provided a person had skill enough to hunt them without finding themselves gored by their formidable tusks. Although her plan had been to stalk them alone, Brasidas was having none of it and insisted he accompany her and so, once the height of the noonday sun had passed, they headed up into the hills above Koressia, loaded with bows and spears.

A fresh water spring had given them the ground they needed, a lure to the thirsty animals that had them drop their guard in the heat of the afternoon sun. From their vantage position in the bushes, Kassandra had managed to kill the larger of the two boars with a precise arrow shot to its neck. Whilst the beast had tumbled to the floor, squealing as its blood flowed to redden the spring, Brasidas had made an attempt on the second animal. His spear had flown through the air, hard and fast, striking the animal dead centre in its chest. It fell with a whimper, twitching impaled and bleeding beside its companion on the floor.

"You should have brought a bow." Kassandra said with folded arms, watching as Brasidas finished off his boar with his hunting knife. "Your way just gets your hands dirty."

"My pater called a bow a coward's weapon." He smiled, wiping the dagger and his hands on a rag before placing it back into his scabbard. "The most Spartan of all Spartans."

"He should have met my pater. They would have been great friends."

"Perhaps, although I don’t come from such grand beginnings as you, Kassandra of Sparta."

"Maybe I should teach you?"

"Very funny." Brasidas rolled his eyes. "I have some skill with a bow, just nothing compared to you."

"Some might the say the same about your skill with a spear…"

"My heart..." Grinning, Brasidas grasped at his chest, feigning a stab wound from her words. "You wound me, Kassandra."

"And you make it too easy." Hunching over her kill, Kassandra hogtied it with ropes as best as she was able, pulling the cords tight to make the animal as easy to carry as possible. "Besides, you're fun to tease."

"Is that so?" She looked up just in time to catch Brasidas cock an eyebrow and for a split second she feared she'd overstepped, having spoken the words so freely and without thinking. There was a pause as he straightened up, before a smirk pushed against his features. "How about a wager, mistios?"

"A wager? On what?"

"We fight, you and I. No spears, bows or blades."

"You want to spar?"

"I want you to put your money where your mouth is. 100 gold pieces says that I can beat you." Brasidas folded his arms across his broad chest. "... Unless you're scared?"

"Please, the only thing I'm scared of is damaging your pride." Kassandra laughed. "Where do you want to do this?"

"The here and now suits me. Unless you feel the need to train?"

"Malaka..." Kassandra hissed, beginning to unbuckle her armour and weapons. "When I beat you and I will... just remember that you asked for this, Spartan."

It was a good thing that the hills above Koressia were sparsely travelled. Their prizes stowed away high in a nearby tree, Kassandra had little doubt that they must have cut a ridiculous image, stripped down to their respective linen robes and dancing around each other like circling sharks. Even then, Kassandra cared less, the Spartan she pretended no longer to be unable to turn down a fight, even with a friend. Even so, the mere thought of sparring had given her a buzz of excitement, the promise of being able to blow off steam in a controlled environment with someone that she trusted. It felt like the closest thing to a remedy for her frustrations that she had been offered in a long time. A part of her wondered if Brasidas was shrewd enough to know that, that his motivations were less about competition and more about her, but she pushed them aside, deciding that in reality, his true drive mattered little. All that mattered now was the fact that she'd beat him, one on one, hand to hand, with no weapons or armour standing in her way.

The first punch that he threw in her direction however made her doubt herself.

There was no hesitation in his movements as he came at her, his first colliding with her blocking arm with enough force to make her muscles ripple. He swung around with a left hook and she countered, ducking underneath his blow and pivoting towards his exposed flank. He read her movements perfectly and twisted as she moved in with a punch of her own, batting her hands away with more force than she'd anticipated. With a breathless laugh, Kassandra lost her footing, stepping backwards to regain her balance.

Her friend could read her too well. The only solution? To act in a way he wouldn't anticipate.

She came at him again with full force, faking as hard as she could that she was about to land a blow to his nose, a quick and easily frustrated move that he would see coming. He anticipated her perfectly, moving to cover his face just as she ducked at the last minute, a heavy punch connecting with his stomach. Groaning with the impact from the hit, he doubled over with just enough presence of mind to dodge forwards, protecting himself from a follow up blow.

Visibly winded, Brasidas straightened up, a smug grin plastered across his face. He looked as though he was enjoying the every second.

This time it was Brasidas that mixed up his fighting style. He came at her with impossible speed, choosing agility over strength this time, bombarding her with hits that she barely had the time to counter. The speed caused Kassandra to falter and a punch hit her squarely in the jaw, forcing her lips against her teeth from the impact. Tasting iron, she ducked another one of his hits, spitting blood.

She thought she had him, but he caught her off guard, grasping a handful of her shirt and yanking her backwards at the exact moment she'd tried to twirl around to face him, the momentum causing her to fly backwards to the floor. Landing flat on her back, Kassandra spluttered, watching him advance on her with the smuggest of grins. Switching to defensive tactics, she played up her breathlessness, allowing him to draw close enough to be in range of her legs. In a single fluid movement, she kicked upwards, both legs wrapping around one of his and yanking it out from underneath him. Although strong, Brasidas dropped to the floor like a stone and from there it was a mad scramble on her part, racing to capitalise on her victory and she crawled over him, her hips pinning him in place whilst her forearm holding him down by the throat.

"Nice try..." She laughed, exhausted, her arm pressing against his throat so closely that she could feel his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "... Maybe I should go easier on you next time?"

"The opposite... I had to get you angry before you started fighting to win." He wriggled underneath her grip, although his eyes bore into hers in a way that Kassandra didn't quite know how to handle. "Maybe next time."

"There's going to be a next time?"

"Why not? We learn the most about each other whilst we're fighting." He smirked up at her from the floor. "Although we might have to stop fighting for money. You'll bankrupt me."

There was something in that smile of his that sent Kassandra's heart racing, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. The way in which his skin creased at his eyes, warm brown pools looking up at her in admiration; it weakened her more than she could already afford. Combined with the close proximity of their bodies, his torso wedged between her thighs so that she could feel the hard muscle of his body through his tunic, Kassandra was stumbling, losing all control of her thoughts with every second that she stayed still.

She tore herself away as quickly as she could.

Standing up promptly, she offered him her good arm, pulling him upwards from the floor when he accepted it. Still avoiding his gaze, she wiped the blood from her mouth on the back of her hand, headed towards her discarded gear which thankfully kept her back turned to him whilst she gathered herself.

"We should get back. The crew will be threatening to kill and eat Aspasia if we're any longer with their meat."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" She heard Brasidas laugh behind her before he appeared at her side, accepting his armour that she handed to him. "What? It's just a thought."

"She doesn't like you."

"That's not exactly a surprise." He shrugged, securing his chest plate. "I can't say that I trust her either... I've always found it more difficult to measure a person who fights with words rather than a blade."

"That might be the most Spartan thing that you have ever said."

"There's time yet." He flashed her another grin. "You still haven't seen me drunk. Perhaps you could buy enough wine for the both of us with your winnings."

"Or perhaps I could use them on something productive?" Kassandra shook her head.

"But where's the fun in that?" Throwing her a mischievous wink, Brasidas reached for his kill from earlier, heaving the animal onto his back and pulling the ropes into place. He grunted under the dead animal's weight, hoisting it higher onto his shoulders. "Come on... we can discuss your winnings when we both have full bellies."

They headed back to the Adrestia in silence, walking as fast as they could with the weights on their backs. Although Brasidas seemed unaffected by the afternoon's events, Kassandra couldn't stop replaying their fight in her head, more specifically the emotions that had flooded through her system when they had been so close. The night before, she had been so convinced that she only had the potential to feel something for Brasidas, that if she kept herself in check she would stop herself from ever letting him become a problem.

And yet barely a day later, she'd already caught herself floundering.

It was simply too easy to relax in his presence, to feel at ease with him to a point that she lowered the walls that she so tirelessly built for herself. It was scary how easily she could just forget everything and get caught up in their friendship, when in reality she needed the hold the man at arm's length for both their sakes.

Brasidas had been right when he said that fighting was the best way to know a person. Their sparring had taught Kassandra a valuable lesson, had shown her that needed to check herself often to stop herself from falling, from wanting to be the person she saw reflected back at her in his eyes. It was already a little addictive, a part of her wanting more no matter how much it scared her, but in recognising it early, she hoped that losing sight of herself around him in the future would be so much more unlikely.

Her destiny was already taking shape, the destruction of the cult and reuniting her family stretching out in front of her like impossible dreams that she only hoped she could realise. There was simply no room in her heart to hope for anything more, for a time when she didn't have to constantly watch her emotions around her friend.

In a perfect world, maybe they would be different. But in the world they'd been given, Kassandra had to be prepared to do whatever it took to ensure her own survival.