Into the Crucible
Apr. 9th, 2026 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerProbably a little mental ableism from desmond but we’ve already established this man is a disaster who means well and also occasionally says some stuff without thinking or understanding that it’s rude.
Shaun will again mentally beat himself up for something he’s said to Desmond, this time for the ‘insane’ remark when he knows Desmond is suffering from at least PTSD (while Desmond just found it funny, again).
Always blame the man with the eyepatch. (I make my own fun with obscure references.)
also trying so hard not to have Rebecca just make jokes about a noble cause because it’ll ruin a joke later on in the story
the average citizen who couldn’t fight normally would find a champion, which is technically illegal and non-technically really, really common if said average citizen had the money to pay for a sword for hire (or just a relative who could fight and was willing to take on the potential punishment for losing).
funny note found while reading into the Council lore: so, uh. It started in Jerusalem. Then a few other places, then moved to Venice, where it remains to this day. (Before Ezio’s time [13th century], but still. Interesting stuff.)
“Shaun, really, you weren’t going to give him your Favor?”
“I thought I already had it. Unless you really wanted Javier to win.”
“I didn’t have a handkerchief handy.”
I didn't actually think about the name of the place for the fight when I'd chosen that as the location, mostly because I didn't remember. However, the pun is perfect.
Main Points: Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Desmond undergoes the Trial by Combat.
Word Count: 4755
Rating: Teen
Which is, of course, when Guard one decides to come bug him, again. The guy’s a masochist or something. Guard two is just watching in confused horror, unsure whether he should step in to protect his fellow Templar or just stay the hell out of it. “If I were you, I’d flee now. Javier is an expert with the sword.”
Desmond turns to him, only a little dizzy at the movement, and can’t quite figure out what to say. He’s not sure how to make it that much clearer that if he’d wanted to be gone, he’d already be gone, so he just glances back down at the tats (that are still glowing, mostly because he hasn’t figured out how to turn them off again; normally it doesn’t last this long or he can do something with the Calculations to undo it). “You’re really, really slow, aren’t you? We’d already established that I’m only leaving here under my own terms.” He feels like leaving it there, but then a lot of the frustrations he’d felt at the Templars in the end bubble up, so he decides to give them voice. “I mean, what, I run for it and a war breaks out, and it’s damn bad, not just for the Dragon but for everyone? Look, answer me honestly, do you even know what you’d be fighting for? Are you ready for your first human kill, to know that you chose to become a monster because you thought it was the right thing to do? Are you ready to bleed out far away from your family and friends? Can you honestly tell me it’ll be worth it? Are you prepared for what will happen when something else awful comes along and you’re too busy killing each other to do anything about it?” He’d buy that Guard two’s the only one who’s ever actually had to kill another human. For the others, the possibilities had stayed just theoretical, the glory far more tantalizing than the pain, and they hadn’t actually bothered to think about it. “This world’s a whole lot bigger than the Templars and the Dragon.”
Mid-rant he just happens to glance around and rethink continuing. Shaun’s watching, and he looks...devastated. He’s not crying, but his eyes are just so hurt and he’s clearly sleep deprived enough he’s too tired to actually hide the fact that he actually has emotions until he remembers a little too late that he’s supposed to be stoically British. He busies himself with petting Rukh and carefully not looking away from the raven. Desmond swallows any of the rest of it about actually finding a cause worth living for, let alone dying for; Shaun probably wouldn’t take that well. It’s been effective enough, anyway; Guard one doesn’t have answers. Not that Desmond had expected any.
“Besides, it’s all well and good that we’ve given up on religious zealotry and the empire where the sun never sets, but there’s such a thing as criminal isolation, as well. Minding our own business to the point of not seeing further than our own nose. Miss Plimmswood would hardly approve. The wider world will happen to concern us when it happens to bomb our streets,” Dame Julia remarks. The guard attempts to respond, and she glares. “I’ll thank you to cease any attempt to fraternize. If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”
Guard one finally gets wise and shuts the hell up. At least he’s still alive to learn.
The path finally opens up to a bigger hall, and it’s...well. It’s a thing. Big and grandiose, just like the rest of Templar Hall. And it matches what Desmond remembers of the rest, too, a contrast to the sterile, modern, soulless Other Templar look. Wood and ancient furniture and stone and paintings, even if they’re probably just paintings showing how cool the Templars are. And they’ve decided to make a pattern with red stone in the rest of their stone floor. Neat.
It’s a nice, wide open area. Nothing to stumble over. A lot of room to maneuver. It does turn out, though, that for the most part the Templars don’t use training dummies, even weirdly bleeding training dummies. No. They have these...nonhuman things chained up on the sides—one area where you can get up close and personal, another that looks like a firing range, complete with marked distances.
Desmond finds himself staring at one of the paintings—a knight killing a dragon. There’s definitely no greater message in there. And sure, he’d gotten the idea that he’d stepped into a rivalry with history, thousands of years of bad blood, but this is the first time he’d actually felt it. It’s not like he’d been able to go back and see it with an Animus, this time.
“Welcome to my Crucible, Dragon.” The man that joins them has an eyepatch and something on his leg like a brace. Desmond gets the feeling that this is a man who’s absolutely killed and maybe even lost a part of himself along the way. It’s not uncommon, honestly, and for all he knows souls actually exist here, rather than just being a figure of speech. “Oh, don’t mind the Rakshasa. Ethically sourced, all of them—I personally rounded up a few hundred here in the midst of chewing on a child’s liver, or gorging on the rest of the village. It’s not their blood spilling you’ll need to worry about today, anyway. Horal, you already have your weapon. As for you, Miles, come and choose your blade.”
The fact that they’re giving him a choice seems like it’s some weird kind of test. Hadn’t they found one in the bag, the sword he’d used in the fight with Loki? Or—honestly, doing something weird by accident with the Calculations to prevent anyone else (except maybe Rukh) from accessing the bag sounds like something he’d do, huh. He wanders over to the desk they’re leaning up against, picking up a few and testing their weight, taking a few practice swings. Which is at least impressing the man with the eyepatch (like that was his goal, anyway).
Shaun hesitates, like he’s not sure if he’s really supposed to come talk to Desmond, but he finally makes up his mind to walk over, handing Rukh carefully over to Rebecca. Desmond’s not sure if they trust Rukh less to be on the loose than they trust him or if Shaun is really worried that they’re looking for an excuse to just go killing birds, but either way he’s probably not wrong. (Shaun isn’t actually wrong that often, but it’s not like Desmond’s just going to say that; Shaun’s ego is big enough as it is.)
“Don’t die,” he orders. Keeping his voice steady is a struggle. “Do what you must, even if you have to—don’t you dare die.”
It’s sweet, in more ways than one. Shaun had started skeptical of Desmond’s skills, but by now he’s convinced that if Desmond dies here it’s because he’s not willing to take another life. That the outcome here is going to be a choice, Desmond’s choice, not a simple matter of skill.
And then Desmond finds one—it’s not Altaïr’s sword, but it’s close enough. The weight, the shape, they’re close enough to feel right in his hand. He doesn’t have to worry about whether or not it can block Javier’s sword, because that’s fairly similar to the Crusaders’ swords, too. That being said, he’s not counting on Altaïr’s presence throwing Loki off his game, this time, so he’s absolutely going to be leaning harder on lessons he’s learned from all of them. “Will you believe me this time if I tell you it’s going to be fine, or are you gonna yell at me again?”
The teasing doesn’t land like Desmond’s hoping, though. Shaun just looks more pained, covering that up with anger. “They were valid concerns—” he hisses, partly because ending up here was probably one of them and that’d turned out just as expected.
This being Shaun, he probably could keep going like this for a while unless someone stops him. “Do you trust me?”
Shaun swallows and seemingly finally notices that his glasses are on crooked. He fixes them instead of giving an answer right away. “...Against my better judgment, yes.” Desmond doesn’t take that personally. It’s hard enough for him to say that.
“Then trust me when I tell you, I’ll be fine. Everything is going to be fine.” He doesn’t expect for a moment that Helwing’s going to pay any attention to the results whatsoever, but the other Templars presumably put some stock in it and aren’t complete backstabbing liars. Haytham at least had thought so, even if he was maybe a little brainwashed about it. The entire idea of a trial by combat is still a little stupid, because just because Desmond’s a good fighter doesn’t mean that your average citizen is in the wrong for absolutely everything just because they’re not, but pointing that out isn’t going to win him any favors.
Shaun looks a little skeptical, but he searches Desmond’s eyes and seems to come to a decision, nodding firmly and walking back to Rebecca’s side. He looks a little more dignified, a little more settled now, but then, now’s not the time to get distracted, so Desmond looks at Javier waiting and tries to remember that he’s actually here for a fight. The rest are spreading out to watch, some of them actually heading toward the firing range—which, to be fair, is probably the best-sheltered vantage point, with short stone columns between each target and row. It’s honestly a good system; you can try out different weapons with different ranges without worrying you’re all going to get shot or shoot someone (or hit them with fireballs, whatever) if the aim is a little off.
Javier’s attempt to be hard to read is going a lot better than Shaun’s. He’d challenged Desmond to a duel the moment they’d met, and he’s finally getting his wish, but there’s...Desmond doesn’t know, and it’s frustrating that he can’t put it into words. There’s something about the way he’s waiting right now that’s uncertain. Not that he probably likes waiting; he’d gone and picked a fight with some wisps rather than waiting in Solomon Island, but it’s probably not just that, either.
“Let the trial begin.” It’s not Helwing that calls for it; it’s his ally, probably partly so Helwing won’t be speaking all the time and draw attention to himself that way. Still, Javier...hesitates.
“I’m good without armor,” Desmond announces, just in case that’s the reason. If they had Altaïr’s armor it’d be light enough for Desmond to actually move in it, since he’s had experience from both Altaïr and Ezio fighting with the added weight, but that doesn’t seem too likely and they probably won’t give it to him if even if he asks nicely, anyway. It’s not like they’ve offered to give him the talismans back. He’s not sure if that was Javier’s hangup or if him speaking just made the Templar make up his mind, but Javier actually bothers to do some sort of maneuver—Desmond’s actually guessing it’s a salute with the sword, or something—before he charges with a roar.
Javier is technically a better fighter than Shaun, so that wasn’t just empty bragging. He’s stronger, for one, wielding that weight like it’s nothing (at least he is using two hands given that it’s a sword meant for two, which Desmond notes before blocking another strike, mind racing). He’s more reckless than Shaun, too, but Desmond finds out that’s because he’s actually good at reacting and thinking on his feet and really enjoys feints. It’s kind of impressive how much better he is with that when he’s fighting, considering that it’d taken all that time for him to maybe change his opinion on Desmond.
The first time Desmond learns about that, Javier manages to swing his sword around in an amount of time that would seem to be cheating except—oh, no duh, maybe he uses that momentum technique himself that he taught Desmond yesterday or two days ago, or at least something like it—and nearly chops Desmond’s arm off. Desmond’s close enough to see Javier’s eyes widen like he doesn’t actually want this to happen. Strange, given that he’s holding nothing back. But then, just like with the talismans, the blade just kind of hits a glow mere inches from his skin that wasn’t there seconds ago. Which is actually a really good sign, because Desmond wasn’t sure he’d pull that off. He was fairly familiar with the talismans but he’d never actually bothered to actually study them and try to figure out how they worked. It doesn’t stop the momentum; the sword just slides down Desmond’s arm and then embeds in the floor, and a corner of Javier’s mouth turns up. Of course, Desmond has a free hand, since he hadn’t actually been using the second to help brace against the sword, and uses that to smack his palm straight into Javier’s face and probably break his nose, but still, it’s the thought that counts.
“That’s cheating! Hastings used protective magic; no others should be involved in the combat.” Helwing protests. He’s mostly managing not to sound like the smug bastard he is at this point, probably mostly because he thinks he’s won.
“I’m insulted you think I would have reached this station without being able to detect who is casting magic at the present. Fortunately for your case, your own spell has no effect on the conflict whatsoever,” Dame Julia responds. She’s really over Helwing’s shit. Desmond uses the moment to glance over at Helwing, who’s really quiet all of a sudden.
“In any case, the magic is the accused’s own. A combatant has been allowed the use of magic since the twelfth century. We are not the Illuminati hunting down witches.” The traditionalist and the logical lady might actually be edging toward Desmond’s side, if that really faint blue color is any indication. It’s probably more because suit guy and Helwing are annoying them enough for them to want Desmond to win out of sheer spite, but he’ll take it.
“That is not magic,” Helwing disagrees, which is—interesting. Desmond had thought he’d improved trying to disguise the Calculations as magic, and it’s actually a little worrying that he of all people can actually see that. Or—wait, is he the guy trying to cast the thing to cut him off from the Bee? If that’s the case, then he really is trying to get Desmond killed (no duh), but he’s trying not to be obvious about it. And if that’s true, then it’s working, sort of, because while Desmond’s still able to fight and protect himself, the others have no idea that Helwing’s doing it.
The logical lady decides to argue with him, too. “If it’s not magic, then it’s a miracle. And a miracle is expressly stated to be a sign of divine favor indicating a victor. Is that the argument you wish to make?” When Helwing doesn’t bother to respond to that, she waves a hand again like she’s bored. “Begin again.”
Javier pulls a handkerchief out to wipe the blood off his face and yanks the sword out from the floor before just diving back in like he found a second wind in there somewhere. Like he lives for this kind of fight, a worthy adversary. Desmond tries to rely more on the way Ezio and Connor move to get out of the way, staying graceful and on his toes (or not on his toes at all and actually rolling out of the way when he can’t otherwise get out of the way of a blow he really doesn’t want to deal with). He even tries some disarms (even some from Haytham), though actually getting Javier to drop the sword only happens once. Even if he just has to readjust his grip, it buys Desmond some time. Because while it’s nice that the Calculations actually work for this, he doesn’t want to rely on them just in case they fail. Particularly against this opponent. Javier doesn’t even flinch when Desmond finally manages to find the opening in his armor and stabs his arm, just tries to return the favor, which is when Desmond has to pull a knife out of thin air using the chaos magic stuff. He half expects them to try to stop the fight again given that they’d specifically had him choose his weapon and thus other weapons might also be considered ‘cheating’, but apparently once magic had been ruled to be fine it’s all cool. Javier does back up quick to avoid another stab, though, circling him a little more warily.
They’re both starting to tire out after a couple more clashes that make the swords rattle. Which is when Desmond figures out Javier’s second weapon, now that he knows he should probably be looking for a second one in the first place. He’d been wondering about that; most Bees seemed to have two, so that being reflected here wouldn’t be surprising. It’s blood magic, but Javier’s actually capable of being discreet about it. He’s not displaying the, uh, what was it Shaun called it? The focus, that was it. On his back, like most people. Of course, it’d probably get in the way of the sword. He has it discreetly tucked into what Desmond would call a holster at his side, barely visible, and unlike most of the uses of blood magic so far Javier isn’t doing anything super flashy with it. As far as Desmond can tell, he doesn’t even like to use it in an attack; he does try to reach into Desmond’s body and do something with his blood once when they’re in close quarters again but when Desmond just uses the Calculations to undo it just gives up on that entirely, it seems like. No, he’s mostly using it defensively; healing the minimum amount so wounds don’t slow him down, and largely just using it to keep himself going.
Which seems useful. Desmond tries to copy it, and it’s a lot trickier than he’d thought. He probably doesn’t make it as subtle as Javier. It does help clear up any remaining dizziness that Javier’s exploited so far, so that’s really helpful. That being said, Javier definitely notices, and his attacks speed up. He’s either pumping himself up even more now that he’s aware Desmond’s noticed or he’s excited. By this point, Desmond can tell that if Javier had any nerves, they’re gone now, and he’s definitely enjoying himself, so realistically it could be either.
It’s too bad he doesn’t have any of Connor’s rope darts. Okay, sure, it’d be less useful in a wide open space like this, but hampering Javier’s movements would be really useful right about now. He starts concentrating; maybe he can get one of those with chaos magic—
Which is when the huge doors slam open. Not the small one they’d come from, the actual doors leading out into the hall where Desmond had been the first time he’d taken an unofficial tour. And Desmond would recognize those uniforms and hats anywhere, though he really hadn’t been expecting this. “By the order of the Council of Venice, drop all your weapons. Jacek Helwing and Edgard Morin, you are under arrest for attempting to circumvent the dictates of the Council in order to promote conflict between the factions.”
The other doors are opening, with more Council members pouring in. Like this had all been a sting operation or something. Rebecca doesn’t look at all surprised by any of this, and she’s the only one in the room who isn’t. Which pretty much confirms that this was her doing, though—wait, does that mean she just called in some favors, or is she some sort of secret Assassin or Council Agent or something working undercover? Desmond’s brain hurts a little.
Suit guy is apparently Morin, and for the first time he looks really uneasy. “Surely we’re not going to simply bow to the dictates of an outside organization?”
“Not as such, no. The court will decide. All in favor?” The traditionalist calls the vote and then actually throws in his vote for yes, too, bringing the total to four-three. Desmond’s guessing he’s specifically only doing it because agreements with the Council of Venice probably go back a while, too, but it’s not like politicians usually do things for the right reasons anyway. If they’re doing the right things for the wrong reasons, they still get there in the end.
Morin starts to protest. Helwing actually holds up his hands in surrender, quietly resigned. Or at least, that’s his best acting yet.
“Desmond, get Helwing! He’s going to get away!” Hilmarsson yells from across the room, trying to move to intercept, and Desmond starts sprinting just as Helwing pulls short swords and stabs one of the Council Agents in the gut and the other one in the head and makes a run for the door they’d come in.
Throwing knives, he thinks, and they materialize in his hand and he throws a few. One of them actually nails the man in the shoulder and turns him around just a little, blood dripping from a shoulder he’s now clutching. What Desmond doesn’t exactly follow next is that it looks like Helwing suddenly shrinks. Which would be a great way to escape; it’s a lot harder to catch something small and fast, but it also stops moving. It’s one of the Council members that bends down to pick it off the floor. And it’s not—Desmond would call that a voodoo doll, but he doesn’t know if those are the right words, exactly. It’s made of straw and someone’s gone to the trouble of actually making small versions of the clothes Helwing was wearing, even adding hair. It’s probably important for the spell somehow. And, Desmond notices, trying hard not to grin and confirm any suspicions of a bloodthirsty Assassin in the vicinity, there’s a cut in the clothes and a little blood on one of the ‘shoulders’. Which probably wasn’t supposed to happen.
Dame Julia walks over to join them, interested in inspecting it. “Crude, but effective. I had no idea the magic he was using was to maintain the doll.”
He’d never even been here. Good way to make sure he’d survive a provoked Assassin rampage, though. And even if he hadn’t been as safe as he’d thought, he did manage to escape. Damn it.
Except… “...Uh, does the blood on it help us at all?” he asks.
Shaun’s glance as he walks over is equally proud and disturbed. “Given that I’m fairly sure that’s his hair, as it’s one of the most typical methods of construction, quite possibly. He may have attempted to sever the connection, but it was fashioned specifically to serve as a conduit, which makes it a lot harder to accomplish.”
“It is likely mere formality, but for the record: do we consider Desmond Miles to be acquitted of the charges brought before this court by one Jacek Helwing? All in favor?” The traditionalist sounds like he just wants this over with. This time, it’s unanimous. The members of the Court start filing out the doors past the Council members, while Rebecca and Javier walk over to join them. Eyepatch guy looks like he’s grabbed a bucket of soapy water and is using magic to scrub up some of the blood. Desmond will give him this: for all his ‘this is my house of judgment’ attitude, he does actually maintain it himself. Desmond can respect that.
Interesting that Hilmarsson had called him by his first name. Yeah, everybody involved probably knows his name by all the grumbling a lot of them have probably been doing about him, and sure he’s not an actual Templar so him following the traditional formal thing of calling everybody by their last names is kind of to be expected, but the way he’d said that kinda implied that he’d known Desmond’s name before now. Speaking of...actually, where is the guy? …Not here, and not visible to Eagle Vision either, interesting. He’d stuck around until Desmond had been declared safe and then just took off without anyone noticing.
“Nice job stalling until backup could get here,” Rebecca compliments Javier.
He actually looks a little embarrassed, sheepish even, pausing in wiping away the blood. “Actually, I had no idea they were on their way.” He turns to Desmond. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, and I knew they would not challenge the results. It’s an ancient tradition. And, assuming everything in Solomon Island was exactly as it appeared, I knew you would win. I was hoping you’d spare me, but—” He’s actually smiling a little. He looks a whole lot less of a jerk that way. “Your speech, to Cooke, in the hallway. If I had to die to prevent evil from triumphing, I do believe that would be a worthwhile sacrifice. Words I have lived by, until today, but never understood their meaning. On that note, however...I doubt I shall find recognition as I am now. Many will count today as a disgrace. Sonnac, may I…”
“I will take your blade and your pledge of loyalty, yes. And I suppose there’s no reason not to get the formalities out of the way now.” Sonnac puts a a hand on Desmond’s shoulder as he passes. “That was well-done. I again apologize for everything you have endured thus far.”
“You have to know that it’s probably not just Helwing and Morin.” It sucks to have to be the downer, here, but someone has to be practical.
“Yes, I’m aware. I have the feeling we’ll have help in the matter, whether or not we express our joy at such assistance.” The irony in his voice is more amused than anything as he glances at the Council members, who, yeah, aren’t leaving. “Take your time to recover, and once you’re done, fortunately you’ll be able to leave Templar Hall through the front, a free man.”
Shaun hands Rukh back over, who seems really tired of being held and decides to hop up on Desmond’s shoulder instead, flapping his wings. “Any blood isn’t his,” he reassures Desmond, whose stomach decides to growl now of all times. Hopefully no one heard that. It wouldn’t be hard; he’s still being quiet, but Rukh is now switching between indignant croaking and clacking his beak proudly.
Shaun takes a deep breath and adds, “You are quite insane.”
“Yeah.” There’s no way to argue with that, really, and he’s getting the feeling Shaun is really happy he’s alive and that all the playing around with the possibility of getting maimed or killed was not good for Shaun’s nerves. “You okay?”
Shaun visibly thinks about a couple options and throws each of them away. “I have not yet had my morning tea. And would very much like some.”
“I wouldn’t mind the little coffee shop again.” Shaun stiffens again, but he nods sharply without another word.
Shaun will again mentally beat himself up for something he’s said to Desmond, this time for the ‘insane’ remark when he knows Desmond is suffering from at least PTSD (while Desmond just found it funny, again).
Always blame the man with the eyepatch. (I make my own fun with obscure references.)
also trying so hard not to have Rebecca just make jokes about a noble cause because it’ll ruin a joke later on in the story
the average citizen who couldn’t fight normally would find a champion, which is technically illegal and non-technically really, really common if said average citizen had the money to pay for a sword for hire (or just a relative who could fight and was willing to take on the potential punishment for losing).
funny note found while reading into the Council lore: so, uh. It started in Jerusalem. Then a few other places, then moved to Venice, where it remains to this day. (Before Ezio’s time [13th century], but still. Interesting stuff.)
“Shaun, really, you weren’t going to give him your Favor?”
“I thought I already had it. Unless you really wanted Javier to win.”
“I didn’t have a handkerchief handy.”
I didn't actually think about the name of the place for the fight when I'd chosen that as the location, mostly because I didn't remember. However, the pun is perfect.
Main Points: Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Desmond undergoes the Trial by Combat.
Word Count: 4755
Rating: Teen
Desmond half expects them to just use this room for the duel. If it’s a hall of judgment, then that would fit well enough, even if it’d be tricky to fight in with different elevations and everything. Instead, he’s led out a different door, back underground. This, though, is in the direction of Templar Hall. Not that he’s probably actually supposed to know that, but he’s pretty much always had a good sense of direction and the Animus helped. Maybe it’s just a normal side effect of the Animus; he doesn’t know. His next guess is that they’re going for wherever Templars normally spar. Shaun obviously couldn’t have done their sparring there, but he had to have gotten the weird bleeding target dummies from somewhere, and given that he wasn’t a field agent he had to have been keeping up his own abilities somehow. They’re trusting Desmond to walk there under his own power, probably because him doing anything to try to get out of it would be seen as an admission of guilt now that the trial by combat has been proposed. Not that he’d verbally accepted, but still. It’s not like Altaïr had either. And much as he hates going into Haytham’s memories, that fits what he remembers of Templar traditions, too.
Which is, of course, when Guard one decides to come bug him, again. The guy’s a masochist or something. Guard two is just watching in confused horror, unsure whether he should step in to protect his fellow Templar or just stay the hell out of it. “If I were you, I’d flee now. Javier is an expert with the sword.”
Desmond turns to him, only a little dizzy at the movement, and can’t quite figure out what to say. He’s not sure how to make it that much clearer that if he’d wanted to be gone, he’d already be gone, so he just glances back down at the tats (that are still glowing, mostly because he hasn’t figured out how to turn them off again; normally it doesn’t last this long or he can do something with the Calculations to undo it). “You’re really, really slow, aren’t you? We’d already established that I’m only leaving here under my own terms.” He feels like leaving it there, but then a lot of the frustrations he’d felt at the Templars in the end bubble up, so he decides to give them voice. “I mean, what, I run for it and a war breaks out, and it’s damn bad, not just for the Dragon but for everyone? Look, answer me honestly, do you even know what you’d be fighting for? Are you ready for your first human kill, to know that you chose to become a monster because you thought it was the right thing to do? Are you ready to bleed out far away from your family and friends? Can you honestly tell me it’ll be worth it? Are you prepared for what will happen when something else awful comes along and you’re too busy killing each other to do anything about it?” He’d buy that Guard two’s the only one who’s ever actually had to kill another human. For the others, the possibilities had stayed just theoretical, the glory far more tantalizing than the pain, and they hadn’t actually bothered to think about it. “This world’s a whole lot bigger than the Templars and the Dragon.”
Mid-rant he just happens to glance around and rethink continuing. Shaun’s watching, and he looks...devastated. He’s not crying, but his eyes are just so hurt and he’s clearly sleep deprived enough he’s too tired to actually hide the fact that he actually has emotions until he remembers a little too late that he’s supposed to be stoically British. He busies himself with petting Rukh and carefully not looking away from the raven. Desmond swallows any of the rest of it about actually finding a cause worth living for, let alone dying for; Shaun probably wouldn’t take that well. It’s been effective enough, anyway; Guard one doesn’t have answers. Not that Desmond had expected any.
“Besides, it’s all well and good that we’ve given up on religious zealotry and the empire where the sun never sets, but there’s such a thing as criminal isolation, as well. Minding our own business to the point of not seeing further than our own nose. Miss Plimmswood would hardly approve. The wider world will happen to concern us when it happens to bomb our streets,” Dame Julia remarks. The guard attempts to respond, and she glares. “I’ll thank you to cease any attempt to fraternize. If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”
Guard one finally gets wise and shuts the hell up. At least he’s still alive to learn.
The path finally opens up to a bigger hall, and it’s...well. It’s a thing. Big and grandiose, just like the rest of Templar Hall. And it matches what Desmond remembers of the rest, too, a contrast to the sterile, modern, soulless Other Templar look. Wood and ancient furniture and stone and paintings, even if they’re probably just paintings showing how cool the Templars are. And they’ve decided to make a pattern with red stone in the rest of their stone floor. Neat.
It’s a nice, wide open area. Nothing to stumble over. A lot of room to maneuver. It does turn out, though, that for the most part the Templars don’t use training dummies, even weirdly bleeding training dummies. No. They have these...nonhuman things chained up on the sides—one area where you can get up close and personal, another that looks like a firing range, complete with marked distances.
Desmond finds himself staring at one of the paintings—a knight killing a dragon. There’s definitely no greater message in there. And sure, he’d gotten the idea that he’d stepped into a rivalry with history, thousands of years of bad blood, but this is the first time he’d actually felt it. It’s not like he’d been able to go back and see it with an Animus, this time.
“Welcome to my Crucible, Dragon.” The man that joins them has an eyepatch and something on his leg like a brace. Desmond gets the feeling that this is a man who’s absolutely killed and maybe even lost a part of himself along the way. It’s not uncommon, honestly, and for all he knows souls actually exist here, rather than just being a figure of speech. “Oh, don’t mind the Rakshasa. Ethically sourced, all of them—I personally rounded up a few hundred here in the midst of chewing on a child’s liver, or gorging on the rest of the village. It’s not their blood spilling you’ll need to worry about today, anyway. Horal, you already have your weapon. As for you, Miles, come and choose your blade.”
The fact that they’re giving him a choice seems like it’s some weird kind of test. Hadn’t they found one in the bag, the sword he’d used in the fight with Loki? Or—honestly, doing something weird by accident with the Calculations to prevent anyone else (except maybe Rukh) from accessing the bag sounds like something he’d do, huh. He wanders over to the desk they’re leaning up against, picking up a few and testing their weight, taking a few practice swings. Which is at least impressing the man with the eyepatch (like that was his goal, anyway).
Shaun hesitates, like he’s not sure if he’s really supposed to come talk to Desmond, but he finally makes up his mind to walk over, handing Rukh carefully over to Rebecca. Desmond’s not sure if they trust Rukh less to be on the loose than they trust him or if Shaun is really worried that they’re looking for an excuse to just go killing birds, but either way he’s probably not wrong. (Shaun isn’t actually wrong that often, but it’s not like Desmond’s just going to say that; Shaun’s ego is big enough as it is.)
“Don’t die,” he orders. Keeping his voice steady is a struggle. “Do what you must, even if you have to—don’t you dare die.”
It’s sweet, in more ways than one. Shaun had started skeptical of Desmond’s skills, but by now he’s convinced that if Desmond dies here it’s because he’s not willing to take another life. That the outcome here is going to be a choice, Desmond’s choice, not a simple matter of skill.
And then Desmond finds one—it’s not Altaïr’s sword, but it’s close enough. The weight, the shape, they’re close enough to feel right in his hand. He doesn’t have to worry about whether or not it can block Javier’s sword, because that’s fairly similar to the Crusaders’ swords, too. That being said, he’s not counting on Altaïr’s presence throwing Loki off his game, this time, so he’s absolutely going to be leaning harder on lessons he’s learned from all of them. “Will you believe me this time if I tell you it’s going to be fine, or are you gonna yell at me again?”
The teasing doesn’t land like Desmond’s hoping, though. Shaun just looks more pained, covering that up with anger. “They were valid concerns—” he hisses, partly because ending up here was probably one of them and that’d turned out just as expected.
This being Shaun, he probably could keep going like this for a while unless someone stops him. “Do you trust me?”
Shaun swallows and seemingly finally notices that his glasses are on crooked. He fixes them instead of giving an answer right away. “...Against my better judgment, yes.” Desmond doesn’t take that personally. It’s hard enough for him to say that.
“Then trust me when I tell you, I’ll be fine. Everything is going to be fine.” He doesn’t expect for a moment that Helwing’s going to pay any attention to the results whatsoever, but the other Templars presumably put some stock in it and aren’t complete backstabbing liars. Haytham at least had thought so, even if he was maybe a little brainwashed about it. The entire idea of a trial by combat is still a little stupid, because just because Desmond’s a good fighter doesn’t mean that your average citizen is in the wrong for absolutely everything just because they’re not, but pointing that out isn’t going to win him any favors.
Shaun looks a little skeptical, but he searches Desmond’s eyes and seems to come to a decision, nodding firmly and walking back to Rebecca’s side. He looks a little more dignified, a little more settled now, but then, now’s not the time to get distracted, so Desmond looks at Javier waiting and tries to remember that he’s actually here for a fight. The rest are spreading out to watch, some of them actually heading toward the firing range—which, to be fair, is probably the best-sheltered vantage point, with short stone columns between each target and row. It’s honestly a good system; you can try out different weapons with different ranges without worrying you’re all going to get shot or shoot someone (or hit them with fireballs, whatever) if the aim is a little off.
Javier’s attempt to be hard to read is going a lot better than Shaun’s. He’d challenged Desmond to a duel the moment they’d met, and he’s finally getting his wish, but there’s...Desmond doesn’t know, and it’s frustrating that he can’t put it into words. There’s something about the way he’s waiting right now that’s uncertain. Not that he probably likes waiting; he’d gone and picked a fight with some wisps rather than waiting in Solomon Island, but it’s probably not just that, either.
“Let the trial begin.” It’s not Helwing that calls for it; it’s his ally, probably partly so Helwing won’t be speaking all the time and draw attention to himself that way. Still, Javier...hesitates.
“I’m good without armor,” Desmond announces, just in case that’s the reason. If they had Altaïr’s armor it’d be light enough for Desmond to actually move in it, since he’s had experience from both Altaïr and Ezio fighting with the added weight, but that doesn’t seem too likely and they probably won’t give it to him if even if he asks nicely, anyway. It’s not like they’ve offered to give him the talismans back. He’s not sure if that was Javier’s hangup or if him speaking just made the Templar make up his mind, but Javier actually bothers to do some sort of maneuver—Desmond’s actually guessing it’s a salute with the sword, or something—before he charges with a roar.
Javier is technically a better fighter than Shaun, so that wasn’t just empty bragging. He’s stronger, for one, wielding that weight like it’s nothing (at least he is using two hands given that it’s a sword meant for two, which Desmond notes before blocking another strike, mind racing). He’s more reckless than Shaun, too, but Desmond finds out that’s because he’s actually good at reacting and thinking on his feet and really enjoys feints. It’s kind of impressive how much better he is with that when he’s fighting, considering that it’d taken all that time for him to maybe change his opinion on Desmond.
The first time Desmond learns about that, Javier manages to swing his sword around in an amount of time that would seem to be cheating except—oh, no duh, maybe he uses that momentum technique himself that he taught Desmond yesterday or two days ago, or at least something like it—and nearly chops Desmond’s arm off. Desmond’s close enough to see Javier’s eyes widen like he doesn’t actually want this to happen. Strange, given that he’s holding nothing back. But then, just like with the talismans, the blade just kind of hits a glow mere inches from his skin that wasn’t there seconds ago. Which is actually a really good sign, because Desmond wasn’t sure he’d pull that off. He was fairly familiar with the talismans but he’d never actually bothered to actually study them and try to figure out how they worked. It doesn’t stop the momentum; the sword just slides down Desmond’s arm and then embeds in the floor, and a corner of Javier’s mouth turns up. Of course, Desmond has a free hand, since he hadn’t actually been using the second to help brace against the sword, and uses that to smack his palm straight into Javier’s face and probably break his nose, but still, it’s the thought that counts.
“That’s cheating! Hastings used protective magic; no others should be involved in the combat.” Helwing protests. He’s mostly managing not to sound like the smug bastard he is at this point, probably mostly because he thinks he’s won.
“I’m insulted you think I would have reached this station without being able to detect who is casting magic at the present. Fortunately for your case, your own spell has no effect on the conflict whatsoever,” Dame Julia responds. She’s really over Helwing’s shit. Desmond uses the moment to glance over at Helwing, who’s really quiet all of a sudden.
“In any case, the magic is the accused’s own. A combatant has been allowed the use of magic since the twelfth century. We are not the Illuminati hunting down witches.” The traditionalist and the logical lady might actually be edging toward Desmond’s side, if that really faint blue color is any indication. It’s probably more because suit guy and Helwing are annoying them enough for them to want Desmond to win out of sheer spite, but he’ll take it.
“That is not magic,” Helwing disagrees, which is—interesting. Desmond had thought he’d improved trying to disguise the Calculations as magic, and it’s actually a little worrying that he of all people can actually see that. Or—wait, is he the guy trying to cast the thing to cut him off from the Bee? If that’s the case, then he really is trying to get Desmond killed (no duh), but he’s trying not to be obvious about it. And if that’s true, then it’s working, sort of, because while Desmond’s still able to fight and protect himself, the others have no idea that Helwing’s doing it.
The logical lady decides to argue with him, too. “If it’s not magic, then it’s a miracle. And a miracle is expressly stated to be a sign of divine favor indicating a victor. Is that the argument you wish to make?” When Helwing doesn’t bother to respond to that, she waves a hand again like she’s bored. “Begin again.”
Javier pulls a handkerchief out to wipe the blood off his face and yanks the sword out from the floor before just diving back in like he found a second wind in there somewhere. Like he lives for this kind of fight, a worthy adversary. Desmond tries to rely more on the way Ezio and Connor move to get out of the way, staying graceful and on his toes (or not on his toes at all and actually rolling out of the way when he can’t otherwise get out of the way of a blow he really doesn’t want to deal with). He even tries some disarms (even some from Haytham), though actually getting Javier to drop the sword only happens once. Even if he just has to readjust his grip, it buys Desmond some time. Because while it’s nice that the Calculations actually work for this, he doesn’t want to rely on them just in case they fail. Particularly against this opponent. Javier doesn’t even flinch when Desmond finally manages to find the opening in his armor and stabs his arm, just tries to return the favor, which is when Desmond has to pull a knife out of thin air using the chaos magic stuff. He half expects them to try to stop the fight again given that they’d specifically had him choose his weapon and thus other weapons might also be considered ‘cheating’, but apparently once magic had been ruled to be fine it’s all cool. Javier does back up quick to avoid another stab, though, circling him a little more warily.
They’re both starting to tire out after a couple more clashes that make the swords rattle. Which is when Desmond figures out Javier’s second weapon, now that he knows he should probably be looking for a second one in the first place. He’d been wondering about that; most Bees seemed to have two, so that being reflected here wouldn’t be surprising. It’s blood magic, but Javier’s actually capable of being discreet about it. He’s not displaying the, uh, what was it Shaun called it? The focus, that was it. On his back, like most people. Of course, it’d probably get in the way of the sword. He has it discreetly tucked into what Desmond would call a holster at his side, barely visible, and unlike most of the uses of blood magic so far Javier isn’t doing anything super flashy with it. As far as Desmond can tell, he doesn’t even like to use it in an attack; he does try to reach into Desmond’s body and do something with his blood once when they’re in close quarters again but when Desmond just uses the Calculations to undo it just gives up on that entirely, it seems like. No, he’s mostly using it defensively; healing the minimum amount so wounds don’t slow him down, and largely just using it to keep himself going.
Which seems useful. Desmond tries to copy it, and it’s a lot trickier than he’d thought. He probably doesn’t make it as subtle as Javier. It does help clear up any remaining dizziness that Javier’s exploited so far, so that’s really helpful. That being said, Javier definitely notices, and his attacks speed up. He’s either pumping himself up even more now that he’s aware Desmond’s noticed or he’s excited. By this point, Desmond can tell that if Javier had any nerves, they’re gone now, and he’s definitely enjoying himself, so realistically it could be either.
It’s too bad he doesn’t have any of Connor’s rope darts. Okay, sure, it’d be less useful in a wide open space like this, but hampering Javier’s movements would be really useful right about now. He starts concentrating; maybe he can get one of those with chaos magic—
Which is when the huge doors slam open. Not the small one they’d come from, the actual doors leading out into the hall where Desmond had been the first time he’d taken an unofficial tour. And Desmond would recognize those uniforms and hats anywhere, though he really hadn’t been expecting this. “By the order of the Council of Venice, drop all your weapons. Jacek Helwing and Edgard Morin, you are under arrest for attempting to circumvent the dictates of the Council in order to promote conflict between the factions.”
The other doors are opening, with more Council members pouring in. Like this had all been a sting operation or something. Rebecca doesn’t look at all surprised by any of this, and she’s the only one in the room who isn’t. Which pretty much confirms that this was her doing, though—wait, does that mean she just called in some favors, or is she some sort of secret Assassin or Council Agent or something working undercover? Desmond’s brain hurts a little.
Suit guy is apparently Morin, and for the first time he looks really uneasy. “Surely we’re not going to simply bow to the dictates of an outside organization?”
“Not as such, no. The court will decide. All in favor?” The traditionalist calls the vote and then actually throws in his vote for yes, too, bringing the total to four-three. Desmond’s guessing he’s specifically only doing it because agreements with the Council of Venice probably go back a while, too, but it’s not like politicians usually do things for the right reasons anyway. If they’re doing the right things for the wrong reasons, they still get there in the end.
Morin starts to protest. Helwing actually holds up his hands in surrender, quietly resigned. Or at least, that’s his best acting yet.
“Desmond, get Helwing! He’s going to get away!” Hilmarsson yells from across the room, trying to move to intercept, and Desmond starts sprinting just as Helwing pulls short swords and stabs one of the Council Agents in the gut and the other one in the head and makes a run for the door they’d come in.
Throwing knives, he thinks, and they materialize in his hand and he throws a few. One of them actually nails the man in the shoulder and turns him around just a little, blood dripping from a shoulder he’s now clutching. What Desmond doesn’t exactly follow next is that it looks like Helwing suddenly shrinks. Which would be a great way to escape; it’s a lot harder to catch something small and fast, but it also stops moving. It’s one of the Council members that bends down to pick it off the floor. And it’s not—Desmond would call that a voodoo doll, but he doesn’t know if those are the right words, exactly. It’s made of straw and someone’s gone to the trouble of actually making small versions of the clothes Helwing was wearing, even adding hair. It’s probably important for the spell somehow. And, Desmond notices, trying hard not to grin and confirm any suspicions of a bloodthirsty Assassin in the vicinity, there’s a cut in the clothes and a little blood on one of the ‘shoulders’. Which probably wasn’t supposed to happen.
Dame Julia walks over to join them, interested in inspecting it. “Crude, but effective. I had no idea the magic he was using was to maintain the doll.”
He’d never even been here. Good way to make sure he’d survive a provoked Assassin rampage, though. And even if he hadn’t been as safe as he’d thought, he did manage to escape. Damn it.
Except… “...Uh, does the blood on it help us at all?” he asks.
Shaun’s glance as he walks over is equally proud and disturbed. “Given that I’m fairly sure that’s his hair, as it’s one of the most typical methods of construction, quite possibly. He may have attempted to sever the connection, but it was fashioned specifically to serve as a conduit, which makes it a lot harder to accomplish.”
“It is likely mere formality, but for the record: do we consider Desmond Miles to be acquitted of the charges brought before this court by one Jacek Helwing? All in favor?” The traditionalist sounds like he just wants this over with. This time, it’s unanimous. The members of the Court start filing out the doors past the Council members, while Rebecca and Javier walk over to join them. Eyepatch guy looks like he’s grabbed a bucket of soapy water and is using magic to scrub up some of the blood. Desmond will give him this: for all his ‘this is my house of judgment’ attitude, he does actually maintain it himself. Desmond can respect that.
Interesting that Hilmarsson had called him by his first name. Yeah, everybody involved probably knows his name by all the grumbling a lot of them have probably been doing about him, and sure he’s not an actual Templar so him following the traditional formal thing of calling everybody by their last names is kind of to be expected, but the way he’d said that kinda implied that he’d known Desmond’s name before now. Speaking of...actually, where is the guy? …Not here, and not visible to Eagle Vision either, interesting. He’d stuck around until Desmond had been declared safe and then just took off without anyone noticing.
“Nice job stalling until backup could get here,” Rebecca compliments Javier.
He actually looks a little embarrassed, sheepish even, pausing in wiping away the blood. “Actually, I had no idea they were on their way.” He turns to Desmond. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, and I knew they would not challenge the results. It’s an ancient tradition. And, assuming everything in Solomon Island was exactly as it appeared, I knew you would win. I was hoping you’d spare me, but—” He’s actually smiling a little. He looks a whole lot less of a jerk that way. “Your speech, to Cooke, in the hallway. If I had to die to prevent evil from triumphing, I do believe that would be a worthwhile sacrifice. Words I have lived by, until today, but never understood their meaning. On that note, however...I doubt I shall find recognition as I am now. Many will count today as a disgrace. Sonnac, may I…”
“I will take your blade and your pledge of loyalty, yes. And I suppose there’s no reason not to get the formalities out of the way now.” Sonnac puts a a hand on Desmond’s shoulder as he passes. “That was well-done. I again apologize for everything you have endured thus far.”
“You have to know that it’s probably not just Helwing and Morin.” It sucks to have to be the downer, here, but someone has to be practical.
“Yes, I’m aware. I have the feeling we’ll have help in the matter, whether or not we express our joy at such assistance.” The irony in his voice is more amused than anything as he glances at the Council members, who, yeah, aren’t leaving. “Take your time to recover, and once you’re done, fortunately you’ll be able to leave Templar Hall through the front, a free man.”
Shaun hands Rukh back over, who seems really tired of being held and decides to hop up on Desmond’s shoulder instead, flapping his wings. “Any blood isn’t his,” he reassures Desmond, whose stomach decides to growl now of all times. Hopefully no one heard that. It wouldn’t be hard; he’s still being quiet, but Rukh is now switching between indignant croaking and clacking his beak proudly.
Shaun takes a deep breath and adds, “You are quite insane.”
“Yeah.” There’s no way to argue with that, really, and he’s getting the feeling Shaun is really happy he’s alive and that all the playing around with the possibility of getting maimed or killed was not good for Shaun’s nerves. “You okay?”
Shaun visibly thinks about a couple options and throws each of them away. “I have not yet had my morning tea. And would very much like some.”
“I wouldn’t mind the little coffee shop again.” Shaun stiffens again, but he nods sharply without another word.
