Work Text:
Mateo sighed and threw himself on the bed. That day, his comrades Ysabel and Maximo had been called to ascend to the third degree of their assassins’ brotherhood. It had been an honor to be present at both ceremonies, and it had made him very happy that everything had stayed between them: Mateo and Maximo as witnesses at Ysabel’s ascension; Mateo and Ysabel at Maximo’s.
Part of him had kept hoping they would call him too… but that hadn’t happened. He knew it was childish of him, but Mateo felt sad. Frustrated.
Alone.
Ysabel, Maximo and Mateo had arrived almost at the same time to the Brotherhood. From the beginning, their calm and discreet disposition had brought them closer. The three of them were the model of the average apprentice: competent enough to not lag behind, but not noticeable enough to stand out above the others in the eyes of their mentors.
Silent. Stoic. Modest.
Invisible.
It hadn’t come as a surprise when they learned some in the Brotherhood called them the « Vanilla Team ». Despite himself, Mateo resented it somehow, until one day during a mission, Yusuf, the ottoman mentor, surprised him with a comment seemingly out of place.
“You know, Mateo? When I was a kid, my mother made baked goods and sold them at the bazaar. They were delicious, her pastries. At first sight, they seemed just like the others, but when you tasted them, there was… something . A subtle nuance that set them apart from the rest and made them special.”
Mateo looked at him without understanding what his point was, but he kept paying attention.
“One day I was with her at the bakery, I asked her what her secret was. I remember she told me: «Ah, Yusuf, it’s a spice that goes well with any kind of dessert. It may go unnoticed, but forget to add it and your dessert will lose half of its taste.» Do you know what that spice was?”
Mateo shook his head, confused.
Yusuf put a hand on his shoulder.
“Vanilla, delikanlı* . It was vanilla.”
And, with that, he winked and bid him goodbye with a double pat on his back.
Mateo, for a change, smiled.
*[lad, young man]
He would have loved to tell that story to Ysabel and Maximo when they welcomed him back home, but he couldn’t. His silence, voluntary just half of the time, sometimes built up a barrier between him and all the others.
But with them it was different. They understood him. They had understood him since the beginning. The three of them were kindred souls, existing in the spaces that the more charismatic and powerful brothers and sisters left unoccupied. In their shadows.
Maximo in Aguilar’s.
Ysabel in Maria’s.
Himself… in the shadow of his own past.
Since he met them, Mateo hadn’t felt alone. Ysabel and Maximo didn’t talk much either, and they didn’t ask him to. There was no need. Ysabel was attentive and perceptive, and she noticed his every gesture, no matter how minimal. Maximo was patient and calm, and he encouraged him to keep going with the strength of his determination when Mateo’s demons overcame him.
For him, it was enough to sit beside them to see them smile at him and make space for him. Sometimes they shared a look, a gesture or a caring subtle touch, hand over hand, shoulder to shoulder. He felt thankful for all those small moments, and returned that affection training without rest and defending them on the battlefield with the ferocity of a wolf.
But that day, something he felt something breaking inside when he saw them wearing their new distinguished blades, a gift from the Brotherhood to celebrate their ascension.
Despite his effort, he had fallen behind.
Again, he had ended up alone.
Not being able to fall asleep, Mateo threw the blankets aside and stood up. He pulled the window wide open and, in one jump, he hung from the upper frame. He climbed up the tiles until he got to the highest point of the two-sided roof and, with a sure step, he followed the upper edge until he got to the tower wall. Hanging from window to window, he landed on top of the villa’s outer walls and ran over it towards the new unopened wing, still empty and under restoration. He climbed up the roofs until he got to the highest tower and there, at the top, he finally sat.
He lifted his eyes up to the moon. She wasn’t full yet. There was just a scratch missing, but it was enough for her silhouette to not be totally round. Unfinished. Incomplete. Imperfect.
When he heard them arrive, it was just because he was pretty used to their presence. Ysabel sat at his right and rested her head on his shoulder. Maximo sat at his left and put a hand on the other one.
They stayed like that for a while, in silence, until Ysabel took his hand and squeezed it between hers. Mateo turned to look at her. Her eyes, blue and awake, caressed his during a brief instant before traveling back to the moon.
“She doesn’t need to be full to shine brightly,” she whispered with a calm smile.
On the other side, Maximo kindly squeezed his shoulder. Mateo looked into his eyes and his friend gave him back a look full of confidence and determination.
“And, anyway, tomorrow she will be,” he said softly.
Mateo understood. He squeezed Ysabel’s hand and he tilted to rest his shoulder on Maximo’s.
When he looked at the moon, instead of an absence, he saw a promise.
A promise that, the following day, became prophecy.
When Mateo got called to his own ascension, he was tempted to shout from pure joy. He refrained himself, of course, and saved that energy to repeat the Assassin’s Creed once more.
In the Ascension Chamber, Myrrine, in her role as Master of Ceremonies, placed herself before him and talked solemnly, her voice resounding in the open chamber.
“Where other people blindly follow the truth, remember.”
“Nothing is true,” said all present in unison.
His own voice sounded strange, alien. But the familiarity of Ysabel and Maximo’s voices beside him softened that impression.
The second time was easier.
“Where other people are limited by morality or law,” Myrrine declared, “remember.”
“Everything is permitted.”
Mateo took air in and finished his oath.
“We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins.”
This time, the only echo of his voice came from the chamber walls, but it didn’t sound strange anymore. It sounded pure, steady, like a single toll of a bell.
And when he turned around to look at them, in the eyes of his friends he saw the reflection of another oath delivered without words, subtle, sweet and comforting… like vanilla.