The Will to Endure, part 1
[ACIII: ConnorxOC]
The Aquila rocked back and forth as the water slowly lapped the shore in a relaxing pattern. Ayashe came here to relax after a mission in New York went awry. Ratonhnhaké:ton returned several hours ago with his crew and hasn't come off deck since. She mused that something was wrong or he was doing his usual haul of supplies. Every time they came back, Faulkner was reminded to keep an eye; the mission must've been a tough one to exhaust nearly everything.
Unlike those seafarers Ayashe wasn't made for it. She shook her head the memory of throwing up on Faulkner when they were younger. The look on their faces made her the punchline of their jokes. Since then she's never stepped on another deck unless her presence was sorely needed.
"Kwe...Ayashe?"
Her eyes snapped open, turning to face Connor as he stood. He looked tired, sore, but glad to see her. She smiled.
"Rough trip, Ratonhnhaké:ton?"
He nodded, "We made safe a well trade route between here and the Caribbean. A bad storm caught us but..." He pointed to the ruined hull on brink, and a sail nearly shredded from the effort of the wind.
"Are you sure? I see a couple of cannon holes peeking over the water. Best I'd get that fixed, Captain."
Connors eyes lingered on his ship for a moment, and then he laughed lightly. He moved aside and gestured to follow. Ayashe nodded solemnly, letting her friend take the lead. They walked in silence, enjoying each other's company after nearly a month apart. Something was amiss, Connor noticed, when Ayashe's eyes are filled with contentment of sorts she would be looking upwards. Not now, instead, downcast to the sand collecting on their shoes. He wanted to ask her what the problem was but decided, once close enough to the Aquila, to ask about it later.
"Missy! Good to see your beautiful face, again! How are ye?"
Ayashe feigned a grin, "I am well, Mister Faulkner. I'm glad you managed to pull Connor from that storm, so I heard."
Faulkner laughed, sneaking a wink to his Captain. "Aye, now he's all yours."
She blushed, looking away.
"Faulkner, what's the damage report?"
"Well, the hull has taken a few extra dents from cannon fire, mast is fine, overall topside is just chipped paint. That storm would've been the end of us if you hadn't pulled that nonsense. Still, I'm glad to be home."
"Order what we need and let me know when they come in. I will help with the repairs." Connor offered. Ayashe managed to sneak off to the front of the ship. The Aquila was a nimble craft sailing through dark waters, besting much larger ships, manned by trustworthy crew. And a captain new to sailing turned out to have a knack for this sort of thing. Ayashe looked overboard, her reflection a mess staring back at her. She wasn't has successful as Connor. He has ended the lives of Johnson, Pitcairn, and Biddle. Elsewhere Ayashe tasked herself to keep information from slipping into Templar hands.
She can't bring herself to kill Liam. That bastard... Ayashe groaned, annoyed that nowadays her thoughts ended with him.
Long ago she may have wanted to forgive. But when her Aunt sent a letter with the necklace, he was past forgiving. She looked back gingerly to see Connor walking her way. She straightened, clearing her throat.
"Finished? If we start walking back to the manor I can cook something up." A nice stew was in order. Never mind the heat of summer.
His brow quicker quizzically, "You walked here?"
"Yes..." She dragged her reply, "I needed some fresh air. But I prefer to talk about it on the way. See you later, Faulkner!" She waved to the Quartermaster and made past the Captain. Both men looked at each other before bidding a good evening. Connor caught up with his companion with long strides, his naval long coat and tricone hat in hand. She felt flustered for a moment, scratching at her neck. Gestures Ayashe had a habit of doing when something was bugging her.
"Something is bothering you."
"You think?" She snapped, her arms dropping to their sides. Connor looked at her in all seriousness. Ayashe hung her head, "I'm sorry. Yes, something is bothering me."
"You do not have to share it." Connor murmured, clutching onto his coat. Ayashe was momentarily distracted by the cords of muscle underneath his white shirt. It hugged his form in the right spots. He caught her looking at him and cleared his throat. Caught, she looked up at him directly.
"Remember..." She hesitantly began, "Liam?"
He nodded, "Yes. The Templar."
She let that hang in between them. The trail seemed much shorter as the manor came into view. She pouted, feeling overwhelmed, suddenly. Ayashe turned to the Assassin, catching him off guard.
"How do you do it? I mean, I feel so unsuccessful. You already know Liam and I use to be friends, inseparable until him…" She paused, biting her lip. "He helped his Father persuade another tribe to attack mine. Enapay died defending them but… after a while." She stops. Why was this so painful? Images flash like blinding light; her running as a young child, crying hysterically as horses plunders past her tiny form. Her father, Enapay, hollered her name as he tried reaching for her. He never made it, just inches away from his only daughter he was shot multiple times with pistols.
"Connor took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. Ayashe stood stiff, shaking her head as if trying to make the memories go away. After a second they did and her eyes refocussed on her observant companion.
"I've run into him on several occasions while you are gone." She says.
Ratonhnhaké:ton stiffened.
She flinched, looking away, "I know. My problem is is that I can't bring myself to kill him. I feel like there are answers missing. He's bested me in combat before. If I told Achilles he would've yelled at me for sure."
Connor wasn't sure Liam really was. She's spoken about him several times but only in hushed conversations. And every time she's returned after a week, gone from Homestead, her attitude was distant and cold. What threw Connor off was that Ayashe was a kind of woman wanting results, and fast. She was always eager, willing, the one to step up to the plate. It was just… her.
Now there was a side he was beginning to see. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. He wasn't judgemental, merely acting on the choices others make. His enemies are descendants of an ancient doctrine whereas the Assassin explicitly promotes peace. For Ayashe that certain kind of peace; where one is aware of both sides of the coin.
However, Liam may be her other side. She was conflicted with the idea of ending of his life. And there is no romantically chain. Ayashe wouldn't be surprised if Connor suspected that. By the time silence worn its welcome, the darned woman opted to finish this another time. He wasn't going to push it unless it was dire.
That night Ayashe was restless. Tossing and turning in her sheets only proved to be irritable noises. Having fed up after midnight she walked aimlessly in the manor, thinking, plotting her next course of actions. She really didn't want Connor to get involved. It was her burden, her responsibility. The floorboards creaked under her weight; the air inside was damp and stuffy. She can smell the lingering scent of supper; potatoes, vegetables and pieces of stuck leg from a good-sized buck. Connor's prize after a morning hunt; leaving on his ship, the Aquila, that afternoon.
Three hours later, Ayashe finds herself sitting outside by the graves of Achilles' family. She watches the stars twinkle, dotting her vision behind closed eyelids. A cool breeze had just graced her warm limbs, cooling her temper, even so.
There she thought of many things, letting her mind wander away from Liam, Connor, and Achilles. She found some solace with her father. He was a strong man; chiseled, fit. Long black hair usually braided at the back. Enapay had strong cheekbones with piercing, brown eyes as aged lines most people mistaken him for to be older; and dark, chocolate toned skin. His face was painted white; three dots on each cheek. His clothes were simple enough. Made from buck, deer, or moose; masterfully crafted hide. Beads kept some locks of hair in place. What she didn't remember much was the hood. Not tipped like Connor's, more rounded, sewn together.
Lastly, her mother. Apparently she died at childbirth. He never spoke of her, sadly, as Ayashe recalled. But she suspected Ayashe wasn't far from looking alike, either.
Before long she can start to see a hint of orange peeking on the horizon. She pouted to herself, then, regretting to have stayed out for long. Achilles won't let her sleep in, she'll have to take naps in the woods.
She dusted herself off and moved back inside, locking the door before heading upstairs to the spare bedroom she claimed. It was across from Connor's, a couple of steps away. She smiled at the memory of him checking up on her when she first stayed here. Nightmares plagued her nights but in time, their kind gestures and counselling advice ceased them. Ayashe, until recently, slept more at peace.
Why… she thought, closing her door quietly. Suddenly her eyes drooped and her body became heavy. She flopped on her bed and closed her eyes, falling asleep faster than she remembered.
"Do you think you'll move someplace else?"
Myriam looked over to Ayashe, confused as to why she would be asking that question in the first place. Her friend was sitting on a log, swinging her legs back and forth while picking at the bark underneath her fingers.
The huntress snorted, "No. Why would you ask that? Homestead is the best place there is. I wager the safest, thanks to Connor."
"Yeah, but… eventually this place is going to grow. More people will settle in and neighbours will greet each other-"
"There's got to be something wrong if you are thinking like that, Ada. Mind telling me?" Myriam watched Ayashe, nicknamed Ada, straighten her mirth as she stood with shoulder slumped. Ayashe was a fit character; running, jumping, climbing trees, rocks, and across fields. Myriam, even, possessed not an inch of doubt that Ada can defend herself in a fight. She's seen the way Connor has fought before. Feral, instinctive… if her best friend was learning from him, Myriam felt doubly safe.
Ayashe has been asking all sorts of questions. Myriam amused her with answers. It passed the long morning and the chores of skinning and cleaning.
"Don't you want to stay in one place?"
Her nose wrinkled, "When I was younger we never stayed in one place for long. That depended where our food went."
"Such as?"
"Buffalo; herds move across the land. Usually, though, hunters would look for lighter game like… that." She pointed to the disembowelled deer hanging by Myriam. "But a lot of changed. That practise is somewhat dying out. I mean, we have stores. Butchers, fishers."
"But that costs money."
"And? We aren't that primitive." Both women burst with laughter. By late mid-afternoon Ayashe retreated back to the manor to grab something to eat.
Before she reached for the door, it flung open, revealing none other than Achilles. The old man looked up at her in a disapproving gaze.
"We need to talk."
- end of part 1.