There was a simple pleasure in watching deer graze. When they were unaware of him, they were very peaceful animals. Connor sat on a hunting platform above them, leaning against the tree's trunk and dozed in the dappled light from the leaves. His intention for the morning had been to hunt, but it seemed a shame when he did not specifically need pelts at that moment. Instead he had settled and had not moved since, trying to keep his mind clear of the clutter which plagued him. In the months since everything had finished, since everything was over, he often caught himself wondering how things could have been different, how many deaths could have been avoided. The Templars were corrupt, but there was no possible way to forget how it feels to be the death of so many.
The woodlands did not provide as much peace as it seemed. A scream rang out, shrill and sudden. It cut the serenity of the woods and every animal paused. The deer below snapped their heads up and stared toward the sound, their ears perked upright in alarm. When they bolted, Connor shot to his feet also. Years of practice meant he need not even think through leaping from the platform. He landed on a nearby branch, letting his knees bend to take the force of the impact. The branch shuddered beneath his sudden weight but soon he was gone from it, moving on to the next branch then the next.
He cleared much of the woods before he could gather his wits about what was happening below. There were three grey wolves and an ill-fortuned traveler splattered with blood. It took him barely a moment to absorb the scene and act accordingly. The nearest wolf Connor landed on feet first. As he drove the creature into the ground, he activated his hidden blade and plunged the steel into the wolf's neck. The agonized and confused cry of the wolf alerted its pack mates and now two pairs of eyes challenged Connor. Better they be focused on him and not the traveler. The closest wolf lunged and Connor reacted immediately. He stepped to the side at the last minute and grasped the wolf's fur as it passed. Using the canine's momentum he drove it to the ground as his hidden blade was buried in its neck, severing the spinal cord. The last wolf came at him before he had a chance to even straighten himself. Its fangs were unable to penetrate the wrist brace of the hidden blades and Connor used it to protect himself. He was quicker than the enraged animal and pulled out his tomahawk, burying it in the wolf's belly and feeling warm blood rush over his arm. He immediately pushed the wolf over and used his hidden blade to put it out of its misery, not wanting it to suffer any longer than was necessary.
Sheathing his tomahawk, he stepped away from the carnage to where the traveler was. Sitting on the ground and shaking like a leaf, the man could not take his eyes from the wolves. Crouching in front of him, Connor gently took the man's left forearm and inspected it. The puncture wounds from a wolf's maw were clear and blood flowed freely. It did not pulse, however, which meant that none of the really major arteries had been pierced. Connor reached beneath his own vest to tear a strip from his undershirt and wound the fabric around the wound, binding it tight enough to stem the blood for now.
"Stepped on American soil not even a day ago," the traveler mumbled and Connor was unsure whether he was English or Irish until he decided on the former when he spoke again. "Already attacked by wolves."
"Your arm must be seen to," Connor told him, and when the traveler's eyes still did not move from the wolves, Connor waved his hand in front of his face. "Did you hear me?"
The traveler looked at Connor, then down to the bandage which was seeping with red and all colour drained from his face. "I don't know how to do that."
"I do," Connor stood and gripped the traveler's shoulders to pull him up. "Come."
The traveler wobbled a bit as he rose to his feet, but as Connor guided him away from the sight of the wolves he seemed to regain some strength. He was taller than Connor, but was thinner and lankier which meant he was easy to support when his strength gave way again. By this time they were close to the manor and it was not much effort on Connor's part to get him inside. There the traveler was taken into the dining room and sat down, then Connor gestured for him to stay where he was. Connor gathered what he needed then took a seat beside the man. Holding the injured arm over a shallow, wide rimmed basin of water, Connor unwrapped the wound, removing all fabric from it, and used a clean cloth to wash it. The traveler winced the entire time, watching Connor with morbid curiosity. He flexed his fingers, checking one by one that they were able to move. "I suppose it could have been worse," he said in a small voice, half trying to begin a conversation.
"You could have been attacked immediately when you came here," Connor added.
The traveler smiled and looked down as he did so. Done with the water, Connor took the nearby bottle of whisky. He poured a little into the wound to clean it and held fast to the traveler's arm as he tried to pull away. "You could have warned me," he complained weakly.
"Better to get it over and done with."
As Connor dressed the injury with clean bandages, the traveler considered him more intently than before. "What's your name?"
"Ratonhnhaké:ton."
The traveler opened his mouth, closed it again then spoke after a moment, "Forgive me in advance if I get that wrong."
"Call me Connor, then."
"That, I can do. My name's Marcus Holmes. Thank you for saving me," he grinned, bright and broad, as Connor finally released his arm. "And for doing this."
"Where were you doing?" Connor leaned back in the chair.
"To a tavern," at Connor's raised eyebrows, Marcus laughed, "That sounds terrible. I'm to be employed there, but I seem to have gotten the wrong port and ended up here."
"I will lend you a horse to get there. You may bring it back soon," Connor pushed himself up. He did not look back to see whether Marcus followed him or not, simply continuing on out of the manor and toward the stables. He proceeded to saddle and bridle the first horse in the stables, a gentle paint mare, only looking back at Marcus when he was finished. Marcus stood sheepishly with his lips pursed, eying the horse warily.
"You cannot ride," Connor stated, an observation instead of a question.
"I haven't in a very long time. But he looks calm, I should be fine."
"She is calm."
Marcus approached uncertainly, all while keeping a pleasant smile on his full lips. Tenderly, he reached out and touched the mare's neck, then moved his hand to the saddle horn. With the other hand on the cantle, he lifted his foot into the stirrup. "Wrong foot," Connor told him swiftly.
After quickly changing which foot he placed in the stirrup, Marcus paused and looked toward Connor. He then began to laugh, grey-green eyes lighting up with joy. "At least I got this far pretending to know what I was doing."
Connor couldn't help but smile. "Let me help you." Hands on Marcus' waist, Connor all but pushed him up into the saddle.
"At long last!" Marcus exclaimed upon seeing Connor's face once he sat high in the saddle. "He gives me a smile."
Taking the reins, Connor places them correctly in Marcus' hands. Marcus lets him, gaze not wandering from Connor's face. "For a while there, I thought you incapable of smiling."
"Can you find your way to your tavern?"
"I'm sure I'll be able to. If I get attacked again, I'll be sure to scream and my savior will come running."
Awkwardly, Marcus shifted in the saddle. Then he urged the mare forward, face full of momentary doubt. Connor had ridden her frequently and knew she was unlikely to throw him, and very likely to stick to the dirt roads and pathways. As she began forward, relief swept over Marcus and he gave Connor a short wave and a wink as he rode from the manor and down to the road. Connor found himself watching him go, wondering whether or not he would see the traveler again. Shaking his head, Connor returned to the empty manor, feeling small and suddenly very alone within its tall walls.
It was five days later when the mare was returned. Connor was sitting in the study, enjoying the last of the day's sunlight. He could see the brightness through his closed eyelids and could feel the warmth seeping through his clothes. He heard the faint sound of hooves hitting compact dirt, which roused him from his peace. The windows overlooked the stables and Connor could see the dark haired Marcus leading the paint mare back to her stall. Leaning against the window, Connor watched him for a time. Marcus unsaddled the mare and, with a lot of uncertainly, did what he could to make her comfortable. Then from a saddlebag he pulled out bottle of something and made his way toward the manor. Initially Connor had been skeptical whether or not Marcus would actually seek him out.
Making his way down the staircase and to the front door, Connor opened it immediately. Marcus stood with his first up, ready to knock, looking shocked that it had been opened before he could make a sound. Putting down his arm, he smiled and held up an unopened bottle of brandy. "I come bearing a gift."
Connor stepped aside and Marcus entered the manor. It was not often that he had visitors; anyone who came to this door was usually a homestead inhabitant and never had they come with a bottle of brandy. Connor looked Marcus over while they went into the dining room and Marcus set the bottle down, then went to look through the cabinets to find glasses. He was wearing the same boots, tattered and old, and the same tan breeches as he had been five days ago. The shirt was different, a given since one sleeve had been ruined, but the vest and russet over jacket was the same. "How did you get the brandy?"
"You certainly aren't dull. I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking. The owner of the tavern took the money out of my first pay, but it's a small price to pay compared to you saving my life." Marcus had found the glasses and sat down to open the bottle and pour the caramel coloured liquid. Connor was still lingering in the doorway and this fact did not go unnoticed. Putting down the bottle, Marcus fixed his gaze on Connor. "Come sit," he gestured to the chair opposite him, and when Connor did not move, his hands went to the chair beside him, "Or here, if you'd prefer."
Connor was not sure what passed between them at that moment, but he knew Marcus was trying to gage something. Going to the chair beside Marcus, Connor doubted he had ever seen anyone look so pleased. When Connor was seated, Marcus slid a glass to him then held up his own glass. "To you," he announced. "For being the savior of my pathetic ass."
When Connor did not move his glass, Marcus clinked their glasses together then took a sip. Since Connor had, once, had brandy before, he was prepared. It was not the most pleasant thing but he still drank. "I wish you would stop calling me 'savior'."
"You quite literally leapt from a tree and killed three wolves. I've never seen anything so incredible."
"You have no idea."
"Is it a habit of yours to jump from tall objects and kill things?" Marcus laughed, and when Connor did not reply, he shook his head. "You make me look more useless than I really am."
"I would not say anyone is useless."
"No, you're right. I am useful, but in very different ways," Marcus studied his reaction over the rim of the glass as he drank. Connor frowned, not yet understanding what he meant. It would not take him long to understand though.
"How do you intend on getting back to your tavern?" Connor asked.
"To walk, even if it's a long way."
"It is nearly night."
"Are you offering me a bed?"
"If it will stop you from getting yourself hurt," Connor added quietly after a moment. "Again."
"I'll take it then. Do you live here all alone?"
"Now, yes." Usually he would not feel the need to fill a silence, but this once he did. "My mentor passed away not long ago."
Marcus put his hand on Connor's arm and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, truly."
Wanting to talk about anything else, Connor motioned toward Marcus' own, wounded arm. "Has the bandage been changed at all?"
"Once, a few days ago."
Connor was already standing as Marcus spoke. He fetched fresh bandages and felt more comfortable tending to Marcus' wound than he did talking. It was not that he felt ill at ease around Marcus, quite the opposite in fact; he was becoming almost too comfortable and it created a small gnawing of worry in the back of his mind.
"You know," Marcus smiled, biting his lower lip as he paused. "If you're so concerned that I'll get myself hurt again, you could always teach me how to look after myself."
"Teach you what, exactly?"
"Anything you see fit to teach me. I am a blank canvas when it comes to everything of the sort."
"If I agree, when would this teaching be?"
Marcus thought for a moment. "A week today. Tuesdays aren't busy for the tavern, which is why I was able to come today."
Completely finished with Marcus' arm, Connor leaned back in his chair. Marcus was eying him expectantly, wearing the expression of a man who knew he would not be refused. Connor vaguely registered that he wanted nothing more than for Marcus to return to the manor. "Fine, Tuesday it is."
If Connor thought Marcus had been pleased before, that was nothing compared to the satisfied grin he gave him now.
They talked for a while, mostly about what possible things Connor could show Marcus. Eventually the night deepened and Marcus was guided up to Connor's room. Leaving Marcus in there, Connor went down to Achilles' unused bedchamber. It was a chilly room without the hearth and since Achilles' departure a layer of dust had spread itself over the old man's possessions. Connor briefly considered how bad his decision was to let Marcus sleep in his chamber before lying down on Achilles' bed. It would have irked him more to have let someone else, someone he barely knew, into Achilles' chambers.
He spent a very cold night sleeping on top of the covers and blankets, not wanting to get beneath them. He struggled to sleep, thinking mostly of Achilles and the empty manor. When morning eventually rolled around, Connor pushed himself up out of the bed as soon as he could. Soundlessly, he made his way up the staircase and through into his chambers.
Marcus did not hear the door open with how quietly Connor walked in. All Connor wished to do was get fresh clothes to dress himself in, and instead he just stood there staring at his bed. Marcus had his face buried in Connor's pillow, his good arm flung over it also. Connor had the pressing urge to go to the bed but resisted it with logic. Why would he do that? When Marcus stirred slightly in his slumber, Connor quickly walked over to his draws of clothing. He heard Marcus give a sleepy groan, and when he turned around to leave, Marcus was peering at him with muddled, half-lidded eyes. Connor left him like that, his chest feeling tight.
It wasn't until some time after Connor dressed and readied food that Marcus made an appearance. He was still bleary eyed and his hair was tousled, but that did not stop his usual grin appearing often when they breakfasted together. After breakfast, Connor walked Marcus to the manor's front door. "You could borrow the mare again," Connor suggested, leaning against the doorway.
"Is that just another excuse to get me to come back here?" Marcus cocked his chin at him. "I would accept but housing her was a little difficult. I will manage with walking, but thank you for being so concerned for my well-being."
Connor sighed, once again unable to stop himself from smiling.
"There it is," Marcus began walking away, looking back and calling out over his shoulder. "I hope to see that handsome smile again on Tuesday!"
Closing the door, Connor rest his forehead against the cool wood, still smiling.
I have never actually read any Connor fan fiction, so this is coming straight from my version of him.
Little side note: I was 100% imaging "kawaii" popping up above Connor's head upon seeing Marcus in his bed like that, but of course that can't do in the story so.