AN: Late Valentine's Day drabble for Haytham and Ziio because they need love too. If this looks familiar, I shared this on tumblr too.
When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by darkness.
Cold blackness surrounded him and he closed his eyes once more. He'd finally passed from the physical world; a fitting end to his broken story.
No more would he lead his men to victory. No more would he be the poster child of the Colonial Templars.
Eyes opened again and he sat up. The darkness wrapped quietly around him, silence being his only companion. There was nothing around him, yet he felt something under him. With his palms flat on his sides, he pushed himself up, with heavy success.
There he stood in the nothingness, brushing dirt from his person. What an odd predicament. His physical body was gone but yet he still felt…physical. Every sense felt dulled yet sharp, he could feel and yet not feel. He stood on nothing, yet walked on solidness.
In all directions he turned, twisting, turning, nothing, nothing, something.
He stopped and focused.
Something was ahead of him, beckoning him, inviting him and he obeyed. The small something turned to a small, bright something, growing bigger as he approached. A childish giggle to his left made him stop. The image of his father ruffling his hair came into view over the darkness. 'A memory. My life before my eyes.' Another image faded into view, his mother tucking him in and kissing him goodnight.
The small, bright something morphed into a light, a beacon, and he walked to it. To his right, the night of his father's murder played out in its entirety. He urged himself to move faster towards the warmth. To the left, his father's first meeting with Reginald Birch faded into view. The light pulled him further.
His discovery of the precursor site.
Washington's letter to destroy Connor's village.
His first encounter with Ziio.
His first meeting with Connor.
He met the light and warmth enveloped him, accepted him. He closed his tired eyes and stepped through.
He manifested into the frontier.
The sun burned bright through the woods and he had to shield himself from the light. Everything hit his senses at once and he struggled to process the stimuli around him. Birds chirping in the branches high above him, the soft breezes dropping by, the strong scent of grass and spring. When he brought his hand down, he noticed it wasn't as worn and weathered as it had been while he walked with the living. A slight glance to his ponytail revealed soft black hair, instead of silver strands.
Confusion overcame him and he wondered if this was his hell. He'd never really been a man of faith but the thought of his soul spending eternity in the wilderness was an undesirable one; not to say that he deserved to be in heaven either. He'd lost his spot in heaven the moment he was born into the cursed Kenway bloodline.
A quick rustling of bushes behind him caught his attention and he turned around. Another figure faded into view, making him tense. Maybe he wasn't in hell, more like a holding place for souls if they were just coming and going when they pleased. The other figure came in slowly, from the bottom up. He watched as deerskin boots gave way to animal furs and dark hair, feathers and brown eyes. He blinked.
Ziio.
He watched as she stood up slowly, and simply stared. He could do nothing but stare back because she was here and he was here and here they were.
It was if they were meeting again for the first time.
He blinked again and there she was, in front of him, looking up at him with those treacherous brown eyes. She raised a hand to his face, her eyes locked with his, and he noticed how soft her hand was. It was the same softness he encountered in the cave all those years ago; it was if she never aged a day.
'We're as young as the day we met', he figured. 'And she's still just as beautiful.'
"You've reached the Spirit World." She stated, as a matter-of-fact.
"All thanks to our son, really."
She frowned. "Ratonhnhaké:ton did this?"
"It's a long story, really. With a terrible ending." He flicked his hand nonchalantly.
She smiled at the poor joke and removed her hand. He missed the softness immediately. "Where are we?"
"I do not know," she said as she began to circle him, "I have not known for twenty years."
His confusion got the best of him. "How have you survived here? Passed the time?"
"I have been watching over our son ever since my death. Guiding him as much as the spirits would allow me. Over my village so no harm befell upon it."
'Obvious reasons, really.'
She'd stopped her circling and returned to her spot in front of him. She'd gone quiet, so did he, and they just observed one another. He thought he would never see her again but here she was, just as radiant as the setting sun. The scent of grass and pine wafted off her in waves and he found he'd missed the smell. She moved closer into his personal space, both hands to his face, and he let her. He'd missed the intimacy, their height difference, the soft hands and quiet murmurs. He'd missed her and he couldn't bring himself to say it.
'Meeting again for the first time….'
"I didn't trust you."
"I know." He couldn't help the sigh.
"And yet you remained."
"So that I could prove you wrong."
"It didn't happen." She smiled and he swore the forest grew brighter.
"So you say."
"So I know."
"And yet I remained."
She pressed herself to him when he wrapped his arms around her. "But will you stay longer?"
It was his turn to smile. "If only to prove you wrong. Luckily, I've time to do so."
Her lips were as soft as ever.