Chapter 21: The Lions' Den
The light was unbearable.
Kira's eyes squinted tightly as she roused herself from a deep sleep, defending against the assault of the nearby candle that fought valiantly to light the room. It was so nauseatingly bright, and she struggled against the urge to close her eyes again, and allow herself to retreat into darkness once more. Sweet, comfortable darkness. Even now, the thought of it reaching to grasp her had her longing to seize and embrace it. To pull it close and allow it to take over her. To recline into peaceful, soft, blissful sleep. Just another few minutes of it. That was all she would allow herself.
No.
That was a slippery slope, and one she had descended enough times already.
Her mind beginning to clear, Kira raised herself, moving gingerly to sit upright. The warm covers that had been draped over her slipped quietly into her lap, and as the chill of the room began to prick at her skin, she started to regain control of her senses. Almost instinctively, she commenced an analysis of her situation. Where was she? Presumably The Green Dragon, if what she could piece together of the previous day's events could be relied upon. Sure enough, if she focused, she could hear the drawl of the patrons downstairs. The shuffling of feet, the clinks of glasses and tankards being put down a little too enthusiastically, and the unmistakable din of voices and laughter, soused with drink.
It all seemed to add up. What next? Connor. She was met with flashes of unsettling memories of the man, the sight of his hands clutching his stomach, and of the blood, good God, so much blood. The first pangs of emotion struck her: a sickening sense of foreboding, and the undeniable ache of fear. Concern constricting her heart, she glanced about in a hurry, panic rising in the pit of her stomach. Until, that is, her eyes landed on a bed across the room, and on Connor's broad figure, slumped across it. He was still. Deathly still. But so had she been, she could imagine, up until a moment ago.
Rubbing her eyes, she peeled back the remaining covers and lowered her feet to the floor. Her dress cascaded down to her ankles as she stood, affording her only a quick glance at the bandages that enveloped her lower right leg, and frowning, she raised the garment to inspect the work closer. Satisfied, and trying to ignore the sting of the injury the bandages concealed, she crossed the room.
Reaching her friend, she exhaled a sigh of relief as she began to study him. She noted the subtle sound of his deep, languorous breaths, and that the colour had somewhat returned to his face. It was a stark contrast from the pallid hue it had adopted previously, whilst the blood had been draining out of him. He looked peaceful. Content. She revelled in the sight of it, spirit dampened only by the knowledge that it would be short-lived. He was liable to kill her when he awoke, and she winced as she anticipated the inevitable confrontation. There would be an argument, certainly. And a lecture or two.
Still, that was to be reckoned with later.
But what now? Kira paused. She took in her surroundings some more, and having taken the time to appreciate them, could distinguish the sound of voices coming from a nearby room. Curiosity piqued, she made her way cautiously to the door. Opening it a fraction, she peered into the next room: the meeting place of the Templars, at the top of the stairs, where she had so often come upon the small party. For now, though, it was empty. She was partially relieved. Leaning into the space a little, she realised the voices were coming from the adjacent room, where the door had been pushed to. Someone was arguing.
Intrigued and with little else to do, she moved to the other door, keeping herself pressed closely to the wall. Out of sight and unbeknownst to her hosts, she began to listen.
…
"What the hell were you thinking?"
Haytham sighed at the abrasiveness of Charles' question, though the sound was followed by a shallow hiss as Benjamin finished up a stitch on the last of his wounds. He hadn't sustained any that were substantial, but there were still a few typical cuts and gashes to be tended to, and the temporary dressings on them had only lasted so long whilst the physician had seen to the Assassins next door. The cut being addressed now, which stretched just beneath one of his shoulder blades, had run a little deeper than the rest.
"Apologies, sir," Benjamin had mumbled, almost to himself, as he felt his patient tense beneath him.
Offering a brief grunt of dismissal in response, Haytham reached for his drink and swallowed down a few mouthfuls of it, the sting of the alcohol a welcome distraction as his friend finished his work. Reluctantly, he mulled over the consequences of Charles' question. The younger Templar was looking at him now, expectantly, alongside William and Thomas, who had taken up various positions around the room.
"Do not forget your place, Charles," he began by warning, trying to establish some semblance of control over the rising anticipation of the room.
"You could have been killed." It was William this time, the calm of his voice a welcome contrast to his colleagues, though it was thick with concern.
"And for what? For our enemy, for an Assassin?" Charles spat.
"Two Assassins, actually." Haytham smiled, attempting to defuse the gravity of the conversation, though to little avail, and to the exasperation of his friends.
"One." William again, and there was a distinct insinuation to the word. "Whatever you did, you did for the woman. The boy's saving was merely a consequence."
"I'd 'ave done the same," Thomas interjected, and his companions each turned to him, all with varying levels of confusion. He continued, enjoying the spotlight. "The way I see it, now you saved 'er life, that entitles you to… well, some kinda reward, right? I can think of a few things, off the top of my 'ead."
The accompanying wolfish smile adequately informed them all of his intentions, and there was a collective groan in response.
"As charming as ever, Thomas, but you are all quite mistaken." The Grand Master assumed command once more, looking thoroughly disdainful of his friends' words. "Think what you will, but Miss Lawrence is of little importance to me. She served her purpose long ago, and I find I have exploited her of any and all potential uses."
Thomas opened his mouth in response, though was silenced with a single abrupt gesture. With a stern glare of warning, Haytham continued.
"She is of no further use to us. Connor, however? Despite everything, he is my son. If I am to be held accountable for a moment of weakness, let it be the correct one. I confess that I wish to rekindle my connection with the boy, that I might still persuade him to our way of thinking. Should I succeed, he would be a valuable asset to our cause."
It was a lie. Well, mostly. Haytham found himself quite often wondering what might be, were he able to salvage what precious little remained of his relationship with his son. The boy seemed to be a lost cause- the desperate old man had seen to that. But what if they were to come to some sort of mutual understanding? How substantially could things change, and for better, or worse? Admittedly, this had all been the last thing on his mind when he had come to the Assassins' rescue. Still, the others did not need to know that, even though now none of them looked particularly convinced.
"Neither one of the wretched creatures is worth saving!" Charles barked, breaking the silence as he lost his patience.
"Whatever the reason," William spoke softly, ignoring the outburst, "you must be careful. He…" The word was spoken in a way that largely implied it meant the opposite, "is not worth getting killed for."
Haytham reflected on this, taking another sip of his drink before extending a smile to his friend. "I appreciate your concern, truly, but I assure you, I know what I am doing."
"We are finished here." Benjamin's voice came from over his shoulder, and the statement was accompanied by the sound of tools being gathered up.
"Thank you, Benjamin." The patient stood, reaching for his shirt that had been tossed upon a nearby side table. Shrugging it over his shoulders, he paused to consider his companions once more. "Now, if you are all quite finished with your interrogation, I believe you have duties to attend."
The others made to move, each man offering mumbles of affirmation and farewell as they made for the door. Charles sauntered a little begrudgingly, clearly dissatisfied, whilst William took a more leisurely approach to his exit, passing his leader and giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he did so. His smile having been returned, he too strolled from the room, taking care to pull the door closed quietly behind him.
Having the room to himself, Haytham released a sigh of relief that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He relaxed a little, loosening his shoulders and rolling them in a soothing stretch, though wincing as he felt one or two cuts protest at the effort. With an inward groan, he reached for his drink, only to find the glass tauntingly empty. He eyed it, like a man betrayed, before moving in search of the rest of the bottle.
…
She made it just in time.
Kira had ducked behind the door to her temporary room, pushing it to just as the Templars emerged from the adjoining one. Her breath came shallow and quick, reflecting the racing of her mind. If eavesdropping on the men's conversation had taught her anything, it was that she was on dreadfully thin ice. Were they to catch her abusing her hospitality, she was certain that ice would shatter beneath her feet, and she would find herself falling right through. She doubted Haytham would have the heart- or even authority- to fish her out this time.
Listening, she heard a number of the men retreat down the stairs. All of them? Maybe. It was hard to tell. Once quiet had descended once more, she chanced a glance around the door, eyes surveying the meeting room. It was empty, though a few neighbouring doors had been left open a crack, and she sensed activity from behind them. Regrettably, it was impossible to gauge who had stayed and who had gone. It was Charles she feared most. Well, not feared- she could certainly take the man in a fight- but distrusted. Of all the Templars, he was seemingly the last to be reasoned with. Unpredictable. Violent. The most likely to turn a bad situation worse.
A sense of calm having returned, Kira cautiously stepped into the barren space. As she worked on identifying the activity in each room, her attention was seized by the sound of a cupboard closing in the one the group had been gathered in. Haytham? It must be. Having sent the others to their duties, it would make little sense for anyone else to have remained behind. Unsure of her own intentions, she found herself being drawn towards the sound. It was… reassuring, almost. Worryingly so. She tried to shrug off her own poor judgement, dismissing it as a product of fatigue. Unable to persuade herself against the action, she knocked lightly on the door, before slipping silently inside.
…
Haytham looked up at once, having just fixed himself a new drink. He began to tense, though instantly relaxed as Kira's lithe figure emerged, her entrance lacking the boldness it usually possessed.
"Miss Lawrence," he smiled courteously in greeting, "it is good to see you are well."
"Thank you." She sounded polite, albeit a little distracted, a little distant, as she accustomed herself to the new space.
She was making a customary assessment of the room, scanning for any threats or any reasonable causes for concern. As satisfied as a mouse could be in the heart of a lion's den, she regarded the man before her for the first time, who was in the belated process of buttoning his shirt. Almost inadvertently her gaze dropped to his chest, and as she studied the planes of it, she noticed a rather obtrusive scar that marked the landscape of his stomach.
"What happened there?" She gestured towards it, trying to break the tension, and trying to distract herself from… something.
"Hmm?" He took a moment to grasp her meaning, and laughed almost sardonically as he did. "Oh this? It is a grim reminder that good intentions are not always well-met."
She frowned pensively, already feeling more comfortable. "Ominous, and…. intriguing, I grant you. Though not in the least answering my question."
He smiled. "I suppose not. In truth? I was stabbed by a boy I sought to aid. A long time ago now. He was barely a slip of a thing, but the miscalculation almost killed me."
"Heavens," she sympathised, "you are lucky he did not strike an organ."
"That I was. And equally lucky to find good care whilst I recovered, it took me almost six months to get back on my feet." Haytham had made his way over to a cabinet as he recalled the tale, and he broke the narration as he stooped to it now, pre-emptively reaching inside for another glass. "Care for a drink?"
It couldn't hurt. "Yes, thank you."
She watched as he poured her out a share, reflecting on the fragment of a story he had told her already. In all honesty she knew precious little about the man, aside from the fact that he was villainous, immoral, and constantly out to cause trouble, as Achilles was always so quick to assure. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the thought, knowing people were rarely so two-dimensional. After all, was Haytham's father not Edward Kenway, revered Assassin? There alone lay a story, and one she was keen to unravel. As formidable an adversary as the Templar Grand Master was, she would have bet any money that the story of his life was one worth hearing.
Pushing these thoughts aside, she settled on grasping what she could from the recent anecdote. "So," she pursued, as she gratefully accepted the glass he held out to her, "where are they now?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Whoever aided you. Whilst you recovered."
The man fell silent, and she sensed an apprehension in him as he took a contemplative sip from his drink, eyes trained on the amber liquid. He looked… sad, and she couldn't recall having ever seen him wear the emotion before. She was about to reassure him he need not answer the question when he spoke, softly.
"He is dead. Suicide."
The few words were chilling, and Kira faltered, unable to think of an appropriate response. Eventually she found herself settling for a simple sincerity. "I'm so sorry."
He smiled gratefully, but there was an unmistakable pain behind the expression. "It was a long time ago, as I said."
"Still."
He hesitated before visibly shaking off the comment, seemingly keen to move away from the subject. "How about you, in any case? Any particularly close brushes with death?"
"Aside from those you have directly inflicted on me?" She laughed nervously, still brushing off the gravity of the previous discussion.
"And from that which I have recently rescued you, yes," he taunted, though equally light-heartedly.
She shook her head dismissively, smiling at the comment. She'd undoubtedly danced with death a little too closely on numerous occasions, but she struggled to pinpoint a single one now. "None come to mind, I am afraid."
The conversation lulled, as it so habitually did when the pair were confronted by each other. They were both busy reflecting on what had been said, and on what could be said. Considering every option, weighing every outcome. Both were desperate to avoid a dispute- which they usually found themselves barrelling towards one way or another- though neither would be caught dead admitting it. Perhaps that was part of the problem. It was always a game of which both sought victory, though neither necessarily enjoyed winning. The triumph usually exacted too high a toll.
Kira moved to the window, watching the street that stretched out below, and noting the late hour. It was darker than she had initially realised, and she considered for the first time how long she had been asleep. Almost an entire day, it would seem. Still, no apparent damage had been done. She felt Haytham's gaze on her as she made her observations, and she took a sip from her drink as she tried to think of some suitable conversation.
"What did Church say of Connor's condition? Will he be alright?"
"With rest. The wound was not fatal, but he lost a great deal of blood. It was fortunate we were able to help him when we could. With luck, it will not become infected."
Kira nodded thoughtfully, relieved at the news.
"You, on the other hand," he continued, to her puzzlement, "did not lose as much blood as we had suspected. Benjamin said you were exhausted."
She reflected on the words, hardly surprised when she thought back on the past week. It was true she hadn't been taking the best care of herself, but that wouldn't have mattered had Connor not brought the wrath of an entire city down on himself in the first place. "It is of no consequence."
"No consequence?" he scoffed, a little taken aback by the absurdity of the comment. "It almost cost you your life. Miss Lawrence, you must take your health into better consideration, should you-"
"I see not how my welfare is of any concern to you," she cut in, in no mood for a lecture. Her eyes remained fixed on the people who moved about the street below.
"It isn't." He clenched his jaw, beginning to find her lack of attention grating. "I am simply stating a fact."
She hummed disbelievingly as she returned her focus to him. This was becoming a little tedious. "'Miss Lawrence,'" she began, having exaggerated her own accent to better mimic his statement, "'you must take your health into better consideration.' 'Must'…" She mused over the word. "So, an imperative. A command."
"Your point?"
"That the accusation stands, Mr Kenway." She turned back to the window. "If you care so little for my welfare, why feel the need to command me take better care of myself?"
He smirked, waving-off the question. "Perhaps you should be less pedantic."
"Perhaps you should choose your words more carefully, lest they be misconstrued."
A particularly heavy silence followed the remark. Kira tensed, looking to the outside world but not entirely perceiving it, her mind unable to leave the room. She had made her case- quite strongly, she believed- and as someone who tosses a match to a powder keg, she waited for the inevitable. Still, it had been tossed willingly. It always was, and she wondered now why she seemed to derive such dangerous pleasure in provoking the man. And since when did she indulge herself in such self-destructive tendencies in the first place?
Should she not have been so busy chastising herself, she might have realised that she had missed her mark completely. That the keg remained, for all intents-and-purposes, intact.
"Duly noted," Haytham said, genially. He smiled, particularly pleased with himself as he stood down in the face of the competition that had arose, embracing defeat as his own sort of personal victory.
Kira frowned in surprise, looking to him in disbelief. He took some satisfaction in the look, deepening the smile triumphantly, in case she had any doubt he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"Of course," his tone meandered playfully, "I can dispute your point, should that be what you… desire."
There was an implication there, and she told herself she did not like it, despite the feeling of heat prickling in her cheeks. "On the contrary," she rebuffed, "I was simply wondering what inspired you to be not quite as intolerable today as you usually are. Thank you though, truly, for dismissing the need for the question entirely."
"My pleasure," he chuckled, only adding to her frustration.
They were both stirred by a commotion coming from outside the door. Benjamin soon came bustling through, a little out of breath, and looking like a man who was at his wit's end.
"Master Kenway," he stammered, "apologies, sir, I tried to-"
"Out of my way." Connor pushed past the bumbling man forcefully, the intensity of his tone and gaze instantly commanding the attention of the room. To a stranger he would have looked unaffected by the previous day's ordeal, but Kira noticed a slight tremor to his usually robust posture, and a slight wince in his expression as he moved. He bore the usual strong and aggressive façade, but she knew it was one he was struggling to maintain.
The young Assassin's eyes sought out his ally, and he took a few purposeful strides towards her. "Kira, we have to go."
She possessed neither the mood to argue nor the desire to stay, but her attention had fallen to the bandages across his stomach, which were already staining red with his blood. He had agitated the wound, which although hardly surprising, would leave him in a much worse state if not addressed. The last thing she needed was him losing consciousness on the ride back to the manor.
"In a moment, but first, your wound needs to be seen to. Your bandages need to be reapplied."
"No. We are leaving. Right now."
By now he had practically reached her, and the statement was accompanied by the not-so-subtle gesture of his seizing her arm. He was careful not to cause harm, but his grip was firm enough to accentuate that he was taking some form of command.
Kira, on the other hand, was not at all enjoying the display of falsely-assumed authority. "Let go of me!" she demanded, starting to lose her temper, and snatching her arm away to make her own point.
"But we must-"
"Enough!" It was at this point she lost control completely. "Who are you to come in here like this, barking orders and issuing commands? Might I remind you that it was you who persuaded me you were capable of acting alone yesterday? You who would have been killed, were it not for I almost giving my own life to aid you? A gesture I have yet to be thanked for, I might add! We are both standing here, impossibly fortunate to be alive, and you have the audacity to condemn me for how it happened? We are suffering the consequences of your mistake, and don't you dare forget it."
An awful silence followed the conclusion of the speech. Connor was- and it was a rare spectacle- speechless, and he now shifted gingerly on his feet, unable to match his friend's fiery gaze. The outburst had been cruel, but there was a dreadful and humbling truth to it- one that undeniably hurt.
Kira felt the instant sting of regret as soon as her thoughts caught up to her words, and as she watched a look of guilt fall across her companion's features. She sighed, appreciating the irony of how quickly she had swung from being cordial with a sworn enemy to brutally berating an ally and friend. Knowing she could not take back what had been said, she attempted to salvage the man's dignity a little. "Wait for me outside, please? Mr Church will see to your injury, and we'll leave as soon as he has done so."
She turned to Benjamin questioningly and he was quick to nod in compliance, as though his true leader were not stood just across from him. He ushered a defeated Connor from the room, wanting to be away from the tension as soon as possible, and certain his patient would be similarly grateful for the escape.
Alone with Haytham once more, Kira's gaze fell to the drink she had been nursing, the glass all-too idle in her hand. She took a grateful swig from it, trying to ignore the swells of regret that crept upon her conscience, and preparing for whatever snide comment the Templar was inevitably conjuring.
It came eventually, after the man had spent adequate time deriving amusement from her awkward reticence. "The boy seems to possess a great talent for testing your patience."
"Yes, well…" Kira took a deep breath. "I can scarcely imagine where he gets it from."
The man raised an eyebrow, appreciating her sense of humour. "Oh, his mother, certainly," he quipped, without missing a beat. He moved a hand to his heart theatrically. "I have always taken pride in being quite amicable."
She laughed- the soft sound of it almost as warming as his own drink. It was gentle yet genuine, though he couldn't help but notice there was a subtle restraint there, as though she were refusing herself the full pleasure of it.
"Still," he continued, trying to distract himself from his own analysis, "you seem to have found an effective way to manage his temperament."
"Ah yes, abject humiliation," the woman smiled, raising her drink slightly in a mock toast before finishing it. "I am immensely proud."
The sarcasm of her tone was undermined by an obvious remorse that darkened the mood of the room a little more than she'd intended. Haytham shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his own spirit dampened for a reason he couldn't fathom. "Give yourself some credit," he found himself trying to reassure her, "the boy almost got you killed. I would say that is adequate justification for what was said."
A shake of the head. "No, that is no excuse. Connor made a mistake, that is all. Belittling him for it achieved nothing."
"And yet now you belittle yourself for what you perceive is your own mistake?"
She could hardly argue with that. She looked up at the man, wide-eyed and a little startled. She wondered why on earth he had taken it upon himself to comfort her, and more so, how he'd been so damned successful. He was right. If she could forgive Connor, the least she could do was forgive herself.
An unsettling ease set over her. It was comfortable but it felt… wrong.
"I suppose you are right." She forced a relieved smile, suddenly unsure of herself, and desperate to disguise the weakness. She straightened and moved to place her glass down on a nearby table. "I had better leave, Connor will be ready by now."
Haytham could sense her discomfort, and though uncertain of the reason for it, had no desire to keep her against her will. "Of course."
She nodded gratefully, and moved for the door. She perhaps crossed the room a little more quickly than the situation warranted, and when she reached the exit, she prepared to slink through without a thought. Still, as she reached for the handle, she felt something pulling her back from an otherwise swift escape. Her own poor judgement was creeping back again. It had to be fatigue. Didn't it?
"Mr Kenway?" She turned back, inwardly scolding herself with every word.
He looked at her, head tilted slightly in question.
"Thank you, for what you did yesterday, truly. If you hadn't come along…" She trailed off, the reality of how closely she had confronted her own mortality frightening her. In the heat of battle she had hardly the chance to dwell on it, but now? She reflected on the permanence of it. The finality. It made her feel sick. "I do not care to think of it."
"Neither do I," he smiled. "You really must be more careful."
There was that command again. She smiled too. "I will."
…
Connor was waiting anxiously outside The Green Dragon, having fled the confines of the building as soon as humanly possible, and at the behest of Benjamin, who had barely finished reapplying a last bandage. He wondered what was keeping Kira, and contemplated going in once more to fetch her, until her recent words echoed in his mind, and kept him planted firmly to the spot. Still, with each moment he waited, her outburst seemed to further lose its effect.
The front door creaked open, and Kira stepped quietly from it, already pulling her coat a little more tightly about herself as she was met with the cool evening air. He watched as she paused, seemingly taking a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment as though savouring the chill. An instant later, her keen eyes opened once more. She spotted Connor almost immediately.
He froze under her gaze, the stillness a great contrast from the agitated state he was in a few seconds earlier. He battled with uncertainty as she approached, though relaxed a little as she smiled.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," she said, voice warm.
"It is alright." It wasn't, entirely, but he pushed aside the thought. We are suffering the consequences of your mistake, and don't you dare forget it. He shuddered a little, and it wasn't the cold. "Kira," he began, "I am sorry for what happened, for putting you in danger as I did. I should not have-"
"I forgive you, Connor," she interjected, "really. I am just glad you are safe."
This was a far-cry from her previous attitude on the matter, and the young Assassin struggled to think of an appropriate response, caught thoroughly off-guard, though grateful for her words.
Kira chuckled, amused by the man's clear confusion. "Come," she spared him the peril of a reply, "let us be away from here."
He nodded in keen agreement, longing to return home. Despite her warmth, he felt a nagging uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach, and a persistent question edging into his mind. He would spend the rest of the journey wondering what had inspired her change of heart.
Author's Note:
Ok so, the wait was longer than a week, but it's been just over a month since I published the last chapter I think? If you've been with me from the early days of this fic, you'll know that this is something that just does not happen. But it did! Here I am! These are crazy times indeed.
Which reminds me, I want to thank any and all new readers who are just finding this fic and making it all the way to this point! Thanks so much for your support, am so glad there are still people so fond of this game and these characters. Also shout-out to anyone who's been following the story for a while. Drop a comment if you have, am intrigued to see if there are many (if any) of you still here! :D
Love and appreciate you guys so much, hope you're all still staying safe! Have written 2/3 of the next chapter already so it should be up vaguely soon. :)
kittycat312