1493

Orléans, France

I met Nicky and Joe a full fifty years after I was in my new life.

Of curse, the first ten years were hell. For one, I thought I was damned by what happened to me. No matter how many times I cried and wept when I was in a local church not too far away from my home, I could only wonder if God was giving me some kind of punishment for what I did in battle. Was it because I disguised myself as a man? Was it because I killed people myself? I knew it was risky, I didn't even tell my mother and father what I was doing. So sin, to me, was rearing its ugly head against me now as I woke up covered in blood on the sticky bloody ground of Orléans.

Was I truly dead?

I re-emerged being trembled by horses, my insides being smothered by the force of the horses and other people trampling over my body. Maybe this was some kind of sickness of the mind, and yet I felt so trapped within myself. I knew I couldn't go back to my home since my parents only knew that I was dead.

Home was in fact so far away, and the after-effect of the battle was enough for me to hide in the darkness and the shadows. The only thing I took that was my own was my bow and arrow that I took into battle since I knew I was using it more for life and death than sport. I would hunt for food and even defend myself from time to time. But mostly, in the end, I was hiding.

Hide with this new confusing life.

The first years were of me drifting through the small towns of Paris, going through the after-effects of battles that were going on left and right. I kept my head down with this new burden the was haunting me every night when I would sleep where I could. For a few years in the beginning I found peace and safety in churches, helping when I could after pleading if I could help clean and protect the churches from robbers and thieves. They would pay me what they could, which at that time was barely anything. However, they fed me and gave me shelter. Of course, I got strange looks, but I was desperate not to sleep out in the open at night or on the streets.

Those first years were beyond lonely.

I tried every night, in some way, to inflict some kind of wound on myself to see if it was true and that I wasn't caught in some kind of lie. Hiding within the depth of the church shadows, I would stab myself in the chest with a jagged dagger that I swiped from a merchant. Or another time I would find some leftover glass from a church and I would slash my throat. Every time I did harm to myself or was close to death, I saw my body instantly healing itself. This was a miracle or a curse, and I felt as though I couldn't ask the priest what it is.

I was afraid of what others would think of me.

Of course, the dreams of those people I saw when I first died were still happening. But compared to before, it was like I was given a glimpse of their lives in those dreams. At times, I could see them traveling somewhere out in the far East, or maybe it was somewhere near the water. But they were together: the one female and the two males. The two males moved as one, and it looked like the female was the leader of the three of them. They were on the hunt for something, and if it was a new place, I had no idea where it was.

I was both afraid and entranced by them.

I was approached by the Priest of the local church I was protecting, seeing him invite me to a personal meal with him and explain how grateful he was that I saved his church from the thieves and robbers because of the after-effects of the Siege that many were a part in.

"Since you came int our service, we have yet to be robbed of how possessions that have been ordained by God," He explained as he sat across from me, and I could see the look on his face and how he wanted to say something else that seemed so serious, "My child, we must let you go,"

"Oh, Father!" I said in grief and fear as I then fell to my knees and groveled in front of him. I was fearing the worst, and it was all coming through my mind so fast, "Please don't send me away! I'll soon perish out in the world,"

"My child," He said to me in a calm tone, almost in a laugh as I was hiding my face in my hands and was on my knees in front of him. He placed his hand under my chin, making me tilt my head up to him to see his kind face. He didn't look sad about it, which made me even more confused.

"I have told of your good services to another church and they ask for you to go to them," He explained, my facial expression was longer sadness but confused, "We are but a little House of God here, and though we don't have much, we have enough. This church is more to lose, and with your God-given abilities and your God-loving heart, we must send you to do good works."

"Have I sinned, Father?" I asked meekly, not knowing what else there was to this new revelation in m life.

"Not as much as the common folks that walk these streets," he reassured me, "You have a gift of protection."

"Of murder, Father," I commented in a mumble.

"If God deems it so for you to protect his House of Worship in that manner, then let it be so. I can see the Goodness of God in you, from the moment you stepped onto this Holy Ground and pleaded for a place to lay your head and your fill your stomach with strength and love. No matter how far you have sinned or Fallen from God, He will guide you and bring you back to Him always."

"Please bless me before I depart from you, Father, so I can be protected outside of these walls that have blessed me more than I could ever deserve." I pleaded with him one more time. He merely smiled, and I saw that smile at every Mass and Baptism, through every tearful funeral and wake. For a man of God, he was always happy, and I never knew why.

I was sent to Orléans Cathedral the next day with Blessing and my new life ahead of me.

1509

The Cathedral was massive, a towering comparison to the small church I hid away in for two years prior. The echoing halls and stained windows that were being placed in by workers every day. The Father of my old church introduced me to Bishop of Béziers who was in charge of the Cathedral, showing me the deep responsibilities of what I was sent there to do. In the night hours, I would protect the Cathedral from not only thieves and robbers, but those who had ill wishes against the building itself and what it represented.

In the end, I killed plenty to protect the House of the Lord.

Nicky and Joe came in the dead of right, in the pouring rain during the Spring. I was on patrol, as always since it's been a month or two of me being there. It was vastly different from what I was used to in the smaller chapel, I even had a room to myself up in the high hidden rooms of the Cathedral. I was immensely blessed, though it still felt like I didn't deserve this kind of blessing. I did pray, I did attend Mass from the rafters to not be seen, and I would walk around the town under the thick maroon cloak that was provided to me by the Cathedral, but at night, I was alone in my own thoughts and with my own bow.

My bow and arrows were now a part of me.

I would practice at night, even when there weren't real people for me to shoot at. I would find target throughout the Cathedral for me to make and have my days with. It was better for me at night, since there weren't a whole lot of citizens or people around to hear or see me. I liked those moments: peace and quiet with my weapon and my ever confusing mind a to what will happen to me in my life

That night I was perched on the top fo one of the arches, a hood over my face from my cloak and I was hiding in the darkness as the rain was coming down more and more. People were walking to and fro around the streets that were churning in mud and debris. People were walking and laughing, not noticing me in the shadows.

Then, I saw the two of them.

They were approaching the Cathedral, dressed in dark cloaks and hiding their faces. I could tell in how they were approaching the steps, looking around in hesitance and almost worry as they were coming closer. Something seemed off with them, they weren't like others. Peering down a bit more, I saw instantly what it was.

They both had weapons. Swords to be precise.

Moving swiftly and quickly, I moved around some of the pillars and then peered down on the other side of a platform I was on, seeing the two of them going right up to the front doors. I grabbed a spare rope that attached to a pully, getting my dagger from my hip holster and slashing the pully from staying still. I then took a step out from the platform, lowering myself down a good forty feet carefully and landed on the front steps lightly and barely with any sound.

"Arrêtez-vous où vous êtes," I said in a low tone, seeing the both of them whirl around at me and how I came out of nowhere. Within a second I threw up my bow, drew an arrow, and pulled it back, aiming at the smaller one of the two. The taller, one, a bit more muscular though hidden in the cloak he was harboring, drew out his sword from its holster. This sword was one I haven't seen before, curved along the backside looking elegant and yet deadly.

He aimed that sword right at me, my stance going a bit stiff now as the smaller one threw up his hand onto the handle of the bigger one's sword. They both looked at each other, whispering to each other in some language that seemed foreign and far away. The swordsman, then reluctantly lowered his sword, still holding it at a stance, but it was down at his side. I was still armed and ready, not wanting to give him just yet as the smaller one then reached up to move his hood away to show his face.

He was slim in stature, pale in the face though his eyes were bright and looked at me curiously. I felt my stance shift since I knew that face. I've seen that face, all the time in the moments where I would dream. He was there, looking determined and yet kind in his face though his eyes seemed so wise. So, the bigger one with the word must have been the dark-skinned man who was with him constantly, which made sense at this moment.

I kept my own hood up though in fear and protection as he was pointing at me. I didn't know what else to do, for they may still be my enemy though they haunted my dreams.

"Tu parli Italiano?" he asked. So, he was Italian.

"Française," I replied shortly, seeing him looked a bit pained from my answer, "Tu Parles françasi?"

"Très peru," The bigger one with the sword replied, his voice was deep in comparison to the Italian. His voice was thick with a different accent, deep and almost in a rumble like thunder. I looked at him too, aiming my bow at him.

"Tu ne peux pas être ici," I explained to him, my grip on my weapons was almost slipping in my grip from holding it for too long.

"English?" The Italian asked me also desperately, having me start to slowly lower my bow and arrow from aiming. Something inside of me, deep within my chest, told me to trust them. I felt a pull towards them, even when I saw them in m dreams. The instinct part of me wanted to be where they were because they had to be important to show up in my dreams over and over. I heard of signs from God of those He calls us to be within our lives, those He brings us to. Were these men Angels sent by God, or demons?

"Very little…" I said slowly in my broken English, knowing only a scare amount because of the learning from the old Priest. He held me in my English, enough to understand. The Italian nodded his head, slowly, raising his hands out to me to show me he wasn't going to do anything. I was still keeping my hands on my bow and arrow in case something else were to happen.

"You were killed 10 years ago..." He explained, his thick Italian accent with the broken English came through sounded gentle in the high arched area, "You were at a battle…you were trampled by horses and stabbed."

It made me tense up, not understanding how he knew about my death. it sounded so surreal, almost unreal and it made me think that this was some kind of trick. These past ten years felt like a trick in my mind, and now for him to tell me he knew I died…it was too much. I didn't care that he was in my dreams, it scared me that he knew of my death. No one else knew: not my parents, nor did the Priest for Bishop. Both these two strangers, they knew.

I threw my bow and arrow back up, and before I blink, I released the arrow. It flew, barely missing the Italian and grazing his arm that was out. He hissed, cursing in Italian and retreating his arm instantly, hunching over slightly as my arrow went off in the distance behind him. I looked in horror as the older one threw off his hood and looked at the Italian in horror and worry.

His face, I too remembered: dark in pigment and thick black curly hair on the top fo his head. His eyes were dark, soothingly dark though they were looking at his comrade in worry and shock He sported a thick beard that matched his hair to cover the lower half of his face.

The taller man looked at me, and I could see he was about to be in rage as if he was offended that I even touched the Italian without his consent. He grabbed the handle fo his sword in a death grip before the Italian once again stopped him.

"Basta, amore," The Italian said calmly to the other. They exchanged looks, mentally speaking to each other as the Italian than looked at me. The pain I gave him from the wound was etched on his face, but he then raised his arm up into the light of the night, showing me the wound itself.

The wound was deep, but not deep enough for intense damage. The blood was dark in contrast with his pale skin and as I was watching the wound, something amazing happened in front of my eyes. The wound itself, though it seemed like magic, was slowly closing and repairing itself.

I felt my fingers slipping from my bow, hearing it clatter onto the floor now as I was watching with wide eyes the wound slowly closing up easily, then showing no sign of my harming him. I was lost for my breath, not seeing something like this from another person. I thought I was the only one who was cursed with this…I don't even know what it was.

"Ma malédiction…" I trailed off. The both of them looked at me now as I grabbed my dagger to hold it solely in my hand. I knew what I was about to do was crazy, let alone suicidal if others were going to see this. But since I saw this foreign man who me that he was like me…whatever I was… I had to show him the same.

With a precise and gentle aim, I drew the tip of the blade against my skin on my forearm, drawing blood and I was hissing in the process as I knew I drew out a good size wound. The blood was going on the floor as I drew the blade away and watched the wound with my own eyes. This was a risk I was taking, and maybe things would be worse for me in how they were going to react.

Of course, as it did plenty of times before when I would use my self-harm to prove myself wrong, the wound was closing itself back up. It was repairing itself, having me feel the skin attaching itself together like two pieces of cloth being sewn together as one. I cringed as the wound finally was long gone and there was no more trace to be found.

It was quiet, and I held my dagger in a death grip.

Both the Italian and his friend looked at me now, seeing how it looked like I was so fragile in now realizing that I wasn't alone in all of this. My whole world once again shifted, before it was when I died. I was alone in this world this whole time, thinking no one else understood, and if they did they would have condemned me. But now, now knowing that there were others like me in the world.

It was either another blessing or another curse.

The Italian slowly walked over to me, showing no sign of anger or agitation. In fact, his eyes were kind as he stood in front of me, a mere foot away now as I was watching his every move. He pointed him himself.

"I'm Nicolo," he said to me, then he pointed to his friend behind him who didn't move from his spot, "He is Yusuf," he looked back at me, his pale eyes were drilling into my own now as I was still and unable to move from there fear of another trick unfolding, "We've been looking for you,"

"Why?" I had to ask, not understanding. He paused, thinking to himself briefly before he answered.

"Destiny," he replied. I nodded slowly. Sure, I did rule in Destinty as a possibility that I had this infliction, but it wasn't constant. I then pointed to myself with my bloody arm, right in the middle of my chest.

"Eleanor."

Modern Day

Early into the morning, Joe told me all that happened in London.

I listened to his every word: the mission that was a decoy, the discovery of Nile, recruiting her to the group, both Nicky and Joe being taken by Merrick, and what leads to Booker's betrayal to the Old Guard. It wasn't shocking to hear how someone tried to get a cure from who we were and what we had, it's happened before. We've heard it and experienced it, and of course, it was a failure to them.

But I could see the pain on Joe's face when he spoke of Booker, feeling the betrayal way down in his bones. Joe was a man of tradition and loyalty, as we all were, but this was more intense. He was loyal to Nicky, would follow him without a second thought or a blink in his eye. Loyalty was in his blood, mostly to Nicky above anything else, but he was loyal to us none the less.

The morning rays of sunshine were pouring over the tops of the buildings as Joe ended the story with how we were working with the very agent who betrayed them in the first place. This agent saw all the good Andy did in the past, Joe, Booker, and Nicky too, but he knew Andy was special because of her age and how she was willing to push so far to finish something good. I was quiet the whole time, and once he ended, I sighed and bit my lower lip to look away from him. It was a lot to drink in, and as I stood up and walked over to the small balcony railing that was there, I stood at the edge and was quiet for a moment.

"I know that look,"

I looked over my shoulder briefly at Joe, seeing him watch me with a tilt of his head as he was holding his coffee cup.

"What look?" I asked, hearing him chuckle as I looked back in front of me, seeing Venice slowly wake up to a new day.

"The look of something deep in her mind that you don't wanna share," He explained, walking over to stand next to me, leaning against the railing to drink his coffee, "I've seen it many a time on your face,"

"Am I that obvious?" I questioned.

"At times, yes. But I know how to read people," He admitted as we exchanged a look. I could see how he truly wanted to know what was on my mind, the softness in his face though I knew he had the ability to be filled with rage and fury. I took in a breath, slowly looking down at the people below.

"I feel as though I abandoned you all when I left all those years ago," I confessed, the mere thought of that made me cringe inwardly. It plagued me every day when I was away from them, if I made the right choice or the wrong one, if they would forgive me or hate me. Those years of wandering alone, out in the open and yet hidden away, it was eating me on the inside.

"You did no such thing," Joe reminded me calmly, "You did what you thought was the best thing for you," but I shook my head.

"I was in pain," I correct him, seeing him give me another soft stare as I felt myself getting angry from the memory, "I was angry and in pain..those two emotions should never mix,"

Joe turned to face me fully though he was still leaning on the railing as his face was serious and no longer soft. I would have talks like this with him in the past, hearing his words of wisdom and how he would express his own turmoil and pain he went through when he was young, young in his immortal life.

"Eleanor," he said my voice so sure and precise, "You had every right to be angry and in pain, after what happened to you—"

"But to lash it out on you all wasn't right," I countered, gripping the railing so tightly it felt like my skin would rip. It was bubbling under my skin, all those memories, and feeling as though it was yesterday. It made me forget the pain that my skin was now slicked from the rail. I could feel the cold biting my skin then, the smell of the ashes falling from the sky, and the screaming….all of the screaming.

"Enough," Joe said to me sternly, having me blink out of my trance of hate and see him reach for my hand. He turned it over, the both of us seeing the sliced wound there along my palm. We both watched, counting down the seconds until I would heal. It was a bit longer than it used to be in the earlier days of this life for me, but of course, fifteen seconds later, the wound moved back into nothing on my skin.

"You're not as young as you once were," Joe reminded me, using a bit of his shirt to clean the blood from my skin gently, "Nicky will kill you if he sees you do this to yourself again,"

"You keeping secrets from him now?" I asked, not in a coy manner though. He raised his eyebrow at me, sighing deeply as he patted my palm gently with his hand.

"He may be the love of my life, but this is for you two to discuss," He reminded me, my hand going back to the railing gently as I was feeling heavy on how this was all coming out of this at this rate being back with the others. When my gaze went over to the canals, seeing the first boats going out for their catches of fish, I could hear Joe shifting behind me.

"Apart from Nicky, you have the biggest heart in this group," He explained, his voice was once again soft and soothing to hear like a lullaby in a thunderous night, "And because your heart is so big, your so feel things far more than any of us could ever dare to imagine. What happened to you…all those years ago….anyone of us would have traded ourselves in your place,"

"Why?" I had to ask since it was now apparent that the others had an inkling of what I was feeling then. They watched me break, leave them behind without a second glance, and all I could ever wonder was why they would want my place.

"I can't speak for the others, but for me," He paused, placing his hand on my arm and having me look over at him. His face was serious, and yet gentle and calm, "Your heart was worth more than mine,"

I merely smiled at him. I knew him to be sentimental, especially towards Nicky because their love would make any of the one stories ever written blush in jealousy and flattery. But he was sentimental in his own right with the rest of us, something he to train unto himself since he came out of the Crusades. Though there was still a tough exterior about it that I saw in missions and battles, inside I knew him to be warm and soothing.

"A man of words," I said dryly as a joke, seeing him crack a smile as I moved to hug him close, "No wonder Nicky loves you,"

"I still pinch myself when it comes to that man," he admitted to me as we pulled away from each other, "But for you, it's true."

"What's true?"

We both looked over to see Nicky walking out from inside the apartment in the open patio where we were, hiding two cups of coffee in his hand. He was in fresh clothes, a fresh look on his face as he was seeing both of us in a deep conversation. Joe gave me a look, in which I could see he was silently telling me that he won't tell Nicky what we discussed just yet. Bless him. Joe shrugged and chuckled.

"Eleanor is under the assumption that you fell in love with me because of my way with words," He explained to Nicky as Nicky walked over to hand me one of the coffee cups. Nicky grinned at me, giving Joe a knowing look.

"That's one of them," he agreed as I took a drink. It soothed me instantly, having me sigh in a smile as Nicky grinned, "Joe, I think she has forgotten how good your coffee is,"

"No offense to the coffee in Paris, but this is Nirvana," I said in a dream-like sigh. Nicky and Joe were chuckling as Nicky's phone went off in his pocket. Reaching in, Nicky pulled out and looked at the screen that was lit up. We both were quiet then, seeing it on his face as he looked at the both of us. I knew that look before, we all did.

"Copley wants to meet."

Italian Translations:

Tu parli Italiano =You speak Italian?

Basta, amore = Enough, love

French Translations :

Tu Parles françasi = You speak French

Très peru = Very Little

Tu ne peux pas être ici = You can't be here

Ma malédiction = My curse