Sum of Memories.
Chapter 6: Understanding.
"Still don't make much sense, but what little it does, I'm starting to see."
June 29, 1715.
Edward was brooding. That was the only way Connor knew to describe the captain's current mood. Unfortunately, the Welshman had been brooding for the past three days, and it was beginning to get annoying. As Rhian groaned faintly and tossed her head again, Connor absently laid his hand on her shoulder and murmured a few soothing words in his native language. She calmed shortly, and returned to her fitful sleep.
Rhian had been feverish since that night in Havana, and that was at the best of times. That first night, the poison that she had ingested had nearly killed her; she had stopped breathing twice. The first time, thankfully, Connor had been with her, so he had noticed when it had happened and had been able to breathe for her until she gathered the strength to force herself to keep breathing under her own power. After that, he had told Edward, and the two of them had taken watches over her, monitoring her and making sure she did not suffocate.
Connor had been shaken to realize that Rhian would have died for certain had she not thrown up most of what she had drunk.
After that first night, she had improved, and they had moved her down below, finally moving her to her own hammock to sleep in and making sure she drank copious amounts of fresh water from their stores. When Gregson and Gibbs heard about what had happened, the quartermaster was dismayed. The surgeon, however, had looked surprised for a second before shaking his head with a small smile.
"Ne'er doubted 'im fer a second," he had muttered, and then proceeded to check Rhian's wound and make sure that the poison was beginning to wear off.
After that, Edward had become strangely distant. It soon became obvious that he was avoiding either Connor, or Rhian, or both of them for reasons that Connor did not know. The childishness of the situation did not hurt him so much as it frustrated him. Connor was just about ready to corner Edward and force the blond man to speak with him; the Native man was certainly getting fed up enough to do it.
Rhian moaned again, faintly. Connor blinked and turned his attention back to his sick friend, finding a pair of seafoam green eyes blinking sleepily up at the ceiling. He gave her a faint smile when her gaze drifted over to land on him. Rhian just stared at him, confused, for a second before she closed her eyes and snuggled a little further into her hammock with a faint sigh. A heartbeat later, she was looking up at him again.
"…Connor?" she croaked. Connor smiled faintly at her and nodded, removing the cloth from her forehead and wetting it again from the bucket at his feet. When he gingerly laid it across her head again a moment later, she sighed and leaned into his palm.
"How do you feel?" Connor asked. Rhian coughed faintly, grimaced as the action pulled her stitches, and then grunted.
"Like I've been run through, poisoned, and haven't had a drink of any kind in about a week," she rasped, and then coughed again. "D'you have any water?"
Connor wordlessly picked up the bottle of water from beside his feet. Uncorking it, he lifted it to her lips. Rhian's mouth opened, and he slowly tipped it in, allowing her ample time to swallow. When she pushed weakly at his elbow a few sips later, he drew it away and corked it again before setting it back down.
She cracked her eyes open again. "Where are we?"
Connor shifted. "About three days out from Havana, gradually heading for Nassau. Edward has been avoiding us, so I am not entirely certain as to what his purpose in that town could be."
Rhian stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then she closed her eyes with another sigh and, curling her arms protectively around her stomach, she swallowed and settled down again. Connor watched her breathing even out again a moment later, and knew that she was asleep yet again. Connor echoed her sigh and sat back in his chair, settling in for another long, uneventful wait. There came a footstep from behind him. The dark Assassin did not have to turn and look to know that Edward had come to visit, finally. Connor knew that the captain had been drinking, just from listening to his gait.
"How's our musician?" Edward's words were slightly slurred.
"Drystan woke briefly just a moment ago," the darker man replied, re-wetting the cloth from Rhian's forehead and then gently replacing it. "He asked where we are going."
"Nassau," Edward slurred, and finally came over to lean against the hull near where Rhian's head was contained within her hammock. "Meetin' with a good friend o' mine an' 'er mates."
"Her?" Connor finally turned his gaze to his grandfa- Creator, but he could not think of this man as his grandfather. They were too close in age; if anything, Connor was much, much older than the Welshman, at least mentally. Edward swayed slightly as he raised a bottle to his lips and took a long pull, humming an affirmation. Connor eyed the bottle with disgust.
"Why must you do that?" he asked. Edward would not look at him.
"Do wha'?"
"Drink." Connor shifted just long enough to put a reassuring hand on Rhian's forehead and keep the cloth there as she sighed faintly and tossed her head in her sleep. "Drystan and I are both fully capable of going about our days without depending upon alcohol to see us through, though it seems as though she does enjoy it when she can get it. I am curious as to the reason why you drink so heavily."
"Reason's got nothin' to do with it, boy," Edward muttered, and Connor turned to face the other man as Edward sighed and, putting his back to the hull, slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. He took another swig before he paused, simply cradling the bottle in his hands. He looked, Connor thought, like he was looking for the answers to all of his problems in the reflection of that green glass.
"Every man drinks for a reason," Connor observed quietly. He thought for a moment. Then he decided that it could not hurt. "A good friend of mine used to drink because his ship was scuttled. Then we fixed her, made her the finest in the seas, and he put away the alcohol and rarely got drunk again." He leaned forward, propping his free elbow on his knee, and peered into Edward's face.
"What is your reason?"
Edward was disturbingly silent. Connor studied the other man for a moment. Then, seeing the distant look to his gaze, Connor decided to take a shot in the dark.
"Are you thinking of your wife?" Connor watched as Edward flinched in response to the question, ocean-blue gaze darting up to tawny gold for half a second before returning to the green glass. Connor softened slightly. "When was the last you heard from her?"
"Five months ago," Edward replied softly, and leaned forward slightly to cradle his head in his hands. The bottle thunked faintly against the deck as he set it down. They were quiet a moment. Then Edward heaved a chuckle that sounded both insanely manic and utterly depressed. It was a terrible sound to hear. "D'you have someone back home who ye want to better yourself for? Better yer life for? Better yer circumstances for?"
"Yes." Connor thought about it for half a second. "My mentor, Achilles, my village and people, and my best friend." He paused, and then lowered his voice. "Especially my best friend."
Edward grunted. "What about a woman?"
Connor gave a little chuckle. "That would be my best friend."
"Yer best friend is yer woman?" Edward gave Connor a considering look. Connor shook his head.
"She is not my woman," he replied, feeling slightly awkward all of a sudden. A strange coldness curled into a ball in the middle of his chest at the statement. "She is… unattached."
"Then attach that girl to ye as soon as ye can, lad," Edward intoned quietly. "If she's yer best friend, she'll make ye a good wife."
Connor's temper flared briefly at the presumptuous statement.
"I do not think that she feels such for me," he grumbled, irritated. "And I am not certain that I feel such for her, either."
Edward scoffed. "Then, what?" He gestured expansively. His already-slurred speech worsened as his temper flared. "Ye'd rather 'ave a relationship based offa lust and insecure prospects, and 'ave it end wi' the woman tellin' you almost a year after ye've gone to sea that ye've got a daughter together, an' tha' ye'll ne'er get ta see 'er a'cos ye can' go inta no respeccable port no longer? Thass no way to 'ave a relationship!"
And as realization dawned on Connor, Edward slumped back against the hull again, burying his face in his hands once more with a noise that sounded suspiciously like either a hiccup or a sob. Connor could not tell which. Suddenly uncomfortable, and unable to discern how he should comfort the other man in his grief, Connor turned his gaze to Rhian, allowing Edward his privacy.
Rhian's eyes were open. As Connor watched, she sighed silently and, turning her head towards Edward, she gazed at the distraught man for a long moment. Then she laboriously lifted one hand from her belly, reached over to him, and clumsily set her palm gently on his shoulder. Edward jumped slightly and looked up, ocean-blue gaze mistier and more vulnerable than he would ever have wanted to admit were he sober. Rhian gazed silently at him for a second before she allowed her eyes to flutter closed again.
She squeezed his shoulder.
Then her hand began to slip away from him, and Edward caught it almost desperately, holding onto the comforting touch. Connor watched the other man stare at the girl in the hammock for a long moment. After a time, Edward visibly calmed, and he leaned back against the hull again, though for some reason, he did not release Rhian's hand.
"Poin' is," Edward slurred, and Connor looked back over to the other man. "Bet'er ta marry yer best friend than end up li'… like me." He paused to clear his throat, and then coughed slightly, frowning. "Me an' Caroline, that is."
"Caroline?"
"Me wife." Edward took a deep breath and leaned back against the hull again, Rhian's hand cradled loosely in his own. "She an' I… we aren't on the best o' terms. Th' marriage…" Edward sighed, and gave a brief, wistful grin. "There was passion. Lots 'f it. Bu' passion don't make money. Passion don' buy bread, an' passion don' buy medicine when th' plague comes through an' kills ev'ryone 'round ye. Passion… Passion can't keep a marriage alive wi'out love and friendship to keep ye through the hard times."
"So, what?" Connor asked. "You went to sea to make your fortune, and she did not support your decision?"
Edward shook his head. "Nah… Th' marriage was fallin' apart long before I wen' ta sea. Tha' was just the last nail in th' coffin." He gestured vaguely to the hatch that led abovedecks. "Bu' Gregson? 'E fell in love with an' married 'is best friend. Goin' on ele'en years, I 'ear tell, an' both 'f um faithful. Two survivin' lads and a lass outta five. Now thass… Thass a good marriage."
Edward fell silent, and for a long time, neither of them spoke. Connor pondered the statement, taking the moment to seriously consider Edward's point.
"I will…" He paused, tawny gold meeting ocean-blue. "I will consider it. And once I see her again, I will ask her to consider it, if I remember to do so."
Edward nodded, satisfied, and relaxed back against the hull once more.
He did not release Rhian's hand.
July 2, 1715.
Connor watched from the helm as Edward pursed his lips, lowering his spyglass from his right eye so that he could glare ineffectively at the ship in the distance. They had spotted the other only that morning. Now, it was getting to be late in the evening, and though they had made some progress in chasing her down, the other had consistently eluded capture. Connor could tell that Edward was getting irritated. The Jackdaw, after all, was an incredibly fast ship, for her time, and for some run-of-the-mill schooner or sloop to be staying ahead of her was a challenge that was nearly insulting in its seeming innocence. To make things worse, there was a storm on the horizon. It was not terribly visible just yet, but not only could Connor feel it in the increasing humidity, but he could also smell it on the air.
No, Edward Kenway was not a happy captain, at the moment.
"Perhaps we should simply continue on to Nassau," Connor suggested slowly, adjusting their course just slightly where he stood at the helm. Edward gave a sigh of frustration, coming back over to retake the helm from the other Assassin. "Continue to Nassau to meet your ally, instead of chasing this other schooner into the storm or into a trap."
"We'll be fine," Edward groused, leaning against the helm. All around them, the crew bustled about, doing chores, running up and down the rigging, hauling on lines, and so forth. "The storm's a ways off, yet."
"And the potential trap?"
Edward shook his head. "Little to no risk. No islands or shoals about to hide in, really."
"They will hide in the storm."
Connor pointed off towards the horizon, where the first portent of the tumult to come was just beginning to appear. He knew that the wisps of cloud would soon turn to a fierce gale. Edward followed his gaze, and Connor knew that the other man was thinking the same thing that he was, even if he would not say it aloud.
"It would be better were we to seek some form of shelter," Connor commented softly. The mostly-healed wound in his belly twinged unexpectedly, and he hissed in surprise, clenching his fist as he reflexively curled around it. "I feel that it will be a… big one."
Edward eyed him with a little concern, but Connor straightened soon enough, taking a deep breath and shaking off the pain.
"Got a sea-sense, now, do you?" Edward huffed a chuckle and looked out toward their quarry. If he was not mistaken, she seemed a little closer than before. "Well, just so happens I agree with you. Also happens to be that I think the Jackdaw can make it just fine."
Connor's mouth tightened.
"Is your treasury so bare that you would risk people's lives on this endeavor?" he demanded, golden-brown eyes hard as he turned to Edward at last. Edward turned flashing blue eyes onto Connor.
"I know what I'm doing, boy," the blond man growled, "and I know what my ship and my crew are capable of handling. What I don't know is why you're questioning me at every turn!"
"Because you have shown poor judgement on multiple occasions, leading to situations where others must step in and try to salvage what is left of business transactions, bodily wellness, and the general peace," Connor hissed, glaring. "Your irresponsibility has caused trouble for others too many times for me not to question you."
Edward opened his mouth to retort, but froze as a shout from the rigging snatched his attention instead.
"Captain! Ships off the starboard stern!"
"What?" Edward and Connor demanded in synchronization, and turned in unison to stare aftwards, easily spotting the five ships in question off in the distance. The royals and topgallants were very visible even from this distance; everything else would come in time.
"Cach!" Edward hissed, and faced forward again. "How're they catching up so quickly?"
Connor was quiet, mind racing. Those other ships bore red crosses on their sails. He did not know if that meant that they were Templar ships or British ones. What he did know was that they, being such large ships, should not be able to catch up to the smaller, faster Jackdaw. Yet they were.
They needed a plan.
"We need a plan," Connor muttered to Edward a second later.
Edward snorted. "You don't say?" He fell silent for a moment. Then, "The Jackdaw's well-equipped, but we can't fight them all, and we can't outrun them, either, if the fact that they're nearly upon us is any indication."
Connor paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"If we do fight, there is a strong chance that we will be defeated. Unless…" He turned serious tawny eyes to the other Assassin. "Return my possessions to me."
Edward looked sharply at Connor. For a second, they were quiet. Then Edward glanced back over his shoulder, finding that their pursuers were even closer.
"We have two, maybe three hours before they're upon us," Edward observed. He turned back to Connor. "What's going through your head?"
Connor followed his gaze.
"That we should allow them to catch up," he replied, a feral grin slowly stretching his lips.
Edward turned another sharp look on the other Assassin, but Connor was already moving away, heading down to the weather deck in the direction of the captain's cabin. The lighter-haired man swore and handed the wheel off to one of the nearby crewmembers before he pursued the darker man. By the time he caught up, Connor was already in the captain's cabin, stripping out of the shirt and breeches he had been wearing lately and donning the Assassin's robes he had been wearing when he arrived. Edward had long since cleaned the blood from them, so their whiteness was undiminished; the navy-blue and silver greatcoat, however, hung on the peg it had been on since then. As Connor suited up, Edward was struck by how similar they really looked.
And then he really looked at the other man.
There was something about Connor's face beneath the dark tan and the faint smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks, something beneath his tawny eyes and the scars on his skin. There was something that just rang as "familiar," underneath the lines of stress that marred his young face. Maybe it was the fact that Connor had the nose that Edward saw every time he looked in the mirror, had the same cheekbones and jawline, even if they were slightly more rounded. As Connor pulled his hair back into a half-ponytail, Edward found himself shaking his head in disbelief.
"God blind me," he muttered, and went to begin strapping on his own baldrics and bandoliers.
"Pardon?" Connor glanced over at Edward curiously. Edward turned an annoyed glare on the other man.
"You and I need to have to chat," he griped, leveling a finger at Connor, "about how it is we look so much alike."
He turned away before Connor went pale, and Connor hastily covered it by pulling his hood up to conceal his face. By the time Edward turned back to Connor, the other man had fished a bowstring from one of his pouches, and was in the process of removing the sinew from its oilskin packaging so that he could string the strange bow that had been standing against Edward's wall for nearly the past month. The strange golden dagger, Edward realized, was tucked into Connor's belt.
"So?" Edward questioned. "How old are you, really?"
Connor glanced at him sidelong. "Twenty-one as of May." He paused to regard the blond man as Edward frowned in some displeasure. "Yourself?"
Edward snorted and began loading his pistols. "Twenty-two in March." One pistol got shoved into the bandolier on his chest. "How is it you've earned your hood point already, anyway? Master Assassins are usually a bit older."
Connor chuckled, and it was a black sound.
"Necessity," he muttered. Checking his quiver, he realized that he had a grand total of eight arrows left out of his usual ten. Must have lost some during his plunge a month ago. Belting it across his chest and shoulders, he glanced over at Edward. "How is it that you yet lack one?"
"Because I don't buy into their teachings as much as I should," Edward snorted. "As I said before, passion and ideals don't feed you when you're dying of starvation."
Connor was quiet for a moment. Then, a hiss of breath escaped him, and Edward looked over in time to see an odd, dark look cross the younger man's face.
"I know that very well." He took a second to sheathe his strange-looking axe at his belt, and Edward glanced away. "Where I am from… winters are much harsher than they are here, or in England. Many times, when we could not find game to hunt, we went hungry. My mother…"
He fell silent, suddenly, and Edward looked back over to Connor to find that the darker man had turned away. His throat was working, as though words were stuck there and he was trying to force them out, without success. It was then that realization hit Edward.
"She's dead, isn't she?" He watched as Connor nodded slowly and cleared his throat.
"Yes."
"And your tad?"
Connor's features hardened. "I have never met him."
Edward noticed that Connor did not say that he did not know who his father was. "But you know who he is?"
"Yes." He holstered that strange pair of pistols at his belt. "As I said, I have never met him. I almost hope that I never do."
"That kind of man?" Edward sighed, and finally crossed the room to place a hand on Connor's shoulder. Caught up in his thoughts as he was, the darker man jumped slightly, becoming rigid beneath the touch. "Hey. Hey. All I know is that we're related in some way. Whether you're a cousin from my lost ewythr Bleddyn or a half-brother from my tad'sseafaring days, it don't matter. I'd like to know after this whole thing blows over, but not right now."
He chuckled, and squeezed Connor's shoulder slightly. Slowly, Connor relaxed beneath the comforting touch.
"I do not know that I could tell you, honestly," Connor admitted slowly. "It might… changethings."
"Change things?" Edward parroted, frowning in confusion. "Change things how?"
"You would not believe me." Connor turned away, fingers brushing against the dagger in his belt. "You did not, when I told you before."
"What, when you implied that you're from a different time?" Edward shook his head. "I still haven't decided if you're just mad, or if you cracked your head on something to make you dream that."
Connor ground his teeth.
"Are you sober?" he asked. Edward gave him an odd look as Connor's fist clenched.
"Fairly. Why?"
A second later, Edward grunted in surprise as he suddenly found himself nose-to-nose with a very disgruntled Assassin, the other's tawny gaze narrowed in annoyance.
"I shall speak clearly, then," Connor snapped. "I am neither concussed nor of unsound mind, and I can tell you, as certainly as the sky is blue, that I do not belong in this time." He backed off slightly, indignant. "And I assure you, I am neither your half-brother nor your cousin. Do we understand each other?"
Edward glared at Connor, but Connor did not relent.
"I understand that you're bleedin' mad!" Edward retorted, pushing Connor away. "As I said before, not even God messes with time! What makes you think that a little chunk of metal could?"
Connor growled something inaudible. "I do not know. I only know that what happened to me is related to that… chunk of metal."
For a long moment, they stared at each other, neither willing to concede. Edward could not believe that Connor was telling the truth; Connor could not believe that Edward would deny it. Finally, as they heard a sound from outside the door, Edward scoffed and turned away, shaking his head in disgust.
"Bollocks," Edward muttered. "Complete bollocks."
Connor growled audibly and spun toward the aftcastle windows, unwilling to face the other man as he left. He heard the latch unhook, heard the door swing open as Edward prepared to leave, and listened to the sound of the small amount of trust they had just built vanish along with his grandfather.
How was he ever going to convince Edward of the truth if the man was unwilling to listen?
"What the cach are you doing here?"
Connor whirled to face the door as the exclamation met his ears, and was alarmed to find Rhian leaning against the paneled barrier. She was pale. No, she was worse than pale. She looked like death warmed over. Edward stood before her, hands held awkwardly out to his sides, as though he could not decide whether he should steady her or get out of her way. Rhian, for her part, hunched slightly over her wounded stomach and gave him an annoyed glare.
"A little birdie told me there's trouble on the horizon," she gasped. "And when I came to see what's going on, I heard you yellin' about time and metal an' madness." She scoffed. "You really should be careful what you say so loudly. Unfriendly ears might hear your secrets."
Edward finally grumbled something before he took her by the shoulders and guided her over to sit upon his cot. Rhian complied, sinking gratefully onto the bed. She sighed with relief as the strain was removed from her wounded belly, and leaned back against the hull. As Edward crossed over to lean his hip against his desk, Edward gave Rhian a stern look.
"What's your real purpose in interruptin' us like that, feinir?"
"I told you," Rhian replied, "you need to be careful about what you shout to the world." She nodded towards Connor. "He's telling the truth, by the way."
"What?" Edward looked flabbergasted, and Connor had to admit to feeling the same way. He barely believed it himself, and here Rhian sat, telling them that Connor was right? Unbelievable.
"He's-"
"-right?" Connor frowned at Edward as the older man turned to look at him, both of them visibly confused and disbelieving. As they both snorted in disgust at each other and turned back to the only female, Rhian raised an amused eyebrow at them.
"Indeed." She sighed and sat back, absently pulling a narrow flask from somewhere inside her waistcoat. As she uncorked it and took a short swig, Connor's eyebrows shot up.
"Why are you drinking that?" he inquired. Edward snorted.
"The why of it should be obvious, if she's hunching," he muttered, and then turned to Rhian. "More importantly, how'd you manage to smuggle it past Gibbs?"
Rhian gave them a little smirk and saluted the captain with her flask before taking another swig.
"That's for me to know," she stated, swallowing, "and you never to find out."
Edward pursed his lips, but said nothing. Connor sighed, and got up to close the door before taking a seat in Edward's desk chair.
"What did you mean when you said that I am correct?" he asked. Rhian gave him a long, considering look. Then she leaned forward slightly.
"My tad- that is, Derwydd, the man who raised me, not my blood father," Drystan continued. "The Assassin stable-hand. He was well-traveled. Knew a lot of stories and legends, heard a lot of rumors. One of those was the legend of the Altered Ones. The ones who'd been…changed."
Edward exchanged a look with Connor, who shrugged cluelessly before they both frowned at her, confused.
"I've never heard anything of the like."
Rhian snorted. "You wouldn't have. I'd imagine they don't go shoutin' it from the rooftops. Any rate, they're Assassins who've been… changed. Altered. Somehow become something slightly more than human." She paused, contemplating the flask in her hand. Her voice lowered.
"They're Assassins who can't die."
The room went dead-silent. As Edward and Connor struggled to comprehend that statement, Rhian sighed and took another drink from her flask before leaning back against the hull, one hand resting lightly upon her wounded stomach. There were a few minutes where nobody moved and nobody spoke.
"Cannot die?" Connor questioned at length, once he had found his words again. "What do you mean, when you say that they cannot die? How did this supposedly come about?"
Rhian shrugged. "I mean what I say. They can't die. What I hear, the oldest of 'em were born in the early second century. Romans and Britons. Rest of 'em came after."
Connor swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat. From where he was leaning heavily against the desk in front of him, Edward shifted uneasily.
"So, how does it have to do with his supposed time-traveling?" he asked, jerking his thumb at Connor. Connor glared at him briefly before eyeing Rhian as the woman smirked.
"Well, according to rumor, one of your Assassin ancestors is one of the Altered Ones," she commented, tilting her flask at Edward. "Or, if he isn't your ancestor, he's at least one of your predecessors. I'm sure you've heard of him."
"Who?"
"Ezio Auditore da Firenze." As Connor and Edward's eyes grew large, Rhian chuckled and took another drink from her flask. "According to legend, he took a trip to the Crusades time in the company of Leonardo da Vinci and Gian Giacomo Caprotti da Oreno, who was apparently in possession of something called the Dagger of Time."
Connor's soft intake of breath turned two sets of eyes on him, the ocean-blue wary and the seafoam-green curious. Swallowing, Connor reached down to his belt, withdrew the Dagger, and laid it upon the desk for them both to see. Rhian's quiet inhalation told Connor that she knew what it was.
"This… This Dagger is what brought me here," he said softly. "And the woman who sent me after it said that it is called the Dagger of Time."
Rhian shook her head slowly, green gaze fixated upon the Dagger.
"Was the woman its Master?" she asked. "Derwydd told me that the rumor is that only women can be Masters. He never told me why."
Connor thought about it for a moment.
"I would assume so," he said slowly. "What do you mean when you say that only women can be Masters?"
"Don't know why," she replied. "I just know that most men can't be Masters. Men can be Wielders, but they can't master it." She paused. "Actually, you're the first man I've ever heard of actually time-traveling without a woman involved."
"Wait." Edward spoke up. "What do you mean? Gian Giacomo Caprotti da Oreno, Leonardo da Vinci, and Ezio Auditore da Firenze were all men. How could they have time-traveled if it was just the three of them, and Connor is the first you've heard of doing it without a woman's help?"
Rhian's smile was sly. She looked like a cat who had gotten the cream. Comprehension seized Connor suddenly.
"Gian Giacomo Caprotti," he realized, and Rhian nodded slowly. Edward's gaze darted back to Connor, and then to Rhian again. "What was his… her real name?"
"I don't know," Rhian answered simply, shrugging. "Derwydd didn't know for certain. Said his memory was gettin' hazy. Might've been Arianna-something."
"Arianna Sinagra da Soriano?" Again, two gazes fixed themselves upon Connor, who pursed his lips.
"Yeah," Rhian said slowly. "Yeah. How'd you know?"
Connor swallowed. "Because that is the name of the woman who sent me to retrieve the Dagger after it was stolen." He let out a shaky breath. "I suppose that she did not expect me to be put into this situation."
Edward studied Connor for a moment longer before he turned to Rhian again.
"Well, this is all entertaining, certainly," he stated. "But how do I know what you're sayin' is true? Never heard of this Arianna character, and I've certainly never heard of this tale you're spinnin'."
Rhian shrugged. "You don't know, except that Connor, obviously, is not from this time period, judging from his robes, armaments, and the fact that he looks like a tanner version of you." She eyed Edward thoughtfully for a moment. "Got any kids, Kenway?"
Edward's already pale face went white, and he spun around to look at Connor, who gazed steadily back.
"Y-Yeah," Edward murmured slowly. "Just the one that I know of, back in Bristol. Jenny."
Connor sighed softly.
"Jenny is not my mother's name," he said in response to Edward's alarmed look. "Neither of my parents have been born, yet."
The look of relief that spread across Edward's face was almost comical.
"Good," he grumbled. Turning back to Rhian, he glared at her. "Don't scare me like that, feinir."
Rhian gave him a slightly annoyed look.
"What does that word mean?" Connor asked. Rhian shook her head and sighed.
"It's Welsh for 'lassie.'" She turned a mild glare on Edward. "And you shouldn't be callin' me that, rhocyn. Turns out I'm almost two years older than you."
"What?" Edward demanded, to which Rhian smirked.
"First of October, 1691," she replied, grinning, and Edward pouted.
"March 10th, '93." He paused, and then turned to Connor. "What about you?"
Connor simply shook his head. Edward glared at the younger man, but Rhian nodded slowly.
"Wise," she commented, and Edward rounded on her, next.
"Don't you want to know?" he demanded. "He's keepin' secrets like this, and you're backing him?"
"Because if he's from the future, as he's implying," Rhian explained slowly, "then if he really is related to you, then your foreknowledge of his date of birth might change that date of birth. He might not be born."
Silence fell in the cabin, yet again. Connor could see Edward's jaw and throat working, as though he desperately wanted to say something, but could not force the words past his lips. After a moment, Connor silently reached out and palmed the Dagger again, tucking it back into his belt.
"My date of birth is of no concern in the present moment," he finally said, and Rhian turned back to him, seafoam-green eyes calm. "What concerns me is how to use this to our advantage, and how to use it to get myself back home. There are certain things that I must accomplish."
"People to kill, you mean." Rhian's gaze was strangely knowing. "Templars?"
Connor looked away. "Yes."
"Some of whom you're not looking forward to killing." She studied him for a moment, and her tone was distant, almost as though she had forgotten her audience as she examined Connor. "You're close to at least one of them. In blood, if not in bond… But who is it…?"
"I am close to none of them," Connor stated firmly, flashing golden-brown gaze snapping back over to hers. Rhian simply gave him a sad look, and he felt his hackles rise. "Do not pity me. I do not need it. All that I need is to find a way back to my own time."
Rhian sighed and nodded, slowly. "All right. Where was it that Arianna was living, in your time?"
"Boston," Connor replied immediately. "In the Massachusetts colony."
Edward sighed, finally turning to face Connor again. It stung more than Connor would admit, being on the receiving end of the betrayed look on Edward's face.
"Then that's where we'll go after we finish our mission at Nassau," Edward said slowly. He sounded almost defeated. As he pushed himself off of his desk and headed for the door, his shoulders were hunched, as though he was trying to contain everything he was feeling. "Since you're so eager to return. Don't bother tryin' to find me. I'll see you in an hour or so."
As he left the cabin, Rhian and Connor watched him go, the girl sympathetic and the man confused.
"What just happened?" Connor inquired slowly. Rhian sighed and turned to him, frowning lightly.
"I think you hurt him," she replied quietly. Connor returned her frown, perplexed.
"How?"
Now, her expression turned to pity, and her gaze trailed to the door once more.
"I think we might just be the closest things he has to real friends," she explained softly. "At least, if I'm reading the signs right." She glanced at Connor. "Edward Kenway is a very lonely man with very few family and far fewer true friends, and when you leave, you'll take away something he's been searching for for a long time."
Connor swallowed, a knot forming in his chest. "Which is?"
"A brother. Son. Family." She eyed him. "You're his grandson, aren't you?"
It was a statement. Connor could not refute it. Rhian considered him for a moment as he nodded slowly.
"I see," she murmured. Sighing, she gingerly levered herself to her feet and crossed the room to set a hand on his shoulder. "Well, I'm off to get myself into some trouble with Mister Gibbs. Consider what I just said before you go haring off. You will hurt more than one person if you just leave without thinking things through."
As she turned to go to the door, Connor slowly turned his stare onto her retreating back.
"The others whom I will hurt if I leave," he pondered slowly. "Are you among them?"
Rhian paused at the door. For a long moment, she was silent, leaning against the wall for support. Then she turned her head slightly, just enough that Connor could see the curve of her cheek.
"No." You will not hurt me if you leave. You are my best friend. I will understand.
And then she was gone. Connor nodded silently to himself, understanding the words that she would not allow herself to say.
If you leave, you will utterly destroy me.
Compulsory and Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any of its forms, save for the copies I have of each game but Liberation. Assassin's Creed belongs in its entirety to Ubisoft.
Welsh Translations:
Cach - Shit (this is becoming standard for my translations sections...)
Tad - Dad
Ewythr - Uncle
Feinir - Lassie
Rhocyn - Lad
Artwork created for Sum of Memories:
Teaser: You-?!: elvenwhitemage. deviantart dot com (backslash) art / Teaser - You - 396355309
How I've Missed You: elvenwhitemage. deviantart dot com (backslash) art / How - I - ve - Missed - You - 395417593
A note on Caroline: In Edward's bio, it states that his first wife's name was Caroline, and that their marriage, though passionate by all accounts, fell apart due to his irresponsibility. His going to sea was the clincher. He actually appears to have been at sea already by the time their daughter, Jenny, was born in 1713, unless the dates are wrong. Which means that Edward's a dad prior to this story's beginning.
Brought this over from my Tumblr (RevenantAvenger90) and DeviantART (ElvenWhiteMage) accounts.
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-Scribe