Sum of Memories
Chapter 11: Separation.
"I just want to see her, one last time."
August 6, 1715.
Two bowls of stew, five tankards of ale, and a loaf and a half of bread, give or take six hours, had passed. It had gotten late; around him, the patrons of the tavern were beginning to wander off to beds or brothels, and he almost wished he could join them, but for the fact that he had to stay where he was. Really, he had tried, and tried, and tried, but it had become impossible. It was official. There was no helping it. Edward would just have to fight back the ache in his chest, suck it up, and go back to his ship.
He was never going to see that wily Yates girl again.
Sighing, Edward knocked back the last of his ale and mournfully settled the tankard back on the table in front of him. It was then that he felt the eyes on him. At first, Edward did not react; if someone wanted to pick a fight with him, he was not about to start it. He was in no shape to fight anyone. Still, it would not hurt to see who it was that was staring at him. Slowly, without giving himself away, Edward took a deep breath and turned to scan the tavern. Aside from two drunks and a prostitute who were getting rather friendly with each other off in the corner, Edward was alone but for the barkeep and a strange, dark-skinned man sitting against the far wall. It was this man who had his eyes fixed upon Edward. For his part, Edward glanced over him briefly before turning away his gaze. It was not his business. If the man wanted something, he would have to come to Edward.
As it was, the door to the tavern opened before he could do anything else, admitting Connor into the room. The older man looked tired, frustrated, and there was something unnamable about his expression that set Edward's teeth on edge. He waited until the other Assassin had taken a seat beside him to turn to him.
"What happened?" Edward asked. "Did you find them?"
Connor sighed, snatched Edward's tankard, and took a thirsty drink from it.
"Yes." Edward looked sharply at the other man, mouth open to snap an irritated question: why had Connor not brought Drystan back with him? "Cadell would not allow me to see her. She was apparently very hurt, according to him. He does not wish us to see her, for risk of harming her further."
"She's hurt?" Edward's annoyance turned to concern at once. "How? Who hurt her?"
Connor gave him an exasperated look. "We hurt her, Edward. We hurt her when we told her to leave the Jackdaw. Even I know that." He sighed faintly. "At any rate, I do not know if Drystan herself knows that we were searching for her. They were at a tavern on the other end of the port, trying to find another crew to join up with."
"Damnit," Edward muttered. He reached up to massage his temples, and waved down the bartender for another ale. They were silent for a long moment. Then Edward sighed and took a long drink from the new tankard, feeling pensive. "I made a mistake, lad."
Connor looked sharply at him. "Come again?"
Edward turned a brief glare upon the other man. "I said I made a mistake. Shouldn't be that hard to believe."
"You, admitting to a fault?" Connor shook his head and took another drink from his own flagon. "That is not what I was expecting, but I suppose that stranger things have happened."
The sound of Edward's palm thwapping Connor upside the head was a soft one.
"Don't be facetious, lad," Edward warned him. "That's my job." He hunched over his mug and let the silence stretch between them for a few moments. Then, "I know I made a mistake. That's why I was prepared to apologize to her and ask her to come back with us."
He snorted. The ale was more bitter than ever before when it flowed over his tongue, this time. It tasted like ash and defeat.
"Why are you so desperate to see her again?" Connor asked quietly. "I understand that she is your friend, but you are not normally so driven to find someone again after doling out a punishment."
"'Cause she's my only other real friend on this planet, at the moment, aside from you," Edward replied after a second's hesitation. This newfound honesty was surprising, but also refreshing. "And besides, she's a decent musician, and that's a horrid thing to waste."
Connor stared at him incredulously for a long moment. Then he huffed out a laugh and turned back to his mug, draining it before ordering another.
"Well, I suppose that it is a good thing that you are being at least halfway honest with yourself," he muttered. Edward chose to ignore that observation, deciding that he would rather not know what it was to which Connor was referring. They were quiet a moment. Then Connor turned back to Edward. "Have you had anyone insane enough to sign on to your crew?"
Edward gave him a wry look. "Look who's talking."
"Skilled, and not nearly as insane as you are." Connor's glance was pointed. "Now, answer the question."
Edward rolled his eyes. "I've had ten men sign on since midnight, and ten more before them. Might need to stay a few days extra to fill our hold with both supplies and bodies."
Connor shot the Welshman a sly, sidelong glance. "Are you certain that that is the only reason why you would wish to stay?"
Edward looked sharply at him. "The only one you'll get me to admit to, unless you want to buy me a few more rounds."
Connor chuckled knowingly, all too conscious of the significance of the violin sitting by Edward's feet. He said nothing, however, and they went back to their ale in silence.
It was a few minutes later that Edward felt eyes on him again. He turned around, staring directly at the culprit this time. The black-skinned man was studying Edward with an uncanny intensity. In fact, Edward had only ever seen that eagle-sharp glance in the eyes of people who were just as ambitious and wily as he was. Might be something into which he would have to look.
"See something that interests you?" Edward called across the room, again ignoring the whore and her two drunkards in the corner. The black man did not even blink at the challenge.
"No," he returned. Edward noticed that he spoke like one of the African slaves.
"Then stop staring." Edward turned back to his ale, though he remained conscious of the man in the corner. The blond man glanced at Connor. "Can you tell me where to find them?"
Connor studied him for a long moment, and then he sighed.
"They were in a tavern called the Jack Tar," he muttered, and took another drink from his tankard before setting it back upon the counter. "I doubt that they are still there. It is on the other end of the port from here."
Edward shook his head. Then he turned back to Connor.
"Well, I doubt we'll find many more men on this end of the port, anyway." Edward knocked back the rest of his ale and got to his feet with a hidden wince as his back twinged. He reached down and hoisted the hard lump of violin case onto his shoulder, and gestured to the door. "You coming?"
Connor followed Edward's example with a small sigh, and led the way to the door. Once outside, Edward took a deep breath of the rank port air and glanced down the street to where he could see clear across the harbor. It would be a long walk, but he hoped that it would be worth it, in the end.
Rhian Yates stared gloomily at the smoke-tainted oilskin covering the windows of the inn in which she and her older brother had taken shelter the evening prior. Cadell had yet to rise; she had just finished a rather scant breakfast of bread smeared with drippings from the previous night's supper and a little ale, and was currently wondering what she should do with herself. She could, of course, go ask around in the hopes of finding some employment, or a dice game that she could win, but the dice option sat poorly in her stomach, and she did not have the drive to try to go find another ship on which to sail. Not after sailing under the Jackdaw and her amazing captain. Rhian just could not bear the thought of trying to find another ship, where she would have to hide her secret from everyone and anyone again, where she would have no friends and no allies. Hell, it would be a miracle if she were even able to sign on to a respectable British ship after having sailed with Captain Edward Kenway, and with the Spanish for two years before that.
Rhian was beginning to despair of ever finding employment again.
Footsteps sounded from the staircase across the room. Rhian looked up, and then looked away again. Cadell was descending into the tavern area, bleary-eyed but awake, hair tousled from a restless night of sleeping on land for the first time in a long time. He spotted her within a second, and came over to sit down at the table across from her.
"Have you eaten?" he asked, yawning slightly. Rhian nodded, unwilling to speak just yet. Cadell studied her. "Are you all right?"
Rhian nodded again. Cadell sighed.
"You're not all right, sister," he murmured, and then glanced over to the door to the kitchen, where the innkeeper was lingering. When she saw that Cadell was looking at her, the woman raised an eyebrow, and when he motioned that he would like some food and drink, she nodded and vanished into the other room. Cadell turned back to Rhian. "Mind telling me what's on your mind?"
She felt ill as she slowly looked over at him.
"I'm going to die, Cadell," she whispered. When he looked alarmed, she sighed miserably and started picking at a splinter on the rough table. "After sailing with the Spanish, I'll never be able to find employment on a British ship, and I don't know that anyone will hire me after having served on the Jackdaw." She paused, and lowered her voice. "I don't know that I want to, having served under Edward."
Cadell looked positively befuddled as he frowned at her.
"What do you mean?" he asked. Rhian could not look at him. Realization dawned slowly. "You don't mean you want to sail with him, do you? Sister, they're pirates!"
"And I sailed with the Spanish for over two years," she reminded him, expression sullen. "Honestly, Cadell? I can't imagine my world without hi- them in it. Not anymore." She sighed and lowered her head into her hands. "They've been the truest friends in my life since you and I were separated, Cadell. They discovered my secret and kept it for me, when they could have used me for their own pleasure or thrown me to the crew. Past our initial meeting, they did their best to protect me from harm. Hell, they've even defended me from the crew and from each other when I was being an ass or not feeling well enough to work as hard as normal." The breath she drew shuddered on its way into her lungs. "And I returned those actions with whatever I could give, short of my own body. They never asked anything degrading of me, Cadell. They respected me until I did something to lose that respect."
Cadell scrutinized his sister. His brown eyes softened as he read in her something that seemed to put him at ease.
"Are you sure you're still talking about both Edward and Connor?" he asked, the inquiry soft. Rhian peeked glumly out at him from between her fingers. Cadell sighed, reaching out to pry one of her hands from her face before squeezing her palm with his.
"I think you're in love," he told her.
Rhian swallowed, feeling her face burn and her eyes water. God, but it seemed as though all she was doing, lately, was crying. She hated crying. Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded, because even though she was not entirely certain that she was in love with one of them, she knew that she loved both Edward and Connor.
Cadell's eyes raked over her face. "Why are you crying?"
Rhian shook her head. She could not answer him verbally for fear that her shameful tears would burst forth from her and alert the entire inn to her misery. That was something that absolutely could not happen. Nevertheless, all of the confusing emotions inside of her were churning around in her head, faster and faster, an overwhelming mix of despair, grief, anger, and uncertainty that left her reeling. Rhian was almost overcome. More than ever, she felt ostracized, alone. Even though Cadell was sitting right across from her, holding her hand, the loneliness in her heart yawned wide, an empty void that would no longer be filled. The memory of Edward's smiling face, of Connor's laughter, ran through her mind. Rhian squeezed her eyes shut against the solid lump in her throat. The tears threatened to spill from her burning eyes. To keep from breaking down, Rhian focused on her brother again.
At least Cadell's hand in hers was solid, real. His palm was rough and callused from handling weapons and ropes alike. He smelled of tar, tobacco, rum, and the sea. His accent was comfortingly familiar on her ears; the lilting cadence of his words was entirely Welsh. It threw Rhian back into her childhood days. Her brother had always been her anchor, and even now, when they were both grown and had their own lives, he was still taking care of her, trying to protect her from the pains and tragedies of the world.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for trying to protect me, Cadell. You probably shouldn't."
He squeezed her hand. "I'm your brother. I do it because I care."
Rhian gave him a weak smile.
"I know," she said. "I wish you would allow me to return the favor once in a while."
He chuckled. "Maybe someday, sister, when I no longer have the strength." He paused, then, and sighed. "Rhian, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."
Rhian peered into her brother's eyes. "What is it?"
"Well..." Cadell fidgeted a little. "You're an aunt."
Rhian blinked. Then she blinked again. "Come again?"
"You're an aunt," Cadell repeated, tanned cheeks coloring. "I have a woman, and a son. They're up in the Virginia Colony."
Rhian could not help but stare at her brother. The knowledge he had just imparted to her was not sinking into her mind as it should be.
"What's his name?" she asked, dazed.
"Faulkner," Cadell replied. He eyed her with a mix of- guilt? Apprehension? "Robert Faulkner. His mum's name is Rebecca."
Rhian's blood ran cold. She yanked her hand out of Cadell's as taunts of bastard and worthless and whore ran through her ears, ghostly echoes of times not long past. God, please let him tell her that he had at least married the woman and acknowledged his son as his own...
"You're not married?" She felt an icy anger settle in the pit of her stomach as Cadell slowly shook his head. Rhian felt the fury mounting, the old hurt rushing through her as the memories of her childhood came flooding forth. The notion that Cadell would repeat their father's actions made Rhian feel physically ill.
It was then that the innkeeper brought Cadell's food for him. As soon as she set his drink on the table, Rhian grabbed the cup, took a deep draught from it, and then dashed the remainder of the wine in her brother's face.
As Cadell spluttered and the innkeeper stared openly at Rhian, Rhian pushed herself to her feet and silently stalked out into the streets of Nassau. Cadell did not follow her. For that, at least, Rhian was grateful. She did not think that she could stand to be around her brother at the current moment, not without doing or saying something hurtful to him.
How dare he? How could Cadell have sired a child and then not married the mother, when he knew exactly how it was that Rhian had grown up as a bastard child? The hurt of the action, or lack thereof, knifed straight to Rhian's heart.
Rhian knew, perhaps better than anyone, that pregnancies could happen by accident. After all, she had been an accident. It was not the pregnancy that she had a problem with, or the child that resulted from the parents' desires. The thing that irked her was that Cadell, as an unmarried man, had not wedded his woman- Rebecca, was it?- and taken responsibility for his son. God. Rhian had a nephew. Robert? Robert Faulkner.
Stopping in the middle of the street, Rhian vowed then and there that her nephew would never have to endure what she had while growing up. Even if she had to put a gun to her brother's head and force him to marry Rebecca Faulkner, she would see it done. After all, even though things such as illegitimacy might be seen differently or more liberally in the colonies, if the child were ever taken back to England or Wales, both he and his parents would be ostracized and punished for his bastard status just as she had been.
Rhian walked onwards, lost in thought.
Legitimacy was an important thing. Without it, a man could not inherit property from his father; unless he went into a trade, he could never have a living for himself. If Cadell married Rebecca, Robert would never be legitimized, but even so, after Cadell passed away, Robert, as the firstborn son, could inherit Cadell's estate if provisions were made in Cadell's will for him to do so. If Cadell married Rebecca prior to going to England or Wales, he could safely introduce her as his wife, and Robert as their son, and nobody would be any wiser unless they asked about the boy's age in relation to how long his parents had been wed.
Without that, there would be a stigma that followed Robert around like a foul odor everywhere he went. He, like Rhian, would be seen as the shameful product of his parents' lack of restraint.
Rhian would give anything for her nephew not to experience that.
Coming back out of her thoughts, Rhian realized that she had walked quite a ways away from the inn where she and Cadell had sheltered the previous evening. She had come down nearly to the waterfront. To her right was a white church that she had passed the day before, the steeple jutting up sharply into the sky. To her left were a few fields and some public houses that had ale on tap. In the front of one of them, she could see a trio of dark-haired men drinking together while a group of musicians fiddled away in the corner of the pub. Rhian gazed longingly at the violin in the female musician's hands, recalling the loss of her own beloved instrument. She had realized late the evening prior that she had left the engraved fragment of her violin back on the Jackdaw. Its loss had dragged her down even further into the dark pit into which she seemed to be sinking. If only she had something by which she could escape from reality for just a little while, maybe she would not be in so much pain.
Sighing dismally, the Welshwoman turned to her right and, after a second's hesitation, entered the whitewashed church.
It was a ruin inside, but Rhian found it to be quaint and welcoming to her weary soul. At the far end was a wooden altar, above which might have hung a cross at some point, though it was missing by now. Someone had probably melted it down for the metal. In place of an ornate cross was merely the shadow of one, which had imprinted itself upon the wall through years of exposure to fading and sunlight. It was good enough for Rhian.
She crossed the sanctuary with slow, deliberate steps, each one giving a hollow thud on the creaking floorboards. There was not a priest or any other holy man about that she could see; it seemed as though the church had been abandoned for some time. All around her, the pews were falling apart. The floorboards were rotted half through; in some shadowed, hidden place, she could hear rats and mice squeaking. A few birds had nested in the rafters. Seagulls, probably, or a hawk or a few crows, or maybe a family of sparrows. The subtle stench of their droppings along with the odor of rotting wood was overpowering in the rank air.
Rhian stopped before the crumbling altar and gazed up at the shadow of the cross on the wall.
Sighing, she knelt, green eyes fixed upon the wall, and folded her hands.
"To the Triune God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," she murmured, crossing herself. Her heart was a stone within her chest. "Lord of All, You know better than I how often I pray to You. You know better than I do of how sinful I am. I have never given confession, never been absolved of my sins by a priest. All I know is that I have sinned, and that I need forgiveness from someone, even if that means that I go straight to You instead of one of Your representatives on Earth." She paused and glanced down at her hands. "Lord, despite the informality of my prayers, I pray that You would forgive me of all of my sins, and I know that they are many, but most of all, I pray that You would forgive me of the sins of treachery and of anger. I pray that You would forgive me for being furious that my brother has condemned his son to the same life that I was given."
She paused, glancing upwards as she heard a pair of birds begin to bicker in the rafters. Once they had chased each other out of the church and into the skies beyond, she continued her prayer.
"I pray that You would grant me peace and allow me to come to terms with being cast off by Edward and Connor, and I pray that You would bless and guard them in all things. I thank You for the privilege of their friendship and love, short though it lasted. They have good hearts, despite some of their actions and faults." She choked, feeling her throat close up on her. "I pray that You would give me the strength to let them go, and I pray that You would heal my heart from their absence."
Rhian drew a shaking breath. "Lastly, I pray that You would watch over my brother and his lover and their son. I pray that You would guide him to marry her and give them a good life. I pray that You will give my nephew, Robert Faulkner, a better life than the one I had as a child. Protect him from the stigma that surrounds his birth. Grant him success in all his dealings and protect him from harm."
Oh, more than anything, she hoped that Robert would lead a good life.
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name," Rhian intoned, the familiar but heartfelt words rolling off her tongue as they had so many times. "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. The kingdom, the power, and the glory are Thine forever. Amen."
Rhian remained there, kneeling, for a long moment. Then she sighed and got up, feeling heavier than ever and yet, somehow, lighter as well. It had been good to get all of that off of her chest. As she reached the door of the church, she paused, and turned back, gazing up at the cross-shadow on the wall.
Lord, please grant me strength to get through the next few months or years. However long it takes me to get over Edward... and Connor... Please, just let me be strong enough to live without them.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Rhian reemerged onto the beaten-dirt pathways of Nassau.
Connor could have strangled Edward. Honestly, he could have done so with ease. As it was, pragmatism prevented him from going through with the deed, but it did not lessen the inherent desire to commit some form of patricide.
Edward was driving Connor up a wall with his need to stop at almost every corner and chat it up with the local prostitutes and his various other pirate friends. While that would not normally bother Connor, he was impatient to find Rhian. He knew that the longer it took them to find and talk to her, the more likely it would be that she would leave and they would never see her again. As it was, they were nearing the port down beside the island's fortress, and Edward had just meandered off to a tavern across the way, where a trio of dark-haired men were sitting and talking together over mugs of ale. The tallest was a clean-shaven young man with sharp blue eyes, dressed in a blue coat and other apparel. The eldest of the trio was a man wearing a tricorne and a red sash, with the start of a full, black beard growing on his jaw. The third, the youngest and shortest, was wearing a waistcoat of green brocade, and had a red sash wrapped around his head. They must have known Edward well, since they had hailed the blond man as he and Connor had approached from up the street.
Now, Connor was leaning against the rail that sat out in front of the tavern, breathing deeply of the salty air and listening impatiently to the discourse of the four men behind him. All the while, he wanted nothing more than to keep searching for his missing friend and force her to listen to them, ask her to accept his apology (since he knew that Edward probably would do no such thing, even if the sentiment was there), and ask her to come back to the Jackdaw with them.
Connor sighed quietly.
While Connor had only been in the year 1715 for a grand total of a little less than two months, Rhian Yates had quickly wormed her way as deeply into his heart as Kanénto:kon or Cosette had. Even Edward had managed to carve out a place there for himself, despite his crass, uncouth ways and blatant, selfish, sometimes hedonistic, piratical lifestyle. Sure, Connor and Edward had more times when they bickered than when they did not, but even that was becoming a situation more of affectionate habit than any true antagonism. Edward had become a brother that Connor had never had. Rhian had become the sister. Connor did not know exactly what the other two had become to each other, but he suspected in his heart that their own brief enmity and jovial bickering had turned into something deeper, something that Edward at least did not recognize for what it was.
If nothing else, Connor admitted to himself, Rhian had been good for both of them. She had often moderated both Connor and Edward's somewhat explosive tempers, had often acted as a voice of reason when both men were being too stubborn for their own good. More than once, she had gone and spoken with them individually after they had had an argument, and had talked them into some semblance of calm before they made up and worked out their differences. When it had seemed as though she had betrayed them, Connor had felt as though a piece of his heart had been ripped out of his chest. When she had kissed him in the Jackdaw's brig, Connor had felt a spark of hope ignite in his breast. He had spent days afterwards thinking about it, pondering over what he felt for her.
He had come to the conclusion that he did not love Rhian Yates. Not as a lover, at any rate. While the kiss had felt nice, it had not had any real emotion behind it. All that it had been was a purely physical attraction.
Connor's heart lay elsewhere.
When he had watched Rhian interact with Edward after they had taken back the Jackdaw and stabilized her Captain, Connor had realized that Rhian, herself, had held no emotion for him during the kiss. It had been a purely physical enjoyment for her, as well. While that was a relief, it had only been after he had talked to her about it that he had realized that Rhian's heart lay elsewhere, as well. Her heart had been unconscious in the bed in the captain's cabin, recovering from a dire wound and other abuses.
Rhian's heart belonged to Connor's grandfather. Of that much, he was certain. Edward seemed to be a little more reserved, possibly even confused, about how he felt for Rhian. Connor could understand. Judging by the way that Edward still kept the wedding portrait of himself and his wife on his cabin wall, Connor was willing to bet that his grandfather still held strong feelings for Caroline Scott. Connor knew that one of the reasons for which Edward had gone to sea was out of a desire to prove himself to his wife. How Rhian might factor into that, Connor did not know.
He wondered what would become of Edward's feelings towards Rhian when he realized that he would have to choose between the woman he had married and the woman with whom he was beginning to fall in love.
As he sighed quietly and leaned back against the rail again, he gave a pause as a shadow fell over him. Connor glanced up from under his hood, tawny eyes meeting the analytical gaze of the youngest of Edward's group. The young man smiled coolly down at Connor, and lifted his tankard to the tall man.
"Hola," he said, speaking the Spanish word with a British accent. Connor blinked.
"I do not speak Spanish," he replied. "But I can understand that you just greeted me."
The young man laughed. "Well, I s'pose it's a good thing I speak the King's English, then." He held out his hand. "James Kidd."
Connor noticed that James Kidd's voice, though low, sounded strained and unnatural. He probably would never have noticed had he not known Rhian Yates as he did. Rhian's voice, when she was talking in her "male" register, had the same unnatural strain to it as this boy's voice did.
Interesting.
"Connor," Connor replied, glancing at Kidd's hand. "You will forgive me for not shaking your hand."
Kidd withdrew the offending member. "Not a friendly one, are you?"
Connor shook his head.
"I mean no offense," he stated. "It is taboo, in my culture, to touch a stranger."
"Well, to that, I'd say that we're not strangers anymore, are we?" Kidd's grin was genuine, this time, as he countered Connor's response. "We've been introduced. I'd say that counts for some level of familiarity."
"Perhaps so." Connor looked out at the street again. "I am sorry, but I still would rather not."
"Fair enough." Kidd rounded the railing to lean against it next to Connor, sipping from his flagon of ale. "What are you waiting for?"
He snorted, and glanced up at Edward. "Waiting for Edward to finish so that we can go find someone."
"Yeah?" Kidd looked intrigued. "Who you looking for?"
Connor sighed. "One of our friends. There was a… a miscommunication, and s- he and his brother left the Jackdaw."
"Sounds serious." Kidd frowned a little at Connor. "And you said this is a friend of yours? What's he look like?"
Connor pursed his lips. "He is a Welshman with fair skin, green eyes, and curly red hair. His brother is tanned, with brown eyes and brown hair."
"Really?"
"Aye." A shadow fell over them, and Connor glanced up to find that Edward had come over and was leaning against the railing on the level above them. His ocean-blue eyes were tired. "You haven't seen anyone around like that, have you, Kidd?"
Kidd shook his head. "No, an' I'm sorry for it. I'll keep an eye open for them, though."
"Thanks," Edward murmured, taking a drink from his mug. Connor studied his grandfather for a long moment. Edward looked haggard, like he was in pain, but it did not look as though said pain was from his wounds alone. He looked worn down. Tired.
Not for the first time, Connor wondered how Edward truly felt about Rhian.
It was only after a second that he realized that Edward's eyes were no longer on him and Kidd. Instead, his grandfather's ocean-blue gaze was fixed upon a spot in the distance, his tankard lifted halfway to his mouth. Edward's brow had creased; he was squinting. Frowning with curiosity, Connor followed his grandfather's stare. Once he saw what it was that Edward was looking at, Connor's breath caught.
It was Rhian, and she was in trouble.
They were moving even before Edward's tankard clattered to the ground. Connor and Edward vaulted over the tavern rail, taking no heed of the startled exclamations that Kidd and the others gave. A second later, they were running, racing towards where they had seen her.
"What d'you figure she's done this time?" Edward asked, ducking under a clothesline as Connor hurdled a fence. Connor would have sighed, would it have not been a waste of breath.
"I have no idea," he replied. "But she needs our help."
She had been about two streets over when Connor had seen her; by the time he and Edward reached the spot, she had vanished, and aside from two dead bodies, there was nothing to mark her passage. A vehement oath hurled from Edward's lips.
"Where'd she get to?" he demanded of nobody.
It was in that moment that all hell broke loose. With a shout, men poured from the alleyways and doorways, and Connor and Edward drew their swords in haste, going on the defensive. Connor ground his teeth, blocking a strike aimed at his gut; he drew his pistol and sent a ball into the man's forehead. His brains splattered across the man behind him. The newcomer froze, allowing Connor the time to slit his throat. Behind Connor, Edward was struggling against his own opponents.
Connor whirled and caught sight of Edward struggling to fend off two blades at once. Normally, Edward would have had no trouble at all with these opponents. Since he was still recovering from his wounds, though, he was favoring his side, and although he was trying as hard as he could, Connor could see that Edward's left arm was weakening. Connor swore inwardly, and turned to face his next opponent. Shots rang out. Balls of hot lead whizzed past Connor's ear and side. Behind him, a body thudded to the ground and a man gave a screech of agony.
Parry. Block. Parry-block-stab. The man collapsed, throat cut. Connor was free. He spun around and lunged, driving the point of his sword through the forehead of the man who was about to attack Edward from behind. At the same time, Edward gutted his current opponent. Entrails spilled across the ground, steaming despite the hot afternoon air. The man collapsed, grabbing at them, trying in vain to stuff them back inside himself. Connor ended his suffering a second later via decapitation.
Connor pressed his back to Edward's, and they looked around, waiting to see if the remaining four men were stupid enough to attack them. They had already killed seven of them. Connor wondered if they would try their luck.
It seemed that they would.
Two men charged Connor as the other two went after Edward. Connor reached behind himself and grabbed one of Edward's pistols out of the man's belt holster. He shot the man coming at him from his left, parried the blade of the man on his right, and then, ejecting his hidden blade, drove the dagger up through the man's chin into his brainpan, killing him instantly. His opponents all dead, Connor whirled around and lunged for the man on Edward's left just as Edward drove both his blades into the third man's stomach, dropping him.
Connor disarmed the fourth man within seconds and then, holding him at sword point, glanced over to Edward. The younger man was breathing hard and heavily favoring his side, but otherwise, he seemed to be unharmed, if furious. There was a darkness in his ocean-blue eyes that Connor had never seen, before. Connor turned to their captive.
"What was your purpose in attacking us?" Connor demanded. The rogue glared at him and spat. Connor pressed the point of the sword against the man's throat and twisted. Blood beaded upon the tender skin. "I will only ask once more: What was your purpose in attacking us?"
"Assassin pigs," the man hissed. "You will die before the month is out."
With that, he choked, crimson welling from his lips, and his eyes rolled up into his head. He fell over with a gurgle, and was still. Connor glanced over the corpse. The body was leaking blood in a sluggish stream from a hole in the man's side. Well, at least he now knew whom it was that the second pistol shot had hit, earlier. Shaking his head in disgust, Connor turned to Edward.
"What now?" Connor asked. The other man huffed, exhaling slowly.
"We leave 'em," Edward replied, gazing around at the carnage. "Leave 'em, and try to track down our wayward Jackdaw." He glanced over at Connor. "Any idea where she's gone?"
Connor did not reply. Instead, he breathed out and stilled his mind, slipping into that Second Sight that Achilles had often called Eagle Vision. The world washed out around him. To his left, Edward glowed a solid, comforting blue. The corpses on the ground were as grey as the rest of the world, but Connor's sharp eyes caught a flash of blue-gold on the ground. He crossed over to it in a heartbeat. Kneeling, he touched his fingers to the cool splatter. Blood.
"She was hurt," he announced, and glanced around, catching another glimmer of gold-blue a few paces away. "This way."
He led Edward down the street and then into a dark alleyway, catching sight of a bloody handprint smeared across one of the walls, and another a few paces further. After that, the prints vanished, and Connor followed the blood trail to a pile of hay. There were a few crimson-stained stalks there, but nothing more. He stared at it for a moment or two, puzzled. Then he spotted a boot sticking out from behind the corner of a house across the clearing. That was where he headed next.
A dead man lay against the wall, the end of a sharp stick protruding from his stomach. There was nothing else to mark Rhian's passage.
Edward swore softly. Connor looked over to him to find that the younger man was glaring at the corpse, as though it was the reason why the trail had gone cold. No matter how Connor looked or utilized his Sight, he could find no traces of his friend.
She was gone.
"She must have escaped," Connor murmured, glancing at Edward. "Do you see anything?"
"Nothing."
"Even with your Sight?"
Edward shook his head. His frustration was evident. "We should canvass the area," he said. "Maybe she slipped off somewhere after she killed this bugger."
Connor nodded his agreement, and they split up, Edward heading back the way they had come and Connor continuing down the alley where the corpse was lying. They searched for quite some time; the shadows lengthened, and the sunlight weakened, and still they found no sign of their friend. Eventually, Connor thought, they should probably give up and call it a night. It was then that he returned to the haystack where they had first gone, finding that Edward had already done the same thing. The blond looked up hopefully as Connor descended from one of the rooftops. Connor just shook his head.
"Nothing," he stated. "Nothing for six streets in either direction. You?"
Edward grumbled something that was probably unflattering. "The same." He shook his head angrily, running his hand through his hair. "Where could that girl have got to?"
Connor did not comment on the way he could see Edward's hand shaking.
"Let us try going back to the original battle site," the older man suggested. "Perhaps she doubled back."
Again, Edward muttered something- it sounded like a curse, this time- but nodded. Connor turned to lead the way back to where they had first seen Rhian prior to losing her. It was then that his ears, well-tuned and alert, caught the sound of a barely-stifled whimper. He froze, holding his hand out to stop Edward, as well.
There. There it was again.
Connor followed the sound, taking a left down an alleyway off the small common. Here, the houses had been built close-together, making the spaces between them narrow and difficult to traverse for men as large as the two Assassins who now struggled to pass through them. Connor realized that he had not come down this way, earlier; a quick glance at Edward revealed that he had not done so, either.
There was that sound again, this time accompanied by a soft oath. Close. Connor paused for just a second. Then he rounded a corner, and there she was.
Rhian was swearing to herself when Connor spotted her, her shaking fingers trying in vain to knot a scarf around her left thigh. Blood was dripping from underneath the makeshift bandage. Other than that and a bruise forming around her right eye, Connor could see no more wounds. He shook his head and knelt in front of her. Rhian jumped. A flash of light streaked in towards Connor's throat. He caught her wrist with ease, and watched as realization and shock dawned upon her face.
"C-Connor?" she gasped. She was trembling.
"Yes," Connor replied, and took the dagger from her with a gentle hand. His other one landed upon her cheek a second later. "You are safe, Drystan."
She stared at him for a long moment, seafoam-green eyes huge in her white face, dark smudges of dirt stark against the paler-than-normal skin. At last, she swallowed, and slowly looked up over Connor's left shoulder. She swallowed again.
"Captain," she observed, and her voice wavered. She looked back down to Connor. "What are the two of you doing here?"
Connor glanced back at Edward as the blond man edged closer, perhaps sensing that she had calmed. "We saw you fighting those men an' thought you might need some help." Edward frowned at her as he crouched beside Connor. "What happened, feinir?"
Rhian breathed out a shaky sigh, reaching up and running one bloody hand through her hair. Realizing what she had done, she grimaced and lowered her arm again, fingers returning to the scarf around her thigh.
"I heard 'em talking," she answered, gaze darting away. "Decided to listen in, but I got caught. They decided that their information was more valuable than my life. Tried to kill me. I got most of them, but one wounded me. I barely got away, as you can see."
Connor and Edward exchanged glances.
"What information?" Connor asked, but Rhian was already shaking her head.
"Not here," she said, and then stifled a groan as she cinched the scarf tight around her leg. Her throat worked as she swallowed for a moment. Then she shuddered and held out a bloodied palm towards Connor. "Help me up. We need to get off the streets if you want to hear this."
Connor did as she had asked him, standing and then taking her hand to pull her up so that she could get her legs under her. Rhian wobbled a bit once she was upright, but she kept her feet. Edward stood, also. Connor glanced over to his grandfather as he saw the other man move. A second later, Edward stepped forward, left hand rising.
He pressed his palm to Rhian's cheek.
For a long second, everything stilled. Connor watched as Rhian froze, eyes going wide. Edward just stared at her, thumb gingerly stroking the bruising skin beneath her right eye, which was beginning to swell nicely. It would be a brilliant medal for her to carry for a week or so. Connor watched as Edward studied their friend for a moment. Then Edward sighed and grabbed Rhian by the shoulders, pulling her in to his chest so that he could wrap his arms around her.
Connor's eyebrows shot up.
Well, he had not expected that. Neither had Rhian, apparently: she had gone stiff in Edward's gentle embrace. As Edward closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to her temple, however, Connor watched as Rhian gave a sigh that made her whole body shudder, and wrapped her arms around Edward's waist in return. Connor could not help but smile. The contentment on Edward's face, the happiness in Rhian's posture, and the sheer relief that emitted from both of them spoke volumes about the comfort and support that they took from the embrace. Whatever its nature, Connor could see the depth of the mutual love they held for one another, and it was a comfort to know that, after he returned to his own time, they would be able to draw strength from the bond between them.
He gave them a couple minutes. Then Connor politely cleared his throat. Rhian jerked a bit. They let go after a second, though the reluctance to do so would be obvious to any observer. Connor watched as they stared into each other's eyes for a moment longer, and saw the tension drain out of Rhian's body like water through a sieve.
That was better.
"We should see to your leg," Connor commented, nodding toward the alleyway from which he and Edward had come. Rhian turned to him, and acquiesced in silence. "Where is Cadell?"
"Back at the inn we're staying at, far as I know," she replied, voice barely a murmur. She looked shaky. "The Jack Tar. It's a good distance away."
Edward shook his head. "There's a tavern nearby, and I have friends there right now. We can go there and get your leg looked at, and then you can tell us what it is you dropped eaves on."
Rhian snorted. "I didn't drop any eaves-"
"Yes, you did," Edward muttered, but his hand was gentle where he had it wrapped around Rhian's elbow, steadying her as he guided her into limping down the alleyway towards the tavern. Rhian rolled her eyes, but was otherwise compliant. They walked in silence for a few minutes. Connor could sense the questions that Rhian obviously wanted to ask, but she seemed content to hold her tongue, so he said nothing for the moment.
Perhaps she would ask once they were back in the safety of the tavern.
He was just glad that she was still alive.
Compulsory and Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed in any of its forms, save for the copies I have of the games. Assassin's Creed belongs in its entirety to Ubisoft. I own Rhian Yates and any other original characters you encounter herein.
Welsh Translations:
Cach - Shit
A Note on Illegitimacy: In the early 17th century, children born outside of marriage (called bastards or illegitimate) could not inherit property from either parent, and were looked upon in the same way that people looked at prostitutes, thieves, beggars, and other "disreputable" types of people. Also, unless the blood father or a wealty patron made special provisions for the child, the child probably could not learn a trade or any other way to make a living aside from thievery, prostitution, or begging. Many illegitimate children did not live to adulthood unless they were cared for by the church. (Also, what we now know as "child support" did not really exist until 1733.) I recommend reading Alan McFarlane's treatise on the subject (Illegitimacy and Illegitimates in English History) for more information.
Thank you all for your patience! I'm very sorry for the (yet again) late update, but unfortunately, writer's block and Real Life conspired yet again to prevent me from writing. I've been working three jobs and taking summer school courses all summer, so needless to say, things have been crazy. It's only now that the summer school has died off that I've really had a chance to write, again.
As always, I value your input, thoughts, and opinions. Yes, this chapter focused on both of the major relationships in our Golden Trio of Edward, Connor, and Rhian, and unfortunately, the next chapter will not be Connor/Edward focused. Chapter 12 should be posted fairly soon.
Hope you are all doing well, and I look forward to reading what you thought of this chapter!
-Scribe