Sum of Memories.
Chapter 12: Pieces.
"So this is how you welcome your friends?"
August 7, 1715.
James Kidd met them as they neared the tavern. Edward could see the questions in the younger man's eyes, but did not have the answers for them. Instead, Edward just focused on getting Drystan to the nearest table as Connor went over and asked the bartender for some medical supplies. The man nodded, and vanished into the back for a few moments. In the meantime, Kidd joined them, as did Edward Teach and Ben Hornigold. The three of them eyed Drystan with suspicion and curiosity.
"This the lad you was tellin' us about, Kenway?" Teach asked, and Edward glanced up to his friend with a smile as Drystan glanced uncomfortably between the pirates. "'E's a small 'un."
Edward chuckled. "He's an excellent fiddler, though, and you'll not have him, Teach. Find your own."
Blackbeard's belly laugh boomed through the air.
"Aye, lad," he conceded. "I've got me own good fiddler. I don't need your stowaways."
"Fuck off, Teach." Edward grinned at his friend, who merely chortled at the slight and moved away to order another tankard from one of the wenches at the bar. Edward thought that the girl's name might have been Anne Bonny, or something similar. He turned his gaze down to Drystan, only to find that the girl would not meet any of their eyes, peering around at each of them from under her eyelashes. She looked uneasy. Edward figured that she had good reason. After all, he had all but abandoned her less than twenty-four hours before, and now he had suddenly rescued her and decided to help her.
He would be confused, too, were he in her position.
"What's your name, boy?" Kidd asked, and Drystan stiffened a little. Edward heard her clear her throat softly.
"Drystan," she answered quietly, the sound a low, throaty growl. "And you?"
"James Kidd," Kidd replied, and stuck out his hand under Drystan's nose. Startled, Drystan jerked upwards so hard that she almost tipped backwards off her seat. Edward caught her and steadied her, but she did not acknowledge him, staring with mistrust at Kidd's smiling face. After a moment, she seemed to relax. She took Kidd's hand, and they shook.
"A pleasure, I'm sure," Drystan murmured, narrowing her eyes at the black-haired boy. "Are you one of Kenway's fellow captains, then?"
Kidd chuckled. "Hardly. I'm his brain, come from between his ears."
Edward rolled his eyes. "Keep laughing, Kidd." He glanced over to where Connor was observing them from the bar. "Got those bandages, yet?"
Connor nodded, just as the barkeep returned with the requested medical supplies. They were little more than boiled rags and spirits, but they would suffice well enough. Connor brought them over to the table at which Drystan was sitting, and placed his hand reassuringly on the girl's shoulder whilst she reached down and unknotted her scarf from her wounded leg. Then the dark Assassin uncorked the bottle and poured the spirits over the open wound. Drystan's jaw clenched, the tendons in her neck protruding visibly under her skin, but she did not make a sound. It was almost a little worrying.
After a second, she nodded to Connor, and the dark Assassin wadded up a piece of fabric before tying it firmly into the wound with the rest of the bandages. Drystan sighed and leaned heavily against the back of her chair, green eyes tired as she watched Connor work.
"You willing to talk, now?" Edward asked softly, and Drystan turned her gaze to him. She was quiet for a moment, looking a little dazed, but Edward was not fooled. He knew that she was keeping track of every soul in that tavern using all the senses available to her. Hell, she probably had already memorized the pattern, weight, and gait of Teach, Hornigold, and Kidd's footsteps, if he knew her at all. It was a little impressive and a little annoying.
"A little exposed, don't you think?" she countered. Edward rolled his eyes again, but before he could say anything, he saw her glance at Teach, Kidd, and Hornigold out of the corner of her eye. "I'm sure your friends are trustworthy, but there are other ears about, Kenway, and I wouldn't vouch for them if I could throw them."
A wry chuckle bubbled up in Edward's throat, and he choked it down with a fight. God, but he had missed this, even for the day they had been apart. Drystan's bluntness, if not her suspicion, was always enjoyable to experience firsthand.
"Neither Connor nor I slept this past night," Edward replied, and shook his head. "And, o' course, we just ended your other eleven pursuers. I was thinkin' we'd find ourselves a place to get some shuteye."
"I might join you," she sighed, and then cleared her throat. "My fight, and then my fleeing, wearied me."
Edward studied her for a moment. There were dark circles under Drystan's eyes, and in addition to those, she just seemed… well, haggard. That was the only way he could describe it.
"Well, Connor?" Edward did not look away from Drystan as he called to the other Assassin. "What say you? Shall we find someplace to have some rest whilst Drystan makes his account?"
"I think that that would be best," Connor agreed. Drystan did not look away from Edward's gaze. He saw the confusion, the indecision, in her eyes. Frankly, Edward could not blame her. For all his talk of her betrayal, he and Connor had betrayed her, also.
"I should find Cadell," Drystan murmured, and Edward shook his head. "We had a… disagreement several hours ago. I should let him know I haven't abandoned him."
Edward almost flinched at what felt like a veiled accusation, but refrained. "Cadell can do without you for a night. You need to rest and let your leg start to heal."
Drystan opened her mouth to object again, but Connor interrupted her. "Captain Kenway is correct. Should you keep straining your leg as you have been doing, it is possible that you will lose it."
Drystan's teeth clacked together as she hastily shut her mouth. The uneasy look she gave Connor, however, told Edward that she still was uncomfortable with being in their presence at the moment. It hurt, a little.
"You know us, lad," Edward murmured, catching Drystan's gaze. "You know we won't hurt you."
She visibly bit back something unpleasant, but nodded after a second. Her voice was low and husky.
"Fine. I'll go with you, just so long as you realize that you have no right to hold me to your ship any longer. I'm no longer bound to you by any debt or oath. You understand that, Kenway?"
Her eyes flicked to Connor, as well, but Edward hardly noticed as he nodded. Silently examining his emotions, he was shocked to find that he did not care, anymore, that he no longer had any way to compel her to stay with him, or that he had no way to make her talk to him. He was just glad to be in her presence, again, and what was startling about that was that he had not felt that way about a woman since he had met Caroline all those years ago.
"Let's go," he replied instead. Drystan sighed softly and allowed him to take her arm, slinging it over his shoulders and helping her to her feet. Once she was upright again, Connor approached them, taking her weight from her other side and giving Edward a pointed look before holding out a canvas bag to him. Edward blinked, having all but forgotten about his violin.
"I shall aid Drystan," Connor stated. "You carry this."
Edward shook his head as he did as Connor bade. Drystan did not protest the switch, but Edward saw some confusion on the faces of his friends. Thankfully, they did not ask after his health, but saluted him with their tankards as he made his farewells. He could swear he saw suspicion in the eyes of James Kidd, but the boy said nothing but to tell Edward to come see him before he left port. Edward nodded and gave his word. Then they left.
For a long time, the three of them were silent, Connor walking steadily as Drystan limped along, and Edward could not stop glancing over at her to make sure that she was all right. But aside from her face being white and wan, she gave away nothing about either her physical or mental state. Not for the first time in the past half hour, Edward wondered what it was that she had overheard to make those men try to kill her. Eventually, he became aware of the fact that his back was hurting again. He had not noticed it while they were running to save Drystan, but now that the adrenaline was fading from his system, the exhaustion and pain was becoming nearly overwhelming.
"Why'd you help me?"
Her voice was hesitant, guarded. Edward and Connor turned in unison to stare at her, one incredulous and the other curious.
"Why would we not?" Connor questioned. Drystan swallowed and looked down at the ground, her bangs falling around her cheekbones and eyes just enough to obscure the green orbs from sight.
"I… I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she admitted, and the whisper was a hurt sound. "After what happened on the Jackdaw…"
Edward sighed, but said nothing. Connor licked his lips.
"You are our friend," he said, and adjusted his grip on her when she stumbled. "We know that you took what actions you could to better everyone involved, even at the cost of forsaking your place on the ship. We know that you acted in our best interests, and we know that you did all you could to see us all free again." He peered pointedly at Edward, who pursed his lips and looked away. "We were wrong to send you away in the first place."
Drystan swallowed and turned her gaze away from them. Edward could not tell what she was thinking.
By the time they reached the nearest inn, Drystan looked utterly exhausted. When Edward had paid for a room and they entered the space in question, she collapsed upon the side of the bed with a grimace, pressing a hand to the wound in her thigh. Edward exchanged a glance with Connor. He was unsure what the other Assassin was thinking, exactly, but it seemed to be something along the same lines as what Edward was thinking: Drystan was not doing very well.
"You know," she said suddenly, and Edward jumped a bit at the smooth, feminine voice that flowed from her lips. "It used to be that I could go more than three months without being injured in some fashion. Lo and behold, I meet you two, and here I am, stabbed, poisoned, battered, and stabbed again in the space of a month."
And just like that, the tension snapped, and Edward found himself laughing, collapsing on the bed beside her, back throbbing hotly as he flopped backward and threw a hand over his eyes. Somewhere in the room, Connor, too, was chuckling, and then Drystan, too, was giggling. There was movement at Edward's side, and then a warm body laid down beside him. He moved his hand and turned his gaze down onto the girl next to him, meeting her seafoam-green eyes with his own ocean-blue ones. How could he ever have thought that he would be able to banish her from him and actually live with that decision? How could he have ever contemplated not looking into her eyes again as he was now? Now that he was with her again, he knew that he would never be able to live without her, not really.
When had this happened?
"I'm glad you're all right," he confessed at length. "And I'm sorry for sending you away. It was a mistake of the highest order, and it was one I never should've made in the first place."
Drystan sighed, and turned on her side so that she could wrap an arm around Edward's waist. He froze at the unexpected contact, but then hesitantly returned it when she pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
"You were right to send me away," she admitted. "I broke your trust, and you paid the price for it." She was quiet a moment. "You should've never wanted to see me again. Why did you help me?"
That question, again?
"I helped you because I care for you," Edward murmured, sighing as he turned his gaze to the ceiling. "You're one of my two best friends in the world, and were I in your position, I'd have done the same thing, feinir. I had no right to cast you off, to begin with."
She was quiet a moment. Then she sighed and curled a little more firmly around him, tightening her grip on his waist just a bit so that her warmth was pressed all along his side. Edward just pressed his nose into the top of her head and closed his eyes, his weariness and her warmth making him drowsy. Several moments passed in contented silence, and eventually, Edward dozed, feeling complete for the first time in weeks. He was dimly aware of Drystan shifting and saying something, but the murmur was soft, and he did not wake fully.
It was wonderful.
August 8, 1715.
Connor woke slowly. He was comfortable and warm, and the world beneath him was not swaying with the rocking of the sea. There was a warmth pressed against his side that he could not remember being there when he fell asleep, but other than that, all was well. Curious, he blinked open drowsy eyes and turned his gaze to his side.
Rhian was lying there, and beyond her was Edward. Both of Connor's friends were still fast asleep, their expressions serene in repose, their breathing deep and even. What was a little odd was the way that Edward had turned his head towards Rhian in his sleep, and his lips were pressed to her forehead, his breath gently stirring her auburn curls. His arms were curled around her shoulders, and she had hers around his waist, heedless of his bandoliers and belts. Her head was pillowed on Edward's shoulder, and somehow, she had managed to throw a leg across his so that her knee was tucked between his.
It was… strikingly, innocently, beautiful.
Connor smiled softly to himself and closed his eyes once more, sighing as he turned slightly towards their warmth, enjoying the respite for as long as he could. It was nice, to be able to curl up beside his best friends and sleep, again. It was almost like being back at home in Kanatahséton. For a long time, he just laid there, resting contentedly, but eventually, he found that he could sleep no longer.
It was time to get up.
Slowly rolling away from his slumbering friends, Connor sat up and, stretching briefly, he sighed and decided that it was time to find some breakfast. He pulled on his boots and went in search of some food. Thankfully, the inn's tavern was not yet crowded, and he was able to buy some food and have it given to him in relatively little time. Still, it was long enough that Rhian was stirring by the time he returned to their room. She was blinking sluggishly as Connor set the food down on the side table, and as he turned to smile at her, she closed her eyes, sighed, and nuzzled her nose into Edward's side again. It was only a moment later that she realized where she was and what she had just done. Connor watched with some amusement as she stiffened and her eyes snapped open. As she slowly detached herself from Edward's softly-snoring form, Connor could not hold back his quiet chuckle. Rhian's seafoam-green eyes snapped over to him, glaring.
"Shut up," she hissed once she had gotten free of Edward and limped over to join Connor at the table. He just smiled at her, and though she did not return it, her frown softened just a little. "Thank you for the food."
He nodded. "It was nothing. Come, eat with me."
Rhian capitulated, and together, they ate their way through two-thirds of the food he had obtained. By the time they had satisfied themselves, Edward was beginning to wake at last. As the Captain blinked groggily at them, Connor nodded a good-morning, and Rhian busied herself with picking apart her last scone.
"Quiet morning, hmm?" Edward asked, moving to sit up. He had to halt halfway up, though, grimacing and hissing. Connor presumed that his grandfather's back would be troubling him. He was right. "Pen bach… Cach, that's a pleasant thing to feel first thing in the mornin'…"
Rhian made a tiny, tiny noise at the back of her throat, and Connor looked over in time to see her grimace.
"Your back's hurting?" she asked quietly. Edward looked like he had swallowed a lemon as he sat up the rest of the way and stayed there, leaning his elbows on his knees as he sighed in relief. He gave her a look that told Connor that Edward was wondering whether or not Rhian had taken leave of her senses.
"Is my back hurtin'? Of course it's hurtin'," he groused. "I'm supposed to be restricted to light duty, and yesterday, I went traipsing all over Nassau lookin' for you, and then sprinted to save your sorry-"
"Edward," Connor interrupted the other man, and Edward closed his mouth, pouting again. Connor shook his head and turned to where Rhian had gone very still. He supposed that, now that the relief of finding each other again had worn off, his two friends were recalling the events of the past few days with eyes unclouded by gratitude. "Drystan, you know that Edward has had a… trying, month. He really is more relieved to see you than he will say."
A small smile quirked Rhian's lips. She popped a morsel of scone between her chapped pink lips, chewed, and then swallowed before she spoke again.
"He's got a right to complain," she murmured. "I haven't made it an easy month for him, and yesterday…"
She trailed off in thought, and Connor and Edward exchanged glances. Finally, Edward turned back to Rhian, lips pursed.
"About yesterday," he began, "what happened, feinir? What was it that you overheard, to make them come after you?"
Rhian swallowed, not looking at either of them. Then, finally, Connor watched as her expression hardened, and then she finally turned around to stare first at Connor, and then at Edward.
"Before I tell you, you have to promise that you'll take me back on," she stated, much to their surprise. Edward looked flabbergasted, and Connor could admit to feeling something similar. She was all but glaring as she stared Edward down; her seafoam-green eyes seemed to flash golden in the early-morning sunlight streaming in through the window. "If I give you this information, I want my cut of the rewards."
Edward frowned, glanced at Connor, and then nodded at Rhian.
"You have my word," Edward said slowly. "What is it that you're so desperate to join for?"
Rhian's lips thinned, and then she tossed a whole scone to Edward and gestured for Connor to seat himself beside his grandfather as Edward fumbled the food. Connor smiled as he sank down beside the older man. Edward glared at him for his cheek. Then they turned in unison to face their female friend as Rhian settled herself stiffly upon the only chair in the room. She pursed her lips, scratched the bridge of her nose, and finally sighed, leaning back against the back of the chair and staring at their expectant faces. Connor could only imagine how similar the two of them must look to evoke the amused expression that flitted across her features, but she schooled herself quickly enough, and licked her lips.
"What I overheard involves the Spanish treasure fleet," she explained, voice so low that both Edward and Connor leaned forward to hear her better. "I hear tell that there's a convoy heading out from Havana in three and a half months' time, bound for Seville."
She paused, and Connor and Edward exchanged another glance.
"But that's common knowledge," Edward murmured, frowning. "There's no reason to try to kill you over it. What else did you overhear?"
Rhian paused again, and Connor saw her eyes flick toward him for a brief instant before she gulped.
"They say that they found something," she whispered at length. "Something… powerful. Special." She glanced around suspiciously, as though there were someone invisible in the room who might take the information to greedy ears. "Something that the King of Spain is desperate to get his paws on."
Connor's spine stiffened as he understood the hidden meaning in the words.
"A Piece," he realized, and felt Edward go still beside him. Rhian, her green eyes wide with a combination of dread and excitement, gave them a slow, pointed nod.
"Either that, or a hundred tons of gold and silver," Edward muttered, looking thoughtful. "Either one would be something that he would want to obtain."
Connor hummed, pondering the statement. It was all true, but something was not right.
"That is so," he agreed, "but it is also true that the knowledge of a hundred tons of gold and silver is also nothing worth killing a man over. It is commonly known that Philip gets much of his revenue from his Caribbean trade, so therefore, it stands to reason that they are protecting the knowledge of something else."
Rhian waved her hand in Connor's direction.
"Couldn't have said it better, myself," she quipped. Edward pulled a face at her, to which she responded with an equally silly expression, and then they were laughing again, laughing at their immaturity and the relief of being immature.
Connor just smiled and shook his head at them as he got up to go lean against the small table and stretch his legs. It was a blessing to be able to laugh together once more, and the prospect that there would be more moments like these had lightened his heart. He could finally breathe, again, now that Rhian was returning to them. For a few minutes, Edward and Rhian kept making faces at each other, prompting more rounds of laughter, but eventually, they quieted again, and Connor watched them sitting there, watching each other with something unnameable in their eyes. He almost rolled his own. Had he not known any better, he would say that they would become lovers and wed, what with the sexual tension and the love that was so obvious between them. Connor also wondered how he had never noticed it before; now that he thought about it, he recognized that the attraction, at least, had been there from the start. From the way she had brandished her bow at Edward and talked to him so defiantly upon their first halfway amiable meeting, to the way she had cared for him so diligently after the retaking of the Jackdaw, it had been as plain as day to anyone looking for it.
How had Connor never recognized it before now?
Eventually, Edward sighed and shifted, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a sliver of wood that Connor recognized as being from Rhian's destroyed violin. The Welshman stared at it for a second before leaning forward and handing it to Rhian, who took it with some surprise.
"Found that in my cabin after you left," Edward explained. "I recognized it as yours, thought you'd want it back."
Connor watched as Rhian blinked pensively down at the shiver, running her fingertips over the inscription, before she licked her lips.
"You've read it, I presume."
But Edward shook his head. Connor frowned at his grandfather. Edward had stared at the piece so many times since their parting two days ago, had stared at it so long, that there could be no way that Edward could not have read it.
"No, feinir, I didn't read it."
Connor cleared his throat. "How could you not have read it?"
Edward turned a mild glare onto Connor, who stared back unrepentantly.
"I just didn't, lad, and let's just leave it at that."
That was not a satisfactory answer. Even Rhian looked suspicious, and confused and maybe a little hurt by the denial. "You looked at it at least a hundred times whilst we were searching for her yesterday. How could you not have read it?"
"Because I can't read, damn it!" Edward looked just as shocked by the admission as Connor was, and Rhian looked little better. To Connor's astonishment, Edward's cheeks colored darkly, and he turned his face away from them, clenching his hands into fists on his knees. His voice went quiet. "I can't read. There. You happy?"
Connor and Rhian exchanged glances before Rhian leaned forward. "What do you mean, you're illiterate?"
"Workin' class, feinir," Edward muttered. "My tad was a sheep-farmer, mum didn't know how to read either, and tad died the day I turned seventeen. I never learned."
"But your letters to your wife-"
"He got some of his literate shipmates to help him, Connor," Rhian realized, gently silencing Connor's disbelieving protest. She frowned in thought for a long moment. Then she sighed, and shook her head. "Being illiterate is a huge disadvantage, Edward."
"I know," Edward scoffed, glaring at her. "Don't change the fact that there's not many people can read, let alone teach me."
Connor and Rhian exchanged another glance. Connor cleared his throat.
"I can read," he murmured, "though, admittedly, I did not learn until I was fourteen years old. Were I certain that I would have enough time to teach you, I would offer to do so."
The expression on Edward's face soured further, cheeks turning impossibly darker. "Then why'd you even say anything?"
Connor frowned at his grandfather and opened his mouth, ready to argue if need be, but Rhian preempted him, her quiet voice instantly defusing the tension in the room.
"I can't swim." As Edward and Connor stared at her, astonished, Rhian bit her lip and picked at a loose thread on her trousers. "I almost drowned, as a girl, and I've never been able to shake the fear that that planted in me. I never learned how to swim."
"And you thought that sailing would be a good career?" Edward demanded, aghast.
Rhian shot him a glare. "I followed my brother to sea, pen bach. It wasn't my first choice of profession."
They glowered at each other for a long moment. Connor watched them, and at last gave in to the urge to roll his eyes.
"There is a simple solution to all of this," he groused, drawing both light gazes to him. "Drystan, you can teach Edward how to read and write, and in exchange, Edward, you can teach Drystan to swim. That is, if you do not kill each other, first."
The pair in question looked at each other, then glanced at Connor again before turning their gazes back to each other. Eventually, Rhian pursed her lips and stuck her hand out towards Edward.
"I'm willing to do it," she stated, though her voice shook slightly as she said it. "Are you?"
Edward's mouth twisted into something resembling a cross between a smile and a grimace. "Feinir, I really don't have the time-"
"Bollocks," Rhian scoffed, scowling at him. "That's a lie, and you know it."
Edward glared at her. "Drystan-"
"No excuses, Kenway," Rhian snapped. "You'll learn to read if it's the last thing I do."
Connor's eyebrows crept up his forehead as his friends scowled at each other for a long minute, and then sighed loudly.
"Edward, you have the time," Connor stated, drawing their attention back to himself. "And Drystan is willing to teach you. You will not find a better opportunity, and you would be remiss to forsake this one."
Faced with both of their insistence, Edward caved surprisingly quickly. With a huff, he turned his face away. "Fine."
"Shake on it, Kenway," Rhian commanded. Edward snorted, looking at her with what Connor recognized as annoyance for a second before the Welshman reluctantly shook Rhian's hand. The satisfaction on Rhian's features made Edward scowl for a moment after he withdrew his hand. Then he finally pouted a bit and turned away, his embarrassment plain at last.
"Good," Connor stated, satisfied. He looked pointedly at Edward. "Was there not something else that you wished to give to her?"
"I was getting to it," Edward groused, but heaved himself to his feet nonetheless, grabbing a scone from the table as he crossed to where he had stowed his canvas bag against the wall the night before. Connor could not see Edward's expression as the other man bent to retrieve the sack, but he must have been grimacing, because he paused to take a deep breath about halfway down. They would have to replace the dressings on his back soon, also. Finally, Edward lifted the bag and straightened with a grunt, pausing again briefly before he turned towards Rhian and extended his arm towards her, the bag in hand.
Rhian was quick to take it from him when she saw the flash of pain on his face. Her glance was curious and questioning. Edward just gestured that she should open the bag, seating himself on the bed again and biting into his scone. Connor and Edward exchanged glances as she looked down at the bag and her deft, callused violinist's fingers began working at the knot at the top.
Her expression, when she saw what was inside, was utterly priceless, and Connor knew that both he and Edward would treasure it for the rest of their lives.
Seafoam-green eyes flashed up and locked on Edward for a long moment, her mouth flapping open and closed as she searched for words and failed, and then her gaze glued itself to the bag in her hands once more, awe, wonder, and an indescribable amount of gratitude plain on her face. Tears welled in those green eyes, but did not spill over. For that, Connor was grateful. It had been horrible to watch the first time he had seen her cry, not because she was ugly when she cried, but because it had hurt to see her so distressed.
Connor could admit to himself that Rhian, while he was not necessarily attracted to her, was a beautiful woman, and she was also one of the rare few who could also cry beautifully. Her cheeks turned red, but it was not a splotchy red, and her nose did not run overly much. Cosette, while she was one of Connor's best female friends and was, herself, remarkably beautiful, rarely cried, and was not a very beautiful crier. Rhian, however, was.
These tears, however, Connor knew were tears of joy, and he felt no pain for her as she reverently drew out the dark coffin case, resting it across her knees. Slender fingers stroked up and down along the length of the case, and then gently undid the latch. With a deep breath, she slowly opened the box.
Her soft gasp was answer enough to Connor's silent question of whether or not she was pleased.
"Edward," she breathed, withdrawing the violin from the case, and Connor could finally see what had so impressed her. "Edward, I can't accept this."
Even to Connor, who was not at all a musician, the violin was a work of art. Its body was a light color reminiscent of red gold, and its fingerboard was white. The entire thing had a faint, delicate flaming to it that was offset by the Celtic knotwork inlaid in the fingerboard and the back, and there were hand-carved flowers along the edge of the body. Even the strings were in good condition, as was the bow. The excitement on Rhian's features, along with the slight trepidation, was enough to lighten Connor's heart.
"You can accept it, and you will," Edward replied simply. "I haven't played it for six months, and I got it without spending a shilling. Besides, I just don't have the skills for it, and that's something ye can't just teach a man."
Rhian was silent for a long moment. Connor could see her throat working, though no sound came from her. At length, she nodded, and then nodded again, more forcefully this time, as though forcing herself to accept the gift.
"Thank you," she breathed, and her voice was choked. She ran her hands over the body, tapped on its back once or twice, and then trailed her fingertips up and down the strings. Connor assumed that she was checking their integrity. She must have been satisfied, because she quickly grabbed the bow from its case, tightened it a bit, and, placing the instrument to her shoulder, she drew the bow across the strings. The tones that emitted from the catgut made Connor and Edward both cringe, but Rhian did not notice. She was already tuning. It took her several minutes and some struggle, but finally, she took it from her shoulder, satisfied, and turned her gaze to Edward.
The sheer gratitude that shone in her seafoam-green eyes took Connor's breath away, and he hid a grin.
"Thank you so much," Rhian breathed. Suddenly looking more bashful than he ever had before, Edward nodded, looking away, and gestured absently to the instrument in Rhian's hands.
"You can thank me by makin' it sound nice," he replied, voice gruff. Connor nodded his own agreement, and Rhian, grinning, put bow to string for the first time.
The tune that sprang from the strings at her whim was a jaunty one, and judging by how Edward jolted and looked over to her, Connor guessed that the older man recognized it. A grin spread across the blond's face a second later, and he began to softly clap along with the tune.
"Bachgen bach o dincer," Edward sang, beaming, and Connor stared at him as the foreign words flowed effortlessly from the older man's mouth. "Yn crwydro'r hyd y wlad, cario'i dwls yn dacla, gwneud ei waith yn rhad, yn ei law roedd haearn, ac ar ei gefn roedd bocs, pwt o getyn yn ei geg, a than ei drwyn roedd locs…"
A grin spread across Rhian's face, and as Edward kept singing, she started to play a harmony. Connor could admit that he was fascinated. The combination of Edward's voice and Rhian's violin was one that he had heard only once before, and then it was on her old violin, the piece of which she now had in her pocket. Connor could tell that this violin was definitely the superior instrument; its tone was rich and vibrant, well-rounded and steady. As Edward and Rhian wrapped up their song, Connor put his hands together in an appreciative round of applause.
"That was wonderful," he admitted, and Edward blushed a little as Rhian beamed. As Connor watched, she took the instrument from her shoulder and ran her hands over the body yet again.
"It's a marvelous instrument," she breathed, awed. "It's obviously been made by a master luthier. Where did you say you got this?"
Edward shrugged, embarrassed. "Captured it in a raid back in 1713. Merchant vessel, don't know the origin."
Rhian did not seem to be very disappointed by the lack of information. Rather, her expression simply softened a little further as she caressed the body of the violin. It was almost as though she could not believe that she had her own instrument again.
"You are not dreaming," Connor quipped, smiling as Rhian chuckled at his joke. "I believe I can safely speak for myself, Edward, and the crew of the Jackdaw when I request that you put it to good use."
Her smile widened. "Aye, I can promise you that."
August 17, 1715.
Connor's head was pounding.
For some reason he could not recall, he did not know where he was. He knew, of course, where he had been. Now, though… Now, he had no clue. All he knew was that every rocking motion of the ship below him sent knives stabbing straight from his temples into his brain, and he did not know why that was. He never got headaches, not even when he had been drinking. Funny, when he had told that to Edward, the pirate had grumbled something about luck and insinuated, in the same breath, that Connor's parents had not been married. That, of course, was completely true, but Connor had not told that to the other man…
Edward!
The thought of his grandfather jolted Connor into full, agonizing consciousness, and his eyes snapped open. White lights and black spots exploded across his vision; he quickly closed his eyes once more as a spike of pain shattered his thoughts. It took him a while before he realized that he could hear voices over the ringing in his ears. When he comprehended them, he realized that they were speaking in Spanish.
How in the Creator's name had he ended up on a Spanish ship? The last he remembered, he had been sailing north with Rhian and Edward on the Jackdaw, beginning the first leg of their journey to Boston, and their eventual separation.
Connor could not even remember-
Wait! A flash of memory returned to him, of a battle, cannonfire, Rhian's swearing and oaths as she took shot after shot from beside him, Connor reloading her muskets for her between discharges. He remembered Edward's face going white, remembered icy water closing over his head before something… something…
That was right. He had hit his head on the gunwale after a particularly well-aimed shot had sent him overboard.
What had happened to Rhian? Were she and Edward all right? Had they, too, been captured? Where were they taking Connor? Why could he only hear Spanish?
Something grabbed him by his hair, forcing his head upwards before something impacted harshly with his left cheek. Grunting in pain, Connor cracked his eyes open to squint at his harasser. The man was probably in his mid- to late thirties, with greying brown hair and dull blue eyes that glinted maliciously down at Connor. He barked something in Spanish that made Connor's head pound again. Then, when Connor showed no sign of understanding, the man switched to heavily accented English.
"Pirate!" the man spat. "We caught you, and you will hang in Havana before the month is over."
Connor swallowed back bile. It was a struggle to form a coherent thought, let alone words. "I am not a pirate. I am a traveler."
Something smacked his face again. "Liar. El gobernador will find the truth in you, and you will tell all."
Connor spat a glob of blood into the man's eye. Then, since it seemed fitting to imitate Edward in another way, he decided to hurl one of Edward's favorite phrases at the man, as well. "Twll dy din di, coc oen!"
He knew that he had butchered it, but he did not care at the moment. All he knew, and all the Spaniard knew, was that Connor had probably insulted him. Connor, himself, did not know exactly what he had said. He just knew that Edward had always used that phrase as a dismissal whenever he had not wanted Connor to know what the words meant. As a result, Connor could infer that it was an insult as well.
The last thing Connor saw before the world went black was the man's balled-up fist screaming in towards his face.
August 17, 1715.
Edward ground his teeth as Drystan bent to her task of sewing up a gash on the outside of his arm. It was never a pleasant thing, to have stitches put into one's skin, and Edward, with his abiding hatred of needles, found that this time was no exception to that rule. It was made worse by the fact that Connor was not here, this time, to distract Edward from the pinch-and-tug of the needle at his skin.
"Cach," Edward muttered for the third time in the past ten minutes. Drystan glanced up at him, and then returned to her sewing.
"We will find him," she assured him softly. "We'll get him back, Edward, I promise you."
The Captain's hands balled into fists, and he gritted his teeth. He slipped into Welsh, the comforting cadences rolling off his tongue like music. "He shouldn't've been taken in the first place, feinir. I promised him we'd get him home."
Drystan made the switch in a heartbeat, as well.
"And we will," she assured him softly, tying off the last stitch. "You won't be proved a liar if the crew and I have any say in the matter. He's our friend, too."
Edward finally brought his gaze over to rest on her as she leaned in towards his arm. Her breath was warm on his skin as she bit off the thread, and her touch was gentle as she dabbed a wetted cloth over the wound, cleaning away the excess blood before she bandaged it. Not for the first time in the weeks since they had met, he found himself admiring her, and a familiar tingle ran through him every time her fingertips brushed across his skin. He had no idea whether or not she felt the same spark as it passed between them, but Edward recognized it for what it was.
He was attracted to Drystan Yates.
He did not know when their mutual dislike of each other had turned into affection, and had even less of a notion of when he had begun to consider her to be beautiful. It was probably somewhere around the time when he had woken from his ten-day coma to find her nursing him, or maybe it was when he heard her singing Dacw 'Nghariad so perfectly. Honestly, he could not name the day or the instant when he had first realized it. Still, the attraction was there, and he could not deny its presence any longer.
That did not, however, mean that he was going to act on it unless he had some express sign of consent from Drystan, herself.
Not for the first time, he let his gaze roam across her well-formed features, lingering on her curly red hair, her sparkling green eyes, her kissable pink lips, the barely-there curve of her breast where her shirt parted at the V of her waistcoat. He traced the thin line of a new wound that traced across the crook of her neck. It would scar without the proper treatment.
"Let me tend you," he offered before he realized that he had said the words. Drystan's surprised gaze landed on his own, but Edward met her, unflinching, unrepentant. "That wound'll fester if you don't take care of it."
Drystan lowered her gaze for just a moment. Then she glanced around the surgeon's cabin, taking in the lockable door and the lack of people in the room. Were Connor here, she would no doubt ask him to stay with them while Edward treated her wound, but Connor was absent, having gone overboard during their latest encounter with the Spanish. The Jackdaw had just barely limped away from that fight, and Connor had been fished out of the sea as a prize to be taken back to port. Edward had tracked the other ship's progress back down south, heading for Cuba.
They would take him before the governor, Laureano de Torres y Ayala, a Templar, who would pretend to try Connor on the grounds of piracy, and then have him executed. Edward held no delusions about Connor's predicted fate. That did not mean that he would allow his descendant to die without a fight, however. He had already set a course for the nearest island for repairs, and after that, they would set sail for Cuba. It was time to return to Havana.
"All right."
The soft sound of Drystan's acquiescence drew Edward back into the present, and he watched as she crossed over to the cabin door, turning the key in the lock. Edward swallowed as he watched her reach up to unbutton her waistcoat. With every button that came loose, she revealed more and more of her white shirt, and when she discarded the waistcoat and reached up to begin undoing the ties at the base of her throat, Edward gulped and looked away. Finally, he felt a gentle touch at his arm, and turned to find that she had rejoined him at the surgeon's table.
Now, her shoulders were bared to his sight, and he had to fight down the rush of heat that surged through his veins.
"All right," he murmured, and slipped off the table so that Drystan could take his spot. Grabbing a bandage and the washing spirits, he wet a cloth with the liquid and pressed it to her wound. Drystan did not make a sound. "You know, you're going to have to take off the shirt, lass."
She gave him a glare for his impudence, to which Edward just grinned. "Go fuck yourself, Kenway."
"Hey, now," he retorted good-naturedly. "No need for that. You know I mean nothing by it."
She grumbled something unintelligible, and reached down to tug her sleeves down over her hands. Her shirt slid further from her shoulders, and then slipped down her arms. Soon, all that held up the shirt was the curve of her breasts and the bindings that she wore. Edward glanced up at her face to find that she was staring away from him.
Her cheeks were pink.
"How'd you ever manage to keep your secret for as long as you did?" he found himself asking before he could stop the words. Drystan blinked, and looked back to him, gaze questioning. "You're too beautiful to have really passed for a boy, and what about when you were injured?"
The red in her cheeks deepened, and she looked away again, giving a shrug with her good shoulder.
"People see what they want to see," she replied softly. "I'm sure some of them noticed, but they either didn't care, or they brushed it off as some odd quirk or other. I don't know. Probably that, and a lot of help from Providence."
Edward's lips quirked. "Providence, hm?"
"I wasn't wounded above the waist or below the belt for seven years, Kenway," she retorted drily. "And they were all flesh wounds, so I didn't have to have surgery or anything. Nobody caught me, and I was never discovered."
Edward laughed. "Until I broke your lucky streak."
Drystan finally turned to him, lips quirked. "Until you broke my lucky streak."
They spent a moment grinning at each other, until their smiles slowly faded. There was something there, in the air between them, something that Edward could feel as surely as he could sense the rain coming on the air and smell the lightning on the way. His skin verily tingled with it.
"Were there any… any other times someone came close?" he found himself asking, and realized as he said it that there were only mere inches between his face and hers. If he just leaned in the tiniest bit…
"There was one," she admitted, and the warmth of her breath floated across his lips. "A young sailor thought I'd bewitched him into loving another man- me- and almost ratted me out to the captain before I carefully explained to him that he was just dehydrated and feeling the effects of not having seen a woman in several weeks. He calmed down pretty quickly after that, and he apologized profusely to me after we regrouped the next time we made port."
Edward's grin was short-lived, though it was heartfelt. God, but he could almost taste her-
"Captain? You in there?"
The call from outside the door broke the spell, and Edward drew back with a faint groan as Drystan blushed even harder and hastily started to tug her shirt back into place. Edward gave her a look that stilled her, and started binding her wound for her.
"Aye, I'm here," Edward called back in English.
"Well, why'd you lock the door?"
"Because there's a patient in here who was being unruly, and I didn't want him escaping onto the deck." Edward rolled his eyes, sharing a small smile with Drystan. The Welshman tied a knot in the bandages, and then allowed Drystan to tug her shirt back into place, handing her her waistcoat before he headed for the door. Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the Captain as Edward pulled open the door to admit him, but the old surgeon's expression cleared as soon as he saw Drystan buttoning up her waistcoat.
"I see," Gibbs murmured, lips quirking. "And did 'e give ye much trouble, lad?"
Drystan grinned as Edward glared.
"No," she chuckled. "None at all."
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:
Feinir: Lassie
Pen bach: Stupid idiot; literally, "small head"
Cach: Shit, fuck
Tad: Dad
Twll dy din di: Arseholes to you
Coc oen: Literally, "Lamb's dick"
Spanish Translations:
El gobernador: The governor (or "The Governator", if you want to go West Coast)
Mohawk Translations:
Kanatahseton: The name of Connor's village
A Note on Illiteracy: In the early 17th century, it was common that people who were not aristocracy or merchant-class could neither read nor write. Edward's parents were farmers and shepherds. Even in Oliver Bowden's book, it is stated that he was not able to read or write until he married his first wife, Caroline. Here, since I wrote this before the game's release and thus changed Edward's background, he was pressed into service before Caroline could teach him. Thus, Edward is illiterate.
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. This is my last semester of college, so hopefully, I'll have a bit more time and inspiration to write after graduation in May.
As always, I value your input, thoughts, and opinions. Unfortunately, chapter 13 still is not quite centered around the Edward/Connor dynamic, but I'll get back around that soon. This is a lot of setup, so please bear with me and try to enjoy the story in the meanwhile.
Hope you are all doing well, and I look forward to reading what you thought of this chapter!
-Scribe