Sum of Memories
Chapter 17: Boston.
"It's going to be difficult, but we all know that this is the right thing to do."
October 10, 1715.
"You're sure about this, Gregson?"
Edward stared at his quartermaster with a frown furrowing his brow. Gregson supposed that it was to be expected. He and Edward had been sailing together long enough, and had been through enough peril together, that he did not think that the other man had ever thought that Gregson would outlive him- or retire, for that matter. Gregson glanced down at the stump of his leg, and shook his head. In the end, that was what was going to end his career as the Jackdaw's quartermaster. Not a bullet to the skull or a blade to the gut, but a broken leg turned rancid turned amputation.
"Unfortunately, yes, cap'n," Gregson replied, and nodded to the stump of his leg. "The men respect me fer me experience, but I'm not much use to you like this, and frankly, all I want ta do, af'er this brush with death, is go see Ettie and settle down wi' what little I've got." He offered Edward a small smile when the captain hunched his shoulders slightly. "Ye'll do fine wi'out me, Cap'n. Ye've got Drystan and His Royal Touchlessness, Connor the Great, to help ye."
Edward exhaled and turned his gaze out the window of the tavern. He tapped his fingers upon the table, and Gregson took a second to take a gulp of his ale. The tavern in the harbor of Inagua was not a large place, but its proprietor kept it clean enough, and they served decent food and better alcohol, so Gregson had no complaints. Across the room, someone had set up a checkerboard, and a pair of men were working their way through a game. The rich scent of roasting pig was wafting from the back hearth, where a cook was basting a hog that someone had shot earlier that day. Gregson's mouth watered just smelling it.
"Connor's intention is to return home to Boston," Edward murmured at length. "In fact, I asked to meet with you in the first place because I was going to tell you when we were to set out for the Colonies." He swallowed. "Guess that's a moot point, then."
Gregson eyed Edward over the top of his mug for a second. When he stuck out that lower lip of his, the man looked sorrier than Gregson had ever seen him, more like a kicked puppy than a man of authority.
"As it just so happens," Gregson said, "I've already thought of a solution for ye." He turned and waved over to the bar, and a second later, a tall African man came over. He was dressed in sailing slops and a vest, and he had a bandana tied around his clean-shaven head. "This is Adewalé. He was on Du Casse's ship, bound for Spain as a slave, when ye took the plantation."
The dark-skinned man nodded to Edward, and Edward scanned him for a second before he nodded in return.
"Will ye join us for a drink, man?" Edward asked, and Adewalé seated himself beside Gregson without a word. Edward studied the other man for a moment. Then he glanced at Gregson, then back at Adewalé. "How are you with supplying a ship? Meting out punishments? Seamanship?"
Adewalé's eyes were sable pools of danger. "Good. Adequate. Good." His words were richly accented, and before he spoke again, he took a sip from the mug of ale he had brought over with him. "I am a decent hand at inventory. I do not enjoy meting out punishments, but I understand their necessity, and as to navigation, I know up from down and east from west, and I can read a nautical chart better than most men."
Gregson eyed the former slave. "He's being modest." He leveled a finger at Edward. "He's better than any other man on this island save Connor, and second to yerself by a slim margin."
Edward chuckled and turned his gaze to Adewalé. "And how are you in a fight?"
"Exceptional." The smile behind Adewalé's mug was sharp as a Great White's teeth.
Gregson watched Edward's eyebrows flick upwards. After a second, a grin flitted across the captain's face.
"We'll put it to a vote," he promised, but raised his mug to Adewalé nonetheless. "Nevertheless, welcome to the Jackdaw, mate. Look forward to sailin' with ye."
"Likewise." Adewalé raised his mug, and they drank together. Once they finished, Gregson leaned forward a bit in his chair.
"Now, ye mind givin' me a lift to Saint Augustine?" He flashed a grin at them. "Me wife's in the port, there. It'd give Adewalé some time to learn anythin' he needs to from me, as well."
Edward stared at him a moment. Then he extended his hand to Gregson, who took it.
The captain's blue gaze was somber. "It would be my sincere honor to return you to your wife, Master Gregson."
November 1, 1715.
Connor watched as Edward escorted Gregson away down the St. Augustine dock toward the town, and tried to ignore the sadness sitting heavy in his chest. Gregson was a good man. Connor was well aware that he would never see the old pirate again; Gregson would be long dead by the time Connor returned home, and if Connor were honest with himself, he could admit that Gregson reminded him of Robert Faulkner. There was something about the old quartermaster, his gruff brand of humor and no-nonsense attitude, that was almost identical to Robert's demeanor. Connor would miss Gregson.
Gazing out over St. Augustine, Connor inhaled deeply and leaned on the gunwale, taking in the spires of its churches and the sprawl of buildings straddling muddy lanes. The scent of excrement and dead fish filled his nose, mixed with the woodsy odor of cooking smoke and the salty tang of brine. He had associated these scents with urban centers for as long as he could remember; they had not changed one bit between 1715 and 1777.
It was difficult to believe that they were already halfway to Boston. Another two weeks, and he would have to say goodbye to Edward and Rhian- perhaps permanently- and return to his own time and his own travails. It was a sobering realization, actually. If there were a way that Edward and Rhian could come to his time, live there… if only there were a way he could keep his friends with him. He had lost too many people already.
His stomach churned. Connor frowned and wrenched his thoughts back into the present. It did no good to dwell on the uncertain future.
Connor turned his face into the wind and caught a whiff of something floral, some sort of women's perfume, something familiar. His mind immediately conjured a memory of soft black curls against his nose, soft skin beneath his lips.
The moonlight danced upon the waters of the bay. Cosette smiled as she leaned against Connor's shoulder. They were sitting on the Aquila's deck, close enough to touch, close enough that the faint, delicate scent of mayflowers filled Connor's nostrils with every inhalation. He closed his eyes and turned his head, pressing his nose into the black curls that crowned her. The water lapped at the Aquila's hull down below, playing against the planks and giggling up at them like a giddy child.
"Did you know that I journeyed down South before we met?" Cosette asked out of the blue. The Kanien'kéha words were soft and familiar on his ears. They had been quiet for some time, by that point, so Connor stirred and lifted his head again so that he could peer down at her.
"No," he admitted. "I wasn't aware that you'd done any traveling."
"Mm." She hummed, half a chuckle, and turned a little more directly toward him, drawing her knees up beneath her until her thigh pressed against his. Her warmth heated him through in an instant. "Yeah. Believe it or not, it was entirely by accident." She laughed. "If I never see another mosquito or swamp snake in my life, it'll be far too soon."
Connor grinned and nuzzled her hair with his nose, breathing in her mayflower perfume. "How did you go that far South by accident?"
"Stowed away on the wrong ship." She sighed and waved her hand back and forth as though waving away a buzzing fly. "I was running from a Templar, jumped into the water, scrambled aboard a ship just before he could see me- and then found out too late that it was getting hotter instead of colder." Cosette glanced up at him and then smirked. "Got to explore some temples before I came north through Saint Augustine, though. Did you know they make a drink from cactus juice down there in the desert? It makes you hear colors and see sounds."
"What? You're joking."
"Not at all." A breeze ruffled their hair. She shivered a bit. Connor wrapped his arm around her shoulders and basked in the warmth between them. Cosette reached up and wrapped her hands around his wrist, and traced a scar on the back of his hand with a feather-light tough that sent shivers up his spine.
"And you, being the good Assassin that you are, certainly didn't drink that swill, did you?" Connor teased her, and ran his fingers through her hair. Her green eyes twinkled up at him.
"I certainly did!" She chuckled. "You drink it and then throw up- it's disgusting, you know- but after that, it's like going straight to the Sky World." She giggled. "I thought for sure I'd be able to fly after drinking it, but I'll never do that again…"
Connor withdrew from the memory and found that he was smiling. As depressing as the prospect of leaving Edward and Rhian was, he had to admit that he was eager to see Cosette, again. He had not seen her in two months prior to ending up in 1715, and if he were being honest with himself, he could admit that he really missed her. He missed her easy smile and vibrant sense of humor, her quick wit, and the way she fit so easily into his arms.
"What are you thinking about?" Rhian's voice pulled Connor out of his own head, and he turned to her with a smile as she leaned against the gunwale next to him.
"Cosette," he admitted, and Rhian's eyebrows shot up.
"Now, there's a name I haven't heard from you in a while," she commented, and turned so that she was facing him, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips twitched. "The famous Miss Delacroix."
Duh-la-kwah. It was interesting, that Rhian pronounced it the French way. Everyone Connor had spoken with, save Cosette herself, had pronounced it as the American day-la-kroy. Connor frowned at Rhian.
"You pronounced that the French way."
Rhian blinked. "Yes. So?"
"Everyone I have ever met, save Cosette herself, pronounces it the American way." Connor tilted his head, watching as Rhian's expression smoothed and her gaze darted away. "You know her family."
It was not a question.
Rhian turned and propped her elbows against the gunwale, gazing out over the bay. She was quiet a moment; her auburn hair teased her cheeks, and the cool wind off the water raised gooseflesh across the exposed skin of her arms. She shivered a bit and turned up the collar of her waistcoat against the breeze. Finally, she licked her lips and looked up at him.
"I told you of Derwydd, my adoptive father," she reminded him, "and how he used to be an Assassin. He… He told me of some of the major families involved with the ongoing war between the Assassins and the Templars." She turned her gaze back outward again, and for an instant, her irises flashed a tawny gold in the noontide sunlight. Then she glanced back up at him, sidelong, and Connor saw that it had only been a trick of the light. They were green. "One of those major families is the family Delacroix, based out of Marseilles, France."
Connor pondered that for a moment. So, Cosette's family was a known player in the war. Somehow, he was not surprised; he had always wondered where she had received her training. It certainly had not been from Achilles. For a second, he glanced out over the bay, and his mind flashed to the brilliance of Cosette's beaming smile, and then… The faintest, most distant memory of sunlight on gold and a laugh like the murmur of water flitted through his head, and he frowned, chasing after it, but he could not catch it.
"It makes sense, I suppose," he admitted. "Her father emigrated to the Colonies as a young man and made a life for himself- and later, his wife and daughter- as a fur trapper and businessman. He was killed by a Templar when Cosette was three, the way Cosette tells it."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Rhian was studying him. "But, Connor… you're certain of her loyalty, right?"
Connor stared at her. "What are you implying?"
She looked away.
"You… You think that Cosette is a Templar?"
Rhian still would not look at him.
Connor reached out and grabbed her shoulder, and turned her until she faced him. "Rhi- Drystan, do you think that Cosette is a Templar?"
"All I asked is if you're certain of her loyalty. I don't know much of her or her family, but I care about you, Connor." She glanced up at him. "I don't want you to get hurt."
Connor exhaled and glanced away. His mind flashed back to glossy black curls falling over green eyes and the rosy flush of rage in her dusky skin, the flash of darkness in her gaze when she spoke of the Templars.
They were sitting on the back stoop of the Manor, whittling sticks into arrow shafts. Their conversation had flowed freely, the Kanien'kéha smooth and lilting upon their lips and bubbling in their throats, and laughter had marked much of it. However, when Connor asked her how she had come to be involved with the Assassins, Cosette went quiet, and her hands stilled, and she stared out over the bay for a long time without speaking.
"My father was dearer to me as a child than anything in the world," Cosette murmured, and the next swipe of her whittling knife across the branch was vicious, and gouged a long strip of wood from the stick. She stared at it a moment, and then huffed and tossed it away with a scowl before she reached over and picked up another stick. Connor watched her where he was stripping the bark from his own sticks. A pile of finished arrow shafts lay between them. "He and I were closer than my mother and I were. When he was murdered, his last words were that I should seek out the Assassins. I didn't speak after that for almost a year."
Another chip of wood flew from her stick and landed in the grass five feet away. Connor reached over and covered her wrist with his hand.
"Stop that before you cut yourself," he muttered, and Cosette huffed and laid aside both the stick and her knife. Connor wrapped his hand around hers. Cosette was still for a moment, and then she turned her palm over and laced her fingers through his. "Did you ever discover who it was that killed your father?"
Cosette was quiet a moment. "Mama didn't know him. He came and visited with Papa that night, and when Mama and I came downstairs to say goodnight, we found Papa bleeding out on the floor. There was nothing we could do to save him." She shook her head. "The visitor had dark hair and blue eyes, I think. He spoke with a British accent. I remember he was dressed richly, although his clothes were travel-stained. He wore a suit of blue. When you're only three years old and as tall as a man's knee, that's about how much you notice, you know? Faces and colors."
Connor watched her as she stared out over the bay a moment, her expression blacker than the encroaching night. They would have to light a lantern, soon, or move back into the manor. An owl hooted a wake-up call in a far-distant tree.
"I… I think I remember my father saying the name Haytham, and calling the man his friend." She frowned, gaze distant. "This was so long ago, and I was so young, that I don't remember much else except the blood coating my hands."
After that, Connor's memory grew hazy. Two sets of memories overlapped and blurred the boundaries between the two pasts that he could remember; in one set of memories, he asked Cosette if the man's name had been Haytham Kenway, and whether or not he had been wearing a Templar cross anywhere on his outfit, and she had replied that she could not recall but had her suspicions, what with Haytham being such a rare name and everything. In the second set of memories, a young girl had emerged from the Manor with the news that supper was ready, and had asked Connor why he had not kissed Cosette, yet, and Connor and Cosette had been so flustered that she had never answered his question. He had never gotten an answer in either memory, but his heart- and his Sight- had told him that Cosette had been telling the truth.
Rhian was still watching him.
"No," he finally murmured, and came back to the present and faced his friend. "No, I would trust Cosette with my life, and my Sight has never led me wrong, before."
Rhian studied him for a moment, and then her expression softened.
"You really love her, don't you?" she murmured. "I know I've asked that before, but I can really see it."
Connor nodded, unable to articulate the emotions in his heart. "She is my best female friend, in my time, and… and she is very dear to my heart."
Rhian's response to that was simple. "Then ask her to court you. The way you speak of her, she'll be lucky to have you."
"I intend to ask." He offered his friend a smile, and leaned on the gunwale and turned his gaze outward over the docks again. A flash of blond hair caught his eye, and he recognized Edward despite the fact that the other man was dressed in plainclothes and was not wearing his usual arsenal. "I suppose I will have the chance soon enough. Edward is returning."
Rhian followed his gaze.
"Indeed," she murmured, and Connor glanced at her. Rhian swallowed visibly, and reached up and tucked a flyaway auburn curl behind her ear, and then swept her tricorne off her head and fussed her hair back into some semblance of order. It was getting long, again; she would probably cut it, soon. "Damn that man. If he weren't married…" She exhaled, puffing out her lower lip. "Why'd he have to be such a good-hearted man? If he were a complete cad, I could've just brushed him off and been done with it." Rhian paused, and then shot Connor a small smile. "At least I know where you got your charm from, my dear."
Connor barked a laugh, and then straightened and headed back to the helm.
It was time to go home.
November 15, 1715.
It was a bright, cold Friday morning when the Jackdaw sailed into port in Boston in the Massachusetts colony. Connor stood at the bow of the brig, bundled himself a little tighter in his greatcoat, watched the shore growing closer and closer, and tried- and failed- to fight down the sense of impending loss that was welling up inside him. It would not be long, now. They would have to go into the city, see if they could track down Arianna (if she were even in the colony, at this point in time), and from there…
Connor swallowed.
Neither Rhian nor Edward found him until they were docked in the harbor. They were flying a British flag, today, and the harbormaster gave them no trouble after Cadell had paid him sufficiently. It was only then that Connor's friends joined him.
Rhian was bundled up in two different coats that she had picked up when they had dropped off Gregson in St. Augustine. Her expression was pinched with cold, mouth a terse line, but she offered Connor a half-hearted smile as she wordlessly extended a cloth-wrapped bundle to him. He blinked and took it. When he peeled away the canvas that enveloped it, he was greeted by the familiar hilt of the dagger that had sent him into this time in the first place. His mouth went dry and his throat closed up. Connor looked Rhian in the eye, and nodded his gratitude.
A hand landed on Connor's shoulder. He turned, and found that Edward was on the other end of it.
"Are ye ready, lad?" Edward asked quietly from within the scarf wrapped around his face and neck. His expression was unreadable, but Connor knew his grandfather well enough, by now, that he could see the sadness in that oceanic gaze.
"As ready as I ever will be," Connor murmured, and the Dagger's hilt was cold and hard where it bit into his palm. "Arianna will be wanting her Dagger back."
"Connor, I…" Rhian paused, and then sighed and hunched her shoulders against a blast of wind off the water. "We'll be sad to see you go." She would not meet his gaze for a second, but when she finally did, her eyes were glittering with tears. "D'you mind if I go with you and see you off?"
Connor considered them both for a second. His friends looked as miserable as he felt, and were he honest with himself, Connor could admit that he was reluctant to part with them. He had things to do, a life to return to in his own time, but Edward and Rhian had quickly become two of his best friends, here in 1715. Even Cadell had found a place in Connor's heart, as had the crew of the Jackdaw. His fingers twitched.
He would miss all of them.
"Come with me," he murmured. "We will find Arianna, and have a drink before I go."
Edward turned and gave Cadell and Adewalé command, and then he placed his hand on Connor's shoulder and steered him down the gangplank. Rhian trailed after them. Every other time they had come ashore, she had brought her violin with her; now, it was sitting in Edward's cabin, left behind while they ventured out.
At the bottom of the gangplank, a shout hailed Connor from the ship. He turned with a faint frown and found that the crew had gathered at the gunwale, all looking glum and red-cheeked from the cold, but when his gaze fell upon them, a number of them smiled and waved at him. Cadell caught Connor's eye where the other man was standing at the aftcastle, swathed in a large brown overcoat and looking as though he did not feel the cold at all even though his breath plumed from his mouth in visible clouds of mist.
"Goodbye, lad!" Cadell beamed at Connor even though Connor could see the sadness in the other man's gaze. "Safe journeys, and remember, Connor: Gwna dda dros ddrwg, uffern ni'th ddwg."
Connor blinked, brow furrowing just slightly. "What?"
Cadell's lips quirked, and he nodded at Connor before the older man turned from the gunwale and his dark head disappeared behind the crest of the ship's hull. Somehow, Connor knew that he would probably never see the other man again. Connor stared after the Welshman for a second before a touch to his arm drew his attention to Rhian's green gaze. She was smiling, but the smile was subdued, and it vanished quickly.
Connor nodded briefly to her, and then turned and led the way down the pier.
Boston of 1715, Connor quickly discovered, was very different from Boston in his own time, but some things were very much the same. The layout of the buildings was not the one he was accustomed to; some of the shops he knew from his time had not even been built or opened, yet, and the Green Dragon Tavern, which was a local landmark, was currently home to a butcher's shop. It would not become a tavern until a few years prior to Haytham Kenway's arrival in the colony in 1753. Still, the smells and sounds of the city were the same, if a bit muted due to the population being smaller, and Connor knew the lane down which they were walking.
"Her house was this way," he murmured, and overtook his companions, leading them down the muddy road with long, sure strides.
After a hundred paces or so, he turned left down an alleyway, and then, at the end of it, he took a right, passed beneath a couple of clotheslines, and circumvented a fence into the other end of the alley. It let out on a bustling avenue lined with houses and shops alike, and everywhere Connor looked, people were laughing or drinking or working. It was life and energy like no place he had seen in 1715 since he had been dragged through Havana at the hands of Laureano de Torres y Ayala, and it still did not hold a candle to the Boston of his own time.
Connor scanned the street, and then angled for a dark-wood house across the way. A carved wooden wind chime was hanging from a hook outside the front window; it clattered merrily as Connor passed it by. He remembered it from his first visit to this house so many months ago. Glancing one more time at the chime, he paused in front of the door and then raised his hand and knocked. Edward and Rhian's footsteps came to a halt behind him. Connor caught a few muffled words of Welsh, and when he glanced over his shoulder at them, Edward met his gaze for a second and then turned his face away. When Connor then glanced at Rhian, he caught a glimmer of wetness in her gaze even though she quickly blinked it away. When he glanced between them, he saw that their fingers were intertwined, and raised his eyebrows. They hastily dropped each other's hands. They were pink-cheeked when next he looked up at them, and Edward would not meet Connor's gaze.
"Wait a second," Connor muttered. "Are you two-?"
The door opened. Connor bit off his question with a sigh and a shake of his head, and turned and faced the woman in the doorway.
Arianna Sinagra di Soriano looked exactly as she had the last time he had seen her, sixty-two years in the future. Connor blinked, and absently mused that Arianna had looked good for a woman who had been pushing at least eighty when he had last met her.
She cocked her head to the side, and a mess of jet curls tumbled across the shawl she was wearing about her shoulders. Her eyes were bright green where they scanned him up and down. In the grey November light, she looked startlingly like Connor's friend, Cosette.
"May I help you?" Arianna inquired, eyes flicking from Connor to Edward and Rhian and back again. The woman had a perfect American accent.
"Arianna Sinagra di Soriano?" Connor asked, and when she shook her head and began retreating, he held out his hand, the Dagger of Time clutched in his fingers. Her gaze landed upon the item and her eyes went wide. "This is going to sound mad, but I am from the future, and I need your help getting back to my own time."
Those eyes flicked back up to his, measuring. Then, finally, she nodded and stepped aside. "Come inside, all of you."
Connor nodded and proceeded into the house, trailed by Edward and Rhian. When they were all ensconced in the chilly foyer, Arianna closed the door behind them and beckoned that they should follow her. She led them into a room that had a fire burning in a hearth in one wall; Connor sighed, grateful for the heat that washed over him, and watched as Arianna crossed over to a sideboard and retrieved something from its surface. When she faced him again, he realized that she was holding the Dagger of Time- or rather, this year's version of the same one he clutched in his own palm.
"You were wise to seek me out," she said, then, and her words took on a rolling Italian accent that made them sound like the rhythmic burble of water running over rocks. Her words were light, but her tone was sharp. "My self from seventeen-seventy-seven will be wanting her Dagger back. I can sense that it arrived in this time back in June. Why did you wait until now to bring this to me?"
Connor arched an eyebrow. "Because when it sent me to this time, I was in the Caribbean. When I arrived, I was still in the Caribbean. We had a few setbacks that delayed our trip up to Boston."
Behind him, Edward stifled a cough that sounded suspiciously like the phrase "Templar bastards".
Arianna matched Connor's expression, eyes flicking over Connor's shoulder to where Edward was standing just behind him. "And what does it matter to the two of you? You are not out of your proper time. How came you to know about this man's predicament?"
Edward set his hand on Connor's shoulder. "We're his friends, and in my case, a relative of some sort. He never told me exactly how we're related."
Arianna glanced between the three of them for a moment longer, looking rather like a mother staring down her three children. Then she shook her head and gestured to the settee and chair clustered about the fireplace.
"Have a seat," she ordered, and then turned away, flitting out of the room. Connor glanced at his companions, and then he shrugged and waved them toward the settee.
"I would rather stand, honestly," he murmured, and fought the urge to fidget. He caught the sound of a murmur out in the hall, and the lower register of a man's voice. A moment later, Arianna reappeared with a blond-haired man in tow. The fellow in question was holding a sheaf of paper in one arm and a pen in the other hand, and when he took in the sight of the group gathered in the sitting room, his eyebrows shot up.
"Dio mio," he muttered, and glanced from Connor to Edward to Rhian and back. "Che cosa successe?"
"Lui-" She gestured to Connor. "-viaggiò per il tempo," Arianna informed the man shortly, and understanding lit his face before he turned to Connor, blue eyes sharp. The blond man tilted his head to the side.
"Come ti chiami?" he asked. Then, perhaps catching Connor's bewilderment, the man asked, "What's your name?"
"Ratohnhaké:ton," Connor replied instantly, and then paused. "Or Connor."
The man blinked. "You're an Indian? I thought for certain you were italiano, or spagnolo."
Connor's lips twitched. "People tell me that a lot. I am of the Kanien'kehá:ka." He gestured to Edward, and then to Rhian. "These are Edward Kenway and Drystan Yates. They are friends of mine."
"Fascinating." The man hummed and studied Edward and Connor. "Hmm… More than just friends, I suspect. You have the same nose and cheekbones." He waved his hand as though waving away a fly. "It doesn't matter. We need to figure out your predicament." He paused. "Oh. I'm Leonardo, by the way."
"Wait!" Rhian gasped. When Connor looked back at her, he found that her eyes were alight with wonder. "I remember- Connor said- Are you Leonardo da Vinci?"
"Sì, ma certo," Leonardo replied with a grin, and sketched a surprisingly courtly bow despite the fact of his full arms and the inkpot in his right hand. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Rhian grabbed blindly for Edward's hand, missing a couple of times before she caught it.
"Edward," she squeaked. "Edward, we're standing in the same room as Leonardo da Vinci."
Edward chuckled and drew her into his arms. "Aye, we are, feinir. Don't stare overlong."
Leonardo and Arianna were laughing, and Leonardo finally crossed to a desk beneath the front window and deposited his materials upon it. Rhian joined him almost immediately, tugging Edward over by the hand, and started peppering Leonardo with questions in rapid Italian, to which Leonardo responded at first with surprise and then with the eager tones of one who relishes intelligent conversation. Arianna, meanwhile, circled Connor, scanning him up and down, her bright green eyes calculating. Not for the first time, Connor took in the color of her hair, her eyes, her skin, and thought of Cosette.
"What do you think?" Connor asked Arianna after a moment of enduring her scrutiny. He eyed her with some trepidation. His voice drew glances from Edward, Rhian, and Leonardo, but when Arianna just kept circling him, they turned back to their low conversation. "Will you be able to get me back to my time?"
Arianna hummed. "Tell me exactly how you came to be in this position. I can't tell the details just from reading your aura."
Connor blinked, and then gave her a summary of the events leading to his arrival in this time, from Arianna's contracting him in retrieving the Dagger in his time, to his finding it in the sinking ship, to the stab in his belly and being rescued by Edward. After his tale was told, Arianna stood there a moment, one arm crossed over her belly, the other hand cradling her chin. Her green gaze was distant and unfocused as she stared through him into an ether he could not see. The hilt of the Dagger was cold in Connor's palm even through the cloth that bound it.
"I see," Arianna murmured at length. "But why bring him here? Kaileena, Hanan, I understand that the blood price was paid, but why did you bring him here, to this time, instead of bringing him to his father's youth or some other time when he could have done more good?" She was quiet a moment, as though listening to a voice that was inaudible to everyone else. Then her eyebrows rose, and she glanced over at Edward and Rhian. "Oh. I see, I see…"
Connor followed her gaze and found that Edward and Rhian were still holding hands. Was that why he had been brought back to this time? Had his purpose been to make sure that his grandfather and Rhian had the chance to meet and fall in love? His mind flashed back to the vision he had seen when he had spotted them kissing behind that hut on Inagua after they had taken the plantation. Connor sifted through the memories that had slotted themselves into place in his mind, but he could not recall, in either lifetime, ever hearing about Edward from anyone save Achilles, and he had never heard of Rhian at all.
Minerva's words echoed through his head. Change it. A chill ran down Connor's spine.
"Come with me," Arianna told him, and beckoned that Connor should follow her. He glanced at the other three, and then shoved his Dagger through his belt and trailed after Arianna, heading out of the room and down the hallway. She led him to the kitchen and crossed to the wash basin in the corner. From it, she withdrew a cup and a number of utensils, and then she met him at the table in the center of the room.
"Most people comprehend time as a straight line," she began without preamble. She set a line of spoons and knives down across the wooden surface and, glancing up at him, traced the line with one finger. "Event A leads to event B. A person is born, he ages, he dies. The cycle repeats with the next generation, and the next. The past cannot be changed." She met his gaze. "Something that most people do not understand, however, is that time is not linear, and that the past can be altered so that the present- and the future- can change, as well."
Connor blinked. "What?"
Arianna stared at him for a second. Then she pointed back to the line of utensils.
"Think of this as a timeline." She traced it again. "This is the line of history from the dawn of time to the present day. At first glance, it is unbroken, solid, rigid and unchanging, yes?" Connor nodded. "However, if you move one utensil out of place, it suddenly becomes mutable. You see?"
"Like a stream?" Connor asked, and Arianna nodded.
"That's a very good example, yes." She pushed the spoon back into place. "Normally, time is a simple thing. It stays its course and does not change. However, every now and then, something happens that alters the course of history, and what happens from then on is determined by that sole event."
She placed the cup beside the spoon she had moved, and then laid a knife diagonally against that spoon, with the blade touching the spoon's handle. She then built onto this forked line, threading a branch of knives and spoons parallel to the first one.
"When this happens, one of two things happens." She pointed to the original line. "Either time continues on its original course unaltered-" Arianna moved her finger to the second line. "-or it forms an entirely new history shaped by the outcome of that major event."
Realization dawned. "So, it is as when a boulder in a stream splits the current, and a new stream branches off from the old one."
"Yes." Arianna flashed him a smile. "You're quick, and smart, too. I like that." She picked up the cup and leaned her hip against the table, cradling the porcelain between tapered fingertips. The table creaked faintly beneath her weight.
"Now, from what I'm gathering, your coming here changed something in history- something big." She was staring at the cup. "My predecessors tell me that, in your original time, Edward and Rhian fought on her schooner during the raid in which they met. They fought, and she was wounded and taken captive, but the chirurgeon was so overcome with patients that she did not get the care she needed and later died from her wounds, so they never got to know each other, never fell in love. History proceeded on the course dictated by the events that occurred in that timeline."
She pointed to the cup. "However, your coming here changed everything. You took pity on Rhian. You helped your chirurgeon care for her when otherwise he would have been too overwhelmed to look after a wounded enemy. Thus, Rhian never took sick and never died from her wounds. She and Edward have fallen in love, and things are already quite different from how they were before. They will only continue to change from now on." Arianna peered at him. "I think you've already realized this to some extent, haven't you?"
"You have seen the Shifting occur. You have felt it. You know the reality of what was, and you have discovered the possibility of what could be."
Minerva's words rang in his head. Connor nodded, mute. His insides felt watery, all of a sudden, and his thoughts were all awhirl. He braced his hands on the table and leaned heavily upon it just to hold himself upright. The fire popped in the hearth.
"I…" His voice rasped, so he cleared his throat. "Is there any way to undo this?"
Arianna studied him.
"The only way to undo what has been done would be to make it so that it never happened," she murmured, "and that would have its own consequences."
Connor exhaled, suddenly shaky. "Drystan… she was the first of all of us to realize that I might not be born, if Edward knew what our relationship is to each other."
"That's not even scratching the surface." Arianna studied him for a second, and then she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. Connor met her unearthly green gaze, and the calmness in her eyes steadied him as much as her touch did. "Breathe, boy. It's all right. This just means that your future is now different from what you may have expected. It may take some turns that you could not have predicted, otherwise. Some people who died in your original time may still be alive and well in the time to which you return. Others who were alive may well be dead. There may be new people in your life who never existed, before. Allegiances may have changed, and friends may now be enemies. Enemies may now be friends. There is nothing I can say that will prepare you for this new reality, but suffice to say it will be a greater challenge than any you have ever faced." She smiled, suddenly. "In other words, everything has changed, but the truth of the future is that it is as uncertain as it always has been. That much is truly unchanging."
Connor swallowed.
"I think that I understand." He clenched his hands, and then straightened, drawing strength from her words. His hands found the Dagger in his belt, and he drew it out and glanced down at it. "What… What happens, in my original life?"
"Most likely, your other self managed to retrieve the Dagger without stabbing himself in the gut." Arianna glanced down at Connor's stomach. "He probably returned to me with the Dagger in hand, none the worse for the wear for having accomplished his mission, though I can't say the same for whomever you had to kill to get it."
"I didn't kill anyone." Connor's mind flashed back to the sight of a mast toppling into the surging waves, of a hull keeling over and beginning to sink. He recalled seeing a flash of red, of a Templar cross at the base of a man's throat. He thought that the other man might have survived. Then again, he supposed, it probably no longer mattered. "Whatever comes, it is time I found out what awaits me back home."
Arianna stared at him a moment. Her eyes glinted like chips of emerald in the firelight.
"You are braver than I am, then," she murmured, and turned suddenly and left the kitchen.
Connor glanced one more time at the diagram she had left on the table. His mind flashed back to the vision he had seen: the young girl who had been with him when he had met Cosette, instead of being alone; sending word to his mother when he left to seek out Achilles, rather than standing at her gravesite. As frightening as it was, the thought that everything he had known might have changed, he could not help but think that maybe, just maybe, some changes would make it all worthwhile.
When he joined the others in the sitting room again a moment later, he was met by a cool nod from Arianna and a smile from Leonardo, but the other two faces in the room were glummer than he had ever seen them. Without a word, he crossed over to them and pulled Edward into a hug. Edward was unresponsive for a second. Then he lifted his arms and wrapped them around Connor's waist, squeezing tightly for a second before he patted Connor on the back and pulled away. The Welshman's blue eyes were suspiciously bright.
"Guess we won't be having that last drink, then," Edward mused, and glanced away. Connor did not miss the way Edward scrubbed at his nose with the back of his wrist, but said nothing. Instead, Connor turned to Rhian and pulled her to him, as well. She held on tighter and longer than Edward had, and Connor's collar grew warm.
"I'll miss you, rhocyn," she mumbled into his shoulder, and sniffled. "I'm losing a brother, now. You'd better not forget me."
Connor smiled, reached up, and covered the back of her neck with his palm. "I never could forget you, Drystan. You have become the sister I never had."
Her shoulders hitched, and she clutched him tight for a moment before she pulled back abruptly and swiped at her eyes with a scowl.
"Why d'you have to leave, then?" she asked, and her voice was small and hoarse. "Why can't ye stay with us?"
Connor's throat was tight. When Rhian met his gaze, the tears streaming down her cheeks made him want to hug her tight and protect her, and never let her go. He did not want to leave, were he honest with himself. Edward and Rhian had been the family he had missed since his mother's death, the family he had lacked since he had left his tribe years before. Connor had never had any brothers or sisters, but he imagined that this might be what having them was like.
"I have a war to fight," he admitted at length. It was more than he had ever told them about his time, before. "I have my people to protect, and the Templars must be countered." He sighed, and ran a hand over his face. He suddenly felt years older than he was. "I fear I cannot put it off any longer. It is time I went home."
Rhian nodded, and stepped back. Edward immediately wrapped her in his arms and pressed his lips to her temple, and Connor warmed, seeing their care for each other. They would care for each other, even if he was no longer with them.
A touch to Connor's elbow drew his attention to Arianna. She had come to his side while he had been preoccupied with Edward and Rhian, and now she glanced at them and waved to Leonardo.
"We'll give you a few moments to say goodbye," she murmured, and her gaze lingered upon Edward and Rhian. "Heed my words, though. Every second you spend in this time alters your own era further. Much longer, and the damage will be irrevocable."
Connor nodded. "I understand. I will not tarry long."
"Good." Arianna looked up into his eyes again, and then reached over and intertwined her fingers in Leonardo's when he joined them. "Come on, Leo. Let's see to preparing some supper whilst these three bid each other farewell. Connor, I can give you five minutes."
Connor's throat was tight. "I understand."
Arianna dipped her head to him, and then she vanished through the doorway.
There was a moment of stillness. A clock clicked its regular rhythm in the hallway- tick, tick, tick, tick- and outside, a group of children ran past the doorway, chasing a wooden hoop with sticks in hand, hooting and hollering with love of the game. The sounds of children at play were as universal and comforting here as they were at home.
"I guess this is really goodbye, then." Edward broke the silence and drew Connor's gaze to him. Behind him, the sun peeked through the parchment windows in the front room and haloed Edward's hair in gold even as it set a fire in Rhian's auburn locks. "Ye think we'll ever meet again?"
"I do not know," Connor admitted softly. He turned and folded his arms across his chest. Restless, his feet carried him from one end of the room to the other, and then back again. The floorboards were less uneven than he recalled, and creaked underfoot. The house was new. By the time he reached his destination, they would be warped with age despite having been replaced twice, by Arianna's own admission. "If what Arianna tells me is true… I suppose that anything is possible."
Rhian mumbled something indistinct. Connor glanced to her, as did Edward, and she pursed her lips and wrung her hands beneath their scrutiny.
"My father… Derwydd once told me that the Creed of the Assassins could be interpreted in a few different ways," she admitted softly. "One of those ways is the more poetic translation that has become known to Assassins since the days of the Brotherhood's origins in Syria: 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted'." She paused, and her hands trembled a little before she lowered them to her sides. "It is known to few, however, that a more literal translation says that 'nothing is absolute, everything is possible'." Rhian stilled, and when she raised her eyes to Connor's, her green orbs were alight with a hope that he had not seen from her in quite some time. "I think that, if it's possible that you're really from the future, then it's equally possible that we may all meet again."
Her words eased something that had been gnawing at Connor's belly since they had left Inagua, and a knot of tension eased from his shoulders. Connor regarded them for a moment. Then he offered them a soft smile.
"I suppose anything is possible." He swallowed. On an impulse, he crossed the room to the two of them, and then took one of each of their hands in his own. Glancing between Edward's slight frown and Rhian's raised eyebrows, Connor brought their hands together, set Edward's hand atop Rhian's and then covered them with his own. Connor took in the wonder that blossomed in Rhian's green gaze and the confusion that lit Edward's blue one, and offered them a small smile.
"For what it is worth," Connor murmured, and the words were soft and tender. "I think that the two of you will do great things, together."
The two in question exchanged glances. Edward turned back to Connor, mouth open, but that was when Arianna reentered the room, her own Dagger in hand and Leonardo trailing her, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Are you ready?" Arianna asked without preamble, and she was fidgeting with her Dagger as she stared Connor down. He blinked.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, and she grunted, but it was Leonardo who answered Connor's question.
"A troop of soldiers is searching the houses down the way," Leonardo intoned. "They are hunting for a group of pirates who snuck into the city this morning."
Edward let slip a profanity that would have made other sailors blush, and Connor and Rhian exchanged glances.
"You must go, now," Arianna intoned, and brandished her Dagger at Connor before nodding to his companions. "You must go, so that they can leave." She pointed to the Dagger in his hand. "Blood brought you here, boy. Blood will take you home."
Connor glanced at the other two, and his heart ached. They huddled close together; a crash and shouting filled the air as the next door down was kicked in, and Rhian flinched and grabbed for Edward's hand. Connor caught sight of her grasping the hilt of one of his grandfather's cutlasses where it was sheathed at his waist. Rhian herself was unarmed save for a dirk and single-shot pistol in her belt.
Connor met Edward's gaze, and then Rhian's.
"I will miss you," Connor intoned, and then drew the Dagger from his belt and ripped the wrappings from its golden blade. Edward and Rhian's eyes grew wide, and then Connor braced himself and slammed the point through his left palm.
Connor had expected pain. He had expected to feel the burning, tearing, searing agony of the blade piercing his flesh, just as it had hurt when he had been stabbed before he had come to this time. He had expected blood.
Instead, the tip of the blade pricked his palm, drawing a single bead of blood to the surface with only the slightest sting, and then everything stopped.
Sound stopped. Connor stopped, and Edward, Rhian, Leonardo, and Arianna stopped. Even the bead of blood halted its motion where it welled up from his skin. Then, the blood was sucked up into the blade, and a rush of wind filled Connor's ears. Golden light filled the room.
A hand touched his arm, and in the blink of an eye, everything was gone.
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.
Translations for the Curious:
Welsh Translations:
Rhocyn: Lad
Feinir: Lassie
Gwna dda dros ddrwg, uffern ni'th ddwg: Repay evil with good, and Hell will not claim you. (Welsh proverb.)
Italian Translations:
Dio mio. Che cosa successe?: My God. What happened?
Lui viaggiò per il tempo: He traveled through time.
Come ti chiami?: What's your name? (Lit. What do you call yourself?)
Italiano: Italian.
Spagnolo: Spanish.
Sì, ma certo: Yes, but of course.
Author's Note:
Thank you so much for reading, and for your feedback!
Ah, and now we finally get to see a bit about Cosette, Connor's sweetheart. She plays a much bigger role in another story I've been writing (In fact, she's the primary character so far), but she's really starting to show me her personality, here. In writing her into this fic through Connor's memories, I'm seeing a playful side to her that I've never really seen, before. What a journey of discovery! You, dear reader, are learning about these characters even as I do the same, and I really hope that it is as enjoyable for you to read it as it is for me to write it.
Yes, by the way, she was talking about drinking peyote in the first flashback. I am in no way, shape, or form condoning the use of hallucinogenic substances or drugs for any reason, but part of Cosette's history is that she traveled down south for a little while before she met Connor, and she had some spiritual experiences with some of the native tribes in the Yucatán and northern Mexico, which involved the use of peyote. These were native religious rituals. Repeat: I do not condone the use of non-prescription drugs for any reason and this should not be taken as such. Thank you!
Guest: Sut mae a prynhawn da! I don't know much Welsh myself, but I am learning. Thank you for your comment! I'm glad that it turned out looking authentic- I wasn't sure at the time!
Golden Hourglass: Thank you so much! I hope this alleviates your case of Cliffhanger Syndrome. :D I am so glad that you're enjoying this story enough to binge it and still want more! As to the translations, I had originally thought about putting them in the text, but I ultimately ended up leaving them out, not only due to a desire to preserve the flow of the scene, but also so that I don't break the immersion. I know that it would make it easier on the reader, but at the same time, I don't want to jerk people out of the scene and back into reality... I am curious, though, about which is more jarring: Not having translations in text, or not knowing what, exactly, the characters are saying?
And a huge "Thank you" to everyone else who is reading this, and to everyone who favorited/followed both Sum of Memories and myself! You may not comment, but I "hear" you all the same and really appreciate your support!
Love and hugs and Happy Hallowe'en!
-Scribe