This chapter will be a sort of "filler," because I wanted to not skip directly to their adulthood and rather focus more on their late teenage years and continued training after their initiation into the Brotherhood. I may do another chapter like this, too, and then an early Christmas one.

P.s. Incidentally, I don't really like oranges.

P.p.s. For this chapter, a capitalised –O- means a different scene. A lowercase –o- means a change of perspective.

P.p.p.s. If you have any suggestions for a the next chapter (which will be similar to this) I'm happy to take them!

W'P

"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid." -Frederick Buechner

-O-

When Connor woke, someone was breaking into the manor. A great cacophony of clashing, banging and yelling made him sit up and stumble drowsily from his bed, clumsily strapping on a hidden blade. Fumbling down the stairs, the noises grew louder. Something smelled like it was burning. At the base of the stairs, he walked toward the kitchen, where the thieves were. Before he could get there, the familiar smack of a walking cane to his middle stopped him.

Achilles stood at the entrance to the kitchen. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

"What's happening?" Connor asked. The yelling in the kitchen could be identified as Jacqueline, but speaking in entirely French, they couldn't understand her.

"The girl's decided to try and cook." The old man sighed. "I couldn't stop her."

An orange hurled from the kitchen doorway and hit the wall behind them with a splat. This was slightly less unusual, oddly enough; Jacqueline had taken quite a shine to the fruit, and ate them obsessively. Everything—the manor, her, the grounds, everything—absolutely reeked of oranges. They had gotten used to it, but seeing oranges lying around was not uncommon.

"Why is she trying to cook? Why now?" Connor peeked around the corner to see her smashing her way through pots and pans, banging through cupboards and drawers. Her braided hair, normally neat and even, was crooked and hastily done, and some was coming out.

"How should I know?" Achilles scoffed. "As long as she doesn't burn the damn house down, she can do whatever she wants in there." He started away. "And get dressed."

Connor looked down at himself, still in his sleepwear, and went back upstairs to change into his robes. When he came back down, Jacqueline was holding a small torch up to three small dishes on a table in the kitchen.

He hurried in, alarmed by the fire. "What are you doing?"

She shushed him and put the torch down to the little dishes. It cooked something on top, making it glaze over golden. When she was done, she stamped out the torch and waved a hand over the food to cool it down.

"What is it?" Connor asked again.

"Crème brûlée." Something about speaking exclusively French with no one to stop her had made her accent go through the roof.

"What does that mean?"

"Burnt cream." She said "cream" like "crehm."

"Burnt cream?"

"Ouais. It is better than it sounds, croyez-moi." She rifled through a few drawers until she found a spoon, and came back to the crème brûlée, and continued waiting impatiently.

There was a long pause. Connor continued frowning skeptically at the burnt…whatever-it-was that she was staring at, like a hawk at its prey. He half expected it to grow legs and run away, how vigilant an eye she kept on the little white dishes. It didn't really smell like anything, except perhaps roasted sugar and crushed oranges. That was actually coming from her, not the food. He glanced at her. A lock of hair had loosened from her crooked braid and stuck out, an odd black loop. She looked tired; he wondered how long she had been awake trying to make these three little dishes.

"All right." Jacqueline huffed, done waiting. "Now, let's eat. There is a technique."

Then she did an odd thing. She flipped the spoon around, edge down, and tapped it against the sugar on top. It cracked like gold glass. She stopped before eating, and pushed one of the dishes to him.

"You try it first. I'm sure it's terrible." She joked. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked drawn.

Just to stop her from stressing, he took a spoon and did the same, cracking the sugar. Taking a scoop, the underneath was a thick, off-white cream. A little warily, he tried it, and was surprised. "It's cold!"

"All of it?!" Jacqueline exclaimed.

"No, just the cream." He observed the rest of the dessert. "It's very sweet."

"Is it too sweet?"

"Not at all. It's actually very good."

She took a large, unceremonious scoop and crammed it in her mouth. The noise she uttered made Connor's neck warm. "Right." She picked up the dish and continued eating as she slid down to sit on the floor. "I'm just going to sit down here."

"Should I take this to Achilles?" Connor looked under the table, the last dish in his hand.

"If you want." She mumbled, still eating. He decided to, and told Achilles how to eat it, as well. When he came back, she was asleep.

-O-

The church was empty. It must have been empty for a long time. The air was still, and silent. The whitewashed walls were dilapidated and the paint was cracking. Dirt covered the floor, and stirred up as Jacqueline walked through it. Dead leaves from the recent autumn gathered under the pews. Jesus, crucified at the end of the hall, stared with dully-painted eyes into the distance. She stopped halfway down the aisle, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. For a moment she considered turning back, but took a deep breath, and continued.

She knelt at the altar, the first time she had ever done so. A long time passed while she sat, with her hands on her knees, and her hood pushed back. Christ didn't look at her. His gaze was directed at the back wall, not down. A bird had made a nest in the crown of thorns. A silvery spider web stretched between a nail in his left palm and his hollow cheek.

Jacqueline had abandoned her faith long ago. As a child, she used to believe in God. That changed on the day of her parents' deaths. What kind of all-loving God would allow that? Why would He make her watch them die? As a thief, she knew she was going to Hell. But as she learned of the things that Templars did, and she killed to protect the manor, she began to doubt.

With a sigh, she murmured a prayer under her breath and crossed herself. She looked over her shoulder, like she was committing a crime. Giving Jesus a last glance, she pulled her hood back up and silently swept out of the church into the cool autumn air.

-O-

A little puppy snuffled through the dirt of the stables. Its fluffy, white and tan fur was matted with dirt. It saw a beetle and pounced on it, little jaws snapping it up. Jacqueline almost tripped over it as she went to feed the horses. It yelped and ran off a few feet. She craned her neck to see it pacing anxiously at the edge of the grass.

"Oh, look at you!" She smiled and tossed her mare the bale of hay. She crouched and made kissy noises. "Come here! It's okay, come here."

The puppy hesitantly padded over to her. Once it was close enough, she held her hand out flat and it sniffed her. Its nose was cool and wet. After apparently deciding she wasn't a threat, it put its front paws on her knee and licked her palm. Grinning, Jacqueline picked it up and carried it into the manor. Connor was out hunting, and there was no telling when he'd be back. Luckily, Achilles was always home, and she found him in the sitting room.

"Achilles, look—"

"No, Jacqueline."

"But she's so cu—"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I have enough on my hands with you two constantly running about. I don't need some mutt running around with you."

"I'll take care of her myself. I can bathe her, train her, everything. You will never have to worry about her."

Achilles sighed, pressing his mouth into a line. "Oh, fine." He grumbled. "But if that dog ever jumps on my lap it'll be out of here before you can blink."

"Merci, Achilles!" Jacqueline grinned and ran up to her room. She went into her bathroom and set the pup down. "I'll name you…Bisou." She smiled as the dog licked her hand, and then promptly started gnawing her fingers. "Okay, let's get you washed up."

-o-

"I'm back." Connor announced, not overly loudly. He brought the brace of hares to the kitchen and set them on the table.

"Oh, good." Achilles hobbled around the corner. "The girl's brought some mutt in the house. I don't know where she's gone with it, but you best go make sure she's not making too much of a mess."

"A dog?" Connor asked, walking out to the stairs.

"Yes. Now go, I heard water. God knows what she's doing." The old man shook his head and walked back into his study.

Connor went up to the second story and knocked on her door. "Jacqueline?" There was no answer. "Jacqueline?"

After a moment of indecision, he opened the door. Her room was slightly larger than his, no doubt a product of being in the manor first. The French flag hung over her bed. A few oranges sat on the bedside table, with an unlit candle and spare knife. A collection of arrows was shot into a bedpost, gathered close together—one had split another into two thin splints of pale wood. Scattered on a table before the hearth were various pieces of parchment. On them were scrawled odd things with black ink: a bird, a horse, the edge of a forest, a blade. There was one of him, as well. He was flattered, but dare not touch any of the pictures. It felt a violation of her privacy to even be in her room.

He turned his attention to an open door, which led to what looked like a bathroom. "Jacqueline?" He looked around the corner and withdrew with a short yelp of surprise.

She was kneeling at her bath, stripped down to her bodice and short petticoat, and half soaked in water. A flash of heat ran up Connor's neck and he put a hand up to shield his eyes.

"Oh, Connor! Look who I found!" He risked a glance. Jacqueline held a happy-looking puppy up in one hand; the collie was soaked to the bone and wagging its little tail. "Isn't she cute? I've named her Bisou. Go on, say salut to Connor!"

He looked down at the puppy, splashing water as it pounced on his feet. "Where did you find her?"

"By the stables. I nearly stepped on her when I went out to feed Blanche." Jacqueline picked up the tiny pup and kissed the top of her head. That petticoat really was far too short. It was a good thing his robes were so loose. "Now look! Another addition to our curieux petite famille."

"She is…" He searched for the right word. "Energetic. Achilles is concerned that you are going to wreck the house."

"He didn't want me to keep her, but look who won that argument, ha ha." She said the words rather than actually laughing. She walked past him into the main room, and he avoided her as though she carried the plague. Bisou wriggled from her grip and rolled around in front of the warm hearth. Jacqueline sat on the rug, plucking at her wet skirt. He had not seen her legs without stockings. They were pale, like the rest of her skin, and lean.

"Um, I should…let you get dressed." Connor said, still trying his best not to look at her.

"Hm? Oh!" Her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't even realise—oh, gosh…" She stood and quickly pulled on a dressing gown. "I-I'll just…" Still blushing to her ears, she fled to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

-O-

"What is your village like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you speak of it every now and then. Often fondly. What was it like living there?"

"Different than living here. My people live off the land, and take only what we must to survive. It was a simple, earthly life. I find myself missing it sometimes. I had a good friend that I left behind when I came to Achilles."

"What about your mother?"

"She died long ago, by the hand of Charles Lee and the word of my father."

"I'm sorry."

"It is not your fault. There is no need to apologise."

"Okay."

A peaceful pause descended on them. They lay on the roof of the manor, staring at the sky. It was one of the last warm days of the year. The scent of winter and late autumn hung in the air, mingling with oranges. It always smelled of oranges now. It was unlikely the smell would ever be scrubbed from the manor. An owl was hooting mournfully in the trees.

"Where do you come from?"

"France. I don't miss it very much. I lived as a thief and stole to survive. My friends were part of the same gang as me. I guess my childhood was a little different than yours."

"Where were your parents?"

"Dead. Murdered by Templars. They were Assassins, too."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

Connor made an amused noise, and the conversation stopped again. It was the darkest part of the night. The stars were bright holes punched through a black ceiling. The moon shone down as bright as a dull sun and bathed everything in a grayish sheen. In Jacqueline's room below, Bisou could be heard yipping at some invisible threat.

"I'll help you."

"Help me what?"

"Find Charles Lee. I hate the Templars as much as you do. He needs to die. And…"

"And?"

"If…if you feel any sort of…hesitance toward killing your father, know that I'm here. All you have to do is ask."

"Thank you, Jacqueline. Truly. But killing Lee is something I must do."

"And your father?"

"I can kill him, too. I must."