"It seems that everyone has their own inexplicable fear to have nightmares about. We need nightmares to keep ourselves entertained, and fend off the contentment that we all fear and abhor so much." -Louis de Bernières

-o-

"I want to see you fight."

Jacqueline sighed and broke off a piece of bread. Crumbs scattered across the table. She ate it and took a sip of wine. "No you don't."

After a few tips and general directions, Jacqueline had moved inland and west to find Richard L'Enfant. The anticipation of his attack loomed over her like a dark cloud. She had opted to stop looking—she knew how this would end.

So she was sitting in an inn, eating dinner and reluctantly tolerating her apprentise. She wouldn't admit it in a hundred years, but she liked having company. Travel became lonely.

"You're a trained killer, right? I want to see a trained killer fight. Girard never fought—he just experimented." Léon plucked a bit of bread away from her. "Locked away in that tower…it was anatomically educational, I suppose, but not very exciting."

Jacqueline shook her head. "What I do is more than fighting. Being part of the Brotherhood is who I am now. It is a cause for which I will gladly die."

"What cause?"

"Freedom." She answered simply. "Liberty for all people."

"But…" Léon was rubbing his chin. "By being bound in such loyalty to the Brotherhood, aren't you forsaking your own freedom?"

"My…" Jacqueline hesitated, actually brought up short by the question. It proved an opportune moment for her pause, for something across the room caught her eye. Three men sat at a table, glaring at her. Red crosses adorned their armour. "Léon, you may get your wish."

"What?" He followed her gaze. "Are they here for us?"

"Yes. When I move, you need to duck under the table and stay there. Do you understand?"

"But I want to—"

"Do you understand?" She demanded, setting her wine glass down with a forceful clink.

The boy sighed. "Yes."

"Good."

One of the Templars shifted in their chairs, and Jacqueline launched across the room. She ran up to the first and stabbed him in the back of the neck. This made the other two jump to their feet and draw swords. The other patrons of the inn panicked, running this way and that, banging tables over and spilling ale across the floor.

Jacqueline ripped her own sword out in just enough time to block the incoming blade. The two steels clashed apart with a loud clang, the first of the cacophony to follow. Advancing on her, the Templar stumbled on a chair in his way. Seeing her opportunity, Jacqueline swung her sword into the gap in his armour between his helmet and shoulder plates, and drew it straight back toward her. He fell with a strangled scream, blood spouting like a fountain.

A deafening bang made the Assassin drop on instinct—the other Templar had a pistol, and was aiming it steadily. She kicked his knee in the wrong way and used the hilt of her sword to smash his head to the side. Her knee jerked up to meet his chin, and he dropped beside his fallen comrades.

"Check the others for orders," Jacqueline briskly ordered Léon, who was peering out from behind the table. "Quickly! Folded papers, seals, signatures, something that tells me what they were doing here."

He scuttled over to the nearest body and patted it down. From the inside of the man's chest plate he pulled a bloodstained piece of parchment. "Does this mean anything?"

Jacqueline plucked the paper from his hand. It was folded twice over, and had one line of sharp writing across it. At the bottom was the signature of her target in red ink. "I see."

"What does it say?"

"These men were never meant to live." Jacqueline walked to the back of the inn and tossed the letter into a fireplace that was smouldering. "It's my invitation."

"Invitation?" Léon followed her out into the evening, grabbing the rest of the bread and trotting up like a puppy. "That wasn't very inviting."

In the moonlight, the fresh flecks of scarlet across her cheeks paled by winter stood out dramatically. "It's just the beginning of my encounter with L'Enfant. He's made the first move. As the opposing force, it's only polite to retaliate in kind."

"What…what are you talking about?" Léon gave a short, confused laugh.

"Nothing. If you're going to follow me like a lost hound, I may as well teach you how to use a weapon." Jacqueline pinched the bridge of her nose. "Come. I've been very busy, though you may not have noticed."

"You have seemed awfully distracted." He commented thoughtfully. "What have you been up to?"

"Unearthing allies."

The town they had found themselves in was in the mainland of the country. It was divided over a river Jacqueline didn't know the name of. She followed directions from a coded letter she had received three days previous, to a side street between a bakery and a tailor. She crouched and lifted a wooden trapdoor. A ladder led into darkness, which she promptly jumped into. Léon followed hesitantly.

At the base, Jacqueline picked her way through the tunnel by feel. During the nights where she let Léon sleep on the floor of her inn room, she would escape to establish a loose base of operations. There were several Assassin bases in France. The largest was in Paris, but Paris was still a good distance away. Unfortunately, the most prominent presence in France was that of Templars. Jacqueline was hoping to change that with the death of Christophe.

The floor slanted steeply down about twelve feet, and Jacqueline skated down the worn dirt with practised ease. "Watch out, Léon, there's a…"

"Ah!" The boy could be heard tumbling down the slope, and he knocked Jacqueline off her feet when he came to a skidding stop. "Sorry."

She helped him to his feet, and they continued walking. The path twisted and turned, still in utter darkness. They couldn't afford torches. Literally couldn't, there wasn't room in the current budget.

"Stop." Jacqueline said after encountering a door, but Léon bumped into her anyway.

"Sorry." He jumped back, and she heard him stumble and fall on his bum. She rolled her eyes and knocked four times on the heavy door.

A slot opened in the door to reveal small eyes and bushy red eyebrows. "Ah! Hallo!"

The corridor was washed with light. Johann, the owner of the Speckled Mare, was on the other side, beaming past his ruddy beard. Jacqueline bowed her head as she walked in. "Safety and peace, Brother."

"Safety and peace. Who's zis vittle vone?" The hefty German patted Léon, who was in comparison a toddler.

"My apprentise." She said smoothly. "Don't worry. He can be trusted."

The sanctuary was small and cosy, an emptied wine cellar all carpeted and decorated with Assassin banners to play the part. It was one of many similar tiny stepping-stones across the country that Jacqueline and the other Assassins hoped to use as the way to overthrow the Templar influence. The main room was stuffed with as many carrier pigeon cages, desks, papers, bookshelves and maps as could possibly fit. A few lesser recruits were crowded around tables, writing down recent contracts and talking amongst themselves.

"I want to train him to fight." Jacqueline continued, winding through the maze of the main room.

"Oh? Anysing in particular?" Johann queried lightly after them.

"He's been following me around. It's probably best if he knows how to stab things."

They entered the training room, a larger area occupied by the things one would expect from a training room. Jacqueline went to a weapons rack and pulled a shortsword off the rack. Léon accepted it when offered.

"This is how it will work. If you can land a single hit, I'll stop for the day. Does that sound fair?" Jacqueline unsheathed her sword, still smeared with blood from earlier.

Léon made the first move, a clumsy swipe that she deflected easily. He used the exact same technique a second time and got the same result. Deciding to try something different, he went for her sides, banging this way and that. All the while, Jacqueline spoke over the clashing metal.

"You hold the blade too delicately. Rely on it! It is the only thing standing between you and death if you are in a fight." She made her first offensive, a light downward swing that wouldn't have hit him anyway, but he dodged to the side. "Do not think of the sword as an obstacle to learn about or overcome—let it become part of you."

"I've held knives before!" He protested, sweating and panting. "This is a lot heavier than I thought it would be!"

That made Jacqueline laugh, for whatever reason. Their "sparring" session went on for only a bit longer before Léon called it off and flopped back on the floor, chest heaving. "Okay," He gasped. "You can do the fighting from now on."

After he recovered, they headed back out of the sanctuary through the dark passage. When they emerged into the city again, the sun was rising. The sky was a dim blue, the air still chill with the morning. "I suppose you're hungry." Jacqueline decided, pulling herself out of the trapdoor. "We should get some food."

"You can't do this alone, Jacqueline."

Léon's statement made her turn. "What do you mean?"

"You think you can take out Rousseau by yourself, and you can't. Whatever you might think, whatever you justified this with, it's wrong. Remember you can always call for help." He smiled, boyish and naïve. "I'm not really any help to you without combat skills. I think I'll go to Paris and find a job. It's time I did something with my life."

"Are you sure?"

He gave her a knowing look. "Don't tell me you've actually started to like having me around?"

That wasn't necessarily the case—although it was secretly part of it. Even so, she wasn't about to beg him for his company. "Well, if that's your decision, I won't stop you. Best of luck, Léon."

Léon turned away and started down the street. "Au revoir, et bonne chance."

-o-

The same night Léon left, Jacqueline's dreams were plagued. It started as a nightmare, a recurring one that had haunted her occasionally since her adolescence. It started on the Aquila, during a storm unlike anything earthly. Lighting cracked wickedly across the sky and the torrential rain left red marks on her skin. The thunder boomed so loudly as to shake the deck, such was the extent of this storm.

In some way, she would be knocked from the deck by a careless elbow to the ribs. It varied often; sometimes it was Georges, sometimes Achilles, but most often it was Connor. She would look at the face of the perpetrator as she toppled into the thrashing waves.

The water was always black as night, but some light hovered near the surface, a beacon to lead her up. Just as she could taste fresh air and the temptation of salvation, angry hands held her down by the shoulders and the arms. The faces of those she had killed would surge through the black water, blinding and furious, contorted by rage. Blaming, accusing eyes burned at her, forcing her away from air. In her terror, her mouth came open, and she felt herself drown until just before death, and she would wake.

But that was not how this turned. Just before Jacqueline hit the water, the dream dissolved, and she flopped back on a smooth, artificial surface.

Standing before her was a woman. Jacqueline had seen her before—there was no forgetting the shimmering white robes, the stiff black hair, the hooked nose, and the stern expression of a judge about to sentence a convict to death.

"You again." Jacqueline stood and stepped closer. "What do you want?"

"You are a foolish, arrogant child," The woman snapped angrily. "One would think you would learn to listen to simple instructions."

"What are you talking about? What instructions?"

"Of course you would not remember. I specifically told you to stay with him, to keep him on his path, but you did not listen." The woman cast out her hand, and a shimmering screen wavered into existence.

On it, Jacqueline watched Connor struggle with a member of his tribe. She recognised him—Kanentó:kon, the man who had visited the manor once. The pair were fighting, though it was silent. And in a moment, the struggle was over, and only Connor walked away. The screen vanished, leaving the glittering woman waiting for a reaction, and Jacqueline somber but still victorious.

"Be that as it may, Connor is a grown man. He can cope with and reconcile his own decisions, as can I. I need no guidance from you." Jacqueline scowled. "Now allow me to leave this…dream, hallucination, whatever it is."

The goddess sneered. "You do not understand the weight of your act—"

"I don't care!" The Assassin raised her voice and took another step in. To the woman's credit, she did not move back. "Your decrees hold no weight with me anymore. I'm beyond submitting to your threats and false prophesies. Be gone, phantom, and leave me to my sleep."

The woman glared at her, livid, but with a brisk sweep of her arm, Jacqueline was hurled back into her nightmares, to drown over and over until the sun ripped her from the black water.

-o-

-I'm reluctant to write about Connor, because come on. That would be silly. We already know what he's doing—we've all played the game. He's currently in like Sequence 10 or so, meaning the missions are involving Washington and his village and things of that nature (Broken Trust, etc.).

-Review for Precursors!