Chapter Seven;

Not So Different

"There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; The other is to refuse to believe what is true." Søren Kierkegaard

After helping Stephane clean their table, Connor dropped into a chair, sighing in exhaustion. The documents they had found lay before him, and though he was eager to open them and possibly even find proof of Lee's location, oddly enough he was not in the mood for it. Just for once, he wanted to relax, to drink and laugh and tell stories with Duncan and Clipper and Stephane. But he could not rest, not yet. Not when there was still so much work to be done.

"It is late, mon ami." Stephane's voice was quiet behind him as he lay a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You look exhausted. Perhaps it would be best if you leave all this for the morning, eh?"

Connor sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was exhausted, no thanks to that woman. He was still bitter about her actions in the fort, but he was not in the mood for arguing and tried to let it go. Where was she, anyway? Looking around, he searched for her, but the tavern was nearly empty now and she was nowhere to be seen. Connor muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he got up, gathering the papers.

Stephane gave him a peculiar look but Connor ignored it, gave him thanks for fighting with him, and headed to the back door. He had so expected to find only two horses, to find that chestnut mare long gone by now. Instead, all three horses stood quietly before him, only his mare making any show of being aware of his presence. Her ears perked at the sound of his voice, and she made a step towards him, eager for perhaps an apple. Eksá:'a, he called her – little girl, in his language. At first it had been just a placeholder until he could think up a real name. He had used it from the time she was still a suckling, when Achilles had first put him in charge caring for the horses soon after he arrived at the manor. Somehow, unintentionally, it had become her name. Perhaps Connor was not creative enough to come up with a good name, but she seemed to like it and so he did not try his hand at creativity. Eksá:'a had been a true gift, though, sometimes even better than weapons or robes or training that Achilles had given him. Of course he was more than grateful for all Achilles had given him, but all the sharpest blades did nothing to erase the hollow ache of loneliness.

After he had given her the attention she had demanded, he went back into the tavern, the exhaustion from the fighting finally entering his muscles. He had sustained no serious injuries, but a few blows had been hard, and he was sore. Yet though he was tired, he couldn't let Cora's actions earlier be swept under the rug. If she thought it was okay to be distracted during a battle like that by something as simple as a horse... Of course he had a special bond with Eksá:'a, but he would never have deserted his companions in the heat of battle just to take a look at her. The way that woman's mind worked... He would never understand it.

He stopped at her door, taking a deep breath and preparing himself for the way he knew she would react. As always, she would probably get angry, yell at him, bring up something that had nothing to do with the matter at hand. Perhaps it was a craft of women, or maybe this one was just crazy, he did not know. He rose his hand to knock, but just before his hand struck the wood, he heard a soft noise from within the room.

It was a breathy sound, the sucking in of air like a child recovering after a tantrum. He let his arm drop and listened, trying to figure out what was going on. He couldn't picture Cora crying, couldn't picture her that vulnerable. Immediately uncomfortable for intruding on a private moment, though he had never even knocked, he stood there quietly, unsure of what to do. Just as he took the first step to his own room, a muffled voice found its way through the door.

"Not tonight, Assassin. Please, not tonight." No trace of tears could be found in her voice – no sobs broke her words, or gulps of air hitched her breathing. Yet still, there was a quality to her voice that embodied complete brokenness, even panic.

No words came to him, and he receded from the door, too bewildered to give thought to anything but sleep.

Cora was sulking, and everyone could see it. The Assassin avoided her, likely put off by their words the night before. Stephane raised an eyebrow at her when she had refused a meal and an ale that morning, when the night before she had downed a pint too many. Now she was nursing a headache, brought on both by the over consumption of ale and the panic attack she had once she had gotten back into her room. There had been no tears, only a tightening in her chest, squeezing all the life out of her as she gasped for breath.

All she could think about was his eyes... The heartbreak in his eyes, as she walked away. That was what sent the knife through her heart. Yet he would get over it in time, she knew. Henry was a good man, a kind man, a good lover. No doubt he would be married off to some other wench in no time at all... Besides, it was for the best for both of them. They had both chosen their sides. Henry knew what he fought for, and he did it gladly. Of course, she had no doubt he had been fed the same lies she had, but it didn't take Sophocles to figure that out. He had always known what he was doing, and that almost hurt the worst... He had known what she endured in that fort, yet still he had wanted to take her back, to send her back to that place, to that... man. Once she had thought about that, she realized that he did not love her like he thought he did.

The Assassin had made it a priority to properly thank his companions, probably out of some misplaced sense of honor and respect. He was always so consumed with honor and respect and doing what was right, damn him... How was it so easy for him?

She needed some fresh air.

No one noticed her leaving the tavern. No one ever noticed her, though. They only paid her attention when they wanted something of her... Her body, her sword, her heart to wound as they would. They only called on her when they needed a safe place to put their cock, or an object with which to take out their anger. And for so long she had obliged, so naïve and young and senseless...

Oh, but these dark thoughts would get her nowhere. They would not bring her childhood back, would not restore her purity or bring forth her family from the dead. They would only become shackles, dragging her to the bottom of the sea, pulling her from what she wanted most... Her revenge.

No one noticed as she dropped onto a bench, putting her head in her hands. Sometimes she wondered what she was doing at all... What about after she had attained her revenge? What then? She had no family to return to; no father to welcome her home, no mother to dry her tears or siblings to bear her nieces and nephews to dote on. No man waited for her at home, nor would any child ever quicken in her womb. She was alone.

Cora walked through the streets, passing the markets and letting the sweet smell of fresh bread meet her nose. Her stomach growled finally, ferociously, and she suddenly wished she had not declined Stephane's offer of food. Just as she stopped, her mouth watering as she tried to convince herself that it would not be easy to just simply grab a loaf and run, a small hand tugged at her skirts.

"Here." A little boy, no older than six, held a quarter of a loaf of bread up to her. Cora knelt, pressing the boy's outstretched arm back into his chest. The child was thin, obviously not well fed. Yet he was dressed well enough, and seemed well mannered. Still though, she didn't feel right taking food from a child.

"Thank you, but I am well fed."

"I saw you lookin' at that bread," he said, little brows furrowing as he thrust his arm out again. "I knows what it looks like to be wantin' some bread."

"I can't," Cora repeated, shaking her head as she tried to shoo him along.

"If you don't take it, I'll drop it and then it'll be all dirty, wasted bread and nobody likes that at all," the child said quickly, words mashed all together. "Besides, pa is always tellin' me to be nice and share. I wanna share with you. You look nice. So here."

There was nothing she could say to that.

"At least share with me, then," she proposed. At that, the boy's eyes changed, his tongue involuntarily running over his lips.

"I guess if you wanna..."

She broke the bread, handing him the bigger half. He scarfed it down quickly, seeming to shove the whole thing in his mouth at once. Cora took a small piece off of her half, plopping it in her mouth and savoring the fluffy sweetness, the way it almost seemed to melt in her mouth.

"Henry! I told you not to give your food to strangers!" The child's name almost made her choke.

"Sorry," Cora mumbled, holding the bread out to the woman. "I did not know."

"Oh, it's no matter," the woman laughed, taking the child's hand. "Sometimes he'll give away all the food I give him! It's hard enough to get food on the table in the first place," she said sadly, glancing down at her son.

"Well pa says it's good to give!"

"And he is right," she said gently, a soft, sad smile on her face.

"Really, take it," Cora said, wishing she had her small purse of coins with her to help them.

"No, I insist. If he wanted to give it to you that badly, there must be something special about you." She laughed and gave a small wave before turning, leading her son away.

"When pa get's back from fightin', he'll be proud of me for sharin'," the child said as they rounded a corner. Cora watched the brick sadly for a moment before finding a bench to eat her bread in peace.

Just as she was about to take another bite, a little yelp sounded from down at her feet. She glanced down and found a begging dog, its eyes large and pleading. The poor thing was young, not near full grown, and she could almost see the ribs beneath his coat. Pitying the poor creature, she tore her small half of a quarter into an even smaller portion and tossed it down. The dog ate it before Cora could blink and wagged his tail, looking excitedly for more. With a sigh, Cora tore her bread into another half, dropping it down again as she plopped the last piece into her mouth.

When she was done, she headed back to the tavern, not in the mood for a lecture from the Assassin for being late or running off. It was halfway back when she realized the dog was following her. She shooed him away, but still he kept on, simply cocking an ear every time she yelled at him. Cora kept on, hoping the dog would give up when he realized she wasn't giving any more food.

Soon enough, she found herself just outside of the tavern, and the dog was still at her heels, his little tail wagging each time she turned to look at him.

"What am I going to do with you," she sighed, clucking her tongue.

She had just picked the dog up when the Assassin opened the door. The moment he set eyes on the dog in her arms, he shook his head, crossing his arms vehemently.

"No. No way."

Cora hadn't even thought about keeping the mutt until the Assassin had reacted that way. The moment the idea had entered her head, her lips curved into a devious smile. Anything that annoyed the Assassin pleased her, and after all, there was no way she could leave the dog behind now...

"Oh, come on! Look at him, how can you deny those eyes? He is well past weaned, and I would guess he will be full grown within the year. And look how well behaved! A perfect temperament to train, isn't that right," she cooed. As if on cue, the dog wriggled in her arms, reaching his head up to lick her in the face. Despite how much she tried to get him to calm down, the dog kept at it, the silly thing. Didn't he know behaving was important if he wanted to stay? The Assassin shook his head again, stubborn as always. "Besides," she muttered nonchalantly once he had finally calmed. "If he goes, I go. And you need me."

"Do I," the Assassin said dryly, the slightest trace of a smile on his face.

Connor wasn't particularly entranced by the idea of a dog, but the thing made her smile, and after the past few days of her odd mood, he was grateful for it. Perhaps the mutt would even make her less difficult to deal with.

He almost laughed at himself. Of course it wouldn't.

The ride back to the homestead was oddly quiet. Distracted by the dog and the fact that she had been reunited with her horse, there was little free time to dwell on what had happened back at the house. The truth about Henry made it a little easier to deal with. It hurt to realize that though he professed to love her, the fact that he shamelessly stood by while she had been hurt was proof that his love for her was superficial... selfish. Maybe he couldn't see it, maybe he didn't know, but she did, and she could not overlook that.

She and the Assassin spoke little as they made their way back, but when they did, their words lacked the heaviness and hatred that they had on the ride into Boston. Cora found herself considering how she thought of him, wondering if perhaps she may have been wrong. Sure, the Assassin was arrogant and childish and rash and infuriating, but he seemed to respect her, at least to an extent. At this point, Cora was much more hungry for respect than she was for love.

Perhaps she could get along with the Assassin, but she still did not trust him. Though every passing day only allowed her hatred for the Templars to fester, it did not mean she thought of the Assassins well. Cora still believed the two factions were cut from the same cloth, no matter how fervently they both would deny it. It was a pattern, though, that two groups or people that hated each other seemed to be so similar, in the end... Her studies of history had proved that. The oppressed became the oppressors, self-righteous became the humble, and the humble became the exalted.

Upon their return to the homestead, Cora delved back into her training. Seeing Thomas had brought up nothing but bad memories, horrible nightmares, and reminders of how skilled she must be if she wanted to take him down along with the rest. The Assassin was a persistent, tough trainer, as always, and he pushed her to her limits.

She had named the golden dog Fionn, for her one of the stories her father had told her as a child, of a giant who had tricked his enemy into leaving by pretending to be an infant. She would always laugh, saying how silly the man's enemies must have been. The dog stayed dutifully by her, watching anxiously as she trained and giving a low growl when things got too serious for his liking. Cora adored him, but the Assassin was irritated by him. Fionn, affectionate as he was, desired nothing more than attention from the man, but the brute refused to so much as acknowledge him.

At the moment, Cora was almost wishing he would give her the same treatment.

Instead, he attacked her, again and again, trying to make her dodge and weave and be light on her feet. They had been at it for hours, and Cora was exhausted, yet the Assassin's stamina seemed to be unwavering. Though sweat covered his face and he breathed heavily, still he came at her hard, delivering blows and trying to get her to fight back.

Her limbs seemed to be disconnected from her brain, though, and she was failing miserably.

"Come on," he said, beckoning her between gasps of air.

Cora said nothing, trying to catch her breath as she dodged more of his attempts to get her.

"Come on, Cora."

The sound of her name was foreign and odd in his mouth, but it seemed to have the desired effect. She lunged at him, but her footing was lazy and he grabbed her shoulders, slamming her hard to the ground. The sound of the impact almost made him cringe, but she was up as quickly as she went down, and soon she was in his face, her face twisted with anger.

"What the hell was that about," she yelled, still breathless.

"You were not focused. Your enemy could easily take advantage of you if you are not paying attention. Every move must be intentional."

"Well you could have just said so, you did not need to slam me against the ground."

Perhaps she was right, but Connor shrugged. The Templars would not go easy on her just because she was exhausted, and she needed to learn that.

Cora was still seething, breathing heavily both with anger and exhaustion, and Connor beckoned her to follow him inside. Obviously if she was too tired to block a simple attack, training was over for the day.

"I have information that we should go over," he said, heading towards the house.

Cora released the balled tension in her fist, trying to let her anger go as she followed him. Besides, she would give anything just to sit down.

Once inside, the Assassin led her into the study before excusing himself to retrieve the rest of the documents from the basement. Bored and impatient, Cora began to study the papers that were already there. The first few were relatively unimportant – ledgers, the past arrivals of supply carts, changes of post. She almost missed the paper with Oliver's name on it.

Even the sight of his name made her feel woozy, but she shook it off, trying to summon focus as she read the paper. At first it was trivial things – when he would be meeting with other Templar leaders, what he was to be paid for a certain job. But then, at the bottom of the page was a date followed by a location.

Cora's heart almost stopped.

In her hands was information on the exact location of Oliver, of Thomas and the others... She could take them down. She could do it within weeks. Then, she would be free of the Assassin, free of her past. When the Assassin walked in, she thrust the paper out at him, anger again seeping into her veins.

"When were you planning to tell me about this," she said harshly, her voice dripping with venom. The Assassin sighed.

"Never."

"Excuse me?"

"I was not going to tell you," he said simply. Just as Cora began to protest and yell, he spoke again. "This is the precise reason I decided the information of Oliver's location would be best left out. It will do nothing but distract you. It is not yet time to strike. We still have much to figure out, and your training is not yet complete. If you want to face Oliver and end him, you will need a set of more complete, honed skills."

"This is ridiculous!" Her voice was raised and shrill, and though she knew deep down that he was probably right, the last thing she wanted was him telling her what she was and wasn't ready for.

"This is not the time for revenge, Cora."

She laughed icily, crossing her arms. "That is rich, coming from you, Assassin, especially since you seem so keen on getting revenge for past and your people."

"Enough." Cora could see him clench his jaw as he fought for control of his temper. Yet just as he was trying to keep his in check, she let hers run wild.

"For all your hate of the Templars trying to gain control, you are a lot like them, trying to manage my every thought and movement, attempting to control what I do."

"That is different," he said, his demeanor becoming more serious as her accusations grew.

"Bullshit!"

"Enough," another voice bellowed. Achilles entered the room, brows furrowed. "You two act like nothing more than squabbling children."

"But he is keeping things from me," Cora yelled in defense, throwing her hands wildly at the Assassin. The old man had to keep from rolling his eyes at how childlike she sounded.

"Cora, your pride is overwhelming," Achilles said simply. The smug look on the Assassin's face at his words gave Cora the desire to give him a good blow to that smirking mouth, but she simply balled her hands into fists, fighting to keep the anger down. "You argue only to assert your opinions and to prove to the other person that they are wrong. Arguing is a means to find the truth, not a game to see how quickly you can prove yourself correct."

At his words, Cora stayed her tongue, but the tension remained in her body. Perhaps he was right, but it was still wrong of the Assassin to keep such information from her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Assassin crossing his arms in satisfaction at the old man's words, and Cora's eyes narrowed at him just as Achilles' merciless cane pointed in his direction.

"Do not think you are blameless, Connor. You could do with some patience yourself. Listen to others. Understanding both your enemies and your partners is crucial to success. You aren't always right, either. A little empathy would do you well."

Just as the Assassin nodded grimly, looking like a young boy that had just been disciplined by his father, Cora put her hands on her hips and fought back a smile, earning an eye roll from Achilles.

"Honestly, I have the thought to send you both away for all the stupidity you bring into this house."

"All I am saying is that she needs to understand that if she wants to work with us, she has to work by the terms we have laid out, or we will never accomplish anything." The Assassin's voice was a low growl as he continued to insist he was in the right. Would he never stop? The persistence of that man drove Cora insane.

"To hell with your damn terms," Cora said, her voice thick with anger. "I am finished."

She bounded up the stairs so forcefully that Achilles was sure she would fall through the steps. As soon as he heard the door slam shut and felt the house rattle at the force of it, he turned his disapproving glance to his apprentice. Connor rolled his eyes at the girl's actions, crossing his arms stubbornly as he looked to the floor.

"I do not understand her. Every favor I try to give her offends her. Every move I make, every breath I breathe irritates her. I do not know how much longer I can stand her," Connor said, his voice rising as he went on. "She is stubborn and proud and wholly infuriating. I never should have brought her here."

"All of these things are true," Achilles agreed. "Yet perhaps you are too hard on the girl, just as you are often too hard on yourself. We do not know the things she has gone through, the things that have made her as she is. Neither does she know of you. You both lack understanding of the other, and neither of you desire to find it."

Connor sighed, sinking into a nearby chair. Achilles followed suit, lowering himself slowly into a chair across from him. The younger man stared at the floor, considering his mentors words.

"It is interesting," Achilles started, looking at Connor with a raised eyebrow.

"What is interesting?"

"That it seems the qualities in her that bring out your anger are the same ones she finds in you. Often I wonder what it really is that makes you two despise each other. Perhaps it is that you are able to recognize the similarities between you, the things that connect you."

"I am not like her," Connor said harshly, looking up from the floor with narrowed eyes.

Achilles did not respond for a moment, trying to keep the smile from his face. Indeed, the two were strikingly similar – both had a sense of arrogance, of impatience and pride. Clouded by their hatred, neither could truly see the other. Something had to be done if they were to get anywhere.

"I knew a young woman once," Achilles said quietly. "Outspoken, hardheaded, too rash and bold. Yet terribly intelligent, brave, carrying herself with a sense of strength buried deep within. The type of woman that excels in adversity."

Connor made no acknowledgment of the older man's words, but Achilles knew he was listening all the same.

"Your mother," he said quietly. At this, Connor's eyes met Achilles', his face softening. "Perhaps it will offend you if I say this, but the girl reminds me of her in many ways."

The younger man, busy with his thoughts, did not respond, and Achilles took his leave. It was always best to let the boy think things through himself, anyway. He had said all he could.

The summer air was warming, playing against her skin with every rush of the breeze. It was always so calm on the balcony, and Cora had found that she often retreated there when she tried to quell the storms within her.

The Assassin was intolerable. Yet still she stayed here, still she let herself be controlled and told what to do like some common work animal. Sighing, she crossed her arms and looked out into the trees. Perhaps she could leave, could run away and live in the wilds like the woman Myriam had done. She could hunt and sleep on the hunting blinds, and ask Myriam for pointers.

Cora almost laughed at herself. First off, she could never kill an animal. Funny as it was, no matter how many men's lives she had taken, she could never find it in her to harm an animal. It was peculiar and probably wrong, but what could be done... And Myriam! Cora had ventured into her hunting lands a few weeks earlier and the woman had chastised her, launching into some long speech that ended up in an argument. Ever since, Myriam had done nothing but glare at Cora if she saw her.

No, she would have to stay here. She had no choice...

The knock on the door shook her from her thoughts, and immediately Cora found the anger rise within her. How dare the Assassin show himself now, after all he had said to her!

She turned as she heard the door open, preparing to yell at him, but instead it was Achilles who had come.

"Achilles!"

"Expecting someone else?"

She shook her head, sighing as she made her way into the room. "I expect you've come to lecture me," she said wearily.

"I believe you got enough of that already," the old man said simply, pulling something out of his jacket pocket. "You forgot this downstairs," he said as he lay her sketchbook on the small table.

Cora flushed instantly, hoping he hadn't looked inside it. How had she been so careless? She had only just gotten it back, and now -

Her thoughts were interrupted by his hand leaving something else on the table next to the book. The chalks and charcoals were wrapped in a small cloth, and Cora fought the gasp from escaping her throat.

"Achilles," she said quietly, unwrapping them as if they were the most precious of diamonds. "I cannot accept this."

"My late wife loved to draw," he said sadly. "They are of no use to me now, anyway."

Cora looked up at him, trying to find words of thanks. Yet before she could mutter any, he turned to leave. Just before he reached the door, however, he turned back, pointing his cane at the black book laying on the table.

"I had better not see any more of your things laying around my house," he scolded before walking out, shutting the door behind him.

Cora could not hold back a soft laugh. Perhaps Achilles was not as bad as she had originally thought... Perhaps she even liked the old man.

A/N: Well there's that! This chapter is a little shorter than normal, but hopefully it's still good! I'm really excited about the next few chapters so hopefully I didn't rush through this one too much... The next chapter will mark a change in their relationship, but y'all will have to wait to see what that entails and how big a change it is! ;)

Vintage Ruiz - Thank you so much for your review! I can't tell you how much it means to me! I was definitely slacking on my writing until I saw it, so thanks for the motivation! I'm glad you're happy with the pace, I was wondering if people would think it was a bit too slow. But it shall be picking up soon, anyway... :) Not too fast, though! And about the romance... All in good time. ;)

PLEASE Y'ALL, DO NOT BE SILENT READERS! Please review and let me know what you liked, what was odd, etc.