A writing blog with a side of fandom content and questionable humor.
Navigation for my written works can be found at the top of the page. None of the rest of this is thoroughly tagged. Best of luck to you! :)
I set out with the intention to write 6 chapters over 6 weeks. It turned into 16 chapters over 6 years.
I got Black Flag on my 17th birthday, and now at 23 it remains my favorite story, full stop. I'm ready to move onto other projects, but I know I'll come back to these characters in time. Never at this length or with this attention to detail, probably, but I'm pleased with what I've accomplished here.
At the risk of sounding Oscars speech-y, I want to thank you all for giving this story the support that kept me coming back to it time and time again. I'd also like to thank my college roomie who has been beta-reading and cheer-leading for me these past two years. I never would have finished this story in a vacuum.
I hope you enjoy this last chapter of Come With Me Now!
Edward's final act as governor of his own little cove was to finally affix a proper headstone to his late wife's false grave.
He had delayed the task longer than he had originally intended when he had buried the box of her letters just over a year earlier. This was in part because he had grown rather fond of the grave marker Mary had fashioned from an old stool seat. The carvings had held up quite well in that time and it had individuality to it. The time had come, however, to leave Caroline with a memorial that would last in the absence of his care.
The date was October 1723. Edward and Mary had tied up their loose threads in the West Indies. The Assassins had finished shifting their base of operations to Great Inagua. There were no longer any pressing matters keeping them tied to the Americas, and their agreed-upon year had come to an end. The day had come to sail for England.
Edward had truly pushed off this task until the last available moment. Their crew – what men who had chosen to leave with them – were at the docks preparing the Jackdaw for the departure. Mary was in the manor giving each room a last comb-over to ensure they hadn't forgotten any necessary or treasured belongings in their packing. Meanwhile, Kenway was elbow-deep in the dirt with a trowel.
When the hole was reasonably deep enough to hold it firm, Edward shifted the tablet stone away from the tree where it had been propped up and lowered the bottom third into the earth. With a huff, he sat back on his knees to admire his work.
He reached out to brush his fingers across the engraving and muttered, "Two years, I promised you. It turned into eleven, but I'm leaving now. I'm coming back, and I'll come to visit you when I get there. That's a promise I'll keep. I do that these days… I'll find your real resting place, and I'll sit with you whenever I'm in Bristol, just as I have here beneath this tree the past year." He pulled his fingers back from the lines that traced out her name. "I'll see you so soon."
When he had finished repacking the earth around the new headstone, he rose, dusted himself off, and tucked the stool seat under his arm. He made for the house, taking in his lovely garden for the last time as he went. He was satisfied, on Ah Tabai's word, that the false grave would remain in place for as long as the Brotherhood held the cove.
He entered the main hall of the manor and was struck, as he always was, by the grandeur. His eyes fell over every painting and trinket he and his men had won on their travels and brought back there to adorn the walls of their base with. Every trophy, every scuff on the woodwork, every empty bottle told a story of a sailor truly living. He had built something out of this room, something he was proud of. Each of his finest deeds had come together in some way to scaffold what this cove had become.
Beyond the memories he shared with his crew in that house, it had been the cradle where his relationship with Mary had found its legs. She had been at his side when they'd taken the cove, had led him to the manor through the tunnel she'd found in its bowels. It had been in the office where she'd first urged him to the aid of the Assassins, at the docks where she'd invited him to Tulum, and on the patio where they'd finally torn down their defenses and begun to stitch their hearts into one.
He imagined, perhaps, that giving over guardianship of this cove and all its memories to his Assassin brothers would be a small glimpse of what he might one day feel when Jennifer was grown and married and starting a new life with a partner of her own. I cared for her. I watched her grow. I gave her what I had, and she turned it into something greater than myself. She has been my life's great joy, and now I trust you to treasure her the same.
He gave a bittersweet sigh, trailing his fingers over the rough, paint-chipped grain of the back of his usual chair at the head of the long banquet table. He allowed himself five long breaths to imprint the room in his mind's eye. Then, he left through the door opposite the one he had come in.
His heart smiled when his eyes fell on his wife. Mary sat at a small, round table in the sunshine just outside the door. On its surface rested two cups, a bottle of rum, and the journal that held her research and communications on Precursor artifacts. Her hair was tied up in her disguise as James Kidd, but she held herself as Mary. She had an easy set to her shoulders and mouth that told him she was relaxed, present in the moment, unconcerned about who was looking or how she was perceived.
"You didn't nearly forget that was locked in my desk, did you?" he asked, pulling out a chair for himself and gesturing to her notebook.
She offered him a warm smile and poured a drink into the empty cup, sliding it across the table. "I rather had a mind to keep it under lock and key 'til we were ready to sail." She shrugged. "It's too valuable to leave unattended on deck. It's a good job it didn't slip my mind though." She nodded toward the wooden grave marker he'd leaned against the leg of the table. "You bringing that along?" Her tone was amused.
He nodded with a humble grin. "I found it strangely difficult to part with," he answered around the rim of his cup. "Much like this here cove." He gestured generally with his gaze at the grandeur of their surroundings. He imagined their accommodations in London, once they'd settled, would be spectacular. There, however, in Great Inagua, he was a king, and a beloved one at that. He wondered if his heart would ever be graced by that feeling again, to be a leader among men alike in mind and purpose. He hoped he would, in some capacity or another. For all he knew though, he was leaving it behind on the docks.
Mary thumbed the handle of her mug thoughtfully. "I feel like I'm parting with Nassau all over again, though I didn't know that's what I was doing the last time I was there. I didn't know that was a final goodbye, the way I do now."
Edward nodded in mournful agreement. "I think I did. When Vane and I broke through that blockade with his fireship, there was something final about it. Perhaps I might return to the island, I had thought at the time, but our Republic, the community we had built with Thatch and Hornigold and all the rest, that had died the very day Rogers brought the King's Navy to our shores."
She reached across the table to give a reassuring touch to his hand that was picking at the grain of the wood. "At least we know this community here will stand long after we've left it to our stern."
He gripped her hand tightly in return and cast his gaze out over the valley below. From where he sat, he could just barely see the crosstrees of the Jackdaw and the rooftops of the trim shanties and huts of the village. The air buzzed with life and opportunity. The morning was late, and the sun shone high over the liveliness of his dominion. Its warmth was reflected in the pride he carried in his heart; no longer pride for who he was, but rather for what he had helped create.
A short distance down the patio, Assassins and pirates drank together at a large table by the banister. Smiles and friendly jests seemed to waft among them like a gentle breeze. For an endless moment, the scene shifted in Edward's eyes to one he had always dreamed of making a reality, but which had never borne fruit: his fellow devils of the sea, all gathered amicably at his manor, sharing a bottle with not a care in mind.
He saw Stede Bonnet, all draped in merchant's finery and smiles. The portly old chap had carried such a heart for adventure and contempt for domesticity, though perhaps piracy had not been the optimal way for him to explore those sentiments. Such a kind-hearted man had not deserved to meet his maker at the hangman's noose. Edward prayed, wherever his widow and children were, that they were well and remembered Stede fondly.
At Bonnet's side sat Vane. As brash and uncorked as he'd always been, Edward had truly liked Charles and counted him as a friend. The man had had a clever eye for mischief and malfeasance that he expected would not find its parallel in their lifetimes. That was how he wanted to remember Vane, and that was how he envisioned him at that table. His eventual madness and betrayal were long forgiven and forgotten.
The counterbalance to Vane's cockiness that had thrown Edward's life expertly askew was Jack Rackham's wildness. A true beast with a bottle, he'd been, and there was little love lost between them. So many evils of past years had been set in motion by that catalyst of a man. Edward could forgive him for all but that which had cost Anne and Mary so dearly. That grudge was not yet ready to die. Despite it all, Calico Jack had been an influential figure in Nassau and Kenway's youth all the same, and they'd shared more than a few jovial pints in the golden days of their pirate republic. He appeared at the table in Edward's mind's eye with the rest, his cheek propped on his fist and a tipsy, peaceful grin on his face.
His feelings about Hornigold, seated across the table, were perhaps the most complicated he held for any of his old friends. None of the men he'd killed before or since had cursed him with as many sleepless nights. He respected Ben, truly, in spite of how things had ended up. The mentor to his mentor, he'd been a man of true esteem and poise. He'd always been searching for something bigger, something more meaningful than even Nassau could provide. They'd had that in common. Regrettably, however, Hornigold had found it in the Templars. Edward knew his friend believed he'd found the answer to poverty, disease, oppression, all of it, and that Torres had held the key to prosperity for every man. Perhaps there was some kernel, some seed of goodness to the world their Order sought to bring forth, but Kenway was equally convinced that no mortal man could hold such a powerful key and not be corrupted by it. It was that corruption that had led Benjamin to his end on Edward's blade, but as the Assassin reflected on the days the old man had spent carefully training him to command the respect of his crew and fear of his victims, he knew he would only remember Hornigold in fond terms.
At Ben's side, he pictured Anne. Sweet, sweet Anne, with flowers in her hair and a confidence in her manner that the most lush and arrogant man in their ranks could never hope to rival. She'd been a perplexing blend of crass and elegant that had brought joy to all who were blessed to have known her. In truth, her death had rattled him to his core because he had truly thought her invincible against all the particular evils these islands had to bear. She'd been an angel in a hellhole and had not earned her fate. Her loss had been the final, great failing of Edward's greed and hubris. If he was cursed to live in a world where her absence echoed so loudly, he would do his very best to honor her with his life.
Bernard Kenway had been an outstanding father, as they come, but Edward had been a less than exemplary son. For the boy that he had been when he'd reached the West Indies, however, Thatch had been the father he'd needed. He saw him then, sitting at the head of the table where he belonged, just as he had sat at the head of Nassau. Edward still felt his absence in every room of important people. When decisions were being made, plans being laid, he often found himself pausing to give space for the gruff words of wisdom that would never again come. Fuck this world and fuck its gold, Edward thought, remembering his mentor's final words. You were always a hero to your men, Thatch. He and everyone he'd known and loved in the past decade would be forgotten by history as scoundrels and traitors, he knew that, but Jenny and any siblings she might have would be raised on bedtime stories of Blackbeard, the most fearsome and admirable pirate who ever lived. If his descendants knew the name, that would be enough. Edward Thatch deserved a legacy.
Mary squeezed his hand lightly, jarring him out of his reverie. She gave him a sad, knowing smile. "The ghosts haunt you too, do they?"
He nodded, blinking against the stinging in his eyes. The men at the table morphed back into their brothers and crewmen. "In every tavern. At every party."
Her gaze was sorrowful and understanding. "Any place where men are drunk and merry." She raised her glass a little higher before bringing it to her lips, a small, private toast to those lost. "London society could never appreciate the pleasures of frivolity as they did."
He tapped his mug to hers. "Of the things we're leaving behind, I think I'll miss them most of all."
"You don't think they'll follow us to England?" Her tone was sad, but unsurprised.
"They belong here. If we'd died a handful of years back, we'd belong here too. Our memories will go where we do, but their spirits will remain in these jungles." He paused for a moment. "Perhaps one day we'll join them." He was almost hopeful they might.
Mary smirked. "If we live long enough to come back here, I doubt I'll want to live long enough to leave twice." She stood, pulling him to his feet by their linked hands. "But until then, we're needed a long way from here. Come on now. It's time we're off."
Edward picked up Caroline's makeshift headstone and Mary pocketed her not notebook. Leaving the bottle on the table behind, they descended the steps toward the gate that led to town. He stopped them there to turn back toward the manor for a final time. He pictured the ghosts at the table once more, imagining himself almost able to hear Anne's singsong voice and Thatch's wheezing laughter on the wind. It would have been a privilege to sail away with any one of them, but he was taking the one friend he truly had to have at his side. That would have to be enough for this lifetime.
He turned and kissed his wife, long and gentle. "The only place I'm needed is wherever you happen to be."
A small crowd had gathered on the docks for their departure. Their crewmen were saying goodbye to their loved ones, having a last cup of rum with their friends, pleading with their favorite dancers to stay in their arms just a moment longer and cry a little when they left port. A number of them, Edward knew, had intent to return after a year or two, but none seemed to be able to resist the sentimentality and celebrity of such a departure.
He and Mary made a point to stop and shake the hand of each captain in their fleet as they pushed toward the Jackdaw. At the gangplank of their vessel, Ikal and Glenna were helping load the last crates of supplies. Glenna gave them polite smiles but moved out of their way without a word. It was as warm of farewell as Kenway had hoped to receive. Ikal, in contrast, passed off the crate in his arms to another sailor in order to address them. Edward placed the stool seat on top of it as the man passed him to board the ship, intending to collect it later once he had his crew settled on the open sea.
"I wouldn't worry about her, were I you," he said with a touch of affection and a smirk about his partner. "She bears you no ill will anymore, though I doubt your absence will be greatly noted."
"I would expect nothing more," Mary laughed. She pulled him into an amicable embrace. "I'm glad to part as friends, truly."
"I am, as well," he agreed, releasing her.
Edward offered his hand, which Ikal took without hesitation. "I can never repay you for the service you did our family in helping to find Jennifer."
Ikal smiled pleasantly. "No, I don't suppose you can." With a last nod to Mary, he followed Glenna down the docks.
Edward and Mary exchanged an amused glance and boarded their ship. He greatly doubted they'd ever hear from that pair again.
The deck was all a bustle of activity as final preparations were made for departure. Massey darted in front of them, doing his best to chase the black and white cat that hunted their rats down below deck where it would not get under foot. Jenny toddled over to them, awkwardly carrying the fluffy gray tabby that loved Mary so well. The animal was nearly as long as the girl was tall, and it hung limply with its forelegs stuck straight out ahead. Its expression was unsettled but it didn't make any effort to wriggle free of her grasp. Edward had never met such a tolerant animal, though he'd still rather have a dog. Cats might be better mousers on ships, but wouldn't do much in the way of protecting an estate, he expected.
"What a wonderful helper you are! Thank you for catching that kitty!" he praised his daughter. Mary scooped the cat up and Edward bundled Jenny into his arms.
"Uncle Muh-see not help!" she pointed out, clearly amused by her babysitter's lack of success. She was all smiles that morning.
"No, he's no help at all, is he?" he encouraged, nuzzling his nose against hers, making her scrunch up her face and giggle.
A frazzled Massey worked his way back toward them after securing the first cat below deck. Mary passed the other off to him and it leaned into his embrace eagerly. "I don't suppose you'd stay on as our governess when once we've established ourselves in England?" Mary chided warmly.
The lad gave a playful huff. "As it happens, I've secured employment already." The news clearly excited him. "Bell's sister was recently married to an horologist's son in the city, and the family was gracious enough to offer us positions at the shop. We'll mostly be running errands, delivering clocks and the like, but I'm hopeful the old man will teach us the trade one day." He cast their daughter an affectionate grin. "We'll cross paths at the London bureau though, I'm sure, and I imagine I'll call on you often. Any chance to see the little Lady Jenny." The girl clapped at the sound of her name. She reached out her arms for him and Edward passed her over.
"Well, we're glad you're coming with us all the same," Edward patted Massey on the back as he and Jenny made their way to the upper deck. The young sailor nodded to Adéwalé and Ah Tabai as they passed on the stairs.
"It's hard to believe you won't be here tomorrow," Adé greeted his old captain with a firm hug.
"I'm in as much disbelief about it as you are, mate," Edward breathed.
"Have you decided on a heading?" his friend asked.
"Bristol!" he declared. "I've got some business I need to settle there before I can truly begin my life anew. Once we've finished, we'll find somewhere to settle for good."
"If the wind ever carries you to England, you'll have a warm bed and a seat at our table," Mary assured him as they hugged as well. "You need only ask. Both of you."
"I do not think our kind would be welcomed in such a corner of the world," Ah Tabai sighed. "but there will always be a home for you and your family in these waters if you find yourselves dissatisfied with the stillness of high society."
She smiled warmly. "I doubt either of us will ever be truly still. We'll keep that close in mind, though." She turned to Adé again and procured the small notebook from her coat. She pressed it into his hands. "These are all the notes I have from my communications with our brothers in the colonies. I've written ahead for you, so they'll know of my departure by now. They're chasing some fascinating leads on Precursor sites at the moment. I expect you'll enjoy the work."
He took the notes with a grateful nod. "Perhaps we're due for a meeting, too. I would like to see more of the Americas before my days are done." He clasped Mary and Edward by the shoulders, like he had when marrying them. "My dear friends, you'll write when you've safely landed. Understood?"
They smiled and nodded, hugging him together once more.
Edward turned to Ah Tabai and they clasped forearms in farewell. "Mentor," he started. "I must thank you. You gave me a final chance to prove myself, and I hope I've done justice to the faith you placed in me."
Ah Tabai laughed and held up his hands. "I cannot accept your thanks. In truth, I had given up on you, Edward Kenway. It was Mary who forced my hand, and I cannot say I am sad to see that her instinct continues to prove fruitful." He bowed his head. "Safe travels. May you honor the Creed, and may it bring you honor." He left them then, and Adéwalé followed him off the ship.
Mary and Edward waved them off. "I must say, I'll dearly miss his gravitas," he laughed. She rolled her eyes with a small smile.
Around them, the bustle was beginning to quiet. Preparations were largely finished and those who were not leaving with them began to disembark. The two of them moved toward the starboard side so as not to stand in the way. Men said their fond goodbyes as they passed. Edward knew each by name and did his best to etch their faces into his memory. He glanced over at Mary and could see by the set of her face that the weight of their departure was setting in for her.
Her hand went to her belt, settling on the ruby hilt of the dagger he'd gifted her so long ago, Venganza. Revenge. She pulled it free, balancing the weight between her palms, and looked at him. After a quiet moment, she said, "I don't need this anymore…" The words lingered on her tongue, like she was coming to grips with them in that very moment.
He laid his hand over hers. The steel between their fingers chilled his skin. "Then don't bring it with you."
She nodded and pulled back. Her fingers wrapped naturally around the well-worn leather grip and she paused, indulging in the sensation of its weight in her hand for a moment. Then she turned on her heel and pitched the dagger over the side of the ship, far out into cove. It sliced quietly through the gentle waves and sank, taking pains of the past along with it.
He set a hand on her shoulder and she sighed, seeming to release a weight off her heart. She looked back at him and there was new light in her eyes. "I'm ready now."
He smiled and led the way to the helm.
Jenny had settled to the right of the wheel with a toy. Looking at her then, Edward could scarcely believe he'd ever worried he might not love her. She had so much Mary in her, and a spirit uniquely her own. Every small thing she did or said was a marvel to him.
He was, for a moment, plagued by self-doubt, as he was more occasionally than he would have liked. The Atlantic crossing was not an easy journey. The life that waited for them on the other side was hardly safe, either. His mind went back to his argument with Mary on the evening of their marriage. A choice, he reminded himself, that was their agreement. In spite of his concerns, he could never quite bring himself to feel guilty for taking her away from the safety of the family that had once adopted her. He knew that, had she stayed with them and grown up as Maria Reyes, she would have known nothing but the easy and proper life he wished for her. A small part of him did mourn that loss for her. At his core, though, he must admit that he was still too selfish to truly regret taking it away from her. She belonged with her mother, and with him. In that sense, paired against that alternative, a choice was a blessing. A choice was enough. He couldn't wait to see what she would someday do with it.
"Captain!" Bell called, interrupting Edward's thoughts. The young sailor came to join them, Massey on his tail. "The men are ready to depart. Would you like to take the helm today, or shall I?"
Edward waved him off. "If this is the last time we'll steer the Jack out of this port, I would prefer to do it myself."
"You two go help at the mainmast," Mary suggested. 'We'll handle things up here.
"As you command, Master Kidd," Bell nodded. The set of his mouth was eager, excited. "We'll wait for your call." The two lads descended to their posts.
Edward huffed and tentatively curled his fingers around the underside of one handle on the wheel. He glanced down to his right palm and the long, white scar that ran across the skin there. It was the one Mary had given him when he had attacked her in his desperate panic at the Assassin graveyard, thinking her a ghost. The memory seemed so far away, though the mark was among the more recent that adorned his body. He pulled his gaze away from the thin, pale line and onto his wife at his side as she lifted their daughter to her hip. Jenny grabbed at the beads in Mary's hair – twins to those he still wore on his necklace – making her smile and shake her head to toss them around for the toddler's amusement. She noticed his stare as she did so and paused, giving him a puzzled look. He smiled back at her and touched his hand to her shoulder in their familiar gesture of trust and reassurance.
"I'm ready now too."
With a grin, she clasped his shoulder in return and glanced out over the deck. "Ready, lads!" she called out. "Loose all! Let's catch the wind!"
For as stuffy as the Assassins could be, the initiation party they threw Edward had knocked him flat on his ass.
He woke to a beam of light breaking through the trees. The sun hung in the sky at just the right angle to draw long across his eyeline, rousing him from the depths of his drunken slumber. Pulled somewhere near what could be called consciousness, his eyelids fluttered open, drowsy, and his gaze fell on the pink and orange sky, brimmed by the jungle canopy. He admired how easily their colors faded into one another, how he couldn't quite identify where one ended and the other began, or what the shade between the two might be called. It occurred to him, blearily, that he had slept through most of the day. It was justified, he supposed, given that they had celebrated through most of the night, but he still felt like a tad of a slob in his sauce for it.
He sat up slowly. His head span and his mouth was as dry as the soft earth beneath his fingers. At his feet were the charred remains of a bonfire, each of the coals blackened and free of any lingering warmth. Around the perimeter, he was able to identify the sleeping forms of a number of his friends. To his left, he found Mary asleep on her stomach. Rhona was stretched out perpendicularly on her other side, using the small of her back as a pillow. He smiled warmly. He knew them to be old friends, bonded from their Novice days, but they scarcely saw each other anymore. Rhona headed the Havana bureau those days and Mary seemingly sailed back and forth across every island but Cuba. It warmed his heart to watch them reconnect whenever their paths did cross.
His eyes fell to Mary's left hand, resting gently in front of her face. He could almost imagine her two shortened fingers whole again, the tips hiding in the patchy grass. He reached over and brushed the calloused skin along her knuckles lovingly, cherishing the moment of silent closeness. Stretching out his fingers, he laid them softly between hers. His brand stung, still fresh from the previous night's ceremony but slowly beginning the healing process. It was mirrored on her own ring finger, an inch below the severed tip. The finger held two burn scars in total, one much rougher and older than the other. Her brand was pink and weathered, somewhat jagged around the edges. The Observatory had been surgical in its amputation, but the skin that had healed over the third knuckle was much darker, almost black in the low light of dusk. He was grateful that her Assassin's mark had been spared in the accident.
The first sign of Mary's waking came from her fingers as he studied them. They reached and twisted back to lock with his. Her eyes fluttered open slowly and the muscles along her arm trembled as she stretched her shoulders and back, likely tight from the night's rough accommodations. The motion roused Rhona.
"Blimey," the latter woman complained as she pressed her palm to the side of her head. "How much did you lot let me drink last night?" She wobbled a bit as she pulled slowly into a seated position, supporting herself with her free hand against the dirt.
Edward chuckled and gestured at the spread of empty bottles around their perimeter. Several sat near minute divots in the dirt, as though they'd been thrown down with some force. A few were shattered, leaving behind a brilliant mosaic of brown and green. They'd have to clean those up later, lest Jenny or one of her friends found the shiny shards. "There wasn't much stopping you, mate. And I was in no condition to try, neither."
Mary groaned. "I'm going to hope I didn't drink my full share of those. Not that I can remember enough of the night to be sure." She and Edward laughed together at that, both knowing she had probably, in fact, put the rest of them under the table. He kissed her sweaty brow and she reached out to pull free the sloppy knot of hair at the nape of his neck. She shook it loose with her fingers, knocking out the caked-in clods of earth.
The sound of their voices stirred their sleeping friends at the other end of the ashy fire pit. Adéwalé sat against a tree with his chin to his chest and hands folded across his lap, looking somehow more stately than slovenly. As he stirred, he pushed his drawn hood back and rubbed the sweat off his bare scalp. To his side, Ikal and his partner, Glenna, were curled up together, slowly disentangling from each other's embrace.
"You smell that?" Rhona asked as Edward scrounged through their assortment of bottles in search of some leftover Hair of the Dog.
"Aye," Adé agreed around a yawn, somehow in a perkier state than the rest. "Smells like my supper!" Edward's old quartermaster wasn't often found in his cups and didn't lust for rum as most pirates did, but Kenway suspected that was in part because he didn't feel its effects so strongly as most did.
Together, they all got to their unsteady feet and followed the tempting aroma toward the beach. The enticing odor of the evening's dinner on the fire wafted across the air more strongly when they reached the sandy ship cove, whipped up by gentle coastal winds. Edward's stomach turned unsteadily. He was starving, but at the same time he couldn't imagine keeping anything down for the next week.
They found Jenny sitting opposite Bell, both rolling a wooden ball back and forth between themselves, carving a marginally deeper path in the fine sand with each pass. Massey tended to a pot over a fresh bonfire. The young pair of friends had graciously offered to babysit for the night and day as an initiation present to their captain. It was true, he and Mary made a formidable working team, but their relationship was undeniably colored by their separate and shared responsibilities, both to their crew and to their order. What moments they could find for themselves were more valuable now than any treasure in the Jackdaw's hold. Bell and Massey seemed to understand this. Ever since the duo had begun their Assassin training, they'd become trusted insiders on their crew, among the few to know Mary's true identity. Kenway looked out for his men and it had certainly won him the loyalty of these two.
"What are you drawing up for us tonight?" Mary called out as they approached. She had pulled up her own hair, granting the breeze leave to cool her neck. The evening was a pinch too humid for her liking, Edward knew. He was tempted by the thought of a swim.
"A fine pork stew for the captain!" Massey announced. The lad had always had a taste and talent for the finer aspects of cooking. Their supper was sure to satisfy.
"Jaysus, you all look a right mess!" Bell greeted their group. "I didn't think such a stoic clan had it in them!" He laughed, surely pondering embarrassing events from the night before that none of them would be able to recall.
Mary laughed weakly. "We're not saints, lad, no more so than yourself, and even the Pope likes his wine now and again." She toasted this with a swig from a bottle of grog she had lifted from Massey's cooking equipment.
The salty air whipped up around them with a gentle gust, swirling the smell of the pig all around. Edward pulled Mary tight to his side as they settled onto the sea-bleached logs surrounding the fire. In spite of the pounding in his head, he was bright in spirit. Surrounded by his dearest friends, his family, he was home.
______________________
Those moments like sticks and stone
Break your bones and draw your tears
Well these words, they’ll hold
And let time unfold
______________________
Edward's head broke through the surf. Salt water dripped off his lips as they parted to breathe, some reaching his tongue. The taste, which he used to find unpleasantly intense, he now almost enjoyed. He felt he could finally understand the appeal of the salt licks they used to give the barn animals back in Bristol.
Kicking hard against the current, he pushed back toward his partner. Mary sat in the shallows where the tide rose and gently fell but never fully receded. After their pork feast, the temptation of a twilight swim had been too great to resist. Mary had led him down the beach, leaving their friends behind to tell stories of the night before. They had wandered for some time before coming to the isolated cove where she had spent many days training him when he'd first come to Tulum to stay. Those days seemed a world away now, their reunion in the graveyard and weeks getting reacquainted, preparing for the most ambitious contracts of, hopefully, their lives.
Free from the water's grip, he crouched at her side and pressed a large shard of an opulent shell into her hand. "What about this one?"
Mary grinned at the specimen in her palm. "Might want to dull the edges a bit, but I think it'll make a fine add." She stood, stirring up the sand beneath her and making the water murky. Together, they trudged back to where they had left their bulkier clothes. Mary knelt to add the shard to a small pile of shells and pretty stones they had gathered along their walk to include in Jenny's collection.
Edward collapsed in the sand, exhausted from his dive. The last lights of the setting sun had vanished beyond the world's end, and stars were beginning to pattern the sky in full force. Mary stretched out alongside him, and he inched over to lay his head in the nook between her collarbone and breast. She lifted her hand, pointing at the hazy constellations. "That cluster of five over there..." She gestured at a collection of particularly bright dots. "What do you think the astronomers call them?"
Edward pondered that for a moment. They were arranged a bit like a house, or a square with a pointy hat. "Well that's plainly Turtle Major," he asserted. "You see those trails off the back? The flippers, those are, certainly."
Mary snorted in her laughter. "Aye, I see it."
Edward nodded. "That's not to be confused with Ernest the Fish Man, from the Greek myth about the man who was turned into a fish."
"No?" Mary asked, laughing harder. "Where's he then?"
"Over there," Edward gestured to a constellation to the east.
"What, the row of four? That's just a line, not a fish man!"
Edward shrugged. "Oi, I didn't name them! You'll have to ask the astronomers."
Mary huffed in amusement and kissed the crown of his head. "I love our nights like this," she sighed after a moment, running her hand selfishly across the expanse of his bare chest, wiping away lingering droplets from the sea as she went.
"They are far too few and spaced apart," he agreed with a tone of contentment. He reveled in her closeness. It had been roughly two years since their reunion, and nearly one since admitting their love for one another, but their lifestyle didn't lend itself to gratuitous intimacy. Despite that, or perhaps as a fortunate byproduct of it, he still managed to feel giddy in the moments where he could touch all the lines of her form without watching eyes.
However, laying there in a quiet embrace with eyes growing heavy, something became unsettled within Edward's mind. His heart was intertwined inextricably with Mary's and he carried with him a sense of intimacy, of a mutual, complete knowing of the other. Yet, despite this, he felt a small wedge in the center of that embrace; a trace of their one fundamental disagreement.
"Mary," Edward began, interrupting the easy silence. He anchored himself to the steady rise and fall of her breathing. "I think we should talk about yesterday."
Something in his tone seemed to tip her off to the scene he was thinking of. "I suppose we have to." She lifted a hand to gently run her fingers through his hair. "I'm beginning to suspect we have different plans for Jenny. Would you agree?"
He frowned and, with a deep breath, stated simply, "I don't like the idea of her beginning any training. I don't want this life for her."
Mary huffed, but the sound was warm. "I had worked out as much, though I am left wondering why."
Edward had to admit that he struggled with the why of it. He loved this life, the life he and Mary shared. Neither of them was suited to the civilian way. They'd each come to it in their own unique paths that had led them to each other and had both thoroughly enjoyed most of the journey there. What bits had left their hearts heavy, they carried together. Jennifer, though… she had a chance. Perhaps she had it in her to be soft, to be gentle, to live a life free of blood, pain, and death. "It's dangerous," he concluded. She had become a princess to him, his darling girl. "I want her safe."
He felt Mary nod in sincere agreement. "I want that for her too. I want her free from danger." She pulled away, and they both shifted so that they sat facing one another in the sand. Her look was firm, yet open. "But do you know what's dangerous? Being a woman in a man's world. There are so many perils that lay in the road ahead of her that may never even occur to you, Templars be damned. This girl is going to be able to fend for herself. I want her safe, but not living some sterile existence where she's at the mercy of a husband to vanquish any evil or inconvenience that bedevils her, and to not be that evil, himself. Men fail. Men die. I want freedom for her, Edward. I want liberty and opportunity." She leaned forward for emphasis, resting one forearm on her knee. Her fingers were curled passionately into her palm but there was no aggression in the fist they made.
He reached out for her folded hand, brushing his thumb reassuringly over her scarred and scabbed knuckles. "No one can touch her, Mary," he impressed. "All this time, these years that I have chased power and influence, it's all for her now. All that I am, all that I've become is for you and for her. The whole of our Order dotes on her. Our current resources are unmatched. She's untouchable. We can make certain of it."
Mary narrowed her eyes, and her hand didn't grasp his in return. "You and I have cut down far more powerful folk than ourselves, remember. Resources means nothing if someone with conviction is after you. You can't protect her. Neither can I. We lost her for nearly two years already. I won't have her defenseless if something were to happen to us, not when there's clearly a better way."
He shook his head, unconvinced. "Death is inevitable. Don't think that I don't know that. But I don't want her living the whole of her life preparing for an attempt on it that may well never come. When we go to London, things will be different there. The scores that we've settled in the West Indies won't chase us there. We can build a life for her that's worlds apart from what you and I lived through growing up. Her existence will be one of esteem and ease. Any number of powerful families will clamber to secure her hand for their sons! High-class ladies don't have to fuss about anything more taxing than hosting dinner parties and entertaining their husbands' business partners. How can you not want that for her?"
Mary sighed, visibly weary with his stubborn attitude. "If that's what she wants, I won't begrudge her. But I need her to have options. We can't shield her from everything, though God willing we'll both stay kicking about long enough to try. I don't want her to have to survive as I've had to, but she'll have to know how to fend for herself if the worst comes to pass." She glanced away, gazing out at the dark horizon over the sea.
Edward squeezed her hand. "I'll concede, no woman should be left defenseless. A few of your knife tricks up her sleeve and no common man will dare cross her. I promise you, though. She'll never have to struggle for base survival as you once did."
Mary's eyes broke from the waves and turned back to him. There was a look in them that he hadn't seen in some time, but it set him back on his heels just as quickly as it had in his youth. Sternly, she corrected, "You know as well as I that she won't be up against just common men. She's barely two years hatched, and she's already become collateral damage in a war as old as mankind itself. You can't truly think that an advantageous marriage will save her from her part in it. I know you've seen enough by now to understand the truth. You've come too far. Don't trade one folly for another." Her tone was pointed and left no gaps to expose self-doubt. Her convictions on the matter were clear and certain.
Edward was quiet for a long moment. He didn't have a good response to that argument. Was he, indeed, foolish to think he could separate her from this dark current of history? His view of the conflict was so intimate, he imagined himself part of a privileged few with access to the truth. In his mind, he fantasized of keeping Jenny separate from it all, keeping her a part of the blissfully ignorant many. Perhaps, however, she was born tragically too close to it all. Perhaps it was unavoidable, an inevitability.
With a sigh, he relented. He didn't agree with her, but she was the wind that had always carried him to shore and he couldn't afford to be at odds with her. He knew by now that ignoring her wisdom would leave him adrift. "I've worked on ships since I was just a boy in pursuit of one thing: trying to provide for my family. Whenever I imagined having children with Caroline, I pictured having the ability to drape them in the finest fabrics and pay for the finest tutors just as Caroline's parents had given her. I wanted any daughters I might be given to have the skills necessary to marry well and find someone who would protect them when I no longer can. Never once did I imagine they might learn how to clean blood that wasn't their own from their blouses, or how to sever an artery beyond hope of repair." He laughed darkly. "I wanted so badly to be a proper father, with proper daughters who could fit into society in a way that I have never been able to. I still want that. I want to provide for her and give her the choice of ease that I never had."
Mary sighed, considering his words. "There are many things less easy in this world than the life of an Assassin, Edward. Chiefly among those is a woman without a father or a husband, and it's all too easy to lose those if you have them. I did. If I'd been raised any other more conventional way than how I was, I could very well be working the streets or dead. No amount of money in my father's pocket would have changed that. If you die, Jenny can't inherit a coin of yours. You are right that we live deadly lives, you and I, but that won't change. We've made our oaths. We're in this for life, by choice. Aye, Jenny hasn't chosen this, and I'll be happy enough to give her the option to leave it all behind when she's old enough. Until then, though, I'll be bloody well damned if I'm going to let anyone stop me from giving her every opportunity to make her own way in the world first."
Edward nodded thoughtfully. A choice. A chance. He could live with that. "All right, then. It's settled. We'll raise her as a woman of substance, with every opportunity money can buy. Education, status, all of it. We'll also train her in the ways of the Order. When she comes of age, it'll be up to her to decide what life she wants to lead. Until then, we open every door for her that we can find and close none."
The tension in Mary's fingers relaxed. She nodded slowly, smiling gently. "I think that's a deal I can make."
Edward reached out and brushed her cheek. She raised her eyes to his, and there was peace in them. "I know she's your daughter. She's not my blood, but I see her as my daughter, too. I have every intention of being a father to that girl, and a partner to you. The two of you are my family, and I will always respect your authority when it comes Jenny, but I want to be partners in her rearing. I will take every full responsibility due to the father of a daughter and the husband of a powerful woman."
The slightest smirk touched her lips. "Oh, a husband?" She crawled forward, into his lap, and wrapped her legs around his waist. With her arms draped over his shoulders and her lips on his cheek, she whispered. "I do think I'd like to be married to you."
______________________
Guided only by the light of the moon ahead and the bonfire behind, Edward and Mary waded hand-in-hand behind Adéwalé out into the cove. When they were waist deep, Kenway's old quartermaster turned to face them. "Are you ready?" he asked.
"Are you?" his new quartermaster countered. Adé did look a tad nervous.
"Some of us have never participated in a wedding ceremony before. I can only do my best," he countered. Mary and Edward chuckled. They'd both been married before and had been subconsciously preparing for this for some time. Adé had been thrown into the mix just five minutes earlier.
They had decided not to wait any longer. They'd been joined in spirit for months. All that remained was to make it official. They didn't have a minister present, but they did have a ship's captain and open water readily available. Their witnesses watched excitedly behind them from the shore.
Adé took a deep breath, placed a hand of each of their shoulders, and looked up at the sky. "Almighty God, I have brought these souls before you to unite them as one in your eyes." He dropped his gaze back to the couple. "Edward Kenway. Mary Read. Is it your wish to take the vows of marriage?"
They nodded and, with shared smiles, confirmed, "It is."
Adé turned first to Edward, then shrugged. "Alas, I do not know any vows, so I will ask that you make your own."
Edward pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. His first wedding had been in the village chapel, with a proper priest and a strict script. It had been a rather mindless process, to be frank. As he gazed at Mary, he found himself at a total loss for words. What could he possibly say to do justice to the gift she was giving him? Stifling jealousy for the time he was buying Mary to prepare her own words, he eventually stammered the sentiments he had long held private in his heart. "I, Edward, take you, Mary, to be my wedded wife, my partner, and my guide. I have spent many years battling against your wisdom, all for the ruin of myself and those who dare to get close enough to me. I vow to honor your decision to stand by my side by submitting myself, mind and soul, to your love, to your counsel, and to the service of your happiness. With God as my witness, I make this vow to you."
His view of Mary's warm smile of acceptance was obscured by the gathering mist in his eyes. "I, Mary, take you, Edward, to be my wedded husband, my partner, and dearest friend," she responded. Her voice was steady, but had an edge that hinted she, too, was holding back strong emotion. "You have grown into a man I greatly admire and strongly wish to tie myself to for the rest of my days. I vow to walk with you through all of life's terrors, to come with you on every adventure, and to be with you, always, be it in body or in spirit. With God as my witness, I make this vow to you."
The smile Adé gave them showed mingled pride and warmth. "My friends, your souls have been bound together by the Assassin's Creed, and now I have the greatest pleasure of joining them again in the bonds of marriage." He raised his voice so as to be heard by the small throng of onlookers at the fireside. "I now pronounce you Edward and Mary Kenway, man and wife!" Adé nodded to Edward. "Kiss your bride, breddah!"
With a smirk, Mary threw an arm around Edward's neck and pressed her lips forcefully to his. Snickers and joyous whoops from the beach mingled around them with the soft song of the lapping waves. Kenway's heart soared like a seabird as he wound his arms around her waist and pulled her tight to him, never to let go again.
______________________
From courthouse to crackhouse, baby
I’ll follow you blindly, let me
And let all your sins
Come stumbling in
______________________
AN: I live in Seattle, which is one of the hardest-hit areas of the US in terms of COVID-19 infections. Hence, I am on lockdown and have plenty of time for writing. The next chapter will be the last, and I am starting on it today. Our journey together is coming to a close after six very long years.
I have other projects in the works, and I'm excited to explore other worlds outside 1700s Assassin's Creed. This story is my heart, though, and I plan to revisit it soon in the form of a Mary POV prequel someday. I don't think I'll ever write another behemoth like this one until I get around to writing an original novel, but this has really shown me what I'm capable of, given the time.
As always, please leave a review if you feel compelled to do so, and shout out to my lovely Beta Reader!
I’m currently finishing up my quarantine for a suspected case of the COVID-19, so I’ve had some time to get some writing done. Mixed feelings about that, but yay!
Anyway, the good news: the next chapter has been finalized and shipped off to my Beta Reader. She’s finishing up her last finals of undergrad right now, so it might be a few days before she gets to it. But it’s coming your way soon!
The sadder news: I have started drafting the final chapter of Come With Me Now. This May will be six years since I started writing this, and I am so beyond grateful for everyone who has patiently waited out this journey with me. I’m working part-time from home this week in my social distancing efforts, so I may be able to finish by next week. However, don’t take my promises about my writing timeline seriously AT ALL because as the last six years of delayed publish dates show, my word ain’t worth shit.
I plan to read through the story in its entirety today and tomorrow so that I’m sure I’m in the right headspace going into this last chapter. Then I plan to write it the way I started: by hand, in the same composition book where I drafted the first 3 or so chapters. Yes, I’m sentimental as fuck.
I don’t want to say goodbye for this one, but I’ve told the story I set out to tell. It’s time. <3
With a tired grunt, Edward gave Bell an approving clap on the back. His young helmsman had taken some rough tumbles during their climbing exercises that morning. The boy's arms were textured with a dozen long scratches from the tree branches, some already caked with drying blood soon to be replaced by clean scabs. His balance was exceptional for a novice by any objective standard, clearly honed by his years of scaling ratlines and manning a deck in all manner of weather. For the sake of stealth, however, he lacked refinement. Moving silently through the jungle canopy was a skill that came naturally to very few, and Bell was no exception. He'd begun making great strides since becoming an Assassin novice some two months prior, but he had a way yet to go.
"Your improvements are palpable, but you're prioritizing speed over precision," Edward huffed, trying to sound encouraging through his breathlessness. "Timing is your dearest friend, don't forget. You won't gain an instinct for it overnight, but the payout is worth it in the long-term if you look for opportunities to practice. If you are overeager, it will be your downfall." His eyes scanned the younger man's marked-up skin. "And I mean that quite literally."
The boy chuckled. "Aye, I'll slow it down next time, shall I, Captain?" He gestured with his chin down the path toward the village. "Now you'd best be going. It's nearly sundown."
Edward nodded in farewell and picked up a light jog. He was always tired after an afternoon of training, but he was entirely unwilling to allow himself to slacken. Sometimes he wondered whether it was the pain of the past couple of years, or simply the heavy hand of time, but he wasn't a young, fresh sailor anymore. With his thirties close to their dawn, he felt the years and the experience that came along with them beginning to slow him.
In the few months that he'd been residing with them, Edward had gained numerous responsibilities with the Brotherhood. Returning to Tulum, at last victorious with their enemies crushed beneath his boot and Mary's daughter in his arms, he had finally earned the honor of their acceptance and respect. He had begun mentoring as often as he was able and had taken on several small field operations close to the Yucatan. On the Jackdaw, he retained his position as their captain and went on raids a few times a week to keep his crew in coin. They seemed to be enjoying their jungle vacation well enough, provided they kept their distance from the Assassins and their pesky morals.
And then there was this.
Jennifer's laugher pealed across the landscape like birdsong, drifting down to his ears as a reward for making the steep climb up the cliff above the village. He headed down the path to his left, toward the temple that shadowed Anne's grave. A smile broke across his face when he saw her. She clambered on a collection of boulders and rubble, her auburn hair shining in the low sunlight. Ikal stood beneath her, an ever-encouraging shadow. Adéwalé sat at the base of the rock stack, whistling conspicuously and pretending to adjust the straps on his hidden blade. Jennifer eyed him with gleeful intensity, wriggling like a kitten ready to pounce. Kenway's heart leaped into his throat as he realized too late the kind of game they were playing. Without a hint of fear or caution, Mary's daughter dropped a fair meter onto his old friend's shoulders. Adé cried out in mock surprise and grabbed her arms, wrapped tightly around his neck, as he rolled over to the ground in defeat. Jenny squealed with delight at her triumphant kill as she climbed over her playmate who was still struggling to suppress his laughter in the throes of death.
"Jenny!" Edward called out to his ward with a forced smile to pull her attention away from their murder games. Her head snapped up at the sound of her name and her eyes landed on his, bright with childish energy. She clambered to her feet with all the clumsy enthusiasm befitting a toddler and ran to him, throwing the full weight of her little body into his knee with a hug. He stumbled back a step before scooping her up into his arms.
"Papa!" she exclaimed. "I got Uncle Adé!"
"Aye, I saw what you did!" He squeezed her encouragingly, attempting to veil his displeasure at the activity for her sake before turning his attention on the adults. "As I remember it, you were to take Jenny swimming in the cove today, yet here I find her drier than July."
"The girl can swim like a turtle," Adé countered. "And like a turtle, she lacks the same dexterity on dry land. Mary thought it would do her good to practice her climbing, and she was so excited to learn when she heard you would be doing so today as well."
Edward clenched his jaw and tried to keep the tension out of his arms which held Jenny close to his chest. He and Mary had never directly discussed her daughter's future with their Order, but he knew she had a mind to see her daughter trained to fight. Jennifer was just so young that he'd assumed that disagreement was still some distance off yet.
"It seems it has done her good," his partner's voice announced from a few meters behind him. Mary reached his side a moment later and kissed the crown of her daughter's head. "Such a brave and happy thing you are." She pinched Jenny's chin proudly and the girl gave a pleased coo.
"She has talent," Adé remarked.
Ikal slid from the rocks to join them on the ground. "Any child of Read stock is bound to put us all to the test," he chimed in, his tone measured and pleasant. He and Mary had a long history of differences in opinion, but she was an undeniably gifted Assassin and a devoted member of their Order. Edward's involvement with the Assassins was still sometimes a point of contention but, following her involvement in the resolute defeat of the Templars, their years of tense respect had settled into what could almost be called a loose friendship. Besides, Ikal had a way with the village's youth, and he had taken a real shine to her young progeny.
"With Mary's spirit in her, I'm sure she'll be capable at anything life offers," Edward agreed while still avoiding support for her training in particular. "Now come," he reached out his free hand to Mary, who took it with a suspicious look in her eye. Clearly, she'd detected something unpleasant in his tone. "We need to get the little one to bed." Jennifer punctuated this with a yawn as she nestled her head into the crook of his neck. Edward didn't know much about children, but he was quickly learning that Jenny's energy left her as suddenly as it came, and he was getting better at predicting the cycles. He was also learning that parents took pride in the oddest skills and accomplishments accrued while rearing their young.
"Not just yet, Kenway," Ikal interjected. He locked eyes with Mary for a moment and she gave him a nod before taking Jenny into her arms.
Edward tensed, suddenly feeling vulnerable with Ikal's attention on him and his sweet ward not in his arms to dissuade an attack. Mary laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she hoisted Jenny higher onto her hip. "Come find me when you're done. I have a surprise for you," she offered a smile before waving for Adé to follow her back to the village.
Ikal waited, arms crossed, for them to be alone before speaking. "You can relax, Kenway. I'm not holding you here to berate you. Or to hit you." He turned and waved for Edward to follow. Uneasy, the pirate complied. They strode a few dozen meters away to the place where they had buried Anne Bonny. Edward's first meeting with the Mayan Assassin at his side replayed in his mind. The lashing he had received, both verbal and physical, at the hands of Ikal and his partner, Glenna, had been well deserved, he could admit. The timing, however, had picked at a raw wound.
"If you're not going to do either of those," Edward eventually questioned. "Then what do you want of me?"
Ikal pursed his lips. "I wanted to talk to you about that." He pointed at a dirty sheet of silver partially embedded in the burial mound, just barely recognizable as a flask; Edward's favorite flask, ornately carved and one of the first prizes he took for himself as a pirate. He'd brought it from Great Inagua on his last visit, anticipating that after Jennifer's rescue they'd come to Tulum to help the Assassins slowly finish moving their operations to Inagua in secret. The first thing he'd done when his boots hit the sand was return to this gravesite and replace his borrowed, cheap token to his fallen friend with the one he would have wanted to give her.
"Aye, it's mine," he confirmed. His voice was ragged, escaping his lungs around the lump building in his throat. "What of it?"
"You seem to take great pains to honor Ms. Bonny in death. I do not know much about your relationship with the woman, but I did not take you for a mourner." Ikal's tone was pointed, matter of fact. He pulled no punches in his bleak opinion of Edward.
The pirate laughed dryly. "I honor her in death because I did not honor her in life." His tone was equally blunt. "She was a powerful woman, and a dear friend to Mary. Had I conducted myself differently in her youth, she would be here still, standing alongside us, playing with Jenny and her boy. I have no desire to convince myself otherwise, not anymore. You must understand, Brother, I gave up on protecting my pride some time ago, but I've always mourned my dead whether I could be honest with myself about the circumstances or not."
"Your dead, perhaps," Ikal's voice turned black. "But what of ours?
Edward's stomach twisted with a long-dormant guilt. After a long moment he said, "Tell me of your dead, Ikal."
Ikal turned and looked up the long, stacked face of the temple. Sunlight glinted stunningly off the white stone. The sun was sinking low behind the mountains, beginning to filter through the jungle canopy. "I was raised in the Order, just as my parents were before me and my children will be after me. You may be new to our world, but for many of us this is the only life we have ever known, the only life we would ever want. The world that brought you up, I only know it to be a lie." His gaze fell to Edward's with brown eyes as hard as the earth beneath their feet. "The men and women who have died because of your actions… Many of them had fought beside me my whole life. Some had trained me, and some had been trained by me. I count myself fortunate not to have lost Glenna that day in Havana, or in all the fights after that you brought upon us. You did not show your face here for many seasons after the attack, so you will never know the pain we endured, the losses we suffered. I've lived my whole life in this village, and I've never seen it so dark and hopeless. It felt as though even the animals in the jungle were in mourning for the fallen. You will never know the glory this valley once held for those who lived here. It was the seat of our guild for generations, and now we prepare to abandon it for good because it is no longer a sanctuary. You robbed us of that."
Edward could do little but hang his head and take the accusations. There was no flaw in Ikal's argument, no emotional falsehood to let him off the hook. The man's words rang true, every one. "In my younger years I would have tried to defend myself, held up my good deeds as though they absolved me. Alas, I find myself defenseless to the truth."
Ikal shook his head. "In your younger years, I imagine you would have done a great many things differently. But that younger man is not the Edward Kenway I am speaking with now. I have slowly come to learn this, much in the same way you have slowly come to learn it as well. The years have changed you."
Edward grunted, a discomfort settling in his chest. "Mary has changed me, and through her, the Creed as well."
Ikal offered a half-smile. "Women have their way about them. Our women more so than those of the common folk. A good man is truly humbled by the love of one, regardless of place or status, but when she carries the purpose of an Assassin with her they can change the shape of our very hearts. Glenna once did this for me and I have seen Read do the same for you. I confess, I do not approve of her choice, but she has never been one to ask permission from God or man. She follows mind and spirit alone."
Edward laughed dryly, his voice tinted with pride. "Don't I know that, mate." Ikal's disapproval was hardly a shock, but stung, nonetheless. The Assassins were Mary's family, and he yearned for them to be his as well. Like it or not, Ikal's opinion mattered to him in some small way, along with that of the rest of the village. "What would you have for Mary, then, were you to play her matchmaker?"
Ikal was silent for a long moment. Then he turned and rounded to the front of the temple. Edward followed him up the crumbling steps and over a crumbling wall to the base of the stela in front of the open chamber. Edward reached out his hand and ran his fingers over the paint on the fading stone. He had climbed the sculpture to collect its key once many years ago, upon his first visit to Tulum after Mary had shown him the door that they unlocked.
Ikal watched with a calm gaze as Edward's fingertips traces the bevels and crevices on its surface. "I've heard that you seek to solve this puzzle."
Kenway nodded. "Aye, and I'm close, too. I've found about a dozen of the stones."
"Do you know what they lead you to?"
"Mary showed me the door once, but I've not the foggiest clue what's behind it. Do you know?"
Ikal shook his head. "I have heard rumors, but that door has been locked for centuries. Why, then, would you pursue this task when you do not know what will come of it at the end?"
Edward shrugged a bit. "At first? Curiosity, and the love of the hunt for the most part. Mary seemed to think it was important, though, and as time went on it began to matter to me that I show you all what I'm capable of. I used to struggle to see anything through to its end, but I know now that I can. Roberts, Torres, the lot of them, I made their ends. If I solve this puzzle too, perhaps I'll have begun a pattern of making something out of myself."
Ikal gave a nod, and Edward felt something from him akin to approval. "To answer your question, I would have for Mary someone as dedicated to our cause as she is. More than that, I would have for her a man with the heart of an Assassin." He gestured back down the steps. "Follow me, if it please you."
Confused by his crypticism, Edward obliged. "I would have to argue that's a highly subjective measure," he mused as they made their way back down the path. "It has always seemed to me that the Creed allows each man and woman to find their own path within its confines."
"And what would you say your path is, Captain Kenway?"
Edward gave that a moment's thought before answering. "It lies with Mary and Jenny. And it intercepts those of men who would do harm to the innocent and enslave the weak. Beyond that, I'm still discovering for myself."
The sun scraped the tops of the mountains to their west, and at that moment the sound of drums rang out through the valley.
"Then perhaps in time you will become a man I would consider worthy of her. Of our Creed."
They came over a hill then and the village valley opened up beneath them. Sunlight made the white stone of the Sage's temple glisten and the torches cast long, flickering shadows on the cliffside. In the village's square, the jungle's population had congregated and their cheerful whoops rang loudly. Drummers had assembled at the edge of the pool and Assassins danced beneath them, some playing flutes and fiddles.
Ikal lead him along the cliffside toward the temple overlook, ignoring the pirate's confusion. A smaller crowd had gathered around the chamber at the edge of the cliff, surveying the clamor in more subdued postures. A pair of drums and flute were all they had, and the dancing was limited to skips and sways. Their faces were all alight, however; a calmer reflection of the celebrations on the valley floor. Every man and woman, above and below, were dressed in the traditional white robes of the Assassins.
As he drew nearer, he began to recognize faces among the group. Adéwalé stood at the edge, conversing happily with Upton Travers and Opía, two Assassins from the bureaus around the West Indies that he had helped safeguard several years past. Antó's broad figure was distinguishable even with his back turned, towering over the petite Glenna. It was Rhona who noticed their approach first and announced it with a pointing finger and an excited shout that was quickly echoed by all present. They greeted him with claps on the shoulder and quick hugs as they moved him into the center of their throng. Edward remained wholly bewildered by the scene until he reached the towering chamber.
As the group parted in his path, his eyes fell first onto Ah Tabai, offering a warm grin, and then to Mary at her side. She was dressed in the traditional hood and skirt of the Assassin women with her hair loose around her face, framing eyes that glistened with joyful pride. On her hip sat Jenny, who wore a pint-sized white robe. Both meaty toddler hands were wrapped tightly around the rim of her hood, which she had pulled up over her head. The child cast a broad grin when she noticed him, and he felt the contents of his chest melt on the spot. He went to their side and kissed the little girl on the top of her head before pressing his lips to Mary's. Beginning to understand what was going on, he took his partner's hand and turn to Ah Tabai.
The Mentor gestured out toward the crowd in the valley. "Are you ready to join us, Edward? To be an Assassin in full?"
Kenway nodded solemnly. "I do hope I am."
He followed the older man up the steps to the chamber and around the edge until they were standing overlooking the village. The drumming below intensified. Beneath them the pool was still and black. Beyond, the Assassin insignia patterned into the ground below glittered in the firelight and dying sunset. At its base, against the pool, a single brazier was lit.
Edward stood in the center of the ledge. Ah Tabai positioned himself to the left with Adé at his flank. Mary handed Jenny off to Rhona and joined them at the right.
The Mentor took Kenway's right hand in his and placed his other hand on the pirate's left shoulder. Raising his voice to be heard by the crowd below who quieted at its sound, he began, "Every chapter of our Brotherhood, separated by either time or place, has their own way of initiating the worthy. Core to all of them is our Creed and its three Tenets. Every Assassin knows these words and lives by them for as long as they are known to us as Brother or Sister."
"Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent," Adéwalé's voice boomed.
"Hide in plain sight," Ah Tabai added.
"Never compromise the brotherhood." Mary's voice was severe and final.
"You have broken every one of these Tenets in past years," Ah Tabai continued. There was a chatter of irked amusement among the audience. "But in this ceremony you are granted a chance for rebirth. Do you wish to leave here with a new life and a new identity free from the errors of your past?"
Edward nodded heartily. "I do." More than anything he wished for that.
Ah Tabai turned to the crowd and raised his arms. "Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember…"
Edward projected his voice as loud as he could, as though each decibel would make his vow somehow more permanent. "Nothing is true."
"Where other men are limited, by morality or law, remember…"
"Everything is permitted."
As one, Edward joined every Assassin in the valley in proclaiming, "We work in the dark to serve the light." The sheer volume of the combined declaration shook his chest. He turned to Mary to find her looking at him. "We are Assassins."
Ah Tabai stepped forward onto the stone snake on the crown of the Mayan god that was carved into the face of the temple. The crowd cheered as he dove forward into the pool. Adé followed closely. Then Mary stepped out. She glanced back at him over her shoulder and the corners of her lips pulled up in a loving smile that reached all the way up to her fawn brown eyes. Powerfully, she leaned forward and pushed herself into the open air.
Edward took his place on the snake carving and surveyed the scene below him. The onlookers were welcoming his friends out of the water one by one. The three of them stood on the wide pedestal that divided the stairs to the pool in half and craned their necks up at him, waiting.
In his heart, he surrendered himself to his new life. He fell.
Edward sliced cleanly through the surface of the pool. He allowed the water to slow him gradually. It was quiet down there. The thundering drums were muted and the light from the brazier was quickly snuffed out as he sank. When his hands felt the bottom of the pool, he twisted and pushed up toward the dark sky.
When his head broke the surface, all the energy of the celebration rushed his senses at once. He wiped the water out of his eyes and found a hand extended in front of his face. He took it and allowed Mary to pull him up to her side. Edward shook out his hair while he caught his breath. The throng of people had encroached on them and were shouting their congratulations. He recognized most of them as men and women he had fought beside, trained beside, shared a drink with. The sense of kinship that surged through him was one that he had not felt since the prime of Nassau.
Once he had caught his balance, the throng of bodies parted once more to make a path to the brazier. Adé slid down to it and lifted a brand from the flames. Edward's stomach turned. He knew what came next.
Adé passed the brand up to Ah Tabai. The Mentor turned to face Edward and smiled, holding the energy of the valley for a moment before passing the glowing tongs to Mary. There was a moment of pleasant surprise on her face, but she quickly recovered and took them firmly in her grasp. She raised her left hand, and every initiated Assassin followed suit.
"The oaths we make here are not easily undone," she announced. "The safeguarding of man's God-given right to freedom is not a task to be taken lightly. You will have to sacrifice for our cause, and so we ask that you symbolize your commitment with a first sacrifice."
He looked at the hand that she raised high and proud, the fingers that had been mangled by the Observatory's defenses in their pursuit of Torres. He looked up above where his closest friends were watching, Jenny gazing down at him from Rhona's arms. They had nearly lost her forever. Mary's sacrifices had been great, but what defined her was what she had gained by them. Safety for many, love for a few, and someday, maybe, peace for the world.
He held out his hand without hesitation and she sealed the brand around his ring finger.
It was all he could do not to flinch, not to whimper. He held steady, gritting his teeth. The gasp for air was reflexive when she released him. He clutched his hand to his chest and tried to breathe through the pain without making a show. His audience laughed knowingly, each familiar with what he was experiencing. Mary nodded at the pond and he reluctantly stooped to soak his hand. The water wasn't cold, but the relief was near-instant.
His partner helped him back to his feet and gingerly took his burned hand, raising it to the sky. "Assassins!" She commanded. "Welcome your new Brother!" Her eyes met his and the smile in them gleamed of a pride he had been yearning for his whole life.
_______________________________
Come on, make it easy
Say I never mattered
Run it up the flagpole
We will teach you how to make boys next door out of assholes
________________________________
AN: Ok, y'all, I know how to story is going to end now. I have two more chapters planned, and I'm going to try and finish the story soon because I have some other ideas on the back-burner that I think you might want to see! I know it's been a while. Thank you for sticking with me and my story all these years. I don't always have time for my passions, but what time I have is going to be funneled toward writing for the time being.
Hey Y'all! A few weeks ago I graduated from college! You can expect to see a lot more writing from me in the near future and I will finally have time to do things I enjoy??
I've already started finalizing the next chapter of CWMN. I anticipate only one or two after that, as I feel this story has finally found its close in my mind. After that I'm going to play with some new ideas I have, as well as wrap up some of my stories from 2013.
AN: After this week’s episode of Game of Thrones I just... had to write a thing. So I sat down and churned this out in about two hours at work. Might do more with it, might not...
Title is a nod to the song by Florence + the Machine!
Here, have a Read More break for your spoiler-free lives:
A firm weight struck Gendry in the calf. It loosened his grip on the fistful of arrows in his hand, and they clattered to the ground. The chiming of obsidian hitting stone rang out a deadly harmony with the pealing laughter of children.
"Bloody hell, Gretchyn," he shouted, wrenching the boisterous, giggling girl off his leg and into the air with one arm. She draped over his sturdy forearm like a sack of horse feed. All four of her tiny child's limbs dangled limply beneath her so they swung freely as he moved her to the door, loose as willow branches in the wind. He dropped her next to her brother, two years above her in age but just as small and half as confident. The boy stood just outside the door, peering into the workshop timidly and regarding the blacksmith with the wide-eyed reverence due a highborn lord. Gendry had always heard that his own lord father had been the very image of a king in his youth; tall and strong and proud. Of late, he had tried to emulate these attributes. He was built in the style of a Baratheon, and while the house of Storm's End had died out without a trueborn heir he meant to carry their honor forward on his two shoulders as the last of their living blood. Fortunately for his hide, the gold cloaks had never bothered to pay much mind to the baseborn, working folk as to notice the last crowned stag hiding beneath their boots, warhammer and all. Only orphaned urchins seemed to take note.
Kneeling to the level of the children, he tousled the boy's hair reassuringly but did his best to remain stern. "I told you two, the smithy is a dangerous place, and we have important work to do here. You can't come 'round while I have the fires lit or you won't even survive long enough for the wights to get you."
"But I'm not scared!" Gretchyn protested, her yellow curls bouncing as she shook her head with indignation. "I wanted to show Dalon that he can be not scared, too."
"I'm already not scared!" Dalon injected, though he continued to eye the furnaces with suspicion, like it was one of the queen's dragons disguised with the aim to lure him into its maw, and it might reveal itself at any moment. "I came for your stories, really. You have such good ones. I want to hear more about your days on the Kingsroad."
Gendry shook his head with a warm smile. "I already told you, the Kingsroad was too dangerous to stay on long. The smaller roads were much more interesting anyway." He relented and waved them into the warmth of his workshop. These two were refugees from a northern village by the sea and had tacked onto the royal caravan along with the rest of the country folk on their path inland. They'd quickly latched on to Gendry during the journey, possibly recognizing the orphan in him, too, and he'd taken a liking to them as well. Inside, he sat them well away from the flames and hammers and passed them each a crust of bread from his earlier untouched rations. "Now, which story did you come to hear?"
"I want to heard a new one!" Dalon asserted around a mouthful of rye. "Surely you haven't told them all yet."
"Make it a frightening one!" Gretchyn chimed in. "Tell us about the bloodiest battle you've been in. Or the deadliest man you ever met."
He did have a story to go along with her second request, though it was one he kept close to his heart. He thought Gretchyn in particular might enjoy it, however, so he inhaled deeply and conceded, seating himself on a bench across from them. Men continued to bustle around them, but he still hadn't touched his evening stew - now cold - so they could do without him for a bit. He picked up the bowl and started, "Aye, I've met some deadly men in my travels. I could tell you about them… but I could also tell you about the time I met Death herself." He raised his spoon to his lips and took a long, innocent sip.
The children's eyes grew wide. "Death is a her?" the girl blurted out. Her tone was mystified and gleeful.
"A she-wolf." Gendry corrected. "The Goddess of Death is a direwolf, just like the Stark sigil. She's a small one, to be sure, the smallest of her pack, but she's killed dozens more than the rest of them combined. Her jaws are inescapable and her teeth are all needles." He exaggerated his tone and motioned with his hands to give drama, but his words were all true in a sense. "She's as fast and nimble as a river. I've heard she can wear any face, but when I met her she was disguised as a young boy no older than you, Dalon. Only those she counts as friends know her true form… Her friends, and the wretches who anger her. Those poor sods know her face and name just in the final moments before she claims their souls… and their faces."
Gretchyn's eyes never left his lips, drinking in every word like it was part of a prayer she had to know for her own. Dalon had brought his knees up to his face and pretended to lean on them, though it was clear he was trying to hide himself, to become as small a target as possible.
Their reactions made Gendry smile just a bit. He'd heard many stories about the she-wolf in his days since arriving in Winterfell, but he hadn't been able to pick her out of the shadows yet. No matter, he had plenty of stories about her of his own. "At night, when I traveled with her, she would sing a song of death. It changed over time. The men she sang about would die and then she'd pick a new name to curse. I couldn't image what the song sounds like now, but you can bet your rations for a month that she still recites it to the moon every time it rises. No one is safe from the list if you dare cross her. It doesn't matter what gods you worship, the old or the new, at a tree or in a sept. Death transcends them all, and no faith or creed will save you from her wrath."
Dalon lifted his head and in a curious tone asked, "How did you survive her then?"
Genry laughed. "Don't get me wrong, I sure as shit angered her from time to time. But even she knows love, knows it well, and if you know love you can know forgiveness. I certainly needed forgiving once or twice, but so did she." He gave a deep sigh and cast a glance at the floor. A sadness and great longing welled within him. "Death was the closest thing I've known to family. Death… and a boy named Pie. A stupid name for a stupid boy." The children giggled wildly at this. "Oy, you shouldn't laugh. He could cook a squirrel fit for a king's banquet table."
"I want a Pie squirrel!" Dalon exclaimed.
"I would love a Pie squirrel!" Gretchyn one-upped her brother. "Especially if it's good enough for Death."
"Aye, it was good enough for us both. And if you survive the coming battle you can have one, yourself. Last I heard he was still at the inn where we left him, cooking for travelers and lifting their spirits."
The youngest gave a determined nod. "One day, when I'm a soldier, I'll go visit Pie."
"Girls can't be soldiers!" Dalon objected.
"If Death can be a girl then so can soldiers," Gretchyn fired back.
"But Father always said!"
"Your father was wrong," Gendry snorted. "Lady Brienne of Tarth is leading our left flank against the white walkers when they arrive. Our queen is riding into battle of the back of a dragon. If your sister is set on becoming a soldier then I'd dare you or anyone else to try and stop her once all this is over. The world is changing, and you wouldn't want to anger Death by clinging to such old ways of thinking."
Dalon's open mouth snapped shut. Turning to his sister, he squeaked out, "I'm ready to go to bed now."
Gretchyn began to protest, but the blacksmith shook his head. "Your brother is right. You've had your story and I have to get back to work. Go on now. You can come break your fast with me at first daylight."
The little girl ran up and gave him a quick hug before allowing her brother to drag her back to their quarters. Gendry quickly scarfed down the rest of his stew and got back to work. There was much to do, and they didn't yet have word on how far south the army of the dead had made it. They could besiege Winterfell in a week or a month, and each seemed just as likely as the other. Every arrow and sword he made meant one more soldier who could fell a white walker, one more soldier who had a shot at seeing summer. It had been a long journey to the seat of House Stark, longer than he or Arya had dared imagine for the sake of their hopeful spirits when they'd started their journey north all those years back. The circumstances weren't what he'd hoped for, but at least he knew he belonged there, that he had a purpose there beyond anything he'd known before. All those years hiding in Flea Bottom, he knew he was waiting for something that would give him meaning.
A part of him had always hoped that meaning would lead him back to Winterfell, ever since he'd been sold off to the Red Woman and taken away from Arya. All his life others had used him as a pawn in their games. It was his curse, he knew now, as a bastard of the highest seat in Westeros. Children of powerful houses were little more than pawns to their elders, as he had come to learn. Arya, however, had introduced him to a world where he might control his own fate. It was only when he was separated from her that he realized how much their trials and travels had changed him. Meeting her had given him a purpose all his own, and he would chase that feeling to the edge of the known world.
Arya. His thoughts circled her often but she had become such an elusive figure in his mind. It had been four or more years since he'd last seen her. She would be a woman grown by then, and a fearsome one at that if the stories held true. House Frey, the rat Littlefinger, it was said that she'd been their end. Her list must be getting very short, indeed. In a way, he was in awe of her reputation. She hadn't been much of a killer when he'd known her, just a young girl fleeing the War of the Five Kings, four of whom had wanted her dead. They had been thick as thieves during that time, though, and it didn't surprise him one bit what she'd become.
He knew her family better now than he'd likely know her, should their paths come to cross in the bustling stronghold of her ancestral home. Jon was everything she'd said he'd be, though Sansa was none of what he'd been told. He wondered if the discrepancy between the entitled dreamer of Arya's stories and the confident, cunning Lady of Winterfell was due to a childhood rivalry or half a lifetime of trauma. His knowledge of the Stark history and Arya herself told him it was some of both. He knew a bit about the character-building effects of trauma, himself. He had been 16 when he left for the Night's Watch, much like Jon had been, and all that had happened since had turned him nearly unrecognizable. He liked Jon. They were of an age and had some shared experiences, a bastard brotherhood in a way. He knew how Arya adored him, too, and had to wonder if some of those similarities had caused her to view him as in the light of an elder brother. His feelings for her had been ones of great protectiveness and affection, but he couldn't say he'd ever seen her as a little sister.
AN: Please let me know what you thought of this! I've never written for this fandom before!
To the person who left a four-paragraph review on CWMN last night, holy shit but am I moved. I’ve never gotten such thoughtful feedback on my writing and you reminded me why I got so passionate about fanfiction in the first place all those years ago. I love sharing my stories with you all and it makes my heart happy to see other people as passionate about these characters and their paths as I am. I’ve been in a creative slump the last few months but waking up to that has me motivated to sit down and break through it. Keep an eye out for my next chapter and know that you inspired me!
Merry Christmas! And to the non-celebrating Kiddway trash, Happy Holidays!
This chapter is a bit on the short side, but I'll have more coming soon. We're in the swan song chapters of this story, unfortunately, so there isn't much storytelling meat left to fill out the length with. I hope to publish once more before I return to school in the second week of the new year, and from there I'll be orchestrating a (hopefully) satisfying ending.
Following the end of this story, I'll be returning to a select handful that I abandoned four years ago when I caught the Kiddway bug. After that I have a new one that I want to start and a Black Flag one-shot that I might throw together.
I know not many people still sail aboard this ship, but if you're interested in seeing more Kiddway, let me know! I doubt I'll ever write another behemoth fanfic like this (it'll be equivalent to a ~300 page book when finished), but I would be interested in writing a few shorter fics if there's an audience for it somewhere out there. Let me know, and don't forget to review!
In the moonlight, I should
Kiss you at Samhain, throw it all down
Wouldn't that be cool?
To kill the guards, open the gates, for feelings unbound
For all the sly and stealthy tricks Edward has mastered in his twenty-nine years, he had never quite figured out a graceful exit from calm waters. His boots sloshed ungracefully against the sea that was gently licking at his thighs. The weight of his waterlogged clothes pulled him down without the crashing of waves to urge him forward and drown the noise from his struggle. Fortunately, the small cove was deserted and there were no guards to take notice of his hampered arrival.
Mary sat crouched in the sand, loading her pistols with the dry gunpowder she kept in a vial in her coat while he finished tugging their rowboat out of the shallows. When he finished he went to join her. He shook out his salty hair, showering the ground around himself with a dappling of sea water before retying the shaggy knot at the nape of his neck.
He surveyed his surroundings. To his back the jagged rocks that they'd snuck between obscured their line of sight to the Jackdaw. The young crewman Abbott had gone ashore earlier under the guise of a merchant and traded some bread with a slave for that secret way ashore. Ahead, the lights from the plantation glowed like a sunset over the jungle canopy. They had arrived at midday but had agreed with one another to linger offshore just out of sight and bide their time, waiting to strike under the shroud of night. Their objective was a delicate one. They needed to make their way to the manor, find the girl, and escape with her to the Jackdaw while inciting minimal violence along the way. Open conflict was too great a risk with Jennifer in the crossfire. They both knew what could happen to her if they weren't careful but dared not speak the possibility aloud for fear of tempting the fates. They had come too far, they had gotten too close. Mistakes were out of the question.
As Edward prepared his own weapons, gazing out across the moonlight on the shallow water, he felt he had to pause and reflect on the distance he had spanned the past two years. It could be said that his story began the day of the shipwreck that thrust his path across Duncan Walpole's. Murdering that turncoat Templar had been his first battle in an age-old war that he had never know was being fought all around him, in every corner of the world. The part that he played in this war was what he would be remembered for, if he was remembered at all. If they told his story, it would start with Walpole.
In his heart, however, he knew the most important part of his journey through this life began on a sunny Kingston beach with nothing to his name save his grief, a cryptic, orphan letter, and one hell of a hangover. It was on that day that he began paying down the cosmic debt incurred by the folly of his youth. It wasn't the self-serving, green and untested boy who had changed the course of history, sticking his fingers into the hoards of golden snakes. No, it was the man, humbled and convicted, who had torn those chests apart and thrown the wreckage to the sea. He had righted every wrong wrought by his greed, bar one, and by dawn his ledger would be black.
Edward finished his preparations before his partner did. Mary was painstaking as she adjusted her gear and double-checked her ammo pouches. Edward stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. He could just barely feel her firm muscles beneath her coat, more tightly wound than he would have wished to find them. He would be lying to say his own didn't mirror hers. When she glanced up at him there was no hesitation in her eyes, but he did find fear there. He was glad for this. Her fear was the greatest reason she was an inspiration to him. It made her careful. It made her passionate. It made her courageous. He had never known fear until he'd had something to lose. She was old friends with it long before he'd even met her. He offered a hand and she took it, pulling herself to her feet.
"Follow my lead on this one," she instructed, her tone stiff and cautioning. "No surprises."
He gestured down the path with an affirming smile. He kept one of her hands in his, the one that hand been mangled in the Observatory. "Business as usual, then."
She smirked wryly and led him up the hill through the trees. They came over the crest and passed a vacant guard encampment with a still-smoldering fire. Just beyond that the jungle gave way to the plantation, tucked away safely into a large cove. A sizeable warehouse stood in their way, backed by rows of sugarcane that were broken up by the occasional shed. At the far end of the cove they could just make out the manor through gaps in tree branches, sitting atop a small hill that they knew ended in the cliffs by the sea. That was their assumed destination. Getting that far unnoticed would be a small challenge.
Edward eyed the warehouse as they ducked into a patch of bushes. Any other day of his life, it would have made a handsome mark. This night, however, they pursued an infinitely more valuable target. Passing it over ached in the part of his heart that still clung to his old ways, but he took pride in the ease with which he put that thought to bed as he scanned its perimeter for enemies. The gunman on the roof would have to be taken care of. A handful of men milled about the entrances.
"I'll take the ground," Mary whispered before letting out a low whistle. A guard turned, confused. "You take the gunner."
Edward made some sharp clicking noises to draw the guard closer. "We clear this and then skirt the property along the cliffside. There'll be fewer patrols there."
The guard poked at the bushes. Mary's arms flashed out, pulling him in close enough for Edward's wrist blades to do their work. "See you on the other side," she said with a nod as she picked through the guard's coat for useful items.
Edward pushed free of the branches and sprinted for the warehouse. He jumped and grabbed the eaves to hoist himself up. The sniper turned at the sound of Kenway's boots scrabbling against the eaves, but he was too late to ready his musket. The Assassin grabbed him by the pant leg and yanked, dropping the gunner to his ass as he fell from the upper tier of the roof into the range of Edward's blades.
When he dove off the other side of the roof into a cushy haycart, Edward found Mary hadn't waited for him. He watched as she scaled a crumbling water wheel not far off. On the scaffolding, a limp arm draped over the side, seemingly a victim of her sleeping darts. To his left was an alarm bell, which was backed by a watch tower. The gunner had his back turned, leaving a small window for Mary to finish her man unseen. Determined to widen it, Edward took the opportunity to dash across the rows of sugar cane and scamper up the ladder. As he climbed, the man began shouting. Mary's window must have closed. Kenway cut off his warning cry with a blade to the throat. His partner glanced up at the commotion from the body she'd just dealt with and tossed an appreciative wave before jumping back down to disable the alarm. He slipped back down the ladder to join her.
They darted across the green to hug the cliff face. A small stream bubbled under the water wheel, broken by patches of earth and stone. Mary motioned to leap across and Edward followed, only to narrowly avoid colliding with her when she halted suddenly. "Crocodile," she warned. She was right. Lazily swimming about just under their path was a danger he hadn't detected. They waited for it to swim further away before leaping over.
They rounded the crumbling structure where a lone, hulking guard warmed his hands next to a fire in the shadow of largest intact walls. Unable to see a way past him without being detected, Edward rushed the fire. Mary gave an annoyed groan at his brashness and followed after him, blades drawn. The big brute looked up from the flames, startled at their approach, and quickly drew his axe. The handle collided with Edward's sword, catching and mitigating the momentum of the attacking Assassin. Edward countered blow after blow, but the guard seemed overwhelmed trying to parry his swings while keeping Mary from slipping behind him and driving her knife between his ribs. It wasn't long before she found her opening. She dug Venganza into his flesh and, when he faltered, Edward drove the tip of his sword up through the soldier's jaw.
They collected what ammo there was off the body and rushed toward the manor once more. One unlucky solider wandered into their path and Mary swiftly tackled him from behind. Eventually they found themselves between a large pool with another lone crocodile and the base of the hill. The path was guarded by two men, but they were able to skirt the pond and sneak through the bushes. The undergrowth lined the path leading to the manor. When they hit a low stone wall around its perimeter, they vaulted the top into a hay cart and stayed there, surveying the situation.
Two guards patrolled the roof while two walked the exterior at ground level. The eaves of the house covered a wrap-around walkway with several doors. On the second floor was a covered balcony. To their right was an alarm bell.
A guard stopped for a moment to rest against their cart. Edward reached out and dug a wrist blade into his neck, severing his windpipe before hauling him into the cart. One guard down. The rest were unlikely to be dealt with quietly. Avoiding them was their best bet. They couldn't afford to trigger the alarm.
Mary leaned over to whisper in his ear. "The balcony is our best bet. Only one of us can easily slip in without anyone noticing. I'm going in. You're going to disable the bell. If you can join me after that, do. Otherwise, keep the guards off my tail." Before he could object, she leaped from the cart and dashed toward the ladder leading to the balcony, taking advantage of a brief gap between patrolmen. He clenched his teeth, nervous to have to let her go into the house alone. Try as he might, he couldn't sense what or who might be inside. All he could do was wait for an opening to cut the clapper free from the alarm bell.
He moved from the haystack to a bush next to the bell when no one was looking. A few breaths and a little patience more and he had his chance. He rushed to the shrubbery on the other side of the post, cutting the clapper rope as he went and letting the heavy pendulum drop to the ground with a light thud. Beyond that, he sat at waited. He wanted to join Mary inside, but the guards on the roof made it difficult to get close to the balcony unseen.
Just has he had that thought, the gunner approached the north end of the roof, coming within range of Edward's blowpipe. Eagerly, the Assassin loaded a dart and gave it a puff. It found it's mark, and the sniper staggered a moment before collapsing. The gunman's comrade heard the impact of body on tile and quickly climbed to the top of the house to investigate. Edward took his chance and scrambled toward the manor. He clawed his way up as fast as he could and cut the throat of the second guard before his victim had the chance to turn around. The body slumped over onto the sleeping gunner. That would be one unpleasant awakening, indeed, but Kenway didn't see fit to kill him as well. The dart would give them enough time to avoid pointless bloodshed, he felt sure.
He turned back the way he came and gripped the edge of the roof. Dropping, he swung himself into the balcony, nearly colliding with the door when he landed. Quietly as he could, he cracked it open and slipped inside.
The interior of the house was dark, but he could make out subtle hits of opulence. The wooden floorboards hardly creaked beneath his feet, and the long, crimson rug further dampened his footsteps. Portraits dotted the walls, and the stern eyes of the subjects unsettled Edward. He walked quickly, eager to locate Mary and be away from the place.
He found her in a room at the end of the long hallway. She had left the door open just a crack, and gentle candlelight filtered into the hallway beneath it. He pushed it open and found the woman he loved crouched at the side of a small bed. A toddler with mussed reddish-blonde hair sat on the edge, her tiny fingers wrapped around one of Mary's curiously. Jenny looked up when he walked in, confused but not afraid. Mary turned her head and the look in her eyes broke his heart. They sparkled with emotion and the slightest of smiles tugged at her lips. He went to her side and knelt so that he was at eye level with her daughter. She held his gaze with the same sparkling, fawn brown irises that Mary had. "Maria?" he whispered, using her Spanish name. The girl nodded shyly. He put a hand on his chest, desperately hoping her wet nurse had taught her English. "I'm Edward. I'm here to take you on an adventure. Do you want to come?"
Jenny clapped excitedly. "Sí, sí!" she whispered back excitedly in the bird's-chirp tone of a giddy child. She was a trusting one.
Mary lifted a finger to her lips. "We have to be quiet. It's part of the game." She reached out her arms and Jenny eagerly thrust her tiny frame into them. Mary stood, hoisting the girl onto her hip. She gestured with her chin at the door, but it was her expression that caught him. To hold her daughter was her dream come true, but it still threatened to turn into a nightmare. "Time to go," she whispered to Edward with urgency in her voice.
He nodded and stood, moving to open the door for her.
He found himself face-to-face with a terrified older woman carrying a lantern, presumably a maid or wet nurse. Startled and with eyes wide, he pushed past her, knocking her into a wall. Mary was tight on his heels as they shot down the hall. The woman shouted for them to stop, for help, for the guards. When they reached the balcony Edward turned to close the door behind them. He saw a man and woman in dressing gowns stumble into the hallway. When the woman saw Jenny in Mary's arms, she cried out in horror and fell to her knees. Edward shut the door on the husband who had pushed past his wife in pursuit. "Go," he hissed to his partner. Mary clutched her daughter to her chest and jumped, rolling into her landing to protect them both. Edward saw a guard run around the side of the house toward them and he quickly fired off a shot, knocking the man dead on the spot before vaulting the bannister and landing hard at Mary's side.
Going back through the planation the way they came was out of the question. The ruckus at the manor had not gone unnoticed and alarm bells began to peal off the cove walls. The only route left was over the cliff toward the sea. They dashed to the rocky slope and began to work their way down, jumping from boulder to boulder and passing Jenny when necessary. The child had begun to cry, confused and scared by the sudden fuss and loud noises, but she clung to them for safety all the same.
Fortunately, the Jackdaw had been waiting in the wings to send aid if needed. By the time their boots hit the beach a rowboat had been dispatched and was nearing the shore. They pushed into the water chest-deep to meet Massey and Bell. Mary passed Jenny to Bell who tucked her into his lap. Edward gave Mary a boost into the boat so she could take over at the oars for Bell before allowing Massey to pull him in too. He took post at the back of the boat and began firing at their pursuers on the shoreline while his friends hauled them back to the safety of the Jack.
But I've been keeping hope
And I've got a fairytale in my heart, I can cope
But I've been keeping hope
I bet they had you in mind when naming the rose
Edward cupped a bowl of stew in each hand and made his way up to the main deck, careful not to trip on the dark stairs. He squinted as he reached the surface. The great sails of his ship did little to filter the rays of dawn as it broke over the sea between them and their far-off destination of Tulum. With hunters likely to be on their tail soon after their successful kidnapping, they thought it best to take a roundabout way home and protect Great Inagua as an Assassin sanctuary.
A number of men milled about the deck, most turning to mutter to each other when he passed. They'd all been aware of their mission, but rumors about the young James Kidd's illegitimate daughter ran rampant among their ranks. Many of them had children of their own, but all had been left behind and all but forgotten along with whatever poor barmaid they'd saddled with the lifelong cost of a night of a sailor's company. Kidd was a nobler man that the rest of them combined if just as much fun to drink with, that much was known, but a ship was no place for a female, so they said. What men abstained from criticizing the choice to claim the girl made raunchy jabs about the spicy wench who must have given her her red locks.
None of this was spoken in Kidd's presence, obviously. They valued their tongues too much for that.
When he entered their cabin, he found the woman he loved leaning against the post next to her cot watching Jennifer drool angelically into the sheets of Mary's cot. She was dressed down to her blouse and trousers. Her hair was loose, her arms were crossed, and her bare toes drew absent circles against the soft, well-worn wood floorboards. She glanced up at his entry and smiled when she saw the bowls in his hands. She hadn't eaten much the night before, too anxious to take more than what she needed to be alert and have energy. Neither had he for that matter. He placed one bowl between her palms and rested the second on his desk. He had taken his own breakfast in the mess hall with the crew and spent most of it deflecting questions from them. No, this was for Jenny when she awoke. It wasn't the fine dining she would be accustomed to as a planter's daughter but it would give her energy. The events of the night had worn her out, and children needed more rest and care than most in the best of times.
"How long has she been asleep?" he whispered after Mary had lifted her stew to her lips.
"She went down shortly after you went to fetch your meal," Mary explained.
Jennifer hadn't been pleased with their dodgy escape and had asked for her 'mami' many times. She seemed to speak some English but most of her blubbering had been garbled Spanish words. Getting her into the quiet safety of the captain's quarters – away from the crew – had helped her calm down. It was upsetting to see her resist her rescue, but the poor child had just lost the only life and the only family she'd known. She would have to learn a new language, a new name, new parents. The transition wouldn't be the easiest, but she was young and would adapt quickly. Children were malleable, for better or for worse.
Mary spoke the haunting thought that had been bouncing around in his brain all morning will a small, pensive shake of her head. "That poor woman… The pain she must be feeling. I know that pain. I don't relish inflicting that on someone who loved my child as her own."
Edward put a reassuring arm around her. "We owe them a debt we can never repay." Thiago and Catalina Reyes, the mysterious couple who they had just left childless… Jennifer was clearly in good health, stolen from a tidy, comfy room in an expensive nightgown. It was a better life than most orphaned girls could dream of. That she had been cared for dearly was obvious. He shuddered internally, thinking what it would be to watch helplessly as a hooded figure ran away with his heart, never to be seen again. May I die before I let that happen to my own family, vowed to himself.
He released his partner and sat at the edge of Jennifer's cot. As he brushed a strand of shiny red hair out of her face, he felt the first inkling of desperate love creep into his heart, the kind of love a parent felt for their children. It was this desperation that kept him anchored to the Earth; the passion that he felt for Mary and his fierce determination to protect her daughter. Their family.
"We have it from here now, though," he added. "As long as we both draw breath, so does she."
He was feeling fucking awesome
Be a good man like you taught him
Don't get caught up in caution when love exists
So step inside
'Cause that night it cold, it don't deserve such a smile
My boyfriend is playing through Black Flag for the first time and he was so sold on the James Kidd ruse that when Mary revealed herself he thought THAT was the crossdress
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