Chapter Text
Havana, 1728,
Kenway leaned against the bulwark, his gaze fixed on the bustling city that stretched from the port. White stoned edifices with red-slate roofs clashed against the blue sky. Over his head, seagulls circled the Jackdaw’s masts, gliding in the warm ocean breeze. The view hadn’t changed much. Even after all these years.
For the third time in a few short minutes he wiped the sweat beading on his brow with the back of his hand. He spent the last few years longing to feel the West Indies humid heath on his skin. He remembered it as a warm welcoming embrace. How funny that now that he was finally here, he found it supremely uncomfortable.
His eyes drifted to one of the smaller docks a few meters away. His breath stifled in his lungs and a painful knot formed in his throat. It was the exact place where Steed Bonnet and he had docked some thirteen years ago. He could recall sneering at Steed foolishness while, at the same time, filling his head with grand tales of adventures. He might as well have signed the man’s death warrant.
“Sorry mate”, he whispered, forcing himself to take deep breaths. “It was my fault you got caught up in all of this.” The apology rang hollow. Just empty words that weighted little and changed nothing.
He looked away, his gaze returning to these streets he used to know so well, and sighed. Lively Havana might have looked as he remembered, but no longer felt as it did.
“Master Kenway?” Edward turned his head, casting a glance behind his shoulder. A young lad stood by his side- one of the Jackdaw’s deckhand.
“Captain James Scott,” Kenway corrected.
“Sorry , sir,” the boy replied, before leaning in and adding in a whisper: “…someone is there to see you. In your quarters.”
Edward nodded and thanked the lad. Finally, after six days without a sign from the Assassins, word from the brotherhood.
He pushed the cabin door. Leaning over the some maps scattered on the desk, stood a hooded figure. The newcomer looked up as Kenway stepped into the room.
“It seems these robes suit you better and better with the years, Master Kenway.” The hood fell back revealing a face he hadn’t seen in years.
“Ah Tabai.” The name came out in a choked whisper as names from his past often did. He hadn’t expected the old Mayan himself to make the journey. He felt his heart drop in his belly. Ah Tabai wouldn’t have risked meeting him himself in Havana unless the matter was extremely serious.
Four light knocks at the door, followed by a pause and two heavier knocks echoed before he could say anything else.
“You should let them in,” said the old mentor encouragingly. “We can talk after.” Kenway did as he was bid without protest. Two men, carrying a large wooden chest, entered the cabin. They were dressed as one would expect any dock worker to be, their clothes looked worn and stained from labour. Good disguises betrayed only by the outline of hidden blades under their sleeves. The men placed down the chest carefully and left without a word, closing the door behind them.
“I see you ran into a bit of trouble on the way,” commented Ah Tabai once they were alone again.
He winced.“Aye.There was quite the welcome party waiting for us off the Cuban coast.”
“ Nothing the Jackdaw and it’s legendary Captain couldn’t handle, I trust.”
“Wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t, ” he replied with a dry chuckle, pouring two glasses of rum.
Ah Tabai simply nodded and took the seat across his desk without a word. So much for getting answers. “Perhaps, you’d be good enough to tell me what in the Devil’s name is going on,” he said, placing a glass in front of Ah Tabai.
“The ship that attacked you, what was it called the Athena by any chance?”
Kenway sat down. “Aye. I take it was a Templar ship.”
“It belonged to a Captain Bates. He’s an old friend of Woodes Rodgers.”
Edward felt his nails dig painfully into his palms and realized his hands had balled into fists of their own accord. Five years. Five years and still the name still awakened the same rage.
“Good thing I sent this Bates and his brig to the bottom of the sea, then.” Edward forced himself to open his fists and laid his hands flat on the desk. “I hear Roger is out of Debtor’s jail,” he added before downing his drink.
“His situation has much improved since you were last here.” Ah Tabai took the drink Edward had poured him and pushed it in front of Edward. “His order has welcomed him back and, according to some of our sources, he‘ll be back in office as Governor of Nassau by the end of the year”
Kenway wanted to vomit. Curse Robert Walepole who’d convinced him not to go after Rogers. And curse himself for listening. Exhaling through gritted teeth, he reached for the second drink. “You want me to kill him. Done,” he said, bringing the glass to his lips.
“It’s not why I summoned you here,” Ah Tabai replied sternly. “If Roger needs to be taken out, better it be done by someone he doesn’t know.”
“You seem to forget that I came closer than anyone else-”
Ah Tabai raised a hand to silence him. “Roger is only part of the problem,” he said, his eyes turning to the chest. “What I need is for you to get something out of the West Indies.”
Kenway forced the anger that was bubbling inside him back down his throat and turned his attention to the chest that had just been delivered, taking a moment to study it. There were very few things the Assassins would work so hard to protect.
“A Precursor Relic?” Kenway asked, after a brief silence.
The older Assassin nodded. “I hear you’re becoming an expert on the matter.”
“As much as one can become an expert on such a thing,” he replied with a shrug as he rose from his chair and went to stand by the chest. His fingers brushed against the lock.
“Well maybe this will allow you to continue your studies, even if you’ve seen these before,” said Ah Tabai as he produced a key and placed it carefully in Kenway’s palm.
The lock opened with a soft click and the chest flung open. Inside, rows and rows of small cubical leather pouches. He didn’t need to open them to know what they contained. “These are the ones from the observatory?” he asked. “How many?”
“650 of them.The most precious ones by our estimate.”
“I thought you were guarding whatever was left here. Why send them to England?”
“The Templars almost got to them twice in the past month. I am beginning to fear that there are traitors in our ranks.”
Edward frowned. Turn coats happened in any conflicts. Most people had their price, their limits. He knew that, better than most. “Why not just get ride of them? It’s not as if the same thing couldn’t happen in London.”
“Too many people know about these here. Information is bound to get out. Now, tomorrow, in a few years. Who knows?” Ah Tabai sounded more weary than ever. For the first time, Edward noticed how much he’d grown older in these last few years. But, then again, he supposed the same could be said of him.
Ah Tabai offered him a tired smile. “Beside, I believe the leader of the London brotherhood will do everything in his power to make sure these don’t fall in the wrong hands.”
He wasn’t wrong. He’d seen what these things could be used for and who knew what else could be unleashed with Precursor’s blood, but he couldn’t help but ask. “What about Rogers?”
“Leave him to us,” he said.
For a moment, the impulsivity he worked so hard to curb reared its head. “You forget I’m not a member of the West Indies brotherhood; I do not need to obey you.”
Ah Tabai shook his head, as one would do when dealing with a child. “Everything is permitted, after all.” Was he disappointed, sad, angry? Kenway couldn’t tell. Ten years ago he wouldn’t have cared. Ten years ago he would’ve told Ah Tabai to fuck off, he would’ve argued and, in the end, would’ve ignored anything the old Mayan said. Now he found himself wishing he could be that selfish prick just this once or more truthfully that he could indulge being that selfish prick once more. After all, time changed much in a man, but not all.
The old mayan stared at him gravely, as if he could guess the thoughts in his head. “What I am asking” of you, Captain Kenway, is for you to do your part. That’s all.”
******
It was too quiet for the port of Havana. There was just the sound of waves crashing against the sandbank and the rattle of kindling and wood being piled on close by. Edward rubbed his face and opened his eyes on an already starlit sky. The positions of the stars above him were familiar. So he was no longer on the Jackdaw or in Cuba-if it could be said he was actually on the Jackdaw a moment ago. He was back in Isla Inagua, laying on the beach, a soft blanket between himself and the sand.
He turned his head slightly. Mary was kneeling in the sand a few feet away, building a bonfire. Edward didn’t move, nor did he say a word; he just laid there following her movements as she completed her task. He let himself bask in the surreal familiarity of it all, for a moment, unable to decide if this was now, or if it was another memory.
‘You’re awake.” Mary said without looking up. “You’ve been out for a few hours.”
Edward nodded, letting himself return slowly to the present. He could vaguely remember laying down for a moment while she went to fetch supplies from the Captain Kidd. “I guess I needed it.”
“You did.” Mary added one more piece of driftwood to the bonfire and paused, casting a critical glance on the final product. “It’s hardly the most impressive bonfire this place has seen.”
Mary kept staring at the modest pile of wood. She had that look on her face- a blank expression tinted with sadness that made it seem like her mind was hundreds of miles away. He noticed it quite a few times these past weeks and had vainly wondered where her thoughts were taking her. Edward’s throat tightened, making it difficult to swallow. “No,” he said in agreement. He didn’t need to wonder anymore. He knew exactly where her mind had drifted. To the same place his own had. Not hundreds of miles away. Rather, hundreds of years away. Edward could see it without even closing his eyes: their friends and comrades gathered on the beach celebrating a victory for their cause, a good plunder or just one more day without a noose around their neck. So many memories that left a bittersweet taste on his tongue.
Edward sat up. He wanted to just sit here and talk with her. Talk about the good old days like old comrades in arms, to settle in this nostalgia that was both old and new for him. But first she needed to know. “Blood vials from the Observatory,” he said simply. “That’s what was on the Jackdaw. That’s what they wer- are after.”
“Makes sense.” She let out a resigned sigh. The kind that followed news that were both bad and unsurprising. “I suspected it had to be a precursor relic and the Templars have been very interested in finding Precursor DNA these past decades.” She paused and reached into a messenger bag that laid in the sand beside her, pulling a bottle of rum and a box of matches from it. “So, you had the vials with you when the Jackdaw sank?”
Edward closed his eyes, trying to sort out through the cacophony of newly reacquired memories, to see beyond the meeting with Ah Tabai, but the only thing he managed to get was a splitting headache and the more he pushed to find the right memory the worse it got. Edward let out a sigh of frustration and reopened his eyes. “I can’t remember...”
“Don’t force it,” Mary warned gently, tossing the bottle in his direction. “Your mind needs some time to adapt, to process everything.”
Edward broke the bottle’s seal and let out a humourless chuckle. “I don’t know how much time we really have.”
He took an unceremonious swig straight from the bottle. Just as he used to do. “Fucking Woodes Roger,” cursed between his teeth.“Damned you twice to hell.” Now more than ever, he wished he’d finished Roger when he had a chance. Not that it would’ve made their current situation any better, in fact, he suspected it would have changed very little, but because that’s what Roger deserved.
“Fucking Woodes Roge,” Mary repeated in agreement.
“What now?” Edward asked. “I mean beside the obvious.” The obvious being survive, kill Hornigold and Roder, and keep the Jackdaws cargo from the Templars. It wasn’t too different from what he had done before, but the world was. Back then, all you needed was a hidden island, a good story or a fake document (which most couldn’t even read). It wouldn’t be so easy anymore. And last time they had allies. Something they seemed to be lacking desperately at the moment. He wasn’t even sure if Mary had any beside-
“We should wait until Adewale gets here,” said Mary as if she’d known exactly what he’d been thinking. “We had agreed that in case of a problem, that’s where we would meet up.”
Edward felt a warmth spread in his chest and smiled. “So he does remember.”
“He does. By God, he’ll be glad to know you’re alright, Kenway.” An unusually soft smile tugged at her lip. She didn’t say ´as am I’- she didn’t need to.“By now news of Thatch’s death should’ve reached him, I expect he’ll arrive tomorrow or the day after.”
Edward’s smile died down and a cold shiver ran down his spine. “Is it safe for us to wait here?”
Mary nodded. “For now. Officially, the manor here never existed. Several generations of Assassins made damned sure of it. And I don’t think Hornigold ever came in person here.”
“I don’t think he’ll remember the place, but he might remember I had a stronghold somewhere.”
Mary sighed “This is as safe as we're gonna be, for a while at least”.
“I used to feel invulnerable here.” Edward casted a glance at the cove around them. “Like nothing could reach this place.”
“So far you’ve been right.”
“I felt that way about Nassau too.” Edward shook his head sadly. He remembered the night Thatch and Hornigold had addressed them by the firepit declaring Nassau was to become a new republic, a nation of free men that would never be made to kneel again. It had never occurred to him they could be wrong, that their precious republic would all fall apart in twelve short years. He hadn’t thought Hornigold might turn on them or considered the possibility that Thatch himself could fall. The man was a living legend, a monument; he was invincible. Or at least, he’d seemed to be. And so had seemed the republic he’d help create and by extension the men and women living there. Edward felt his throat tightened. “Did you feel like that? About Nassau? Tulum?”
Mary blew on the now smoking kindling, giving herself a moment before answering. “No,” she finally said. “I’ve never felt invulnerable anywhere.”
They fell silent as flames began to rise from the bonfire to dance and curle against the black of the sky. There were too many questions he wanted to ask, too many things he wanted to say. All the apologies he owed her, how much he’d missed her after she’d been gone, how much she’d changed his course. Important matters he hadn’t been able to discuss with her and inconsequential thoughts that he regretted not having shared with her all the same. He’s spent years wishing he could talk to her just one more time and now had no idea what to say first.
“I became an Assassin.” This he decided was as good a place to start as any.” After…”
Mary smiled. “Not just an Assassin. A Master Assassin, from what I hear.”
“You know.”
“When I got my memories back, I wanted to know if you got out of that bloody jail alive, what you became after. If you returned to England or died with a noose around your neck.” She rose to her feet and sat on the blanket beside him.
“I joined thanks to you.”
“Good to know all the nagging paid off in the end.” She let out a small laugh and grabbed the bottle from his hands. “Still… don’t think I can take all the credit.”
“Maybe not,” he said with a smile. “But, I wanted to be someone-” The words died on his lips. ‘I wanted to be someone you could be proud of’ was what he wanted to say, but that last part wouldn’t come out.
Mary looked at him intensely. Maybe she guessed what he meant to say, maybe she didn’t, but she said what Edward had wanted to hear for years. “You did good Edward,” she said with the softest smile he’d ever seen on her face. A smile Edward couldn’t help but return. It wasn’t the most eloquent declaration, but Mary had ever been very good at making speeches and it had never mattered. It still made something warm expand in his chest until it felt as if he might as well explode.
Edward pushed aside a few strands of her hair and pressed a kiss on her temple. It was a chaste kiss, almost reverent. Followed by another on her cheekbone, one at the corner of her lips and one underneath her jaw. The last two were just as reverent, although maybe not quite as chaste. Mary let out a low hum and leaned in. A hand moved to the side of her neck, skirting at the edge of her tunic’s wide collar. Exhilaration, nervousness, and a violent fondness, bubbled in the pit of his stomach.
He hesitated, not quite sure if he’s allowed to go further and not quite sure why he’s not quite sure. She’d hinted at feeling something for him before and, technically, they’ve kissed before. Well, Mary James and Edward King have kissed before. Which was both the same thing and not at all.
He pulled away from her slightly and studied her face intently. He half expected her to laugh at his hesitation, but she just stared back, serious as he’s ever seen her and gave him a slight nod.
It wasn’t exactly what he’d pictured when he’d imagined this before. They were both exhausted. They were both still grieving. They were painfully aware their lives were still in danger. But this is real and for now it’s all that mattered.
His lips found their way back to her neck, her collarbone, this time, without a hint of hesitation. Mary let out a sharp exhale and tangled her hand in his hair to bring him closer. He pulled her collar a bit more open. He’s briefly surprised that he didn’t find the same tattoo he remembered her having on her chest. Instead, there was a wind rose tattooed between the slight swell of her breast. He places a small kiss on the inked skin. He almost commented on it, but before he could, Mary laid down, dragging him with her and tugging at his hair to pull him into a kiss. He pressed her body under his, showering her with lazy wet kisses as she let her hand roam under his t-shirt.
He pushed himself off her and pulled her tunic off. He didn’t rush, marveling as he uncovered inch after inch of skin. On her left side, a series of dates was inked into the skin. He doesn’t have the time to read them all, but he noticed his date of birth. As well the date of her death. He leaned in and kissed it in a wordless apology.
He pressed a trail of kisses against her stomach, fumbling a bit to get her shorts off, and soon enough he was drowning in her as his name fell from her lips over and over. His last name. His real last name. As if she needed to reassure herself that he really remembered, that it was really him. Her fingers grasped at the cover under them and her breath grew more and more laboured. His own breath escaped fast and uneven, as he watched her fall apart. Her back arched and the fire casted an orange warm glow on her skin. A spectacle that was both sacred and obscene.
He gave her the time to recover, kissing the skin of her thighs, the swell of her breast, the nap of her neck. She wrapped her legs around waist, finding his lips with a lovely impatient sound that was somewhere between a huff and a whimper. There was only one possible response. The culmination of a lifetime of yearning. Edward sunk into her, with a shaky breath, grateful in some way for whatever set of strange circumstances led to this. Grateful that her last words to him ended up being true. That she was truly with him.
He rolled his hips against her over and over, until everything became a blurred. Pleasure clouded his mind, until the world was reduced to the dig of her nails not his shoulders, her ragged breath against his ear, the tight heath around him. He was too lost in the sensation to realise how he got there, but somehow he ends up under her with her straddling him, groaning in the crook of her neck. Their foreheads pressed against each other’s as their movements grew more and more frantic, as she tensed around him, pressing a bruising kiss on his lips.
After they finished, they kept still for a moment, trying to catch their breath. Mary let her forehead fall against his shoulder, her still fast breath brushing against his collarbone and her fingers still digging into the skin of his arms. Edward buried his nose in her now messy hair and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “Mary? he whispered, unsure if she was already asleep.
A sleepy hum vibrated again his neck in answer.
He wanted to ask her to promise not to die this time. To promise she wouldn’t leave his side, but he doesn’t want to remind her of her own death. Besides, it would be a supremely unfair thing to ask of her. So instead he just held her close and whispered: “Good night, Mary Read.”