Chapter Text
He kneeled down in front of you, blood splattered delicately across his face. He let his lips widen, a mix between a smile and a devilish grimace. He was draped in his red military regalia, a stark contrast against his pale skin, a commanding officer by the looks of it. "Now, darling." He looked down at his busted knuckles, examining them and running fingers over the open flesh. "You can end this whenever you like."
Your skin was seared with heat, thick blood coating your face and hair. You were pretty sure your ribs had been kicked in, broken, and shattered. Your face, lips, and eyes felt swollen and tender. You were certain that if they pulled you up onto your feet, you would have collapsed.
He'd been drilling into you for what had to have been days. It wasn't like you could see the sun through the windowless room, some sort of wooden shed tucked away from the town. When they weren't beating you for information they had a bag over your head, a bag reeking of musty sweat and sour blood, leaving you to suffer alone in the silence.
You would have gladly ended the torture, glad to be done with it all, but you weren't that weak. You were an Assassin, highly trained and devoted to your cause. Even if that cause landed you in jail. Even if your organization’s ally betrayed you, leading to your capture.
Now, look at you, kneeling on the ground and soaked in your own blood. You spit the blood that gathered on your tongue into his face, your lips tugged downward in anticipation of his next punch.
"Stupid fucking whore." He wiped the back of his sleeve across his face before laughing and getting to his feet. "Have at her, Mills." He threw a quick glance to the officer behind you and with a nod of his head your face was shoved into the dirt.
Mills had been tense behind you the whole time, a dog on a tight leash, eager for something to sink his teeth into. Sadly, however, it wasn’t going to be another beating. Not this time. He had been throwing you winks and grins all night, alluding to something a little more sexual and sinister.
Even chained up you were a rogue, a sly and evasive creature. You squirmed free, rolling onto your back and kicking him hard in the jaw. He grunted, grumbling curses under his breath, before clamping a hand against your neck and forcing himself on top of you. You shifted your hips just enough that a knee could slip past his defenses and rammed it hard upwards into his chin, clattering his teeth together. That's when he turned you, faced you down hard against the dirty floor.
There was laughter again from the commanding officer, the same laughter you'd heard for days now. You were sick of hearing it but you were pinned down again and too weak to fight back. “That’s enough, Mills. She’s not going to talk.”
His subordinate lifted you back onto your knees, forcing you to bow before his commander. He moved around you until he was standing tall, towering over you confidently. He leaned down, lips pressed firmly against your ear. "Be glad he stopped me, whore. I'd have fucked you blind."
You bite down on your growl but can't stop the seeping hatred from your glare as he walked away. He stepped beside his commander, the two of them muttering back and forth. You can just barely make out a few useless words. Mills wanted time alone with you, no doubt.
Something moved in the corner of the room, just past the legs of the soldiers. You could see shadows and for the longest time, you believed it was your comrades finally coming to get you. If it was like you imagined it and you had in fact been missing for days, then surely someone finally sent help. Your mission obviously didn’t go well.
The commander stepped forward, leaving behind his cocky lapdog who was smug as ever. He kneeled down, pressing your chin between his rough fingers. "Final chance, darling."
You wanted them to believe you were finally breaking under the stress of torture. "I might have a few things to say..." You weren't paying attention to the commander. You had your eyes on Mills, attempting to look frightened about what he had muttered to you earlier.
He had his arms folded across his chest, eyes burrowing into you. Smug git. You stared back unwavered, waiting for that precious moment. It was quick and silent. A hand slipped over this mouth, eyes jolting wide with fear, then lifeless with death. The assassin slowly lowered the dead weight onto the floor, quiet and proficient, before moving forward to the next target.
You rolled your eyes to the commander finally. "Rest sweetly, Commander."
He growled, lowering his eyes before flicking them back to you. "This would have been easy if you would just give us what we wanted."
His voice was deep, haughty even, each syllable spoken with precision, "I agree, Commander."
Your capturer spun around, sloppily getting to his feet.
He was arrogant, whoever it was, likely off the boat from England, draped in expensive garbs. His voice was unrecognizable but his features, the brief glance you got of them, had been vaguely familiar. "Any last words before my men take you, Commander?"
"I am a commanding officer of His Majest--"
"Ah, yes." He stepped forward, throwing a punch hard into the commander's jawline and dropping the man to the ground. Then, with casual elegance, he clasped his hands behind his back. "Charles, attend to our new guest, will you? He's a commanding officer of His Majesty the King, after all."
Another man approached from the shadows and snatched hold of the commander's lapels. He pulled his body across the dusty floorboards and out the door into the night.
You reluctantly rolled your eyes up to the man before you, knowing well now that he was not an Assassin. You had seen his face before, a well-done painting in fact, posted on the wall with his name scribbled beneath it.
"Haytham Kenway." He kneeled down, looking over your bloodied wounds, his tricorn hat obscuring most of his expression. "You do not appear to be any friend of the commander’s. Who are you?"
You swallowed hard, finding it difficult to breathe through the pain. The draining adrenaline left you trembling. "A thief." You looked as much like one, your attire had been exchanged for simple rags when you became their prisoner. Your hidden blades had been taken to be mounted somewhere on someone's wall, to be mocked and goaded.
"Ah." He almost smiled at the notion, cocking his head to one side. "Then you may be of use to me."
You laughed, almost choked on it. A Templar and an Assassin working together. "You want a thief to help you? You so certain you can trust me?" Your head was heavier by the second, finding it hard to keep your eyes on the man.
"Trust, perhaps not." He lifted you to your feet, slow and gentle hands, far better treatment than the soldiers had given you. His arm slid around your waist and a hand cupped against your hip bone, steadying your staggering stance.
You scoffed, leaning against him as he helped you from the shed. The smell of fresh air was a great relief, mixed with the salty sea from the distant harbor and the spices that lingered on Haytham's clothes. "Seems like a poor idea to hire someone you don't trust."
Outside were more dead guards, assassinated quietly and cleanly. You would rely on the Templars. You had little choice in the matter. There would have been no point in running and, furthermore, you were curious as to what the Templars were up to. What knowledge did the commander hold that the Templars sought after?
Charles returned, holding out a set of keys to Haytham. "Our guest has been secured and transported, sir.”
"Wonderful work, Charles." Haytham took the keys in hand and pressed you against the firmness of his chest. He also smelled of smoky pines and the twinge of blood. His hands slid down your arms, finding the cold metal cutting against your wrists.
You managed a weak smile. "Mister Kenway, all of this touching, the least you could do is buy me a drink first."
Haytham chuckled, an oddly lighthearted sound for a Templar. He removed your shackles one at a time, before tossing the keys back to Charles. "Have the others meet us at the Green Dragon."
“Of course, sir.” Charles hurried off, a puppy eager to please its master.
"Your skills might be of use to me." Haytham put a small amount of space between you. He was glancing at you, eyes attentive and analyzing. The true instincts of a Templar were likely kicking in. "Do tell me how you were captured so easily?" He moved quickly, his arm knocking your knees out from beneath you. For a quick moment you thought it was over, you were a prisoner once more, your secret discovered. Instead, he cradled you against him lifting your weight easily, and started down towards the city.
You rolled your eyes away, each muscle tense and each bone aching. Something bitter must have flashed across your expression, the bitter hatred of being betrayed by an ally because he made a sound of mild understanding. "I was set up," you finally say. "Ambushed."
He humored, "Then we both have valid reasons not to trust each other."
If only he knew the whole truth of it, you thought. But your thoughts became harder to grasp, your head finally falling against the hardness of his chest, taking in those delicate, rich spices. Despite Haytham being a Templar, you sighed readily against him. His grasp around you, the gentleness of his touch, made it all too easy to relax your bruised and broken body.