Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳rivals

in which Edward's ship is boarded by a rival captain with a knack for getting under his skin.

Smoke and splinters fill the air, blotting out the morning light—the sulfurous haze from cannons and muskets chokes the men above and below deck alike. The first boarders swing down from the rigging, firing pistols and brandishing sorry steel against the Jackdaw and her crew. Then come the grappling hooks to heave the two ships closer together and boarding planks stretched over the gunwales. Pirates.

"Christ's sake," Edward Kenway groans, heaving the helm hard to starboard before abandoning it altogether, freeing his cutlasses from their scabbards, finally lifting his attention to the black sail emblazoned with an ivory skull crowned with a wreath of sea holly on the assailant's frigate. He should have known.

"Hold!" The voice rings through the chaos—clear and unmistakable—and the clash of swords quietens. Edward's head rolls toward the upper deck, watching your crew and his part as you make way toward him, sword lazily resting against your shoulder.

But taking the Jackdaw is not your goal today; it's about sending a message—you're not the only one hunting riches in these waters, Kenway. You stop a few paces away from Edward and have the nerve to smile—all teeth and no apology. "Captain Kenway," you greet.

"Captain," he echoes, eyes narrowing, despite the reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. There's begrudging respect in the way he speaks your title too. Names and ranks have power, even amongst scoundrels, and many in the West Indies know yours, just as they do his. Quite the pair the two of you could make if you ever stopped vain attempts to kill each other.

The newer recruits glance between you, confused. You know one another? Only Adéwalé and your quartermaster answer with matching, long-suffering sighs from opposite sides of the fray. Nothing good will come of this meeting beyond wasted shot, fresh cuts, and bruises.

"You've sunk three of my prizes this year," Edward says, his hard stare nigh enough to set you ablaze. Your smile only widens, even as he holds his sword level with your neck. First time, he called it rotten luck; the second, a coincidence. By the third, coincidence no longer serves as an excuse. You were turning up far too often for that.

"You stole three of mine," you remind him. Should be that you called it even and moved on, but the treasure ship you've tracked halfway across the Caribbean has another set of eyes watching too. You'll not let Edward make off with another of your prizes—a fat haul that'd set you and your crew right for a good long while.

"I earned those prizes," he counters with a shrug and knavish smirk. You scoff—arrogant prick. Bribing the harbormaster to blockade your frigate with fishing sloops does not count as an earned prize, nor does swapping his bottle of rum for water and only playing at being drunk the night before you intended to go after a French merchant schooner. "Unlike you," Edward continues, "firing on a man before he's even broken his fast."

"You deserved that," you grit out, glaring at him.

"Did I?" He questions, but aye, maybe he did deserve it for leaving you on that beach three moons ago without a word—but you looked so lovely lying there in the sand, with the tide at your toes, wearing nothing save the sun's golden morning light and the small bruises left in the wake of his affections.

It seemed fitting revenge at the time after you left him trussed to the bedposts of a Nassau boarding house, absconding in the dark of night with his charts—not his proudest moment when Adé found him the next morning.

"So, uh," one of your lads poses from behind, scratching the back of his neck, "we killin' them then, cap'n?"

Edward points his sword toward you—the tip level with your breastbone. "A fair question," he replies.