Assassin's creed one-shots

Edward Kenway

MrsKenway25 thank you so much for the request <3

Dancing with the devil

Bare footed. Shirt unbuttoned. Hair messy.

You bolt out of that room like there is no tomorrow and run away from there and towards the shore as fast as you can, before anybody sees you like that in the middle of the night. You want to cry, knowing you've made a huge mistake. No matter how hard you try to erase the memory of his toned, tattooed body hovering over yours, it's to no avail.

When you met him, you did little else than glare his way from the corner of your eye as if you were paying no mind to what he's doing. You do not trust him, not now, not ever. But something happened this evening. You don't remember what. A lively night. A tavern. A few strong drinks. A dance. A wave of cold air. And finally, darkness.

The rest lies somewhere else. Somewhere where you do not wish to be.

He was introduced simply as an assassin associate. 'Be wary of him,' you're told. 'He lives with his demons still.'

However, you fail to listen as you head over to the tavern and meet him there. You've already lost track of all the times you encountered him. Rarely simply by chance. The chance simply becoming a speck in the sand of other ways you got to spend with him. Never intimate, but somehow enjoyable.

He's sitting at a table on the far end, away from the commotion and laughter that swallowed the middle.

You make your way through the crowd through the hot scent of rum and seawater like a shark until you reach his table. On it is an empty mug, pushed slightly off to the side. Your eyes finally fall on him, unmoving. He's not looking at you. Although, you're sure, he's noticed you standing there. His ocean blue eyes are well hidden by the hood of the robes that do not belong to him. He stands up and without a word, takes your hand.

He's a criminal. A sly rogue. A cold-blooded killer.

Involuntary, your hand snakes up his chest and finds its way to his shoulder. In your other is a mug, now full with rum.

So, why are you spending your time there? With him.

A few solid moments pass, you're outside. However, for you, it's barely been a blink. The now empty mug is left on the table in the far end of the tavern.

Because you're no better. And, in a way, it puts you at ease.

You thread along the dark path. You let him guide you until you see light again. Suddenly, your back comes in contact with a cold wall, harshly. Hands suspended above your head. After that, everything stops and a huge gap in your memory is created.

And now you're here. Bare footed. Shirt unbuttoned. Hair messy. You're trying to find your way out of the manor. The rooms are spacious and tidy. As if they are frozen in time. Paying little mind to details, your eyes scan the large living area for an escape route. This is something you should see in a blink of an eye but your mind is foggy still and you can't concentrate. Your attention wonders to small details.

You're still interested in his life. Do the various books on the shelves serve any purpose to him? Does he sit on these expensive, velvet sofas as he looks at letters and other paperwork? It would be a waste not to. . .

Suddenly, you hear floorboards above you creak as the pressure is applied to them He's awake. You begin to panic, bolting out of the room and soon finding the exit. You're now on a huge balcony, surrounded by boxes filled with cargo and ammunition. This is not the exit. As you begin climbing over the fence, you can feel a presence behind you, but you do not turn to look. Or, at least, you wouldn't have. Hadn't he called for you.

''Wait.'' His voice is hoarse and dry.

You look over your shoulder only slightly. Just enough for him to see that you're dangerously narrowing your eyes. ''I'm not just another one of your many toys, ready for another whenever you please, Kenway.''

There's a pause now. You look away, ready to jump. ''What are you talking about?'' He looks confused. You think he's only pretending.

Another long pause. You come back down and sharply turn to him, eyes angry, but without confidence as they blaze. ''Do not act like you don't know,'' you fume. ''You took a lot more than my dignity last night.''

''Spending a night with me robbed you of your dignity, then?''

''I made a mistake.'' Your eyes fall to the ground and you cannot look at him. Frame small, as if you're trying to confess something. To him? To god? To thin air? You don't know. But there's a weight on your chest that you wish to see gone. ''I thought I didn't want what happened last night.'' You keep telling yourself that. ''Knowing that you would not bat an eye the day after. Or ever again. Because everything is permitted, yes?''

A slight frown forms on his face. ''Why do you say that?''

''I'm no different than those whores you bring in your bed one after another?''

''You're wrong,'' he finally says and your breathing stops for a moment. ''You pretend as if you do not know anything about me. As if you do not know who I am. I stand behind my actions, no matter how wrong.'' He starts to approach you. ''I'm no wiser than I've been before I joined the Assassins, but you should know that, above all else, I want somebody to be standing beside me.''

You manage to hold back a tear from rolling down your cheek, but only barely. You're searching his eyes for more answers, yours glossy. You can't see well. Why do you want to cry? For him? He twisted the words of the creed to fit his desires. He does whatever it takes just to survive. Again, just like you. ''How. . .''

He turns away from you, only few steps away, and looks up at the sky. ''All this time I've been rushing around, taking whatever I fancied, not giving a tinker's cuss for those I hurt. And yet, here I am. . . with riches and reputation.'' Then, his eyes dart back to you. ''Still quite unhappy.''

''Well. . .'' You begin, curiosity in your eyes. Although, you already know an answer to your own question. But there is just something beautifully satisfying about hearing it from somebody whose pride and ego are bigger and deeper than the ocean they always go back to, no matter how hard they try not to. ''What would make you happy?''

There is a kind of a smirk on his face. You can't quite tell, a mixture of disappointment and gloom. ''You continue playing pretend, as if it is the only game you know,'' he laughs. ''It takes a man a lot more than a betrayal to discover that he doesn't know what he really wants.'' You then remember the Observatory and the man that played him. ''No. Needs.''

He knows you too well, you just can't bring yourself to accept the fact. He then looks at you and you freeze under his gaze. So much so that you don't notice him closing in with short, slow steps. ''You and Mary were the only ones that knew that,'' he finally admits and your mouth stays sown shut. For a moment, you think you misheard him.

''You drunken idiot. . . '' You murmur and Edward hears you all too well. ''You still haven't answered my question,'' you demand, impatient.

''I am,'' he laughs. ''I am all that you call me. But one step at the time.''

You don't say anything, at first. He's now in front of you, close. Your back is pressed up against the fence, the morning sun warms up your back slowly, carefully and it relaxes you.

''Let this be the first, then,'' You grip the stone fence, looking right up at him.

If it weren't for the sun caught in his hair and eyes, you would have said that his demeanor changed immediately upon your response. ''If that's the case, I would be a happy man if you agreed to sail back to England with me.''