Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ davy jones

au based on the tale of davy jones. 

EDWARD KENWAY FEELS as though he is lost as the Jackdaw pulls away from the docks. His heart sinks like an anchor dropped into the abyss. One day on land, the witch's words ring clear in his mind as a bitter reminder, ten years at sea. A heavy price to save his ship and crew from the locker. In recompense, he is doomed to rove the seas for eternity —ferrying souls who have been lost at sea.

He leans against the taffrail at the stern, watching as the solitary figure waiting there grows ever smaller. The lid of a silver music box cuts into his palm, but he feels nothing as the now melancholy tune plays. Telling her hadn't been easy —leaving her crying on the docks with the taste of salt on her lips as the sun set had been even harder. We'll see each other again, love.

But a decade is no small amount of time. The next time he sees her there will be silver streaks in her hair and soft wrinkles around her eyes. Edward closes the music and straightens —wiping the tears beneath his eyes before turning back to the helm, gripping onto the smooth, wooden spokes. The wait will not be easy, but for now, Edward Kenway has work to do and debt to settle.

Losing track of time is not an option. He keeps a blank book of parchment on the desk in his cabin and makes a dark tally for each sunset. Tonight marks eight hundred and eighty-two days at sea. Eight hundred and eighty-two days closer to being able to see her smile and feel her warmth. Lost in memory, Edward finds no rest and takes to the deck under the light of the full moon.

He looks into the dark depths below and in the silver reflection of the moon, a shape takes form —like a siren seeking to lure him into the cool embrace of the water. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he takes out the silver music box and carefully winds the crank before lifting the lid. The comb within begins to turn and the comb plucks the haunting tune, filling the silence on the deck.

"You thinkin' 'bout her again, ain't you?" One of his mates asks, appearing at the captain's side —he had been at death's door after the Jackdaw braced against the rocks fleeing from a Spanish galleon. And he'd seen a witch rise from the sea and the captain seal a pact in blood. Edward still bore the scar in his palm.

Reflections of the lanterns hanging from the rigging flicker on the still black surface of the water —like a dozen small stars. Edward can still see the stars in the depths of her eyes when he closes his. "There's not a moment that passes where she is not in my thoughts." He had left his heart on that dock nigh three years ago.

Edward forgets to tally the day at sunset, but remembers to do so when he rises to the ruckus of the crew shouting above the storm. Two thousand two hundred and ninety-seven days. Soon, my love, he thinks to himself straightening his tunic and coat. Dark smoke billows into air masking the black-and-white sail of a sinking pirate ship. The day has begun and so has his work. The Jackdaw glides through the wreckage, pulling those from the water not already lost to the crushing depths. None are left alive.

"Look! In the water!" Someone shouts. Laying half on a piece of wreckage and bobbing in the sea is a woman. When they fish the woman from the water and lay her on the deck, Edward's blood runs cold. The crew steps back and silence sinks its sharp talons into everyone aboard.

He falls to his knees, fingertips ghosting over his beloved's cheek. She shouldn't be here. Only the dead and lost may board and sail on the Jackdaw now. Gently, he opens her pallid hand and finds a silver music box, identical to the one he carries. Edward wraps his arms around her middle and pulls her into his chest, rocking with the swell of the waves —tears washed away by the downpour. "My love," he cries, over-and-over again against her neck until his voice is hoarse, "oh, my love."

Wind lashes the sails and thunder erupts overheard in a loud echoing clap —like cannon and musket fire. Edward cradles her in his arms as he rises, turning to his cabin. Around him stand his loyal crew, heads lowered, and hats clutched against their chests. He lays his beloved on the straw and rag stuffed mattress and kneels, his grief turning to anger. Lightning flashes through the glass panes at the back of his quarters, illuminating a dark figure Edward has yet to see. Thunder rattles his desk and wardrobe. "Captain Kenway." The witch.

"Just take me and the bloody ship," he shouts, staggering toward a half-empty bottle of rum. There's nothing left for me in this life. Edward tips the rum back, finishing it all in a single drink. Blinded by emotion, he throws the bottle against the deck —shattering into hundreds of pieces like his heart had. "I'm done with this life," his voice cracks, "please, let me follow her."

The witch takes to her bedside and studies the fair face of the life she had just claimed. Many lovers rested in her care, though none of them had ever belonged to her guide. "Would you do your duty if she were at your side?" Eternity with the woman he loves, after more than eight long years it sounds like a distant dream. Edward nods. "It can be done," the witch smiles, "for I am the sea, but you must swear your oath renewed to me, Captain Kenway."

He reaches behind his back, pulling free a dagger and slices his palm along the same raised scar —offering the tribute freely. The witch presses her thumbnail into his beloved's palm, drawing a line of blood, motioning for Edward to take her limp hand. Slick from blood and rain, he grasps onto her hand tightly, and as the witch chants, the breath is drawn from his lungs.

Another bright flash and rumble of thunder and the witch is gone, though now his beloved looks up blinking at him, disbelieving. Edward falls backward as if struck by lightning himself, but he pulls himself from the planks and clambers onto the bed. "What were you thinking?!" He asks, cupping her face —pushing the damp hair clinging to her rosy cheeks aside.

"I've been searching ever since you left," she breathes, hand fisting into his soaked tunic and bloody hand caressing his scarred cheek. Seven years at sea spent praying one day she would see the Jackdaw's sails on the horizon and her husband at the helm. "And I found you, Edward Kenway. We'll always find one another. You promised." He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "In this life," she begins, reciting the vows they'd taken on a day when she wore white and he wore his finest coat.

"And the next," Edward finishes, lips tugging into a smile. Eternity does not sound as daunting now as it once had.