Assassin's Creed 1. The Meeting

**A/N: This first chapter is quite lengthy, but I hope y'all will give it a chance anyway! Just FYI - this story is currently rated T for occasional language, and mild violence. THIS FIC WILL BE M LATER, so if you are not comfortable with that I just want you to know now! If there's a chapter that has a lot of those things, I'll probably warn you in case you want to avoid it. I also have another fic that I've been working on, but this story was keeping me from working on it at all, so I figured the only productive thing to do would be to just start on this one. I'm really stuck on the other one, but I haven't given up on it, so if by chance any of you area waiting for it, I'm hoping eventually I will be able to finish that story. I suppose this story is technically AU since it is during the timeline of the game, but it does not interfere with or change the timeline/storyline of the actual game content, except that my OC may occasionally be involved in a few events. Just as I said in my other story, since they never introduced any obvious potential love interest for Connor, I found myself wondering what his wife would have been like - because obviously he did marry and have children or else Desmond wouldn't exist. So this is just an other exploration of the possibilities. This one is loosely based on a dream I had that sparked the whole idea of this character.**

**And of course, I do not own Assassins Creed, their characters, etc. The only thing that belongs to me is my OC.**

Chapter One;

The Meeting

* * *

"Her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild." John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci

* * *

May, 1781

Her gaze, dark with purpose, was latched onto the white hood. Even when her eyes were glancing about her, taking in her surroundings, she was still aware of even the smallest movement of the man beneath that hood. He turned suddenly, as if searching the crowd, and she tucked herself between two women squabbling over the price of fruit. Picking up a flower on the nearby stall, Cora raised it to her nose, eyes drifting again to the hooded man. He had turned back now, and was walking at a normal pace. He had not seen her.

Of course he hadn't. Why would he? The man, like her, had perfected being unseen while in plain sight. She could see the Templar he was following. Her partner was not making the slightest attempt to stay concealed from the Assassin's sight. The bait had been laid, the trap set, and the hound was following it like a starving dog searching for meat.

He passed from one group to another, pretending to be looking at the merchandise of a nearby market stall or inquire about buying a newspaper. He was good, she had to admit. But not as good as she. In all honesty, she had been surprised that the Assassin had fallen so easily for the trap they had lain, but then again, he was a desperate man. He would have crossed the planet thrice over if it would have meant he could get his hands on Charles Lee.

Laughing to herself at his naiveté, Cora pressed on. The young Templar would be leading him into the right alleyway anytime now, and she had to be there waiting. As soon as she saw the Assassin round the corner, she broke into a brisk walk, bordering on a jog. When she rounded the opposite corner and saw the alley deserted, she heaved a sigh of relief – he had not yet arrived.

There were likely few moments before he would arrive, and she used them to prepare herself. After loosening the strings of her blouse to reveal the curve of her breasts, she let her hair out of her cap. It tumbled about her shoulders, the perfumed scent filling her nose. One look at her and she would have the man resting in her palm. No doubt hindered her – she knew how to seduce a man. She had done it more than enough times to be perfect at it.

The other Templar rounded the corner first, giving her a curt nod before jogging out of sight. Placing the basket of goods on her hip, Cora pretended not to be watching the corner for the Assassin's arrival. Heart quickening at the thought of being the one to end it all, she anxiously began taking small steps in the direction the path he would take towards his demise.

Just as she began to grow impatient, her eyes picked up a man in white round the corner. He paused in hesitation before continuing forward, determined steps quickening as he obviously attempted to catch up with the man he had been pursuing.

Instead, though, his shoulder clipped Cora's, and she dropped her basket, sending swaths of fabric, fruit and other various items sprawling across the ground. Instantly, Cora bent to the road, and the Assassin followed after a long sigh, helping her to pick up the spilled goods.

"I'm sorry." His voice was deep and rich, sliding smoothly over each consonant and syllable. It was a shame to have to silence it.

"Oh no," she responded with a feminine laugh. "The blame is all mine. I was not watching where I stepped! My humblest apologies, sir!" As she rose, she made sure to give him a good look at her chest. A good look he took, as well. Smiling internally, she was glad that he seemed to be falling easily into the plan. It was always easiest to kill a man, especially a man as strong as this Assassin, in the throes of passion.

As his eyes drifted up to hers, she tried to read his expression, but was unable to. If he had seen her following him, he did not show it. If he suspected anything, he kept it within. His eyes were hard, his gaze intense, and nothing on his face gave away what he was thinking. Something within her made her pause - perhaps it was the realization that an emotionless face could be particularly dangerous for its enemies.

"I have a home not far from here," she whispered in a low voice. "You could... fully apologize for knocking my basket away." Looking up at him through dark lashes, she hoped he was not so daft as to not understand her implications.

The Assassin hesitated, glancing around him as if to be sure no one was watching, and then nodded in agreement. A smile spread over her face.

Admittedly, Cora was surprised that he had agreed. She hadn't pegged him as the sort of man who would take strangers into his bed, but here they were, heading to do just that.

"What is your name?" He asked quietly, still staring straight ahead.

"Sarah," she lied effortlessly. "And yours?"

"Connor." They walked the rest of the way in silence, sounds of breathing the only noise that broke the stillness of the air.

The house was small, containing only a table with two chairs, a small fireplace with a cooking spit, and a large bed. She seldom slept here unless on a job, for she was not allowed to be too far away from her master. He liked to keep an eye on her, for more than one reason.

Cora unlocked the door with a small brass key, gesturing for the Assassin to enter first. She turned, her back to him, closing and locking the door so they would not be disturbed. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes in preparation. At least he was easy on the eyes, unlike the other fat, crude men she had bedded to kill. As she turned, she wondered if he would be a good lover for this one night – his last. Pity filled her as she looked at him, but it was soon replaced by a determined anger. She knew what he had done. He deserved no pity, only death.

Steady hands reached up to the laces of her blouse as she began. Cora knew well how this would go. Likely, he would try to overpower her, to take control of her, use her for his own pleasure. It was what they all did.

Instead of crossing the room to embrace her, the Assassin held up a hand to her, as if telling her to stop. Knowing eyes bore into her, and Cora tried to quell the beginnings of shaking in her hands. This was not part of the plan.

Connor didn't know what had made him agree to her obvious ploy, but for some reason he had. Normally he would have confronted her as soon as he suspected her, but there was something intriguing about the covert and slightly coy way she was going about her mission that made him go along with it. She had been good, trying to evade his eyes as she followed him, but he was even better. Besides, what harm would she really do him?

He walked over to her slowly, crossing his arms and looking at her disdainfully. It was time to get out, and Cora knew it. Backing against the door, she felt for the knob, trying to twist it before realizing she had locked it.

_Shit_.

"I was not aware they were recruiting women to the Templars," he said coolly. His level demeanor enraged her. It was as if he was mocking her!

"Why do you say such a thing? Does it bother you to know you will be killed by a woman?" Ice in her voice, she stood straighter, no longer leaning against the door.

As she approached him, he began to circle her, drawing his weapon. Fear gripped Cora's heart as she gazed upon it. Her knife, the only weapon she had brought, was no match for that. Stuck here, in this small room, she would be unable to escape. She would die - painfully. But not without a fight.

Lunging at him, she lashed out, knife slicing through air as he easily ducked away. Grunting in frustration, she turned back again, watching him swing his tomahawk in his hand as if this were a game. That son of a bitch! She would make him pay. She would make him pay for all he had done.

They watched each other for a few moments, taking in each others' stances, waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Who sent you," he finally asked.

"Would you piss yourself if I said Charles Lee?" Connor's eyes widened at her words, just as she had expected.

"Where is Lee?" His voice was serious now, determined and demanding. Cora would be lying if she said she wasn't intimidated, but she tried her best not to let it show.

"Long gone by now," she laughed. "Best to run back home to mommy."

Connor was tired of her impudence, her brazen, intentional verbal affront. Eyes narrowing in pure fury, he lunged at her.

"Oh, you don't like that, do you? I bet she was just some common whore, wasn't she? One night stand with daddy? Or was she payed like the worthless bitch she is?"

With the finding of his weakness, it was as if she had unleashed a beast. Hoping to use his anger against him, she opened her mouth to say even more, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. With one easy motion, he grabbed her, slamming her against the wall so hard her breath left her lungs. As she tried to suck in air to hurl more insults at him, she felt the telltale sharpness of a blade against her throat.

_Ah, the famous hidden blades._ She almost laughed, but the chuckle was cut off by pressure at her throat.

"You might want to ask to be trained by a better master." His voice was harsh and dark, overflowing with anger and strife. "Did you really expect me not to notice that you have been following me for hours? Perhaps a novice would not have noticed, but you never had a hope to evade _my_ eyes."

He had seen her? How had he seen her? Stomach clenching in both embarrassment and ire, she spat at him, in hopes he would take a hand off of her in order to remove it.

Instead, he wiped his cheek onto his jacket.

It was as if all the tricks of the trade she knew were wasted on this man.

"If you're going to kill me, do it now." Grabbing his blade wielding hand, she pressed the sharp blade further into her throat, drawing blood. "Do it," she commanded harshly. She wanted him to do it, wanted him to end it. That way, she wouldn't have to return to _him_, wouldn't have to endure the punishment. Wouldn't have to feel his hands on her body or hear the cruel things he would speak to her. She would be with her mother, her father, walk among the grasses of her ancestors for the first time. Closing her eyes, Cora welcomed it.

He could see her willingness to die, and it stayed his blade and interrupted his temper. Silently, he wondered what had driven the woman to welcome death, to even seek it out.

Hands dropped from her then, blade receding into its hiding place as the Assassin stepped back.

Her dark eyes flew open. "What are you doing?"

"I am not going to kill you."

Anxious eyes searched the Assassin, hunting for any hint of what his intentions were.

Both stood still, waiting for the other to move. When Cora realized he really wasn't going to try to kill her, defiance entered her eyes again.

She crossed the small room in three long strides, gaze locked onto the window that would deliver her from this man. Excuses for her master were already filling her mind when she lay her foot onto the window frame, but a strong hand pulled her back, discarding her onto the floor.

"I said I would not kill you, but I did not say I would let you go free," Connor told her, his large form looming over her.

Wrangling herself off the floor, she got to her feet, grinning wildly as adrenaline again made its way through her veins. Laughing maniacally, still sure she would meet death, she opened her mouth to deliver more taunts, only to be stifled by his large hand over her mouth.

"You would do well to be silent," he muttered, his anger evident even through the monotone of his voice.

"I will be of no use to you," she breathed as he removed his hand. "I will tell you nothing! It is better for you to kill me now and get it over with."

"And give you what you desire?" He scoffed, patience with her obviously at an end. "Absolutely not."

Finally, it set in that she would not be dying this night. No, he would make her prolong the suffering, the reality of her life. As he leaned towards her to grab hold of her, she spat into his face, pure hatred burning within her. The girl had hoped to get a rise out of him, but he remained calm, simply wiping it away as if it had been an accident. Cocking her head, she gave him a curious look for a moment. This man was strange indeed, she thought. If she had done that to any other, the punishment would have been severe – a woman acting out of place, and all. Yet here this cold blooded, cruel Assassin was, ignoring her attempts to anger him. It was terribly infuriating. She almost craved the feel of his hand against her face or the threat of him overpowering her if she acted out. At least then she would know what to expect, would know how to prepare herself. Now, with this strange man, she did not know how to handle the situation, and that fact was maddening.

"I will scream," she threatened as he took hold of her arm, large hand encircling her with a tight grip.

"If you make a noise," he said quietly as he peered out the door, "I will deliver you to the doorstep of where you came."

_Damn_, she thought. She wished her other option besides traveling with the Assassin was death - admittedly, it was looking like a good option. But going back was not an option for her. She refused to look upon that... _that man's_ face. No longer would she be his pawn, his plaything. If this is what it took to escape his grasp, she would do it. Besides, how hard could it be to escape in the night while the man was asleep? Surely he was simple minded enough not to pay attention.

So she let herself be led from the small house, through the dark city, plopped onto a horse and led into the darkness that awaited outside the city walls. How long it had been since she had seen the countryside, she thought as she tried to distract herself from her predicament.

The Assassin fell into silence, and Cora got the feeling he was not one for words. Perhaps the exchange they had back in the house was all she would hear from him. Indeed, he did not even reveal his face or acknowledge her as he bound her hands, made a fire or secured her to a tree before laying down. She had scoffed at him as he bound her, whispering insults that would have made any other man lash out against her. But this man stayed silent, raising her frustration to unspeakable levels. She berated the man with bitter abuses, but aside from the occasional twitch of the mouth, it was evident that the Assassin had long ago shut her shrill words out of his mind.

Forced to stay her mouth by the now still form across from her, the girl tried to sleep, but every attempt was thwarted by the distant rumbles of a storm. Closing her eyes, she let the sound calm her. Storms always seemed to have that effect on her, odd enough. Perhaps it was because it took her back to a time long ago, a time she could only fully remember in moments like this. She and her eldest brother had always glued themselves to the windows of their small house when a storm would pass. When their other sisters would be clutching at their mother's skirts, Cora and her brother would be watching the lightning snake down from the skies, would giggle as they felt the thunder shake the little house. Bets would be made on how long it would take for one of them to jump at the noise, and Cora could still hear the clucking of her mother's tongue as she gently reprimanded them for getting into fights over who had been startled first.

Riordan was always like that; competitive and feisty, always getting into fights and wrestling matches with the other boys who lived nearby. Cora had always followed him like a shadow, trying to act tough like her elder brother, much to her sister's dismay. Aoife had always been the most proper of the four children, attempting in vain to teach Cora the ways of a lady. Cora had always preferred climbing and mud-slinging to dolls and frills, though, so when Maebh came alone, Aoife was more than delighted. From the time there were four of them, it had always been her and Riordan against Aoife and Maebh, taking sides and blaming each other like young siblings often do.

Their mother, even stubborn in nature as she was, could never get the four of them to cooperate, despite all her urgings. When their father walked in the door, though, with his booming voice and broad frame, the house fell into order as if the yelling, hair pulling and chaos of the day had never even occurred. He would tickle them with his beard and delight them with stories of magical beings in lush green lands far across the sea.

Oh, those days seemed like a dream to her. Long before everything had... Long before she had been ruined, innocence taken in more ways than one. Still she could remember the day her misfortune had begun – it was with the loss of her mother.

She had birthed four healthy children with relative ease, so when she died in childbirth along with her infant son, it had been a horrid shock. Though all the children were devastated in their own way, having to learn to deal with the ragged hole in their life where their mother should have been, none in the family were as affected as much as their father. The light left his eyes as soon as he buried her, their son in her arms. Though joy came back to his face every so often, he was never truly the same.

Their love had been that great. It had been forbidden love, their mother had always told them, a secret smile on her fair face. As a child, Cora had always imagined the story as if her mother had been a princess and her father a noble prince, like the characters of her father's stories. It was love at first sight for their father, she would say dreamily, stealing glances at him as if they were again young lovers. With that, he would jump in, affirming their mother's tale.

"It was her eyes," he would say in that storyteller's voice, "Blue enough to rival the most revered skies of all Ireland." Sometimes it would be her hair that had caught his attention, the long, silken strawberry blonde tresses just waiting to be touched. Other times it would be her laugh, lilting as the most beautiful song, or her smile, bright enough to send the sun away in shame. At that, her mother would blush furiously, looking down as if embarrassed. Cora could see the scene so clearly in her mind, and it almost pained her to think of how long she had sat as a young girl, dreaming of a man who would love her as infinitely and selflessly as her father loved her mother.

But that was long ago...

No longer did she indulge the thought of a husband or family, or life beyond what it already was. No one would want her, anyway.

Scoffing in the silence, she went to cross her arms, only to be reminded that her hands were bound. Frustratingly, she yanked at the bindings, trying every trick she had been taught to release herself, but it was useless. The Assassin knew how to tie a knot, that much was true.

Sighing loudly, she slumped back against the tree with a resentful groan. How had she landed herself here? There were so many things she would have done differently, had she the chance.

The first of which would be to have found her brother after her father had died, and not so blindly trusted her uncle.

He was actually her great uncle, and only by marriage. Her father's sister had married the Englishman when she was still but a teenager, though often Cora had heard her aunt confess to her parents that she wished she had never agreed.

Rightly so – her uncle was a cruel, venomous man on the inside, once you dug beneath the cunning layer of seeming kindness that he so well pretended to have. It was well that they never had children – none should have the misfortune as having him to call father.

Of course, when Cora was still a child, she didn't understand how self-serving and cruel he really was. And indeed, her aunt was a kind and virtuous woman. She didn't think the woman would have married a true louse – he must have _some_ good qualities, she would think to herself. Chuckling to herself, Cora mocked her own naïvety.

Her father had never gotten along with the man, and had only put up with him at the urgings of his wife. When she died, there was nothing stopping his hatred from festering.

Eamon was a humble man, good and kind and well-intentioned. Never had Cora seen him with such hatred in his eyes as when he set eyes on Robert.

It was early spring, the last time she had seen her father with Robert. The roses that Aunt Nuala so intently tended to were just beginning to bloom, the scent overwhelmingly pleasant when they would walk through the front door. Robert was a wealthy man, and he owned a large plot of land that their home was built on. It was quite spacious and grand compared to the little cottage that Cora shared with her family, and it was partially for this reason that Cora so loved to visit her aunt. Despite her love of riding horses and idolizing her brother, as she entered into being a young woman, she had begun to enjoy when she dressed in one of the fine dresses Nuala had gotten her and her sisters.

The visit had started off normally, with Nuala insisting that the children share all that they had learned or the cleverest things they had done since they last visited, as they all snacked on freshly made blackberry tart.

The outburst was sudden, coming from Robert's study. To everyone's surprise, it was Eamon's voice that was assaulting the air, not Robert's. Cora had glanced at her aunt, but Nuala had turned a ghostly shade of white, and she set down her tea, a placid look with buried worry on her face. Cora's father burst out of the study, Robert following behind with a startling look of tranquility.

"Eamon, I am sorry you are unable to see things for how they are," Robert had said ominously.

"To hell with that," Cora's father responded in heavily accented English - his accent always came out stronger when he was angry. "I knew you to be a self-indulged man, sure, perhaps a bit cold hearted, but for you to be associated with those bastards is unforgivable." Cora knew it was serious as soon as she heard her father curse – hot tempered as he sometimes could be, never had she heard him curse in front of the children.

Robert made no attempt to deny the accusations, and simply stood in the hallway, hands clasped, a twisted smile on his face. Nuala looked terrified, and had leaned towards the direction of her brother as if hoping he would take her away. Cora's father stared at Nuala for a long time, unspoken conversation passing between them, before he nodded

"You are always welcome in our home, _dheirfiúr_," he whispered to his sister, kissing her on the cheek as if saying goodbye.

Once more, he turned to Robert, eyes narrowing as he stuck his hand out protectively in front his children. "If I ever see you near my children or hear of you harming my sister, I will kill you."

That simple sentence had shaken Cora to the core.

It was almost a month later when the men had come, bearing rifles and a grim determination on their faces. Maebh had come in from playing outside, and said simply, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, that strange men were approaching the house.

Oh, how papa's eyes had widened... It was the only time that Cora had ever seen her father genuinely scared. He had glanced between his two youngest children, likely thanking the heavens that the elder two were away at lessons. Silently, he had ushered them upstairs, stowing them into a closet and quietly telling them to stay hidden until he came back. Maebh, at nine years old, was trembling and crying, completely terrified by her father's fear. As he kissed them and whispered 'I love yous,' Cora knew something was terribly wrong.

As soon as she heard the familiar creek of the last step in the staircase of their little house, Cora had told her sister to stay put, and with a racing heart and sinking stomach, she tiptoed from the room.

What had happened was, to this day, engrained in her mind. She had spent years wishing to forget, trying to remember her father laughing and tickling her or cuddling her when she fell ill.

The crack of the rifle had made her jump, and the snicker of the culprit had made her feel ill. Her heat bid her eyes not to look, but her glance fell anyway, and soon she found herself staring wide-eyed at her father.

He was laying on the floor, eyes on the ceiling as blood spilled out of his chest.

"Don' forget those lit'le brats," the man said in a familiar accent.

Cora tried to shake herself into action, tried to tear her eyes away from her dying father, tried to save herself. Instead, her limbs betrayed her in their inability to move.

"There you are," he said with a sick smile as he brought his gun up, the small circular opening aimed right at her forehead.

Finally, she had been able to move. Wordlessly, she had sprinted back into the room, grabbed her sister and squeezed themselves into the smaller staircase that led to the kitchen. As she heard the hollering men ascending the stairs, she slipped silently out the back door.

Never before had she run so hard.

Never before had she felt so guilty shushing her sister, who kept tearfully asking the same question. "Where is _daidí_?"

Cora should have taken her sister and found their brother. He was nineteen now, and their elder sister seventeen. Instead, she headed for her aunt's house. It was what she had thought of first, despite her father and uncle's falling out, and by the time she realized she should have found her brother, they were almost there. Besides, she had thought, Nuala and Robert would no doubt reunite them with their siblings as soon as possible.

Oh, how wrong she had been.

The moonlight was bright now, strong enough that Cora could see all around her. Exhausted, she moved about, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep, but with her hands bound and her whole body attached to a tree, it was a difficult task to accomplish. The fire had since died, leaving only embers, and though it was nearing summer, Cora shivered, wishing for a blanket and a bed. At least that was one indulgence she was allowed back home.

_Home_. What a funny word. The fact that she had used it so unintentionally to describe the place she lived on a regular basis was almost sickening. Home was a place full of love, full of laughter, life, and hope. Cora had none of those things.

They had been stolen from her.

She and her sister had stayed with her aunt and uncle for a few days. Though Maebh cried often, consoled by Nuala, who was heartbroken enough for herself, Cora was numb to the pain. It still didn't feel real to her.

It was the fourth day when Robert had pulled her aside, whispered "He is coming for you," into her ears. Relief had flooded through her – he had finally found her brother!

But when the man, or _men_, she should say, arrived at Robert's door, Cora was confused.

It was only when the tallest of the three, likely the natural leader of the trio, took hold of her arm that she knew something was seriously amiss.

"Robert!" Nuala had screamed, clutching at Cora's free arm as she tried to pull her back. "What in Hell's name do you think you are doing!"

Robert was silent.

Nuala snatched her niece from the stranger's dirty claws.

Cora clutched her, digging her nails into the fabric of her dress.

"I have a debt to pay, you see," her uncle said finally. His voice was ice, his glare somehow even colder. "And what better way to do it than with flesh? She will be much more adaptable, more dexterous than money ever could be. And much more beneficial to the cause."

"I will not allow it," Nuala screamed, pushing Cora and Maebh behind her.

"You have no say, woman. Or do you forget that I am head of this household? I make decisions. Besides, this is for your own good!" As he made his excuses, Nuala shook her head in disbelief. "Besides, I leave you the younger one to mother. She's too young for this purpose yet, and not nearly as fair."

"Damn you!" Her aunt's fist was hard in Robert's face, delivering a loud crack.

"You will regret that." Those four words were as threatening as Cora would ever hear.

The stranger moved towards Cora, slowly at first, then with haste. His grip was rough as he dragged her away, wrenching her from Nuala's grasp. Robert held her back, thick arm clasped around her waist as she kicked and screamed, tears running down her face.

As he watched Cora be taken away, it finally dawned on her. It all came together.

"Wait!" She screamed, wriggling away from the stranger's grasp. "It was you," she said pointedly. "You ordered my father killed." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

Robert laughed.

"Very smart for a child, and a girl at that! Perhaps she will serve the Order well."

As Nuala again began her wailing, Robert uttered the last words Cora would hear from him.

"Take her away."

* * *

The first night was the hardest. They broke her, defiled her. Left alone on a cold stone floor, all she could think about was her father's body, unguarded and alone in their little home.

Headstrong as she was, she wasn't able to hold out for long. First the denial of food and water, then the restriction of sleep, then the mind games... It wasn't long before she had given in to them, agreed not to fight them. And little by little, they changed her – hardened her, turned her into a cold-blooded killer, fed her information about the enemy, fueled her hatred.

A hatred that had led her here. But if the Templars had given her one thing, it was resilience. She had to be, to survive. And perhaps and was even thankful. Besides, they had also given her the truth about the Assassins, and a chance to avenge what had happened to her, to her siblings, her father. The Assassins had destroyed her life, and so she would destroy anything of them that she could get her hands on – starting with the one laying before her.

Renewed determination, she sat rigidly against the tree, unwilling for sleep to claim her. Sleep was for the weak, and of all things she was, weakness was not one.

As the Assassin stirred, she narrowed her eyes, malevolence and hatred fueling her. If it was the last thing she did, it would be to rip away from him everything him and his Order had taken from her.

* * *

**A/N: Well, that's that! I was oddly nervous to post this, but hopefully it's not too bad. :) Feel free to leave some constructive criticism, things you liked, suggestions to make it better, etc in a review! This chapter was just a lot of backstory, so I'm sorry if it was a little dull, and it was very Connor POV lacking/based more on my OC just simply because it was important to me for ya'll to get a good feel for her and her background. I promise there will be more of Connor's POV later in the story.**

**Cora's family was Irish, so some names and an occasional word is from that culture. I have done my best to research and have it as accurate as possible, but if there's any Irish Gaelic speakers out there, feel free to correct me if I ever make any kind of mistake. **

**I have included here translations as well as pronunciations of names that are accurate according to my internet research, but again, no promises it's 100%. **

**_dheirfiúr - _sister**

_**daidí - **_**daddy**

**Aoife - _Ee-fuh_. Cora's older sister.**

**Riordan - _Reer-don_. Cora's older brother, and the eldest of the children.**

**Maebh - _Mayv_. Cora's younger sister.**

**Eamon - _Aim-an_. Cora's father.**

**Nuala - _Noola_. Cora's aunt, Eamon's sister.**


	2. The Plan

**A/N: First off, sorry for the short length of this chapter. It wasn't working to cut it off somewhere else. Secondly, I have a sort of disclaimer for this story. Bear with me here, I just felt it needed to be said!**

**First off, my goal here isn't to create two perfect people. I read so many fics where Connor is perfect and morally incorruptible, the OC he ends up with is beautiful and kind and perfect and their love is perfect, etc etc. This is not how this story is going to play out. I just want everyone to remember that this is war, and these characters are human. No one is that perfect in real life, especially in the circumstances. Connor and my OC are human, and I don't like when people write any character as being perfect and unable to make mistakes, either intentional or unintentional ones. It's part of the human experience, and it makes characters more real to me when they have to deal with the consequences of their actions. And trust me, in this story there will be a lot of that.**

**Secondly, I just want everyone to remember that this is a war, and these are flawed humans, just like the rest of us. Bad things happen, even when it's not intentional. People get hurt no matter how much you try not to hurt them, and innocents are harmed. It's just reality. Please try to remember that and not judge Connor or Cora too hard. :)**

**My apologies, but I just want to get that out of the way. :)**

Chapter Two;

The Plan

* * *

"Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful." Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

* * *

Connor quietly observed her as he readied himself for their journey. He had decided to take her to Achilles – the old man would know the right questions to ask. He was sure the woman knew where Lee was, but he was also certain she would never open her mouth to him. Achilles had a way with people, though, and Connor was sure that he would be much more effective in loosening her tongue. As he filled his water skin, it suddenly dawned on him that he had no idea what he would do with her afterward, but he could cross that bridge when he came to it.

The woman herself was a mystery, and an unsettling one at that. From the moment he had risen from what little sleep he had gotten, he felt her eyes boring into him, and he could almost feel the contempt radiating from her skin. Intrigue at what lies the Templars had doubtlessly told her to get her to hate him so wholly kept his curious eyes on her, and his lingering gaze didn't escape her narrowed eyes.

"See something you like, Assassin?" Her voice forged sweetness as she mocked him, a counterfeit smile plastered on her face.

Though he had known the woman for no more than half a day, Connor already knew well that his silence was what agitated her the greatest as well as the easiest.

It was almost comical how correct he was.

Disgruntlement and a hint of indignation entered her stubborn features almost instantly. All she wanted was for him to return the blow of words, to insult her right back and allow her to keep with her taunts. Instead, his silence was all that filled the air, stagnant and so cruelly thwarting.

"Come on," he said simply, refusing to meet her gaze as he pulled her up, hands still bound.

"Do _not_ touch me," she yelled, her voice sharp and bitter as she yanked her arm away. No way would she allow that Assassin filth to touch her! "I do _not_ need your help."

"Suit yourself."

Walking towards the lone horse that stood nearby, she suppressed a groan. There was no way she would be able to mount with her hands bound. Nevertheless, she made several attempts as Connor stood behind her, arms crossed, a trace of an entertained smile on his lips. After a few agonizingly degrading moments, she managed to drag herself into the saddle, only to be further shamed by the ease by which the Assassin swung up behind her, coaxing the horse into motion by one syllable.

Cora shifted forward in the seat, trying to touch her captor as little as possible, but with the confinements of a saddle meant for one, it was not easy or comfortable to keep from making contact. The nerve of that man... Forcing her to ride with him, refusing to meet her provocations...

How was she supposed to kill him if he wouldn't even acknowledge her? Seduction was obviously out of the question, and any kind of sneaking was undoubtedly unwise.

_Think like your enemy_, she reminded herself. Think like an Assassin, with their precious honor and secrecy and trust... She scoffed in amusement before it finally hit her over the head like a ton of bricks. _Trust_.

How had she not seen it before? Trust was the only way inside... She had to make the Assassin trust her, and at the precise moment he believed she would not betray him, into his back her knife would go.

It was perfect!

She almost let out a giggle at the genius of it, but kept it in, not wanting to alert the Assassin to how pleased she was with herself.

It wouldn't be easy, and it most definitely would not be enjoyable, but it was for a good cause, and the satisfaction of the life leaving his eyes would be well worth it.

Purpose and determination filling her with patience, Cora was suddenly much more comfortable as she was led to some godforsaken place, some temporary fate unbeknownst to her. Now that she had decided her next move, her mind began to wander, curiosity filling her to the brim. Where were they going? How long would it take for the Assassin to trust her?

Abruptly, her reverie was broken by a large group of men in red yelling at the Assassin. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into now?

Cursing under his breath, Connor urged the horse into a sprint after a quick cut left into the woods. When he was sure he had lost the Redcoats, he stopped the horse, swinging his legs back onto the ground in one quick motion and pulling the girl down with him.

"We are walking from here."

"What about the horse?"

"He will find his way home," The Assassin said simply.

What an ass, Cora thought to herself. Leaving an animal alone in the forest! Even as merciless as she could be, never would she have been able to leave a horse alone. Although, she had to admit that if she did have a weakness, helpless animals was it.

"And I suppose we will just _walk_ all the way to wherever it is you are taking me?"

"Yes."

Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly followed him. This was going to be harder than she thought.

"Where is it we are going exactly?"

"You will see."

It was difficult to suppress a frustrated groan... It was difficult to suppress a lot of things around this damned Assassin. Who knew that a man of such few words would end up frustrating her so damn much?

"_Or_ you could just tell me now," Cora proposed, voice challenging him.

"I could also deliver you to whoever it was that sent you, since you seem so keen on returning," he threatened back, hitting her right where it hurt. Grumbling, she stomped behind him, annoyed that all it took was a threat to send her back to keep her in check. As much as she despised the Assassin, she would brave a thousand days with him in order to avoid that bastard's hungry eyes and demanding tongue.

"Look," she said, reluctantly conceding defeat. _Temporary_ defeat, though, she reminded herself. Lose the battle, win the war, and all of that. "I have no intentions of returning to where I came from. As long as you agree to release me to myself when this is over, I will go with you without objection, and tell you all you wish."

"Really." It was a statement rather than a question, and obvious doubt was thick in his monotone voice.

"If you would rather drag me there kicking and screaming, you cannot say I gave you no other choice."

"I just did not expect you to agree so easily."

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said with a bitter laugh.

Before Connor could respond, the telltale sound of a snapping twig reached his ears. Immediately, he grabbed the girl's arm and led her forward in a desperate sprint. That patrol had been full of grenadiers, and with a bound woman at his side, fighting so many of them wasn't in anyone's best interest.

Just as they rounded a corner, a few Regulars emerged from behind a group of trees and began their approach. Cornered, Connor drew his weapon. They would have to fight.

"Release me," Cora demanded. As the patrol closed in on them, she became more urgent. "I said, release me! At least let me fight for my own life!"

At first, Connor refused, his experience thus far with the girl telling him she would surely run off the first chance she had. But then, he remembered her words, and fierce determination not to end up back with whoever had sent her. As much as she seemed to hate him, her disgust with whoever's hand controlled her life was far greater. With a frustrated groan, he complied, slicing through the ropes with ease.

Cora made the first move, sprinting to the nearest Regular, a young soldier who looked quite inexperienced and reluctant to fight. She disarmed him easily and he stumbled backwards, as if willingly giving his permission for her to take his sword. Poor boy, she thought as she dodged a sword from one of the other soldiers. The boy couldn't have been older than 15, and it was likely he had been unwillingly conscripted.

Cora made sure to give him his escape, making quick work of the other Regulars. Any hesitation the men had at fighting a woman were long gone once her blade had impaled its first victim. As the second man fell to the floor, she ducked just in time to avoid the blow of a grenadier's axe. As he built up another swing, she lunged at him, strike aimed for the heart. He blocked it easily with the wood of his axe, delivering a well placed punch to the side of her face, sending her reeling backwards.

Just as he raised his axe to finish her, a shot rang out and he fell limp to the ground.

Breaths coming ragged, Cora glanced at the Assassin, who was sliding his gun into its holster while fending off a grenadier of his own. It was the last of the patrol, she noted, admittedly shocked. In the time it had taken her to disarm a boy and kill two Regulars, three grenadiers lay dead at his feet.

The Assassin broke the soldier's defense easily, tripping him onto his back and burying his tomahawk into his chest. Even Cora, who was battle hardened of her own regard, cringed at the sight. As the Assassin turned to say something to her, his eyes widened slightly and he pulled out his gun, aiming at some unseen target behind her.

Whipping her head around, she saw only the young Regular making a run for it. Her lips didn't even have the time to form an objection before he was falling to the ground, a gunshot ringing mercilessly through the air.

"You bastard," she yelled as she sprinted to the boy, sliding onto her knees as she approached. "He was only a boy!" She prayed for a pulse, and found none. Anger and hatred renewed, she stood, half of her begging for permission to kill the Assassin now. This was what _they_ were. Proof was right in front of her. The same men that had taken her brother's life, the same men that had defiled her sisters, that had ruined her life... This Assassin was part of them, and the proof was in the dead child at her feet.

"He was going to warn the others," the Assassin insisted. "I had no choice. Otherwise double, triple that patrol could have come after us."

It had been a long time since Cora had felt such pure rage. So much of her wanted to strangle him now, to end his pathetic excuse for a life in return for the life he had taken – the _lives_ he had taken. Staying her anger was the hardest thing she had done since she had been thrust into this terrible twist of fate. She had to, though, if she truly wanted her revenge. She had to earn his trust...

If she stayed here, she would doubtlessly do or say something she would regret.

"Fuck you," she yelled irately. It was pure instinct that turned her on her heels, that carried her as far away as possible from that meager excuse for a man.


	3. Interim

Chapter Three;

Interim

* * *

"In war, discipline can do more than fury." Niccolo Machiavelli

* * *

_Idiot_, Connor thought to himself. He knew she would have made a run for it! Never should he have cut her binds free...

Leading the horse into a sprint, he retraced the steps he had seen her take, and it wasn't long before he spotted her running along the path. As he pulled the horse to a skidding stop, he cut her off, bringing forth a small agitated scream from her lips.

Cora had not intended to actually escape – she still had her plan to accomplish, after all, but she still felt like getting as far away from him as possible. Thankfully, she had run most of her anger away, but still couldn't stop her seething glare from finding its target.

Connor found the situation to be entirely ironic. Here was this woman, who seemed quite cold and merciless herself, was mad at him for killing a Regular, despite having done many questionable things. What a hypocrite...

Part of him wanted to leave her here in the forest, to be rid of her infuriating ways, but the possibility that she held information about Lee was too important an opportunity to pass up.

The Assassin dropped his arm, intending to help her onto the horse, but she crossed her arms in cold refusal.

"I do _not_ need your help, _Assassin_. I thought I had made that very clear."

Letting out a frustrated, impatient breath, Connor dismounted.

"I do not have time for games. If you are going to be difficult, we should end this now."

Oh, how much she wanted to let it end now... But she had a job to do. She had a plan. She had to finish it, had to get justice – if not for herself, for her family, and for the other people they had harmed. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of winning, she did not look him in the eye as she mounted the horse without a word, scooting as close to the front of the saddle as possible.

The ride was wordless and cumbersome, and when the Assassin told Cora that they were close, she was absolutely relieved. Any kind of torture the Assassin and his followers would inflict on her at their headquarters would be much less agonizing than being forced to ride in front of _him_, so close she could literally feel him breathing down her neck. The scenery as they got close wasn't something Cora had anticipated. She had figured their headquarters would be somewhere less... remote.

Instead, they rode into a small community. It couldn't really be called a town, for there were few homes, but there were people passing through as well as inhabitants doing their daily chores and work. As they came up to a wooden bridge, Cora began to take in her surroundings as thoroughly as possible.

It was a pretty little settlement, surrounded by hills and beautiful, tall trees. Though she couldn't see it yet, Cora knew by the sweet, heavy smell of salt in the air that the ocean was close by. The locusts called loudly from the trees, their rhythmic chirp a strange comfort to her. Oddly enough, she loved that sound, that ushering in of summer by even the smallest beings.

As they passed the bridge, two young boys came running, seemingly out of nowhere, waving their hands and calling out.

"Connor's back!" They yelled, the younger one jumping to get his mother's attention. Cora finally spotted the woman at the same time she had looked up from her washing. A strange look spread over the woman's face, and as her sons began to trot onto the path, she called them back, placing a hand on their shoulders as she eyed Cora hesitantly.

The Assassin nodded at her in acknowledgment, though he said nothing. As if his silence was a signal for trouble, the woman leaned down and whispered something into the ears of her children, who obediently turned and headed towards what Cora assumed to be their home. It was funny to Cora, that the woman seemed to look at her as if _she_ was the danger, and not the Assassin. Did she know nothing of what he and his Order had done?

As they continued slowly on the path, anxiety began to tighten its grip on Cora's heart. What would he do to her, once he had her completely in his clutches? Was there even a way to earn his trust? Would she waste away, trying for months in vain in an attempt to win his favor so that she could carry out her plan? So many questions, none of them possible to answer...

When Connor dismounted, he glanced up at the woman, trying to gauge what her reaction would be. Her eyes met his fleetingly, and for a moment he saw the smallest trace of fear reflected back at him. But then it was gone, replaced by hardened features, by contempt and stubbornness.

He watched her as she swung her leg over the horse, hopping to the ground easily. Though she refused to meet his eyes, he knew she was waiting for him to instruct her.

"This way," he said wearily, gesturing for her to enter the house.

It wasn't at all what she had been expecting. The house was large, and admittedly quite beautiful. It was well furnished, and seemed to be well lived in. She stopped suddenly, glancing into the kitchen, the smell of fresh baked bread wafting underneath her nose.

The memory gripped her tightly, rending her incapable of speech or movement. It was as if her mother was there before her eyes, pulling a loaf of sweet bread out of the little stone oven. Maebh came around the corner, dark brown curls bouncing as she begged to be the first to try it.

"Not now, _bláth beag_. You will hurt your mouth," her mother warned gently.

"Awhh," Maebh whined loudly. "But _máthair_!"

When their mother had left the room, needing to sit down to relieve the burden that her swollen belly put on her feet, Maebh had tiptoed to the table, mischief in her eyes. Up she went on the tip of her toes, reaching... reaching... the tips of her fingers finally found the bread, reeling back as she touched it.

"You had better not," Cora warned, looking up from the potatoes she had been cutting in preparation for dinner. After sticking out her tongue, she tore the smallest piece of the loaf, plopping it into her mouth, a satisfied look on her face.

It was moments before she screamed, forcing her tongue out of her mouth as if the air would somehow sooth it. Their mother had rushed in, worry all over her face.

"What? What is it?"

Maebh said nothing, only making strange grunting sounds as she hopped around, trying to distract herself from the pain. Their mother's eyes drifted from Maebh to Cora to the missing piece off of the bread, putting two and two together.

Instead of reprimanding Maebh, she burst into laughter, holding the swell of her pregnant stomach as if to keep it in place as she shook with laughter.

"'ot -unny," Maebh yelled, tongue still hanging out of her mouth as she looked both disappointed and embarrassed at having been proved wrong.

As Cora fell into laughter as well, her mother crossed the room, dropping a kiss on the heads of both daughters before preparing a glass of water for Maebh.

When Connor turned, the woman was standing near the kitchen, eyes lost in some faraway place. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and when her head snapped in his direction, again he saw the smallest bit of vulnerability. But just as before, it was gone before he could be completely sure.

"Stay right there," he muttered before making his way to find Achilles.

As he had predicted, he was sitting in his chair, head tilted to the side in sleep. Sighing, he reached out to shake his shoulder, regretting that he had fallen asleep. Achilles was always cranky if you woke him, and Connor wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

When Achilles' eyes finally opened and he became conscious enough of his surroundings to notice Connor, he sat up straighter, grabbing for his cane and pulling himself to his feet.

"Connor! I didn't hear you come in," he said, his voice rough.

"There is something I must tell you," Connor said, skipping the greetings. As he explained the situation to Achilles, the old man's face grew weary and grim, as if he was quite hesitant to meet this woman at all.

"Where is she," he finally asked.

"In the hall."

"She – what!" Sighing wearily, Achilles moved Connor aside with his cane, grumbling as he made his way into the hall. Bringing her _here_! Of all the foolish things that boy had done...

When he caught sight of the girl, he was unsure of what to make of her. The Templars recruiting women to seduce and kill was news to Achilles, and he approached the situation wearily. It must have been something one of the lower ranking Templars had managed – he couldn't see Haytham or Lee overseeing such a project. Hickey, perhaps, but he was long dead.

"What is your name, girl?" His brow was furrowed as he watched her, his suspicious eyes scrutinizing her every move.

She was silent for a few moments, as she took in the situation. The man, old and obviously not in the best condition of his life, held an obvious role over Connor, who stood behind him, hands clasped in front of him, chin lifted as he peered down at the situation unfolding before him.

"Cora," she said slowly, figuring that at this point, a false name wouldn't do her any good. Then, she had to suppress a laugh at the irony of what she had just thought.

Cora wasn't her real name – not even close. When she had arrived at the Templar headquarters and found she was not the only woman there, it had almost been a comfort. There were only two others – Hannah, who was almost ten years older, and Jane, who was about Cora's age. Oliver, the man who was the overseer of their training and upkeep, insisted that she not go by her own name. Cora had been the most stubborn of the three, the hardest to break, and so he did his best to strip her of every part of her past life, even taking her own name from her.

It was Hannah who had given the suggestion.

"What about Cora," she asked one day, not a week after Cora had arrived. Hannah had taken quite well to the girl, stepping in almost as a mother figure, just as she had with Jane. "My mother was named Corinna, but my father called her Cora. I always planned to use it for my daughter one day, but..."

She didn't have to finish for Cora to know what she was going to say.

"Would you like to tell me why you are here," Achilles asked politely, still looking at her wearily.

Not really, she thought. But she did anyway.

"_He_ seems to believe I may have some information that will be useful to you," she said, gesturing to the Assassin and doing her best not to give him a disgusted look.

"And do you?"

For some reason, Cora didn't know what to say. She opened her mouth, only to close it again, words caught in her throat. Ordering herself to answer him, she opened her mouth again, but still she did not know what she should say and what was wise to keep to herself. She should have thought about this on the way here, and cursed herself for not doing so. Now she looked like a bumbling idiot.

"Hmm," the older man said, eying her carefully. "Well then, follow me."

The Assassin unclasped his hands then, shock exploding over his features, mouth practically gaping open as he watched the old man lead her up the stairs.

Cora had to suppress a satisfied smile. His disgusted reaction was enough to sustain her for at least the rest of the evening.

"It's not much, but this will do for now," the old man said, waving her into the room with his cane. "There's a small cot around her somewhere. I will have Connor bring it up shortly."

Then, he was gone, not waiting for a response. It wasn't as if she would have given him one anyway, but it still intrigued her. Even more intriguing was the room he had placed her in. It wasn't much, just a table in the middle of the room, a few chairs, and some paintings and flags covering the walls.

What had really caught her eye was the door. Upon investigation, she was more than surprised to learn that the old man had put her in a room with such an easy escape route. It was impossible to deny the temptation, especially once she had walked out onto the large balcony.

It would have been easy, to hop over the railing, to drop down, steal a horse and ride off. She would be long gone before anyone even noticed. It was a alluring thought, until she realized she would have nowhere to go, anyway. Sighing, she swung her legs over the railing, sitting on top and letting her legs dangle off.

It was beautiful from up here, she had to admit. Despite having to be so close to the Assassin, despite having to spend who knows how long to win his favor, despite everything, at least she would be able to find some solace on this balcony. Likely, she would spend her time sketching the scenery.

_Sketching_. Panic filled her as she threw herself back onto the balcony, frantically searching her skirts for the telltale hardness of the book in the pocket she had sewn in. Though she knew it wouldn't be there, when her hands finally found the empty pouch of fabric, her heart sank. Her whole life was in that book! Everything she held dear...

Cora had not cried in six years – she wasn't some delicate weeping woman, pushed into tears by her favorite sewing needle being misplaced. But if there was ever a time she felt like crying, this was it.

As she looked back towards the door, she spotted the Assassin there. Her despairing heart turned instantly cold at the mere sight of him. It was all his fault, anyway! It had probably fallen out in the house she had taken him to, while they had been fighting. First he had taken her family, her life, her future... And now he had taken the only thing of value that she had left.

Connor had walked in to set up the cot that the old man had him dig out of storage, but at the sight of the door ajar and the woman seeming to be about to make her escape, he had dropped it, readying himself to go after her until she had jumped back, rustling her skirts as if an animal had run into them.

With the way she was looking at him, he thought she might very well try to kill him then and there, even unarmed and cornered as she was.

"Achilles told me you would be staying here. I brought a cot up," he told her, ignoring the obvious raging in her eyes.

"And where do _you_ live," she asked finally, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Across the hall."

Her eyes flew open in response, her face conveying both disgust and a trace of fear. Connor rolled his eyes and sighed, so exhausted with her constant attitude.

"I do not know what Achilles is thinking, letting you stay here of all places. But that is his decision, and so I must abide by it."

Why would the Assassin have to answer to the old man? Unless...

"_He_ is the Mentor?"

Cora had been told many things about the Mentor – that he was cruel, soulless, merciless. Told that he had ordered the attack on her father, and that the Assassin before her aided in carrying it out. But that old man, hunched over his cane, who had not pressed her for answers... It didn't make sense.

"Yes," the Assassin replied, raising his brow at her as if in skepticism. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Quite the contrary, actually. Cora was slightly relieved – once she had killed the Assassin, taking out the old man would be easy. Though of course, she did not voice this. She was trying to gain the Assassin's trust, after all.

"Of course not," she said, her tone falsely gentle. "He is just... Not what I expected."

Connor kept his eyes on her for a moment, not sure what to make of her suddenly agreeable temperament. The woman stood there before him, wide eyed, one hand gripping the railing as if she was trying to keep herself from falling over. It was strange to him, how someone could go from being so hostile and filled with rage to seeming so quiet-natured. What a strange woman she was.

"Achilles will likely insist you come down for dinner," he finally mumbled, giving her a curt nod before ducking out of the door and disappearing.

Still unsure what to make of her, he made his way downstairs. Achilles stood expectantly by the bottom of the stairs, looking up when he heard the creaking of the steps.

"How did it go?"

"She is strange," Connor replied, following Achilles as he went to sit down.

"In what way?"

"She was so hostile and defiant before. Now she is so... calm."

Achilles chuckled, as if at some secret joke. "You really have no experience with women," he commented. "Anyhow, I believe we should give her some time before we begin asking questions. Perhaps in time she will come to us willingly."

Connor made a face, surprised by what the old man was saying. "This is unlike you."

"Each situation must be dealt with in its own way, Connor. The way to handle the threat of your father and Lee is much different than this woman."

"I do not understand." Connor shifted his weight, crossing his arms. How did Achilles not see that she was potentially just as much a threat as Lee? And she was on the homestead! Would he really willingly keep danger here? "If you saw how she was before, maybe you-"

"Connor," Achilles interrupted. "Do you deny that it is wise to analyze each situation on its own? If I had not, you would not be standing here today."

Defeated, Connor sighed, slumping slightly. Why was he surprised, though? The old man won often, and today was no different, except that this time Connor was too mentally exhausted from dealing with Cora to argue with Achilles.

"What would you have me do?"

"Be patient. From what you told me before about her seeming to be reluctant to go back, I doubt she will try to run. Remember that not everything is as it seems. Including this girl, I suspect."

* * *

It killed her not to have her sketch book with her. It was the only thing that had kept her sane since she had found it in the room she had been kept in, stowed carelessly into a drawer. At first, it was her family that she had made sketches of. Her father, her sisters and brother, their little home. She had tried to draw her mother, but could never get it right, each attempt missing the eyes or the lips where she had given up. Realizing she could no longer remember her mother's face had been difficult, but she had supposed it was to be expected.

Later, she had filled it with drawings of Hannah and Jane, even of some Templars she had seen often enough to sketch. The task calmed her, the mindless strokes of the hand keeping the fears and memories at bay, passing the time...

Without it, she felt naked, like part of her was missing. Her hand craved the feel of the chalk in her hand as she transferred lines onto the paper, curves and shades that would be the same no matter what happened. Her sketches were constant, reliable, comforting. With them gone, she felt as if everything would begin tumbling out of control.

The voices of squealing children drew her out of her despondence. Upon further investigation, it seemed to be the same boys she had seen by the bridge, only this time they were running around, yelling the Assassin's name as he walked towards the stables. Before he had a chance to respond, they had latched themselves onto his arms, laughing maniacally as he lifted them off the ground, feigning effort as he let out a strained groan. The boys, delighted that they believed they had been hard to lift, only laughed harder as the Assassin walked forward, loudly declaring that they had grown a foot each since he had last been here.

Cora raised her eyebrows, taken aback by his indulgence of the children's affections. He had seemed so hard and stern to her, and yet before her eyes he was playful and the subject of attention for those two boys. Doubt, cold and merciless as it was, crept into her heart, demanding answers to questions she didn't want to know the answer to.

As the Assassin had predicted, the old man asked for her to join them at dinner. Instead, she stayed in her room, mind too occupied to play nice. She could start wooing them tomorrow...

When the next day came, though, she still confined herself to her room. To both her surprise and relief, none came to bother her, to interrupt the solace she had taken in the solitude, however temporary. Both the Assassin and the old man had eventually showed up, with offers of food or invitations to join them, but she never answered them, mostly out of pride. Though she knew eventually she would have to talk to them, to converse with them, eat with them and ultimately befriend them, it would be on her terms. Not theirs.

While rummaging through drawers and cabinets, she had managed to find paper and a nearly dry inkwell and quill. It was funny how the simple task of drawing could calm her so easily. When the panic and anxiety had began to set in, the worries that Oliver would find her or that the Assassin would take her back, she had taken comfort in the feel of the pen against paper, the meticulous lines suddenly forming the shape of the stables, the trees... Though using ink to draw was not something she had done, it was at least better than nothing.

She had been in the middle of crafting the precise curve of a horse's back when she heard the door creak open. Startled, she nearly crumpled the paper in her hands, setting it aside only after taking a breath in preparation for dealing with the Assassin.

"What is it," she said flatly, wiping her hands on her skirt.

"Achilles insists that you join us for supper."

"Tell him I am ill," she sighed, trying to slump over for good effect.

The Assassin rolled his eyes.

"I will see you downstairs."

As he shut the door, Cora had to repress the desire to kick something. That man would be her undoing. The last thing she wanted was to go downstairs and be civil with those men, to smile and give good graces. Though indeed, the time to begin to gain their trust was slipping away each moment she stubbornly kept herself shut away in this room.

Sighing loudly, she gathered her drawings, laying them gently on the small table in the middle of the room. As she looked down at herself, she was sure that she was in no way presentable for any kind of formal meal. Blood stained her chemise, her hair and face were laden with dirt, and she was not sure she smelled too pleasant after the events of the past few days.

_Oh well_, she thought smugly. _They asked for me, they can have me, in all of my glory._

After fashioning her hair in a quick braid down her back, she made her way downstairs, trying her best to look warm and docile, but failing terribly.

"Ah, Cora," the old man said warmly, motioning with his cane to an empty chair at the table. The Assassin looked almost as uncomfortable as she, but Cora pretended not to notice.

"Thank you," she responded with feigned kindness, voice strained.

As she took her seat, Connor gave a heated look to Achilles, who in turn gazed back at him with a reprimanding look, as if to tell him to behave himself.

"I hope to hear that your stay here has been pleasant," Achilles said, eyes focused on his food. Shaking his head slightly, Connor turned his attention to his own plate, picking at his food as he wondered why the old man was being so pleasant with that woman.

"Of course," she muttered, hands mindlessly pulling her bread apart. "I apologize for keeping myself away for the past few days. I... had to think some things through."

Connor eyed her suspiciously. There was something off about her, something strangely insincere even about the way she placed the bread in her mouth. Perhaps he was being too hasty in his judgments, but something did not sit right with him. Frowning, he again glanced in Achilles' direction, wondering how he had managed not to notice. Usually it was the old man who had these hunches, not him.

For the rest of the meal, all three ate in an uncomfortable silence. Cora excused herself before either of the men, claiming she was tired. The old man, to Cora's dismay, finally decided to call her in for a talk though, and made her promise to come down again the next day. She agreed.

About what, though, she had no idea. Would he finally press her for information about the Templars? And if he did, what would she say? How much could she give up without compromising herself or them, yet still gain their trust?

It was enough to make her head hurt, and she crawled into the little cot promptly, hoping to occupy her mind with sleep instead of such thoughts. Instead, her body was as restless as her mind, and the only way she could think to calm it was to walk around, perhaps try to find a drink of water.

Cora had always been light of feet, but she felt as if she was romping down the stairs like a monster with the amount of creaking the steps made. Luckily, it seemed like all were asleep, and so she continued into the kitchen, checking everywhere for the pitcher of water she had seen at dinner. As her hands fumbled blindly around the kitchen, she heard footsteps and froze.

When she finally turned, she saw just enough of the figure to know it was the Assassin. Frozen where she stood, she stared at the corner of the wall, waiting to hear a door open or see him come into the kitchen. Instead, he seemed to have disappeared. After what sounded like footsteps on stairs, she heard nothing more. Stepping lightly, Cora made her way across the room and peered behind the wall.

What she saw left her mouth agape.

Indeed, he had disappeared, into a basement that was obviously meant to be secret. The candlestick was ajar, the wall flung open as if it was a door, a staircase descending into dull light. Her curiosity beckoned, but obviously it was unwise to go there when the Assassin was there. Being alone with him in a small dark space did not seem like a very safe idea.

Still, though, she wondered what was so important to be hidden in that room. Assassin secrets, perhaps? It was likely, and she knew she would have to go down there eventually.

Perhaps she should wait for the Assassin to take her there on his own, once he trusted her, but that could take weeks, and if Cora found valuable information, perhaps she could get word to Henry or one of the others whom she had befriended. Cora almost laughed as she considered how careless the Assassin had been, not even bothering to be sure the house was secure before potentially exposing things his Order tried to keep hidden. Perhaps there were even plans, plans that could me... misplaced.

As she crawled back into the cot, feeling quite satisfied with herself for finding the secret of the house, she fell into an easy sleep, looking forward to the opportunity to further destroy the Brotherhood through ways they would never even see coming.

* * *

**A/N: Please feel free to drop a review! **


	4. Out of Place

Chapter Four;

Out of Place

* * *

"I fear a cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds has gone beyond recall or desire."

Éowyn, in J.R.R Tolkien's _Return of the King_

* * *

The house was quiet when she woke – frighteningly so. It was a silence so still, so void, that it took her a full five minutes just to get to her feet, for fear that someone would hear her. She had slept restlessly, waking often, tossing in sleep, bursting into short moments of consciousness in the midst of sweat and heat. Finally, though, with the room beginning to lighten, she forced herself to get up.

Throwing her arms back, she stretched, letting each vertebrae fall back into place after a night spent with mangled limbs trying to fit like puzzle pieces on that small cot. Her feet were light on the wood of the floor, but still she couldn't stop the boards from creaking as she crept down the stairs, praying with all of her being that the Assassin would not hear her and come to investigate. A few moments to herself was all she needed to prepare herself to begin to play nice with him.

When she finally felt the dampness of the morning air on her skin, she breathed a soft sigh of relief. Just as she had began to pull the door closed behind her, she turned back and glanced at the stairwell, imagining what was beneath those stairs. Regrettably, though, this was not the time to indulge her curiosity. The Assassin would surely wake soon, and if he caught her, there would be hell to pay.

Cora wasn't sure where she was going as she wandered around aimlessly, trying to awaken her still sleep fogged brain. Oddly, she had lacked focus lately. Normally she had such a clear mind – a rigid list of tasks and an obvious way to achieve them. She had become comfortable with the consistent expectations of her life in Boston; be assigned a job, plan, carry it out perfectly, doing whatever it took to be successful. _Whatever_ it took... Yes, she had done things that would seem unspeakable now, among this little homestead where people lived and worked and kept their families. It was all so normal, so enticing, so frighteningly inconsistent...

At least back in Boston, she knew what to expect at all times. If she was successful, Oliver would perhaps leave her alone. If she brought back extra information or did exceptionally well, sometimes he would even give her chalks and pastels or extra paper for her sketches. The delight that filled her when she would receive this seemed to linger weeks, sustaining her sanity more than she would have liked to admit. Sometimes, he would even allow Henry to come and spend time with her. He worked as a guard in the place she was kept, but he was a good man, and Cora often wondered why he was working for the Templars, though she never questioned his intentions or how he came to be there. He was kind to her from the beginning, always sneaking her more food or exchanging a joke when no one else was looking.

Sometimes, he would sneak in at night when he was bored and the guards were having dinner, and try to make her laugh with his poor attempts at sketching. He always said he felt out of place with the other guards, and on breaks he would seek her company instead. Once, they had sketched each other out of boredom. Her drawing of him was immaculate, almost as if it was a reflection in a mirror – as soon as he had seen hers, he had clutched his paper to his chest, shaking his head as she tried to snatch it from him. When she finally took it from him, she couldn't help but laugh – her eyes were lopsided and her lips looked like a pair of fish. Embarrassed, he had almost become frustrated with her, but eventually he had joined her in uncontrollable mirth.

Yet no matter how content and maybe even a little happy she felt sketching and spending time with Henry, it could never make up for the horrors she endured when she failed. First there would be the beatings, then the threats. Oliver would bring up her family, would threaten he would harm them. He would tell her she had nothing, was nothing, could be nothing. All she was was his to use as he wanted, any way he wanted. Even if she escaped, no one would want her – no family, she would never receive a proper dowry. Scarred, she would be considered ugly. No longer a virgin, she would never be good enough to marry. Perhaps she was so damaged she could never bear children, a thought that destroyed her at first. The first few years with the Templars, all she had dreamed of was to escape somehow, to marry and have a family. Eventually though, Oliver had taken that away from her, too.

Those weren't even the worst things he had said to her. It hurt at first, but over time she had accepted most of his words as truth and blocked out anything else. After the threats and demeaning words, he would beat her again. If she was lucky. Other times, he would rape her. At first, she had thought it was for his own pleasure, but then she realized it was nothing more than a tool to keep her in her place. He reminded her of that often, telling her how he could never find pleasure in her ugly face.

Hannah and Jane would care for her afterward, just as she would care for them when the roles were reversed. When they were gone, though, she was often left to suffer alone. Once, she had fallen unconscious on the unforgiving stone floor of her room, and had woken days later, tucked into the little cot she had. Head pounding, limbs aching, she had hauled herself to her feet, looking around the room. The pool of blood was larger than normal, and she immediately ran her hands over her body, looking for the source. Instead, she found herself bandaged and clean, a perplexing thing to discover since Hannah and Jane were no longer with her. Her sketch book lay on the drawer, open to a drawing she had made just before going on the mission. It was one of Henry, unfinished, only eyes, a nose and lips. An astounding tenderness filled her as she imagined him peeling her off the floor, wiping away the blood gently, bandaging her. For the first time in a long time, she had felt tears wet her eyes.

The next time they had met, she kissed him. Their relationship turned quite serious after that, though neither would acknowledge it to anyone else. It was conducted in secret, their liaisons dangerous and therefore even more exciting. Often, she wondered if she loved him, but decided against it. He could not love her, and so she held herself at an emotional distance. Now, though, so far away from him, she couldn't help but wonder if he missed her or worried for her.

Sighing, she turned her attentions away from that... She wouldn't go back there, not even for Henry, if he even wanted anything else but the pleasure her body gave him. Part of her still held out hope though, that perhaps there was even the smallest sliver of Henry that wanted to love her.

But those thoughts were useless. They would do nothing to her but give her more pain, more disappointment... They were best left unthought and not dwelled on. All they would do is more damage, anyway.

"Hey, you!"

Startled, Cora jumped, mind scrambling as she was forced out of her reverie.

"Hey!"

Eyes still wide with shock as her brain struggled to make sense of this man, Cora did nothing but stare at him. He was a stout fellow, bearded, with a kind look in his eye. Cora guessed he was a craftsman of some sort, what with the apron he wore around his waist.

"Hello, miss! I don't think I've seen you around here before!"

Cora shifted her feet uncomfortably, unsure how to answer.

"I am staying in the manor," she said finally, voice unusually timid.

"Ah! So you know Connor, then!"

"Well... Yes, I suppose."

"Do you happen to know where he is?"

"No," she said, still trying to take in the man's bluntness in coming up to her. "I apologize."

"Ah, no need. He's probably still asleep. Exhausted, most likely, from all the things he does in his spare time," the man said with a small chuckle, as if sharing some secret between friends.

Furrowing her brow slightly, Cora looked at him, trying to hone in on the man's intentions.

"Oh, forgive me! My name is Lance O'Donnell! I live just up the way." Sticking out his hand, he looked at her, eyebrows raised in expectation.

"Cora Anderson." She returned the gesture, doing her best not to give too hard a grip.

"So you're the girl everyone has been talking about! There have been rumors, let me tell you, but everyone is eager to meet you."

Cora opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, but a gruff voice interrupted.

"Good morning, Lance," the old man said, his voice just beside her. Startled, she almost jumped away as she wondered how long he had been there.

"Good morning, Achilles! How are you on this fine morning?"

"Well enough." His voice was monotone and disinterested, but that wasn't too odd for the old man. "I see you have met Cora."

"Yes! I was just going to ask if she wanted to come to the inn. The girl looks like she could use some breakfast, and I'm sure the others would enjoy meeting her. Corrine will surely be glad to meet you," he said eagerly, acknowledging her.

"No, I really must get back to the house," Cora said, holding up her hand. "Besides, I am sure that Achilles would not like me to-"

"She would love to," the old man interrupted, leaving Cora's mouth agape. She had been sure he would decline the offer for her! She had been counting on it, and now here he was telling her to go! Impatience rose within her as she narrowed her eyes, looking at him harshly. "It would do you well to get out of that old house," he said, defiantly ignoring the obvious displeasure in her gaze.

"Wonderful!" Lance, pretending to be oblivious to the contemptuous look they shared, attempted to lighten the mood. "Everyone will be so pleased!"

He began to walk away, expecting Cora to follow him, but she stayed put, feet glued to the ground as she wondered what she had just gotten herself into.

Rolling his eyes at her stubbornness, Achilles pushed her forward with his cane, making her stumble forward slightly. She shot him an icy look as she began to walk forward, but he gestured for her to keep going, ignoring her displeasure as she sulked away.

Lance kept up a one sided conversation as they walked to the inn, sputtering some nonsense about folding chairs and flying machines, both of which would supposedly make him rich beyond belief. Cora nodded politely, humoring his overzealous ideas, but inside, her patience was wearing thinner than she thought possible. Hopefully, this would not take long. As they approached the doors of the inn, she took a deep breath, telling herself that being accepted by those who lived in this place would help the Assassin to trust her. With renewed focus, she stepped through the door, game face on as she prepared to put up with what would likely be a bunch of simpletons. Holding in a sigh, she wished now more than ever for Henry's company...

The tavern attached to the inn was quaint, nothing special, but nice nonetheless. At the early hour, few were inhabiting the room. Two men sat across from each other at a table, boisterously arguing over some board game. At the bar, two women conversed, sharing a joke as one picked at a small plate of food, the other wiping down a mug.

Lance led her towards the men first, slapping one on the back in a friendly manner as he took a seat next to him. Despite their obvious presence, the two men continued with their argument, too involved to notice anything else.

"You can't move there, ya dolt!"

"Wha! Yes I can! You said so yourself last time," the younger man, a redhead, protested, defending his move as he moved his hands wildly.

"I did no such thing!"

"Lies! Donae make me knock sense into you!"

"Oh yes, I am so worried now. Wouldn't want you to give me a little scratch when you poke me with your tiny little fist!"

"I'll show you a poke!" The younger man nearly lept out of his seat as he spoke, obviously enraged, and Cora had to stifle a laugh at how ridiculous the men were being. Now that the shouting had become nearly impossible to shut out, the two women had scurried over, and by the looks on their faces, Cora figured this type of thing happened often.

"Now now, Godfrey," the younger woman said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Wouldn't want a repeat of last time! No need to send Terry back to Diana all bloodied up, she's got enough to worry about with the new baby!"

"Yes," the other agreed, turning back to the redheaded man. "How is the little darling? Are Diana and the boys adapting well?"

"Aye," Terry said, obviously calmer at the mention of his family. "The spuds are all doing just fine, she's much calmer than the boys were, lucky for Diana."

Clearing his throat, Lance stood again, gesturing to Cora.

"Forgive my rudeness, but let me introduce Cora. She is staying in the manor with Achilles and Connor."

"Ah!" The older woman enthusiastically turned to Cora, a smile wide on her face. "I've been so dying to meet you, dearie! I'm Corrine, and this is Catherine, Terry and Godfrey."

"Please to meet ya," Godfrey said loudly. "What was your name, again?"

"Cora," she said, voice finally finding its confidence again. "Cora Anderson."

"Sorry lass, I've never been good with names!"

"Not a problem, I have that trouble as well," she lied politely. Of course it was part of her training to remember every detail, but it seemed to fit the situation that she agree with him.

"Welcome to the homestead! We're glad to have ya!"

"How about an ale to celebrate!"

"Oh, of course," Corrine said, clapping her hands with excitement. The woman seemed a bit eccentric, but for some reason Cora already felt slightly fond of her.

Catherine offered her a chair and Cora took it as all fell back into conversation. Lance seemed to be speaking enthusiastically to Terry and Godfrey about his inventions, the two men feigning interest as he told of all the improvements he had made.

"Sorry you had to witness that," Catherine laughed, leaning in close. She was a slightly plump woman with a pretty face, her demeanor much more reserved than Corrine's. "Terry has quite the temper, and Godfrey secretly enjoys bringing it out, so they always seem to be getting into a row about something." Chuckling, she glanced over at him. It was hard to mistake the fondness in her eyes.

"Is he your husband?"

"Oh yes," she nodded. "Nearing twenty five years now! Terry is married to Diana. They've got three children, two boys and a newly born girl. We all live in the same house, so it gets quite crazy oftentimes. The baby had a rough night last night, so the men decided to take some time out. I wanted to stay, but Diana insisted I get out, as well."

"Do you have any children," Cora inquired, trying to keep up the friendly conversation.

Catherine looked down, an odd look crossing over her face.

"Sadly, we were not able to conceive."

Instantly, Cora felt guilt wash over her for bringing it up. Somehow, she almost sympathized with the woman – often she had mourned the children she would never have, the husband who would never love her.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's nothing, dear. I have long since made peace with it, though I cannot deny it still brings sadness to me from time to time. I have Diana and the children, though, and in some ways I have been able to mother them."

Nodding, Cora twisted her fingers in her lap, suddenly uncomfortable. It had been a long time since she had such normal conversation, and even when she did, she couldn't keep her mind from wondering at the hidden motives of people.

"Here you are, dearie," Corrine said, setting a mug of ale down in front of her. Cora took it graciously, taking a sip to be polite. She didn't mind the taste of ale, but she never had been one to drink in excess, hating the feeling that she wasn't in control of herself.

"Is Achilles treating you well," Corrine asked, laughing slightly. "He can be such a grouch sometimes. I'm sure Connor is treating you nicely, he's such a nice boy."

Cora had to resist telling her that it seemed to be the other way around... She laughed, unsure of how to respond, deciding to let Corrine take her laughter in whatever what she wished.

"Indeed," Catherine agreed, turning back to Cora again. "He saved Terry's life you know. After that, he invited us all to come live on the homestead and we have been here ever since!"

The discomfort was rising in her throat as she listened to the two women praise him as if he was their own son. Mostly, it just confused her. He had been so harsh and impatient with her that it was hard to imagine him doing anything nice.

"Oh, I do hope he will find himself a nice girl soon," Corrine sighed.

As the woman's eyes descended on her, Cora downed half of her ale to keep from having to respond. Catherine could sense her discomfort and gave Corrine a disapproving look. The older woman simply shrugged and winked before getting up and heading back to the bar.

"Look at her," Terry laughed, throwing a hand in Cora's direction. "She can take her ale better than you, Godfrey!"

"Awh, shut up ya fool," the older man said, whacking his friend on the side of the head. "She's scarce been here a few days and you're already going to scare off the poor lass!"

At that, Cora got up, admittedly overwhelmed by all the new faces and personalities to deal with. Before, in her secluded life, it was only Oliver and Henry she really had to learn, and even that took years for her. Yet here she was now, forced upon a whole handful of people. It didn't help her much that so many of them had such... colorful personalities.

"I should be off," she muttered, setting her mug back on the table and wiping her mouth in a most unladylike fashion.

Catherine rose with her, laying a gentle hand on Cora's shoulder. It was all she had not to jerk away, not used to such casual touches.

"Don't mind them, dear," she said with a kind smile.

Forcing the corners of her mouth up, Cora managed to return a half smile, but she had a feeling the woman saw right through her.

"Ah, there you are, Ollie! I was wondering where you had gotten off to!" Corrine's raised voice echoed through the room as all heads turned to the door.

"Cora, let me introduce you to my husband! This is Cora, she is staying in the manor with Connor and Achilles."

The man stuck his hand out and Cora took it, trying not to judge him by his less than satisfying grip.

"Nice you meet you. Any friend of Connor's is a friend of mine!" The sentence, meant to be reassuring and welcoming, almost made Cora burst out in laughter. Oh, the irony...

"The name's Oliver."

The blood went cold in her chest. Her stomach knotted. She tried her best to keep her face calm, but by the look in Catherine's eye, she knew she had done a terrible job.

"Would you mind if I called you Ollie as well," she muttered, eyes locked onto a loose nail in the floorboard.

"Why, you have gone white as a sheet!" Catherine rushed over to her, lifting a hand to the girl's face.

"I am fine," Cora insisted a little too forcefully, taking several steps backwards. "I just... I knew someone with that name once who wasn't very kind to me."

"Sorry to hear it," Oliver said, looking slightly uncomfortable at the situation. "Ollie is just fine."

"It has been most pleasant to meet you all, but I am afraid I must go now."

Her voice was too polite and she knew it, but suddenly there were half a dozen pairs of eyes on her and the room was seeming a little too warm...

"I hope to see you all again, good day," she said, speaking quicker with each backwards step she took towards the door.

When her form disappeared, those remaining in the tavern looked at each other as if they had just seen a dog riding a horse.

"Strange woman," Godfrey muttered, receiving a disapproving look from his wife. Despite her distaste for the comment, though, a few others echoed his sentiment.

"Strange indeed."

* * *

Once outside, she continued her quick pace on the road back to the manor. Overwhelmed, she wanted nothing more than to climb the stairs and lock herself away in her makeshift room, to perhaps sketch and get her mind off things.

Instead, she found herself at the stable, stroking the neck of a chestnut mare as she tried to gather her wits.

The morning had gone completely wrong. She had meant to make them like her, to woo them in a way, to gain their affections so perhaps Connor would be more apt to trust her. Instead, she was sure they all thought her mad.

At the moment, she wasn't sure she didn't think _herself_ mad.

It was a sickening reminder of Oliver, of the words he had said to her. It wasn't so much his shared namesake as the words he had told her resurfacing.

_You will never be accepted. All will think you out of place, strange. The only place you can survive is here._

The truth of his words was cold and unforgiving, dragging her down like a weight clasped around her ankle. It seemed that even if she covered her scars, if she was free from bruises in the shape of his fingertips littering her body, she would never truly get away from him.

"How was your morning?"

An already familiar voice approached from behind, but Cora was too consumed with her thoughts to look back.

"Quite pleasant."

The old man chuckled, not buying her monotone voice one bit.

"Some of them can be a bit overwhelming, but they are good people."

Nodding, Cora focused on the soft texture of the horse's neck. Achilles shifted behind her, drumming a finger on his cane as the lump in his jacket pocket began to feel even heavier.

He had planned to talk to her, to take the time to tell her gently, but he was doubting that she could handle it; especially now when she seemed so overwhelmed.

Uncertainty was not a feeling the old man was accustomed to, and he could feel himself growing frustrated as he wrestled whether to tell her now or keep it for a better time.

"I just need to know what you want from me," she said suddenly, fingers stopping their motion as she turned her head slightly. Her voice was hauntingly vulnerable, lacking any of the fire and stubbornness that had been so evident in her before. "Why didn't you force information out of me long ago?"

"I simply didn't think that forcing you to talk would be in anyone's best interest."

She didn't respond, instead furrowing her brows as she tried to understand what exactly he meant by that.

Yawning, Achilles took another look at her, finally deciding that the contents of his jacket pocket could wait.

"These bones of mine tire easily these days," he said, tapping his cane on his leg. "I will retire for a nap. Connor has gone off to speak to Lance, and I am sure he will try to find you when he gets back."

Nodding, Cora resumed her attention to the horse. When she finally turned to say something, he was long gone, his figure visible in the distance, hobbling up the path to the front door of the manor.

She needed to stop wallowing in self-pity, and suddenly the perfect remedy entered her mind. Connor was away, and the old man would be asleep in no time... A perfect opportunity for a little reconnaissance.

* * *

The basement was musty and humid as she descended the stairs, doing her absolute best to keep from making even the slightest peep. The room wasn't exactly what she thought it would be, but then again she wasn't even sure what she had expected in the first place. In the center was a makeshift mannequin, dressed in what was likely Assassin robes. Along the wall were many other outfits, and Cora had to laugh at the fact that this Assassin seemed to own more clothes than she did. What really caught her eye was the table on the opposite wall, paintings with familiar likeness hung above it.

Upon approach, she made out a few familiar faces – Lee and Haytham, along with Johnson, Hickey, Biddle, Pitcairn and Benjamin Church. She had only met Lee and Haytham, but had heard enough about the others, and how they had met their end at the Assassin's hands.

So foolish he had been, killing the very men that were trying to help his people, to free the colonies from Britain. The Brotherhood had corrupted his mind, had made him turn against his own people, had made him commit unspeakable atrocities. For that, she would never respect him.

Sighing, she began to rummage around, looking for any kind of information that would be useful to her or the Templars. To her dismay, there was nothing. Frustrated, she left the shrine to madness that he had set up and went to study the weapons. There was a vast array – guns, war clubs, tomahawks, bows... She was enticed, picking up each one and giving it a swing or pretending to aim. They were all beautifully made, and she fought the urge to take one. Surely the Assassin would notice if she did.

Setting the gun she had been looking at back where it belonged, she sauntered back to the table, picking up the trinkets that were carefully set. With horror, she started recognizing them as belonging to the dead men.

What a psychopath, she thought as she set them back down, wiping her hands on her skirts as if to rid them of dirt. Cora would be the first to admit that she could be a little crazy at times, but even she wasn't _that_ insane. Who does that kind of thing, anyway?

Crossing her arms, she sighed, figuring it was time to head back upstairs. The Assassin would likely be back soon, and she didn't want to think of what would happen if he found her down here.

Studying the paintings one more time, her eyes fell on Haytham's. He was a handsome man, even for his age, and if he ever came around, Cora had done her best to look as presentable as possible. He had always seemed a bit cold to her, though, distant, as if so focused on his goals that he could not see the world around him. The Assassin reminded her of him in that way. He, too, was so obsessed with finding Lee and stopping Templar influence that he couldn't even see the truth of his actions. It was sad, in a way, but it was a life he had chosen. No amount of logic or reason could change a man like him.

Out of nowhere, it suddenly dawned on her. Henry had told her of Haytham once, how he had a short lived relationship with a native woman years ago, how she had given him an illegitimate son who had somehow joined the Assassins.

She should have realized it before – she knew the notorious Assassin was Haytham's son, but even when she had been sent to kill him, she hadn't put two and two together. It was an odd realization. Of course it didn't change her feelings towards him, but it was interesting to think of Haytham being his father. She found herself wondering if they had met, if perhaps either of them could find any love for the other.

Cora couldn't imagine being so at odds with her parents, especially her father. Though she loved her mother fiercely, she had always been her father's daughter, like him not only in looks but also in spirit. Her mother would often joke that the two wished to be like heroes in story books, and Cora admitted that it was true. Her father, the master storyteller, had thrilled her with tales of princesses and warriors and great queens. Always, he had told her that she had the capacity to be a truly great woman, that she would do great deeds. While Aoife and Maebh may have been content with being wives and mothers, something her father held with great respect, he knew that his middle daughter would never be content with such a life. He always had such high hopes for her future, and it had given her inspiration, strength, hope.

It would have broken him to see how far she had fallen. For all her life, she had always held onto hope that someday she may escape Oliver, that she may be able to be valiant, to earn honor for herself. Slowly, though, she had somehow released the thought, realizing that there was no such future for her.

Lost in her the melancholy of her thoughts, she didn't hear the creek in the steps that signaled she was no longer alone.

Connor crept down the stairs, anger building as he caught sight of the woman. How dare she come down here! What a foolish girl... Obviously she was just _asking_ for his fury. Connor was tired of her, of her blatant disrespect. Achilles had seemed to think she could help them, that perhaps she would come around and cut ties with the Templars, but that was obviously not going to happen, and he was done being patient with her. Clenching his jaw, he wished he had just let her go back to the Templars when they had first met. He was a fool to bring her here.

He had been about to yell at her, to tell her that he was done playing her game, but suddenly he stopped. She had raised a hand, putting it to her face as if to wipe away a tear. The woman was holding herself, as if to keep from falling apart. The distress within her was obvious even in the way she stood, and despite Connor's wishes, he felt his heart soften. Cursing himself, he suppressed a sigh and tried to rein in the remaining anger. Yelling would do no good here, and he knew it.

"Do you think that if there were important documents I wished to keep secret, I would leave it in such a conspicuous place?"

Cora jumped, twirling around to face him. For a moment she was vulnerable, but then the cold defiance entered her eyes again. It was almost as if she saved the look just for him.

"You never know," she shrugged. "I never pegged you to have much wit."

Rolling his eyes, Connor sighed. He didn't have the patience today to indulge her insults.

"Why are you here," he asked flatly, done playing games.

"Why am I here?" She laughed bitterly, but when she saw he was serious, she threw her arms up. "You are the one who dragged me to this godforsaken house and threatened me into staying here! I should be the one asking you why you have done nothing but stare at me with that idiotic look on your face or act as if I am not here! Dear God, Assassin, what the _hell_ do you want from me?"

"Information."

"Oh, alright. Well let me just tell you all of the plans of the Templars, because a little bitch like me is obviously going to be told so much."

"Do you know where Lee is or not?"

"No!" While the Assassin maintained a somewhat level voice, Cora was shouting, and she wouldn't have been surprised if the old man joined them soon. "I don't know why you and your pathetic excuse for an Order have such an obsession with Lee, but I have no information. I haven't even seen his damn face in months! He could be in China for all I know. It is none of my concern. I get my orders, I kill Assassins and their sympathizers, and that is all I need worry about."

What an idiot he had been. Of course she never knew anything! Rubbing his temple, he sighed, cursing his own stupidity. He couldn't let her go now that she knew where the homestead was, but he couldn't kill her, either.

"Why do you hate the Assassins so much," he asked, regretting the words the moment they flew out of his mouth.

"What does it matter to you?" Brows meeting in the middle of her forehead, she made a face at him, confused why all of the sudden he was so interested in her intentions.

"Curiosity."

"If you must know, the Assassins murdered my family in cold blood," she snarled, looking at him with the purest hatred he had ever seen. Even in his confrontations with Lee, he hadn't felt so completely hated.

"I doubt this." He shook his head, not expecting that response. "Killing innocents is not our way."

"The bodies of my family say otherwise. I have seen what your little band of assassins do. You kill for no other reason but to further your own interests, misusing the name of freedom in the process."

He was getting awfully tired of her accusations, backed by nothing but word of mouth.

"That is untrue. The Templars are no better, anyway. I can tell you this from _personal_ experience." His words made no effect on her expression, and so he continued, irritation rising. "How do you not see this from yours? Did the Templars not sell you into what is basically slavery?"

"That was my uncle, not the Templars themselves. If anything, they have given me strength." Connor scoffed in response, shaking his head. "They gave me resilience, capability, intelligence. They showed me that the world is not kind to people like me. I must find my means to survive in any way possible. This way of life _is_ my means."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, his voice softening with pity. "The Assassins can help you. The Brotherhood was created for people like you."

"The only good Assassin is one whose body lays cold at my feet." Throwing his hands up in defeat, Connor sighed.

"You are insufferable."

Irritated, Cora approached him, getting in his face as she spoke, her voice low and malicious. "I apologize that I am not some meek woman you can twist and bend to do your will. I know how disappointing it must be for someone like you."

"You claim to be bold and empowered to decide your fate for yourself, but how can you not see? The Templars' sole vision is one of power, one of control. It is what they strive for. And they have twisted your heart with lies and hatred. They have power over you. They control you. I see no gallant heroine before me. All I see is a pawn, something used and discarded with ease."

The truth of his words was almost painful. She _was_ expendable to them, and she had always known it. Even Henry, one of the few that had shown her compassion and kindness, would have sacrificed her if Oliver had commanded so.

But she could not let the Assassin know it. Letting out an exasperated yelp, she pushed him out of the way, running past him and up the stairs, ignoring Achilles as he stood listening.

Once in her room, she slammed the door, kicking the table for good measure. Pain shot up her foot and she cursed loudly, letting out her frustrations in a scream. Flopping her body onto the cot, she groaned and buried her face into the pillow.

* * *

Connor stomped up the stairs, intending to go after her and finish the conversation. Instead, he was met by Achilles' cane across his chest. The old man said nothing, simply shaking his head after he had gotten his point across.

Not in the mood to listen to his scolding words, Connor walked away, rage and regret for bringing her here festering within him. Never in his life had he been made to deal with such an insufferable person. In the moment, he wasn't sure that he hated Lee more than he hated _her_.

"I am going for a ride," he muttered, following with foreign words that Achilles didn't understand. The door slammed behind him and Achilles rolled his eyes.

He was too old to deal with such youthful pride. At least now they were separated from each other. As he heard frustrated screams coming from upstairs, he sighed, making his way back to his bed to finish his interrupted nap.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not exactly sure how I feel about this chapter, but as always, I'm too eager to post it rather than slave over making it perfect, something I am likely incapable of. ;) I've fully outlined this story and it looks like it will be a few over 30 chapters, but since the chapters tend to be a bit long on this story, it will still probably be quite a bit of content.**

**I'm also tentatively looking for a Beta on this story, but I haven't been able to find anyone that suits my needs. I'm looking for someone to basically let me know how things flow/if things are awkward. I'm pretty set on my plot, and don't have a significant problem with spelling/grammar. What I need is someone who just tells me when things seem off, but surprisingly I can't seem to be able to find someone who fits that. If you think you may be up for it or if you know someone who is, PM me! :)**

**And THANK YOU to my first reviewer, Assassin27! Your words mean a lot to me!**

**Please let me know what you all think! :)**


	5. Secrets

Chapter Five;

Secrets

* * *

"The liberty to live for self alone becomes in time a weary bondage." Florence L Barclay, The Rosary

* * *

Acknowledging the truth of the Assassin's words was painful, but only a fool would have denied he was right. She knew his words held truth – perhaps she had known it before he even had spoken them, but had hidden such thoughts deep within.

It was easier to seduce, to steal and murder and coerce when you believe you are doing it for a noble reason. Indeed, it was true of all conflicts. All sides throughout history claimed to have God on their side, claimed that their enemies were nothing but demons – malicious savages who wanted nothing but blood.

Yet if all believed their cause was righteous, did that mean no one's was? If each side believed the other to be faceless demons, did that mean that all were? Or instead, perhaps people just lost sight of the fact that their enemies were people, too. They loved and lived, worked for what they had. Even Cora could not deny that those she hated were loved, too. Oliver, Robert, the Assassin... Even they had suckled at their mother's breast, had laughed and played as a child, carefree, all the promises of the future before them.

Confusion twisted her heart, threatening to tear it right in half. These thoughts were so contrary to what she had been taught to believe, and she had no idea where they were coming from.

But then... Of course she knew. They had always been within her and would always be, despite how many layers of hatred had been laid upon them.

_You must always remember this, _a iníon dhílis_. Even your enemy believes himself to be the hero._

Her father's gentle words echoed through her, leaving a path of emotional disarray in their wake. It had been so long since she had been so unsure of herself and of her goals. Perhaps only now, free of Oliver's grasp, she was able to think of more than just her survival. For so long, her only focus was to do what she had to in order to survive. Now, with the opportunity to explore the complexity of the issue, all she felt was an unforgiving confusion.

Sighing, she peeled herself off of the cot, snatching her sketches from the floor, where they had been thrown as she kicked the table. The pages were rough under her fingers as she flipped through them, doing her best not to let her fingers run over the drawings.

She longed to have her book with her... It had been a long time since she had looked at those early drawings. The last time she had flipped through those first pages, she had laughed at how terrible they seemed compared to the drawings that her practiced hands had produced in the past few days. Still, though, they weren't bad by any stretch, and Cora had found herself studying them longer than she intended, millions of nameless emotions swirling within her. That night, she had even turned Henry away, too consumed in her feelings to spend time with him.

There were dozens of half drawn pictures of her mother. Despite all her efforts, she could never produce a good enough likeness. The years had dulled her memory, and if she couldn't remember four years after her death when those drawings were made, she surely wouldn't remember now, nearly ten years later.

Pausing, she closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as if the action would bring her memories back easier. Memories of her mother surfaced, but her face was a blur. Cora could feel the warm, nurturing, and lighthearted energy her mother gave off, could see her long strawberry blonde hair, but the face... It was impossible to recall.

When she started sketching, she had been able to recall an eye, or the nose, the beauty mark on her cheek or the curve of her lips, but never all together. There were pages upon pages of failed attempts, so many that it almost began to frustrate her just looking at them. Her father, though, had been easier to recall, his face still fresh as she had drawn him. Here, he was smiling his broad joking grin, and it was almost as if Cora could hear his boisterous laugh. A wave of loneliness rushed through her and she turned the page, taking a deep breath to keep the feelings at bay.

There were many others – the cottage she had grown up in, occasionally her siblings if she could remember their faces. Hannah and Jane were frequent subjects, gracing almost every page as she drew them smiling, crying, thinking, sleeping... The human face was capable of such a range of emotion that Cora never tired of drawing it. About when the sketches of Hannah abruptly stopped, there were the first few drawings of Jane, belly swollen with child. The maternal form had entranced Cora, and Jane frequently was irritated by the fact that Cora almost always had her face buried in her sketch book, eyes flitting between paper and subject.

When the baby came, Cora marveled over him, drawing every detail – the tiny fingernails, the tuft of hair on his head. There were pages of the child, before he disappeared entirely, along with his mother. Then, Henry took over the sketch book. She had almost forgotten how handsome his face really was, Cora felt a tug in her stomach as she wondered what he was doing. There were pages of him, often shirtless, nearly always smiling.

Sighing, she tossed the drawings she had made aside, setting them back on the table before crossing her arms, wishing she could open her sketch book and look at those first drawings with her eyes, and not through her memories. Trying to recall a memory of a memory was proving to be much too difficult.

The Assassin's words aggressively wedged their way back into her mind and she closed her eyes, trying to make sense of all the conflicting feelings. War was erupting within her, and it was difficult to balance her hatred of the man while still acknowledging that his words held truth. Perhaps she could talk to the old man...

No, she couldn't. Why would he listen to her, anyway? Wasn't she his enemy? He was supposed to hate her, to be glad she was experiencing such internal turmoil.

But then again, the old man had been kind to her, in a way. Maybe he would listen... He seemed wise – perhaps he could help.

She felt like a fool as she exited the room, seeking out some old man for advice. What was she even doing? She hadn't spoken to anyone like this in _years_. Still, though, her legs carried her down the stairs, into his room where he lay on the bed.

His form was still and she leaned against the doorframe, drumming her fingers on her arm as she tried to decide what to do. Part of her was glad he was asleep, as she was already feeling awkward and she hadn't even spoken a word. Eventually, she figured he wouldn't enjoy being woken again, and she turned to go.

"What is it?" His voice was sharp as he felt for his cane, using it to pry himself from the bed.

"I apologize," she muttered, surprised he had been awake. "I did not know you were awake."

"It was impossible to sleep with all that cursed yelling."

Cora wanted to blame the Assassin, to tell the old man that it was his fault for starting the argument in the first place, but she had a strong feeling he wouldn't appreciate it.

"Sorry. I suppose I'll just..." As she backed away, she wasn't sure that this was such a good idea.

The old man sighed, eyes softening.

"I'm awake already, you might as well say whatever you came to say."

"I am not sure what I came to say," she said in a small voice.

He sighed again, motioning for her to take a seat in a chair. Complying wordlessly, she dropped into the cushion, leaning on the table with a silent sigh.

Muttering, the old man rummaged around in the drawers. Cora craned her neck as she tried to see what he was doing, but didn't see what he had pulled out until he turned and was walking back.

As he took the seat across from her, he dropped a bundle of folded parchments in front of her. Confused, she glanced back up at him, unsure of what to make of it. He could see the confusion written all over her face, and for a moment he wondered if he should really be telling her this.

Yes. She needed to know.

"You seem to be in a different mood," he commented, trying to ease her into the conversation.

"I have been thinking."

"Ah. That can be a very dangerous pastime," he said, smiling sympathetically.

Cora let out a breath of air in a small chuckle, one side of her lips twitching into a smile.

"Indeed."

Achilles was silent, looking at her in careful observation and making her feel as if she should say something.

"I was considering his words, and I found them to be true. Yet the realization did nothing to clarify what happened to me. Instead, I feel only confusion. The Templars did control me, use me. I do not have any idea why I denied it. Perhaps I lied to myself, told myself that I wanted to do those things in order to stay sane. Perhaps not. I see that the Templars may not be in the right, but the Assassins killed my family. I have seen the horrors committed by your Order. And therefore I am horribly conflicted."

Achilles sighed. He didn't want to tell her, but knew he had to. "What if I told you that the Templars lied to you?"

Stung, she sat back, brows furrowing. How could that be? She saw those men burst in, saw them shoot her father. Besides, what would this old man know of her family?

"I do not see how you would know."

Achilles sighed again as he leaned in, resting his arms on the table.

"I knew your parents."

Her eyes flew open as she stood, the legs of the scraping the wood floor harshly. Words formed, but never got past her lips, leaving her mouth opening and closing like someone trying to chew with their mouth open.

Raising a hand, Achilles gestured for her to sit, and she dropped into the chair as if her legs had been swept from under her.

"It was over twenty years ago," he began. "Your mother was pregnant, and the first snow had come early. They were trying to visit your Aunt and her husband, but had lost their way. Your father came to my door, begging me to give him and his wife a place to stay for the night. I don't know what made me agree, but I did. At the time, the Templars were nearing the height of their power and had begun to eradicate the Assassins from the colonies. All associated with us were targets, and that was among the reasons I was reluctant to give aid. They stayed longer than expected, as your mother fell slightly ill, and your father became quite interested in the Assassin cause. Eventually they left, but I received a letter a few months later from your parents, thanking me for my kindness and informing me of the birth of a healthy son."

Achilles paused, unsure how much he should tell her and how much she should find out on her own. Pushing the bundle towards her, he said in a low voice, "These are the letters we exchanged from then until his death."

As the old man had spoken, a cold hand had gripped her heart, squeezing harder with each word. Her hand shook as she reached out for them.

If she had been overwhelmed before, she was completely broken now.

"I will leave you to it," he muttered, pulling himself out of the chair. The situation was much more uncomfortable than he had thought it would be, and he wondered if he had made the right decision.

Her fingers shook so violently that she couldn't slide the string off of the bundle of letters. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to calm herself, but nothing could stop her heart from beating so furiously, as if at any moment it would be too overwhelmed and stop all together.

She swallowed as she unfolded the first letter. The handwriting was undoubtedly her father's – she recognized it despite the many years it had been.

Part of her didn't want to read it, didn't want to see the words on the series of letters that showed his path to death. Yet she felt as if she owed it to him, to her parents – that perhaps they would show her the path she was meant to take. If the Assassin was right, if his Brotherhood wasn't the one who killed them...

If he was right, she would not rest until every Templar was nothing but dust in the wind.

_April 15, 1757_

_ Achilles,_

_ It is my hope that this letter finds you in good health. Both Mairéad and I think of you often, and pray that God will sustain you and your friends. It is with great pleasure that I write you to tell you that my wife has been safely delivered of a son. We have named him Riordan, after Mairéad's dear grandfather. Fatherhood is a great gift, one that I often wonder what I did to deserve. I never knew there could be a love so strong as that of the love for one's children. _

_ I do hope that you will inform me of any happenings with your friends. I wish to help in any way that I can. Until the time we speak again,_

_ Eamon Reilly_

As Cora picked up the next one, she stopped, unsure if she could keep going. It was painful how much she missed her family, and reading her father's words seemed to wedge that knife into her very soul. Yet despite the sadness that threatened to consume her, no tears came to her eyes.

She had to keep reading. For her father, for her brother and sisters. For her aunt. For the life she could have had. Most of the letters were simply how life was going, but occasionally her father would mention the Brotherhood – albeit never by name. Her father wrote often about the children and wrote lengthy responses to whatever the old man had said in his letter. She was beginning to wonder why Achilles had left her with such casual letters until she found one dated a year and a few months after her own birth.

_June 2, 1763_

_ Achilles,_

_ I write to you urgently._

_ It was perhaps a week and a few days ago, when I was walking home and saw a group of men interrogating my neighbor. It was a large group, perhaps ten, and they seemed to be questioning each passerby they could find. I strained to make out the questions, but did not want to become suspicious and therefore did not interfere. However, a few men retreated to their horses to fetch some item, and I overheard them. They seem to be planning something big, and I fear it does not bode well for you or your Order. I regret that I do not have much more information for you, but I beg you to prepare._

From the next few letters, Cora gathered that the Brotherhood had been almost destroyed. She already knew that the Templars had decimated the Assassins around that time, but the suggestion that her father had seen it all coming was oddly unsettling. The letters kept on, turning more and more ominous as she read. Cora had to held back tears as he told the old man of the loss of his wife and infant son. She had known he was sad, obviously, but the vast extent of his pain was something he had hidden well. _If it were not for my children, I would have no will to keep on_, he had written. Oh, how she missed him...

Suddenly, one of the letters alluded to a Templar leader that lived close to them, and the murder of an Assassin who had escaped the original attacks. Her father had obviously taken a keen interest in the struggle between the two groups, being that it had entered so close to his own home.

Even so, she hadn't expected what she read next.

_April 8, 1776_

_ As you know, I have been looking into the murder of David Collins. It took a while, but I eventually gained the courage to speak to his wife. It took a while, but I eventually convinced her to speak with me. She has reason to believe that he was betrayed by his employer. When I asked his employer's name, I was wounded in almost every way possible, for the name she spoke was that of my dear sister's husband. To think that all this time, the very one who has caused so much destruction was so close to me... It pains me. _

_ I confronted him the next time I visited my sister. I had already spoken to her about the matter, asking her to leave him and come live with me and the children. She seemed conflicted and promised to think about it, begging me not to speak to her husband until she had a better grasp on the situation. Unfortunately, my resolve was not as strong as she had hoped. When I confronted him, he made no effort to deny anything. Instead, he owned up to it as if claiming a great honor. He made a long speech about the merits of the Templars. It was sickening to my ears, and we argued. For reasons I will never understand, my sister stayed with him. _

_ Ever since, I have noticed more and more odd happenings. I feel as if I am being watched, as if some great doom waits just beyond my sight. What can I do now? I have spent so long trying to secure justice for my friend, yet all I have to show for it is anger and harsh words. How can I hope to stop my brother in law? How can I protect my family if I cannot end the threat Robert poses to this town? I fear the Templars will come for me._

_ I fear for my life._

Cora had to stop reading. She knew what happened next...

Sitting back, she let the letter fall from her hand and float down to the table, resting there, her father's words staring back at her unforgivingly.

So it had all been a lie. The Assassins had not killed her father, that much was obvious. Instead, it had been the Templars... And they had known, had fed her lies to control her and use her rage and pain for their own benefits. Waves of boiling anger rolled through her body as she quickly gathered the letters and made her way up the stairs. She needed to be completely alone.

Discarding the bundle of parchment on the small table next to her sketch book, she continued to the porch, leaning on the railing, hanging her head as she fought the overwhelming emotions that were threatening to destroy her.

The Assassin had been right, damn him.

Cora had always known that Oliver and all the others did not really care about her or her family, but still the fact that they had used her grief-stricken, revenge seeking state to accomplish evil deeds made her shudder. She had done unspeakable things in the name of her family. She had hunted any Assassins that had managed to escape, had taken them from their families in hopes that she was perhaps taking the life of the men who had ruined hers.

She thought she was providing justice. She thought she was avenging her father and her siblings and so many others, taking revenge on those monsters who destroyed lives. Instead, _she_ had been the monster. _She_ had been the one that had taken the life of someone's father, son, husband, brother... No doubt somewhere, there was a little girl like her who dreamed of ending Cora's life. Some little girl who's heart had been broken and hardened like Cora's had been. Some child that would grow up dreaming of nothing but revenge, all because of her...

Laughing bitterly, she tried to keep her lip from quivering as she realized that all along, she had been working for the bastards that had destroyed her. The Assassin was right - hey had twisted her heart with lies and false hatred, had turned her into a cold hearted killer – the killer of those that her father had tried to help.

The guilt was unbearable. The things she had done... Not only had they been in vain, but they were wrong. In trying to get her revenge, she had lost sight of the valor and compassion her father always wanted her to have.

Overwhelmed with rage and renewed grief, she cried out, dropping her head into her hands.

What was she supposed to do now? So many years of her life had been devoted to handing out death sentences, playing right into the hands of the men who were the real reason for her pain.

It was sickening.

Anger was a constant part of Cora's life. How could it not be? Anger at the men who killed her father in front of her, anger at her uncle for selling her out, for doing God knows what with her aunt and sister. Anger at Oliver, anger at the Assassins, especially the native... So much anger had consumed her, yet never before had she felt this much rage. Oliver, Haytham and Lee and all the others... They had twisted her innocence and grief into something ugly. They had taken her pain and turned it into the need for blood. They had used her, in the worst ways possible. The rapes, the abuse, the torture, all she had been forced to do... That was bad enough. But this? The fact that they had twisted her mind to believe she was helping people, when really she was aiding the men who had taken her father's life? It was sick.

Standing up, she took a deep breath and gazed coldly out into the trees. That familiar coldness entered her heart – the feeling when she was sent on a mission. That determined, focused unforgiving feeling. Nothing would stand in her way. Oliver would pay. All of the Templars would pay.

But still, she wasn't necessarily keen on supporting the Assassins, either. They were no less guilty. They still committed atrocities, still did terrible things of their own.

However, Cora had realized that sometimes in order to destroy a great monster, one must side with a smaller one – the lesser of two evils.

Determined, she took a deep breath and straightened her clothes, the unforgiving feeling within her a familiar comfort. As she descended the stairs, she began her last mission.

* * *

Connor rode from the manor quickly, heart beating furiously as he clutched the reins, the leather smooth beneath his hands. He had been riding hard, seething over his argument with that foolish woman, wallowing in his anger and frustration. Never in his life had one person gotten under his skin so easily, save perhaps Charles Lee.

She was a fool – an ignorant, savage fool, letting her mind be so easily corrupted. If only he could make her see! If he could make her realize how the Templars had used her, perhaps they could work together. She seemed clever and obviously wielded her weapons well enough – no doubt she would be a useful asset to their cause.

But people like her would never understand. Connor had begun to learn that himself. Though he still held hope that he could make his father see the truth, that flame of hope had been dimming more and more each time they met. In many ways, the woman was just like his father. Stubborn people they were, people who would never see that their ways were wrong.

Sighing, he slowed his horse, patting the animal's strong neck.

It had been almost two years since he had last seen his father. Two years since the death of Kanen'tó:kon. He had visited the village not long after, to tell Oiá:ner what had happened. He hadn't been able to tell her how he had died, staying uncomfortably quiet as she expressed her fear, and admitted that she wondered if they should relocate the village. He had insisted that they stay, but it was her decision to make, not his.

It was times like this, when he was alone and angry, that made him miss them most. Kanen'tó:kon had been like a brother to him... Still Connor had nightmares about his death, still he spent nights laying awake and wishing things could have been different. If there was one thing he regretted in his life, it was that he had been the one to take his friend's life.

Even more often, he wondered what his mother would say if she were here. He imagined the encouragement she would give, the strength she would model. Yet other times, he wondered if she would even support him in what he was doing... He hoped she would be proud, but of late, he could not be sure.

And Oiá:ner... The only family he had left. What did she truly think of him? Never had she been one to hold her opinions back, yet Connor still found himself suspicious that her doubts were far more vast than she let on.

Still, the old woman's presence and wisdom often comforted him when he was able to visit. She always expressed concern for him, a type of concern that he wasn't used to having – not for his physical well being or if he had completed his mission, but concern for his mind and heart.

"You are returned to us! But not for long, I think," she had said once, when he had visited.

"My work is not yet done."

"I wonder will it ever be? The symbol that you sought and found... It is a mark of courage and honor, yes. But it promises pain and loss as well."

How true she had been... Yet he though he had experienced much loss then, it paled in comparison to the emptiness he felt now.

"I will bear such things gladly – if it means you are all kept safe," he had said.

"You must not forget to look after _yourself_ from time to time."

"When this is finished. When all are free. Then I will rest."

"I hope that day comes soon."

"As do I."

Now, though, Connor wasn't sure if he saw the end in sight... if it would ever truly come.

Sighing, he turned the horse around. Dwelling on such things wouldn't help his situation. What he really needed was to talk to Achilles. As grumpy and hard as the old man might be, he often knew the right things to say.

When he finally got back to the manor, he walked through the door quickly, calling out to the old man as he strode into the room where he knew he would probably be sitting in his chair snoozing. Instead, as he rounded the corner he saw the old man standing, seeming to be in conversation with _her_.

The woman stood with her back to Connor, the long waves of her hair tumbling down her back. Connor scrunched his features, opening his mouth to request that he speak with Achilles alone. Talking to her was the last thing he wanted to do.

Achilles seemed to understand his reaction and held up his hand as if to ask him for patience. When the woman turned, Connor was struck by the wild look in her dark eyes. Gone was the uncertainty and vulnerability he had seen in the past few days. Now there was nothing but a fierce, wild determination. The look was so unrestrained and crazed that he was almost unsettled.

"Cora has something to share with us," Achilles muttered, speaking loudly to interrupt the now prolonged stare between the two. Looking away, Connor finally regained control of himself and went to stand next to Achilles, crossing his arms as he prepared to listen to the newest set of nonsense that was sure to come out of her lips.

Cora raised her chin, giving the Assassin a harsh, cold stare. He stared right back into her eyes, his stare radiating just as much malice and anger as hers did. The woman was bold, he had to give her that. A steadfast, resilient aura seemed to emanate from her skin, reaching out and enveloping him. Something had changed in her, of that much he was sure.

When Cora decided that the Assassin had gotten the message, she looked back at Achilles and softened her eyes, trying to restrain herself from taking a deep breath. She couldn't seem vulnerable, not now. Not ever. War and revenge were not the business of a soft hearted person ruled by their whims of emotion. Emotions and petty feelings would only distract her, would only get in her way and lead her to her doom. No... Emotions had to be buried for now, until she had spilled the blood of her enemies. Only then would she allow herself to feel.

"I have thought long and hard about what you have revealed to me," she began.

Confusion instantly crossed the Assassin's face, and Cora glanced at him, causing Achilles to explain the situation briefly.

"What?" His voice echoed through the room as he reacted. "How long did you know this and not tell me?"

"I only suspected," he said, his level voice a stark contrast to the Assassin's irritation. "She herself confirmed it when she told me briefly of her story."

"How _did_ you know," Cora asked, tilting her head to the side slightly and furrowing her brows.

"I simply had a hunch." He paused, as if he was unsure if he should elaborate. "And you look just like your father," he said, his voice softer.

Her resolve softened momentarily, and she seemed to sag as Connor noticed the flash of sadness in her eyes. He cursed himself silently as he felt his irritation waver at the pain in her face.

As sad as it seemed, though, it was gone in an instant. Soon she raised her chin again, throwing her shoulders back as she spoke.

"I have come to the conclusion that the Assassins were not responsible for my father's death." As she delivered the words through gritted teeth, she refused to look at the Assassin and give him the satisfaction. "I wish to avenge my father, my family... I want revenge for all they have done to me. If you will have me, I wish to aid you in any was I can in destroying the Templars."

"Why the change of heart?" Cora narrowed her eyes at the question.

"It was simply a change of _mind_. My heart still lies in the same place, _Assassin_. I do not agree with what your Order either, but we will be more productive if we work together. I wish to see Lee dead for his crimes against my family, and I wish revenge on the man who held me captive. If you do not wish for my aid, I will leave and accomplish these things on my own."

Connor opened his mouth to voice his angry rebuttal, but Achilles shushed him, rebuking them both.

"Can neither of you keep your heads long enough to have a simple conversation?" He sighed, annoyed with them both. The things he had to put up with... Turning to Cora, he tried to ignore the icy looks passing between her and Connor. "If you promise to follow our ways during your time with us, I think it would be a wise move. You no doubt know some of the ways of the Templars and will be an asset, especially where strategy is concerned. What are your thoughts, Connor?"

What were his thoughts?! Well... He had many concerning this woman, and none of them were very nice. Still though, he would be remiss to ignore the opportunity that she would bring to their mission.

"Very well," he said gruffly, crossing his arms.

"If you are going to do this, I insist that you have extra training," Achilles said. "Connor, you will oversee this task."

"What!" Two voices called out in synchronization, their distaste for the suggestion too much to keep quiet.

"If you are to work together, you must at least tolerate each other," the old man said. "It will be good for you. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to finish my nap."

The old man pushed them both aside with his cane and walked out, leaving the two alone.

They stared at each other for a moment before groaning and walking their separate ways. Doors slammed, but voices were not raised, and Achilles chuckled to himself as he sat on the bed. Oh, what it was like to be young and so brash, so emotional.

The two were more alike than they would want to believe. It was comical, the way each hated the other even though they seemed to be reflections of each other. Sighing, Achilles closed his eyes and hoped their tempers would calm down soon... He could use some peace and quiet.

* * *

**A/N: **

**_a iníon dhílis_ - my sweet/beloved daughter.**

**The conversation with Oiá:ner does not belong to me - all credit to the makers of Assassin's Creed.**

**Thank you to all who reviewed! Hearing any thoughts at all really helps give insight to what the reader is thinking when you read, and that is huge motivation for me. It also really helps me with my writing, so please continue to leave reviews!**

**ChinaDollMaiden - Will do! Hope I didn't make you wait too long!**

**Assassin27 - I'm so glad you like it! That means a lot! I have no plans to quit this story, so no worries! :) I even have it all planned out. **

**I am starting college soon, so updates may become a little bit fewer and farther between, but I promise you I will be writing this story until it's over, so please don't give up on it if I haven't updated in a while! :) I'm planning on working on it as much as possible but I also have another fiction that I have to split my time between, and the first few weeks of college might be slightly unproductive as I adjust and figure out time management.**


	6. Friends of Old and New, Part One

Chapter Six, Part 1;

Friends of Old and New

* * *

"Use your hand to balance the arrow," he corrected.

"Lift your arm higher."

"Widen your stance."

"Stand up straighter."

They had been at this for hours. The Assassin accepted nothing less than perfection, and though she had been better at wielding a sword and hand to hand combat, she was not as talented with a bow. Throwing knives was what she excelled at, not this new weapon that was all strength and strings and feathers in her mouth.

Slapping her abdomen lightly to get her to stand straighter, he berated her again. "No slouching," he scolded. "Engage the muscles of your core. Skill with the bow begins in the stance. You must be both strong and relaxed."

"I know," she huffed, glaring at him. "You have been telling me for the past half hour."

"I thought it would have sunk in by now," he muttered, standing back. Cora cut him a cold glance, but he ignored her.

"Try again."

Taking a deep breath, she aimed at the center of the target he had set up. She was sure she had aimed correctly this time, but when she released, the arrow fell short of even hitting the target. Cora groaned with frustration, trying to hold back from throwing the bow onto the ground as if she was having a child's tantrum.

"You are not listening," the Assassin huffed. "When you are about to release, you move your arm and slump over. That is not what I told you to do."

"It is harder than it looks," she pouted, putting her hands on her hips. "Why can't you accept that I have no talent for the bow?"

"Because Achilles has asked me to train you, and if you are going to be my partner, I want to know you have my back. You will master it."

"I am much more comfortable with my knives. Or at least the sword." Running her thumb over the smooth metal of the knives at her hip, she sighed. After rummaging through the mass collection of weapons in the basement, she had found a small stash of throwing knives that were similar to the ones she had used before. Thin and small, they were designed to be easily concealed and easily thrown through the air.

The Assassin had been obviously impressed when she had shown off her skill, but he quickly moved her to another task, intent on not letting her bask in her success. Still, she had done well with the sword and had a natural instinct for hand to hand combat. This, though... It was not nearly as easy as the Assassin had made it look.

He was obviously loosing patience with her, especially since she had begun to lose focus. The training was boring, and she did not see the need for it. She had done well enough with the skill she already had, but the old man had insisted, and she could not refuse him. It was because of him she was even able to join their little group, even if temporarily.

"We will not be done for today until you hit the target."

Groaning, she replaced the arrow, frustration taking over. As she drew, she took long slow breaths, tightening the muscles of her core. As she released, she was sure it would hit the target.

Instead, the arrow flew past it.

"This damn thing is impossible," she yelled, her voice shrill and impatient.

The Assassin snatched the bow from her, his hands working quickly. He made no attempt to hide the frustration on his face, and Cora crossed her arms, furrowing her brow as she watched him walk several yards backwards. He drew the bow with an obvious strength, releasing quickly.

Cora's eyes were latched onto the arrow as she prayed he would miss.

Instead, the arrow hit the target dead center, even plowing through the wood with all the strength he had given it. Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him, completely dissatisfied with the smug look on his face. That little showoff...

Two could play at that game.

In one motion, she slipped a knife from her belt, throwing it gracefully and powerfully towards the target. It tore the shaft of the arrow in half before landing just where his had, burying itself deep in the wood.

She crossed her arms, glancing back at him with a hint of a proud smile on her face. The Assassin was obviously not pleased, and Cora took an inappropriate amount of satisfaction from the look on his face.

"That is enough for today," he muttered, making his way to the target without so much as looking at her.

"What, because I showed you up, you are finished?"

He didn't respond as he moved about the site, picking up arrows and taking down the target.

"I always knew you did not like to be bested. I suppose that is why you fight, to prove your superior skill any way you can. It is all pride, I tell you."

Connor had heard enough of that. He felt anger rise within him, and though he tried to throw a wet blanket over the beginning of the fires of his temper, still the flames prevailed.

"You know nothing of my motivations," he snapped, eyes bearing the fires of his anger.

"So why is it you fight then, if not for glory?" Placing her hands on her hips, the woman looked at him with a smug look, tipping her chin up as her lips curled into a self-satisfied smile. It wasn't hard to figure out that she obviously enjoyed getting a rise out of him, and it was hard not to give her the satisfaction.

"I have no need to explain myself to you." He was practically snarling at her, and Cora's smile faded quickly, wiped away by the aggression radiating from his skin.

As he walked up to her, he seemed to grow an inch for every step – or perhaps she was shrinking. He was obviously aggravated by her behavior, and Cora silently wondered if she should have just kept her mouth shut. But how was she supposed to know? The strangest things upset him...

He got closer than she was comfortable with, and Cora had to fight the urge not to back away. His breath was hot on her face as he leaned in, his dark eyes filled with fire. Every fiber in her body was blaring a warning, urging her to retreat, but her stubborn mind did not give in. Instead, she tilted her chin up and stared into his eyes with an equal strength of will.

"You are not the only one who fights for people they love. You are not the only one who seeks to avenge those they have lost," he said in a low voice. Her eyes widened as she felt a pang of regret for her words, but before he could notice the softening of her eyes, he had turned.

"Assassin," she called out, her voice small yet sharp. He didn't turn though, choosing instead to keep walking. Sighing, she softened her tone. "I did not mean it like that."

She wasn't sure if he had heard her poor excuse for an apology, but after a few more steps he stopped and sighed, turning back with an emotionless look on his face.

"Forget it."

Long moments of silence passed between them, the air thick with discomfort as they regarded each other, unintentionally learning of the presence of emotions hidden behind the other's facade.

Connor broke the awkward stillness, clearing his throat. "Ellen wanted to see you."

"Ellen?"

"Yes. She lives here on the homestead."

"I figured as much."

Connor sighed, shaking his head at her comment. Did she always have to be so impossible?

"She is a seamstress, I suppose she wishes to provide you with some new clothes."

Cora mocked a surprised gasp, looking down at her torn, dirty clothing.

"Are you implying that I am poorly dressed? I am offended!"

Rolling his eyes, the Assassin kept going, pausing only to call back to her. "You had better get going, with your lack of skill with the bow, you will need as much training as possible."

"Yeah? Well we'll see about that."

"I guess we will."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

Scoffing at him, she turned on her heels and stomped away. Oh, her misfortune... Of all the people on earth, the Assassin was the last one she would wish to spend even a moment with, and here she was forced to spent nearly all of her time with him! It was almost tragic, and she pitied herself as she wandered in the direction of Ellen's house.

For a moment, she wondered if she should have asked to accompany the Assassins at all. Perhaps she could have done it alone... No. Cora was skilled, but not _that_ skilled. She needed the Assassins if she wished to have her part in the destruction of the Templars. If only she had known what she was getting herself into...

* * *

"Ouch!"

"I warned you to keep still," Ellen said with a small chuckle. Indeed, she had insisted on replacing Cora's tattered clothing, and suddenly she had found herself standing on a block while the woman took measurements and draped cloths over her, sticking pins in. The woman had told her to stay still, but Cora was not one for this kind of patience, and began fidgeting soon after Ellen had begun her work.

"I am not used to standing so still."

Ellen laughed, though Cora wasn't sure why - she had not been trying to be funny.

"Indeed. Do not fret, I am almost finished! Besides, I am sure you will be glad to be out of these terrible clothes!"

"I am sure I will," Cora agreed, though she really didn't care either way. Spending years of ones life in a stone cell tended not to make you care too much about appearances.

"So what brings you to our town?"

Cora sucked in a breath, intending to say something – _anything_ – but instead she found herself swallowing any words that may have made their attempt to escape her lips. At the girl's obvious hesitation, Ellen's hands stopped their work for the shortest of moments as she took a good look at her. It was obvious the girl had been through much. The circles under her eyes, the lightest touch of yellowed skin, patterned about her neck in a series of familiar fingerprint shaped dots. A few weeks old, the bruises... But how many had come before?

Ellen felt a sudden kinship with the girl, and a protective, almost motherly instinct rose within her. She had heard plenty of rumors from the others, especially about her odd behavior at the inn, but if her suspicions were true, it was no wonder the girl was so skittish and strange.

The older woman began her work again, her experienced fingers effortlessly taking measurements and pinning fabric.

"Did Connor ever tell you how I came to live here?"

"No." Cora eyed her suspiciously, unsure why the woman was getting so personal.

"My husband was not a kind man, and a drunk. He was nice enough the first few years, and I was so young and foolish. By the time he became... _cruel_ to me, I found myself with an infant to care for. And so I did what any mother would – I stayed because it was the only way I could provide for my child. Eventually I opened a tailoring shop and made my own money, but by the time I found myself strong enough to leave him, I had become a successful businesswoman. I'd be damned if I was going to leave what I had made for myself and my daughter." She stepped back, wiping the sweat from her brow before beginning to ease the pinned cloth off of Cora, carefully so as not to ruin the markers she had made.

"One day my husband was furious with me for refusing to pay for more alcohol. When he hit me, my daughter ran for help."

"I am sorry," Cora said genuinely, feeling a strong sense of sympathy for the woman.

"Ah well," Ellen said with a shrug. "Connor chased him away, offered my daughter and I a life here on the homestead. It has been wonderful. Much better than putting up with that old louse."

Cora nodded solemnly, trying to take in what the woman had shared with her. She wasn't at all used to someone sharing something so personal after they had just met... Perhaps it was common in this town.

"Connor is a good man," she commented, keeping her eyes on her work. "The people who live here are all good people."

Cora had to keep from sighing. What the hell was it with these people and the Assassin? They had some irrevocable infatuation with him that she would never understand.

Ellen set the marked fabric into her basket carefully. "Do you love him?" Her voice was gentle and her eyes understanding as she looked at the younger woman.

"Excuse me?" Her? Love the Assassin? Ha! Never had she heard a more ridiculous question...

"The man who gave you those," Ellen clarified, bringing a hand to her own neck to reference the bruises.

"Oh." Cora covered the spot with her hand self consciously, averting her eyes. "No." So that was why the woman had felt the need to share her story...

"Good," she said with a reassuring smile. "At least I don't have to worry about you going back."

"Trust me," Cora said with the smallest hint of a laugh. "That is the last thing you need worry about."

"You have much strength, and no one can take that away from you." Ellen placed a hand on Cora's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before smiling broadly. "It is our duty to prevail in spite of all else. To prove ourselves capable to those who doubt us, to those who believe us weak."

"Thank you." Cora was more than thankful. The woman's reaction had been just what she needed... Not too flowery or ridden with unsought advice. Cora had always been one to grieve and have her feelings in privacy, and she always had been uncomfortable with too much sympathy, but Ellen had given her the precise reaction that actually helped.

Ellen's smile widened as her eyes found something beyond Cora. She waved, beckoning someone.

"Connor!"

_Oh, fantastic..._

"Hello, Ellen," a deep voice said from behind. Cora crossed her arms, putting her weight on one leg as her hip popped to the side.

"We were just finishing up! I will call on you in a few days when I am ready to do another fitting," she said, addressing Cora. "And do not hesitate to come if you ever need anything."

"I will." She smiled at Ellen, missing the look that Connor gave her. Who knew the woman could actually say something genuinely?

The Assassin dropped a bag, obviously filled with money, into Ellen's hand, and Cora instantly felt her good mood vanish. Ellen smiled at him in thanks before turning to go.

"I will see you in a few days!"

Cora said goodbye, gritting her teeth as she tried to keep from lashing out at the Assassin.

As soon as they were further down the path, Connor turned to her, having recognized her tense state.

"What is the matter now?"

"You did not have to do that," she said stubbornly.

"Do what?"

"Do not play dumb with me, _Assassin_."

"What are you talking about?" Connor stopped, genuinely unsure what he had done to upset her this time.

"I did not know you were _paying_ her for that!"

Confused, the Assassin cocked his head slightly. "Why would I not? Does she not deserve to be paid for her services?"

"I am not some damn charity case, alright?" She was yelling now, bordering irate.

"_That_ is what this is about? Would it not have been charity if Ellen had done it for free?"

Cora groaned, throwing her hands up in the air as she began to stomp off. "I do _not_ need your sympathy," she yelled back at him, adding in a few obscenities.

Connor started towards her. She wasn't getting out of this that easy...

"Look," he said, grabbing her arm to make her face him.

"Do not touch me!" Cora raised her hand as if to slap him, but stopped herself, stuffing her arms across her chest as if to keep them chained.

"It was no act of charity," he said in attempt to calm her. "Think of it as a business expense. If you are working with the Assassins, we are responsible for your well being. You cannot go on missions clothed in an old dress, anyway."

Cora was beginning to cam down and see sense in his argument, but then he had to open his big mouth again...

"Besides, it is not like it was a dent in my pocketbook."

"Oh, you..." Pushing him away, she stalked off. What a self-satisfied, arrogant, selfish, pathetic excuse for a man! Cursing him under her breath, she ignored his words and kept walking towards the manor.

"Must you find fault in everything I say?" He yelled after her to no avail – she would not acknowledge him, the stubborn wench... "We still have training to do, you know!"

She threw her hand up as she walked, dismissing him, and he let out an irritated groan. How was it that this woman seemed to know the quickest way to get a rise out of him? Oh, that woman... He had been an idiot to think they could work together!

Sighing, he tried to let the tension out of his body, continuing his walk towards the manor. Perhaps a ride would help sate his temper.

* * *

Connor was saddling his horse when he saw her coming.

"I did not think you would come," he said, keeping his eyes on the saddle as he made sure it was secure.

"I am not so proud that I would refuse to train." Crossing her arms, she looked at him, trying not to seem irritated. Already she had spent a good amount of time trying to convince herself to come down. The Assassin's smug attitude wasn't going to help her keep her will to stay. "My desire to end the Templars is stronger than my hatred of you, Assassin."

"Really?" The smallest hint of a smile flashed on his lips as he raised his eyes to her. "I was not aware that was possible."

"Are you trying to be funny, Assassin?" She raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smile on her lips.

"Am I poor at it?"

"Quite poor," she affirmed with a laugh.

Cora had not yet seem the Assassin smile, but though his lips did not, his eyes certainly held a sort of playfulness in them.

"So what shall it be today? Are you keen to watch me fail at the bow again?"

Connor considered his words. He was not in the mood to train, especially because he was sure it would end up in yet another argument. Choosing his words carefully, he skirted the question.

"Do you ride?"

Cora had to hide her smug smile. With the Templars, the little free time she had been allowed had always been spent riding. There was one horse in particular, a dark chestnut mare, who had taken a liking to her. Sometimes Cora felt as if she was her only friend, especially after Jane had left. Usually she was only allowed to ride about in the small fenced in area, but there were those few times that Oliver had let her go out with Henry. They would gallop at full speed, riding out of the city and racing through the countryside... Henry, though a skilled horseman, rarely won.

"A little," she said mischievously.

"Pick a horse," the Assassin said, gesturing to the stable.

The horses were all beautiful, but Cora's eye was instantly drawn to a dappled gray. The horse seemed to have a good temperament, and it was unsaddled – perfect for what she had planned.

Taking hold of the reins, she led the horse out to where Connor was waiting for her.

"There may be an extra saddle out in the shed," he said, motioning behind her.

Cora nodded before turning her attention to the horse. He seemed calm and friendly, eagerly receiving her touch as she stroked his neck and nose, ran her hands over his back, making him familiar with her touch.

Connor watched her intently as she murmured encouragements into the horse's ear. It was odd, to see her so gentle and patient with the animal when he was used to her being so firey and stubborn with him. She seemed to have a way with the animal, and Connor was not so sure she was as inexperienced as she let on.

She mounted gracefully, swinging her leg across the horse's back in one smooth movement. Connor stood there gaping for a moment before she gave him a challenging smile. So she was going to be like that...

No way was he going to let her best him. Shaking his head, he began to take off the saddle of his own horse as she rode in literal circles around him, getting a good feel for the horse and how it responded to her.

It had been a long time since Connor had ridden his mare bareback, and he hoped she would take well to it – she could be stubborn and easily angered, not unlike someone else he knew... But he loved the mare all the same.

"Are you ready, Assassin," Cora asked as he mounted his horse just as easily as she had.

The Assassin nodded as Cora undid her braid. Some always bound their hair when they rode, but Cora loved the feel of the wind rushing through it.

Every part of her was on edge with excitement – it had been so long since she had ridden so freely. Connor watched her shake her hair out, the dark waves cascading easily down her shoulders like draped silk. Unexpectedly, he felt an uninvited wave of desire rush through him. It was a weak feeling, easily suppressed, but was there all the same. Perhaps it was her hair, catching rays of sunlight from the evening sky, or maybe the way she had challenged him in her riding. Whatever it was, he didn't understand it. Of all people, she was the last he would consider having those feelings for...

Before he could get a firm grasp on his thoughts, she and her horse had lurched forward, leaving him in the dust. He quickly urged his mare on, determined to catch up. No way could he let her win!

Her laughter was so lighthearted and free, nearly bringing a smile to Connor's face. Seeing her like this, so carefree and spirited, made her seem almost human – almost like a person he could perhaps get along with. Admittedly, he had been unsure if such a side even existed in the woman. Yet how could have have believed that? He knew even within himself that though he put on a serious, unamused front, he perhaps had a side such as that buried somewhere deep within him.

"Falling behind, Assassin?" Her amused voice traveled back to him, the melody of her voice passing easily through the wind, drawing him away from his musings.

"Not just yet," he yelled up to her, urging his horse to go even faster.

As he passed her, her face grew frustrated, bringing a smug smile to Connor's face. Hopefully she wouldn't be too disappointed when he beat her.

Though Cora tried her best, she could not again catch up with the Assassin. When he brought his mare to a stop, Cora sighed, not looking forward to facing his self-satisfied attitude.

When they had both dismounted, Cora pointed an accusatory finger at the Assassin, who raised his eyebrows in anticipation of what she was about to say.

"Do not look so smug! If I had been riding my own horse, you would have had no chance at all!"

"Of course," he affirmed, raising his chin and looking down at her. She looked so tense and serious in her stance, her pointer finger extended towards him as she made her excuses. And then, there was that fire flashing in her eyes. So familiar it had become to him, though he had known her scarcely two weeks.

She relaxed and moved away from him, laughing at her excuses as she ran a hand over the gray's well muscled neck.

"I suppose we should head back now," she sighed, her body relaxing. "We do have training to do."

The Assassin was quiet for a few moments.

"I was going to teach you to ride, but it is evident that you do not need the help."

Cora crossed her arms, a smile touching her lips momentarily.

Admittedly, she was glad that they weren't training. She was fairly sore from all he had put her through the past few days, and she was relieved she wouldn't be making a fool of herself yet again.

"I should get back though. I have work to do."

"Alright," she sighed, disappointed at the thought of returning.

"You do not have to come with," the Assassin said. "You can do whatever you wish."

Cora looked at him, unsure how to decipher the intent of his sudden lack of aggression towards her. Perhaps things were changing between them, even if it was taking the pace of molasses.

As she watched him ride away, she crossed her arms. She still did not like him, but perhaps he wasn't as bad as she thought.

* * *

They trained hard each day, and Cora found herself completely exhausted. It had been so long since she had trained this vigorously, and her body protested every step of the way. In the heat of early summer, the two of them ended each session drenched in sweat. Though it was still only May, the first waves of heat had come quite early, made worse by the stickiness in the air that made Cora feel as if she was wearing a wollen suit that she could not take off.

Yet she pressed through the heat and the stiffness of her limbs, even somehow making it through the endless bickering with the Assassin... Though she regarded him a little more positive after their ride together, he often infuriated her. Of course, she was not totally blameless. Still it amused her to get a rise out of him, though usually her instigation only led to full fledged arguments.

Today had not been easy. The Assassin had insisted on training her with the bow, and though she was slowly gaining some skill with it, the fact that it was so difficult for her made her quite irritable. They had bickered all morning, and both went their separate ways when they had finished training, keen to get as far away from the other as possible.

It was midday when Achilles had called to them, asking them to join him downstairs. The two regarded each other coldly, and Achilles sighed, not quite in the mood to put up with their foolish antics.

"You have received a letter," he said, handing Connor a folded parchment. "From Stephane Chapheau." He watched as his eyes traveled across the paper, his face becoming solemn as he read its contents.

The woman stared at him coldly, her arms crossed as she glared at him. Achilles had thought they were getting along better, but from the ice in Cora's stare, obviously he had been mistaken. Unfortunately, he had a hunch that they would soon have to overlook their differences.

"He says that the Templars have infiltrated a fort in Boston, and they are exercising their control heavily throughout the part of the city. He wishes for help in taking it down, and has reason to believe that there is information on what their plans are, and possibly the location of Lee."

Connor looked up from the paper, his features hard and eyes focused.

"I must go," he said, only for the sake of the woman. He knew Achilles would expect him to answer the call immediately, but the woman perhaps would not.

"Very well. I suggest you leave in the morning." Nodding, Connor started towards the door, but Achilles' words stopped him. "Cora will accompany you."

They both protested in unison, their voices filling the house as their displeasure threatened to turn into another argument.

"Enough," Achilles said, stomping his cane on the floor. "I thought you both had realized you each have something the other needs. If you two desire each others' help, you will set aside your foolish grievances and work together."

"I am beginning to wonder if it is worth it," the Assassin mumbled under his breath. Though he had meant to say it to himself, the girl still heard him, and her eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me?"

Achilles groaned, muttering to himself. He knew a lost cause when he saw one... Besides, he had dealt with the two long enough to learn that it was best to let them get their frustrations out. Trying to reason with either of them would do no good.

"Forget it."

"You know, I have become extremely tired of your pride. Not to mention the fact that you seem to have the emotional range of a stone wall."

The Assassin gave a forced laugh, shaking his head at her words. "You are one to talk of pride! For someone who seems to hate it so much, you are one of the most prideful people I have ever met."

He left the room without looking at her, leaving her to mutter unheard insults into the emptiness of the air.

* * *

Cora took ages to get dressed. She had gone to pick up her clothes from Ellen and was pleasantly surprised. They were feminine but still practical, keeping her skills in mind. The skirt was not full, allowing for easy movement while not drawing too much attention like a woman in pants would. She had also included leggings, which Cora was more than thankful for. She never had enjoyed the feel of a dress, and both riding and fighting was made much easier when you didn't have full skirts to worry about. She had reservations about the waist cincher, but once she had put it on she found it more comfortable than she had thought, as long as she didn't fasten it too tightly. The belt had a place for her sword and a pistol, as well as her knives.

The Assassin had assured her that as long as she played coy and tried to blend in, no one would recognize her on the busy streets of Boston. Still, though, with so many weapons tied to her along with the unusual clothes, she felt as though she would stick out like a black sheep among the herd.

Lastly was a jacket, cropped short, that gave her an odd sense of security. Even so, she wished she had a hat or something, so it was easier to conceal her face. The city was riddled with Templars, and she knew with one glance into the wrong face, it could all be over for her.

Sighing, she plaited her hair messily and pulled on her boots, trying not to think about the prolonged period of time she would have to spend with the Assassin...

It would be worth it, though. As soon as she had received more information about where they would be, she had decided to look for her sketch book – the house she had lost it in was not far from the tavern where they would be meeting the Assassin's contacts. Of course, she hadn't spoken a word of her plan to the Assassin. Doubtlessly, he would think her desire for the book unimportant, and the decision to retrieve it foolish... But he didn't understand what it was like to have all of your memories contained within a set of binded pages...

"Are you coming?" His voice was deep and impatient as he rounded the corner, his eyes dark and expressionless. He braced himself, waiting for her to produce some brazen comment with her sharp tongue.

Instead, she nodded wordlessly, walking out of the room in an oddly somber manner. Conner furrowed his brow, half with concern and half with the hope that she would keep this quiet mood for the duration of their trip.

They prepared their horses silently, and Connor stole glances at her. She was so strange sometimes... One moment she was icy, cold and calculated, arrogant and impatient... The next she was lighthearted, teasing and laughing. And then, quicker than the wings of a hummingbird could disturb the air, she would get that look on her face... The look she had now, of an immense emptiness, a hollow sorrow that consumed her mind, quieted her tongue, gripped her heart...

She didn't have to say anything for Connor to know that look. It wasn't just that he had begun to learn her moods, but it was the fact that he, too, knew that feeling all too well.

The ride felt much longer than it was, the hours dragging on like the last days of snowfall before spring finally broke. They decided to rest earlier than they had planned, each taking to their assigned task without and words spoken between them. After securing their horses, she had set out into the trees to find kindling and wood for the fire. He had offered to do it, had offered to let her rest... It was obvious to him that she hadn't slept well at all recently, the darkness under her eyes betraying her when she told him she was fine. But she had been so fidgety and anxious, it was no wonder she had insisted she do something.

As she had walked away, he had watched her go for a few moments longer than he should have, trying to make sense of the odd feeling somewhere deep within him, pulling him to go after her. Connor did not understand his feelings towards this woman... She was stubborn and proud and quick to argue, held grudges against even his well intentioned actions, and sometimes he doubted there was even an ounce of compassion within her. Yet still, he felt an odd draw to her... It wasn't desire or affection – absolutely not. Perhaps it was just the sensing of a kindred spirit, one that had been disappointed and abandoned and hurt and betrayed, even sometimes perhaps by herself. He knew that feeling well. So often lately he had found himself lost in bouts of dwelling on somber things, and the manner in which it consumed him sometimes worried him. Ever since Kanen'tó:kon's death, he had found himself more confused and emotion-ridden than ever. Though he fought in this war for freedom, another war raged within him – one where he had to decide between his ambitions and those he cared about. He could never find the balance between them. Always, he had sacrificed one for the other.

Shaking his head, he made his way in the opposite direction, drawing his bow as he began to scan the forest for signs of game nearby. Hunting and training were always a way for him to get his mind off of things – the focus and attention it required always quieted any unwanted thoughts.

His hunting trip didn't take long, and soon he returned to their makeshift camp with a rabbit in hand. He found Cora already asleep, hand draped across her face as she lay in front of the modest fire she had built. Sighing, he added more wood to the fire and began to prepare the rabbit, debating whether he should wake her to make her eat. She would need her strength, if this simple tasked turned into something much more dangerous. It always did...

* * *

**A/N: So here we are! This chapter still has a lot more to it, but it was already so long so I just decided to split it in half. I really wanted to get something out to y'all since it's been so long! Now that the semester has started, there's a lot less time so I haven't edited this at all... I just wanted to get something out! I guess I'm just a loser this time, because I also didn't have time to pick out a quote... I hope everyone still enjoys this chapter and it isn't too bad!**

**Assassin27 - I hope you weren't disappointed... :)**

**AustinMahonesGirlfriend13 - Well, if you insist... ;)**

**Feel free to drop a review!**


	7. Friends of Old and New, Part Two

A/N: So it's been way too long since my last update, but now that the semester has begun I just find myself with less time for writing! Hopefully y'all will enjoy this chapter, and hopefully I can take a shorter amount of time to update next chapter! :) PLEASE review! It really helps me to know what people like/don't understand, etc. And it's great motivation. Hope y'all are doing well!

* * *

Chapter Six, Part 2;

Friends of Old and New

* * *

"We only part to meet again." John Gay

* * *

They had argued all morning, tearing at each others throats every chance they could get. First it was over some comment the Assassin had made about her falling asleep the night before, and Cora had taken offense half for the sake of annoying him. Later, she had accidentally spilled some of their water supply, which had led to a full fledged argument. They had brought up things irrelevant to the original source of the fight; He accused her of being disloyal, switching from side to side like a hound looking for the person with the best treats. She had called him a green fool, a boy attempting to act the part of a man – a child trying to play with the big boys.

The silence between them began as soon as they set off. It was bitter silence, icy and awkward. After a few hours riding, she had begun to let her anger go. They did have something to accomplish, after all, and arguments could be saved for after they had gotten the information they needed.

As they approached the city walls, she began to think of none but Oliver, what he would do if he found her, if he somehow captured her... She had convinced herself that he no longer had any power over her, but so close to him, it had obviously just been an internal facade. As the walls grew closer, the trickles of sweat on her forehead became torrents, and her hands shook.

Connor noticed the way she was trembling, the way she slumped over a little more each time her horse took a step towards the walls. He sighed, irritated. He did not have time for her antics today...

"What is it now," he asked harshly.

She gave him a look of warning, but Connor did not heed it.

"You seem nervous," he said with an almost mocking tone of false concern.

"I'm fine," she said sharply, eyebrows furrowing so much Connor was sure they would touch. After a few moments though, her rigid body language faltered, and she seemed to break. "If you must have the truth," she said quietly, "I am worried I will be recognized."

Connor stayed silent, unsure of what he should say. The woman's eyes stared straight ahead, that stubborn fire flashing in her features for a fleeting moment before she dropped her head.

"Sometimes, I wish I could exchange me face for another... erase the person I was before."

Connor wasn't sure the words had really been for him, but even so, he felt the last bit of anger and annoyance towards her leave his body. It was annoying how she always seemed to be able to do that... Yet interestingly enough, it wasn't pity that drove out his anger, but a sense of understanding. There had been many times he had wished for a similar thing... Or at least wished that things could have turned out differently.

Once they were inside the city, Cora was seriously doubting her ability to think clearly. Everywhere, she saw his face – the merchant selling fruits, the town crier yelling about some wanted robber... Everywhere, he was staring at her, laughing at her, waiting for her.

It was torturous.

Once they entered the center of the city, the Assassin dismounted, and Cora followed suit.

"Wait here," he said quietly. If he was still angry at her, she could not tell. He was all business now, focused on what he had come to do. "I have to deliver a message to someone. I will be back in no more than ten minutes."

It had been at least double that time when she began to worry. What if something had happened? As she wondered if she should go looking for him, she heard her name. The voice had come from directly behind her, and the panic set in instantly. Spinning, she slid a throwing knife from her belt, raising her arm defensively.

Connor took a step back as he looked at the woman, her eyes wild and frantic. He had known she was uncomfortable, but now it was obvious that she was severely paranoid. As he lowered her arm, he wondered what kind of men had kept her captive if she was this terrified of even being recognized.

"What the hell took you so long," she whispered harshly, putting her knife away as she straightened herself, trying to take deep, calming breaths.

"I was getting this," he said. He held a hat out to her, the broad kind with three points.

"What is this for," she asked, reaching out hesitantly.

"To help conceal your face. I need your focus, and otherwise you are too preoccupied with trying to avoid looking at anyone. Besides," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I would hate for you to have to change your face."

She thought she saw a hint of a teasing smile flash on his lips, but as soon as she had seen it, it was gone.

"Come on," he said as he took the reins of his horse. Cora looked at him suspiciously, unsure of why he had made such a kind gesture. His face was covered by his hood, though, and his mouth gave her no hints.

Settling the hat on her head, she was glad to see that it fit rather snugly. At least then she would not have to stuff cloth or paper inside to keep it from falling off her head. Indeed, though her face was not as covered as the Assassin's, she felt much better. Unweaving her braid helped too, creating almost a veil that would help conceal her profile.

She took the gray's reins, leading the horse behind Connor's.

"It's just ahead," he called back to her before disappearing behind the corner of a building.

Once they had tied their horses in a concealed space behind a large building, Connor turned to her.

"I need to speak with the man who sent me the letter," he said. "As well as possibly recruit him and a few others to help us infiltrate the fort. It will be more efficient if there are more of us." Cora nodded and followed him through the door.

The door led into a small room, perhaps an empty storage room. Two men sat talking, and stood as they entered.

"Bonjour, Connor," one said, his accent distinctly French. Connor clasped his arm, nodding, before turning to the other man and shaking his hand.

"I assume you know why I am here," he said to the man with red hair.

"Yes," he affirmed. "Stephane filled me in." This man's accent was familiar to her, and made her heart swell with both fondness and sadness. His voice sounded much like her father's.

"I am glad to see you are already here." Connor turned back towards Cora, gesturing for her to step forward.

"Cora, this is Stephane Chapheau and Duncan Little."

"Pleasure," she said as she shook their hands.

"_Enchanté_," Stephane said, giving a small smile.

The Irishman said nothing, but his handshake was firm and his blue eyes seemed kindly. He seemed quite a bit older than the other men, but was a handsome man nonetheless, the few lines in his face adding a sort of regality about him. Cora was fond of him instantly.

"She will be helping us take the fort."

"Well we should get to planning then," Stephane said as he directed them to a table. A map of Boston lay atop it, Templar crosses marking the page here and there.

"There are two forts under Templar control," he said, pointing to their locations on the map. "One is much smaller, a threat but not nearly as dangerous as the other. It is the larger fort where they keep their plans."

"I can affirm this," Cora said. Stephane and Duncan's heads both snapped up, their brows furrowing in confusion. "I used to work with the Templars," she said simply.

The two men shared an uneasy glance, but the Assassin was quick to reassure them.

"Do not worry. She is no longer associated with them, and wishes to aid us in taking them down."

Both men eyed her suspiciously, still not confident in her, but it was obvious that they trusted the Assassin's opinion, and therefore they did not speak up. After a few moments of awkward silence, Stephane continued.

"If you have any information on how best to get in, it would be good to hear it now."

"There is one entrance only," she said, leaning in closer to the map. "Only a few men guard it. If we can draw them away and rid of them, it would be best. If we raise an alarm, it will be hopeless. Our best bet is to sneak in, get what we need, and sneak out."

"Cora, we are planning on taking the fort," Connor said. "Keeping it in Templar control only helps the redcoats, and the patriots would benefit from the position."

"I thought you wanted to kill Lee," she said, crossing her arms.

"I think you doubt our abilities. We are Assassins, not clumsy soldiers who have not yet been blooded."

"You wanted my opinion and I gave it to you," she hissed. "Do not come complaining when you raise the alarm and are unable to take the fort. You are three men against dozens, perhaps more. You do not stand a chance."

The Assassin gritted his teeth, his jaw tensing. His anger was obvious, but he said nothing more.

"We will sneak in, but we will take the fort. It has already been decided."

Cora scowled, heading for the door.

"I do not know why you brought me along if you do not want my opinion. I have been to that fort more times than I can count. I know the way things work, _Assassin_. And I am telling you that taking the fort is going to gain you nothing but death."

She slammed the door behind her, leaving Connor alone with Stephane and Duncan, who were looking at him with raised eyebrows. Connor sighed, leaning over the table and trying to calm the waves of annoyance and anger that were pulsing hot through his veins. The arrogance of that girl...

"What _esprit_," Stephane said with a laugh. "I think I will like her. Every man needs a woman to put him in his place, eh, Connor?" He gave his friend a nudge, and soon both he and Duncan were trying to suppress laughs.

Connor sighed, shaking his head. "I promise you, if I ever need a woman to put me in my place, she will not be anything like _her_."

* * *

The air was stagnant, thick with humidity, as Cora walked alongside the Assassins. Just before they had departed the house, another had arrived – a handsome man, young, kind and a little too eager. He had introduced himself as Clipper Wilkinson, and he had blushed slightly when she said hello.

Now, the four men were talking and teasing each other, though the Assassin stayed relatively serious. Stephane was going on about how drinks were on him when they were finished, and Clipper was laughing at some joke Duncan had made.

She tried not to roll her eyes at their boyish antics. Really, it was as if she was walking alongside a bunch of ten year old boys, what with their crude jokes and eager blades.

After their argument, Cora had sat raging outside, her anger left to fester within her as they continued to talk without her. She had regretted walking out, as she had no idea of whatever plans they were fine-tuning, but her pride was far too large to allow her to enter again.

She still disagreed with the Assassin's plan, but she had no choice but to go along with it. As they approached the fort, they split up, hiding in the tall grass just beyond the trees, sneaking carefully towards the opening.

At the signal, the Assassin whistled and the guards came forth, the grips on their rifles becoming tighter as they searched the grass.

One by one, they went down silently. The group of them crossed the small open field and entered the fort quietly, weapons drawn, ready for battle.

Cora was surprised to find the fort relatively empty. It had always been overflowing with soldiers and Templars when she had visited, but now there was perhaps only three dozen men – much better odds for their little group of misfits.

Indeed, when she saw the Assassin and his friends begin to fight, she had felt better about the outcome. It had been a while since she had seen the Assassin fight. Though he trained her every day, it wasn't the same as witnessing him in the thick of battle. His skill surprised her still, though she was well aware of his abilities. No matter what his enemies seemed to do, he evaded them, took them down with in a brutal, cringe worthy fashion.

Cora herself was proud of the way she fought – though she hated to admit it, the Assassin's training had helped her immensely. With a dozen and a half men laying dead on the ground, the group began to move into the upper levels of the fort. Just as Cora was about to ascend the steps, she heard a familiar whinny to her right.

She whipped her head around only to see her dark chestnut mare in a stall, throwing her head and pacing excitedly. Cora went to her straight away, completely forgetting about why she had been there in the first place. She had thought the mare was still at the other fort, the only place the horse had ever known. Cora fumbled with the lock, breathing hard, eager to reunite with her mare.

When she finally got into the stall, she wrapped her arms around the horse's neck, whispering words of endearment as the mare nibbled at her jacket.

"No treats today, Ealga, but I promise as soon as I can, you will get all the apples you can eat."

Her heart was soaring. She had been with this mare since she was just a foal, and parting with her was the one thing that had torn her up after leaving the Templars.

The sound of steel on steel rang from above, and suddenly Cora remembered why she was there. Kissing Ealga on the neck, she locked the stall again, running up the stairs as she tried to ignore the mare's protests.

The rest of the battle was nearly over by the time she had gotten there. The Assassin looked at her sharply for a moment, as if annoyed she had just now shown up, but the next second he was consumed in the fighting. A group of readcoats were being quiet aggressive towards Clipper, so Cora headed there first.

The shock in the first man's eyes gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. Yet as she looked down at him, another soldier had grabbed a fistful of her hair, throwing her to the ground. As he prepared to split her with his sword, she kicked her leg out with all her strength, delivering a blow to the back of his ankle that sent him flying backward. Clipper finished the man off as Cora got to her feet, nodding thanks as she made quick work of the others.

The fight was over soon after. When she and Clipper had finished off their group of men, she had seen the Assassin kill the captain of the fort. Damn, he was brutal... Cora was long hardened to blood and killing and battle, but even she turned her face away as he drove his tomahawk into the man's chest.

When it was over, Duncan and Stephane left to look for the intel. Cora had directed them to the room she knew important documents were kept, staying behind to watch the Assassin take down the British flag and hoist the striped one in its place.

As she watched the flag's ascent, watched it catch in the wind and unfurl like wings of a great bird, she wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly, she wondered what she ever thought she had been fighting for. Honor? Freedom? Righteousness? No... She had fought because she was scared, because she had been manipulated and twisted, oh so easily...

How had she let herself become such a pawn? Always, she had imagined herself a great warrior queen like those in the stories her father told her. Instead she had become clay in the hands of traitors, of selfish, hateful men. How had she let it come to that...

Yet still, she couldn't blame herself. She had been naught but a child, and she had been scared. When faced with death or doing unpleasant, even horrid things, it was a surprisingly easy choice...

"I suppose I will swallow my pride and tell you that you were right," she said, keeping her eyes on the flag as it rose, higher and higher, rippling in the breeze.

"I am surprised you did not choke on it, such a big portion of it and all."

"Oh, you think you're clever?"

"I am not in the mood for banter," he said harshly. "What were you doing down there? One of us could have been killed because you decided to take the scenic route. If you are going to work with the Assassins, you follow our rules, and that means not leaving your partners in battle. See that it does not happen again."

He walked away sternly, leaving Cora to roll her eyes and mutter under her breath. Even when she tried to pay him the smallest semblance of respect, he turned around and shamed her. As Clipper followed him, obviously too uncomfortable to be left alone with her, she closed her eyes, forcing the anger out of her body. She needed the Assassins to kill Oliver, and that meant taking control of herself.

* * *

True to his word, Chapheau had insisted that the group all come back to his tavern for ale – on the house. The Assassin declined his, not much for drink, but Cora gulped down every drop within her mug.

Exhausted and still bitter from the way he had spoken to her before, she excused herself, slipping out the back door as laughter erupted from the table of Assassins. She needed to get away from that bastard Assassin, needed to calm herself, to clear her head...

Ealga was waiting for her behind the tavern. Cora took an apple from her pocket, holding it out to her as the mare gently took it from her, tossing her mane happily. They were the red ones, her favorite, and as soon as she had finished, she dug her nose into the pocket of Cora's jacket, searching for more.

"No," Cora laughed. "You have had more than your share since we got back here! Besides, I wouldn't want our other friend to feel left out."

She gave another to the gray, and Ealga let out an annoyed breath. Cora laughed again at the mare's impatience, returning to her and stroking the velvet of her nose as she felt courage from her drink begin to pool within her.

This part of Boston was very familiar to her – the little house where she had first taken the Assassin was only just around the corner, and Cora was certain that her sketch book would be there. It had to be... And even if it wasn't, she was more than happy to get away, even for a moment. The Assassin would not be happy, but the possibility of having her sketch book back was impossible to pass up.

She mounted the mare, not bothering to saddle her. The horse was not used to a saddle, and Cora didn't want to make her uncomfortable. It was so pleasingly familiar to be on her back, to feel her muscles beneath her legs, to feel her breaths...

With a squeeze of the thighs, they were off, trotting through the streets. It had begun to rain, thunder sounding softly in the distance, but it did not discourage her. Her heart quickened with the excitement of having the book back in her hands, but as she approached the house, a familiar terror began to envelop her streak of courage. What if Oliver was there? Surely he at least had people watching the house, certain she would come back... Perhaps they had even found the book and planned to use it against her!

Her lips curled into a smile as she told herself to breathe. Who would have thought a simple book would cause her so much distress?

Cora didn't even try to open the doors of the little house. She knew they would be locked, and instead knelt by the back door, scanning her surroundings quickly. When she was sure she was not being watched, she slid her finger into a notch in one of the bricks, easing it out. A spare key had always been kept there, and Cora was not disappointed.

The room of the small house was just as she remembered it – even her knife lay on the floor where it had fallen out of her hand when the Assassin had slammed her against the wall. She picked it up and slid it into her boot before scanning the floor, praying that she would see the familiar black leather of her sketch book. Her eyes passed over every inch of the floor several times, but she did not see it. Panic began to take hold of her as she ran her eyes over the room yet again. Surely she was just passing over it! It had to be here somewhere! Perhaps it had slid under the bed or dresser while they struggled.

She dropped to her knees, bending to look under the dresser. The room was dim from the rainy evening sky, and she could not see well enough. Just as she started to get up to search for a candle, the creak of the door sounded behind her.

Cora jumped up, hand flying to her sword as she prepared to face the intruder.

Instead, a familiar form stood before her – kind, optimistic blue eyes, a head of blonde curls, a face free from scars and untouched by time or tragedy.

"Cora." His voice was soft, almost a whisper in the air as he closed the door behind him, shutting out the rain that had created a small puddle at the door.

Cora's hand released the hilt of her sword as she stood before him, eyes softening and heart swelling. Only then did she realize how much she had missed him. Yet though she was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to embrace him, she stayed frozen where she was, unsure of what to do. Despite how much she cared for him, he was her enemy now...

"Cora, I was so worried for you!" Henry crossed the floor in few steps, taking her face in his hands as he inspected every inch of her. "I was sure the Assassin had hurt you or worse..."

"I am fine," she whispered back, voice hoarse, still surprised that Henry was here before her. Surely it had been a possibility to see him here, but she had been so focused on avoiding Oliver that she had completely forgotten the possibility of seeing Henry.

"You don't look it," he commented, holding her at arm's length. "You seem upset. What has happened? Why didn't you return that day? I was sure if you were alive, you would find a way back. I assumed you dead, there was no way you wouldn't have returned otherwise." He was blabbering on, as he always did when he was overwhelmed with any kind of emotion.

"Henry, I..."

"If he hurt you," he said, jaw tensing as he imagined things the damn Assassin could have done to hurt her, and ways to end him if he had so much as attempted anything.

"He did not," she said, a little too forcefully. "And besides, I am a big girl. I can take care of myself. I have been doing it long enough."

Henry was completely confused. This woman before him, though like his Cora in looks and manner, seemed so different, as if someone had taken a part of her and changed it completely. The bitterness in her voice, the harshness with which she had just spoken was foreign to him. He knew her to be stubborn and fiery, but she was usually so gentle and caring with him...

As he remembered the book, he hoped returning it to her would bring her back to him.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, producing the book as he watched Cora's face turn from withdrawn and uncertain to exuberant.

"Henry! Where did you..." She took the book from his hands gently, opening it as if to prove it was really it.

"I came looking for you when you didn't return, and I found this near the wall. I was concerned, since I have never seen you without it."

"It must have fallen when..." She trailed off, looking up at him as if in apology.

"What?"

Cora shook her head, instead glancing down at the book. She had flipped open to a drawing of Henry, asleep and unclothed. A secret smile grew on her heart, but she fought to keep it from her face. Things were different now... No matter how much she longed to feel his touch... She couldn't. Not anymore.

Henry, on the other hand, laughed out loud, amused by her secret drawing of him.

"How many of those do you have in there," he teased, winking at her.

"More than you care to know," she said softly, smiling up at him with an odd mixture of mischief and sadness.

As their eyes joined together, her smile faded into something more thoughtful.

"I missed you," she muttered, regretting the words before her tongue had even formed them. Henry gathered her into his arms, laying a hand on her neck as she sighed into his chest.

The relief he felt was liberating. He had spent every moment since her disappearance worrying and fretting over what had happened to her. Every spare moment he had spent searching for her, begging Oliver to send a search party. It had been as if part of him was missing, and holding her in his arms now shattered the chains that had been binding his heart.

"I love you."

Cora did her best not to jerk away from him. How could he say that? _How could he?_ She couldn't love him back... Perhaps once, she could have loved him, but now... Now he was her enemy. Yet his eyes were so sure, so full of warmth and tenderness that she couldn't help but return his embrace.

Though so much had changed for her, though her life and her goals were completely reversed, Henry's life had gone on undisturbed. How could he understand? How could she tell him that she was now dedicated to ending every Templar she could find?

"Henry..."

"Cora, what's wrong? You seem so unsure. What has happened that you aren't telling me?"

"Everything," she whispered. Her voice was filled with a masked terror, and seeing her like that only filled his heart with a chill. Something terrible had happened to her, of that he was sure. His Cora had always been steadfast, hard in her opinions and sure of her future. Yet now, she seemed to be crumbling under his gaze.

He took her face in his hands, searching her features as she tried to find the words to say goodbye. Looking at him, she tried to memorize the face that had done so much for her. He had healed her, helped her, been her friend, her lover, her confidant... How was she supposed to find the words to say goodbye?

When she kissed him, she had meant it to be a chaste one, simply a farewell. But as soon as his tongue ran across her lips and she opened her mouth to him, she knew she was going to have to fight. Her hand slid along the smooth skin of his neck, bringing him closer as her fingers released the book. It fell with a loud thud to the floor, but neither could be bothered to pick it up.

So many nights spent together meant that the two knew each others bodies as if they were their own, and they wasted no time waiting to use the advantage to their favor. Henry backed her slowly into the wall, releasing her mouth to move to the sensitive spot just above her collarbone. Cora gasped as she brought her knee up, winding her leg around his waist.

She shouldn't be doing this, and she knew it. All it would do is hurt him more, make it harder for her to leave... Yet she no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pry herself away from him. She wanted him, wanted this... Yet just as she felt herself surrendering, she remembered her father's letters... Remembered his body, lying still in his own blood...

"Henry," she mumbled, eliciting nothing but a short grunt from his throat.

"Henry, stop." She pushed him back as he simultaneously drew away, eyes glossy with lust and genuine concern.

Why did he have to make this so hard?

"Cora, please tell me what's going on!" Cora could see the genuine worry in his face, and she felt so terrible for what she was about to do.

"Henry, I-"

The door flew open, slamming against the wall and making them jump away from each other.

"You found the bitch," a harsh voice quipped, laughing as he crossed his arms. Thomas was Henry's elder brother, though Henry had always been the better man, more mature, honorable, compassionate. Thomas was almost as cruel as Oliver, and was his closest confidant. Cora's flushed skin turned cold under his gaze. If Thomas was here, then Oliver...

"Enough, Thomas. Leave us be. We need to talk."

"You need to fuck is more like it," he laughed. "You two never could resist the chance."

"_Thomas_." Henry balled his hands into fists, obviously furious. "You aren't making things any better by being an ass."

"My apologizes," he mocked, bowing. "But now that we've found this hussy, it's time to go. Besides," he said, turning his attention to Cora. "Oliver will be so _pleased_ to have you back." His laugh was vicious, dripping with cruelty. He had always known how to hit her where it hurt most...

Ignoring his brother, Henry turned back to Cora, picking the book up from where it had fallen and placing it back in her hands. She looked at him, watched the tenderness in his face as he leaned close to her. For a moment, she felt like she would give in.

"Cora, come back with me. I'll take you back and everything will be forgotten. I won't let anyone do anything to you."

It was a lie... Well intentioned, perhaps unintentional, but a lie nonetheless. No matter what Henry had ever done or not done, Oliver and his thugs had always found their way to her cell...

"I can't," she said finally, closing her eyes and biting her lip.

"Why?"

"I no longer serve the Templars."

Henry stepped back, unsure how to take it in, while his brother howled with laughter.

"Oh, don't tell me you've let that Assassin scum inside you, too?"

Cora stood there stonefaced, unsure of what to say.

Thomas took her lack of response as an affirmation of his words.

He was across the room in an instant, slamming her against a wall and bringing a blade against her throat. Henry was yelling, drawing his sword, but all Cora was aware of was the hot, clammy breath against her face.

"Tell me what you know of the Assassin, and I might spare you. Maybe for a few favors," he smiled. He knew she would know what he meant.

"_Enough_," Henry yelled, irate as he ripped his brother away from her. "Leave her the hell alone."

Thomas stumbled back after a shove from his brother, but as soon as he regained his footing, his cruel eyes descended on Cora again.

"Cora." Henry was looking at her, begging her, and Thomas was threatening her with his glare. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, straightening her clothes, standing straighter and lifting her chin.

"I no longer serve the Templars. I will not be used be anyone again."

"Oh, and you think that Assassin bastard isn't using you? He wants you for your knowledge of the Templars, maybe your ass. That's all. You're a woman. The only value you have is to serve men."

She was going to be sick. In her weeks away, Thomas had only gotten crueler... If he was this bad, she shuddered to think of how bad Oliver had become.

"You are wrong."

Turning, she laid a hand on the doorknob, but Thomas' voice rang out once again.

"One step out of this house, and you are an enemy of the Templars, Cora."

She turned for a moment, looking only at Henry. He stood there wordlessly, blue eyes pleading with her, begging her to stay. She looked at him for a moment longer, hoping he understood how sorry she was, how she wished it could have been different between them.

But she had made her decision, and she was staying with it. She had to.

"So be it."


	8. Not So Different

Chapter Seven;

Not So Different

* * *

"There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; The other is to refuse to believe what is true." Søren Kierkegaard

* * *

After helping Stephane clean their table, Connor dropped into a chair, sighing in exhaustion. The documents they had found lay before him, and though he was eager to open them and possibly even find proof of Lee's location, he was strangely not in the mood for it. Just for once, he wanted to relax, to drink and laugh and tell stories with Duncan and Clipper and Stephane. But he could not rest – not yet – not when there was still so much work to be done.

"It is late, _mon ami_." Stephane's voice was quiet behind him as he lay a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You look exhausted. Perhaps it would be best if you leave all this for the morning, eh?"

Connor sighed, rubbing his forehead. He _was_ exhausted, no thanks to that _woman_. He was still bitter about her actions in the fort, but he was not in the mood for arguing and tried to let it go. Where was she, anyway? Looking around, he searched for her, but the tavern was nearly empty now and she was nowhere to be seen. Connor muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he got up, gathering the papers.

Stephane gave him a peculiar look but Connor ignored it, gave him thanks for fighting with him, and headed to the back door. He had so expected to find only two horses, to find that chestnut mare long gone by now. Instead, all three horses stood quietly before him, only his mare making any show of being aware of his presence. Her ears perked at the sound of his voice, and she made a step towards him, eager for perhaps an apple. Eksá:'a, he called her – little girl, in his language. At first it had been just a placeholder until he could think up a real name. He had used it from the time she was still a suckling, when Achilles had first put him in charge caring for the horses soon after he arrived at the manor. Somehow, unintentionally, it had become her name. Perhaps Connor was not creative enough to come up with a good name, but she seemed to like it and so he did not try his hand at creativity. Eksá:'a had been a true gift, though, sometimes even better than weapons or robes or training that Achilles had given him. Of course he was more than grateful for all Achilles had given him, but all the sharpest blades did nothing to erase the hollow ache of loneliness.

After he had given her the attention she had demanded, he went back into the tavern, the exhaustion from the fighting finally entering his muscles. He had sustained no serious injuries, but a few blows had been hard and he was sore. Yet though he was tired, he couldn't let Cora's actions earlier be swept under the rug. If she thought it was okay to be distracted during a battle like that by something as simple as a horse... Of course he loved Eksá:'a, but he would never have deserted his companions in the heat of battle just to take a look at her. The way that woman's mind worked... He would never understand it.

He stopped at her door, taking a deep breath and preparing himself for the way he knew she would react. As always, she would probably get angry, yell at him, bring up something that had nothing to do with the matter at hand. Perhaps it was a craft of women, or maybe this one was just crazy, he did not know. He rose his hand to knock, but just before his hand struck the wood, he heard a soft noise from within the room.

It was a breathy sound, the sucking in of air like a child recovering after a tantrum. He let his arm dropped and he listened, trying to figure out what was going on. He couldn't picture Cora crying, couldn't picture her that vulnerable. He was immediately uncomfortable for intruding on a private moment, even if he had never even knocked. He stood there quietly, unsure of what to do, but just as he took the first step to his own room, a muffled voice found its way through the door.

"Not tonight, Assassin. Please, not tonight." No trace of tears could be found in her voice – no sobs broke her words, or gulps of air hitched her breathing. Yet still, there was a quality to her voice that embodied complete brokenness, maybe panic...

No words came to him, and he receded from the door, too bewildered to give thought to anything but sleep.

* * *

Cora was sulking, and everyone could see it. The Assassin avoided her, likely put off by their words the night before. Stephane raised an eyebrow at her when she had refused a mean and an ale that morning as the night before, she had downed a pint too many. Now she was nursing a headache, brought on both by the over consumption of ale and the panic attack she had once she had gotten back into her room. There had been no tears, only a tightening in her chest, squeezing all the life out of her as she gasped for breath.

All she could think about was his eyes... The heartbreak in his eyes, as she walked away. That was what sent the knife through her heart. Yet he would get over it in time, she knew. Henry was a good man, a kind man, a good lover. No doubt he would be married off to some other wench in no time at all... Besides, it was for the best for both of them. They had both chosen their sides. Henry knew what he fought for, and he did it gladly. Of course, she had no doubt he had been fed the same lies she had, but it didn't take Sophocles to figure _that_ out. He had always known what he was doing, and that almost hurt the worst... He had known what she endured in that fort, yet still he had wanted to take her back, to send her back to that place, to that... _man_. Once she had thought about that, she realized that he did not love her like he thought he did.

The Assassin had made it a priority to properly thank his companions, probably out of some misplaced sense of honor and respect. He was always so consumed with honor and respect and doing what was right, damn him... How was it so easy for him?

She needed some fresh air.

No one noticed her leaving the tavern. No one ever noticed her, though. They only paid her attention when they wanted something of her... Her body, her sword, her heart to wound as they would. They only called on her when they needed a safe place to put their cock, or take out their anger with her. And for so long she had obliged, so naïve and young and senseless...

Oh, but these dark thoughts would get her nowhere. They would not bring her childhood back, would not restore her purity or take her family from the dead. They would only become shackles, dragging her to the bottom of the sea, pulling her from what she wanted most... Her revenge.

No one noticed as she dropped onto a bench, putting her head in her hands. Sometimes she wondered what she was doing at all... What about after her revenge? What then? She had no family to return to; no father to welcome her home, no mother to dry her tears or siblings to bear her nieces and nephews to dote on. No man waited for her at home, nor would any child ever quicken in her womb. She was alone.

Cora walked through the streets, passing the markets and letting the sweet smell of fresh bread meet her nose. Her stomach growled finally, ferociously, and she suddenly wished she had not declined Stephane's offer of food. Just as she stopped, her mouth watering as she tried to convince herself that it would _not_ be easy to just simply grab a loaf and run, a small hand tugged at her skirts.

"Here." A little boy, no older than six, held a quarter of a loaf of bread up to her. Cora knelt, pressing the boy's outstretched arm back into his chest. The child was thin, obviously not well fed. Yet he was dressed well enough, and seemed well mannered. Still though, she didn't feel right taking food from a child.

"Thank you, but I am well fed."

"I saw you lookin' at that bread," he said, little brows furrowing as he thrust his arm out again. "I knows what it looks like to be wantin' some bread."

"I can't," Cora repeated, shaking her head as she tried to shoo him along.

"If you don't take it, I'll drop it and then it'll be all dirty, wasted bread and nobody likes that at all," the child said quickly, words mashed all together. "Besides, pa is always tellin' me to be nice and share. I wanna share with you. You look nice. So here."

There was nothing she could say to that.

"At least share with me, then," she proposed. At that, the boy's eyes changed, his tongue involuntarily running over his lips.

"I guess if you wanna..."

She broke the bread, handing him the bigger half. He scarfed it down quickly, seeming to shove the whole thing in his mouth at once. Cora took a small piece off of her half, plopping it in her mouth and savoring the fluffy sweetness, the way it almost seemed to melt in her mouth.

"Henry! I told you not to give your food to strangers!" The child's name almost made her choke on the bread.

"Sorry," Cora mumbled, holding the bread out to the woman. "I did not know."

"Oh, it's no matter," the woman laughed, taking the child's hand. "Sometimes he'll give away all the food I give him! It's hard enough to get food on the table in the first place," she said sadly, glancing down at her son.

"Well pa says it's good to give!"

"And he is right," she said gently, a soft, sad smile on her face.

"Really, take it," Cora said, wishing she had her small purse of coins with her to help them.

"No, I insist. If he wanted to give it to you that badly, there must be something special about you." She laughed and gave a small wave before turning, leading her son away.

"When pa get's back from fightin', _he'll_ be proud of me for sharin'," the child said as they rounded a corner. Cora watched the brick sadly for a moment before finding a bench to eat her bread in peace.

Just as she was about to take another bite, a little yelp sounded from down at her feet. She glanced down and found a begging dog, its eyes large and pleading. The poor thing was young, not even full grown, and she could almost see the ribs beneath his coat. Pitying the poor creature, she tore her small half of a quarter into an even smaller portion and tossed it down. The dog ate it before Cora could blink and wagged his tail, looking excitedly for more. With a sigh, Cora tore her bread into another half, dropping it down again as she plopped the last piece into her mouth.

When she was done, she headed back to the tavern, not in the mood for a lecture from the Assassin for being late or running off. It was halfway back when she realized the dog was following her. She shooed him away, but still he kept on, simply cocking an ear every time she yelled at him. Cora kept on, hoping the dog would give up when he realized she wasn't giving any more food.

Soon enough, she found herself just outside of the tavern, and the dog was still at her heels, his little tail wagging each time she turned to look at him.

"What am I going to do with you," she sighed, clucking her tongue.

She had just picked the dog up when the Assassin opened the door. The moment he set eyes on the dog in her arms, he shook his head, crossing his arms vehemently.

"No. No way."

Cora hadn't even thought about keeping the mutt until the Assassin had reacted that way. The moment the idea had entered her head, her lips curved into a devious smile. Anything that annoyed the Assassin pleased her, and after all, there was no way she could leave the dog behind now...

"Oh, come on! Look at him, how can you deny those eyes? He is well past weaned, and I would guess he will be full grown within a year. And look how well behaved!" As if on cue, the dog wriggled in her arms, reaching his head up to lick her in the face. Despite how much she tried to get him to calm down, the dog kept at it, silly thing. Didn't he know this was important if he wanted to stay? The Assassin shook his head again, stubborn as always. "Besides," she muttered nonchalantly once he had finally calmed. "If he goes, I go. And you need me."

"Do I," the Assassin said dryly, the slightest trace of a smile on his face.

Connor wasn't particularly entranced by the idea of a dog, but the thing made her smile, and after the past few days of her odd mood, he was grateful for it. Perhaps the mutt would even make her less difficult to deal with.

He almost laughed at himself. Of course it wouldn't.

* * *

The ride back to the homestead was oddly quiet. Distracted by the dog and the fact that she had been reunited with her horse, there was little free time to dwell on what had happened back at the house. The truth about Henry made it a little easier to deal with. It hurt to realize that though he professed to love her, the fact that he shamelessly stood by while she had been hurt was proof that his love for her was superficial... selfish. Maybe he couldn't see it, maybe he didn't know, but she did, and she could not overlook that.

She and the Assassin spoke little as they made their way back, but when they did, their words lacked the heaviness and hatred that they had on the ride into Boston. Cora found herself considering how she thought of him, wondering if perhaps she may have been wrong. Sure, the Assassin was arrogant and childish and rash and infuriating, but he seemed to respect her, at least to an extent. At that point, Cora was much more hungry for respect than she was for love.

Perhaps she could get along with the Assassin, but she still did not trust him. Though every passing day only allowed her hatred for the Templars to fester, it did not mean she thought of the Assassins well. Cora still believed the two factions were cut from the same cloth, no matter how fervently they would deny it. It was a pattern, though, that two groups or people that hated each other seemed to be so similar, in the end... Her studies of history had proved that. The oppressed became the oppressors, the self-righteous became the humble, and the humble became the exalted.

Upon their return to the homestead, Cora delved back into her training. Seeing Thomas had brought up nothing but bad memories, nightmares, and reminders of how skilled she must be if she wanted to take him down along with the rest. The Assassin was a persistent, tough trainer, as always, and he pushed her to her limits.

She had named the golden dog Fionn, for her one of the stories her father had told her as a child, of a giant who had tricked his enemy into leaving by pretending to be an infant. The dog stayed dutifully by her, watching anxiously as she trained and giving a low growl when things got too serious for his liking. Cora adored him, but the Assassin was irritated by him. Fionn, affectionate as he was, desired nothing more than attention from the man, but the brute refused to so much as acknowledge him.

At the moment, Cora was almost wishing he would give _her_ the same treatment.

Instead, he attacked her, again and again, trying to make her dodge and weave and be light on her feet. They had been at it for hours, and Cora was exhausted, yet the Assassin's stamina seemed to be unwavering. Though sweat covered his face and he breathed heavily, still he came at her hard, delivering blows and trying to get her to fight back.

Her limbs seemed to be disconnected from her brain, though, and she was failing miserably.

"Come on," he said, beckoning her between gasps of air.

Cora said nothing, trying to catch her breath as she dodged more of his attempts to get her.

"Come on, Cora."

The sound of her name was foreign and odd in his mouth, but it seemed to have the desired effect. She lunged at him, but her footing was lazy and he grabbed her shoulders, slamming her hard to the ground. The sound of the impact almost made him cringe, but she was up as quickly as she went down, and soon she was in his face, her face twisted with anger.

"What the hell was that about," she yelled, still breathless.

"You were not focused. Your enemy could easily take advantage of you if you are not paying attention. Every move must be intentional."

"Well you could have just said so, you did not need to slam me against the ground."

Perhaps she was right, but Connor shrugged. The Templars would not go easy on her just because she was exhausted, and she needed to learn that.

Cora was still seething, breathing heavily both with anger and exhaustion, and Connor beckoned her to follow him inside. Obviously if she was too tired to block a simple attack, training was over for the day.

"I have information that we should go over," he said, heading towards the house.

Cora released the balled tension in her fist, trying to let her anger go as she followed him. Besides, she would give anything just to sit down.

Once inside, the Assassin led her into the study before excusing himself to retrieve the rest of the documents from the basement. Bored and impatient, Cora began to study the papers that were already there. The first few were relatively unimportant – ledgers, the past arrivals of supply carts, changes of post. She almost missed the paper with Oliver's name on it.

Even the sight of his name made her feel woozy, but she shook it off, trying to summon focus as she read the paper. At first it was trivial things – when he would be meeting with other Templar leaders, what he was to be paid for a certain job. But then, at the bottom of the page was a date followed by a location.

Cora's heart almost stopped.

In her hands was information on the exact location of Oliver, of Thomas and the others... She could take them down. She could do it within weeks. Then, she would be free of the Assassin, free of her past...

When the Assassin walked in, she thrust the paper out at him, anger again seeping into her veins.

"When were you planning to tell me about this," she said harshly, her voice dripping with venom.

The Assassin sighed.

"Never."

"Excuse me?"

"I was not going to tell you," he said simply. Just as Cora began to protest and yell, he spoke again. "This is the precise reason I decided the information of Oliver's location would be best left out. It will do nothing but distract you. It is not yet time to strike. We still have much to figure out, and your training is not yet complete. If you want to face Oliver and end him, you will need a set of more complete, honed skills."

"This is ridiculous!" Her voice was raised and shrill, and though she knew deep down that he was probably right, the last thing she wanted was him telling her what she was and wasn't ready for.

"This is not the time for revenge, Cora."

She laughed icily, crossing her arms. "That _is_ rich, coming from you, Assassin, especially since you seem so keen on getting revenge for past and your people."

"Enough." Cora could see him clench his jaw as he fought for control of his temper. Yet just as he was trying to keep his in check, she let hers run wild.

"For all your hate of the Templars trying to gain control, you are a lot like them, trying to manage my every thought and movement, attempting to control what I do."

"That is different," he said, his demeanor becoming more serious as her accusations grew.

"Bullshit!"

"_Enough_," another voice bellowed. Achilles entered the room, brows furrowed. "You two act like nothing more than squabbling children."

"But he is keeping things from me," Cora yelled in defense, throwing her hands wildly at the Assassin. The old man had to keep from rolling his eyes at how childlike she sounded.

"Cora, your pride is overwhelming," Achilles said simply. The smug look on the Assassin's face at his words gave Cora the desire to give him a good blow to that smirking mouth, but she simply balled her hands into fists, fighting to keep the anger down. "You argue only to assert your opinions and to prove to the other person that they are wrong. Arguing is a means to find the truth, not a game to see how quickly you can prove yourself correct."

At his words, Cora released some of the tension in her body, sighing as she dropped her head. Perhaps he was right, but it was still wrong of the Assassin to keep such information from her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Assassin crossing his arms in satisfaction at the old man's words, and Cora's eyes narrowed at him just as Achilles' merciless cane pointed in his direction.

"Do not think you are blameless, Connor... You could do with some patience yourself. _Listen_ to others. Understanding both your enemies and your partners is crucial to success. You aren't always right, either. A little empathy would do you well."

Just as the Assassin nodded grimly, looking like a young boy that had just been disciplined by his father, Cora put her hands on her hips and fought back a smile, earning an eye roll from Achilles.

"Honestly, I have the thought to send you both away for all the stupidity you bring into this house."

"All I am saying is that she needs to understand if she wants to work with us, she has to work by the terms we have laid out, or we will never accomplish anything." The Assassin's voice was a low growl as he continued to insist he was in the right. Would he never stop? The persistence of that man drove Cora insane.

"To hell with your damn terms," Cora said, her voice thick with anger. "I am finished."

She bounded up the stairs so forcefully that Achilles was sure she would fall through the steps. As soon as he heard the door slam shut and felt the house rattle at the force of it, he turned his disapproving glance to his apprentice. Connor rolled his eyes at the girl's actions, crossing his arms stubbornly as he looked to the floor.

"I do not understand her. Every favor I try to give her offends her, every move I made, every breath I breathe irritates her. I do not know how much longer I can stand her," Connor said, his voice rising as he went on. "She is stubborn and proud and wholly infuriating. I never should have brought her here."

"All of these things are true," Achilles agreed. "Yet perhaps you are too hard on the girl, just as you are often too hard on yourself. We do not know the things she has gone through, the things that have made her as she is. Neither does she know of you. You both lack understanding of the other, and neither of you desire to find it."

Connor sighed, sinking into a nearby chair. Achilles followed suit, lowering himself slowly into a chair across from him. The younger man stared at the floor, considering his mentors words.

"It is interesting," Achilles started, looking at Connor with a raised eyebrow.

"What is interesting?"

"That it seems the qualities in her that bring out your anger are the same ones she finds in you. Often I wonder what it really is that makes you two despise each other. Perhaps it is that you are able to recognize the similarities between you, the things that connect you."

"I am not like her," Connor said harshly, looking up from the floor with narrowed eyes.

Achilles did not respond for a moment, trying to keep the smile from his face. Indeed, the two were strikingly similar – both had a sense of arrogance, of impatience and pride. Clouded by their hatred, neither could truly see the other. Something had to be done if they were to get anywhere.

"I knew a young woman once," Achilles said quietly. "Outspoken, hardheaded, too rash and bold. Yet terribly intelligent, brave, carrying herself with a sense of strength buried deep within. The type of woman that excels in adversity."

Connor made no acknowledgment of the older man's words, but Achilles knew he was listening all the same.

"Your mother," he said quietly. At this, Connor's eyes met Achilles', his face softening. "Perhaps it will offend you if I say this, but the girl reminds me of her in many ways."

The younger man, busy with his thoughts, did not respond, and Achilles took his leave. It was always best to let the boy think things through himself, anyway. He had said all he could.

* * *

The summer air was warming, playing against her skin with every rush of the breeze. It was always so calm on the balcony, and Cora had found that she often retreated there when she tried to quell the storms within her.

The Assassin was intolerable. Yet still she stayed here, still she let herself be controlled and told what to do like some common work animal. Sighing, she crossed her arms and looked out into the trees. Perhaps she could leave, could run away and live in the wilds like the woman Myriam had done. She could hunt and sleep on the hunting blinds, and ask Myriam for pointers.

Cora almost laughed at herself. First off, she could never kill an animal. Funny as it was, no matter how many men's lives she had taken, she could never find it in her to harm an animal. It was peculiar and probably wrong, but what could be done... And Myriam! Cora had ventured into her hunting lands a few weeks earlier and the woman had chastised her, launching into some long speech that ended up in an argument. Ever since, Myriam had done nothing but glare at Cora if she saw her.

No, she would have to stay here. She had no choice...

The knock on the door shook her from her thoughts, and immediately Cora found the anger rise within her. How dare the Assassin show himself now, after all he had said to her!

She turned as she heard the door open, preparing to yell at him, but instead it was Achilles who had come.

"Achilles!"

"Expecting someone else?"

She shook her head, sighing as she made her way into the room. "I expect you've come to lecture me," she said wearily.

"I believe you got enough of that downstairs," the old man said simply, pulling something out of his jacket pocket. "You forgot this downstairs," he said as he lay her sketchbook on the small table.

Cora flushed instantly, hoping he hadn't looked inside it. How had she been so careless? She had only just gotten it back, and now -

Her thoughts were interrupted by his hand leaving something else on the table next to the book. The chalks and charcoals were wrapped in a small cloth, and Cora fought the gasp from escaping her throat.

"Achilles," she said quietly, unwrapping them as if they were the most precious of diamonds. "I cannot accept this."

"My late wife loved to draw," he said sadly. "They are of no use to me now, anyway."

Cora looked up at him, trying to find words of thanks. Yet before she could mutter any, he turned to leave. Just before he reached the door, however, he turned back, pointing his cane at the black book laying on the table.

"I had better not see any more of your things laying around my house," he scolded before walking out, shutting the door behind him.

Cora could not suppress a laugh. Perhaps Achilles was not as bad as she had originally thought. Perhaps she even liked the old man.

* * *

**A/N: Well there's that! This chapter is a little shorter than normal, but hopefully it's still good! I'm really excited about the next few chapters so hopefully I didn't rush through this one too much... The next chapter will mark a change in their relationship, but y'all will have to wait to see what that entails and how big a change it is! ;) **

**Vintage Ruiz - Thank you so much for your review! I can't tell you how much it means to me! I was definitely slacking on my writing until I saw it, so thanks for the motivation! I'm glad you're happy with the pace, I was wondering if people would think it was a bit too slow. But it shall be picking up soon, anyway... :) Not too fast, though! And about the romance... All in good time. ;) **

**PLEASE Y'ALL, DO NOT BE SILENT READERS! Please review and let me know what you liked, what was odd, etc. **


End file.
