Assassin's Creed Drabbles

↳ aged rum

in which edward kenway has a penchant for getting himself into trouble but can always count on you to have his back. rated 18+ for smut. 

"WHERE'S THE CAPTAIN?" You look around the deck of the Jackdaw. It's only meant to be a short stay —long enough to replenish the stores of fresh water and food aboard and find a few fools down on their luck —looking for a fortune. Not long enough to stir trouble with the King's Men. But leave it to Edward Kenway when he has no supervision —no angel whispering in his ear to keep him from throwing the first punch at a drunken fool who wounded his pride.

Samuel tells you what happened in the grog house, still out of breath from running back to the ship. The ruckus overflowed into the streets to be quelled by the passing British soldiers. Over a dozen men were rounded up and taken to the naval prison, most of them are pirates who'd face the gallows at sunrise. "Bloody hell," you curse, pinching the bridge of your nose. But yours and Edward's vows to one another still echo in your mind as strongly as the day you took them. Always.

The patterned burgundy and gold dress is meant to be the latest fashion in London —commandeered from a merchant vessel bound for Port Royal. It's uncomfortable at best, but you can't chance being taken for a pirate yourself, lest you wind up in a cell neighboring Edwards and awaiting the noose.

Luckily though, most soldiers seemed to have a soft spot for a damsel in distress, especially ones dressed in fine clothes. You stop short of the door to the guardhouse, working up a pant and false tears before approaching. "Help! Please!" You cry, banging on the door. The men stationed inside are quick to open the guardhouse, and you stumble inside, gripping onto the lapels of one of the men's red coats. "Pirates!" You tell them, voice trembling at the mention. "Please, do something! I barely escaped."

"You'll be safe here, miss," one of the soldiers says, picking up his flintlock rifle. The two men from the guardhouse leave out the door, shouting orders for others to fall in rank and join the march. You lift the ring of keys from a hook, laughing at how easy it'd been before venturing down the dark halls, searching for Edward.

He's heard the heavy footfalls of soldiers pass by throughout the day, but those echoing through the prison now are too light to belong to any of them. Edward lifts his head, smiling as you stop at the door to his holding cell with a ring of keys in hand. His nose is bloodied, dark bruises burgeoning around his eyes —you imagine the rest of him isn't in much better shape. "Some pirate you are, Edward Kenway" —you try a third key, and this one turns the lock, letting you open the door— "can't even finish a brawl without being thrown behind wrought-iron bars."

All Edward can manage is tired, exasperated laughter in response as you crouch next to him, freeing him from the fetters on his wrists and ankles. "Impeccable timing, love," he notes, rubbing his wrists.

"Like your neck more without a rope 'round it," you note, offering a hand to help him up from the damp stone floor.

Edward takes your outstretched hand, then brushes himself off, stretching his stiff and cramped arms and legs. "As do I," he agrees with a quick and quiet laugh. You motion for him to follow along —the sooner you could put the naval prison and town behind you, the better. Swinging the door open, he extends his hand, half-bowing. "After you, m'lady," he says, gladdened to have the warm sun on his skin again.

THE WESTERN SIDE of the island is quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of the port city, with the waves softly breaking on the pale sands and the birds singing an evening song. The sun dips below the waves —painting the sky with warm hues. It could almost be the start of a romantic evening stroll along the beach, but Edward's gaze searches the horizon for familiar sails. He won't find them, though, not until the morrow. "Where is my ship?" He asks, looking where you stand just a stride behind him.