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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Anomalys are portals that open seemingly at random which connect two points in time. Occasionally people get drawn through these anomalys only to get stuck there when they close. Time tribes are groups of people out of their time who have banded together and travel through anomalys seeking a way back to their original time lines.

One way or another all our Assassins and their friends end up as one of these groups and have to work together to survive all manner of creatures from the past and future whilst finding a way back home.

Not sure I'm happy with this chapter. :/ Kinda boring imo, but couldn't resist the philosophical points. Meh.

Master of the House

Chapter 15 - Civil Conversations

Breaking the night’s fast was a tense matter the following morning and dissipated the good mood Charles had woken up with. James’s Omega would not stop glaring at him balefully.

Oh, to be sure, the man did not speak of anything untoward and remained polite, if only just, throughout the meal. But, nevertheless, Charles began to feel quite...uncomfortable.

Whether it was because of the Omega’s spending the entire time glaring at him rather than eating or the bare civility Ronald and Mary had greeted him with earlier when no apology was forthcoming, he did not know. But he was the master of the household, and he would not let either servants (even such longstanding and respected ones such as Ronald and Mary) or his own guest dictate his actions.

And so, discomfort or not, he nibbled his bread, took a few small bites of his beef and sipped his tea in silence.

When a few of his servants announced that Matthew had just arrived and was in the parlor waiting for him, he found he could not leave the table fast enough.

“Matthew,” he greeted, shaking the man’s hand enthusiastically. “It is good of you to come!”

The man looked at him askance, clearly contemplating the possibility of his having gotten dementia or some other illness in the short time that he had last seen him.

“Charles.”

Matthew then looked behind Charles, a sneer on his face.

“And James’s little pet, I see.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Charles could see James’s Omega bristling in anger.

“Now, now, Matthew. I believe that Clipper, here, can help me with my wife’s problem.”

Strangely enough, that didn’t seem to calm the Omega.

“Oh?” Matthew looked vaguely interested. He turned to James’s Omega. “And what do you know of medicine?”

The Omega glared at them both. “What Mr. Lee really meant is that I am here to provide moral support in Connor’s time of need.” Then, muttering, “But how useful that will be since a certain personage keeps mucking things up, I don’t know.”

They both ignored him.

“Really, Charles. I know I spoke about the importance of bonds, but, really? James’s toy? I did not mean—“

Charles held up a weary hand. “You will still be paid the same amount for your services.”

Matthew looked at him in consideration and glanced at the Omega.

“With a little extra to have him underfoot,” Charles conceded.

Matthew smiled, a smug, satisfied smile.

“Excellent! I’ve brought the books, as you’ve requested, and I’m sure that your guest will be utterly delightful to collaborate with.”

With that, Matthew strode towards the main rooms of the manor, servants following with boxes full of books.

Charles stared at Matthew, wishing, as he so often did, that the man’s knowledge and skills did not make him invaluable. Because Charles would gladly dispense with him if he could.

Just before he made to follow the man, he noticed that James’s Omega, too, had a similar look on his face, no doubt wishing to enact his own brand of...collaboration...with the man.

He leaned down, next to the Omega’s ear. “He may be an opportunistic fool, but he is one of the best of his trade. And very professional once he’s been paid. He will do Connor no ill.”

-----

Clipper ground his teeth in frustration. No ill? Ill had already been done!

“I am familiar with him and his ilk and know his full measure. It is not him I worry about doing ill to my friend.”

Lee backed off, his expression rapidly cooling.

“If you’re implying I would hurt him now when he is like this...”

Clipper cut him off, still infuriated by the events of the night before.

“I imply nothing.”

The man pursed his lips, clearly agitated by the statement.

“Listen,” he grabbed Clipper’s arm roughly. “You may be here to help him, but this is my house, my estate, my property and...”

“Exactly. I am here to help him. But it is difficult with you jeopardizing my efforts.”

Lee exploded at that.

“I care for his wellbeing too! I want him to wake up too!”

“Then why do you continue to hurt him?”

For a moment, Clipper thought that the man was going to strike him. He trembled so with fury and rage, and he balled his hands into fists.

The moment passed.

Lee swallowed, hard.

“I admit I was remiss in my actions towards you last night.”

Oh?

“It has been pointed out to me that I behaved childishly and unbefitting my station.”

Was he truly hearing this? Clipper’s eyes flew wide open, disbelieving.

“As such, I believe an...apology...is in order.”

Clipper pinched himself. He must be dreaming. He must.

Though why he would dream of Lee, he did not know.

“It was unworthy of me to mock you so, when you have been doing nothing but trying to help my wife.”

Lee stopped. Then snarled at the wide-eyed look on Clipper’s face.

“You needn’t act so surprised,” the man bit out. “I have occasionally made mistakes in the past before.”

Clipper stared at him.

It was, stunning, to say the least, but not the least bit helpful. While it was true that the man had brought to mind some unpleasant memories, that wasn’t what frustrated Clipper so.

“I,” Clipper began, “am not the one you need make amends to.”

The man shook his head.

“Despite your arguments, unless Matthew tells me I am bringing harm to either Connor or the baby, I will not keep from my husbandly rights.”

He frowned at Clipper.

“I don’t understand how you, who have been married to James, can fail to understand this. While I do admit that we haven’t had the same aims and our marriage did not start the best of ways, Connor is my wife. Society allows my conjugal rights and applauds me for my fidelity to him when I could have had many more Omegas as mistresses. What, about this arrangement, upsets you so?”

Lee seemed genuinely puzzled.

Clipper felt genuinely appalled.

“Choice.” As if it were not obvious. “Even if it were his duty to submit to you for the sake of society,” Clipper tried not to spit out the word but rather suspected he failed, “which I am not sure it is, it was never his choice to wed you, to be your wife in the first place! Can you not see that by continually forcing the matter, by giving him no reprieve, you are harming him and, through him, your unborn child?”

Lee looked at him as if he might an unusual creature.

“On the contrary, it teaches him to submit to me, to, once he wakes, accept his role and place in this house. The faster he learns not to strain at the bit, the less he’ll hurt himself.”

Clipper shook in frustration.

“He is not a thing you can order to be what you will.”

“I fear society and law disagrees with you.”

Clipper took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Do I at least have your word that, if it proves harmful to him, you will cease your activities?”

Lee bowed, gracefully, courteously, gentlemanlike.

Clipper has never been more disgusted in his life.

“But of course. He is my wife.”

How he wished he were not.

lol! They don't want to share their Connor with a turkey. :D Even if it is the fearsome turkey! Assassin!

Wow, it seems Charles is changing for the not-so worse. I kind of like how you seem to bring back his old-self (before he becomes a Templar). The enthusiastic handshake reminded me of his first introduction to Haytham, and of course Matthew is utterly confused.

Also, you weren't kidding when you said Matthew was Church all over again. Wonder how he and Clipper are going to work together in order to bring Connor back. I'm kind of curious how Haytham is taking the news about a second grandchild and Clipper's involvement, does he even know his son is a vegetable right now?

I don't know why, but I keep interpreting the title to mean Charles/Haytham, both observing connor (like bird watching, but instead its connor watching) And then i think to myself, how would that work? Maybe they captured connor and were spying on him from a hole in the roof to see how he reacts, but Charles can't keep his hands to himself? Or maybe Connor's at the same inn they are staying at, and they seize the oppurtunity to spy, only to see Connor doing something intimate, and they can't help but get each other off? this is why you read the prompt at the same time as the title, people. Because now I'm really curious to see how this would work.

Oh yay. :) However, Charles's not-so worse will never be up to par with what Clipper wants. And especially not what Connor wants. The sad thing is, with the exception of the way that Charles and Connor's marriage came about (murder wasn't exactly condoned and all), society would probably approve of the way Charles has been treating his wife.

But yep! :D Charles is ever the same Charles, a monster to those he sees as not worth his time or his enemies, really great to the people he likes (hence his friendship with James). Matthew falls in-between (he doesn't approve of the man's greed and gets annoyed at how obnoxious he can be), but he doesn't dislike him like he did Hickey (manners and gentlemanly behavior are quite important to him).

And Connor is in transition from the first camp to the second camp. Whereas, before, he was hated foe, then he was enemy captive and now, Charles is thinking of him more and more as the mother of his future child.

Matthew and Clipper...lol, I laugh just thinking about it. Water and oil. But Matthew will be professional since he'll get paid for it, and Clipper will try his best to tolerate the man for Connor's sake. Not for too long though. Matthew only calls about once a week to check on Connor's status.

Good question about Haytham. ...I'll have to chew on that a bit. :)

He'll be at the coronation ceremony though, which is in about a week, fic-time. We should find out at that time. Charles will probably start making preparations for that soon.

*fans self* Wowzah! I know you think this is bad, anon, but I think it's utterly delicious. Every single piece of imagery is perfect - the words flow so easily off the page, it's hard to remember that this isn't a published author, but someone writing on the Internet. I love it and you, anon, and hope that you will grace us with many more fills in the future. :)

This was a nice break from all the angst ! I missed my chance with the Turkey!Assassin...Was it in sequence 7 ? Anyway, I wanted to say that we are so lucky to have an awesome prompt filled by talented authors like you ! I really like this kinkmeme, there is so much amazing people. I'm really excited for the next part (on both stories !). Courage authors !

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes and YES! (please)

Society would probably approve of the way Charles has been treating his wife

That is sad, and probably one of the reasons (aside from being an Assassin) why Connor probably never thought or intended to get married... until he met George ;_;

Ahh the coronation, I am looking forward to that. I wonder if Connor will have some minor/major improvements then. Also, I do hope James and Charles will let their Omegas continue to be friends (why do I picture these two being leered at Templar gatherings)

I'll be honest, the only reason I was even able to kill Talal (y'know, archer you have to chase halfway through Jerusalem) was because he was hounded by vigilantes. Along with some other...uh, close encounters.

So, how about giving our ever faithful sidekicks some love, huh?

Anon says thank you soooo much for taking their puppet suggestion! This ending was beautifully dark! Anon absolutely loves this ending even more than the other one! :) Amazing story!

Anon this is awesome. You have a skill, and I really need to read the rest of this. Your Charles is perfect! It's hot and bittersweet and ugh just please post the next part asap? :D

I think you can do the Turkey Assassin anytime after sequence 6

Here is a second fill from an anon that hasn't commented here yet. Hope you don't mind any mistakes. Mostly, I just wanted to see the whole age reveal thing happening with the patriots. Hopefully I expressed it decently. If not, I apologize before hand. Also, I could not think of a good name, oh well.

Fill: Age Versus maturity 1/1

Connor had been looking fidgety the entire meeting. Everyone was noticing it, but no one chose to mention it. To be fair, it was a little stressful, going over reports of skirmishes and supplies. He hadn't even spoke the entire time, busy as he was looking at the floor and shifting his knees in the small chair he was seated in.

George almost hesitated, but he had to address the last point on the agenda. “Connor, may we have your report on trade and supplies from the Davenport homestead?” The deadly assassin actually flinched, and everyone was taken aback.

“Commander, I apologize. I was unable to finish my report. There were many things to be done, and I have neglected by book keeping as of late.” George thought that to be strange, and judging by the shuffle next to him, Sam Adams was in agreement. This was probably the first time Connor hadn't come through for them.

“I suppose that is understandable. Still, you must know Connor, that these matters are extremely important, as much as the battles you participate in.” Connor glanced up, and George caught a glimpse of exhausted, sleep deprived eyes. “I am aware, Commander. It will not happen again. We have been busy at the homestead, with Prudence giving birth and getting Dr. Lyle set up. I am also working on personal matters of my own.”

“Well then, could you gather the necessary paperwork and drop it off in a weeks time?” George suggested. He didn't want to be too demanding, but this is something Connor had agreed to do, knowing the responsibilities involved. He would just have to work through it, or enlist one of his recruits that George had seen on occasion.

“I am not certain that is possible. After this meeting, I am set to depart on the Aquila to clear out some loyalist privateers. All of my recruits are out on missions, and I still have yet to sort through the resulting correspondence and additional aid requests.” George thought he heard a slight waver in Connor's voice. The kind you hear from someone on the verge of panic.

“Hah, can't handle civilized life?” Came a rude yet loud voice from the opposite corner of the tent. George scowled. He understood that most people disliked the natives of the land, but he also wished they could just shut up long enough to realize that Connor is too valuable an ally to alienate with generalizations. “Even a half breed should realize they aren't smart enough for the intricacies of management.”

George was about ready to strangle the man. Or at the very least, kick him out of the tent before Connor sent his Tomahawk flying into the man's head. Instead though, before any could react, Connor stood abruptly. “I apologize again, Commander, but I must excuse myself.” He was off as fast as one could without running. George kneaded his brow. Something was wrong with Connor, and comments like that were only making it worse.

“This meeting is dismissed. And for future record, I will not tolerate insults aimed at any man who helps our cause as much as Connor does.” The man who had spewed said insults rolled his eyes dramatically. “He's probably just run off to the forest. No doubt to prey to his savage spirits for revenge.” Still, the man was the next to leave, which meant that George had to deal with him not a moment longer. He met the eyes of several of his closer people. These men had met Connor, and seen him help their cause. They knew something was wrong with the half native. Without talking, they seemed to come to an agreement.

“I must go check on Connor. He looked awfully stressed about more than just supplies.” George turned his thoughts into words. The others nodded meaningfully before they took their leaves as well. He cautiously stepped out of the tent. Hopefully Connor would not have left the camp already.

Luckily, after a moment of picking his way through campfires and scores of idling men, George spotted Connor balanced in the edge of one of the few stone buildings in the camp. He was staring at a group of three new recruits to the patriots. They were children almost, no older than 18. Their uniforms were fresh and new, and they handled their muskets with the fear and reverence of the un-experienced. George fought a pang of guilt, knowing they would soon either become very experienced, or dead. Maybe that was why Connor watched them with a strange expression on his face.

George was lucky, there was a ladder against the side of the building for him to climb. Connor's eyes focused on him the second his hand touched the rung, but did nothing to stop his ascent. He did not even speak up as George pulled himself over the roof and sat beside him, legs dangling over the edge. In the end, George broke the silence himself.

“I hope you know that the opinions of one man does not reflect the opinions of the entire group.” He started carefully, wanting to make it clear that Connor was valued and not reviled.

“I understand that, Commander. I am more frustrated at myself to be perfectly honest.” George was relieved by the answer. “Could you perhaps tell me what it is that frustrates you, exactly?”

Connor tilted his head to the side in consideration before answering, “ I find myself under far more stress than I can imagine. With the many jobs and people that require my attention at the same time, I find it hard to cope. Equally however, I do not wish to prove certain men right. I feel like I am being torn in many different directions.” He sighed and looked back to the trio of new recruits. George didn't dare to interrupt, as Connor had never been so open to him before. He didn't see Connor as the type to open up to many people, that is if he opened up to anyone at all.

“I do not regret what it is I am doing... however on occasion I find myself wishing to simply have no worries at all.” He nodded towards the teenagers, who were now excitedly chatting to each other. George put a hand on Connor's shoulder in comfort, nearly forgetting about the man's aversion to touch. Surprisingly though, he seemed to allow it this time and even leaned in slightly. George was almost in awe- this was a vulnerable part of Connor being shown right now. He had to be careful not to scare him off.

“I understand your feelings. Sometimes I feel much the same way, like I would kill for the chance to rewind time again, to the age of those lads over there.” George offered, gesturing to the young recruits. Connor paused for a moment.

“I would not need to rewind time for that. But I do envy their relative innocence, as quickly as it is to being taken. I know that if I stop my current responsibilities, no one else will be picking them up. I just wish to experience life like most of my age group.”

George started. “What do you mean, Connor?”

He scratched his head. “Is it not common for most people of my years to be just coming of age? Having but a few responsibilities as they leave their parents to enter the world?”

“Ah, I'm not familiar with your tribe's customs, especially involving adulthood. We consider people to be just coming of age when they are as old as those new recruits. We wouldn't hire on children, although those boys are just pushing it.” Connor bobbed his head in agreement, although he appeared slightly confused. “Yes, that was what I was referring to.”

George was now very confused. Connor looked to be at least 25, if not older. There was no way he was implying what George thought he was implying. But he had to know for sure.

“I apologize for not asking earlier, Connor. How old are you?” Connor did not seem to take offense, and easily replied, “I am seventeen.” George's back flew up in shock. Unfortunately, he forgot that he was on a roof ledge and lost his balance, limbs pin wheeling lest he fall. Connor gripped the back of his coat and yanked back, sparing George from slipping off the roof. “What is wrong, Commander?” He asked with concern in his voice.

“Connor, are you seriously telling me that you are the same age as those boys over there?” George demanded, eyes wide with surprise. There was just no way.

“Actually, Commander, since your army only accepts those who are 18 and up, I suspect they are one year older than me. Why do you act so surprised?”

George felt like he was going to be sick. Connor was just a boy? How could he be only 17? He had fought so much, killed so many, and helped them so much... suddenly, Connor's actions today made a horrifying amount of sense.

“God, Connor, I had no idea you were so young. You look easily seven years older than that. And we've been putting so much pressure on you.” Connor looked uncomfortable. Now that George was looking, he could see glimpses of someone younger in his face. The thought that they had piled so much stress and work on a teenager made George feel even guiltier than he had about those young soldiers.

“Please, don't worry yourself. My age does not hinder my ability to work. I am capable of handling matters, only these past few weeks everything has piled up.”

George knew he needed to do something. He already knew that Connor had more on his plate than many men could handle, and that was when he was mistaken about his age. The boy needed to unwind, if only for a moment.

“I couldn't let you run yourself ragged. I can get someone responsible to help with the reports. Only, I must know: How did you write up those reports earlier? They are more clear, proper, and precise than reports I get from men twice your age.” Connor shrugged. “Achilles has taught me many things, including accounting. Because I run the homestead and all its records, I quickly learned how to do it efficiently and with few mistakes that I would have to double back and waste time to fix.

He ran the entire Davenport homestead's trading business alone? George knew immediately that he would be sending some good men over to help record keeping, with Connor's approval of course. He almost wanted to confront Connor's mentor now, and demand why so much had been put on the boy's shoulders. Then again, George was equally guilty of that. There wasn't much he could really do.

“Say Connor, have you heard of the game Bocce? I rather like it, and it is a good way to unwind stress without resorting to drink.” Connor looked like he might want to, but shook his head. “I really must depart for the homestead soon. The crew of the Aquila are waiting on me.” He made to jump off the house, but George patted Connor's arm to catch his attention.

“Please Connor, just play one game with me? I promise I am not much of a challenge, for all that I enjoy the game. It is not complicated either, I can teach you how to play.” He looked back to George for a moment, in conflict.

“I know how to play Bocce. The lumberers at the homestead taught me not long ago.”

“Good then, surely you could spare the time for one round?” George silently begged for Connor to take the offer. He was rewarded with a tired agreement. “For one round, I suppose.” he smiled slightly, like he had been in this position before with another person. George wouldn't be surprised. Whoever the other person was, they probably realized for all that they wished Connor could have his youth back, he was doing far too many good things. George couldn't turn away all that help, no matter how much he wanted to.

All he could do was try and alleviate some of the stress. Connor should at least remember some of the time that he was only 17. If that meant indulging in the occasional game, it was the least George could do.

Here is my attempt at the first part of a fill. I thought it would be nice to start here, and fill in the details later. That way we get to be almost as confused as Achilles. I'm using kink meme as a way to force myself to write more often, which means I'm not worrying too hard about spelling or grammar, which means watch out for some silly mistakes. Mine tend to be related to verb tenses, or awkward wording/ a phrase or word being used too many times in too small a span.

Fill: Rivals team up 1/?

Achilles liked to think he was always prepared. If not that, he always at least looked prepared. It was one of the better ways to both unnerve ones opponents, and reassure ones allies. In this instance however, Achilles figured that no one could blame the surprise that crossed his face. He slammed the door in the intruder's face, both to shut the man out and as a protest to his fate. Why in God's name was Haytham Kenway on his doorstep?

“Listen here, Davenport. You and I both know I could break in easily. I think it would be best for both of us if you would open your door and have a civilized discussion.” Right, Achilles had almost forgot how much he hated that man. Even if he wasn't a Templar, Achilles couldn't stand that snobbish, self confident twit. Kenway pounded on the door several times. Kenway was impatient too, despite his deliberating and articulate speech.

“Are we really going to do this!? I'm obviously not here to kill you or your precious recruits, so hurry up and open the damn door!”

“No. you listen, boy. I don't care what truces or alliances Connor has roped himself into, but I will not welcome a Templar into my home!” Achilles heard an angry grumble.

“If you would listen for a moment, I could explain to you that this is about Connor!” Kenway spoke like he was trying to be reasonable, but Achilles seethed.

“What have you done with Connor?”

“I have done nothing! If you would just open up and let me explain-” Achilles cut him off. “I swear, Templar. If you've hurt the boy at all, I will rip out your heart in front of you. Blood relation or not, you've no right to betray a truce.”

Kenway let out a mocking sniff, one Achilles could hear through the door. “As if you could, Davenport. I'd see you limping up from a mile away.”

“I may be a cripple boy, but I am not weak. Do you think I lack fire arms? Or perhaps you believe my eyesight to be going as well.”

“Stop calling me boy! I am just under 50 years old!” Achilles smirked, although no one else could see it. At least he could have some amusement in this situation, completely screwed as he was. Achilles wasn't an idiot, Kenway would go in through a window soon enough and they both knew who would win that battle. The least he could do was put up one hell of a fight. Maybe give him a cripple for whatever it is he did to Connor. Achilles refused to believe he was dead, perhaps just captured.

“And yet, you still continue to be an annoying little brat. Only a selfish, cruel little boy would find it in them to back stab their own blood during a truce.”

“Oh, for the love of-” The pounding stopped, and from the tone of voice, Achilles imagined Kenway throwing his arms up in frustration. “I have done nothing to Connor! In fact, I have just found out that he's been captured by an enemy of mine!”

Well, that was strange. Achilles couldn't think of any reason for Kenway to say something like that. “Why in the world would you make up a lie so preposterous? Any enemy of yours would see to help Connor destroy you.”

“Maybe because I am not lying. I promise you that I have not harmed Connor at all, and in fact have come to you with a proposition. If you would just open that door so I can stop shouting it out for the world to hear?” Achilles couldn't help his intrigue just as he couldn't help his anger at Kenway's insolence. And although he wished dearly to feed his anger and shut the intruder out, Achilles wasn't dumb. That lie made absolutely no sense, and there was no benefit if Achilles were to believe him. Kenway could have him killed any day of the week, he wouldn't need this trickery.

Perhaps, he could be lying in order to get Achilles help in destroying someone, but that made little sense either. The Templars were strongly equipped, and as a united force they certainly didn't need the help of their enemy that badly. And if it were a ploy to somehow get to Connor's recruits, well, it made little sense to target Achilles with their lives. Kenway would have just gone through Connor instead, naïve as the boy was that their truce could work. It didn't add up at all. Unless, Connor really had been captured by an enemy of Kenway's. With their truce going on, it would look to an outsider that they were on the same team. If Kenway was even remotely sentimental, which Achilles secretly suspected to be true, he would feel responsible and try to mount a rescue, if only to finish their truce activities. He wouldn't be able to use his Templar resources, as the other's wouldn't approve and Kenway couldn't have an uprising to deal with. That would leave him with only one course of action...

Achilles unlocked the door, cracking it open. “Get in here and explain yourself immediately and thoroughly. Keep your hands where I can see them.” He snapped, glaring at Kenway's surprise. The Templar looked out of sorts, his usually pristine hair in disarray, his clothes rumpled. Achilles attributed it to a lengthy, fast paced travel if the sound of a horse draining the water trough in the distance was any indication. Kenway paused to gather himself, straightening up and patting his coat down.

“I knew you weren't so senile you couldn't listen to obvious reason. Really, I almost regret coming here. After all, you will hardly be able to help me if you can't comprehend the slightest amount of logic.” Still, for all his words, Kenway trod carefully into the house, hands out in front of him.

“Don't push yourself, boy. You are no longer in your prime, either.” Kenway snorted. “I am inclined to agree with you, although I must point out that I can still run circles around that dolt you call your student. Alas, that dolt is also my son and the reason I am here, regardless of how interesting it is to see you pretend to pose any sort of threat.” Achilles wanted desperately to strangle the man's throat. Instead, he led the templar to a small table, where they both sat carefully, neither glancing away from the other's eyes.

“All right, you've had your fun in disrespecting your elders. Now spit it out, what exactly are you here for?”

A couple of days after his ‘illness’, Clipper found himself sitting in Connor’s dining room, waiting for the other man to return. When they'd gone hunting for the first time two months ago, Connor had promised him to give the hide of the first deer they had killed to the tailor that had settled on his lands so he could make a knew ammunition pouch for Clipper. His old one was showing signs of wear. Probably didn’t help that he kept scratching and pulling at loose threads and ends when he was nervous, like right now.

When Connor had let him in, he’d given him nothing but a curt nod. The silence didn’t surprise Clipper. His room had no windows and he’d been holed up in there for a day and a half, the smell of his heat drenching the air, when Connor visited him. The chain on the door said prison, not sickbed.

It wouldn’t have fooled a blind beta. Clipper sighed. He’d really liked being an assassin, too. With everyone having their own ideas of what was the one right way for this country to go, it seemed like the assassins at least had morals he could approve of. But an omega within a secret fighting force? There were not even any in the actual army, whichever side you looked at. One omega in heat was enough to bring a whole group into disarray, not to mention that they were basically useless for about half a week every month.

The sound of Connor’s feet creaking on the stairs preceeded him. He came in with a pouch, his hood folded back for once. Short brown hair was growing on the formerly shaven sides of his head.

“I- It looks good.” Intricately worked, great tight needlework. Felt good, too, he thought when Connor placed it in his hand. The leather was very supple. He wished he didn’t need to see it as a parting present.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Always straight to the point, sir Connor. Not even pretending like Clipper couldn’t know what he was talking about. Clipper looked at his hands, but then something in him stirred. The same thing that kept the key out of his hands during every heat.

“Frankly, sir, and I’m sorry, but it was just none of your business.”

He held Connor’s unreadable gaze.

“You’re my recruit.”

“I’ve done a decent job,” Clipper said, quiet but defensive. “You never told me otherwise. I know you would have. But you wouldn’t have taken me in if you’d known.”

Connor sat back. “When did I say that? You need to listen to my words, not what you fear to hear.”

All the pride he had mustered to argue against Connor deflated at this unexpected answer. Before he could ask, though, Connor continued:

“I also thought you were my friend.” The word made Clipper’s stomach knot. Connor looked down the length of the empty table, then back up at Clipper. “I do not appreciate being lied to. You seemed honest, but this...”

“I cannot be!” Clipper blurted out. “If anyone knew – you don’t know what it’s like. Besides, you never told me you were an alpha, either.”

“It’s different.”

“Yes, sir, you’re right there.” A hint of bitterness entered his voice. Clipper put the pouch on the table and got up, walked to the window, and leaned against the windowsill, suppressing the urge to pace. “It’s very different. Which is why I have to make up stories about contracts and being sick.”

“Why?”

Was he really that daft about it? Clipper glanced out of the window. The sun was setting behind summer-green trees, the heavens coloured fire orange and blood red. He’d never tried to put his motivation in words for himself, always followed an instinct more than a clear-cut argument. It didn’t help that he was angry and worried and feeling guilty right now.

“I’m not much one for big words,” he said, shoulders sagging a little. “I guess – well, I told you I’m all for freedom.”

Finally, the displeasure that had gripped Connor seemed to ease up a little. It felt like he really had his attention now when the brown eyed gaze raked up and down his body, seizing him up.

“The way it is said, omegas suffer when they are not mated. You are also chained to your cycles. I would hardly call that free.”

“It’s better than being chained to an alpha, sir – no offense. At least the cycle, that’s all in me. I don’t have to wait for no one to take pity on me.”

Though he hardly ever raised his voice, he could say this with strong conviction. Connor seemed to consider him for another long moment. Then he pushed back his chair.

“I apologize.”

“What?”

“I was wrong to push you on the issue. I suppose you are right. With all that happened in my life, I never had a chance to think about the particularies of mating further than what my people taught me – or what it is like on the other side.” He moved towards the door. “Will you stay for supper?”

Clipper blinked at the sudden shift of topic. “Uh – sure”

Despite the two story mansion, Connor had no housekeeper. The assassin had told him that one of the lumberjack’s wives came once a week to do a bit of cleaning, but for supper, there was no one but the two of them preparing in silence. Connor collected bread, cheese and deer jerky from a cupboard and Clipper carried the wine and a cup of water for himself.

“I understand being self-reliant, but you sound distrustful of alphas,” Connor stated while Clipper laid out the plates, arranging them somewhere at the uper end of the large dining table. The question didn’t take him completely off-guard. He hadn’t expected the conversation to be over yet. “A good alpha could make your life much easier.”

It would have been easy to just follow on his former line of argument. It was no lie at all that he valued the freedom of not being bonded. However, that idea had come with a hard lesson to go along and Connor was a friend, as he’d said. He derserved the truth.

“I used to be bonded,” he said, sitting down.

A shadow touched Connor’s face, though briefly, as he reached for a knife to cut their bread.

“What happened to your alpha?”

“I figure he’s still living in Virgina country.” Clipper gave a shrug. “It was when I was sixteen, only for a summer, sir... right during my first heat and I hardly knew what hit me before he’d picked me up. He had another omega before he met me, though. I never did go after him when I found out.” With a nod, he took the bread he was offered. “He had no trouble since he was bonded, right? If you go bonded into heat as omega, it’s all about that one person. Like a drunkard without spirits cannot just drink some water.” He lifted his own cup. “Alphas bond, but they don’t have such great inclination to stay faithful, I suppose, sir. They know their omegas usually won’t leave, so if another one smells good...”

There was a short pause in which he struggled to properly describe the emotions that came rushing in again with the memory. The new skin over the wound was still barely healed and this was a story he had never shared before.

“Let me tell you, he got me well. Took me almost two years until it wore off. It’s not very nice being in heat anyway, but it felt... like I was missing a limb or two. It hurt so bad. I would have come crawling back and begged him, I knew. I moved so I didn’t have that temptation. Regretted it every time heat came around, but it was the right thing to do. Now – I know I don’t shout or get in brawls. I’m still not the sort to tuck my tail between my legs, though. A man’s at least gotta have his dignity.”

During his tale, Connor’s expression had grown progressively darker until he dropped the piece of cheese he’d nibbled and just listened.

“Your alpha was cruel,” Connor said, a growl hiding under his tone. “The bond between partners is not something to jest with and he stepped on you and his mate both.” With a slight pause, he caught Clipper’s eyes again. “But just because he was worthless does not mean every alpha is. We’re just people. You will have the good and the bad ones, as always.”

“I’m twenty-five now. Many bond much earlier in life,” Clipper said with a small shrug. “I want to bond with someone who doesn’t just like me like a... a piece of meat when I smell really good, if that makes sense, sir? If I don’t find anyone, then I figger it just wasn’t meant to be.” He shook his head slightly, looking at Connor, hopeful despite himself. “Mostly, I want to keep being an assassin. That is much more important to me, sir. I know it’s a liability. They don’t have us in the army, not even the ones who dragged off them boys would’ve take an omega. But this is what I what I want to do, what I can be good at.”

Connor sat up straight.

“No one said you can’t be. I was angry you didn’t tell me because I need to know how to keep you safe. What would happen if you were in Templar hands and you felt the heat grow in you? You are good at hiding, yes. You hid from me. But there is no hiding in a dungeon. They have alphas who will find you out. We should not risk that needlessly.” He paused. “You still have a better aim with a rifle than any man I’ve ever met. I don’t see why that should change just because I now know about something that has always been part of you. You still have the potential to become a great assassin.”

The weight of the world fell off Clipper’s shoulders that moment.

“I – I could kiss you for that, sir, I really could.” Clipper paused; then, his face flushing, added hastily: “Not because you’re an alpha, but-“

It was rare to hear Connor laugh, so Clipper shut his mouth and just enjoyed the sound.

Haha, thank you so much OP. <3 I'm happy you like it. Sorry the story is coming in such small chunks, I don't have that much time right now but definitely finishing it, it's such a cute prompt.

Thank you so much, anon. :) Clipper is such a cutie in the game, but he did stand up to the redcoats and I don't think he lacks a backbone, so I'm trying to project that.

They are rather, aren't they.

Yeah, I read it that Connor has a natural respect for other living creatures, particularly from that little clip you get when you skin an animal in-game. So he doesn't really like having to kill animals if they aren't going to at least be put to some sort of use later on. And as a hunter he's probably a bit more pragmatic about facing a hungry wolf pack than Haytham is.

Indeed, but for how long I wonder. ;)

That's the second time I've been asked that. I've been sort-of subtly hinting (I think), but yes, Connor does have Eagle Vision here. He's still descended from Altair and Ezio, his lineage just splits off a little further down the line, so he's kind of a very distant cousin to Haytham (in much the same way that Desmond and Clay are related).

And the epilogue!

Everything has gone better than he could have hoped, Haytham muses. Aside from that somewhat disturbing revelation a few years back, that is. He's standing at Connor's side, by the wheel on the Aquila, and two of the boy's ex-recruits are glaring at him from the lower part of the deck.

The ship is sailing back to the United States, after destroying a merchant ship near the Bahamas. It's amazing what a lick of paint and a stormy night can do to disguise a ship as famous as the Aquila.

"I need to stretch my legs," he says, and Connor smiles at him and nods.

He meanders around, pretending to watch the pretty coastline until one of them (the boy he'd clubbed with the pistol, how had Connor introduced him?) steps in front of him, anger and distaste in his eyes.

"Why are you here?" he hisses.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" Haytham replies, a smirk trying to force its way onto his mouth. They can't kill him without losing Connor entirely. He is the ultimate bargaining chip with the Brotherhood, thanks to the reconciliation only a few short months before. With Achilles finally six feet under, there could be no better position for the United Templar Order.

"Connor'd throw you overboard if he knew what you did," Clipper snarls.

"Probably," Haytham agrees. "If he found out."

Clipper is silent a moment.

"What do you mean?" the other one asks. This one is Jacob, if the thick German accent is anything to go by.

"Well… do you really think he'd hear a word against me? Oh, he knows I can be cruel, but to have ordered such atrocities against him? He'd never believe you. At best, your relationship with him will be all but destroyed, and he'd never trust you again."

"He might see the truth," Clipper says, sullenly. Haytham lets out a small snicker at this. God, these men are idiots. Just how stable do they think Connor would be after such a revelation?

"Oh," Jacob murmurs, having worked it out, as Clipper glares at Haytham. "You are an incredibly manipulative bastard."

"I'm glad you understand. How's your family, by the way?" Haytham smiles brightly. Jacob gives him a death glare, his lips pressed together in a furious white line.

"Understand?" Clipper bristles. Haytham gives him a mocking wave goodbye, and trudges toward Connor, at the far end of the ship. As he walks, deliberately slowly, he can hear Jacob's hushed explanation.

"He positioned himself so that Connor would come to trust him the most of all the people in his life. To take that away from him, to reveal his lover was the cause of the horrors he experienced… it would break him. At best, he'd go mad. You remember his state when he first returned..."

Haytham twists his smirk into a pleasant smile as he nears Connor. Knowing the recruits' eyes are on him, he slides an arm around Connor's shoulders and kisses him near the mouth.

"I hope you were not arguing," Connor says, severely. "This ship is neutral ground."

"We were just chatting," Haytham replies, withdrawing his arm so Connor can steer better. "Oh, I have some news for you, by the way. Charles managed to force your application for admiralty through. The ceremony's in a month."

"Really?" Connor looks surprised, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"Yes. Unfortunately, the cretins he's working with can't see past your skin, so he had to talk a lot about making peace offerings to the Natives as opposed to your marvellous sailing skills. You'll be working with Johnson more, possibly even become an official diplomat for the Mohawk."

Connor shrugs. He seems to merely have a mild distaste for Johnson now, thanks to the man's hard work over the past few years. His hatred for Charles is still as strong as expected, but his relations with Hickey and Pitcairn are better than Haytham had ever dared hope- they are, more or less, civil acquaintances, if not actually friends. Haytham continues.

"I'm sure the men will be happy to hear about that. You'll be able to pay them better, get better rations. And, of course, they'll have an excuse to drink the rum in the hold."

Connor grins at that.

"When we dock at New Orleans, I shall tell them."

The news will be far less joyful for the Brotherhood, Haytham is sure.

Everything is perfect.

I thought so too. ;_; George actually appreciated Connor's strength.

I tried to stay true to society at the time: http://www.salomemagazine.com/chamber.php?id=178

...well, other than the A/O setting, of course. :)

The fact that Charles was not using physical violence against his spouse would probably have even earned him accolades. The fact that Connor resists submitting would have made society frown upon him.

...I also got the feeling that they'd be leered at. But of course, Connor and Clipper will have some devastating insult ready for that. ;D Connor might have some minor improvement, but I want to save major ones for some future events. :D

Ooh thanks! :) Glad you're liking the series of stories! There's actually 3 running right now (2 - Honeymoon and Shattered Glass by my amazing fellow author; 1 - Master of the House by me).

Enjoy!

'Well, you can't say that our meetings aren't eventful.' Some minutes have already passed since they reached the relative safety of the rocky hilltop when Haytham breaks the silence.

Still crouching and watching the woods, just in case, straining to make out any hint of aggressive movement or colour in the deepening gloom, Connor rolls his eyes. That is something of an understatement. Miraculously their luck had held, the pack being sufficiently distracted by the meaty offering to forget the prospect of a better hunt and meal. Faint howls are now starting to carry on the wind once more, but he is fairly confident that they are getting quieter. Good, he has had quite enough of fighting off wild animals for the day. However, as he slings the bow back over his shoulder, the young Assassin knows that he is just as alone with the Templar as before. He isn't entirely sure whether that's good or bad yet.

It doesn't help that when he turns the other man is still watching him. Haytham hasn't let him out of his sight for more than a second at a time. Which is somewhat worrying and even a little unnerving, although it doesn't seem to be as much scrutiny as simple observation. Moving up to the top and taking a quick glance over the edge he establishes that, yes, the hay cart is still there. He takes a breath, leans lightly against the pile of rock's solitary tree, crosses his arms and finally matches his companion's stare.

And as there is no time like the present. 'Perhaps now you will tell me why you are here. Why you are really here.'

As expected, Haytham hesitates over the demand. In a perfect world this would be when he would explain the entirety of the Templars' plan. Then this whole thing could be over with. Instead, he gives a sigh of pseudo-defeat, reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small disc of glowing green that makes the teenager freeze. 'What can you tell me about this?'

Taking it when offered, against his better instincts, Connor already knows enough. Closer inspection only confirms it, another relic of those who came before. He has seen their craft before, there is never any mistaking it, although he rather wishes otherwise. This complicates things. A lot. Were this item to have been shown to anyone else from his village it would not have registered as so great a thing. To them it would have merely been something akin to the sacred cave. Not so for him. He knows of the spirits, has even had the dubious pleasure of a first hand audience with one of them. He also knows of the various artefacts they have left behind, the Pieces of Eden, their powers and the role they have played over centuries in the conflict between Templars and Assassins. And if this is what has brought the Templars back to the colonies there is going to be real trouble.

Admittedly, as far as he can tell, the amulet is of no special danger or design. It distinctly lacks the strange and advanced construction of other Pieces of Eden, but nevertheless it worries him. One should never underestimate the importance of something so relatively, seemingly unimportant. He takes some moments to form adequate, wary words. 'Where did you get this?'

'From an old friend.' Who you killed no doubt, the novice mentally adds. Keenly watching for any clue in his reaction, Haytham speaks again with a greater undertone of urgency. 'It means something to you?'

'Not as such.' Without regret he hands it back, glad to be free of it. Only in retrospect does he think that perhaps that would have been a good opportunity to remove the piece from the possession of the enemy. Achilles and the others will not be happy to hear of this. Aware that his companion is not entirely fooled and expects more of an answer, he tries to construct an evasive yet mostly honest answer. 'The markings... I have seen similar ones before.'

'Where?' Even that small tidbit immediately has the man's full attention, a note of almost desperation creeps into his voice. If there was any doubt that this was the real reason he had come out here that kills it. So, the Templars are really interested in those who came before.

A number of reasons hold Connor's tongue. Frowning, more at himself than anything, he tries not to question which of those it is that prompts his surprisingly coy reply. 'Somewhere forbidden to outsiders.'

Something dark flares in Haytham's eyes as he steps closer. Memories of nightmares rise up and the novice is convinced that he has made a bad mistake. Certain in that moment that he is about to die he subconsciously glances down in search of the hint of the hidden blade. As his back presses up against rough bark he silently curses himself, for making it so easy to constantly corner him. Maybe if he-

His internalised panic halts at the feel of a hand sliding gently up the exposed skin of one arm. An entirely different panic threatens to take over. But then the man speaks in a low, but entirely matter-of-fact manner. 'I saved your life.'

Slightly flustered though he may be, Connor has no trouble responding to the attempt at bargaining. He'll have to do a lot better than that. Somehow he even manages to keep his nerve and his voice entirely steady as he meets the challenge. 'And I saved yours.'

That point can't be argued, although the Templar looks almost tempted to try. He sounds rather hurt when he responds; 'You still don't trust me.'

'I already trust you more than I should.' It's a slightly painful admission that he shouldn't be making, but which is out before he can stop it. Trust is beside the point, on his side at least. Or at least that's how it should be. Needing to re-establish control he is quick to amend; 'But not enough for that.'

'How can I convince you otherwise?' If nothing else the wounded expression is gone, replaced by a smile that does things to his stomach.

'You can't.' Connor impresses himself with how firm he manages to make the statement.

'Really? I can try.' Haytham raises an eyebrow, obviously prepared to do just that.

In all likelihood at that moment it would be remarkably easy to win the young Assassin round, at least temporarily, he knows as much himself. The longer they play this game the more dangerous it will become. And the harder it is going to be to remember his reason for being here, his real reason. Avoiding having to acknowledge the man for the time being, his attention alights on the tavern below. A vague idea forms and it'll have to do.

Aware that he is about to make the whole situation even messier than it already is, he takes a deep breath and hopes for the best. 'British forces in this area pose a threat to my people. They enslave, destroy, kill... burn. All on the orders of the one known as the Bulldog.'

'Edward Braddock.' Nodding, the Templar accepts the seemingly sudden change in topic, expression thoughtful as he backs off slightly. 'He is not a man to be reasoned with, there is only one course of action if we intend to put a stop to it.'

'What are you proposing?' The question is redundant, he can already guess what's coming.

'That we kill Braddock.' Haytham's delivery is eerily calm, as if he is suggesting something entirely reasonable. 'But first, we have to find him...'

A minor problem, in the grand scheme of things. Besides, he really needs to keep the Templar distracted for as long as possible, and spend as much time with him as possible. For the sake of the mission. Naturally. Already knowing exactly where to start the search, he nods in the inn's direction. 'Simple enough.'

Rather than waiting for a response Connor goes ahead and takes the leap of faith without hesitation. Those few moments of falling are greatly cathartic. As always he lands safely in the cushioning of the hay below. Jaime has a theory that friends of the Brotherhood roam the colonies simply positioning such haystacks, piles of leaves, and carts filled with either under any likely jumping points. The rest of the novices have always laughed at the suggestion, but the fact remains that there are an awful lot of those convenient landing spots around the place. He is still dusting himself off and wondering when a thud announces the arrival of his companion.

Luckily no one is around to see them, the graveyard in which they are now stood just as deserted as the road beyond it. Correspondingly, the inn is likely to be busy, which will serve well. Redcoats are nothing if not talkative after a drink or two. The prospect of some warmth has him heading for the building without delay. Another blast of cold air promptly sends shivers through the Assassin's frame, his hands instinctively go to grip and raise his hood but he manages to abort the move in time. At least he hopes that he did. Even with his back turned he can still feel the other man watching him.

The door, and freedom from the wind and snow, is merely a step or two away when Haytham cuts in front to block the way. It doesn't seem to occur to him that it is a dangerous move to make. Hesitating, the Templar holds up a hand as if to help underline his explanation. 'Perhaps it would be best if you wait here. A Mohawkman is likely to raise suspicions, if not muskets.'

Rolling his eyes is the only obvious response to Connor. 'It is not so uncommon for my kind to come to such places. I have experience enough to go just as unnoticed as you.'

'You are clearly armed.' He points it out and the teenager genuinely has to take a moment to check before he realises what is being referred to.

'Oh yes, because the bow is known to be such a feared weapon at close quarters.' Scoffing at his concerns is too easy, they are so ill-founded. 'I am perfectly capable of handling myself.'

With that he steps up, place one hand squarely on the man's chest and gently pushes him aside to slip past through the doorway. Welcome warmth hits him straight away, along with an initially cacophonous wave of sound. His suspicions were right; every table is occupied, if only by a single soul in some cases, a number of customers are clustered around the bar whilst others lounge against the various walls. Perfect conditions for eavesdropping.

Behind him the door swings again, closing with a light snick that his ears pick up over the noise. His senses adjust quickly. Already two separate clusters of red have caught his attention from among the drab crowd. This should be easy. Behind him, the door swings shut with a soft snick and a small rush of cold. After a second's pause Haytham heads off in the direction of a group of artillerymen engaged in closed debate over by one of the windows. As he passes one hand brushes lightly against the novice's. He chooses to read that as something of an apology. Noticing a space open up at the bar, not two men down from the soldiers complaining loudly at its end, Connor takes the opportunity to make himself inconspicuous. Ducking his head, he concentrates on listening in.

'I can't stand being quartered there...' One particularly vocal grenadier bemoans. 'The crashing of the waves, the sting of the salt in me eyes, and the goddamn gulls shrieking and shitting everywhere.'

'Aye, I say we start using 'em for target practice!' Another exclaims, standing up abruptly and wobbling so badly that he nearly ends up on the floor.

'Hear hear, one of the little bastards shitted on me boots right in the middle of an inspection.' Infantryman number three chimes in, voice turning deadly serious as he recounts the incident. 'You should've seen the Bulldog's face when he saw the state of 'em. Thought I was for the chop right then and there.'

'Ha, yeah, we did see his face. Hilarious that.' Each syllable of the longer word is dragged out in emphasis, mug raised and sloshed around as if in tribute to the grand memory.

In the pause caused by the chaos of the drunkard's antics another gap opens up further down the counter. Even the regulars are starting to tire of such a spectacle, at close range anyway. That is when Haytham appears, taking up his own post to start eavesdropping on the rabble. A look of sympathy passes between the pair of them.

Things have mostly calmed when the third announces: 'Well, I heard that the Bulldog's putting together another Expedition. If we're lucky we'll be out of Necessity and rid of those goddamn gulls by the end of the month.'

'Huzzah!' Much banging together of tankards accompanies the small company's cry.

'So, that's what they're calling them now, hey? Expeditions?' Under the sound of their comrade's sudden mirth, a rather sinister voice makes inquiry.

'Aye.' He replies. 'Smart too, you slap a fancy name on something and all evil is excused.'

A low chuckle that follows confirms that he has heard quite enough. That sort of tone reminds him far too much of those days he had spent captive in Boston. Peeling quietly away he moves for the exit. By the sounds of things Fort Necessity is their best bet for finding Braddock, so there is no need to waste further time near such company. Connor is a little loath to go back to the cold when he has only just warmed up again. Nevertheless he can cope well enough. Glancing quickly in Haytham's direction he sees that the man has already come to a similar conclusion and is on his way to the door.

It almost seems as if those concerns about trouble arising were unfounded. But then, naturally, a slightly slurred shout thunders across the room. 'Oi! Where you going cully?'

Turning, Connor instantly realises that it is not him being addressed. Cursing his luck, he tries to covertly shoot a look of warning to the, unsteadily, advancing redcoat. To pick a fight with the Templar grandmaster is a very, very bad idea. Even more so for a clearly inebriated footsoldier. But it rather looks like the fool has got his head stuck on violence.

'Me?' Haytham's tone is light and innocent, belying the danger beneath.

'No, the other cock robin.' As if provoked by the mere fact of response, another of the group from the bar joins in with the taunting. The rest are beginning to perk up with interest and look very much like they think it's a good idea to get involved as well. None of them seem able to take a hint.

'Well, I was leaving.' Pointedly glancing back at the door, he nevertheless starts to visibly tense in readiness. Peaceful resolution is becoming increasingly unlikely.

'Oh?' Aggression practically oozing from him, the first soldier sneers and takes a few steps closer with an impressive amount of steadiness for his condition. 'And now?'

'Well...' His whole demeanour darkens. 'Now, I'm going to feed you your teeth.'

Face in hand, the Assassin can't help but comment; 'And you thought I was going to be the one who caused problems?'

Any comeback is prevented by the flying of the first punch. It is countered with ease but then chaos descends, as every redcoat in the building decides to come to the aid of their drunk, threatened comrade. If any of the other Assassins ever ask, Connor will explain that he is merely working to balance out the uneven numbers when he chooses to join the fight. He tells himself that as well. That and he tries to be slightly more gentle in his disabling of opponents.

Two go down quietly before anyone seems to register that he's even involved. Haytham is already doing an excellent job on his own of course, throwing assailants through tables or smacking them face-first into the nearest wall. Although the man is clearly irked by this turn in events he doesn't seem to be using any weapon other than his own hands, which are more than capable of dealing out injury. It's a relief. Some of the attackers however do not have the same qualm. Slightly too late the novice realises that his latest opponent has a knife out, the blade catches him sharply across the cheek before he manages a suitable counter. Grabbing and twisting the arm responsible, he slams them into one of the wooden beams with slightly more force than strictly necessary. The next one barely gets within striking range before he's being knocked out for the count.

Just as suddenly as it starts, the fight is over. Pained groans rise from the floor, although at least a handful of the soldiers are completely unconscious. Maybe now they will learn to take a hint when they start provoking strangers. With a little guilt Connor notes the amount of damage that has been dealt to the premises and quickly follows his companion out. Best to get away from the scene before any of the idiots decide they want to try again.

Outside darkness is beginning to truly fall, the night drawing in with the increasingly bitter, biting wind. Fortunately there is no new snowfall yet, but the novice does not remotely relish the idea of sleeping up in the trees tonight. Perhaps if he is lucky he can find an empty barn to shelter in instead. Already at the roadside, the Templar seems to be debating options of his own. There is certainly no chance he'll be able to make use of that particular inn for some time to come.

After only a second's hesitation Connor joins him, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill. 'Are you always so popular?'

'Hardly.' The man gives a wry smile.

Abandoning his internal deliberations on the road, or so it seems, Haytham turns to look at him and promptly frowns. Subconsciously the teenager has already positioned himself closer than he would have normally, for the sake of heat, but now his companion steps even further into his personal space. This time there isn't a wall, or a wolf carcass, or a tree trunk, or any other sort of barrier to keep Connor from automatically retreating. However, before he can take the opportunity to move back, one hand latches onto his shoulder while the other takes hold of his chin, carefully tilting his face to one side.

'You're hurt.' His apparently genuine concern throws the Assassin, even more than the proximity this time.

'It is nothing, just a stray knife.' Dismissiveness seems the best tactic, particularly as Connor finds himself rather incapable of pulling away. In all honesty the cut isn't that bad after all.

'Hmm.' Gently running a thumb along the length of the injury Haytham looks him in the eyes. 'You didn't need to do that, we were already even.'

He knows he's in real trouble, he knows he shouldn't be letting the Templar get to him like this, but right now he can't quite bring himself to care. Common sense flies out the window as he brings his own hands up to wrap in the man's cloak, pulling him slightly closer. 'Oh? I am not quite so sure...'

In all honesty he isn't quite sure which of them it is who closes that final gap. But he is certain that he enjoys the feel of the other man's mouth against his own far more than he should.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Primeval AU - Lost in Time

Master of the House - part 17

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 15b/?

Re: Master of the House - part 17

Re: Charles/Haytham, Connor watching

Re: Master of the House - part 17

Re: Fill [1/2]

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 15b/?

Re: Connor/templar, capture and embarrassment

Re: Master of the House - part 17

Vigilantes/Altair

Re: Welcome to the New Age - Part 25c/25c

Re: Fill [1/2]

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 15b/?

Fill: Age versus Maturity 1/1

Fill: Rivals team up 1/?

Connor/Clipper: Freedom (3/?)

Re: ^ OP

Re: Connor/Clipper: Freedom (2/?)

Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [5/?]

FILL Epilogue (last part of actual ending)

Re: Master of the House - part 17

Re: Second Fill - The Honey Moon - Part 15b/?

Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [6/?]

Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [6.5/?]