asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

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Part 1
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Lol. :D Yeah, Charles isn't too happy about the fainting part. Can't really blame him though, what with coming back from the dead. :P

I'm sure he appreciates it too...once he stops crying. :D

Totally understandable in Charles' case. Wonder how Charles is supposed to 'fix' the future. Oh, and I've missed Hickey, even though he's sort of been reincarnated into Edwards, wonder how those two get a long and work together to get under Charles' skin.

OP <3's YOU! I'm seriously addicted to this story (as well as your other fills) can't wait to see when the Templars get involved

Oh. My. God.

I'm sooo excited for this one. It's very promising. Can't wait for the next installment, anon.

Second anon here! This ought to be three parts long.

Connor wakes up in an unfamiliar place, with a few matronly ladies apparently hired to nurse him back to health. How he has so many wounds, broken bones and bruises, he can't remember, but he's fairly certain that Lee's goons beat him half to death after he was knocked unconscious at his father's funeral.

The nurses do not speak with him, other than to ask 'Master Kenway' if he is hungry, or thirsty, or would like to use the privy.

"Can't answer that, Master Kenway," they curtsey, whenever he tries to get answers.

---

Lee visits often, and sometimes sits by his bedside for hours at a time, quietly reading. Sometimes he'll raise an eyebrow, mutter a comment like "so that's what Adams was hoping for", but he'll always ignore Connor's questions.

Lee always stays overnight on Saturdays, since he has nowhere to be on Sunday. Mondays and Tuesdays are very busy, so he hardly visits then. Wednesday affords a half-hour in the afternoon, while Lee lounges around for almost the whole of Thursday. Friday is another absent day, and Saturday sees Lee lavishing the whole afternoon on his prisoner, offering him gifts.

Despite technically being fired from the Continental Army, Lee has a lot of business to attend to. That he insists on torturing Connor like this is a testament only to his madness and cruelty. If Connor did not know better, he would think Lee were attending to the recovery of his dearest friend. No, he is torturing the man who took power from his grasp by reminding him of everything he could've had, if he'd decided to help the Templars in their dastardly plans. Of the father he'd been forced to murder simply to survive.

"The assassin is finally dead, Haytham. I wish things could have ended differently, I know you were fond of him in your own way." Lee turns a vase of flowers slightly, so Connor's view of them is more beautiful.

"I am the assassin!" Connor snarls.

"You are sick, sir," Lee replies, walking over and stroking his face gently. "It's no surprise, really. Not after everything that has happened."

"Do not touch me!" Connor recoils from the cold, gentle fingers.

Lee looks disappointed, but nods, and goes back to rearranging the flowers, still talking to Connor as though he is Haytham.
---

Connor wakes up one day, bound to the bed.

"Let me go!" he howls, struggling as much as the ropes and his injuries will allow.

"It's the very latest treatment in London, sir," Lee says, drawing heavy blinds across the windows. All light is blocked from the room. "You'll have only the best if I have anything to do with it."

Connor does not know if Lee stays or goes, and as he lies in the darkness, struggling against his bonds and listening for Lee's breathing, he wonders if he has gone mad, whether the Brotherhood think him dead.

They probably do.

He screams until his throat gives out for someone to release him from this hell.

---

Connor tries to refuse to be re-bound to the bed after using the privy, but the nurses are stronger than they look (or perhaps his muscles are atrophying) and they use some kind of chemical to force him into sleep.

When he wakes up, he is violently sick over the side of the bed. Lee places a cool cloth on his head, and wipes strings of stomach acid and saliva from his mouth and chin, a maid cleaning up the mess.

"I wish you'd get better, sir," Lee says, nothing but adoration and pity in his eyes.

---

Connor's days and nights are a constant blur of darkness and despair. He sleeps a lot, but never for more than an hour or two at a time. He wishes for some kind of rescue and reprieve, but there is nothing but Lee's voice, whispering lies to him in the darkness.

"Sir, you were sick like this before. Don't you remember? You recovered well enough to see your son, but… Haytham, please try to forget these delusions of yours."

---

When he is finally unbound and the curtains drawn (two weeks they say, but it feels like two years), he is still too injured to do much more than visit the privy with some help.

---

The doctor Lee brings in advises him to stuff Connor's mouth with handkerchiefs, and have lackeys shout at him. Lee looks skeptical, argues, and eventually the doctor prescribes drops that make Connor's head fuzzy and faint.

---

Lee starts trying a different tack. Whenever he visits, he brings a steaming pot of earl grey and two cups. Connor drinks only because the drugs make his throat dry.

"Haytham, do you remember when we first met? It was a sunny day in Boston. Forty-nine, I believe it was. You looked completely out of place, with your formal London posture and stiff upper lip. I say 'out of place', but considering the sort of place Boston is, that's not a bad thing at all. You've always had a regal sort of air about you. I've always liked that."

Connor has given up correcting Lee. He is clearly mad, and Connor wants nothing more than to go back to his village, to the homestead. He wants to be free of this room, of this bed, of these clothes that are not his, of the injuries he ought not have and the medicine that seems to do more harm than good to his mind and body.

He wants an end.

Attention Please,

My Name Is Mrs. Tichelen Gumez Alex From Belgium, An X-Scam Victim and how i get back on my feet and be a personal business owner with cars and landed properties.... This is to announce to the general public about a legitimate lender online.

HERE IS MY SUCCESS STORY:

I was in a critical search of a genuine loan lending company were i can obtain a loan of 130,000.00euro some lender's that Came to me sheep clothing i never know they where fraud until i was given the terms of their loan and i agreed eventually i was scammed they scammed me of my hard earn money up to four lender's that scammed me the sum of 22,000.00euro and i though that all is over that there can never be any other genuine lender until my Husband's Friend Mr. Garrett Lugard the general manager in his company, and he told me that there is a genuine lender that he obtained a loan of 800,000.00euro At 2% interest rate From that makes him own a private business and a house of his own he Referred me to a company Named QUICK LOAN FIRMS PLC, E-mail: {info.quickloan1960@gmail.com}
Where he obtained the loan of (800,000.00euro) i told them how referred me to them i applied for a loan of 130,000.00euro after my application and i sent to them the useful information for them to process my loan after 48hours i received a notification From their company that my loan has been approved and processed in the next 48hours my loan of 130,000.00euro was transferred into my account. And i promise them for coming to my rescue i am going to spreed the good news to the entire world QUICK LOAN FIRMS PLC IS THE BEST IN THE WORLD.

And tell them i Mrs. Tichelen Gumez Alex referred you to them and you wish will be fulfilled...

"What the fuck?" Desmond demanded, clicking through his emails. The notices from Rebecca and Shaun were drowning in spam, mostly centred around European loan sharks.

"Rebecca, go fix the antispam software," William sighed. "Desmond, get back in the Animus."

"It can't be a problem with the antispam!" Rebecca protested. "I've already recoded it four times!"

"Well, there has to be a problem somewhere," William said. "Just have a look and see if you can do anything about it."

Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"Okay," Shaun said. "Before we get any more tetchy, I'll go and make us some nice tea. Last thing we need right now is a fight."

Desmond groaned, and clambered back into the Animus. As the real world faded away, he could swear he heard something that sounded a bit like... no, it couldn't be. Clay was long gone. He couldn't be laughing in Desmond's ear.

(He was.)

Oh poor Connor /hugs/ can't wait to read the next part!

I love you for this

Clay totally continues existence as a spambot or horse_ebooks

The tears do not stop, even as a familiar hand soothingly strokes his hair in an effort to calm him. It was both and welcoming. Although mentor and student obviously loved one another as family, they were not so open about it. But there were times, when they would share a few drinks and reminisce about loved ones lost, almost always Connor could not hold back the tears when it came to his mother.

His mentor never scolded or mocked him. Achilles knew when to give his ward space, or when to show affection as he was doing now. Finally, Connor took deep calming breaths as the sobs subsided. Still, he refused to release his beloved mentor from the restricting embrace; somewhat afraid that the old man would disappear as Duncan had.

"Oh mentor..." he managed to say without muffling his voice against the old Alpha's coat. "I missed you. I missed you as I miss my mother."

The hand stroking the back of his head, stills.

"Connor."

The said Assassin swallowed, lifting his head as he looked at somber dark brown eyes.

"You do know, Connor, that I am not truly here, don't you?"

He tear his eyes away. Another sob threatened to explode his chest. As much as he would have wished to restrain it, he could not. Connor surrendered to the tears that soaked through the front of Achilles' clothes.

No. This was not his beloved mentor. Only the memory of him.
Still, even knowing this, the Omega Assassin wept and continued to cling to the memory. Refusing to let go, out of the fear he would return to real world. The reality he did not wish to face. Where Achilles was dead.

"I failed you..." the trembling young man managed to choke out, voice barely audible to his own ears. "You believed in me, in this Brotherhood, and I failed you. I failed all of you!"

A set of hands placed themselves upon his shaking shoulders, applying a little pressure that made him stiffen, and reluctantly, he looked back up at the old man's face.

"Connor," Achilles spoke again but his voice was much firmer now. "You know that is not true."

"But..."

"Listen, boy. The enemy had caught us completely off guard in our own territory. They cornered us, murdered those they could not control, and took innocent bystanders as their hostages. You made a choice, and it spared the remaining lives of those you wanted to protect."

While drying his eyes on the back of his gloved hand, Connor's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"But was that the right choice?" he asked desperately. "Is death not better than slavery? Is it better to die than living a life of imprisonment and servitude?"

The Assassin bit his lip while gazing imploringly up at his mentor. Connor knew it wasn't the spirit of Achilles he was talking to, only a figment of his imagination. But still, he wanted an answer, even if it came from the recesses of his own mind.

"Perhaps for those who live without hope." Achilles' gaze hardens, nearly causing the young Omega to flinch back in response. "You are not one of them, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Indeed the being before him must have been a phantom, the real Achilles had never been able to pronounce his birth name. Even though the words - spoken in the voice of his mentor - were like balm to his tortured soul, he was still weighted down by his defeat and new role in Lee's household.

"But is it not over?" he spoke softly and felt ashamed at the despairing tone of his voice. "The Templars have won and..."

"Indeed they have," the older Master Assassin suddenly interrupted. "They have defeated us here in the colonies, and for the second time. They have won this battle against the Brotherhood, but as long as the Assassins exists, the war is far from over."

Connor was doubtful. Long ago, before obtaining the rank of Master, he had thought about finding other Assassins outside the colonies. But Achilles had in the past, it did not make a difference then, and every defeat had only strengthened the Templar's influence over the colonies.

"I was not referring to our brothers of distant shores," Achilles cut into his thoughts. "I mean our Brotherhood, Connor. Did you not confront the Grandmaster himself and declared that you, an Assassin, still existed?"

"But what can I do?"

"In your current predicament you may not be able to fight in actual combat, but there are other ways to fight."

"How?"

"You are still a Mentor," Achilles reminded him. "You can still teach."

In Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter 2 – In Days Yet to Come

It rained, a torrential flood that threatened to wash away the ground. The servants had long since fled to the house, and the rest of the Templars, there only to give their respects to Charles, had left.

It was just Charles and Master Kenway now.

Both men stood drenched, staring at the dark slab of stone in front of them. They said not a word and moved not a muscle.

If it weren’t for their outer coats and hair whipping furiously in the windy rain, then any passerby would have thought them statues, so still they stood.

If statues had such devastated looks, that is.

Charles was the first to move.

He slowly approached the dark stone and, upon reaching it, kneeled before it. Slowly, almost reverently, he drew out a small elegantly carved box and held it before him consideringly.

After a long while, he left out a regretful sigh and opened the box.

“I took this from you, wife. I thought to tame you, and then I thought to keep this part of you to myself. I had hoped that, in time, I might have more of you, might be allowed more. Freely. But...”

His voice choked, and Charles found that he had to stop. To try to breathe through the lump in his throat and the sour bitterness in his heart.

A short moment he could breathe again, but the bitterness didn’t go away.

“I return this to you now. I return...”

He stopped again.

Tears stung his eyes, and he was unable to go on.

With trembling fingers, he lifted a bright string of beads, decorated in blue and white and red and black.

He laid them on the smooth polished stone and tied them to one of the carved decorations.

His hands brushed against one of the engravings on the stone, almost caressing the stylized C of his wife’s name. They shook, and he stared helplessly at the beads, so bright and beautiful against the dark stone.

A cold hand dropped on his shoulder, and he started, staring at the soaked blue-clad form behind him.

“Come, Charles. We have duties to perform.”

It would’ve sounded cold to anyone else, but Charles knew this man, and he knew his heart.

Reluctantly, he turned back towards the polished mirror-like stone and, leaning forward, laid a gentle kiss upon the etched name.

Connor Kenway Lee
1756 - 1775
Son, Wife, Queen and Mother

“Goodbye, wife.”

Charles stood and walked back to his house.

----

Charles watched as Master Kenway paced.

He looked every bit like a caged eagle, sharp and deadly and manic with energy.

“Examine him again.”

The voice was commanding, stern and brooked no dissent.

Charles would have felt pity for Davies if he were capable of feeling pity for anyone at the moment.

Instead, he just felt cold and empty.

Doctor Davies looked nervous.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but—”

Master Kenway stopped to glare at him.

Davies shrank back in fear and agitation.

Mary pursed her lips and stepped forward, putting a matronly arm around the trembling doctor.

“Sir, Doctor Davies has already examined Mister Lee ten times. And his pronouncement has always been the s—“

Master Kenway turned his attention on her.

“Did I ask for your advice?”

Mary stopped mid-sentence and looked at Charles uncertainly. When he did not answer, merely stood there in silence, she looked away abashed.

“Now see here...” and there went Ronald, no doubt upset at the unusually harsh tone Master Kenway was taking with them all.

Charles could have told him not to bother.

Master Kenway wouldn’t listen. And Charles couldn’t blame him. He himself wanted to believe that everything was alright. That...

“You must accept the fact that Mister Lee is dead.”

It felt like a punch to the stomach. Charles suddenly felt winded, and he wanted to look away, but he knew if he did, he would just see his—Connor laying there and...

Master Kenway abruptly turned away, striding towards the door.

“I will find another doctor,” he muttered to himself. “One actually capable and...”

Ronald grabbed him then and shook him.

Shook Master Kenway.

“I am sorry, sir. But you cannot run away from this. You cannot undo it. He is gone.”

Rather than shake off the old man and continue on like Charles half expected him to, Master Kenway stood very, very still.

Then...

“He should not have died.”

Ronald shook his head.

“I’m sorry, sir. Fathers should never have to bury their children.”

Nor husbands their young wives on the eve of their son’s birth, Charles thought darkly.

“Especially by such means.”

Master Kenway was silent at that, no doubt lost in thought. Just like Charles.

Until...

“I will arrange for the funeral. Please...”

He did not finish.

But he did not need to.

Please leave me be. Please allow me to grieve in peace. Please...

Please let a father mourn a son he never had the chance of knowing. And a husband mourn a wife he had only begun to love.

Davies and the servants left.

----

A commotion in his foyer. A shouting from downstairs.

Charles made his way carefully down the stairs, not sure what he would see.

That he would see George Washington thrashing against his guards caused him to raise an incredulous eyebrow, even as bitterness once again seeped into his heart.

Washington, his reminder of his loss. His reminder that he hadn’t even placed in his wife’s heart, that the birth of their son meant nothing compared to the life of this man...

He wanted to kill him. He wanted him to feel even a small fraction of the frustration and anger that he felt.

It’d be so easy to kill Washington now, helpless as he was, unable to fight even newly trained guards off. If only it weren’t for the promise, that blasted promise he made on his wife’s deathbed. He’d promised not to kill Washington now that the man was no threat.

And he certainly wasn’t a threat, as pitiful as he was. Washington had never been a threat except for Connor’s intervention...

No!

Charles could feel madness and insane fury begin to creep upon him at the thought of his late wife. And he knew he couldn’t keep his promise if he fell to that anger. He was too volatile in his tempers, too tempestuous in his emotions.

And so he reigned himself in, hating the necessity of doing so every moment.

“Why are you here.”

The disheveled man looked up, startled at his entrance.

And then he spat at him.

He missed, but Charles looked at the spittle coating his otherwise clean floors with contempt. More work for poor Mary and her maids.

“Where is he?” the man raged.

“Who?”

But Charles knew. There could be only one person his once-rival was asking about. A so heartbreakingly important Omega who had gone by...

“Connor!”

Yes Connor. Charles’s late wife.

Charles glared at him.

“Dead.”

Washington blanched.

“It can’t...”

“It is.”

Washington’s knees weakened, and he staggered in the grasp of his men.

“When?”

The question was raw, full of honest grief and longing.

Charles hated it. He hated him, and everything about him. He wished he could run up to the man and stab him again and again and...

Charles took a calming breath.

He turned towards his guards.

“Escort him out.”

Washington’s head snapped up at this, and he began struggling even as Charles’s men dragged him out.

“No, wait! Wait!”

Charles turned around calmly and began to climb up the stairs to his study. He had much work to do, a country to run.

“Lee, wait!”

There were still arrangements with his wife’s people that he needed to take care of.

“Damn you, you bastard! At least tell me how he died!”

He didn’t like them, but it would be necessary to tell them about Connor’s passing. It would be...discourteous...not to do so.

“I hope you die, you bastard! I hope you die like HE died and—“

The irritating voice cut off as Charles’s men finally heaved the struggling man out the door. The front door closed, and Charles was left in peace.

He needed to make plans to visit a Native village.

----

Blasted cold.

Charles had waited a few months to make the trek to his wife’s former village, and he was regretting that decision. The Frontier was difficult enough to traverse in good weather, in hail and snow and freezing cold, it was well neigh impossible.

Charles cursed as he slipped on sodden leaves hidden underneath a layer of snow.

He hoped the blasted village was close by. He hoped that he would get there soon. He’d been separated from his guards and soldiers a while back by the snowstorm, and if he got lost now...

It would be the death of him.

Charles was disconcerted to realize that he didn’t mind that so much.

It would mean he could rest and forget and stop regretting his mistakes.

And that sounded...lovely.

A branch twisted underneath his foot, and Charles went tumbling down, sliding and rolling down the slope of the forest, miraculously avoiding the trees until...

With a shout, he rolled right to the mouth of a cave.

Perfect. As long as there were no bears inside, then he could escape the storm for a while.

Charles shook the snow off of his cloak and peered into the cave.

No bears, but not much of anything else either.

A few Native drawings from what Charles could make out from the light of the day behind him, but it was fairly dark and cold.

Still, better than nothing. He couldn’t start a fire without wood, so the cave would have to do until he could continue on his way to the village.

Charles took one step inside, two, then the world washed over in green.

----

Charles woke with a startled gasp. His hand went to his chest, searching for that cursed, blessed amulet before he remembered...

Bridewell Prison. Master Kenway hadn’t given him the amulet yet. Master Kenway and Hickey and James and everyone else were still alive. Even those traitors Church and Davies were still alive.

Connor was still alive.

And Charles had a chance to change things.

Thanks anon! :)

Lol, you know they'll both get under his skin. And he'll be tempted to kill Church and Davies, knowing that they'll end up betraying the Order. :)

This made me smile. I <3 Achilles so much. So, so damn much.

Such a cantankerous but lovable old man.

He's perfect here. The right mix of father, mentor and confidant. :D

/Hugs Charles, Haytham, and George/ oh Connor, whhhhyyyy? Loved this chapter so much, anon. Especially Haytham's denial and Charles plans to change everything. I do hope for a consensual Charles and Connor relationship this time around, since Charles is still in love with his (former/possibly-future) wife and doesn't plan on raping him this time around (though I do miss the noncon)

Glad I managed to channel him for this bit, Connor really needed his father-figure more than ever at this point

Charles is definitely still going to have some interesting times ahead. :) Connor's still their enemy right now, so it's not like he's going to fall into Charles's arms anytime soon, much to Charles's disappointment.

But yeah, Charles is too worried about a repeat of what happened in the original-AU timeline, so he's not going to be rape-happy like he was there.

I LOVE this fic! I just read the whole thing, it's 4 in the morning, and I'm freaking out because I just want more! Writer!anon, you are a wonderful person, and the way you dealt with relationships and alliances and just...just...everything is fantastic. Keep it up!!

alskjhfckjskcscsahn

that's about the most coherent thing I could come up with after reading this chapter, sorry.

The scene with Haytham was most striking for me, though I really really feel for Charles this time. I wonder if he'll go along the Haytham route in trying to win Connor over, trying with the I'll-put-you-on-the-right-path-via-talks option... Or if he'll call for some kind of truce instead... Or try to court him (as impossible as that sounds), or try to apologize, at least for the pain he caused Connor as a child... So many ideas, so little answers - guess we'll have to wait :)

Fun fact: Ireland was a part of the UK in the 1700s and 1800s.

Ratonhnhaké:ton swung with all his strength, catching himself on the next branch awkwardly. He pulled himself up, then leapt across to the next tree, shimmying around the trunk, then down a nearby pile of boulders to the ground.

"Kanen’tó:kon, please tell me we are nearly there," he managed, panting heavily. Kanen’tó:kon stumbled as he landed, nearly knocking Ratonhnhaké:ton over.

"We are," Kanen’tó:kon replied, equally out of breath. "It should be across these rivers and a little further southwest."

"It should be safe to use the roads now," Ratonhnhaké:ton mused, aloud. If Stephane's associates were in the area, it would make sense that they would be watching out for him, especially if Clipper had managed to find his way to them (unlikely, given his brilliant sense of direction). He hoped that Charles and Clipper had put their differences aside, but given the ridiculous turn of events thus far, it seemed unlikely.

Kanen’tó:kon nodded, understanding what he meant. He lead Ratonhnhaké:ton southeast, up a grassy verge.

"If we do not find your friends, we could go to Valley Forge proper. You are good acquaintances with two of the commanding officers there. They may be able to help us find the camp."

Ratonhnhaké:ton frowned.

"I doubt it. The camp must be well-hidden, or it would have been discovered already." He had taught Duncan better than that. "We should keep an eye out for secret signs to lead us to the camp. Valley Forge is a last resort. It might be a safe place, but we will find little help there."

"Secret signs? What kind of secret signs?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton bit his lip, trying to think.

"I am not sure," he admitted, after a few moments. "If I saw any, I am sure I would know."

"That is not very helpful, Ratonhnhaké:ton," Kanen’tó:kon sighed.

"It is better than nothing," Ratonhnhaké:ton said.

"Not much," Kanen’tó:kon replied, and they walked on in silence, reaching the road after only a few minutes. "I would have thought it would have been easier to just go straight back to Achilles."

Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't know exactly what to say to that.

"He is a stranger to me," he said. "What would I say? I did not even know he existed until earlier tod-- no, until yesterday."

That wasn't a lie, but it wasn't entirely the truth either. He'd named his kitten after the mysterious Achilles, hadn't he? Some small part of him remembered.

"I promised Clipper I would trust him until dawn. They will be expecting me. After all the trouble they have gone to, I owe them this much."

"Sometimes I think you are too honourable, Ratonhnhaké:ton," Kanen’tó:kon sighed, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Now, you had questions?"

"Who is he? Achilles, I mean."

Kanen’tó:kon was quiet. When he eventually spoke, it was with a tone of regret.

"I do not know him well enough to answer that. I could tell you how you met." Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded, and Kanen’tó:kon continued. "Just before you left the village, you were shown a vision by the spirits. They told you to seek a symbol."

"A symbol? Was it a little like an inverted 'V'? Or an upside-down triangle?" The symbol on the riverbank. The insignia Jamie had given him. The images the cursed spirit had shown him. That symbol was the key to all this?

"I think so," Kanen’tó:kon nodded. "Anyway, the spirit showed you where to go, and it turns out Achilles lived there. A big house in the middle of nowhere. It overlooks the sea. It's quite nice, for a colonist settlement. You bugged him for several days before he relented and started to teach you. You tried to explain it to me before. That symbol represents a particular group of people."

A group. So Clipper had been right, when he spoke of different ideals and opposing groups?

"Assassins," Ratonhnhaké:ton murmured, using English. The word… it seemed right, somehow. Fitting.

"Assassins? Don't they kill people?" Kanen’tó:kon asked, clearly confused.

"I… I'm not sure…" Ratonhnhaké:ton muttered. "Please, carry on."

"You said the group stood for freedom and justice. Freedom from those who would oppress our people. From those who oppress women and the poor. From slavery and greed. You were away a lot, doing things-- I do not know what they were-- but Achilles was always kind to me, and offered me a meal and a roof over my head if I came to see you when you were not there."

"What was he like?"

"He was quiet, a little bitter. He cared about you more than he cared about himself. Or at least that is how it seemed to me. Even when he thought your plans were stupid, he still tried to help you. Like when you tried to kill the man trying to buy our land. Uh… William Johnson, I think. Achilles laughed at you, but he sent you to people who could help you."

"William Johnson?" Ratonhnhaké:ton stammered. Surely it could not be the same William Johnson?

"Yes. A British man. He had a beard and a Shawnee cloak. He speaks a lot of our languages. I think he was a translator at one point for the British. You didn't succeed in killing him, though. He learnt his lesson and stopped trying to steal our land."

"I think he knows my father," Ratonhnhaké:ton murmured, confused. If he had tried to kill William, why would he have been so kind while Ratonhnhaké:ton had been living with Haytham? Why would his father have allowed him to stay with him? "He was nice to me."

"I do not like the sound of that," Kanen’tó:kon said. "Are you sure it is the same Johnson?"

"No," Ratonhnhaké:ton admitted. "But how many British, bearded, translators named William Johnson can there be?"

Kanen’tó:kon was silent again.

"Perhaps your friends will know," he said, finally.

"Perhaps," Ratonhnhaké:ton replied. They walked in silence for a few minutes more, before something caught Ratonhnhaké:ton 's eye. It was a piece of red cloth, hanging in a thorny shrub, as though it had been torn. Somehow, it seemed important.

He took a closer look, lifting it from the thorns as far as he could without tearing it. On the underside, there was an ink drawing of the insignia. Actually, looking at the cloth, it was pushed far enough into the shrub as to be almost protected from the elements. Nobody who was not looking for it would notice it; people tore their clothes all the time, and it was only a tiny square of cloth.

"Kanen’tó:kon, I think this is the sign I was talking about."

Fun fact, I got the above fun fact wrong. Ireland became an official part of the UK in 1801, though it was technically ruled by the British from as early as the Tudor period. It gained independence after the First World War.

(ssh the AO3 and FF versions have been edited slightly to reflect the correct information)

British history is quite fun and confusing. :) The Irish/Scottish/English tangle of relationships has always been particularly interesting, what with the wars and then marriages and everything else.

Looks like Connor is finally getting some good clues as to the truth! Though it's fascinating how different that truth is beginning to look to him at the moment. I wonder if, once he regains his memories, he'll be in a place to actually negotiate peace between the two groups?

In Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter 3 - Plans

Connor paced the length of his cell restlessly, wracked by involuntary shivers.

According to his neighbor, in order to get his replicate key, he would need to get start a fight in the mess hall in order to get close enough to the warden who carried it. It should have been an easy task.

It was an easy task, except for...

Connor’s knees buckled, and he slid down with a breathy moan.

The telltale shivers had begun earlier that day and had gotten progressively worse as Connor struggled to ignore it.

His heat had always followed somewhat of an odd schedule, but this time, it could not have come at a worse time.

A jolt of pleasure shot through his body, and it was all he could do to stifle a cry.

Putting himself in the middle of 50 rowdy Alphas, their aggressions heightened by their imprisonment, while he himself was in heat...

It was not a good idea.

But what else could he do? According to his intelligence, the Templars wanted to kill Washington and put Lee in his place, and that was not something neither the nation nor the Brotherhood could risk. Washington was an inspirational leader, a truly good man who led through his own noble humility.

It was disastrous to think upon what might happen to the war effort without him. It was disastrous to think of what would happen to the Brotherhood if the Templars controlled the continental army. It was disastrous to think of what would happen to Connor’s people if Lee were at its head.

Connor thought again on the man who struck him down so long ago, set his village on fire and murdered his mother. He thought on the man who ordered him to do so.

He felt ill.

He could not allow them to harm the commander. He could not allow them to cause so much damage again. To the people of the colonies, to his people, to the Brotherhood.

Or to himself.

Connor tried to always be truthful to himself, and so he knew when he began to care for George Washington as more than just a leader.

He had been attracted to the commander when he had first met him, but it was through months of correspondence that that attraction became deep admiration that then became love.

On his part, anyways.

He thought that the feeling might be returned, but they never spoke of it, and he could not be sure.

It was unwise of him, he knew. To think of matters of the heart when there were two wars going on...

He should not think so of the commander. He should not let himself be distracted so.

His people’s safety came first. His people and his duty to hunt down the man responsible for his mother’s death.

Connor thought back to the glimpse he had gotten of his enemies a few days before.

How strange it had all been. He was not surprised that they had been there to free Hickey so that the man could kill Washington, but that odd look that Lee had given him. Right before the man fainted.

Connor frowned. He had little knowledge of Lee besides what the Alpha had done to him so many years ago and his current tutelage under Achilles. But both those accounts agreed that Charles Lee was a strong and formidable opponent. Ruthless, cunning, persuasive and highly skilled. He was physically very strong, more so than the average Alpha, and his constitution was said to be very hardy.

His overall air of weakness and his fainting the other day seemed at odds with what Connor knew of him. The Alpha had looked completely distraught, eyes frenetically darting back and forth like imprisoned wolves. He had seemed desperate somehow. Lost and confused so...human that Connor had to wonder if it was actually Charles Lee that was not five meters before him.

And that bizarre expression that fell over him when he had spotted Connor. His eyes had widened to improbable roundness and his lips and upturned slightly...

...almost as if in a relieved smile.

How very odd.

The Alpha did not even know of Connor yet. Not really. Not beyond his appellation as the Wolf that the soldiers had insisted on giving him. Connor had made sure that his unwanted fame was not tied back to the Brotherhood, lest he endanger the Homesteaders with his activities.

That Lee had such a strange reaction to him was curious.

Connor wondered if the man was sick.

He had all the symptoms of it. Heightened color, irregular and nonsensical movements, possible hallucination if the way he looked at Connor was any indication...

It was a likely scenario. And a promising one.

If Lee was sick, what would it mean for the Templars’ plan to kill the commander? Surely they could not expect to replace him unless Lee was well. Did that mean that there was now more time to prepare and guard the commander? That he could afford to wait until after his heat subsided to start a brawl in the middle of 50 Alphas inmates?

He gasped again as another jolt of pleasure spasmed through him.

It was a seductive thought, to wait until he was not compromised. But Connor disregarded it. It was too risky by far. Regardless of what had happened to Lee, if his enemies decided to move forward anyways, then the commander’s life would be threatened.

The commander could die, and he could not abide that.

So there was no helping it. Connor would just have to do his best to ignore his heat during the brawl. Ignore his heat and do everything in his power to keep the other inmates from getting too close. With careful maneuvering and a little bit of luck, he would be out of jail and on his way to the commander’s side.

He would not think about what could happened if he made a mistake, if too many opponents tackled him or if the guards chose not to interfere.

It was a small price to pay for Washington’s, for dear George’s, safety.

Lol. :) So many ideas, indeed. :D Charles will have his work cut out for him. His temper is of no help, as usual, and his other bad habits (racism included) doen't endear him much either.

Not sure what I'll do yet (I tend to write as things pop into my brain), but it should be a rather interesting journey.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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HERE IS MY SUCCESS STORY OF HOW I OBTAINED MY LOAN.

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long-term loss 13/?

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In Pursuit of Happiness 3

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