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

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Awww... well Haytham knows about the precursors and probably what they're capable of. So he'll believe Charles somewhat, though it's probably going to be hard to swallow the news that he has a son, who is the leader of the Assassins, and unknowingly caught in a middle of a tragic love triangle between George and Charles.

As much as I love George, I am kind of rooting for Charles here... Haytham needs to be born after all.

I can't believe how utterly cute this is, given the circumstances... I wish it'd be longer, but I'm eagerly awaiting the next part nonetheless <3

I agree with the anon above, I'm kinda rooting for Charles in this one, for various reasons.

"The early colonialists loved to make treaties and agreements with other parties and then break them as soon as they became inconvenient"

Knowing this, I ask myself if there's anything at this point that would help Connor decide in favor of a truce with the Templars... I wonder if there's anything at all Charles could do to take more steps forward.

probably because not everyone so much into incest?? i don't know. i am mostly a silent reader as i am not good with words. i only can comment 'omg, this is so hot! more! more! etc'. i'm so sorry for that, but this is a very good and hot fic. (see???)

Haytham knew he should leave. He doubted the Assassins were going to check on Miko anytime soon, but there was no point in lingering. Still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was missing something.

The two bedrooms in the house both showed signs of being used recently and there were food and litter in the kitchen. The one remaining room was large and clear of furniture except for a bookshelf against the wall and a table by the corner. The throwing knives and rope darts on the table suggested that the room was used for weapons training, but the one who needed it was Miko’s student, not Miko. The man hardly ever left the house and Haytham doubted he was simply here to train his apprentice. What had he been doing then? There clearly wasn’t any other work being conducted in here, unless...

He walked closer to the lone bookshelf in the training room that seemed oddly out of place. Most of the books were covered by a thin layer of dust, except for two near the middle. With a smirk, he took them out and was not surprised to find a hidden switch on the wall. Predictable Assassins. He pushed the trigger and heard the sound of metal sliding into place, then the wall to the right of the shelf slid aside, revealing a flight of stairs.

There was a small study below, with a desk at the centre and several bookshelves against the walls. Almost all of the books were about ancient legends and mystical beings. If Haytham were anyone else, he would likely be confused, but he was trained by a man who was obsessed with Those Who Came Before and could tell immediately what Miko had been researching in his secret lair. It was a shame Miko and Reginald were on opposite sides; they would have got along splendidly. Why, Haytham had seen many of the same books in Reginald’s personal collection.

What he had not seen, and what he found himself being drawn to, was the family tree pinned on the wall between two shelves. Or rather, his family tree. It was not a large one, spanning only a few generations. His name was at the bottom, next to Jenny’s and under his father’s. The only other names he recognised were his grandparents’, though the identities of his ancestors were perhaps not as important as the fact that the family tree was in this room, among other information concerning Those Who Came Before. Reginald once said that he believed the gift of the second sight was passed down from the precursors themselves. Haytham had scoffed at the idea and brushed it off, but it seemed the Assassins shared the same belief.

He stepped back and took another look at the roughly-drawn tree. There was nothing out of ordinary, and yet his senses told him that there was more to be found, more to be seen. He closed his eyes and opened them again. At once, the light of the lamp on the desk dimmed along with the rest of the room, but the family tree on the wall glowed in gold.

It had also got much larger.

His breath hitched at the impossible sight and for a long time all he could do was stare at the name that had appeared under his own. Ratonhnhakéton. He assumed it was Connor’s real name - something the boy had never told him. There were two more names under Connor’s, then three in the next generation, then two more in the next. Judging from the size of the tree, it spanned at least two hundred and fifty years - two hundred and fifty years into the future - ending with a single name at the bottom.

“Desmond Miles,” Haytham murmured.

Like a trigger, the sound of the name brought on a wave of nausea. He shook his head and held onto the desk to steady himself, but whatever was happening did not stop. He grunted and clutched his head as another wave of nausea, stronger than before, hit him. The room seemed to spin and the golden glow of the family tree became unbearably bright. Then he heard it. A man’s voice, deep and unfamiliar.

“You need to find the Apple.”

Weakly, Haytham reached for his pistol, but there was no one in the room. The voice spoke again, seemingly coming from inside his head.

“We know you found the entrance to the Grand Temple, but you only had one of the two keys. You need the Apple of Eden to open the door. Find it before the Assassins decide unleash the wrath of the first civilisation upon us.”

“What are you -”

“Go to the Coliseum in Rome, Grand Master Kenway, and follow the footsteps of your descendant. May the Father of Understanding guide you to success.”

#

Haytham had visited many places before in his old life, particularly around Europe, but he had never been to the Coliseum in Rome. Once a blatant display of humankind’s vicious nature, it was now a half-collapsed stone structure and the home of derelicts and criminals. Couching low atop a stone wall, he could spot several dots of red in the dark, though none was close to where he was. He could also tell that if one was to hide a treasure in this place, it would likely be underground. Assuming, of course, that the treasure was really here, which was doubtful.

The Apple of Eden, supposedly the most powerful of the artefacts left behind by the precursors. All that was known about it was that it was last in the possession of Ezio Auditore da Firenze - a name that was known to both the Assassins and the Templars. The Apple used to be another obsession of Reginald’s, but there was so little information about it that in the end, even he had to concede defeat.

Haytham couldn’t quite bring himself to believe an artefact of such immense power actually existed, but here he was, searching for it because of a voice in his head. Or perhaps it was not so much the Apple that he was looking for, but some answers. He was certain that whatever had happened at Miko’s house, it was connected to his returning to the past. In fact, the more he dwelled upon it, the more inclined he was to believe that whoever had spoken to him came from the future. And as much as he hated the idea, he knew the best - and perhaps only - way to find his answers was to do as the voice asked.

Follow the footsteps of his descendant.

It was pure absurdity. He wasn’t even sure what it meant until he arrived and scanned the area with his second sight. But as soon as he did, he saw it - the golden outline of a man, leaping from ledge to ledge and climbing on walls. Part of him was convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him, but he found himself following this... ‘descendant’ of his anyway. He had already come all the way to Rome; there was no reason to turn back now.

The man was fast and agile, though Haytham had no trouble catching up, matching his movement perfectly as he leaped and climbed and swung. That was, of course, until the man jumped through the ground and disappeared. Clearly, the Coliseum was going to go through quite some changes in the future.

“This is madness,” Haytham muttered.

He shook his head and started to find a way to the lower level. It was easy enough, but still he couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief when he caught sight of his ghostly guide again. As crazy as this journey was, he would hate to have come this far only for the trail to end. The man - Desmond Miles, he assumed, and for some reason he was certain he was right - continued to make his way through the stone structure, stopping only when he reached the edge of a hole that sank deep into the ground.

This was the entrance, it seemed, but to where?

Miles hesitated, then jumped and landed on the bale of hay below. It was a long drop, and there was no clear way to get back up.

Haytham sighed. “I hope you know where you’re going.”

He pushed off and felt the familiar rush of air as he fell. A Leap of Faith. The name had never felt more appropriate.

Glad you enjoy it anon, this is my sad attempt to be nice to Connor

It all started at that damn brewery.

Or, specifically, the moment when Connor grabbed Haytham by the waist, and they broke through the wooden window and fell into the water below.

For a person who didn’t like being touched at all, for some reason, Connor found his full bodily contact with his father rather comforting, and arousing. The warmth of his body. The slight scent of his perspiration. And the feeling of security by holding on to such firmness.

Never mind the cold, filthy water they both soaked in seconds later. Being touched, by his father, just felt awfully good.

And it had been all he could think about for the past week.

Oh, and chasing Benjamin Church, of course.

“So, where exactly did you find this…boat?” drawled Haytham. “Though it looked vaguely familiar.”

Connor snapped out of his thoughts, where his father’s fingers entwined with his lavish dark hair, and glared at him.

“This SHIP was called the ‘Ghost of the Northern Sea,’ and for a good reason,” he retorted, meanwhile glancing over to Mr Faulkner at the wheel. “Also I believed it was the one that almost sunk the Providence 25 years ago.”

“Ah.” Haytham nodded, mockingly. “Almost.”

Connor frowned.

“Do you have anything better to do, other than mocking me?”

Before Haytham could say anything, he added, “I think not. So if you’ll excuse me, father, I have to fulfil my duty as Captain.” He then softly patted his father on the back, twice, before leaving for the Captain’s cabin.

Haytham blinked, and turned to look at his son’s receding back with a slightly perplexed look on his face.

Even though he hated to admit that, Mr Faulkner had turned out to be quite the pleasant company for Haytham, despite his sickening loyalty to his foolish son.

He was also very good at playing Nine Men’s Morris.

It was a quiet night. The weather was nothing but pleasant. The salty ocean breeze on the deck was refreshing.

The Aquila was steadily sailing south in full sail.

But despite everything, Haytham had the feeling of being watched. It made him uneasy, and a bit alarmed.

He moved one of his white pieces carelessly, then turned towards the cabin’s door.

Unsurprisingly, Connor was standing there, staring at him in a…a sad and wanting way.

Haytham raised his eyebrows at him, as if to inquire what the matter was.

However, Connor just shook his head, and went back inside.

How odd, thought Haytham.

But he quickly put that behind his mind and returned to his game anyways.

It had been getting worse.

Connor realized he could no longer concentrate as long as Haytham, his father, was within his eyesight. And he became downright lost if he stood nearby.

Like right now, he was supposed to be sparring with him. Even though they were both unarmed, it still demanded a lot of his attention.

However, all that in his mind right now was how much he wanted to touch his father’s firm chest and abdomen, how much he desired to caress every inch of that lean and muscular body, and how much he yearned for those long and beautiful fingers wrapping around his –

Then Haytham planted a right hook on his face. The punch itself didn’t have much force, but because Connor was very distracted, he was easily tumbled to the ground.

Haytham didn’t waste any time to straddle him. He looked at him from above, frowning.

“What’s the matter with you, Connor? Surely even you shouldn’t be knocked down by such a half-arsed punch?” he demanded.

Connor wanted to say something to defend himself, but his brain was filled with the thoughts of how nice it was to be straddled like this, how much he wished Haytham to go further, to tear his clothes apart, to plant kisses all over his body. Those obscene thoughts were screaming and screaming, and just couldn’t be stopped.

He felt that there was a ball of fire starting to gather below his navel, and he –

“Nothing. I was just distracted.” He pushed his father away before the older man sensing something wrong, and climbed back up from the floor.

Haytham took a quick step backward and steadied himself. “Oh? But you’ve been acting like that quite often lately,” he pointed out. “What? Are you afraid?”

“Never,” said Connor, bluntly. “I – I really should be tending other matters now. I’ll see you at dinner, father.”
Then he practically fled the scene, pretending not to notice Haytham’s piercing sight boring on his back.

This is getting out of hand, he thought, frustrated.

And he had no idea how to stop.

There must be something going on with his idiot of a son.

That boy had been acting peculiar recently. He sometimes touched Haytham unintentionally, like a pat on the back or a light stroke on the elbow. He also often seemed so distracted, skittish even. Not to mention that weird look on his face the other night.

Suddenly, Haytham caught sight of said son, who was standing by the main mast, talking with that bald gunnery officer – What’s his name? Dave? David? Never mind – and, laughing.

This is getting stranger and stranger, he wondered.

He acted so normal now, but when he was with Haytham, he’d…

Wait a second.

So that was it. It was because of him.

But why though?

It didn’t feel like hostility or hatred. Or even annoyance. Rather, it felt like…

Oh dear.

Haytham sucked in a sharp breath.

Father of Understanding be damned! His own son had been taking a fancy to him!

And to his even greater surprise, he didn’t mind at all. Not the slightest.

As a matter of fact, he himself rather appreciated Connor’s wild grace, as well as that strong and sculpted body.

But, he was his son, his own flesh and blood. It would be unwise, most unwise to reciprocate such feelings.

Not to mention they were supposed to be mortal enemies.

But Haytham still wondered what it would be like to – to bed Connor, what it would be like to touch that sweaty bronze skin, what it would be like to listen to his groan and moan and snarl.

No, it was not lust. Just curiosity.

However, somehow the cooling ocean breeze became so much warmer all of a sudden.

“I need some tea,” he mused aloud.

He then spun and disappeared into the cabin as quickly as humanly possible.

A loud moan woke Haytham from his foggy dream.

As a well-trained assassin, he had always been a light sleeper, and was able to become alerted the second he opened his eyes.

He swiftly and quietly got up from his cot, and scanned the Captain’s cabin with his second sight.

No one was there, other than his son, who was lying flat in his bed on the opposite side of the room, soundly asleep.
What an incompetent Assassin he was, tutted Haytham.

However, sleep had completely escaped him by now, so Haytham lit up the candle on the table, and poured himself a cup of tea.

Then he noticed that large bulge in Connor’s crotch, and swallowed.

And Connor chose to let out another moan at the exactly moment.

Haytham couldn’t help but groan.

I’m going to hell for this, he decided.

So he put down the untouched tea, went to sit on the edge of Connor’s bed, and slightly shook him on the shoulder.

“Connor?” he said, softly.

“Mmph?” Connor jerked slightly, and slowly opened his eyes. “What…?” He sounded disoriented.

“Are you having dreams?” asked Haytham.

When he saw Connor started to blush and felt pleased, he teased some more, “Are those dreams about me?” His voice was low and silky, almost like a purr.

Then his right hand just oh-so-accidentally brushed Connor’s clothed erection, causing the younger man to yelp.

“What…! I…!”

The boy hastily sat up, with his hand holding on the wall, and his eyes widened.

“Answer the question,” said his father, all calm and composed.

Connor opened his mouth to say something, but then closed again. He stared at Haytham, with eyes full of confusion, anger, as well as a hint of lust.

Eventually, he gave out an almost indistinguishable grunt, “Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Connor swallowed loudly. He then stuttered, “You were – we were kissing. Your tongue –” The rest of the sentence was drowned by Haytham’s dry, warm lips.

Out of surprise, Connor parted his lips slightly, giving Haytham the chance to slip his sweet tongue into his son’s mouth, exploring every inch and every corner.

Connor was stunned at first, and didn’t know how to react. But then he snapped back into reality and started to mimic Haytham’s movements.

The kiss tasted sweet. There were a lot of licking and chasing, just like a game of hide and seek. He couldn’t help but whine and sigh.

After a prolong battle of lips and tongues and teeth, Haytham withdrew a little, and asked, maybe a bit breathlessly, “What else?”

“You were touching me.” Connor was still felling slightly dazed. “My chest. My shoulders. My neck. And you marked me with your teeth. I couldn’t breathe.”

Haytham smirked. He lower his head to lick a trail from behind his ears to his collar bones. And Connor shivered. His shaking fingers automatically started to undress his father, hastily, impatiently.

“Easy, boy.” Haytham snorted slightly. He then went back to Connor’s side of the neck and sucked, listening to his son’s whine with satisfaction.

He used his left hand to hold Connor’s head, the right hand to unbutton his shirt, exposing the sculpted torso. His wicked tongue licked its way to Connor’s left nipple. And he bit, just enough to make the young Assassin squirm.

But Connor, like the wild beast that he was, did not like being tamed and dominated at all. With however little clearness in the head he remained, he caught Haytham by surprise, as he took hold of his arms and pulled him onto the bed. He then swiftly rolled over, and straddled the older man.

“Is that part of your dreams as well?” asked Haytham, amused.

“Does it matter?” replied Connor, as he started licking and nibbling his father’s Adam’s apple, then the hollow between collar bones, then his chest, then his abdomen, then his navel. Haytham couldn’t help moaning, and locking-in his son’s eyes, seeing the fire in them. His hands entwined with Connor’s lavish long hair. His cock hardened in his breeches.

Connor smiled, straightened up, and moved to tug the laces of his own breeches, as Haytham was doing the same.

They were both so hard and red and ready. So Connor lowered his body, and experimentally rocked his hip against Haytham’s.

They both gasped.

The friction and heat felt glorious. Connor rocked his hip again, and again, and again. It felt like he was riding a wild horse, running in the wilderness, faster and faster. Everything seemed so blurry yet gorgeous.

Haytham pulled his son down for a sloppy, rough kiss, and impatiently arched up his pelvis, trying to match up with Connor’s tempo.

It had been a long time since he let go of himself like that. Maybe far too long.

Connor snarled, and bit Haytham on the shoulder. Haytham let out a loud moan. But it was stifled by his son’s aggressive kiss.

Connor picked up the pace and felt a tsunami of pleasure and euphoria approaching, just minutes, seconds away. Then his body tensed. He growled like a beast. His penis was throbbing. White fluid spilled onto Haytham’s stomach in waves before it finally stopped.

Haytham finished almost immediately. He let out a choke. He arched up his hip. His brain went blank.

Then they both slumped together, sweaty, sticky, boneless, panting, and content.

Moments later, Haytham complained, with a voice raw and raspy, “Move away, boy. You’re crushing my bones.”

Connor let out a throaty chuckle. “Getting old already?”

Still, he compliantly removed himself from the older man, and let out a satisfied sigh when he hit the mattress.

“Just wondering what the bloody hell you’ve been feeding yourself,” said Haytham, as he slowly getting out of the bed to reach that rag hung on the wall. “You must weight a ton, son.” He then haphazardly wiped out the semen on his stomach, before tossing the rag onto Connor’s face.

“Oomph.”

Connor took the rag, rolled his eyes, and cleaned himself.

By the time he was done, Haytham already put his shirt and breeches back on.

He sighed, then laughed softly towards Connor. “This must be the most unbecoming, salacious family bonding activity ever,” he said, not feeling sorry at all.

“True,” agreed Connor, smiling. “But being touched by you, father, is also the best feeling ever.”

dear author anon. you really had made my day with this fic of yours. i do really need TONS of love from haytham/connor to satisfy my kink. thank you :D *hugs*

Author!anon is really glad you like it :)

NotOP flatters me~ Thank you very much! Have another small part!

----

VI.

Altair is gone by morning, and Malik wrinkles his nose as he kicks blankets and pillows apart to air in the sun, attempting to disappate the alpha's scent as quickly as possible before unlocking the lattice overhead.

He checks his coffers, his supplies, what's been taken and what's needed, makes a list and scrawls a note to any of the Brotherhood that could arrive (despite the lattice that he will close after him), takes a basket, before stretching and scaling the wall, grabbing hold of the edge of the lattice and swinging himself upwards deftly. There are a few bricks within the walls that stand out just enough to be used as steps for the climb, and Malik hasn't let himself go soft in the time that he's been confined to the Bureau. (He hasn't dared let himself; he keeps his skills strong in case he needs to defend himself or defend the Brotherhood. His stubborn pride refuses to allow himself to be tucked away in safety as though he were something precious and fragile--he's as much an Assassin as anyone.)

He checks the pigeon coops first, tucking away messages and missives within his robes before continuing to the market for more ink, tea, incense; he keeps his head down, slumps his shoulders, attempts to look as downtrodden and nervous as possible, though he rails against it.

But there's guards who wouldn't think twice about harassing, beating, doing worse to a crippled omega, and Malik refuses to do anything to compromise the Brotherhood and the Creed.

(Unlike that novice of an Assassin; Malik half-hopes he falls from a roof someday.)

In the market, he looks like any other omega sent out on household errands, and he cultivates the image, pretends to be much less than he is, and makes his way back to the alley that contains the ladder back to the rooftop entrance without incident; with a surreptitious glance about him, he slips into the space between the buildings and scales the ladder, opens the lattice, and drops back in.

There's a hidden entrance to the Bureau, as well as several rooms in the back (one of which serves as his personal space, another as an infirmary for brothers too injured to easily return to Masyaf), but Malik dislikes to use it; it's too easy to fall into softness like that, and if he doesn't climb, then he will lose the skill, the same way that he would lose his skill with a blade if he didn't fight.

And Malik has always been a fighter, omega or no.

VII.

Malik doesn't see Altair again for weeks; instead, the pigeons from the rafiqs and dais of the other cities track his progress for him. Each speaks of their impression, and Malik reads them at the beginning of each day, scowls at some, scoffs at others, and quietly contemplates one from Acre, stating that for once, bells did not ring across the city to herald an assassination by Altair.

Malik brushes the thought that the prideful man was learning away, consigning the slips of paper to the burner on his desk, adding the scent of charred paper to the smoke in the room, before returning to the map spread across the surface of his desk. Altair will have to ride back to Masyaf for his next set of orders; it will be several days before Malik sees him again. He tells himself that that's good, that he doesn't want to see the damned novice, but can't shed the lingering curiosity that he feels--are the missives true? Is Altair truly learning?

He shakes away his thoughts with a similar shake of his head, and looks up as a white-robed figure drops through the lattice, calling out a greeting; Malik inhales instinctively, identifying the man as an Assassin who'd come by for a feather several days before, and returns the hello, already reaching for the ledger that records successful kills.

He'll worry about Altair later. There's work to be done now.

Charles Lee seems happy and healthy, nothing like the bitter, sick-looking man who had followed Haytham around like a dog. For half a second, Connor almost considers letting him stay under The King's influence, unknowing of the atrocities he is helping to commit.

No, he needs the man too much.

Connor nods politely when the King introduces them both.

"Your highnesses. It is truly an honour to see you both. I understand you wanted my help with the rebels who attempted to assassinate me the other week?"

"That's right," the King says. "The Queen can fill you in later. But first, let me show you around. The construction of the pyramid has come quite a way since you were last here."

The King spends several hours happily gloating his successes to Lee, who is blissful in his Apple-induced rapture. When they get back to the main living quarters of the palace, the King shows Lee to his room, and Connor arranges to meet him outside the cell hall an hour afterwards.

"It's a shame," Lee says, when at last he arrives, having unpacked his belongings. "I wish I'd been able to show them everything the King showed me. We could've done so much good together."

"You still can," Connor replies, inclining his head politely. He locks the door to the hall behind them, and gestures for Lee to move ahead, before using the power of the wolf.

It feels good. He hasn't used it since the start of his confinement; there have been few opportunities to use it, and those opportunities have all been ruined by having company: a servant or the King (plus guards) himself.

His fingers dig into Lee's throat, and the man gasps and flails, hitting out very close to where Connor has positioned himself. It takes less than a minute to strangle the man into unconsciousness, though Lee makes an admirable attempt at fighting back, kicking and jerking in a futile attempt to hit what he cannot see.

When Lee goes limp, Connor wonders how close to death he's supposed to take the man. He's had plenty of practice with slaughter and murder, but none by strangulation alone, and none with near misses. He squeezes until Lee's body starts to shake and gasp involuntarily (that's a sign they're close to death, right?) and releases the man, doing his best to ensure he does not fall in such a way that will injure him further. He lets the power of the wolf dissipate, dizziness overcoming him for a moment.

Lee gasps and chokes, finally sucking in deep breaths as his body twitches helplessly. Connor takes away his visible weapons and waits patiently for his breathing to even. When Lee awakens and pulls himself up onto shaky hands and knees, his posture is that of a man on guard, his fingers feeling the damage Connor's fingers have done. He glances around, for whatever phantom nearly killed him, and his expression visibly darkens when his eyes land upon Connor.

"Your Majesty?" he croaks, with suspicious eyes. He looks nauseous, as though he's trying to push away a bad memory.

"General Lee," Connor replies. "How are you feeling?"

"…What just happened?" Lee ignores Connor's question.

"I did what my comrades could not," Connor replies, hand meaningfully brushing down to the stiletto lying next to where he kneels on the floor. Lee's eyes follow his hand, and he somehow manages to turn even paler than he was already.

This is the prompt of all Hay/Con prompts!
I'll try to fill it. Just give me a few days.
Hope I'll do it justice, especially the sex scene...I suck at writing smut...

if OP is still around, third writer!anon tentatively claims this--i'm working on another prompt at the moment, but this one won't leave me alone, so i'm probably going to do something for it as well eventually

(Hahahha! I'm alive! I promise you won't have to wait that long again. That was ridiculous. ^^;; )
-----------------------------------
Altair sat on a wooden bench outside of Sister Teodora's office, with his arms folded tightly over his chest and a scowl on his face. He reached up and pulled his beanie down a little further over his face, and grumbled a little before shifting in his seat and looking up at the girl who sat in a large comfortable looking chair in front of him, with her legs crossed and her chin in her fingers. He snarled.

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

The girl, who had previously introduced herself as Maria Thorpe just continued to stare at him. "What's your problem? You can't share the waiting room with me?"

"You're staring at me." He growled.

"I am not, you're just paranoid."

Altair was about to stand up and march out, then and there, but the mental reminder of just how badly he had hurt his first, and possibly best friend, kept him rooted to the spot. He was nothing if not stubborn. He turned away, and folded his arms in a huff, before leaning back into the wooden seat.

"So were you named after the star?"

"What?" He looked back at the girl. Who, despite what she said, was most certainly staring at him.

"Altair." She said, sitting up straight and picking at a wrinkle in her skirt. "It's the brightest star in the Aquila constellation. Is that what you were named after?"

The question caught him slightly off balance. He shook it off a second later, and leaned back again, folding his arms. "How should I know?"

"Didn't your parents ever tell you?"

"No."

It was quiet again, for a full minute after that, and Altair had started to think that maybe she was done asking inane questions. And then…

"So what happened to your finger?"

"Bear fight."

"That's not funny. "

"Am I laughing?"

Maria folded her arms, looking extremely put out, and then scowled at him. "I'm trying to have a conversation with you. Why are you so rude?"

"Why are you so nosy?"

"If you asked me questions I would answer them." Maria leaned back, raising her chin as if issuing a challenge.

Altair looked up at her. "I don't want to know anything about you."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't care."

Finally, as if someone had been listening to his plight, his torment was ended, when the door to the headmaster's office opened, and Sister Teodora stepped out, and looked down at him. "Altair?"

"Yes?" Altair looked up at her, moving his hat back out of his eyes.

"Claudia is here."

Altair pushed himself off the bench, ignoring the curious glances Maria was giving him, and then walked into the office. He took a deep breath as he stepped inside, and he realized he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say to her. Presuming that the mysterious man on the other end of the telephone was even telling the truth and this was the correct Claudia Auditore. Then again, how many Claudia Auditores could there possibly be?

Sister Teodora led him into her modest office, and stepped aside for him to walk in ahead of her. He took a deep breath, and stepped inside, and once he was in, Sister Teodora shut the door softly, behind him. He looked back at it, and then looked forwards at the two chairs that sat in front of the desk that occupied most of the room. Seated in one of the chairs, was a young girl, with dark hair and a pale complexion. It was a bit of a contrast to Ezio's tanned and constantly slightly sunburnt skin. Still there were resemblances in their features, and it was almost instantly apparent they were in fact siblings. She looked up at him, and her nose wrinkled as if she was trying to discern just why a filthy slightly older boy would be here, asking for her by name, and frankly Altair couldn't blame her. He shuffled his feet slightly, and looked up at her again while clearing his throat.

"Are you Claudia Auditore?"

"Obviously." She spoke in a guarded tone, as if trying to discern if Altair was some sort of creep who was here to either rob or kidnap her.

"Um… My name is Altair." He started, taking a few steps forward. "I'm a friend of Ezio Auditore."

Suddenly, the girl's eyes widened and she shoved her chair back so hard it nearly tipped over. She stood up and turned to him, extending her arms as if she was going to grab his shoulders and start shaking him. Altair took a step backwards, holding his own hands up defensively, as she spoke.

"Ezio? You know Ezio? They said he went missing after he had been put up with a foster family! Where is he? Do the police know where he is?"

It suddenly occurred to him, that this might not have been the best idea. Of course Ezio would be thought of a missing, and of course his sister would be worried out of her mind about him. He wondered if she was going to call the police, and she certainly looked about ready to. He had to put a stop to that right away. "Ezio's fine!" He blurted, though at the time, he honestly wasn't sure of that. "Me and him… and a few others… We're all um… We're all living in a sort of… boarding house." He nodded.

"A boarding house?" She put a hand to her chest and grabbed onto the chair for support. "Oh thank god… After what happened with Federico… and poor Petruccio, I thought… "

"Wait… what?" Altair took a step forwards. "Federico and Petruccio? Your other brothers, right? What happened to them?"

Claudia frowned at him. "Ezio did not tell you?"

"Ezio has been looking for you and his brothers for almost a year now…" Altair felt guilt well up in his chest. "He hasn't heard anything about you."

"Oh no…" Claudia stood up. "He doesn't know?"

"Doesn't know what?" Altair felt himself getting more than a little frustrated.

Claudia reached around and grabbed her left arm with her right and lowered her head a little. She looked pained, but she glanced back up at him anyhow. "Petruccio has never been the healthiest boy in the world. He… hasn't been doing well for a while now. They tell me he is in the hospital, though they won't say much on his condition. And Federico, well-" She sounded as though she was going to choke on her words. "They said there was an accident and…" She trailed off as tears began to well up on the edges of her eyelids.

Altair's eyes widened. "An accident?" Claudia only nodded and Altair felt as though his entire body was going numb.

"He was so angry when Mama and Papa were arrested. I was too, but… Before we were separated, he was going on and on about things that made no sense. Conspiracies and the like. I knew he was upset, but…" She trailed off. "They wouldn't say what happened to him."

Altair reached up and grabbed the empty stub, where his ring finger should have been. "Just an accident… huh?"

Claudia nodded again, and took a few steps towards Altair. "But Ezio… is he… Is he here?"

"Hm?" Altair looked down at her. "No… Sorry. He couldn't come today, and I didn't exactly have time to tell him I found you, but… if you want to come with me, I can—"

"Come with you?" She looked a little taken aback by the statement. "I couldn't… I… Sister Teodora has been so nice and accommodating to me here, and I do like it here." She turned to him again. "I couldn't just leave."

Altair honestly could not sympathize with that sentiment. He had jumped at the first opportunity to escape his own boarding school, but… He couldn't force her to go either. He frowned and put his hands to his hips. "Don't you want to see Ezio?"

"Of course I do!" Claudia looked offended now. "I just…" She trailed off again, and Altair tilted his head, before lowering his hands to his sides again.

"Alright, I get it." He nodded. "I'll bring Ezio back up here. To see you."

"You will?"

"Yes, of course." He chewed on his lip, thoughtfully. "I'm not sure when…" It wasn't as if he had the driver and his huge black car at his disposal after all. But he'd find a way. Take a bus or something.

"When doesn't matter!" Claudia turned to him, smiling from ear to ear. "As long as he gets up here to see me!" She suddenly shoved the chair out of the way and darted forwards wrapping her arms around Altair's waist. "Thank you, Altair. Thank you so much."

He swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable with the display of affection, and awkwardly patted her on the back. "You're welcome. Now… I um… I gotta go. I'll bring Ezio back up here sometime soon."

Claudia released him, and pulled away from him, and smiled up at him. "Alright. Tell Ezio I said hello, and that I miss him so much."

"I will."

And with that, she was gone. She left the office and left Altair standing there, gripping the stub of his finger tightly. He looked down at the floor, and sighed. Everything was so convoluted. He wasn't sure if he'd ever make sense of any of it. Slowly he began to pick himself up , and turned to the door. He opened it, slowly and stepped outside, closing it behind him. He looked up to see Sister Teodora looking down at him, looking very sad. For him, maybe?

He swallowed and looked up at her. "Yes?"

She smiled a little, though it was still a very sad smile. "Be safe out there, Altair."

Altair raised an eyebrow, and nodded very slowly. "Alright… I will." He edged his way past her, and into the waiting room, where he very quickly noticed the distinct lack of Maria. He felt relief flood through him as he made his way to the front door. He pushed it open and stepped out onto the front steps, looking out into the parking lot and scanning for any signs of the black car. He hoped to god that the driver hadn't just left him there. Finally he spotted it, parked along a small curb, and he hopped down the stairs towards it. As he neared it, he noticed the driver of the car was standing outside the passenger side of the car, and was pleasantly conversing with another man, who was leaning against the hood. The man was bald, and very well dressed, but there was something about him, that set Altair on edge. Like he had seen him somewhere before. As he drew closer, he suddenly noticed another person with the two, and he suddenly felt his stomach churn as he realized who it was.

"Oh, Altair." Maria looked up, and smiled at him. "Are you leaving?"

The two men looked over at him suddenly, completely dropping their conversation to focus their attention on him. Altair felt like he was being studied. He squirmed and nodded. "Yeah."

The driver of the car smiled down at him, and straightened. He looked as though he was about to say something, but the bald man he was talking to beat him to it. "Who's this?" He asked, pointing down at Altair, sneering as he did so.

Altair had opened his mouth to speak for himself, but Maria stepped up beside the bald man and with a large grin said. "His name is Altair, sir."

Altair raised an eyebrow at her calling the bald man 'sir', but decided not to question it. He looked up at the bald man, and shrugged. "What she said."

"You two know each other?" The bald man motioned between him and Maria.

This time it was his turn to cut her off, as she opened her mouth to say 'yes', Altair beat her to the punch. "No. Not really. We met in the hall."

The bald man seemed rather unimpressed, and looked Altair up and down with a snort. He then turned to the driver and pointed at him, as if he was pointing to an old ugly chair he'd like to return to the thrift store, rather than a person. "This isn't the boy you were talking about is it?"

The driver smiled. "Oh no." He reached over and put a hand on Altair's shoulder. "I'm just picking up Altair for a friend of mine." He then looked down and met Altair's gaze. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Altair glanced between the two adults, but did not bother shrugging off his hand. "Yeah. I did."

"Well then, I'll take you back home." The driver nodded and then turned back to the bald man, and extended his hand. "Robert, it's always a pleasure."

The man shook it, briefly but sincerely and then turned away. "Come, Maria. It's time to go."

"Alright." Maria nodded and looked back to Altair. "Bye, Altair. See you around."

And with that, the two of them walked deeper into the parking lot, leaving Altair with a sour look on his face. "God, I hope not." He muttered. The driver laughed a little and then walked back to the car, and pulled open the back door.

"Shall we go, then?"

Altair looked up at him and nodded. "Yeah… Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Altair climbed into the back of the car, and the driver shut the door before walking around to the other side to get behind the wheel. Altair pulled his seatbelt down around himself, as the driver started the car and drove away. "So who was that guy?" Altair looked up, leaning one arm onto the arm rest.

The driver looked up into the rear view mirror, to get a glance at Altair, and then looked back at the road. "That was Robert De Sable."

Altair frowned and, ran a hand over his chin. "That name sounds familiar."

"It should." The driver nodded. "He's a very rich, and very powerful man."

"Is that girl his daughter or something?"

"Maria?" He saw the driver crack a smile. "No, not exactly. She's his… ward, I suppose. Something of a father, though they've never described their relationship that way."

"Hmf." Altair folded his arms and leaned back into the seat. "She was annoying."

The driver let out a short barking laugh. "I think she liked you."

"Gross."

This only prompted more laughter, and Altair resigned himself to the fact that this was going to be a very long car ride.

(Because there's always a part b.)
--------------------------------
Altair was starting to wonder if this whole thing was worth it. Finding Claudia had been one thing, but finding Ezio was going to be another thing entirely. He was not so easily tracked down, and Altair had already used up all the points he had amassed with the mysterious man on the telephone. But still, he had to try. After all Ezio was… sort of family… he guessed.

Once the driver had dropped him off back near his house, Altair had thanked him, and then begun wandering in the same general direction he had seen Ezio bolt off in earlier. He had briefly contemplated stopping by the house to see if everyone was okay, but it wasn't on fire, or a pile of rubble, so he was able to assume everyone inside was at least relatively okay.

He found himself wandering through the streets of the small city for what must have been at least an hour or so, because it was starting to get dark, and the streetlights were beginning to turn on. He was starting to wonder if he should just call it a day, but a voice in the back of his mind would not let him leave Ezio out in the street all night. Though knowing his luck, Ezio had wandered back to the house and was safe inside while he trekked through the streets looking for him.

Still this theory proved to be incorrect, and as the sun was just barely still shining some light upon the land, Altair spotted Ezio, sitting dejectedly on an old rusted playground. It wasn't totally surprising to find him, here, since they brought the other children there quite often, to play on what Altair was sure was an ambulance ride waiting to happen. Still, he sighed and braced himself for what he was sure was the fifth time that day he'd have to have an incredibly difficult conversation. He hopped over the small fence that separated him from the old playground and slowly walked up to it, where Ezio was sitting and staring off into space. He walked up to the creaky wooden structure and looked up at Ezio, while shoving his hands into his pockets, and once again found he had absolutely no idea what to say.

"You know it's like eight o'clock, right?" Ezio suddenly spoke up, leaning into his hands, that sat folded over a metal bar.

"Huh?"

"I ran away at what… Three thirty? It took you five hours to find me?"

Altair felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. "Sorry."

"Or did you just think I'd get over it and come home."

"No, Ezio, that's not it…" The smile was gone and he sighed reaching up to rub the back of his head. "Look, can you just come down here? We… need to talk."

"I can hear you fine from right here."

"Ezio, please."

"No, I don't want to come down."

"Stop being a brat."

"That's a fine apology."

"Ezio…"

"No, forget it." He murmured into his hands. "If you're not here to apologize, then go away."

"I found your sister."

Everything was silent for what could have very well ben an eternity. Ezio leaned back away from the pole and stared down at Altair with wide eyes. "What?"

Altair sighed and looked at the ground. "I found Claudia."

Suddenly, Ezio couldn't get to the ground, fast enough. "You found her? Where is she? Is she close? Is she alright?"

"She's fine. She's worried about you, but… she's alright. She's at the Blooming Rose Girls Academy. I can take you up there sometime, but…"

"This is great!" Ezio gasped, holding a hand to his forehead. "I can't believe you found her, Altair!"

The words wouldn't come all of a sudden. He looked up at Ezio, who was staring with such hope, and such happiness that it made Altair feel like the worst person alive. "I… also found out about… your brothers too."

"You did?!" Ezio reeled back, before reaching up and grabbing Altair's shoulders. "That's great! Altair, you did that for me? Really?! I can't believe it! Where are they?"

"Ezio…"

"How did you even do it? In the span of five hours, you did what I was trying to do for at least a year. That's incredible. You're incredible."

"Ezio, I…"

"Well? Tell me where they are! I'm gonna see my family again!"

"Ezio!" Altair reached up and grabbed his shoulders. The younger boy fell silent, and stared up at him, suddenly grasping how serious the scenario was. "Ezio, I… Claudia told me that…"

"Told you… what?"

Altair sighed and let his head droop. He shook his head. "She said that Petruccio took a bad turn, Ezio. She said he's in the hospital, but she doesn't know what his condition was, and that Federico was…"

Ezio's face was unreadable as he leaned forwards. "Was…?"

Altair pushed away from him and reached forwards and grabbed his finger again. "She said there was an accident."

"An accident?"

"Ezio, I'm… I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about what I said, I'm sorry to tell you this, I'm sorry about everything." He raised a hand to his face. "I feel awful."

Ezio remained silent for a few seconds. "He's dead?"

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Ezio."

The two boys stood in the middle of the play ground, Every form of apology Altair knew crossed his mind, but every one of them died in his mouth, and he wasn't able to say anything. He and Ezio just stared at each other, Ezio's face an unreadable mixture of sadness and grief, and what might have anger. The two just stood there, staring at one another, as the world around them got darker and darker.

And then finally, Ezio moved. He leaned forwards and put his head onto Altair's shoulder. Altair started a bit at the sudden contact, but then wrapped his arms around Ezio and held him there. Altair had never felt an over abundance of control in life, especially not recently, but this was the first time he had ever felt so completely helpless. He wanted to take back everything, and just go back to this morning, when everything was fine, instead of staying in this world, where it seemed like nothing was ever going to be fine again. And all he could do, was hold Ezio, and let him stay there for as long as he needed.

He wasn't sure just how long they had stayed that way, but it had nearly startled him out of his skin when Ezio spoke. "Altair?"

He looked down at Ezio, and then looked back up at the sky where he had been staring. "Yeah, Ezio?"

There was a long pause, and then Ezio shifted against his shoulder. "Can we go home now?"

Altair felt his throat tighten and he held Ezio just a little tighter to him. "Sure. Lets go home."

OP is definitely still around, and the more the merrier! I'm extremely patient. :)

What's the other prompt you're working on?

not OP, but random anon wants to point out that I already love you.

the alpha!altair and omega!malik fic on the other page

'You have no idea how many times I've thought about doing this to you.'

ahsbdkjnalkjnjcnkakn.

I feel bad now, hahaha. Of all the wonderful things I could have pointed out, I was so captured by this. Nevertheless, it had to be said. Alright then...

... where do I begin?

This is just perfect, anon. Perfect, you hear me. This fill screams with so much potential, I'm absolutely in love with it. And I don't mind waiting, as long as we get these precious installments, I'm happy. Stay safe, anon, and stay inspired, we're dying to know where all this is going.

please do, author anon. i'm waiting patiently!! luv u!!

I'm sure he could. :) Not sure where this will go yet (as with all my writing), but while Charles may have a rather one-sided view of the world, he's quite cunning and extremely determined. And, most importantly, he didn't really do anything unforgivable yet.

Connor is mostly quiet throughout the meal. The Alphas that make up his family leave him be. Believing his silence to be the cause of his lack of rest, but the truth was that he did not have the words to describe how he was feeling now. This certainly was not the future the former Assassin had ever envisioned for himself. Seated at a table beside two of his once sworn enemies, and with a child who possessed the features of all three adults around him.

It was hard to believe that on this day, eight years ago, he had been a lone Wolf who had worked alongside the Sons of Liberty and his recent recruit - who were disguised as members of Kanien'kehá:ka - in their protest against the British Government by throwing imported tea into the Boston Harbor. Though Connor's true purpose at the time was to sabotage the Templar plans for purchasing his people's land against their will. He would be challenging the nefarious Inner Circle directly.

It had been a defining moment in Connor's life. Shortly after his seventeenth birthday, Achilles had given him the highest rank of their Order: Master Assassin, a title given to only to who were deemed to be the best of the best. Worthy to recruit others who shared their beliefs, to mentor them into Assassins, and lead these soldiers into battle against their ancient foes. As both a Master and Mentor, he could expand and strengthen the Brotherhood. Now, eight years later, Connor sometimes wonders if Achilles had made a mistake in promoting him.

The Omega decides not to dwell anymore on the past, as it only depresses him and makes his family question his dour expression. Both the Templars at the table seem to catch on knowing the significance of the date, and in concern, insist he go rest in one of the guest bedrooms of his father's Boston townhouse. He complies and ask them both to look after Haytham, who was chatting away about some of the adventures he's had with Yusuf and the Pomeranian pups back at the Lee manor.

He does not realize just how tired he is, until his head hits a pillow.

He wonders if his sleep will be dreamless.

"Lead the way."

It's dark, save for the frosty light of the moon and a couple of lanterns.

It's quiet, save for the sound of footsteps striding across a squeaky dock.

It's the calm before the storm, and he can feel the anticipation of his comrades as they wait for his signal.

Immediately, his hands are upon his flintlocks and the Assassin fires upon the unsuspecting Regulars on guard. Two of them are dead before they hit the ground, he uses the shock to his advantage and charges towards the ones that are standing. His tomahawk sinks lethally into the front a stunned Redcoat, before wrenching it out and kicking the body towards two approaching soldiers. They stagger back and over into the water with a loud splash.

A tidal wave of crimson is upon him. He grabs a fallen musket, using it to the deflect a series of blows before pivoting in time to avoid being impaled by bayonet ends. It doesn't take long to break through the cage of his enemies, and he quickly lets out a sharp whistle.

The Sons of Liberty and his new and only recruit - Stephane Chapeau - quickly scramble aboard the unguarded ships. There is a series of splashes as the expensive cargo is dumped overboard. It's not long before crowds of colonists begin to form. Supporters and curious onlookers gather around the docks, cheering loudly and attracting the unwanted attention from patrolling guards.

His comrades manage to hold their own even as the soldiers and officers seem to focus their attention on him.

"Kill the savage in the white hood, he's their ringleader!"

The sheer number of enemies charging at him, would have cowed any other man; but the Master Assassin was used to fighting at such odds. Thanks to Achilles' training, he was not overwhelmed and beat back wave upon wave of enemies until most of them had fallen and the remainder were forced to retreat.

Finally...

"We've done it!" Samuel Adams exclaimed in triumph.

"What a night," William Molineux sighs tiredly as he wipes the sweat from his brow. "I don't know about you fellows, but I could sure use a drink. Perhaps some tea?"

Both Adams and Paul Revere boo the suggestion. Molineux chuckles and invites them over for a late supper and ale at his pub.

"Connor," the Assassin turns to face his recruit approaches him with a crate in his hands. Stephane gives him an overly pleased and proud smile. "We saved the last one for you."

He takes the last crate containing William Johnson's tea and raises it above his head. The crowds roar with cheers and approval as he's about to destroy the last of the cargo. There is only a small group that Connor is aware of that stands seething with displeasure. He turns to face them, ready to rub this victory in their faces... and stares.

His older self stares back, with longing and regret.

The silence is abrupt.

In absence of the sounds of the people, he now hears the drift of the currents and the wind against the sails. The world feels empty. Connor is finally aware that he stands alone.

The Sons of Liberty who had joined him on this night have been dead for years now, and the Assassins - the ones that were spared from the Second purge - are out of commission. He remembers Clipper telling him that Stephane lived in New York with Dobby. Both were still recovering from the trauma of their imprisonment and still under the watchful eyes of the Templars.

The people have long dispersed. They have put this act of rebellion behind them. The war is over, and the liberated people of the Colonies live under the rule of a new King. His own people and their land are safe... for now.

So much has change in so little time.

For better, or for worse, Connor is uncertain.

The seventeen year-old Assassin looks down at the crate, before it slips out of slack fingers and splashes into the cold, murky waters.

Thing is, boy, I can have what I seek. Had it, even. You? Your hands will always be empty.

Connor awakes to the sound of rain tapping lightly against a window. The calm and tranquil resonance is soothing, as he tries to collect his thoughts. Even though he had moved on with his life, the past still dogged at his heals like a shadow. Even though he had his family, Thomas Hickey's final words still haunted him to this day.

A headache starts to form, and he has the niggling feeling that he'd slept for too long again. His son must be anxious and bored out of his mind by now. Although Haytham was so well behaved, he was still a young child that possessed a curious nature and would get into anything and everything if the adults weren't looking. With a grunt, Connor pulled himself up into a sitting position and slipped on his boots.

It didn't take long to find the Alpha trio he had left back in the dining room. A part of him was still surprised all three were still together after dinner, and would have thought his father would have sent his grandson to be looked after by the maids while he and Charles discussed government or Templar matters. But Connor was absolutely stunned at what he saw from the slightly open door leading into the Grandmaster's study.

Sitting cross-legged around a small table on the floor, was his son, husband, and father - all three having some imaginary tea party. Because certainly Haytham was too young to be drinking such beverages. Especially the kind both Charles and Haytham senior enjoyed.

"Blegh!" the boy scowled and stuck out his tongue. "I don't like it. It's yucky!"

"I admit it's bitter," Connor heard his father speak with amusement in his voice. "But you could change the flavor by adding some lemon, or sweetening it with milk and sugar."

"I bet it'll still taste yucky."

"When you're older, son, you'll come to appreciate Earl Grey on it's own " Charles spoke condescendingly.

"I don't know..." Haytham seemed uncertain. "Maybe I'll just drink the same tea my wife does."

"Your wife?'

Your wife?

Connor couldn't help but echo the two older Alpha's disbelief. His son was only five years old and already thinking about marriage? The Omega felt a pang in his chest at the very idea of his little one growing up and moving away from him.

"Yeap!" little Haytham crowed happily. "When I grow up, I'm gonna marry mommy!"

The Omega quickly clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle an amused snort. The other two men inside the room made no such movement, and were unable to keep from chuckling in amusement.

"What's so funny?" the young Alpha demanded, sounding hurt. "I will to marry mommy, and we'll be eagles together!"

Oh, boy, the eagle stories again. When his son grew a little older, Connor was going to have to inform him that little human boys could not grow up into eagles. Charles would be livid at both him and his father if their son ever attempted to swan dive from the roof.

"I'm afraid you can't marry your mother, Haytham."

"How come, Grandpa?'

"Well..."

"Because your mother is mine," Charles clarified boldly.

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose as his headache grew a little worse. He desperately hoped their son had not inherited his father's possessive nature. Sighing quietly, the Omega lightly pushed open the door. It was best to intervene before the two Alphas started butting their heads over him.

"Enjoying your tea party?"

Connor smirked a little at the startled expressions upon his son and husband's faces. Though Haytham senior didn't react in the slightest.

"Afternoon tea is not a party, son," his father admonished. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you," he lied without missing a beat and his gaze softened as his child beamed at him. "Have you been behaving yourself, Haytham?"

"Yes, mommy! Daddy and Grandpa played with me all day! We played with the dogs outside until it started to rain. Then we came in and they told me lots of stories, and now we're having a tea party!"

"Afternoon tea," Charles corrected. "Care to join us, wife?"

Little Haytham bristled.

While inwardly rolling his eyes at his husband's childish behavior, Connor approached and took a seat at unoccupied end of the table. He fondly watched as his son carefully handled an old teapot. Managing to keep his grip steady, and pour a cup without spilling a single drop.

"Would you like hear the story of a more interesting tea party that took place on this day?"

He watched with as his son's adoring eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement, but didn't miss the warning glances both Templars gave him. He certainly didn't miss Charles' hand creeping over his leg. Fingers lightly stroking, but ready to claw into his flesh the moment his tongue slipped up. He ignored the intimidation, as he added condiments to his tea and noted his young son was mirroring him. It was adorable.

Still, as he weaved together a child-friendly version of the Boston Tea Party to regale the boy, with several details omitted, carefully rephrased, or reinvented entirely; Connor couldn't help but feel the prickling sense of guilt. He desired to tell the boy who loved and trusted him unconditionally, all about himself - not just as an Omega who played a part in the war, but as an Assassin who built an alliance with such honorable men among the Sons of Liberty and Continental Army. He wanted his son to know him, to know the names of his fallen and forgotten comrades, and their fight for liberty.

Perhaps someday he would put a quill to paper and write it all down. Yes, a journal. Dozens of them if need be. In their pages, he would write nothing but the truth, the whole truth, even the horrifying details that Connor still couldn't speak of. He would give them to his son when he was old enough. He could only hope that his words would save the boy when the Templars were ready to sink their fangs into him, and inject their poisonous ideals of order and structure - everything he and his comrades fought against on this day eight years ago.

A/N: Wow, I certainly rambled on a bit. This was actually much longer than what I anticipated. It was also supposed to be fluffier... way to rain on the parade, Connor ^^;

In Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter 7 - A Tentative Agreement

Charles paced restlessly in the small cell that he had asked for. He was full of energy, full of angry, frustrated energy.

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.

It was supposed to be the perfect tool, the perfect way to gain his bride-to-be’s trust. And it would have been.

If Connor had not been born a Native.

Or an Omega.

As loathe as Charles was to admit it, Connor was probably right. The land was lucrative, full of unused potential and opportunities for development into farms that could feed family units and sustain entire communities. It was in human nature to be greedy and selfish, to improve one’s station in life even at the expense of other people. Sooner or later, colonial eyes would turn towards the lush land denied them, and they would push and push until they either stole the land, probably by illegal squatting and attacks upon the Natives, or forced the government to renegotiate on their behalf until the Natives sold at rock bottom prices.

Charles could not even blame them, really. He understood the way they thought. The Natives were primitive, likened to children and incapable of reason or logic. They did not deserve the considerations given to their superiors.

What was a broken treaty, a broken promise to one inferior? Did not the needs and desires of a superior race justify such a small transgression?

Except that his bride was one of them. And Charles knew that, as much as he did not like Connor’s people, that they were not the caricatures colonials painted them as.

His years dealing with them as a lonely, lonely King taught him that much. The village elders’ understanding of his problems, the complexity of their grief when Connor died, his negotiations with them the years after...It taught him respect for them, though not fondness by any means.

They were not specks of dust, he saw that long ago.

But how to prove that to the boy who stood before him, eyes still warily watching his every move, a sort of curiosity glistening in their amber-brown depths?

“If I put my name to back yours...”

Connor snorted.

“And if we two die, then who else would act thus? Who would the land fall to? Ownership by any one person results in difficulties later down the road.”

Charles opened his mouth to protest such a thought.

“And you forget I know how the colonials think,” Connor continued. “I have lived among them for many years now. When their family is starving, and the only thing stopping them from stealing from others, particularly my people, is a piece of paper backed by a government too busy with war and other matters to care, then do you really believe that they would obey the written law? It is common law that holds sway with the people, and that is decided by judges who represent the views of their own communities, none of which spend much time pondering on my people.”

Charles winced.

It was harsh, yes, but he could not deny the human propensity to live, succeed and thrive. Even if doing so required the deaths of hundreds. He thought darkly that Hickey and Edwards would personally sell their own families, let alone mere Natives, for a single Spanish doubloon.

Perhaps it was time he changed tack.

“I have offered you a solution, but you refuse it. Do you prefer a state of war between us instead of working together as we should for a common cause?”

Charles was gratified that his bride looked stunned at this.

So well as he should. Connor did not know it, but they were on the same side.

“Do you wish my Order to try and attack Washington rather than working with us to ensure the success of the war? Do you wish the crown to win?”

He paused at that then shook his head ruefully.

“With all the negative views you hold of the colonials, I would not be surprised if you secretly wished the crown to succeed.”

Connor looked incensed.

“I have no desire for the crown to succeed—“

“Don’t you?” Charles interrupted.

The boy glared at him.

“The crown is no better than the colonials. But Washington and such men as Samuel Adams are the best hope for my people. I would not endanger them.”

Charles growled.

It was...tempting. So tempting to reveal what really happened all those years ago and break this romantic vision his bride held of his rival.

It would be so satisfying to shatter the idealized image of Washington that Connor never gave up.

Connor would never believe him.

After all, it was for that very notion, that false, poisonous notion, that his wife, that his Connor had...

Charles felt the old throb of grief and madness begin to build in his heart.

He quickly banished them.

“Then would you not prefer to work with me, rather than against? Ensure that Washington is safe from us with your own observations and your own measures of protection. Witness our operations—” though not all, son or not, Master Kenway would not be pleased if he allowed his wife into all of their secrets “—and cease this meaningless war between us.”

Charles could see his bride thinking about it. Those amber-brown eyes considered him, the mistrust mixing with the curiosity and allaying in the face of such an unexpected proposal.

Charles knew he was giving away much, but the reward...that chance of having his bride again, by his side, where he belonged...

He took a small step forward. A step closer to his lovely, sorely missed bride.

“You have a chance to influence things. You lose nothing and stand to gain influence over the Templars, over your father...”

Another startled look at him, but this faded much quicker than the last. If Charles knew about his name, then it was no large stretch to assume that he would also know about his relationship to the Templar Grandmaster.

Connor looked at him. “So that’s why...” he murmured softly.

His bride contemplated him, then, “release me from this jail, allow me my weapons, and then talk.”

It was a risk.

It was a very big risk, and Charles could end up dead.

“So be it.”

I like! :D

But then again, I seem to have a fetish for serious political, philosophical and other types of discussions. And it's a very nice transition to the events in His Mother's Son. A very good explanation for the journals that Haytham Lee discovered.

...Gah. Now I'm tempted to do a Charles POV version of when Connor fell down the stairs and miscarried.

Bad brain.

Thank you! Also, I would love to read more Charles' angsst... why do I picture he and Connor had already planned names for the twins and everything and the long weeks he's away from his family, throwing himself into his work as both King and Grandmaster, he probably has dreams/nightmares of the children he lost, sort of like George in Shattered Glass.

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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