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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Not like, LOVE, I don't get enough of pervy Charles...

HICKEY: And the fans call me a walking erection @_@

reader anon agrees! Charles if you screw this up the world will end... LITERALLY!

...but no pressure :D

Charles is definitely pervy. He just pretends he's not. :D //blush//

Oh yeah, will be losing access to net until tomorrow. ): So probably a delayed update for tomorrow.

Connor's heart reverberated loudly in his ears as he fumbled putting the amulet back in it's place, before shoving the drawer shut and locking it. The pounding on a door, had fortunately come from the first floor, no doubt the guards on patrol had seen the unnatural light bursting from the windows of Charles' office. The Assassin knew that he had to get out of this room, and back to his quarters before he was found.

With the keys clutched tightly in his hand, he made for the exit. While holding his breath, he carefully and quietly open the door a crack. The pounding at the door of the main entrance seemed to intensify, and his sensitive hearing picked up the frantic footsteps of servants rushing to go answer it. He took a deep breath, took a step out of the office - making sure, to close the door behind him - and silently bolted towards his quarters.

As his hand grasped the door knob, he took a moment to catch his breath. It was a little embarrassing how such a short sprint had made him nearly breathless, but Connor cast self ridicule aside as he trained his eyes upon the door to his quarters. He silently prayed to the spirits for his Alpha to still be asleep. He didn't want to think what kind of punishment lay in stored for him, if his husband was up and about.

Slowly - oh so, slowly - he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Darkness.

Silence.

So far, so good.

He didn't dare breathe until he hurriedly slipped into his designated cell and immediately shut the door to muffle any of the sounds coming from the lower level. Hesitantly, he turned to the still slumbering figure in his bed, and sighed quietly in relief. Thank goodness Lee was still tired from the day he had, followed by their coupling, to keep him unconscious despite the ruckus.

Without taking his eyes off his husband, Connor walked over to the Alpha's discarded pile of clothes and made sure to slip the keys in the correct pocket.

Now came the part he dreaded.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, the Omega hurriedly undid the sash to his robe. He shrugged it off his shoulders, allowing the concealing and comfortable garment, slid off his trembling frame and pooled at his feet. Heat spread across his face as he revealed his fully nude form to his enemy - who was thankfully still asleep - and lightly padded closer.

He wanted to take his time maneuvering himself onto the bed, but the sound of feet running up the stairs nearly made him throw caution to the wind.

'Please do not wake up, please!' Connor mentally pleaded before he climbed a top the mattress and slowly lowers himself down.

He stiffens immediately as the Alpha seems to sense his body heat, and a heavy arm encircles his waist. Before he can move to disentangle himself, there's a series of loud knocks bangs at his bedroom door, followed by a voice that is unmistakably that Templar grunt, Edwards.

"Hey boss, you in there?!"

a;skldlakjfska;kf Amazing anon! I love it, this is probably my favorite on the meme rn!

I especially like how Altair is so delirious, remorseful, and scared at the end there...(and I see what you did there w/ the mention of him falling into the water. Poor Altair...I don't think falling into the water helped him any.) Malik is probably horrified at all the blood and new appendages.

akjsaclakslnkclna the tension! Halfway through I thought Charles is gonna wake up. Can't wait to see what happens next...

With precision that would put an experienced butcher to shame, Stephane cleaved the arm off the soldier, yanked his knife out and spun to meet the next man in battle. Aveline was nearby, duck and weaving, delivering devastating blows to her opponents, her machete in one hand and hidden blade in the other. One made the mistake of trying to approach her from behind, and was rewarded with a swift backwards kick and a bullet-less rifle through the chest as he fell. Clipper was high, nestled in a tree, picking off men that were too close to overwhelming the novices. His best students were in other trees, doing their best over the chaos that raged below.

It was difficult to tell between friend and foe while they were cloaked in blood.

Higher on the hill, the complex burned with crackles and sparks of embers that looked like shooting stars against the night sky. The group split, some slipping into the dancing shadows, using the moving light as camouflage to join the team that had set fire to the main Lodge. Connor was around here somewhere; he had to be, there was no option otherwise.

There couldn't be another option.

***

He was ill. He was very ill. Charles said so and Charles wouldn't lie to him. Charles doesn't lie to him. He felt hot and feverish; his eyes itched, weeping tears of stress and sleep. At times, when his strength was restored a little from rest, he would sip at the honeyed tea Charles offered him.

At one point, he was gripped with an overwhelming sense of fury, and he grabbed Charles by the collar, dragging him down and clawing his face with neatly clipped fingernails. Red welts appeared on Charles’ face. Anger rose in those cold beggar-eyes, and Haytham was horrified by his actions. He kissed the wounds, but Charles pushed him away and Haytham made a noise of distress.

Why, why, why? Was he not good enough? Was he not perfect enough? It was his eyes, his eyes didn’t match, his eyes disgusted Charles. His skin was too dark. He was of native blood – but he had English parents. Why did he have native blood when he had English parents?

This was not his voice. His voice was softer. His voice rolled over this second language and touched it with all the hesitancy a kitten might do with a puddle. Silk. Silk in vibrant green and blue, like a bejewelled bird of the forest. It evoked autumn leaves and the smell of roasting meat over open flames, and the feeling of sudden warmth after being frozen by ice and snow. It had the ability to meld with the waves of humanity, or strike out over the booming, echoing noise of cannons. It could be indignant, sad, calm, and it could burn with passion and conviction of a man that would not stop until the mission was done.

This was his voice and it would not be quelled.

Haytham’s body shuddered with tears, and he clutched at the hem of Charles’ coat, begging for forgiveness, demanding he be restrained and collared. Charles did restrain him, but only to stop the mad caterwauling and drug Haytham so he might sleep and recover. The blissful drugs made Haytham sigh and stroke Charles’ face, sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks.

The fever broke.

Charles wondered at the ability of the Piece of Eden, studied it carefully. Although it did not have the same raw strength of an Apple, as written about in the past, the round talisman certainly had more ability than anything he had seen before. And Haytham’s blood had reacted with such passion. He ignored that it hadn’t done so the first time around, that the blood was different, the aims were different, the situation was different.

***

Slipping the vambraces on had never felt so good. It felt right. The hidden blade had been well cared for in his absence, and it slid in and out at his will. Charles helped with his cravat, making sure it sat perfectly. They exchanged a kiss, a brief press, and tongues slipping between teeth and lips. The taste was fresh – Charles had taken to chewing on mint leaves as of late, something Haytham mimicked with much relish.

His robes were as pristine as the day he’d first laid his eyes on the heavy cream bolt of fabric, the lighter-weighted silk rolled onto a wooden spindle next to it. In a sudden change of mind, Charles had brought the ceremony forward, forgoing the luxury of having all the guests present. They had simply pushed the tables to the side in the mess hall, and assembled the full forces there.

“Due to recent events, I have decided that our more ceremonial induction shall have to wait,” announced Charles. “As you all know, I have been loyally looking after our Grand Master Kenway during his recovery and reincarnation. This has proven to be successful in all aspects.”

He gestured for Haytham to step out. The candlelight reflected upon his features well, Charles decided, unwrapping a ring he had kept in his pocket since the fateful day of Haytham’s “death”.

“Are any opposed?” asked Charles, looking to his attentive audience.

Not one even blinked.

“Very well, then. The time has come to renew your vows. Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order and all that for which we stand?”

“I do,” replied Haytham.

“And never to share our secrets nor divulge the true nature of our work?”

“I do.”

“And to do so from now until death – whatever the cost?”
“I have died once and I will do so again for the cause.”

“Then we welcome you into our fold, brother. Together we will claim the New World that which the Assassins have tried to soil. One defined by purpose and order. Your hand, if you would.”

Haytham extended it, and watched as the elegant ring slipped over his finger. The Templar cross, emblazoned on the silver, shone back at him, the ruby gems glittering like the fire of the earth. Charles bent to kiss it, and straightened his back, again addressing the soldiers.

“You are a Templar, and the Grand Master of our Order. May the Father of Understanding guide us.”

“May the Father of Understanding guide us,” echoed Haytham.

***

Throwing Charles against the wall, Haytham pulled at his clothes, pressing demanding kisses against his lips, and biting the throat once exposed. Charles smiled against them, clasping Haytham’s face in his hands, staring at the eyes that must have enchanted Haytham into lying with the native woman all those years ago. They tumbled their way to the bed, not caring that their robes would be creased as they were thrown to the ground.

The teasing and gasping, the moans and declarations of pleasure, came together in a burst of lust, grinding together until they collapsed in a mass of sweaty limbs and exhilaration at the final divine consummation. They had bound themselves their destinies, and together they would rule the New World, in the economic force, where people were more obliging to overlook. Presidency was a nice option, and Charles had craved it for so long, but now he had come to his senses. Ruling like that would not aid the Order.

No, it was far better to lurk in the shadows – a page straight from the Assassin’s book. They had some use, at least. Providing wonderful Templars, for a start.

The Assassins would come, and they were ready.

Unfortunately I haven't played Liberation, so I apologise if she's off in personality or detail. I've read the outline for her game, but I really wish Ubisoft had included her in the main missions of ACIII (heck, even released Liberation as a console game. I want to play a lady assassin, damn it!)

Connor is pretty smashed up. Unfortunately, there will be pieces that will take a long time for him to remember.

Thank you for reading! I'm glad you like the pacing!

*shiny eyes* Really? Thank you! :D

Uhm, don't mind me. I'm just tearing up a bit because...this makes me ridiculously happy. It gives me hope that when I eventually finish my original stories that someone might want to read them. So yeah, thank you. I hope the last few chapters will continue to satisfy you.

Heee! *grinning madly* Thank you for the wonderful review. I come back and re-read all of the reviews from time to time to keep myself motivated. You cannot begin to imagine the joy I get when I see them.

Good job on picking up the clues! I try not to let my artistic purple-prose get too heavy (I read a lot of this sort of modernist texts for uni, so it tends to spill into my writing), but it's good to know that you don't mind!

To put it plainly, Charles would like to fuck Haytham into the mattress, but only when Haytham makes the first move. The brainwashing isn't through secual assualt, but by other techniques, as you've seen.

Thank you for the response! Get the tissues ready, I hope that the last few chapters will put you through the emotional wringer.

They are deserters. I wouldn't be counting on them in the final battle. They're just lucky that the assassins agreed that they hadn't been given proper information. Unfortunately, they can't be let go now - they know too much.

I have many feelings over little Ratonhnhaké:ton. We shall not discuss them here, otherwise I might start crying over how cruel life has been to him (and how cruel I am being to him).

Thanks, darling! Only a few bits to go!

Thank you, OP! I find it comforting to know that you feel this way. I try my best to get this right, and it is reassuring to know that you still like what I'm doing. Connor was pretty fractured to begin with, but this has just made it worse. I liken it to after-images, where he can see himself in all possibilities at once but his brain is telling him that the "Haytham" personality is the one that is right.

SHIT SOn

i wonder how connors gonna react if he ever finds out what he did as haytham )8 even if he doesnt hate charles as much as he had once (or maybe that was just haytham talking)

and oh man im excited for this, i can already smell a good climax

oh gosh, please, you all flatter me!! here's the next part!
---

When he wakes, it's night and quiet.

He's lying on his stomach in a pile of blankets, rugs, cushions, a pallet, with another blanket draped over him; he cannot help the groan that issues from his mouth when he moves, turns his head. His entire body aches, hurts in the same way his arms did when he was still in training, when he pushed himself too far and woke up the next morning with muscles sore and twinging. The ache is so distracting and curious that it takes him a moment to realize that the buzzing is gone, that his hands are steady, and that's enough to make him bolt upright, sit up in surprise, pushing himself upright and kneeling.

He holds his hands up in front of his eyes to confirm, squinting at them in the faint light coming from the candle in the outside room, before allowing a grin to slice across his features--he is whole again. He can complete his mission. He can redeem himself and gain back his ranks and maybe even apologize to Malik finally an--

He realizes suddenly that the blanket on his shoulders hasn't fallen off despite his movements, and he automatically puts out his hands to pull it away, lets it fall, except instead of smooth cloth, his fingers encounter the texture of feathers, bury in them, and he can--

He can--

Altair bolts to his feet and is out of the doorway before his mind catches up to his actions; he's still inside the Jerusalem Bureau, in a hidden back room that's only used to house Assassins too injured to make the ride back to Masyaf immediately, and Malik startles where he's working at the counter by candlelight, blotching the parchment he's writing upon, and Altair doesn't even register his curses, instead skidding to a stop before one of the fountains and leaning over, craning for a look at himself in the still reflection of the water.

He screeches at the sight, and then claps both hands over his mouth instinctively before removing them both to spit out mouthfuls of curses; the sound that had come from his mouth hadn't even been a scream, not even a sound that any man would make: it had been an eagle's cry, the sound bright, brittle, proud, and damning.

He has wings. He has wings, attached to his back, and he could feel them, had felt the slide of his fingers through the base of his feathers; he quickly turns in place where he stands, craning his neck to try to get a look at them, contorts his shoulders, making them flare in response, and that's the strangest sensation he's ever felt, even more foreign than the slide of steel into his belly, even more than the crunch of an enemy's spine underneath his blade, than the slide of needle through his living flesh, closing gaping wounds--they're brown, with golden sheens and white underneath, and the longest feathers drag on the ground if they're unfurled, and at every movement, twitch, and breath, there's a corresponding shift, shiver, and flare from the wings, wings that he realizes he can feel as though it were his arm, the way his movements shift the feathers, the pull and flex of new muscles underneath the skin of his back, the wings themselves he has wings what happened??

He sits down where he stands. (Really, his legs give out underneath him, but he clings to his pride and maintains that it was voluntary.) The stone is cool underneath his rear, comforting in its solidity in this world that has suddenly been turned on its ear; Altair swallows a groan of despair and confusion, instead running his fingers through his hair, eyes wide.

Malik deliberately scuffs his foot, and Altair's head snaps up at the sound, eyes focusing on him; the Dai has his hand on his hip, feet spread, and stares back at him with a mixture of his typical disdain and curiosity.

"What happened?" Altair blurts out.

"I should be asking you that question," Malik snaps back.

Altair bristles, and he can feel his feathers puff out all along his wings, stand on end like an eagle manteling over prey. "If I knew what had happened, I obviously wouldn't be having this reaction in the first place--yes, thank Allah, He in his gracious wisdom has blessed me with the fully functional pair of wings that I've prayed for every day! No, I have no idea what happened!"

The frown on Malik's face turns into a full scowl, but he answers, "Two days ago--" ("Two days ago?" Altair thinks, with rising panic. "I've been asleep for two whole days?") "--you fell through the entrance onto the floor, raving like a madman with fever, and after attracting the attention of every Assassin in the vicinity, those--" He gestures at Altair's back, the scowl losing some force in the face of confusion. "--burst from your back. Your robes are ruined by the way, but I was able to salvage your equipment belts. Though they're a little bloodstained." Altair automatically looks towards the tile underneath the lattice; it's mostly clean, but the cracks between them are faintly red-brown.

He represses a shudder as Malik continued. "I thought you were dying like the stupid fool you are--there was... a lot of blood (and here, an expression crosses the Dai's face, though it's gone in an instant), but it stopped soon after they extended fully. The exit wounds sealed without a trace; I cannot find any scars to indicate their presence." Malik tosses his head, as though shaking off a thought. "You've slept like a lazy novice since then. I put you in the back room because even your unconscious presence was a distraction to every Assassin that came here."

Altair takes a moment to digest the information, then swallows and shakes his head. "What... what, if anything, have you observed about..." He gestures at his back, unable to articulate that he has wings, fucking wings, after his initial outburst. "At this point, you are likely more familiar with them than I am."

Malik seems surprised by his query, but he gathers himself after a moment: "They are attached to your body as any limb would be, though the muscles seem weak. They're eagle wings." He pauses, thinking. "You are lighter."

Altair's attention snaps back to him at that. "Lighter? What do you mean?"

"I mean that you are not as much of a heavy sack of shit as you were," Malik snaps back. "I had to move your damned unconscious ass to the back room myself, you know, and you're lighter in the way birds are. I imagine your bones are hollow."

Altair resists the urge to curse more, instead running his hands over his face and debating sitting down forever. "And your expert opinion on how they will affect my abilities in the Order?"

"They do not seem to hamper you more than your massive ego does."

He rolls his eyes, but withholds his opinion--there's a lingering doubt about the entire situation that makes Malik's words ring false in the face of his concerns. Yes, they may not keep him from walking, fighting, perhaps even running across rooftops, but what of his abilities as an Assassin? They're massive, with what he's sure is an impressive span, and how will they affect sneaking? Going unnoticed in a crowd? His ability to eliminate a target?

He grits his teeth as another thought finally occurs to him. "Majd's funeral--"

"Is in a week," Malik interjects. "You have until then to get used to your new... appendages and gather information for your target."

Altair sighs. A week does not feel like enough time, but it is what he has. "Very well then."

---
writer!anon does have a question though--does OP have any opinion in terms of shipping? parts of this fic are naturally inclining themselves towards AltMal (help with preening! feelings about soloman's temple! learning to fly!), but writer!anon can keep it strictly bromantic between them if OP prefers

:O So exciting. Is Edwards going to spill the beans? Is Charles going to be suspicious?

Lol! :D

Charles: Way to encourage a guy...

Connor hesitates at the last second, and he's not sure why. Maybe it's because Lee is already half-dead, not resisting in the slightest. Maybe it's because he knows that killing Lee won't bring his parents or Achilles or his very best friend back. Maybe it's because his hands are too bloodied already. He really does not know.

Connor gets up and goes to the bar, and asks for a doctor. For good measure (the white barkeep gives him a vaguely disdainful look, 'what a filthy savage' he must be thinking.), he tips the man a gold sovereign to fetch a medic quickly.

---

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Stephane asks, when he arrives with the horse and carriage.

Connor has spent the past few days doing his best to keep himself and Lee alive. It's hard to fetch water and food with such a huge, hardly-healed wound in his side, and he does not trust Lee to do it. Considering that Lee has done little but rest and quietly cry when he thinks Connor is asleep, he would probably attempt to drown himself in the well rather than carry water to their room.

"Give me a couple of months," Connor says. "It is not as though I can do much else in this state."

Stephane nods reluctantly, and drives both men back to the Homestead.

---

Jamie assesses them both with a critical eye.

"You need bed rest and painkillers. Both of you. I don't know how didn't reopen your side, Connor."

Connor opens his mouth to argue, and Jamie cuts him off.

"No. Connor, you're going to do as I say this time. You don't seem to understand how bad your injuries are. There are only a few stitches stopping your kidney falling out of your abdomen. That hole never going to fully heal. If you want to ever be able to move properly again, you're going to take things easy and exercise extremely gently for the next couple of months."

Connor closes his mouth, and Jamie sighs.

"Connor, you know we're glad to help you in any way we can. Even if you do have some strange ideas about certain things," Jamie's eyes slide to where Charles Lee is sitting, staring out the window overlooking the bay. "Just please look after yourself too."

"I understand," Connor says, quietly. "I apologise for causing you all to worry so much about me."

Jamie relaxes, and gives him a small smile.

"We'll sort something out about helping with chores and things. At least until you can bend over without splitting your side."

"Thank you," Connor smiles back. Truly, he is lucky to have such wonderful friends.

Luckier than Lee.

He glances at the… well, he's a prisoner, isn't he? Lee is still sitting on his chair, gazing at the flames of the fireplace. Connor can tell that he's lost in thought. Or, judging from the expression on his face, it's more likely to be regret.

---

Jamie stays in the manor for the first few months, mostly because Connor and Lee's wounds need cleaning and re-dressing twice a day (leaving medical attention for so long had meant that they had become slightly infected), and Clipper assists in household chores for a couple of weeks.

Lee turns out to be proficient at cooking, and silently helps Clipper prepare meals. Connor is banned from doing anything more strenuous than polishing the silverware.

"I am sure I can fetch water," he says.

"Jamie'll kill me," Clipper replies. "Sorry, sir."

Connor is lucky that the people of the Homestead drop by every day- Prudence always stops by on Wednesdays and Saturdays with fresh meat and vegetables, while Ellen comes by every Thursday to show him the progress she's made with a coat he doesn't recall asking her for. Terence and Godfrey join forces with Doctor White and Lance, and they soon end up playing cards each Friday, and White also stops by on Mondays to talk with Jamie- they seem to be becoming fast friends.

The only bad thing-- well, it's not bad per se, simply worrying-- is that Lee is little more than a ghost. He dutifully takes care of the small chores Connor sets him (all things like reorganising books and dusting shelves), but he does not attempt to instigate conversation, and spends most of his time holed up in the library upstairs. Connor occasionally hears the muffled sound of a man quietly crying when he passes that room.

——

"Why are you so obedient?" Connor asks one evening, sauntering into the library and settling onto a couch. Clipper is re-organising the training room, and Dobby has stopped by, currently helping Jamie sort through the miscellaneous items in the attic. "Why have you not yet tried to run?"

Lee does not look up from his book. His voice is quiet, weary. Connor wonders if he feels anything else nowadays.

"There's no point in rebelling or attempting an escape. The Order is destroyed. You've caught me. If I tried to run you'd only catch me again. I've spent the last ten years looking over my shoulder, wondering if you were there. It was no way to live."

"Tell me about how you met my father," Connor says, before Lee can ask why he has not yet been killed. That is not a question Connor can answer.

"Why do you want to know?" There is no malice in Lee's voice, merely the exhaustion that constantly seems to seep from every single cell of his body.

"Curiosity. I never really got a chance to know Father, and I know you were close."

Lee finally glances at him, closing the book in his hands.

"It was in fifty four. Boston Harbour. Grand Master Birch had asked me to assist Master Kenway- soon to be Grand Master is he could establish an Order here- in his mission to find a precursor storage site, and if I did well enough I might be inducted into the order. I waited by the docks and when his ship arrived I did everything in my power to make the transition into Colonial life the easiest it could possibly be for a fine, upstanding gentleman like your father. I then helped him recruit Johnson, Hickey, Pitcairn and Church. I helped him murder Braddock and find your mother afterwards. For my efforts I was rewarded with the greatest position I could have hoped for: working at his side for the greater good."

Lee's eyes narrow and his lip curls, and Connor can hear the unspoken words. And you took that from me.

Connor wants to stay and ask about his mother, but he does not wish to upset Lee further. He leaves immediately, using the excuse that Clipper needs his help with cataloguing the armoury.

would love to see someone fill this!!

In Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter 10 - Trapped

“You betrayed us.”

Charles glared at Church. He’d planned against this. He’d planned...

Master Kenway snarled from where he was next to him.

“Our ideals, our Order, all we’ve been through...you betrayed us!”

“Grow up Haytham. We’re not children anymore, playing at ideals and orders.”

Charles glanced nervously at the bevy of guards surrounding them.

All of them were loyal to Church, and Charles wondered if they were the reason Church was still alive after he sent his men after the traitor. His agents had all failed to return, to a man, and Charles mourned their loss.

“What of our oaths? Our commitment?”

Charles had not been present the last time Master Kenway had confronted Church, and he had never seen his mentor so enraged.

Church snorted in contempt.

“Spoken like a child. I’ve grown past that Haytham. I’ve grown past you and your faithful little dog.” He glanced spitefully at Charles.

Master Kenway took a furious step forward, hesitating when 20 muskets suddenly trained on him.

Church chuckled.

“For all of your powers, your ‘special eyes,’ the training Reginald gave you, mere guns still give you pause.”

He looked fondly at the rifles surrounding them.

“And for all of your intellect, you failed to see the trap that I laid for you.”

“You knew that we would investigate why our messages were being waylaid, why the shipments that we worked to get disappeared.”

Church looked back at Master Kenway.

“Oh yes. You always had to have control. Over everything. And since you’ve decided to throw all our strength behind this foolish continental army of all things and deal with the Assassins, I knew that you couldn’t resist personally investigating.”

Church’s eyes narrowed.

“And if anyone’s the traitor, it’s the two of you, not I. Assassins, Grandmaster? Though I might have known you’d have a soft spot for your misbegotten son, of all things. But I expected better of Charles over there, what with his distaste of the Natives.”

Charles stiffened.

“I do whatever is best for the Order, and offering this alliance is in our best interest. Peace can be gotten no other way.”

Church sneered.

“Peace? Ill gains gotten off the backs and the hands of English labor, you mean. You know as well as I that the English treasury is depleted because of the war that the crown fought on the colonies’ behalf, to drive back the Natives. And that sorry, ungrateful lot has the gall to complain about the taxes levied to pay back that very war! Which they cried and begged for. And where are your Assassins? Nothing came of it! No answer in three months, that half-breed boy of yours never even had the decency to get back to you!”

“That is neither here nor now. That which is done is done and the continuation of this war does no good for anyone. If the crown wins, there can be no peace for anyone here, and you know it.”

Church looked away again, almost bored.

“What care have I for the colonials? Low society scoundrels who would thrive off of the wisdom and success of their betters.”

Master Kenway spat at him.

“To think that you would finally allow your greed for recognition and money drive you from reason, loyalty and order.”

Church looked amused at that.

“You merely lament that I am not the mindless devotee your dog over there is.”

Another baleful look at Charles.

“I have my own mind, and I have my own ambitions. And to my mind, the crown deserves my loyalty far more than these low-born colonials do. They have not class nor money nor society, and there is nothing for me here.”

Charles spoke up then, for the first time since their mission had gone disastrous.

“You sell your own brothers for your greed.”

Church looked again at him.

“You look surprised, dear brother. But was it not you who sent those agents to kill me more than a month ago?”

Charles pursed his lips and did not speak.

“Really, if anyone’s betrayed anyone, it was you first, Charles. You sent those men even before the communications and shipments went missing.”

Yes, Charles had. And if they had succeeded, then they wouldn’t be having this problem now.

“You were clearly plotting from even back then.”

“Clearly?” Church looked surprised. “I suppose I must credit you with more observational skills than I had expected.”

His knowledge of the future. But it still hadn’t been enough. This threat still existed.

Master Kenway glared at Church.

“Enough! This had gone far enough.”

Church looked back at Master Kenway and grimly nodded.

“Indeed. It has gone on enough. We are in agreement.”

The doctor then look at his men.

“Deal with them.”

And the gunmen trained their rifles and...

A sudden hiss.

Smoke filled the room.

Only one thought entered Charles’s mind.

Assassin!

Sure enough, he could just make out a shadowy form darting to and fro in the smoke, silently eliminating all 20 of the men who had been about to kill them.

Church cried out.

Charles coughed and looked blearily through the thick smoke.

Almost offhandedly, he wondered which one of the Assassins it was.

He had not heard back from Connor since he released him from prison, over three months ago, and he wondered what it meant that one of them would show up here and now.

If it meant that Connor had accepted his proposal or rejected it and decided to take the opportunity to kill them all.

Charles knew that he took a big risk in what he had done, and if he calculated incorrectly...

The shadowy form neared him, and a firm but strong arm wrapped about him, gently leading him away from the smoke.

He knew that white-clad arm.

“It was a close call there.”

Charles leant against that warm body, still feeling weak from the smoke. A hacking sound in front of him, and he looked to where Master Kenway lay in similar state, coughing out the last of the smoke bomb.

“I am surprised that the two of you would find yourselves in such peril. From one of your own, no less.”

The other white-clad arm gestured to the side. Charles followed that gesture and saw Church lying there, restrained and unconscious.

“Is he dead?” he managed to gasp.

“No. There are questions I need answered, about the missing supplies.”

Ah yes. Of course Connor would be interested in that.

“So you are here about the supplies?”

Charles wasn’t sure why he was feeling so disappointed. He’d hoped his plan would work, but, well...

He knew that Connor had no fondness for him or for the Order.

The arm about him tightened, then relaxed.

“No. I came to tell you, both of you, that the Brotherhood agrees to your alliance.”

jkasdsakcbkjakcahj

that's about as coherent as I could get after having finished this chapter. Sorry.

Good grief, who would have thought I'd find Connor wrapping his arm around Charles so arousing... Such a simple gesture too. I'm all on tenterhooks, anon, can barely wait for more. This fill screams with potential.

This is such an interesting approach to the whole situation. I'm intrigued, anon. Count me in, I'm definitely following this.

I'm with the other anon on this. Count me in as intriguied!

this is awesome so far, anon! i can't wait for the rest of it!

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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