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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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In Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter 12 - On a Journey

Connor fidgeted. He was not sure what possessed him to invite both his father and Lee along. It was true that he needed their services to call off the Templar guards on the island that Church had finally given up (and if the man spoke false, then his apprentices would see to it that there were consequences).

But really, he had initially planned on bringing only one of them, and one was certainly enough.

He looked up from the wheel to give directions to Faulkner and caught Lee staring at him again.

The Alpha looked away quickly enough, but Connor saw that strange look in his eyes, the one that was always present when Lee looked at Connor.

He was regretting bringing the man along.

In truth, he had not expected the man to come.

Lee had done his duty and secured the alliance. One would think that he would take any chance possible to not be stuck on a boat with such men as Connor and his crew. He had shown a remarkable distaste for anyone of a certain...class (and it made Connor feel sorry for Thomas Hickey, of all people), and Connor knew well his thoughts on Connor’s people.

Really, there was no reason for Lee to be on board. And that he chose to join them and spend the entire time staring at Connor...

Connor looked away in annoyance and felt that gaze fix itself on him again.

He grit his teeth.

Was Lee trying to unnerve him and get them all killed? Possibly marooned on these reefs that Connor was currently navigating between?

What was so fascinating about his person that Lee kept staring at him?

Connor idly wondered if Lee had never seen one of his people in nontraditional clothes before. Or perhaps he looked especially strange in such attire, having inherited various traits from both his mother and his father. No doubt, he looked a strange sight with his rather bizarre combination of features and in a captain’s uniform no less.

Suddenly, his ire with the man deflated. Lee would not be the first to look uncomprehendingly at Connor, after all. He knew full well that he was an oddity, of strange eyes, too-light and too-dark skin and a facial structure that was altogether too angular. Lee was not doing anything that anyone else had not done more than a dozen times before.

If it were only George’s gaze on him...

When George looked at him, his eyes were kind. As gentle as the Alpha’s gestures and words. He always respectful, no matter who he was talking to, even Connor, and Connor thought that his gaze might be one of a lover.

Or, that is what he thought. They had never spoken of it before, but their correspondence had gained a touch of playfulness lately. Almost intimacy.

And George always looked at him admiringly.

Connor imagined the commander near him, blue eyes softly gazing at him, and he shivered despite the heat of the tropics.

What would it be like, for George to be on his ship with him? Would he come and knock on Connor’s door at night? Seeking his advice on the war and strategy as he has often done in the past?

Would he approve of Connor’s captaincy? Of leading this crew of loyal Alphas about the Atlantic and defending against their enemies?

Would he look upon Connor’s uniform as an oddity or would he appreciate the goodwill and love that went into it, by the people who had supported Connor throughout his life?

Connor was not sure, but he could just imagine the commander standing on his deck, smiling at him and—

“Do you often steer with your eyes closed?”

Connor nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around and glared at his father, who had someone made his way on top of the deck without anyone alerting Connor.

He clenched his jaw.

His father had been no easier to deal with, full of insults and doubt about his handling of his own ship.

“I was blinking.”

A smirk. “You were daydreaming.”

Connor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he contemplated tossing his father overboard.

While Lee probably would not be so happy if he did, he was certain that his crew would support his decision. They could even hold Lee back for him.

“Is there a reason you are here and not in your cabin where you said you’d stay?”

He had banished his father there after five hours of non-stop criticisms.

“Can not a man visit his son?”

Not if he chose to be a complete arse about it.

“I was given to understand that you feared my captaining the ship. The cabin seems a great place for you to be away from ‘such a spectacle,’ as you put it.”

Another smirk.

“Nonsense. A bit of constructive feedback will only do you good.”

Connor grimaced.

He hoped his father was not going to stay on deck for long. He was not sure he could take another 5 hours of ‘constructive feedback.’

“Sir!”

Lee had walked up behind them.

“I believe your son may have a point. Distracting him seems unwise at this stage—” he gestured to the deadly reefs along each side “—and should perhaps be left to later.”

Connor gaped at the man.

Did the man just...

His father smirked again (really, what was so funny) and nodded.

“Of course, Charles, of course. You are quite right. It would be dangerous to distract the boy now while we are surrounded by reefs.”

Perhaps Connor misjudged Lee. Perhaps he had been too harsh on them both. After all, if they really were going to finally leave him in peace—

“And as my successor, I rely on you to protect him from distraction.”

Spirits above, what?

Connor saw Lee light up, inexplicably happy.

He would have to deal with the unnerving and vaguely uncomfortable stares for another couple of hours? Until they passed the reef?

Connor was really regretting bringing them along.

OMG LOL! Poor Connor, bet he wishes he could tie them both to the anchor and throw them overboard, and of course I bet Lee is salivating over Captain Connor - because who wouldn't? I especially love Haytham teasing his son (really no daydreaming while captaining a vessel, Connor) and of course helping Lee score some Connor points. Think Connor also is really curious about Lee's sudden shift in personality.

Yeah, Connor is all kinds of amazing even as a little kid - but here he's had to grow up pretty fast.

Heh, the glowing eyes are definetly a clue, and there will be more hints in the next chapter. May not be able to update Honeymoon today, this multi one-shot series is pretty much possessing my hands right now.

No problem. :D It's a delish series (though I am also pretty curious as to what Haytham is doing back in Honeymoon...)!

He's kind of like Gavroche in Les Mis here. Street kid with a heart of gold nonetheless.

Connor's getting there. He's giving Charles lee the benefit of the doubt, but he's not sure what to make of it. It'll take more drastic measures before Connor's well and truly intrigued by the man.

And yes, Charles is altogether too happy to be near Connor and stare at him dreamily in his captain's outfit. Hehehe.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/807666/chapters/1536911

Ziio had never truly felt helpless today, or felt the all-encompassing rage and sorrow that drove people to kill out of hatred and revenge rather than necessity. Now she stands in front of her ruined home as her tribe shuffles back to the burnt remnants of their village and looking for missing family members, and dimly thinks she might understand the madness borne of grief. The longhouses that were meant to shelter and protect her and her people will have to serve as a trap and a grave for their dead until the wounded are attended to. Her duty to her people demands that she go and tend to the wounded and comfort those who, like her, have lost something (everything) in the fire. But for once her duty is ignored-her legs will not move, her stinging eyes drawn not to her people but the ruins that will later reveal a too-small body, brittle and burnt. There is an emptiness in Ziio now, a desperately confused denial that threatens to bubble out of her frozen lips or a scream of rage and sorrow and loss.
She cannot move the wreck to hold her son’s brittle body, unable to move the same way she had been unable to move when she had been pinned by Charles Lee, spitting vitriolic demands and threats of death. Ziio wonders briefly if things would have changed if she had died-would Ratohnhake:ton be dead still, or would the world have taken her life in exchange for his.
Ziio tries to recall the last words he had spoken to her, but can only recall her son’s screams as her cousin had pried her away from the beam pinning Ratohnhake:ton. If only she had been stronger or faster, perhaps then her only child would not have died in pain and alone, burnt alive by his father’s subordinates. If only she had not been knocked unconscious by Charles Lee, she would have spotted the smoke sooner, gone back and saved her son. Is this the order and justice Haytham had preached about? Peace built on the burnt bodies of children? Ziio stands surrounded by the ashes of all she had loved and lived for, and something dies within her, leaving a hole that feels like her son’s smile. In the ruins and wreckage something precious (the only precious thing) leaves both her and the world, and something else is born, as hot and deadly as the flames.
Ziio will find the murderers, burn the Templars as the houses had burnt, as her baby had burnt, as she is burning. It is not a promise or a vow she makes, but a truth, as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun. Charles Lee, Ziio thinks and her nails dig into her palms until her knuckles turn white and blood wells to drip and mix with the mud. Nobody will stop her vengeance, not the laws and “justice” of the white man or Haytham, should he ever show his lying face to her again.
When she had woken this morning, with Ratohnhake:ton snuffling sleepy sighs into her side, she had been at peace, happy and loved. Ziio had been a mother. She had helped another child be born into her tribe, had helped build a longhouse.
Tomorrow, when Ziio wakes, she will wake up alone. She will collect the bodies of her dead, conduct last rites for her son and the other members of her tribe. She will help rebuild houses, comfort a shattered community, and pick up the pieces of a once peaceful life.
In a few months, Ziio will leave her tribe to seek out an old friend with skin darker than hers and learn the ways of an Assassin. In a few years, she will begin her vengeance and hunt down those who attacked her people, meet Haytham again. Now, as the sun sets, Ziio lies her exhausted body down to sleep an uneasy, painful sleep. And she hates.

---
Whoops that was… not quite what the OP asked for huh (sorry). I was going to continue, but it seemed like it was better to just stop there… As for why Ziio met Charles instead of Connor, I just made it so she went out to look for Connor and stumbled across the Templar party, who were preoccupied with her and hence didn’t find Connor, who went home after they were finished playing games.

Captain Connor in his beautiful outfit, mmmm... Lovely sight, I can only envy Charles here, though the man is probably facing his own difficulties at the moment. Charles, you bastard, you gotta make it this time, I'm putting my trust in you.

Very curious... And did Haytham just give Charles his approval to court his son?

In his own Haythamish way. :D He's privy to almost everything.

Charles is such a rascal. :D Driving Connor bonkers of course, but actually faring better than Haytham is right now.

A/N: Part 6 of the First Word one-shot series. Sorry for the mistakes, speed writing again.

Ratonhnhaké:ton could not help but stare in wonder at the chattering and beer-guzzling patrons of the Green Dragon. There were Redcoat soldiers, citizens of different social classes, travelers from different countries - all under one roof. From his view on the second floor, he could peer over the railing and watched the mix crowds of people filing in and out of the busy coffee house.

His sensitive ears were able to pick up the bits and pieces of several conversations all at once. Some of them in languages that he knew rather well such as French and Spanish. There were others in different tongues that seemed vaguely familiar, phrases he recognized from his wandering about in different neighborhoods in the city.

The curious Omega couldn't help but incline his head forward to listen to a couple of British officers discussing the strengths and weaknesses of different types of flintlocks...

"Child, sit still!" Doctor Church reprimanded as he continued to treat the injuries on the orphan's legs under Mister William Johnson's request (and Mister Lee's coins). He mumbled a quick apology and did what he was told, but his eyes still wandered about to avoid the table's other occupants stares.

His anger towards Charles Lee had simmered down after the man had dragged him here to get his wounds treated and paid for his meal as his way of showing gratitude for saving his dog. Spado was certainly grateful. The pup had settled upon Ratonhnhaké:ton's lap, and was enjoying the petting and scratches attention (while his master poorly hid his disapproval). However, the orphan was still far from comfortable with the way Mister Lee and Mister Johnson were both looking at him.

Charles Lee hadn't spoken a word to him after they settled at their table, but Mister Johnson had a seemingly endless list of question regarding Ratonhnhaké:ton's people, even speaking in their language and pronouncing the young Mohawk's name correctly on the first try. Much to the Ratonhnhaké:ton's confusion and horror, he had a difficult time responding; having been used to talking and thinking in English for many years.

At first the young native had been touched by the colonist's concern and sympathy for what had happened to his village. But it quickly turned to suspicion as Mister Johnson asked questions regarding the Elders and locations he was not aware of. The interview finally stopped when Ratonhnhaké:ton admitted he had no answers for the man. He had not seen the elders at the slave market, possibly because they were too old to sell, they might have been killed during the attack. The boy also had no knowledge of special land mark sites, as he was never allowed to wander too far away from the village.

At least Mister Hickey (whom upon Ratonhnhaké:ton was still cross with for tripping him) and Mister Pitcairn paid him no heed. Both of them seemed too interested in downing their tankards of beer. Mister Hickey, especially had an unquenchable thirst for alcohol and adult Omegas. The Alpha would even ask them really disgusting questions, like details about their heat... and wasn't that too personal? The orphan could not understand why they enjoyed such attention of being fondled and groped in public.

It reminded Ratonhnhaké:ton too much of those horrid nights of being trapped in a tangle of limbs. He shuddered and paled at the memory of his jailors would put their hands and mouths on various places of body. A lot of times they used to force his mouth open and...

"Wot's wrong wit ya, runt?" he heard Mister Hickey ask. "Ya gonna be sick?"

By the time Doctor Church finished bandaging his scraped knees, Ratonhnhaké:ton shifted in his seat and faced away from Mister Hickey, who only scoffed at him and went back to suckling an Omega's neck. Disgusting. The others ignored both their lecherous acquaintance and the little charity case who sat facing away from them, and started their own conversation.

Cradling a mug of delicious hot cocoa in his hands, he stared down at the unsuspecting crowds once again. There was a couple sitting by the fireplace immediately caught his attention. Both of them were men, an Alpha and the other an Omega, who, by the look of his round belly, was expecting.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was intrigued. He had never seen a pregnant male before. It was certainly not unheard of. Noah, told him that his mother had been a man, but had died giving birth to him. Apparently, birthing a child was dangerous - and more so for a man because there bodies were different than a woman's. He could not help but feel concern and pity for the older Omega.

Would he die giving birth like Noah's mother?

What if the child died?

Wasn't he scared?

No, the orphan immediately concluded as he watched expecting mother tenderly stroke his belly with a look of content upon his handsome face. The Omega looked very brave and strong, as he reached out and tugged on his mate's arm. The Alpha smiled back, dropping to his knees and gently laid his head upon that swollen belly.

Why was he doing that? Ratonhnhaké:ton wondered curiously. Was he listening to the baby move? Was that even possible?

Whatever was happening in the Omega's stomach, immediately made both of them laugh in pure joy. Other patrons of the coffee house turned and smiled in their direction. The couple looked so very happy... He suddenly wished he could be down there with them.

No that wasn't true. It was their happiness, not his. But a feeling that might have been envy crept into his heart. What he has always wanted... what the Omega orphan desired and longed for these dark and lonely years, was to have a family of his own.

A complete family.

He definitely wanted a father - a strong Alpha who would teach him things that fathers normally taught their sons; however, he didn't want to call another person 'mother,' because no one could replace Ista. But Ratonhnhaké:ton was not stupid. He knew that with all the orphans in the city - that were Alphas and were white - he would never be adopted. But maybe... when he grew older, maybe he could be like that older Omega.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping Spado, the young boy placed his hands upon his own belly - which was full for once, with lots of bread, soup, and cocoa - and tried to imagine what would it be like carrying a child in there.

Wasn't it hard?

Wasn't it frightening?

No, the older Omega was definitely not scared as his strong and devoted mate helped pull him to his feet. The younger Omega titled his head curiously on how their arms locked in close intimacy as they left the coffee house together.

What would it feel like to the bask in the warmth of an Alpha's devotion?

What would it feel like to be loved?

Ratonhnhaké:ton silently pondered these questions to himself, not noticing that the sixth member of Charles Lee's group had finally arrived.

I hate writing chapters where not very much happens. I'm sorry this was so late, but now that this is out of the way, the rest of the story should be written on a much better schedule. In case any of you were wondering, at the moment it looks like this will stretch to around twenty five or thirty chapters.

There was another small piece of cloth in a bush not more than thirty metres from the first. Ratonhnhaké:ton observed their surroundings carefully. Even though dawn was breaking, he could not see any more pieces of cloth. Why were there so few markers?

All right, it would be daft to have a trail leading straight to the camp. Any enemies that had seen the clues would be able to find them. So… the second cloth was a clue as to the direction the camp was in? Yes, that seemed right.

"Kanen’tó:kon, this way," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, pointing. Kanen’tó:kon nodded, and followed him southward. Presently, they came across a large hill in the thicker parts of the forest, one side of which was a small cliff. There were several horses munching on grass before the cliff, which had a lot of scrubby greenery growing on it, and would have seemed completely inconspicuous if not for the fact the horses were still saddled.

"I don't think this is the place." Kanen’tó:kon said. "The horses probably ran from a farm."

Ratonhnhaké:ton patted and pushed at the plants growing over the earth, until he came to a place his hand went straight through. A hidden cave.

"They must be here," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, pushing the leaves aside. The entrance was narrow enough that it could be more or less hidden by plants, but it was large enough that even a man as bulky and tall as Ratonhnhaké:ton could pass through without problems. He ducked through the greenery, and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Kanen’tó:kon followed him.

Like the cave Kanen’tó:kon had been sheltering in, this cave also seemed to stretch for quite some distance, around a corner if he wasn't imagining the faint firelight painting one wall.

"Come on," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, and started walking. After a moment, he heard Kanen’tó:kon's footsteps behind him.

The cave, as Ratonhnhaké:ton had thought, did open into a cavern, this one smaller than the one Kanen’tó:kon had been resting in. A very small fire burned in the centre, and the cave continued on through the opposite wall. Perhaps this had been some sort of secret passage, or a smuggling tunnel.

Two men lay curled next to the fire, a woman- Dobby- poking at the embers with a weary expression.

"There you are, Connor. We were wondering when you'd turn up," she said, without looking up. Ratonhnhaké:ton had not been as silent as he'd thought, then. The men sleeping by the fire- Stephane and Duncan- began to stir.

"I fell in a river," he replied lamely, in English. "This is Kanen’tó:kon. He is from my village."

Dobby turned her head, and her brow furrowed.

"Are you sure?"

"We have been best friends since childhood. He would never betray me."

Dobby nodded, though she looked unconvinced. She looked harder at the two of them, and frowned.

"Where's Clipper?"

"I do not know," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, honestly. "We stopped on cliffs overlooking a river and started planning how to get here, but Charles Lee appeared and I… I fell in the river."

"Charles Lee?" Duncan sat up, suddenly wide awake. Stephane and Dobby seemed just as shocked and anxious.

"You do not think that Clipper was captured, do you?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked, meekly. He knew the answer.

"If Kenway has him…" Stephane muttered.

"You think my father would harm him?" Ratonhnhaké:ton shut his eyes, trying to sort his muddled thoughts out. Even if his father and his friends had opposing ideologies, surely they could not be so different that violence could be provoked?

"Or worse," Duncan said, darkly. "We need to get to Achilles, form a plan of attack."

"Attack?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked, alarmed. "Would it not be simpler for me to simply ask Father to spare him?"

"No, we can't lose you again," Dobby said, urgently. "You have to see Achilles first. He's practically withering away from grief. That's why Jamie's not here, you see."

"Clipper won't be killed right away," Stephane interjected. "It's more likely that your father and the others will attempt to use him to manipulate us all."

"All the more reason to go to Achilles, then," Duncan snapped. "Jacob will have just gotten back, we can plan then."

"Plan what? A fight? We can reason with the Templars!" Ratonhnhaké:ton argued.

"We can decide what to do when we get to Davenport," Dobby said, with an air of finality. "Connor's right, we probably won't need to fight at all."

"Fine," Stephane said. Duncan nodded, and Ratonhnhaké:ton, feeling outnumbered, nodded too. He could always leave and warn Haytham if the plans turned into something sinister, and he did want to meet Achilles.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, you did not mention any 'Templars' when we were talking earlier," Kanen’tó:kon said, slowly, in halting English. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"Templars?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked. True, the word did give him a bad feeling, images of death and destruction, but he didn't remember bringing it up in conversation. "I do not recall--"

"You said it," Duncan frowned, deep in thought. "Your friend is right, you did say 'Templars'."

"I did?" Ratonhnhaké:ton rubbed his eyes tiredly. "What is a Templar, anyway?"

"How can you not…?" Stephane began, utterly bewildered. His face brightened only moments after. "Oh, I see. Your memory is trying to come back. Jamie said it might be fragmented."

"What?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked. He was tired, and whatever was going on simply didn't make any sense. He wished that they would just get on with whatever it was that had been agreed upon.

"Tell me about the Assassins, Connor," Duncan said, seriously. "That symbol Jamie gave you. What can you remember?"

"I am not sure…" Ratonhnhaké:ton muttered. "The symbol stands for freedom. Not simply from oppressors, but… Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Are assassins not killers for hire? Do I know any?"

Dobby rubbed a thumb over her lips, thinking hard.

"You remember bits, but they're not fitted together…"

"We can work with that," Stephane murmured. "Connor, we will explain everything we can on the way to Davenport. Kan… Kannon…"

"Kanen’tó:kon," Kanen’tó:kon supplied, looking disgruntled. "Kanen if you really cannot pronounce it."

"Kanen," Stephane continued, clearly grateful. "You can come too if you want. I daresay we could use an extra pair of hands."

Kanen’tó:kon nodded.

"It has been a long time since I last spoke with Achilles," he said.

"Good," Duncan said. "We only have two horses between five people, though."

"I could borrow one from Valley Forge," Ratonhnhaké:ton offered. "I am told the commanding officers there hold me in high esteem."

"They do," Dobby said, after a moment. "One of us ought to come with you, though. The others could wait by a nearby farmhouse."

"If you went with me, we could probably get another horse and some supplies," Ratonhnhaké:ton said.

"I doubt it," Duncan shook his head. "The supplies going to Valley Forge have been scarce lately. It's thought to be some sort of sabotage, but neither the army nor we have enough resources spare to investigate."

"But we could still get a second horse," Stephane said. "They'd be grateful for one less mouth to feed, I should think. Dobby, the farmhouse you're talking about is the one to the north, yes?"

Dobby nodded.

"We'll meet you there in an hour," she said. "Come on, Connor."

Ratonhnhaké:ton followed her from the cave, giving Kanen’tó:kon a nod to verify that yes, trusting these people would be in their best interest for now. He hoped that after all this trouble things would finally be made clear to him.

Oh ho ho! So Haytham arrives. I wonder if he'll recognize Ziio in Connor and recognize his son? :D

Poor Connor, though. To think that the slavemasters tried to force him when he's so young...monsters really.

In Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter 13 - First Mate

Charles stared. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was not gentlemanly of him. But he could not help it.

The half-Native leaned back from where he was still guiding the wheel, straining to catch sight of something on one of the islands that they had just passed. The fitting trousers and shirt stretched over his lithe body, accentuating every elegant line of his body and thighs, and it was all Charles could do not to march over, bend him over the wheel and have his way with him.

He’d known what his lovely wife looked like when he wore his captain’s uniform. He remembered how succulent Connor looked in those whites, blues and tans, the colors complimenting his olive skin and the cut revealing in all the right places. And he’d prepared himself for that sight of him again.

The wind blew that tricorn hat off of Connor’s head, and the fabric curved around his shapely buttocks as he promptly bent down to pick it up.

Dear lord...

As if Connor felt his gaze, those amber-brown eyes glanced suspiciously at him, and he quickly looked away, pretending to be staring out at sea instead.

Either his memory had failed or he had not prepared enough, because he just couldn’t seem to stop ogling his bride-to-be no matter what he did.

And Connor did not look pleased those first few times he had caught him.

A hand tapped his shoulder, and Charles turned to find himself facing Connor’s first mate, Robert Faulkner.

So this was Biddle’s infamous rival back in the day. The man certainly didn’t seem like much.

“Yes?” Charles began.

Faulkner frowned at him then nodded at the direction Connor was in.

“You want to bed our captain.”

Charles gaped.

The man moved into his space and, for all that he was decrepit looking and old, glared menacingly at him.

“You best not be getting any ideas about him. Omega he may be, but he’s strong and wily enough to take any Alpha and win.”

Except when his loved ones were held captive. He was unsurprisingly weak when it came to his friends and family. That was how he ended up in Charles grasp in that alternate future.

Charles shook his head, clearing his mind of the dark thoughts.

“You mistake me,” he replied simply, already turning away.

Surely, if Connor’s first mate was here bothering him, then Connor must have turned his attention back to steering and commanding the ship. Surely he could turn his attention back to him again.

Charles made to look at Connor again before he felt hands seize his lapels of his coat and thrust him against the railing of the ship.

Charles’s hands immediately went to grasp the railing, and he took a large gulp as he saw the waves crashing against the hull of the ship below him. It was a very steep drop into what was likely some very dangerous reefs.

He turned back to Faulkner.

“Listen, Templar.”

Charles started. Was the man an Assassin? Why had his agents never uncovered this?

“Achilles told me all about you and your Order and what you did to him 12 years ago.

Not an Assassin then. Just a man fed who knew what wild stories.

“You’re a murderous, unreasonable lot, and the lives of people like Achilles and Connor don’t mean much to you. I won’t let you harm our captain.”

Charles bristled.

The man had no right to make assumptions about his intentions for Connor. No right at all.

Connor was, Connor was...

Connor was one of the essential pieces of Charles’s future, of his ability to be happy. Of Master Kenway’s ability to be happy.

To suggest that Charles would do anything to harm Master Kenway’s son, the wife he’d loved and mourned and couldn’t let go, no matter how much his subjects plead with him to remarry...

It was beyond ludicrous. And very presumptuous for such a man as the one who stood before Charles.

He pushed back at the man and watched with satisfaction as the decrepit old fool toppled over.

“What I seek from Connor is no matter of yours,” he hissed. “You would do well to keep to your own business.”

Faulkner glared venomously at him.

“I made an oath to Achilles to look after Connor. He’s my captain and my charge, though God knows the Omega can attract his fair share of the wrong kind of attention.”

Charles was momentarily distracted by this.

Wrong kind of attention?

He glanced at Connor, a lovely vision against the backdrop of the sea, and understood.

It was no surprise that his wife would attract unwanted attention.

“And he can deal with all of them, but you’re the colleague of the man who sired him. I’ll not let you weave your web around him. Not on my watch.”

Charles grit his teeth. Of all the troublesome fools...

He leaned close to the man, even though he could clearly smell the man’s breath.

Privately, Charles wondered what it was about sailors that led to poor hygiene. The lack of bathing he could understand, but there was no excuse for one’s breath smiling like whiskey and rum first.

“I have no plans to harm Connor. Now leave me be!”

Faulkner didn’t go away.

“And what about bedding him?”

Charles snarled at him.

“If I want to bed that delectable Omega then know that you are hardly going to stop me.”

Faulkner glared at him again before looking archly over to the side. Charles followed his gaze to the rough and tumble Alpha crew that kept the ship running.

“You should know that each one of Connor’s crew adores his young captain and would die to see him safe.”

The look in the old man’s eyes asked Charles if he was willing to go against these men just to have Connor. If he was suicidal enough to try when, with one word, Faulkner would have them all at Charles’s throat for daring to have designs on their captain.

Charles didn’t even need to think about it.

“I would go through much more than that for him.”

“For who?”

Both Charles and Faulkner whirled around to see none other than Connor himself staring at them.

He was clearly unimpressed, and only one word franticly darted through Charles’s panicking mind.

Bugger.

Fantastic! In this part... Altair is on the struggle-bus. uvu;;
--

Malik disappears to another back room, and Altair is left alone in the starlight streaming from the lattice. There are no other brothers spending the night in the Bureau tonight, and a part of Altair is glad for it--his outburst had been loud, almost foolish, and verging on panic, none of which were good examples for the Assassin's that used to be of lower rank than him.

(Though, granted, now they're his rank or higher. But that's another matter entirely.)

And now, out of the sight of everyone else, he has leave to practice and learn his limits. He resists the urge to scowl or bite his lip, instead standing and rolling his shoulders, easing the tightness from several days of bedrest out of the muscles, stretches from head to toe, back, legs, arms, reaches for his toes. At every movement of his back, his... wings.... flutter and flare, in movements that feel as easy as swinging his arms and yet foreign at the same time. Everything is lighter--from the swing of his arms, to the pull of gravity when he jumps; Malik was likely right about his bones. That would cause problems of its own, to be dealt with later, but first things first...

Altair takes a bracing breath and spreads both wings wide, turns his head and body to examine them in the moonlight falling from the lattice above; after a moment's hesitation, he touches them, runs his fingers through the feathers down to the skin and muscle and bone below, reaches around to run the tips of his fingers over the junction of wing-base to his back. It feels strange, unfamiliar, and yet perfect, and Altair scowls, before realizing that they're trembling where they're spread, too weak to be held outspread for too long.

He furls them, grumbling mentally, and feels new muscles twinge and quiver underneath the skin of his back, before shaking his head.

This will.... require work.

--

Sunrise finds Altair still shirtless in the middle of the courtyard, but with the addition of his hidden blade and his sword; his throwing knives are discarded in their sheaths (with the addition of a few more punctures in the tapestries and wooden beams of the Bureau), the Assassin feinting and attacking at invisible enemies, brow furrowed in concentration. He's trying to acclimate himself to the weight of steel again, the way his wings pull at the air and resist forward lunges and swings that turn the body unless they're folded tightly to his back; at some point, Malik comes out into the courtyard, glares at the holes, his knives, and Altair, before throwing his hand up in the air and retreating back into the inner room, grumbling to himself about destructive, self-serving fools.

Altair practices until his arms shake, then during his rest, opens and closes his wings, attempting to strengthen the muscles in his back; whenever he hears the footfalls of a brother overhead, he retreats back into the room he'd recovered in, hiding from their eyes instinctively. There's no question now that this is the work of the Apple, but that's also no reason to spread the word out for anyone to hear--as stoic as the Order is supposed to be, the brothers certainly gossip like women.

(Altair tries to not think about what would happen if he cannot complete his mission to kill de Sable, for Al Mualim has no-doubt heard about his... transformation by this point. He'd apparently made quite the spectacle, and there was no way Malik could have shut the mouths of every Assassin that had passed through the Bureau at that time.)

(Another part of him even wonders if he can even call them brothers anymore; is he even human now? He has the wings and voice and hollow bones of a bird, for all that he's mostly the form of a man, and with the Eagle's Vision, and the way he fights, Altair wonders in the back of his head if he's truly become the demon that the rumors call him.)

(That thought is enough to make him tear at his feathers until he bleeds, scatter down and secondaries across the cushions and rage silently, cursing at the world for it's ill-fortune; it seems to be laughing at him: first Kadar and Malik's friendship, next his rank, then his pride, and now his humanity and abilities. He wonders if there will be anything left of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad by the end of this, or if he'll become as wild as the eagles that nest atop the highest towers and have to be killed the same as any animal gone mad.)

He practices with blades until he cannot, and then with his (accursed)weak wings until he cannot, and eats when Malik storms over and shoves food at him, and then goes back to practice--he refuses to be useless. He refuses to fail.

He cannot fail now. There's too much to do still for him to.

Goddamn, I love this fill so much. Heart-breaking, really, especially knowing the outcome of all this, but I'm still eager to read more...

LOLOLOL Oh Charles, you're so transparent! Love how Faulkner is ready to cock-block him after Haytham gives him the green light. Kind of wondering, what became of the Aquila and her crew in the alternate timeline?

Yeah the slavemasters were pretty inhuman, training Connor at a young age to be a breeder for them. Luckily, he escaped.

Thanks anon, I'm glad you're enjoying the angst fest :)

I imagine they came back to find their home in Templar control, their captain dead and gone. They would've gone back to sea and become pirates to fight against the men who caused Connor's death. So it would have continued until Biddle got the best of them and sunk the Aquila. Faulkner would probably have managed to find safe harbor again, but he would've fallen back into drink, having lost everything.

//shudders//

I do hope they get their comeuppance at some point. Maybe Templar! Connor recognizes them and 'arranges' for them to have an accident. :D

I can't but love a protective Faulkner. I wonder if he's simply good at sensing these things or if Charles was pretty damn obvious and Connor was just oblivious as always hahahaha

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

In Pursuit of Happiness 12

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One-shot: Heart's Desire

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In Pursuit of Happiness 13

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