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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//bounces//

Wow, I did not expect Kanen to make an appearance! How awesome that Doctor White knows them both! And how sad that one kills the other. ): I have to wonder if Kanen brings Connor to Doctor White for the last rites. I can't imagine him leaving his old childhood friend dead on the ground. //sniffs//

And those pics are awesome! You must let me know how you manage to find such yummy pics...

Hehehe. :D I'm glad you like. Charles will get some...rather interesting...learning experiences.

AN: Sorry for the super late update, life got in the way. But I’m back so yeah.

6th of March, 1756

I am more than ready for my child to enter the world.

This pregnancy has been a knowledgeable experience, but one I do not wish to repeat any time soon. Some of the more mundane tasks have become like chores to me. My breasts have become rather tender as of late, sore and leaky with what I can only guess is milk. They’ve also swelled to at least twice their normal size; a horrid thing indeed.

My lower back feels as if a horse has kicked it and it won’t stop. Walking has become a somewhat tiring exercise that I only do if needed and I can no longer see or reach my feet. I’ve forgone wearing multiple layers of clothes, for they can no longer hide my bulging belly. Around my sixth month my tailor began making these wonderful dresses for me. They are very comfortable dresses, loose-fitting and fashionable. As wonderful as they are, I am growing tired of them as much as I am with the heavy weight in my stomach.

I would just like to fit into my old clothes once again. Is that too much to ask?

As February faded into March, Heather had entered her ninth month and she was starting to become a bit hostile. Some of the smallest things would send her into a flurry of angry curses and violent tantrums. Her men were growing anxious, because whatever they would say to her always had some kind of emotional effect on her. (Hickey had learned the hard way when he'd commented on her leaking breasts).

It was as if the child did not want to come out of her. Over the past month, it had shifted downward and rolled along her pelvis, something that made her very uncomfortable. But the child had a favorite spot it would seem, a spot that was nestled just above Heather's bladder. It was this spot that the child chose to rest in at night when Heather laid down for bed, dropping all of its weight against the sensitive muscle. This resulted in Heather having to relieve herself multiple times per night and keeping her restless in the day.

She'd spoken to her physician but he'd told her that the child would come when it was ready and that there was no need to induce labor. He did recommend her to go on walks, to relieve some of the pressure in her pelvis and help the child settle into a good birthing position.

So heeding her doctor's advice, Heather began taking walks during the evening around her New York estate. Charles would accompany her on every walk, to make sure nothing happened. She was grateful for the company.

"What do you plan on naming the child, Madam Kenway?" Charles had asked. They were on one of the evening strolls, with Charles leading the way.

Heather rubbed her belly with one hand through her jacket, her other arm wrapped around Charles'. "I do not know. I suppose it will depend on the gender." She said as she waddled along beside him.

"Do you have any names in mind, then?"

"If it is a girl, then probably Abigail, Clara or Elizabeth; a boy, James, or Henry, maybe Edward, after my father."

Charles hummed but said nothing else. They continued their walk in blissful silence.

"Are you nervous?" Charles' quiet voice broke up the silence.

"About what?" She asked.

He shifted the arm in her grasp awkwardly. “I've personally never seen a woman give birth before, but I have heard that it is not a pleasant experience."
She let out a short chuckle, rubbing her belly slower. “I should hope not. I will be pushing a small person out of my nether regions, and nothing about that screams 'comfortable'".

He released a small sigh. "Madam Kenway---"

"Don’t worry about me Charles; I'm not nervous, I'm anxious. I'd rather much get it over with already."

“And when it happens, I’ll be right beside you madam.”

Again she laughed, confusing the man at her side. “It’s only childbirth Charles, I’m sure I can handle it.” She gave him a small smile, to which he returned. “But I am thankful for the support.”

And she was, really.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She shouldn’t have been out and she knew it.

Heather needed to run some errands. Since her men were busy, she decided to run them herself. The chill of winter was starting to melt away to make room for springtime rain and warmer temperatures. It was early morning and the streets of New York weren’t as packed as they were in the afternoon. Heather took this opportunity to head to a general store.

As soon as she found out that she was with child, she began to stock up on baby supplies, such as clothes and nappies and foods. Her men had helped, but mostly everything was what she bought. She needed more nappies and the general store that was nearest to her estate had none, so she had to hightail it across the city towards the other one. Once she reached the store, she’d realized that walking across the city was a bad idea.

She needed to catch her breath once she made it to the store, for the walk had her more winded than if she’d ran across the rooftops. Her swollen ankles made her legs wobbly and her sore back made her womb feel heavier. Her breasts were the only thing that weren’t bothering her but she knew that would cease to be once everything else stopped hurting. She shuffled inside to take a breather.

“I’m glad to see you’ve stopped by to see me.”

Heather turned in her seat only to see Benjamin Franklin standing behind her, a quiet smile on his face. He held a book in one hand and his bifocals in the other. “I wasn’t sure you would return, not after that last conversation that we held.”

“It was… an interesting one, to say the least, but not overtly offensive to me, Benjamin.”

He gave a short chuckle, “That’s what I like to hear.” Placing his bifocals back on, he took in the sight of Heather, taking a seat next to her. “Miss Kenway, might I ask what a woman in your condition is doing out and about?”

Her hand unconsciously settled on her belly. “I need supplies.”

“Surely there is a general store closer to your home?”

“It doesn’t have what I need.”

He chuckled again. “You are a brave one. For a woman who is so heavy with child, the walk here must have been treacherous.”

She stood and headed towards the counter. “You’ve no idea.”

“That I don’t.” He stood as well, heading towards the door. “Meet me outside once you’ve acquired your goods. Carrying those plus the child must not be good for your body, so I will arrange a ride back for you; think of it as a payback for collecting my almanac pages.”

Thank the lord for inventors.

Ziio stopped midway up the hill and placed her hands upon her knees. Despite herself, she felt a small surge of embarrassment. She'd once been so strong, energetic. She could race any man, climb every tree. That was before Haytham's child weighed down her belly. She'd been so, so careful and forced herself to ease up on her constant activity. And now, her son was weighing down her back.

Clan mother had told her the child was unusually big, a sign of his strength. It didn't feel like so much of a blessing right now. A soft gurgle came from behind her ear. She wondered for a moment if the baby was laughing or encouraging her. Huffing, she pushed herself off her knees and continued the trek.

The house came into view just over the horizon. The door swung open before Ziio had even had the chance to knock. She wondered how long Achilles had been watching her. She wondered if he'd spent the past year expectantly watching the dirt path and felt guilt knot in the pit of her stomach. Achilles was smiling lightly, and the warm familiarity between them put her nerves at ease somewhat.

She expected some sort of wisecrack as greeting, but the man stayed silent and only widened the door further.

Ziio hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

"It is nice to see a friendly face after so long, Ziio."

The foreign guilt in her stomach returned and Ziio shifted uncomfortably. Apologetic did not suit her at all.

"A child?" The words rushed out all in one breath and Ziio nearly cringed at the emotion hidden just beneath. Achilles shut his mouth for a second and when he spoke again, his voice was measured, steady. "I believe congratulations are in order, my friend." His cracked palm met her shoulder, and she did not shrug it off.

"I imagined you must have been very busy for such a long time to go between your visits but this was not what I had in mind." He smiled again, showing his white teeth this time, and Ziio could not help mirroring his expression.

"What is his name?"

"Ratohnhnaketon"

The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. Yet another name he'd have to invent a nickname for.

She brought her hands behind her back and began to tug at the ties keeping the cradleboard on her back.

She watched the man from the corner of her eye and saw that his gaze had landed on the child, his face lost in some nostalgic fog. His skin was ashy. When was the last time he'd left the house outside of pure necessity?

Noticing her gaze, Achilles eyes snapped away from the child. Fearing he'd been rude, he gestured towards the cradleboard with his hand. "Oh. May I?"

Ziio nodded and Achilles began to undo the laces around her shoulders. The weight of the board was gone right after and she stretched out her arms and shoulders in relief.

She felt like tossing a joke in his direction, but the poor man's spirits had plummeted after the fever caught up with his family. It had been many, many, months since she'd seen him and it seemed that his mood had only improved to the point where he was willing to leave his room.

Her heart panged with guilt, but she brushed it off and craned her neck around, cracking it. Guilt wouldn't do either of them any good.

Ziio felt a twist in her heart. Achilles was cradling her child and gazing upon the baby's face with such tenderness it could break her heart. Yet he seemed to be somewhere else, looking at someone else's face.

"Your child has very beautiful eyes, Ziio. Just like yours." His voice came out just above a whisper. He didn't look away from Ratonhnhaketon's face.

"Why don't we sit down? You must be tired." He began walking towards the sitting room and Ziio considered taking her son back but decided against it, not wanting to do anything that could change Achilles' mood.

Achilles took the seat furthest from the window, out of the sunlight. Specks of dust fogged the sunlight coming in through the window. Again, Ziio held her tongue and did not make her usual jests, taking the seat closest to the window and watching as Achilles curled a lock of silky black hair around his finger.

"How is the village?"

"Not much different from the last time I saw you, Achilles. We are doing as well as we can."

"And your mother?"

"In good health, as stubborn as ever."

"But safe, I hope?"

"We are all safe."

She silently hoped that he hadn't spent too much time worrying over her safety, but knew that it was simply against Achilles' nature not to care, no matter how well he hid it.

"Tell me about your family."

Ziio sat up straight in the stiff chair and resisted shuffling her feet. She'd been hoping her friend wouldn't want to speak about it, although she knew that he had to know her story if her son was to be kept safe. It was as though she'd betrayed him and now wanted to ask for his protection. She glanced out the window. The sun was at its zenith.

"You know about my family."

Her neck pricked with goosebumps and she could feel the heat of his gaze on her. He was expecting stories of a man from her village, of a wedding. Not passive aggressive evasion.

Ziio chewed the inside of her cheek and smoothed out her face before turning to the man again. Silently she stretched her arms out towards him and he obliged, returning the babe to her arms. She pressed Ratohnhnaketon's to her chest. He was nearly asleep now.

Achilles stretched back into his chair and placed his hands in his lap, his legs splayed out in front of him.

She'd seen him take that stance with misbehaving recruits. He wasn't expecting very good news. He read her too damn well.

She looked at her child. His drowsy eyes. Her own eyes. At his mouth. Haytham's mouth. What would Achilles see once she told him?

"His father is a white man. A powerful man." Achilles' eyebrows were raised and Ziio cursed herself for prolonging the awkwardness.

"His father is Haytham Kenway." She forced herself to look into Achilles eyes. There was no real need to explain much further. She knew enough about the invisible conflict in the colonies to know that where Achilles stood as the leader of one side, Haytham was his match. His equal and enemy.

Achilles was silent.

"There is a darkness in that man. A hunger for control that would destroy anything in its path. I need to ask something of you."

He nodded at this and locked his eyes on hers "Of course". So like him. She hadn't seen him in months and he was ready to swear an oath to her before even knowing what it was.

"If I cannot protect him any longer, promise that you will keep my son away from him." She looked at her child again. He was asleep now, and she felt her heart swell with love.

"He has enough battles lined up for him. This world will not be kind to him. And I don't want him involving himself in anything that could bring out Haytham's..."

"Dark hunger."

"Yes."

There was silence and for a moment Ziio thought that perhaps Achilles would cast her out. That he would never do anything for the son of a Templar.

"I will keep your child safe, friend." He reached out and grasped his hand in hers.

"Anything for a friend."

Well it pays to have friends with spy networks, Connor learned that Kanen was looking for Doctor White and would most likely come back if the good doctor were to return to Boston. So yeah... Templar Connor did use Doctor White as bait to lure out Kanen.

As for the pics, I'm usually stalking Devianart and Tumblr

Wow, I think this is going to end up my longest story yet…

In Pursuit of Happiness

Chapter 32 - Woman in White

Charles’s heart thudded painfully against his chest, and he reached out a hand to touch those white sleeves. He froze for a moment when, instead of fabric, his hands met only with air.

Frantically, he began grasping at the figure, desperate to feel something, to touch something.

Nothing.

All his efforts were for naught, and his hand soon dropped in defeat.

“Connor,” he whispered, staring at that beloved form standing so close to him, so still.

Was this how it was to be? Was this how it was always to be?

“You cannot expect otherwise, I am sure,” came a voice from behind him.

Charles whirled around, hand immediately going to his belt for his pistol before he realized that he was dressed in only the nightshirt he had worn since his injury. Not that a pistol would have been much help against the powerful figure that stood before him anyways.

The pale woman with long dark hair smiled humorlessly at him. Her eyes were hooded and uncaring, and Charles shuddered at the disdain in her icy golden eyes.

Strange how such eyes so similar to his wife’s could look so menacing on this phantom of the past.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Charles hedged, edging away from that terrifying form.

The woman merely smiled again.

Charles opened his mouth to ask what she meant by appearing to him now when she had not before when she suddenly vanished. He blinked instead, not sure what had happened.

“You are such a curious man, so domineering and so forceful and yet with so much potential that you would squander away.”

The voice came from behind him, and Charles spun back around again. He nearly gasped at the sight of the flowing white dress right next to him. If he had taken a single step backward, he would have walked right into the woman.

“Do you always perform such theatrics?” he asked, trying frantically to calm his beating heart.

She tilted her head in a manner that should have been endearing. It would have been, had she not that that empty expression on her face that made her wholly alien and unrecognizable.

She considered him for a moment.

“I do like that you are not the meek fools that most of humanity is.”

It was a backhanded compliment, but Charles could only shudder at the coldness in her eyes as she said it. It was clear that she did not consider him worthy of consideration.

And he would have liked nothing better than to escape her presence had it not occurred to him that there were questions he wanted answered. Questions that he could now take the opportunity to ask.

“No, I do not.”

“Pardon?” Charles looked around, expecting to see another phantom like her appear.

He could see nothing but the phantom and that painfully beloved form still standing only a little ways away.

“You wished to know if I work against your Order and favor those of my blood. I do not.”

Charles blinked.

“You read my mind?”

The phantom looked at him with boredom.

“I forget that you humans can be so limited.”

She disappeared again, and Charles jumped at the cool touch on his hand.

“Come.”

And the world suddenly rushed at Charles.

He instinctively grabbed the woman’s hand, nails digging into the soft flesh as they traveled quickly.

She did not even flinch.

“You cannot hurt me. I am beyond your comprehension.”

Charles frowned at that. It was unnerving speaking with someone capable of reading one’s mind.

“It would have been better to mix my line with someone more worthy, but you have the ability to become an apt candidate.”

There it was again. Those troubling mentions of blood and line.

And Charles really did not want to draw that connection, to complete the inference, but it was difficult not to.

“Of course. Eyes like these are not natural to your people. Only those of my blood have these abilities.”

That was really what Charles had been hoping she would not say. He shuddered at the thought of this creature sharing blood with his mentor and his wife.

“There would be no reason for my interest otherwise, and you would not have the insight to correct your behavior.”

Charles turned to look at her, trying his best to ignore the world whirling away from them.

“So you are interest in helping Connor because of his blood?” he asked.

“No.”

She said it so casually, in such a disinterested manner.

Charles despised her.

“You are not the first and not close to the most powerful.”

He would love to meet the most powerful then.

Those gold eyes continued staring forward, not even looking at him.

“You would not. She would do anything to keep me from life, even if it means sacrificing most of your people to disaster.”

Charles blinked again. Was she suggesting...?

“Minerva does not care for me. And she would condemn most of humanity to death to defeat me. The only way to stop her is the son of my line.”

Connor...?

“No, not he. But one who will be born from the son he brings into this world.”

So that was why she was interested in Connor. And likely why she brought him back to the past to change things.

It did not explain why she was here now.

Her face contorted, and Charles was taken aback to see the first sign of real emotion on her face.

“You are a fool who would destroy my millennia of hard work.”

What...?

The hand in his abruptly jerked itself away, and Charles found himself falling.

He looked around wildly, searching for something to grasp, for something to grab onto. Anything to stop his fall.

Nothing.

“Of course there is nothing. Why do you think you deserve something?”

Charles jerked his head up, and there was the woman, falling calmly above him.

“You are a ridiculous Alpha, unable to learn from your mistakes. Tell me, do you take pleasure in destroying my descendant’s ability to trust and have a family?”

Charles snarled. He had not done that intentionally. He had never meant to hurt his wife.

The woman vanished again.

“You do enjoy lying to yourself,” the voice came from below him. Charles’s eyes widened in shock to see her directly below him.

“I do not,” he replied back. “I love him—“

“How can you?”

Charles’s eyes went wide to see Master Kenway smile up at him.

He gulped as his mentor sensuously pressed himself against Charles’s still falling body.

“You do not know him, Charles. You had him for less than a single year before he killed himself. You knew nothing of the leader he was, the mother he ought to have been, the lover he could have been. You knew nothing of any of his abilities besides his ability to kill.”

Charles flushed.

It hurt that this phantom would repeat MasterKenway’s words to him using Master Kenway’s face and body. It hurt that his weakness for his mentor was so exposed.

With effort, Charles pushed the likeness of his mentor away from him. “No, you’re wrong. I knew the loyal Assassin he was. I knew the fighter he was. I knew—“

The phantom who wore Master Kenway’s form disappeared. Charles looked around wildly. He needed to watch out for what would appear next.

“So paranoid.”

Charles looked up again, eyes widening at the sight of those warm amber-brown eyes.

The world blinked, and Charles was suddenly in his own home. In...

Connor’s room.

As he was gawking at the sight of that familiar room that he had not thought to see again, Connor walked right past him.

Charles grew cold to see the knife in his hands.

“Don’t,” he began, taking a single step forward.

The knife pointed right at him, and he stopped.

“Did you know,” his wife whispered, “that saving George’s life was only one of the reasons I killed myself?”

He drew back the knife and stared at it in consideration.

“I really couldn’t bear it anymore. Being your wife, feeling your odious touch upon my body...”

Charles lunged for the knife.

He ran right through that beloved form and crashed into the bed behind him.

“So crass,” that beloved voice came from behind him. “Is that the only thing on your mind? Rutting?”

Charles flushed and turned himself around with difficulty, the sheets entangling him as he struggled to rise.

“You really just want me to be a doll for you, don’t you? Just a living, breathing doll that you can fuck whenever you choose. Just something to breed children for you and your Order and that can never go against you.”

No. No that wasn’t...

Charles flailed as he tried to rid himself of those blasted sheets. How were they so restrictive?

“My, you lie to yourself so much, that you even come to believe it now. Such a stupid Alpha.”

Charles snarled.

This wasn’t Connor. This wasn’t the beautiful young man that wanted to be able to trust him. This wasn’t the mother of his child. This was...

“Of course it is.” And the sheets suddenly fell off of him.

Freed at last, Charles stood and whirled around to face his tormentor.

“Tormentor? I would hardly call myself that,” said the woman in white. Her smile, Charles was disgusted to see, was the same blank, slightly condescending look she had used with him this entire time.

“I simply remind you of the truth.”

“What truth?” Charles spat.

She shook her head sadly.

“The truth you refuse to see. The truth you would sooner close your eyes on than look at.”

No, the woman lied. He was not so cowardly as to refuse to view the truth. He was—

“Obstinate. Blind. Jealous.”

The first and the last he would give her, but the second was ridiculous.

“It cannot continue on like this. I have invested too much into my plan, into my descendants, for something like this to come to pass.”

“So you can defeat Minerva?” Charles growled at her.

She laughed.

“Oh no. Both Minerva and I are the progenitors of the one who needs to make the decision. We both need him alive and well. It is what decision he makes that will ultimately affect me.”

Charles clenched his teeth in frustration.

To think of this woman should play around with the lives of his and Connor’s descendants as she was doing with him...It was unthinkable.

“Oh no,” she corrected. “It need not be your descendant at all. I had originally thought you the best choice, but it seems that I may have made a mistake.”

Charles grew cold. She couldn’t be suggesting what he thought she was.

“I am. You squandered your chance, even with my help, and I see no reason to reward you now. I will need to find someone else to help bring about the future.”

“You called me here to—“

“—warn you to leave my descendant be. Return the amulet to those of my blood. It is not for you. He is not for you.”
.
“No.”

Oh...so Templar Connor set a little trap for Kanen. I like!

Wow, Juno is so merciless, but I love how not even she can stop Charles from pursuing Connor. Though I do find it interesting that she chose him over George... I'm not sure if this is historically accurate, but perhaps George was impotent... well not him, but his little soldiers were. So if Connor and George could not have children, there would be no Desmond in the future to save the world.

Wonder if Juno will let Charles go back to the living world, or if she'll continue to torture him some more.

She's not done with him just yet. :) And yeah, Juno is...interesting. I actually really like her and her ruthlessness. There's something quite amazing about how determined she is.

There is definitely speculation that George Washington couldn't have children. He had gotten smallpox in 1751, and some historians believe this made him sterile. For the purposes of this story, I'll go with that. He doesn't know it, of course, but Juno absolutely would. And it would ruin her plans for Desmond. :D

As he remained out of sight, Connor watched curiously as Kanen'tó:kon held the door open for a negro couple. Farmers perhaps, from the look of their clothing. Doctor White obviously knew these people, as his eyes brows shot upwards and mouth widened into a smile.

"My friends it's been so long! How have your been fairing?" he asked while enthusiastically shaking the Alpha husband's hand before turning towards the female Omega. "Prudence, lovely as ever, and oh my, how long have you been expecting?"

Prudence smiled as she cradled her swollen belly, "Almost six months, Doctor White. It truly is a miracle. We have been have been hoping and praying for a child for a long time now."

Warren placed his hands upon his mate's shoulder, grinning with pride. "It has been one miracle after another. It was only last year we had lost everything. The Redcoats threatened us to give up practically all of our produce, and when we refused, they slaughtered our animals and salted our lands."

Connor cringed and shook his head. He could relate to Prudence and Warren fairly well, knowing what it was like to have all that you loved wrestled away. There was nothing the victims could do about it. There were no laws that protected people of color. Others fairer skin had the freedom to do as they please and get away with such crimes.

"How horrible!" Doctor White was shocked and outraged. "Have you relocated your farm?"

"We were saved by our good friend, Kanen, here," Warren reached out and pat the taller hooded Alpha who was standing quietly beside him. "He took care of those brutes on our behalf, and allowed us to live at Homestead to start our new life there."

Connor raised an eyebrow in surprise. Kanen'tó:kon had land? He did not live in the reconstructed Mohawk Village?

"It's such a wonderful community," Prudence gushed. "Everyone is so friendly and helpful. The land is also beautiful, and after months of hard work, we now have our farm again."

"I'm am happy for the both of you..." Doctor White smiled in relief. "Now tell me, how may I be of help?"

The couple began to discuss that they needed a doctor to help with Prudence's pregnancy, and Lyle eagerly offered his services. Without hesitation he agreed to travel to the Homestead on a regular basis. Just when the good doctor was about to suggest an examination right then, he suddenly remembered his temporary assistance.

"Ah, Connor," Doctor White called out. "Please come over here, I'd like to introduce you to some old friend and patients of mine."

That was his cue. He stepped out from his hiding space, smiling back at Lyle, the married couple, and very startled Kanen'tó:kon. It took all his will power not to laugh as the infamous White Wolf had been reduced to a bunny rabbit who looked like he was about to bolt out of sight.

"Please to meet you," he greeted politely with a small inclination of his head.

Doctor White clapped him on the back good-naturedly.

"Connor here is a very close friend and benefactor. He also introduced me to my wife Ellen and step-daughter, Maria."

Warren and Prudence broke out in smiled at the news that their old friend had finally re-married.

"Any friend of Doctor White's is a friend of ours."

Kanen'tó:kon shifted uncomfortably and finally spoke up.

"Excuse the interruption, but Warren," the Mohawk Alpha turned to Prudence's husband, "but while you are here, I need to pick up supplies at the General Store."

The farmer nodded. "Of course, Kanen. I'm sorry for the trouble."

"Not at all."

"I'll go with you," Connor spoke up just, causing the Assassin who had turned around to abruptly stiffen. He glance over at Doctor White. "Let's have that ale for later."

His friend nodded, though looking abashed that he had forgotten, before ushering Prudence and Warren to sit down and relax from their travel. Connor turned away and followed Kanen'tó:kon outside.

They walked together in awkward silence... and it was strange. To think many years ago, they were practically joined at the hip, chattering away of what games they could play or stories that they've heard. They had been inseparable... but now his childhood friend wanted to get away from him as he turned the corner and leapt up onto a building and sprinted away.

Connor growled, ignoring the ache in his chest, as he followed suit while shouting for the other to stop and angry obscenities in their language.

The Assassin was fast, just as he had been at Master Johnson's funeral. It was quite the challenge compared to all the other targets he's ever chased up to this point. Connor had to really push himself harder in order to catch up. Fortunately, having grown up in Boston, he had the edge and made use of shortcuts whenever available.

Grabbing hold of a hanging lantern, he performed a corner swing around the building and landed directly in front of his startled quarry. Kanen'tó:kon skid to a halt, and for a moment looked like he was torn between trying to maneuver around Connor or turn around in the other direction. The Templar hunter would not give him a chance, as he rushed forward and tackled the surprised Alpha to the ground.

The impact was jarring and Connor felt the vibrations flow through his body, numbing his sword arm. He shook it off as his brain continued firing off commands, jangled though they were. The Omega attempts to pull away but he's not fast enough this time as large hands encircle his wrists and a heavier muscled body pinned him down.

"Was there something you wanted from me, Templar?" Kanen'tó:kon demanded through tightly clenched teeth.

Connor ceased struggling as he stared up in shock and pain at the other Mohawk he had loved as a brother. To be treated with such cold indifference... He swallowed hard at that lump in his throat, and forced words pass his trembling lips

"I... only desired to talk to you," he whispered softly, "not as an enemy, but as the boy you had once called friend."

The Alpha stared at him suspiciously... and it hurt.

"I have no other ulterior motives," he admitted while meeting the other's scrutinizing umber gaze. "I did not track you down on behalf of the Order, in fact I do this without their knowledge. Please, I am not asking you to trust me." Not yet, he added in afterthought. "Just talk to me, please..."

For a long moment the two wolves stared at one another. The White Wolf was wary and hesitant on either releasing the other or sinking lethal fangs into his throat. The Black Wolf was nervous but determined, as he remained passive, gazing up at those narrowed brown eyes without fear.

Finally, the Assassin released him and cautiously backed away.

Connor sat up, taking a moment to gingerly rub his wrists, before he smiled shyly up at the other young man.

"Khwe," he greeted in Mohawk. "It has been a long time, Kanen'tó:kon."

Much to the Omega's surprise, his once childhood friend and current enemy, approached and offered him a hand up.

"A very long time, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

this is a little old but i hope you're still checking on this thread because i'd love to fill it and so its on my list! anything you really want/don't want?

aaaahhh this is so awesome, anon! i absolutely love it! :)

Holy fucking shit. Please excuse my bad language.

Juno is scary and a manipulative bitch - which I shouldn't mind in this case, but it doesn't alter the fact that she is. I wonder if she's trying to nudge him into action through scare tactics though. Guess I'll wait to find out...

This was an awesome chapter, anon, and I personally really don't mind the length of this story, especially now that you've given it so much intro with so much consideration for each step. It would be a shame to end it abruptly. But it's ultimately your decision - I'll certainly be here until the very end, regardless of what you decide <3

(here it is, as promised! i hope you guys like it c:)

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening was dark and wet in Roma, and Leonardo was glad to be spending it inside with his closest friend. Though the circumstances could have better, he thought, tending to the wounds of Ezio's latest exploits. Leonardo was cleaning a cut on his brown when an old memory surfaced, filling his chest with amusement, laughter bubbling from his mouth.

Ezio raised a brow. “What?”

“Oh no, no, it's nothing,” the old artist replied, trying to suppress his mirth and refocus on his charge's injuries.

The Assassin pulled his head back, smirking. “Oh come now, Leonardo, you know you can not keep things from me.”

“Ezio, I assure it is nothing of--”

“I insist.”

Well if he insisted, Leonardo supposed he there was nothing he could do. “Do you remember that time all those years ago in Firenze, when we first met?” Ezio's expression changed to one of mortification, Leonardo grinning when he saw, “and you fell off a building and I had to carry you all the way home to your mother?”

Ezio flushed a pretty pink, turning his head away. “I recall no such thing.”

“Oh yes you do!” Leonardo cackled, “she gave you such a scolding!”

“You are exaggerating, it was not that bad.”

Leonardo raised an eyebrow at his friend. “As I recall, you and Federico could not leave the palazzo for a month.”

The Assassin snapped his head back at that. “It was not that long! And you did not carry me the entire way, I am certain walked myself for a time.” When Leonardo's smile did not lessen, Ezio tried to switch tactics from denial to diversion. “Please, Leonardo, can we just finish this for now? My wounds are causing me no small amount of discomfort.”

The artist shook his head fondly, smirking as he moved to cradle Ezio's bloody palm in his hand. “Alright, alright, there will be no other interruptions.” He continued to work in silence after that, waiting until Ezio's body had fully relaxed. “Remember how you landed flat on your face?”

“Leonardo!”

I kind of want to cry at this. Kanen's suspicion of Connor, and Connor trying so hard to reconnect...

I absolutely love how Connor forced the issue of reconnecting. He's one stubborn young man, our Connor! And Kanen seemed equally determined to avoid him. Is it because Kanen knows that, as an Assassin, he'd be obligated to kill Connor at some point? Is Kanen trying to evade his own duties for as long as possible?

//wibbles//

I also love that Prudence and Warren came in for Prudence's pregnancy. I <3 those two. Some of my favorite homesteaders, right after Ellen and Myriam.

That she is, anon. That she is. She always scared the crap out of me (and I kind of love her for it).

Thanks for the support, anon! :D

So, good news, no more university for me. And, even (hopefully) better news, a new chapter.

It is a blue sky that greets him as he finally reaches the top of the mountain pass, the veil of ominous clouds that has dominated the skies for weeks having dispersed after a final burst of snowfall during the night. Glancing back Connor frowns at the distinctive tracks he has left, his persisting limp having created a telltale furrow with every dragging step. Doubtless the sprain, combined with the less-than-accommodating weather conditions, can be said to have slowed his progress significantly. By now Haytham should be back in Boston, back with the Templars where he can do damage and back under the watchful eyes of Yvette and her spies. He pushes those thoughts aside, trying not to dwell on it in much the same way that he's spent the entire trek trying not to dwell on it. The two of them have parted ways, perhaps for good, so he needs to keep his priorities straight.

Still, making his way slightly closer to the cliff's edge and the familiar valley below, the teenager feels a need to linger here. In his present state of mind this home is simultaneously both inviting and foreboding. Watching the distant wisps of smoke rising from the manor's chimney, he wonders if it would have been easier simply to have done the foolish thing and taken his companion's offer. Of course it wouldn't, he knows that, but still... When he has not been concerned with decidedly not thinking about the grandmaster, and all the complications the man is creating, he has been worrying that somehow Achilles will know. The gruff man is keenly perceptive, surprisingly so. Maybe all it could take is one good look for him to figure out what the novice has done. Because no matter how much he tries to convince himself that he believes otherwise, Connor is still aware that he is treading a very thin line these days.

Although he sincerely doubts that anything has really, perceptibly, changed about him the nagging fear persists. Haytham's sudden switch from the golden yellow of a target to the calming blue of an ally could be entirely innocent, he tells himself. His sense and perception of the man doesn't have to have altered so drastically, it could simply have been because of his mission's effective ending or a temporary side-effect of what had happened in the cave. It doesn't have to mean so much, it doesn't have to mean anything.

None of that has prevented the nightmares of finding the homestead suddenly populated by red silhouettes though. He is quite conscious that after two nights of broken sleep and then hours of sitting awake there must be shadows developing under his eyes. It doesn't help that he remembers how much easier his nights had been in the Templar's company, if anything it only makes him feel worse. For once he is thankful for this bracing cold. Shivering slightly, he folds his arms tighter around himself and does not miss Haytham or his warmth.

He cannot stay up here and delay forever though. Even if hunger or discomfort don't drive him down back to the house then someone is bound to come through the pass eventually and discover him there delaying. A fairly regular flow of messengers and Assassins travel to and from the homestead after all, and Dobby may not even have returned from her surveillance post in Lexington yet. The longer he puts this off the harder it is going to be. With a little reluctance, and difficulty, he finally pulls himself up from the fallen tree-trunk on which he had been sitting. Stiffness makes him slightly unsteady on top of the dull ache of his ankle. Rather than face the long, unpleasant slog down this side of the pass he has already set his mind on taking that old, much favoured shortcut. Carefully he picks out the designated spot and takes the leap, although really it turns out as more of a controlled fall than an executed dive. In those few seconds before he hits the pile of ferns beneath the weight briefly lifts from his shoulders.

Breath temporarily forced from his lungs by the force of landing Connor lies there, recovering and stalling. The usual sounds of the woods around him are absent, due no doubt to the oppression of the snow that lies thick over the land. There are no leaves left for the wind to rustle reassuringly through, and there is no wind today either for that matter. Straining he catches a faint crunch of footsteps which, slow and deliberate as they may be, resound loudly in the relative silence. Most animals will still be in shelter, so he doubts their success. Any creatures venturing out today will surely be spooked by their approach long before they get a chance at a shot. He has just braced himself and regained his feet when a rifle discharges nearby, closely followed by a rather loud curse. Of course Clipper would insist on coming out even in the cold.

'You don't honestly expect me to believe that there was a misfire, now do you?'

'Was distracted is all. By all your loud breathing and moving. I had the shot lined up perfect and then you went and moved.'

He barely has to walk ten paces into the trees before he finds them; Duncan smirking while the younger novice scowls indignantly, a long rifle slung casually over his small shoulders. It isn't entirely surprising that the Irishman is the one on watch duty, for all their squabbling the two of them always do seem particularly inclined to each other's company. In spite of their respectively being the oldest and youngest Assassins-in-training, one is usually not far from the other around the homestead. Clipper never is particularly happy to be reminded that at eight years old he is effectively the baby of their group though. It certainly doesn't make him any less deadly with a rifle.

It is the Irishman who spots him first and raises a hand in greeting; 'Hey there, Connor, back in one piece I take it?'

Feeling nervous despite himself, he shrugs, managing not to let it show too much. 'Mostly. How goes the practice?'

'Pff,' Clipper immediately scoffs, already affronted, 'it'd be better if someone weren't so unrepentingly loud. I-'

'Can pop a muskrat's head from a quarter of a mile away, we know.' Duncan cuts him off, ruffling his hair. All of them realise just how much better off the muskrat population in Virginia is in the absence of their little sharpshooter. But rather than launching into any further teasing as he would normally, the man glances at Connor and switches tone. 'Now, how about you go ahead and see if you can't find us a horse or two to give Connor here a hand?'

Looking between the two of them with a mixture of frustration and hurt on his face, the young one clearly realises that he is being left out of something. He bites his lip, hesitating. While he's always naturally excluded from the major matters of the Brotherhood the boy isn't blind, he's seen all the tension and worry that've been plaguing almost everyone else recently. That keen curiosity clearly wars with his impulse to do as he's told and be helpful, ultimately losing. Clipper's feet only drag for a few steps before he speeds up, possibly realising that the sooner he goes the sooner he can be back.

Watching until the small figure is out of sight, Duncan is finally free to round on his newly returned comrade in search of information. 'So, did you find him?'

'Yes, I found him.' Connor sighs. Although reluctant to go into further detail he has a feeling it may prove wise to practice answering the questions that must naturally follow his absence. Certainly the older novice is a far less intimidating listener than their mentor, or any of the master Assassins for that matter.

'That bad, hey?'

'No, just...' He struggles to find the right word to explain it. Well, maybe not quite the right word but a safer one. Ultimately he settles for the mostly truthful he can think of; 'Exhausting.'

Duncan nods sympathetically, having already drawn a similar conclusion from his appearance. 'It was always going to be that way I suppose, having to be around a Templar like that. You don't think he suspected anything, do you?'

'I do not think I would not be here if he had.' Connor frowns; that possibility and its consequences hadn't really crossed his mind.

'Probably not, from what I've heard.' The Irishman seems to quickly think better of his words, quickly continuing and switching subjects before anything can be made of it. 'So what happened to your leg then?'

'Slipped on some ice.' At the incredulous look he receives the native feels obliged to amend somewhat and add; 'I was jumping from a tree onto a roof, over the wall of a fort.'

'The last thing I would have thought you would've had to worry about was slipping on ice.' Duncan laughs. Any tension, imagined or otherwise, between them evaporates as he claps him on the shoulder.

Nevertheless he is grateful to hear the approach of the returning Clipper, who comes trotting back towards them dutifully with a pair of saddled horses in tow only to find that the prohibited subject has already been discussed. There is no doubt in Connor's mind however that he's going to be cornered later, at least once, in order to tell the full story. Dobby for one will be keen to worm as much out of him as possible, especially given what she saw at the inn, and the Irishman is hardly going to be giving up after a tantalising morsel like that. The only escape he is likely to find from the various interested parties is if he hides out on the Aquila, and even then the questions will just wait until he resurfaces. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later, in theory at least.

While he mounts with only the slightest of troubles it takes the others a little longer to negotiate sharing the second horse. It's nice to have been pushed from the centre of attention, at least for the moment, giving him a proper chance to gather his thoughts again. He doesn't dare look for the auras of his friends, not yet at any rate. Happy to see them as he is Connor can't deny that he feels an unpleasant tension in his stomach, one that he doubts can be blamed on his lack of sleep. This is probably just because he's had to continuously keep his guard up recently, he reasons, it will go away as soon as he readjusts to being out of imminent danger. It means nothing, just as that blue aura meant nothing really.

After some squabbling Clipper finally ends up settled in the saddle in front of Duncan and they are free to set off for the manor; a short ride, true, but it provides a welcome break. An amicable hush hangs over the journey for the most part. However the sharpshooter keeps shifting around in his position to make quiet little inquiries of his riding partner, using the opportunity to try and drag at least something out. This strategy doesn't look to be paying off though as the young one sinks into further and further into a pout as they go. Connor on the other hand itches to ask questions of his own, about the Brotherhood and about any developments in Boston, but knows that this is not the time for them. The last thing he really needs is to get into extra trouble with Achilles for mentioning such matters in front of the inquisitive boy.

He certainly can't bring up the subject of General Braddock, and the potential assassination he may be preparing to mount on the man in partnership with the Templars. In hindsight he wishes he'd said something about it when he'd had the chance, then he might have at least gauged the sort of reaction the news could provoke. This might easily be the single worst thing he has to report, given that a number of more compromising episodes are not going to get any sort of mention here. How he deals with Haytham is simply not relevant right now. But still... Glancing over at his companions he is worried that perhaps he has crossed a line, done the wrong thing. Perhaps the Brotherhood would have rather he found out what he could and then simply let the grandmaster die when he had the chance, retrieving that artefact of Eden while he was at it. If his stomach twists even more unpleasantly at that thought he pretends he doesn't notice it.

Upon their reaching the stables it's pretty clear that nobody else is in the mood to brave the cold, the yard deserted and still. This is something of a relief to Connor, allowing his minor struggle with dismounting to go unnoticed. On the other hand it all but confirms his suspicion that Achilles will be waiting, in his study most likely, ready to grab the teenager for an extensive debriefing as soon as he hears his footsteps in the hall. If he's really unlucky Tallmadge or one of the others will be waiting with him. He could always take his chances, sneak in the back door and try for the temporary sanctuary of the kitchen...

'Don't worry, Connor, you go on ahead.' Already having commandeered his animal and started leading it away, the Irishman easily waves off any attempts at an objection.

Irked by his exclusion still, Clipper has already disappeared into the stalls with the other horse. Despite not being quite tall enough yet to deal with the task of unsaddling them alone he is apparently determined to stay and do as much as he can. Another one of his stubborn protests that he's old enough to do this so surely he's old enough to know at least some of what's going on. It won't work of course, it never does.

Mostly cleared of snow, the well-trodden track between the main house and the stables gives him little excuse to delay either. On consideration he decides that slipping in round the back seems too guilty and suspicious, feelings he really does not need to foster right now. Besides, it is further to walk. Connor knows he really should have rested the sprain more, that he shouldn't have pushed himself like this. What he should have done was return to Lexington, find Dobby and come back with her, either at a much slower pace or on horseback. Although his sense of urgency might find approval with Achilles, with the man's wife that would not be the case. Once she spots him Abigail will probably be trying to forcibly confine him to a chair for the rest of the week. Providing he is still here to be confined to said chair, that is. He lingers further on the porch, stomach knotting.

Pushed on purely by the fact that he doesn't want the others to come up and find him still standing there, he steels himself, turning the doorknob and stepping through into darkness. Cautiously he shuts the door behind him with as little noise as he can manage, similarly keeping his footfalls soft, slow and quiet out of years-old instinct. Adjusting to the abrupt lack of snow-glare and light in general takes him several seconds, wherein he subconsciously edges closer to the stairs and the 'safer' side of the building. All of the novices are well-practised at navigating the place as quietly as possible, after years of avoiding annoyed older Assassins and also trying to successfully eavesdrop on those very same older Assassins. Fortunately, for him, Connor always has been the best at stealth and sneaking without entirely appearing to be doing so. But as soon as he draws level with it, the door to the study swings open.

'Here you are, we were beginning to worry.' Achilles's hearing is near uncanny. Opening the door wider he gestures; 'Come in.'

Being ushered into the mentor's study has never boded particularly well, to the younger residents of the homestead at least. One can never really tell whether the old man is in a good mood or not, until he starts talking and by then it's already pretty much too late. As usual Connor tries to find distraction in focusing on his surroundings, not that anything here has ever particularly changed within memory. A book might have been taken down from a shelf and the jumble of paper, ink and quills on the desk will no doubt be arranged slightly differently; that is all the change the man ever seems to suffer to his ordered apartment. The eyes of the stuffed eagle perched between the windows are as piercing as they always have been, doing a good job of seeming to follow one around the room. It's an unnerving, unforgiving stare that makes it rather easier to meet that of the room's living occupant.

Having sealed the exit securely behind him, Achilles moves back to his desk and sits. He indicates the chair across from him, waiting patiently for the teenager to comply with the wordless request. Hands clasped together under his chin he merely regards him, subjecting Connor to exactly the close scrutiny he had hoped to escape. It is far from the man's intention to be so intimidating, he knows that, but his own tension is putting him on edge already.

'I trust the weather was not unduly harsh.' Though he knows better the novice still hears the faintest tone of accusation in this innocent remark.

Hesitating only a second too long, conscious that this might be some sort of trap, he goes with his instinct and replies; 'It was no worse than any I have previously experienced.'

'Good.' Achilles's mouth upturns at one side, the closest to a smile one usually gets out of him in these interviews. 'You were successful?'

Instantly dropping eye contact, dwelling instead on his hands as they fidget with one another in his lap, the teenager struggles to find the right way of putting this. He's had two days to figure out the details of this exchange, and he still hasn't got the least idea. 'I... established contact with Haytham and I have managed to learn some details about the Templars' intentions here.'

'Your bearing does not fill me with confidence, Connor.' Crossing his arms and leaning back the mentor awaits further elaboration, expecting bad news.

'Their current objective is to gain the trust of my people, for the sake of information. He did not tell me much but the reason for Haytham's arrival here, as well as the particular interest in my kind, seems to be connected to an artefact of Eden he has in his possession.' Catching the way his mentor's expression abruptly darkens the teenager is quick to explain further; 'Not one of the Pieces themselves, just an amulet of some kind. The markings were clearly of the same origin, but it had no obvious power to it, no clear purpose.'

'Everything those infernal creatures made or do has a purpose. Even if it is not one of the main Pieces, anything of Eden in the hands of the Templars is trouble. Kenway still has it I assume?' While he already seems to know the answer, the man is speaking less out of criticism and more out of resignation.

'Yes. He would not have parted with it willingly.'

Achilles gives a humourless sort of smile but says nothing, gesturing for him to continue, aware that this is not quite the entirety of what he needs to be told just yet.

'His purpose in seeking me was to discover whatever I could tell him about the object. I am unsure how much he knew about it already, but I told him very little; that I had seen markings of a similar kind before, in a place forbidden to outsiders.' Even the Brotherhood haven't been permitted there, although he is sure the elders could be convinced otherwise now. It is the least of their secrets, after all.

'And this satisfied him?' The master Assassin looks sceptical.

Feeling his cheeks start to flush slightly, Connor dips his head. 'No, it was not to his liking. He was... persistent, determined to know where this place was or to get me to take him there, to win my trust if that was what it would take. I had to let him believe that there was a possibility-'

A hand raises, stopping him from digressing too far. Fortunately the mentor is not keen to hear every detail of his thought process, not at this moment in time anyway. 'How exactly does he intend to do this, to gain your trust?'

'I... We...' He breathes deeply. 'By killing General Braddock.'

Silence.

Visibly deep in thought, Achilles is frowning. Whether this is a good sign or not remains anyone's guess. Eventually, after what feels like an age, he starts to speak again, initially seeming to be musing aloud rather than addressing his pupil. 'Braddock, hmm? So Kenway wishes to kill two birds with one stone... When is this killing to take place?'

Still not entirely certain where he stands, the teenager proceeds cautiously. 'Three days ago we infiltrated the British fort Necessity in search of him, but the general had already returned to the front. Instead we discovered a map detailing plans for another of his “expeditions”, set for the summer months, and I suggested that it would be a better idea to ambush him then; to enable us to plan and to create a more plausible explanation for his death.'

Achilles simply stares at him, apparently searching for some extra detail or answer in his features, which he has attempted to carefully school. Minutes tick past before he asks, words coming slowly as he enunciates; 'Kenway is willing to wait for months in order to kill this man, with the hopes of earning your trust, on the chance that you will choose to further enlighten him about the location of these mysterious markings of Eden you mentioned having seen?'

He can't seem to quite believe it. And in all honesty, when put that way Connor finds it fairly hard to believe himself. Of course, that is not quite the whole story there. But while the novice knows that full well, does the mentor? Does he suspect that there is something more to this turn of events, to the grandmaster's preoccupation? As they look at each other across the expanse of the old mahogany desk the younger is almost certain that he does.

'Yes.'

'Should the chance remain of securing the answers they seek do you believe the Templars will continue to focus their attention primarily on this matter?' It's a pragmatic question, rather than the accusation the novice was half-expecting to hear.

'I believe it is a strong possibility.' He may not be able to fully account for the rest of the small colonial Order, but the teenager is fairly confident that Haytham at least will not be turning his attention on the Brotherhood yet.

'Tell me, how long were you in the man's company?'

Feeling his blood turn colder, this turn is the sort of interrogation he had been both expecting and dreading. Surely that is suspicion, or even knowledge, in the mentor's look, is it not? Inwardly panicking, doubting his previously firm resolution, Connor briefly considers telling him everything, regardless of the consequences. A fraction of a second and that foolish idea is cast aside, he had carried out his mission and established a potentially useful connection with the grandmaster. This is not an accusation. He is an Assassin and nobody is questioning his loyalty. His voice stays steady. 'Almost three days.'

'And what is your opinion of him?'

'Dangerous.' Rather than trying to over-think it he opts for a fast and simple response, one of the first words to come into his head. Best not to explore the various other facets of his opinion, particularly out loud.

Achilles gives a nod and sits back, apparently satisfied with that choice. Hands clasped under his chin in an attitude of contemplation he gives another of his little smiles. It nevertheless remains impossible to tell quite what he's really thinking. 'I think I have interrogated you quite enough for now. You look in need of rest, go, tend to your injuries and we will discuss this further later.'

Gratefully grasping the dismissal, despite being a little thrown by quite how sudden it is, the teenager is practically at the door before he fully processes the words. Injuries. Plural. Fighting back the instinct to turn back at this realisation, to seek out some sort of confirmation in his mentor's expression, he instead reaches one hand for the handle. His other strays up to his collar, tugging the material up again as subtly as possible. He needs to leave the room now. Just because Achilles has seen the rather conspicuous bruise on his neck doesn't mean that the man has any idea of its cause, or anything related to that. Even so, Connor is certain that he has not succeeded in escaping suspicion.

It could be his imagination, or the lack of sleep, but he is sure that as he steps out of the room a quiet warning from the master Assassin follows him; 'Watch your step, boy.'

Whoops, forgot to change the subject line for part 11.5 there *facepalm* So, ahem, yeah, the above is actually the second part of the chapter, sorry for that.

/cringes at all the mistakes/ wow, I think I need to stop sleep-writing...

Is it because Kanen knows that, as an Assassin, he'd be obligated to kill Connor at some point? Is Kanen trying to evade his own duties for as long as possible?

Pretty much. Kanen knows Connor is the son of the Grandmaster and that winning him over will be near impossible, but he might change his mind once they have more time to reconnect. Of course Achilles will lecture him about not throwing away everything over mere sentiment... which is ironically what Connor does.

I felt so bad for Warren and Prudence... saved them from the Redcoats around winter time, and their land was salted and animals were dead, so glad they were saved by Connor in the game. I love all the Homesteaders, especially when they teamed up to defend Ellen.

If I had to pick favorites it would be Norris and Lance. Norris because he's just adorable (you know he's the Omega in his relationship) and I was just dying with laughter when Connor was trying to talk to him while he was in the outhouse. Then there's Lance with his excitement over his inventions.

LANCE: it's a chair... that FOLDS!
CONNOR: ...

This made my day, can't wait to read!

"So... I take it you are not afraid of heights anymore?" Connor couldn't help but ask after several minutes of uncomfortable silence.

Kanen'tó:kon snorted quietly from where he leaned against one of the windows at the very top of the Old South Meeting House, one of the largest buildings in Boston. It had been magnificent structure once. Until the British siege, when the insides had been gutted for materials. Still... the meeting hall had been a ideal spot where they could talk in private, without having to deal with eavesdroppers or rooftop guards.

Except they did not talk. Connor had thought they had broken the ice after the chase that lead to them both falling from the roof. He knew that they could not simply go back to how things were before. It would take time, patience, and effort on both sides. It was a little frustrating that he had to keep initiating conversation, knowing they would not have much time before Kanen'tó:kon had to take Warren and Prudence back to his Homestead.

"Do you hate me for running away back then?" the Omega asked quietly as he stared down at the ground from where he sat on the ledge of the building, legs dangling in the air.

He thought he heard a quiet gasp, but it could have also been the wind.

"Why... why would you think that?" his former best friend asked in disbelief.

Connor's shoulder's hunched and he absently rubbed his sword arm - still a little sore after taking the brunt of his fall - and stroked at the tiny beads of his decorated armband. The young Mohawk stopped immediately, as he remembered who had given him such a gift, and whose hand he had been slain.

"I abandoned you... " he spoke softly with guilt laden in his voice. "I was weak, I could not save my mother from dying, nor could I stop those slave masters when they..." Connor trailed off, not sure he wanted to reveal those utterly dark and depraved moments in his life, "and I was a coward who left everyone behind. Isn't that why you despise me so?"

He heard a rustle of cloth behind him, but did not look back. Connor was not ready to see the look of confirmation upon the other's face. Not yet.

"I do not despise you, Ratonhnhaké:ton." It sounded almost too good to be true. Connor was certain he would have hated himself had he been in Kanen'tó:kon's place. "None of our people had. I was glad you had escaped, and angry at the others and myself for not being able to stop what those beasts did to you."

So his childhood friend knew - had known all along - that he had been trained to be a whore for breeding purposes. The Omega felt ill all of a sudden.

"When they ordered us to be quiet during the auctions, I used to watch you," Kanen'tó:kon admitted, "as you laid upon the floor of your cage. You were so small and frail back then, that you could your entire arm between the bars. I would watch you try and catch the sunlight between your fingers, sometimes playing with your shadow."

Connor blinked and turned to look at the remorseful Alpha over his shoulder. "You remember all that?"

The Assassin nodded, as he stared down at the tops of his fringed boots.

"I was terrified for you. I had both my mother and father with me, but you were alone. I was afraid you would have died in that cage. That is why I was overjoyed that you managed to free yourself... however..."

"However?" the half-Mohawk echoed.

"Three days after you left, we were freed... by the Assassins."

The Templar could not help but stare owlishly back at the hooded man behind him in surprise. Three days? To think he could have been liberated had he only waited. Had he only waited, perhaps he to, could have been raised as one of the Brotherhood. He would have never have become a Templar, or been reunited with his father, or be engaged to Charles.

He looked away.

There was no point in wondering over what might have been. He was content with his life now and had a future waiting ahead of him. But Connor still desired his childhood friend to apart of it.

"So that is why you joined their ranks?" Connor mused. "What about aiding Washington?"

"The Commander seeks to guide this land to Freedom," The Assassin stated boldly and with a hint of reverence in his voice when he spoke of George Washington. "He leads soldiers who are unafraid to fight for their liberties rather than accept a theoretical peace."

The Templar's eyes narrowed at that, his lips thinned with displeasure.

"This freedom you speak of is not universal."

"It can be... it will be," Kanen'tó:kon insisted. "But men like your father conspire to destroy any chances of it happening. They seek to kill George Washington and install Charles Lee in his place."

Connor blinked as the Alpha spat out his fiancé's with utter loathing. He suddenly remembered what had transpired inside Independence Hall back in Philadelphia. Kanen'tó:kon had turned and faced Charles, ready to fly into a rage if Adams had not restrained him.

"Why do you speak the General's name so?" he asked while turning to the Assassin once more. Connor wanted to insist that though his husband-to-be had a temper, and not so friendly with Natives, he was still a good man. A respectable Alpha who would do a far better job leading the Continental Forces than that monster Washington.

He watched Kanen'tó:kon hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath before looking him in the eye.

"It was Charles Lee who lead the Templar Inner Circle and burned our village all those years ago."

What?

Connor immediately had to grip hold of the ledge he was sitting on, otherwise he would have fallen right off. But it still felt as if he were falling. To hear his childhood friend stare at him with such conviction that it had been Charles - his Alpha - who responsible for all that pain and misery... He could not believe it, he did not...!

"Do you have proof?" he asked quietly, unable to help the wavering in his voice.

"He was there, Ratonhnhaké:ton!" the other Mohawk insisted. "When we were playing in the woods, I encountered Lee, Johnson, Pitcairn, Church and Hickey - they surrounded me, armed with muskets, demanding the location of our village."

Yes, Charles had told him of this not to long ago. Connor opened his mouth to try and explain on his Alpha's behalf, but the Assassin cut him off.

"I feared for our people's safety and refused to tell them. Then Lee, that bastard," Kanen'tó:kon in contempt, "nearly strangled me to death. He claimed that our people were nothing but filthy savages, specks of dust, beneath his notice. When he was done gloating of his own superiority, they knocked me out. That was when you found me... and we retuned to our village that had been consumed in flames."

The Omega winced and closed his mouth. He suddenly remembered when he found the other boy unconscious in the woods, and believed his friend and had just been clumsy again, until he saw the collar of bruises upon Kanen'tó:kon's throat and temple.

The older Templar had admitted he lead the others on an expedition through Mohawk Valley, in search of their village. His husband-to-be admitted he had been frustrated with their lack of progress... but to assault a child?!

'Spirits above... Charles, what have you done?!' he silently raged.

His Alpha had attacked Kanen'tó:kon, who grew up as an Assassin, not knowing who was truly guilty that night. The Omega wanted to shout that it had been Washington, not Charles, who deserved contempt; but his voice remained trapped in his throat. The Assassin would not believe him, not without proof anyway - and just how long would that take?!

He needed to buy some time, and keep the Assassin close, in order to prevent Kanen'tó:kon from killing anymore of his brothers.

Swallowing hard he manage to steel his nerves upon standing up. Connor turned around to face the Assassin who was staring at him expectantly.

"I need time," he spoke softly and held up his hand when the other looked like he was about to protest. "Please understand, I've known General Lee almost my whole life. His unjustifiable temper, I am aware of; but senseless of slaughter and slavery... is just too much. I need time to sort things out, and it is difficult to do so while fighting two wars at the same time..."

Kanen'tó:kon frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "What are you proposing, Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

The Templar took a deep breath and took a step towards the Assassin.

"I wish to form a truce with you, Kanen'tó:kon. I have heard of your exploits on the battlefield. If you and I can fight together, we can improve the chances of winning this war against the Crown."

"And what of the Commander? The higher ranking tier of your Order still desire his death."

'As do I,' he mentally added. In fact Connor wanted to be the one to carry out the assassination, to finally avenge his mother and all those who had died. However, he was willing to delay the inevitable if he could have Kanen'tó:kon at his side or at least safely out of the way.

"I will talk to my father," he spoke finally, "to spare Commander Washington's life."

As the Assassin looked thoughtful, he felt insides clench when he pictured Haytham's reaction... and Charles' unavoidable fury.

A/N: Another speed post, trying to write down as much as I can since my work hours may or may not change. Yeah, I know it's way too soon for them to have a truce, but Haytham pulled the same thing with Connor in the game. So maybe not.

Probably did not see this but if little Connor had only waited 3 days - 72 hours - he might have grown up as the Assassin in Kanen's place.

Ah lucky number 72
http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/72

//wibbles//

Oh no...Connor! You should tell Kanen what happened immediately! It's so sad to think that this all could be avoided if he had only said something then. Kanen won't listen, but at least the seed of a doubt would have been planted.

//wibbles//

Yeah, Connor really is too much of his father's son and making his mistakes by withholding information. Connor wanted Kanen to trust him again, that way if he never found any evidence, he could use their bond to try and convince him.

//shakes Connor//

And I bet the way he died is very similar to how canon! Connor killed Haytham.

//wibbles//

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