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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Good luck with the job change! :) Know how that feels and how stressful it is, so best of wishes!

Yeah...can't be the best way to die. Hacked into pieces...//shudders//

Would you believe that not only is this the longest chapter to date (three parts!) but that this installment also pushes the overall word count over 50,000? This thing is getting long. (But I still love it, and I love you guys too).

It is a thin line he is walking, that much is clear. Concealed within the line of trees marking the end of the wilderness and the beginning of the town Connor waits for darkness to fall. He's been sat here for hours now, settled down amongst the undergrowth resting against the thick bole of an elm, following the progress of the sun towards the horizon. Slipping back into Boston unnoticed is of the utmost importance, in no small part due to his strict orders to rendezvous with Yvette before doing anything further. Being seen with her would go a long way towards exposing the truth of his identity to the Templars, something they are still trying to avoid for the foreseeable future. Even now, so close to his destination, he can't quite believe that he's being allowed to do this. While Achilles's tone had made it clear that he wasn't entirely happy with the arrangement he hadn't gone so far as to actually accuse the novice of anything, yet. Were this not such a delicate juncture he'd have faced tougher consequences, of that he is sure. As things stand though the opportunity is one they cannot rightly refuse.

Rather than filling him with relief though the decision to send him to the Green Dragon has only caused him greater stress. These last few days in particular there has been little distraction from the tangle of confusion his thoughts have become. Dobby's words have stuck in his mind, festering and reigniting all of his previous doubts and fears about the grandmaster. Yet a part of him continues to hope. As reasonable as her argument may be, he remains reluctant to entirely dismiss everything that has happened between them. He might want to pretend otherwise, that it was all part of the plan, but the fact remains that he feels something for Haytham. This couldn't all be just a manipulation, could it? With a growl he buries his face in his hands. One thing is certain; if he is ever going to regain any peace of mind then he needs to see the man again, soon.

To his relief, night is fast setting in now, with the gloom under the trees growing. Shifting, the novice concentrates on assessing what lies immediately ahead. Between the woods and Southgate's outer wall is a strategic stretch of open grass. Other than the well-beaten road that cuts through its middle, the swathe of land is almost entirely featureless. It is quite flat, save for a few minor bumps, with only the odd tussock or dying bush naturally punctuating the stretch. Laid out closer to the walls are a number of chevaux de frise, the large menacing frames of wooden spikes only really a threat to those not on foot. Hardly any chances for blending, which is rather the point. Still, in the absence of daylight crossing the stretch and picking his way around the side of the fortifications won't be too difficult, so long as he's careful. It's not as if he hasn't taken this same route many times before. Were the sea not already so cold with the onset of winter, he might have be tempted to consider swimming instead, to take an even more direct course. Had he been heading straight to the Green Dragon that might not have been such a bad idea at all... Face already heating up, Connor lets out an exasperated breath; his thoughts keep doing this, finding excuses to turn in that direction whenever he finally manages to fix them elsewhere.

Closing his eyes and pressing the heels of his hands hard against them he tries to focus, willing it all away. He can't afford more lapses like this, at least not when there is anyone else to notice them. Dobby might be understanding and Achilles might be forgiving, but Yvette is uncompromising. No one drills the principles and tenets of the creed harder. Supposedly it's a French thing, this level of fierce devotion to the cause, coming from an upbringing in one of the most heavily contested sites in the centuries-old struggle. If anyone is going to detect his conflicted feelings and confront him now, it will be her – the very Assassin spymaster whose resources and attention are tirelessly trained on the Templar base of operations. And if she should decide that his actions are compromising the Brotherhood... But that won't happen; he'll remember the warnings, remember that the grandmaster is trying to use him, and not let himself fall any further for it. Simple enough, in theory.

Shouts signal as nearby soldiers make ready to close the outer gate for the night. Southgate had been restored to its secure, fully operational state within days of their ill-fated raid, naturally. While there is no doubt that they'd lost a fair few men that night, it seems the British had little difficulty finding replacements. Connor has no idea who is now in charge of the fort, but he doubts that they are going to be too much of an improvement over Silas. Progressing so far in the army ranks requires a certain way of thinking, after all. Still, he is confident that once it is dark enough he won't have any more difficulty than before in making his way past the walls and the barracks. The water gives them a false sense of security, as if they think they are still on an isolated island rather than a mere peninsula. And if there was ever something to benefit an Assassin it was the overconfidence of others. He realises, however, that the same could just as easily be said for the Templars.

If only they could have waited a few more years before coming here, then he wouldn't be finding himself in this position. With more experience, and with his days of training fully behind him, he would have had no problems following his orders rather than creating such a mess. True, it's a mess that might still prove to be advantageous to the Brotherhood, but it's still a mess nonetheless. Getting to his feet and brushing himself off, he checks over his weapons one last time, delaying. Again he is back to just the basics: knife, bow and quiver. Even so, it's more than he had when he made this journey last, for which he is thankful. Inventory taken, he bends to tighten the straps of his moccasins. While Abigail had allowed him to leave the homestead without his ankle still wrapped up in supportive bandages she had given him strict instructions to keep the joint well-supported and not push himself too soon. And yes, that did mean no jumping around in the trees. He's abiding by that, for now. His other concern is simply to keep his feet as dry as possible, for though he has no plans to swim today his route will likely require some measure of wading. Can't risk illness after all, for any sort of weakness is to be avoided on a task like this. Besides, he's not sure he'll be able to stand being bedridden again for some time.

In the distance a clock tower strikes the hour and the gates are dragged shut with an ominous clang, supposedly sealing the town off from the dangers of the outside for the night. Remaining within the shade of the trees even as the last streaks of red drain from the sky, Connor finally makes his way towards the water's edge. It's an uneven, rocky terrain but, with barely a trace of his limp noticeable anymore, it poses little in the way of a challenge. Hopefully the eyes of the watchmen will be mostly trained on the road tonight, as they usually seem to be. His senses tell him that there are no soldiers on the ground out here, which is to be expected, yet those guards stationed on the battlements are still capable of doing a lot of damage should they detect his movements. Taking no chances he stays low, almost to the point of moving on all fours, and steals forward.

Once he reaches the outer wall, pressing his back up against the cold, reassuring stone, he pauses to draw in a slow, quiet breath. This is good practice if nothing else, and after being cooped up it's refreshing, an exhilarating burst of adrenaline. Hugging the masonry the novice edges his way around the corner, allowing his feet to slide softly into the water when he can no longer avoid it and dragging them gently in order to minimise the disturbance. One should never make the mistake of underestimating an enemy's ability to hear; some of them might be remarkably dense but others can be uncannily quick to notice the least trace of something out of the ordinary. There's never any telling which is which until the moment of truth when it matters most. However with the fort shut up for the night its inhabitants, for the most part, will be relaxed and at rest, indulging in their time off duty. His presence should easily go unnoticed, barring any stupid mistakes, passing like a breath of wind through the grass.

Small peaks of flame, each set amid a circle of tents, mark the location of the majority of the troops. A quick check, slightly shifting his perspective, reveals numerous distinct patches of red grouped around the fires, individual forms blending together from this distance. There also looks to be a pair on the move, currently meandering their way along the main through-road, patrolling. They could be a bit of a problem, depending on which shore they choose to take, but other than that his way look as clear as ever. It's only fair for something to go smoothly for a change. When the guards turn in the opposite direction he steals forward again, only a little disappointed, sticking to the very edge of the shore. As he moves past a group of tents that are pitched a little closer to the line of the water than he likes a telltale whining strikes up, the unseen dog starting to bark before he can take another step. He freezes, tensed to bolt at the least sign of movement, but nobody pays the alert any heed. By the time the patrol is halfway along the other side of the perimeter Connor has safely reached the inner wall and slipped away.

That doesn't mean he's completely in the clear though, the outskirts of the town can be just as dangerous as the fort itself, if not more so, and the narrow backstreets are little better at this hour. It wouldn't be a surprise for him to catch sight of at least one potentially hostile individual before he reaches the safety of the Brotherhood's hideout. Should they or, more importantly, any other patrols afoot spot him it would not bode well, a lone native clearly sneaking around within their secure borders after dusk is something they wouldn't take lightly. His brief time with the slavers gave him a taste of what to expect, he doesn't dwell long on that thought. There is substantially more cover out here however, leaving him free to stray from the shoreline as he moves between the shelter of bushes, garden walls, and the odd field of corn. Losing a pursuer wouldn't be too difficult should it come to that.

Although at one point he does hear what seems to be a drunken soldier stumbling around on the road, quickly ducking behind an outhouse and forgoing the risk of looking, Connor encounters no real trouble. Soon enough the denser mass of the looming town-proper is within sprinting distance, the more permanent protective shadows of enclosed streets inviting from where he crouches at the edge of the older town-wall. Ten paces, he guesses it will take. Checking around for any hints of red, or even white, that might pose a problem he tenses, ready to make the move. Then a loud hiss suddenly comes out of nowhere, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin instead.

His moment of panic is quickly cut short by a burst of muffled giggling. 'Oh, you should've seen your face there, hilarious.'

Poking over the edge of the disused fortification, silhouetted against the night sky is a white hood, one that shakes with further suppressed laughter in spite of the glare directed at it. In the absence of any further acknowledgement or response the Assassin soon huffs loudly, flipping himself down to land beside the teenager with a light thump. Tone petulant, he pouts. 'Some way to greet your welcoming party.'

'Some way to be a welcoming party.' Arms crossed, the novice makes it clear that he is not particularly impressed with this turn of events. Scare aside, he hadn't been expecting company so soon, not until he'd reached the actual safe-house at least. An ambush like this feels rather counter-productive if anything.

Objection sensed, Tom raises his hands, defensive. 'Mademoiselle wanted me to make sure you didn't get waylaid by our friends in red is all. They're getting even more belligerent than usual.'

'So you decided to lie on a roof?'

'Yes.' His face is entirely straight, although the sides of his mouth start twitching up into a grin as he shrugs, completely unrepentant. 'Someone needed to lighten the mood a little.'

Sometimes it is all too easy to forget that this is a seasoned Assassin he is talking to rather than a raw recruit. How the Englishman has ever managed to survive for so many years within the Brotherhood while maintaining this sort of nonchalant, airy attitude would be completely beyond him, were it not for having seen the man shoot. Tom is absolutely deadly with ranged weapons, be they guns or throwing knives, becoming almost an entirely different person altogether whenever he has a target in his sights. A rifle at least is on his person at all times, currently slung over his shoulder, serving as a reminder of the calm precision and capability that lurks behind the cheerfulness and playful irreverence. In all likelihood his decision to wait on the roof was as much due to a habit of seeking out the high-ground and best lines of sight as it was to a desire to scare the novice.

'But... we'd better be getting a move on. Don't want to keep Mademoiselle waiting, now do we?' The last syllable has barely left his mouth before the Assassin is off, bounding across the exposed stretch and dramatically throwing himself into the shadow of the nearest alleyway. Thankfully it isn't really all that far to the safe-house from here.

Following Tom's lead, albeit at his own, much more measured pace, the novice resists the urge to ask any questions yet. Experience has taught him that it's better to wait to speak to someone else, as any answers he'd get now would be cryptic at best or lengthy digressions at worst. Besides, he doesn't think it's a good idea to encourage his chaperone to talk while they're still outside. Every time the man dives exaggeratedly across a street or rolls dramatically under a lit window, silent though he may be, Connor can't help wincing. Anyone would think the robed individual completely mad, but then that's probably the impression the Englishman is trying to encourage. Unless he's just showing off, that is. Mercifully they see no one.

Almost entirely by coincidence their destination is on the far side of town from the Green Dragon, in a slightly more run-down area that adjoins the shipyards. All of the activity going in and out of the house is a lot less conspicuous in such a place. Situated at the far end of a row, the house is in a carefully maintained state of desolation and dilapidation, just enough to make it at once both unremarkable yet forbidding. At a passing glance it could just as easily be taken for the family home of a dockworker as it could be for a den of scum and villainy. Tall and narrow, it has a definite slant to its frame and one first-floor window is smashed, with dark wooden boards nailed up behind the pane to seal the breach. None of the other buildings on the street are in a much better state of repair however. Heavy curtains are pulled across its every window, allowing no light to leak out and indicate the usage of any of the rooms or the presence of any of the occupants within. In spite of having been here before, knowing full well what is inside, Connor still feels a twinge of familiar anxiety as they approach the place. This is the sort of dank, dark, cramped place that he can never get used to.

Entirely unaffected, immune from both years of living here and in some of the older cities of Europe, Tom saunters up to the deceptively-thick front door, sparing a quick glance each way before swinging it open. He doesn't have to beckon to get the teenager inside fast, for in spite of his reservations about the place there is no telling if they are being watched or not. They may not be the only ones with spies on the streets anymore, and this hideout must remain as unconnected with the Assassins as he. As soon as he is safely over the threshold the older Assassin quickly but quietly closes the door, sealing it tight behind them and plunging the narrow hallway into near blackness. In spite of a momentary blindness he remains keenly aware of the constricting smallness of the space, the lack of air. It feels uncomfortably like a cage. Eyes soon adjusting, picking up the blue glow of the man behind him, he detects a faint hint of candlelight falling on the stairs from above. A particular policy of Yvette's is to never hold any meetings or discussions of importance on the ground floor, if she can possibly help it.

With some trouble manoeuvring in the small space Connor lets his elder get by him in order to continue properly leading the way, trailing a few steps behind and trying not to feel the walls closing in on him. The staircase is of a particularly tight and narrow construction, forcing anyone who would brave it into single file, a subtle but intentional bottlenecking measure. Not only that, each board creaks loudly at the least weight. Traversing them silently is a near-impossible art, one that no intruder could possibly hope to grasp on their own. It's almost as if the building had been specifically designed to withstand and resist intrusion. Rather than showing off now Tom loudly announces their arrival at every other step. Short of trying to climb up via the walls the teenager has no choice but to do the same. Surprisingly when they reach the first landing, after making about twenty-odd excruciating creaks each, none of the doors leading off it are open. A line of yellowish-orange light can be clearly made out beneath one however.

Tom's fist has barely raised to knock on said door when a shout from inside preempts him, arresting the motion; 'Arête!'

Sighing the Assassin glances back and rolls his eyes, one foot lightly tapping against the floorboards with an impatient beat. Though he is perfectly capable of sitting still for hours at a go should target practice or a mission demand it, the man has remarkably little patience most of the time. Usually this leads to some manner of destruction or annoyance should he be kept waiting and allowed to get bored enough. Very few seconds have passed when the door jerks wide open, the Frenchwoman knows her apprentice all too well.

Light pours from the room in sharp contrast to the dimness of the stairs. Once the spots clear from his vision and Connor can take a step inside the source of all this illumination becomes apparent. A veritable multitude of candles of many mismatched heights and shapes decorate the room. Some stand in holders, some are attached to fittings on the walls, while many others are strewn freely over any available surface, sealed in their places by large clumps of previously-melted wax. It's a fairly impressive display, revealing the true extent of the curtains' achievement in blocking any trace of this from reaching the outside world. Creeping uneasiness prompts him to draw as far away as possible from the army of little flames, instinctively shrinking from the perceived danger. Tom, noticing nothing and still utterly at ease, goes to settle himself between the pair of windows, one of which is completely boarded up. There is little in the way of actual furnishing to the chamber. The far wall, miraculously devoid of candles, is draped with a sheet of white cloth, which he doubts is purely for decorative purposes. Set dead centre is a large table, its surface spread with any number of maps and documents that vie for space with pens, inkwells, and yet more of those flaming sticks of wax. Yvette currently stands bent over it, hands clasped behind her back as she intently examines some note or feature of particular interest among the clutter.

The person responsible for letting the pair of them in remains by the door, waiting for a dismissal, no doubt used to leaving when the mistress of the house has other company. Wiry with dirty features and rather ragged clothes, including a woollen cap and fingerless gloves, the man reminds him a little of how Dobby had looked when she first came to the homestead. This alone would have immediately identified him as one of the local thieves. That he is here suggests he is experienced, probably used to fleeing over the rooftops, outrunning pursuit, and skilled at generally going unseen in a crowd. It's unlikely that this is the leader of Boston's thieves though, he doesn't look nearly old or scarred enough for that.

'Your displeasure was loud.' Although the woman doesn't look up, or move in the slightest, her reprimand is clearly directed at her apprentice. While each of those words is delicately enunciated, pronunciation clipped, she lapses back into a more natural, lightly accented speech when she continues; 'It would have been impossible to concentrate with you standing out there.'

In the midst of arranging himself more comfortably, Tom shrugs off the displeasure. 'Thought you'd want to talk to our new infiltrator as soon as possible.'

'I am sure you did, Ton,' she replies distractedly, as if indulging a child. For a few moments more the master Assassin peruses her papers, before abruptly straightening and turning to the man by the door. 'This will wait until morning.'

Nodding his acknowledgement the informant mutters a vague goodbye before promptly showing himself out, knowing better than to stick around when no longer wanted. His footsteps can easily be heard descending the stairs as they collectively wait in silence. Trying to resist the urge to shift his weight, and thus draw the full attention of the room, Connor wishes he were more at ease here. With a mixture of relief and trepidation he hears the distant click of the back door closing.

Satisfied now that they no longer have an audience, the woman finally advances to regard the novice properly. As she walks a circle, looking him up and down, her expression is set, inscrutable. 'You have quite recovered from your injuries, yes? Your journey did not exacerbate them?'

'The sprain is mostly healed, yes. I did not encounter any difficulties with it on the way here.' An inquiry after his health wasn't quite the opening he expected here. It throws him slightly, although not quite so much as the almost predatory circling. Self-conscious, he straightens his back.

'Good.' No particular clue as to her mood comes from her voice when she paces round behind him again. 'It would not do to send you in there in a bad condition. You need always to be prepared to run, in case things should go badly suddenly. This is a dangerous course you pursue.'

Word had always had it that briefings with Yvette have a tendency of getting very intense, very quickly. Certainly her approach is rather different to that of Achilles, which isn't surprising. Yet, while this feels like her trying to make him reevaluate things, this could just as easily be her way of being upfront with him. It also seems like another of those warnings.

'Are you quite sure about this?' Finally coming to a halt directly in front of him now, she proceeds to stare him down, keenly searching for the least trace of a waver in his resolution.

'Completely,' he lies, steadily holding the challenging eye contact nonetheless. Unsure though he may be at present it needs to be done, if only to quell the disquiet of his own confused mind.

Some moments of stillness pass, in which it is impossible to tell if she intends to call him out on the lie or not. Only when Tom impatiently clears his throat does she make her decision, breaking the stare. Her eyes briefly flick over the teenager once more. 'Very well...'

Yvette crosses the room to take up position beside the covered wall, a hand rising to grip the material. Prompted by a pointed look Connor reluctantly draws further into the room, managing to find himself another spot that is relatively isolated from the numerous little points of flame. With a sharp, well-placed tug the woman brings the whole sheet down in a single, fluid cascade of cloth to expose the wall behind. Or, at least, what little of it is actually visible beneath a vast collage of tacked-up papers that spreads from floor to ceiling. Set amidst this web of writings in pride of place are rather impressively accurate portraits depicting each of the major Templars of the new colonial rite. Wondering quite how she would have come to have them, he's unsure whether it's harder to imagine that she managed to have such pictures conveniently located and then promptly stolen or that she commissioned one of her spies to create them. One must always know your enemy, after all. Unwittingly he takes a step forward, then a few more, ostensibly with the intent of deciphering some of the various scrawls of handwriting that no doubt detail all of the information they have been able to dig up so far. The sheer volume of it temporarily worries him, until he reads one note detailing something about Pomeranians.

'You already have had the pleasure of meeting them, I believe.'

'I would not call it that. Haytham is the only one I have ever spoken to.' Slightly too late he realises that referring to the grandmaster by that name is a mistake, using a degree of familiarity that is entirely out of place in this manner of discussion.

If she notices the slip she does not show it. Instead she gestures to the wall with a broad sweep of one arm; 'Allow me then to better acquaint you with the enemy.'

Directing his attention to each of the images in turn, she proceeds to give him brief rundowns of the more essential basics of what her men have been able to learn so far. Thankfully the Frenchwoman chooses not to tell him every little detail, saving them from having to stand here all night. Knowing too much would only be harmful to his subterfuge, as the slightest slip, of drawing on things he shouldn't rightly have any idea of, could quite easily be a death sentence. After all, most of them have no real reason to trust him in the first place. The true gravity of the situation he is placing himself in begins to fall properly into perspective as she talks. It seemed almost easier when he knew nothing more than their faces and what few observations he had been able to make during the Southgate raid. And this is only going to get worse...

'William Johnson; the intellectual of the group. Our paths have come close to crossing before this due to his particular interest in and dealings with the Iroquois. He seems to have a keen grasp of the language, competent skills as a negotiator, and a considerable knowledge of the area. Given what we now know of their purpose here, it is a good bet that he was Kenway's first call regarding the artefact and the location of the temple.

'Thomas Hickey is the man's assistant, although god knows why. Drinking and womanising are the only real skills we have as yet observed him possessing. One can only assume that he is a decent fighter, and extra pair of hands, if nothing else.

'A doctor, in name more than nature, Benjamin Church was the one who had the most obvious grievance with the late Silas Thatcher. Apparently he places profit over the value of other's lives, refusing treatment to those who cannot afford his prices, so a natural choice for the Order. Out of all of them, he seems most like a weak link to be exploited.

'Jonathan Pitcairn had also come to our attention before Southgate, with his rather suspiciously abrupt transfer to Boston from another command. It caused quite a stir with Braddock, apparently furthering this divide between he and the Templars. Pitcairn is their main soldier and point of contact with the redcoats over here, with some years of service and experience behind him.

'Then there is Charles Lee. He is, as yet, uninitiated but I am told that it is not for lack of trying. An ambitious little climber if ever I saw one; he seems to stick to Kenway like glue half the time, and when he's not is busy running errands or doing whatever he can to better ingratiate himself with the group in general. Last I heard he had been called away south with Braddock, but rest assured that he will be back at the first opportunity. What with this dangerous enthusiasm of his he may pose the greatest single threat to you, should he feel you are beginning to get in his way that is.'

'Pff,' Tom interjects with a loud snort, disgust and contempt clear on his face. 'The man would murder his own grandmother if it'd improve his chances.'

'Men have done worse things than that to secure a place within the Templar hierarchy.' There is an unexpected sharpness to her reply, a fleeting darkness that passes over her features as her eyes seem to focus on some distant point. She opens her mouth as if to say something more but, on making a sideways glance at Connor, she reconsiders. With a shake of her head she indicates the final, central picture. 'I take it you know Kenway well enough to be going on with for now. But make no mistake, he believes in what he's doing more than any of them.'

Perhaps it is just him twisting things, but people seem to be taking every chance they get to drive that point at him; Haytham is the enemy. In his mind it remains a statement that is simultaneously true and false, no matter how much he thinks on it. Tomorrow will settle it though, he has to believe that.

Aware that he is being watched, he chooses his words carefully, still conflicted in spite of it all and now with a feeling that something is being held back from him. It's almost as much an attempt to convince himself as it is to convince the others, a repetition of a fact that he needs to remind himself of with shameful regularity. 'He is not a grandmaster for nothing.'

'Indeed he is not.' The faintest hint of a smile curls her lips. 'You do seem to have him pretty taken in however. I was becoming quite concerned by all the lack of activity here until Achilles informed me of your part in it.

'They have not done anything?' It's hard to believe his involvement could have had that great an effect.

'Nothing substantial.'

'It's been boring as hell.' Tom grumbles quietly, looking bored just thinking about it.

'They have still been meeting regularly, but whenever they talk they always head up to their little den on the first floor landing. It's quite impossible to listen to them there without being detected.' If the thin scowl is any indication the irony of falling foul of the same precautionary measure she practices isn't lost on her.

'Got quite a beating, the one that tried it.' Piping up again, the apprentice appears not nearly so put out by the hinderance, to the point of irreverent faux-cheeriness. 'Lucky he was drunk or they mightn't have left him alive.'

That earns a reproachful glare, one that sufficiently cows him so that his master can keep full control of the conversation, for a while at least. 'Eavesdropping is fortunately no longer such a concern for us, not now that we have you, Connor. Help plan this assassination attempt, earn their trust, keep them as occupied as you can, and report back to us everything you learn. The more information we have, the easier things will be when the time comes.'

'I am not convinced they will tell me anything much, outside of the planning.' Serious doubt has been creeping back in ever since he set foot in this room, there is no guarantee that even Haytham really trusts him after all. Not that the man actually should anyway, he can't help but think as he rapidly pushes aside the ominous idea of 'when the time comes'.

'Don't be so sure. You have something they want.' As the closest thing the Brotherhood has on this side of the Atlantic to an expert on those who came before and their remains, her quiet resentment is palpable. While she must not believe for a second that he would ever dare go so far as to actually show the site to Haytham it is clear that the mere offer of it rather irks her. It's not really surprising that she becomes harsher when she continues. 'They need you, but don't think that will stop them gutting you if they ever find out what you're really doing there. Should you begin to doubt your safety in the least you are to leave. Immediately. Is that clear?'

'Yes, entirely clear.' Achilles had gone over the exact same thing with him, twice, during their last private talk. Now, that doesn't mean he is entirely sure he'll have the sense to do any such thing when it comes to it, but that's not going to stop him offering the assurance anyway.

A conspicuous look passes between the two older Assassins, a silent debate, both of them seeming slightly less than convinced. Contrary to his expectations however the master simply sighs; 'This opportunity you have created is undeniably a great benefit to us in this struggle, Connor, but it is not worth losing you. All we want is to be sure that you recognise your own limits and will not try to overreach yourself.'

If only. This cautioning would have been far more effective had it come before his first meeting with the grandmaster, or maybe even the second, for he has the feeling he crossed his limits long ago. Still, if he can just prove to himself that Dobby is right then everything will be fine. He can do this, he has to believe that. 'You have no need to worry, I understand the risks and have no intentions of letting them discover or kill me. Things worked out well enough at Southgate, they will work out again.'

'You certainly do have the melon... There will be eyes constantly on that building, so do not hesitate to signal if you need us. Otherwise, should all go well, Ton or I will meet you at the southern end of Macneal's Rope Yard in three days time to check up on your progress.' Discussion abruptly over Yvette turns her back on him, returning to the table and the previous object of perusal. Having now come to some manner of conclusion she seems to see no need for any further talk. One hand waves dismissively; 'Go now, get some sleep while you can still rest easy.'

And just like that he too is dismissed. Once again he has somehow managed to come away from an interrogation with no more than a warning, albeit another rather strong one. Not wanting to linger any longer in this room than he has to, Connor gladly does as instructed and follows Tom towards the door. He casts one last look over his shoulder at the wall, knowing with a shiver of anticipation that tomorrow he'll be facing at least some of them in the flesh again. After the glow of all those candles the climb to the next floor seems a lot darker than the last, and a steeper one too. The attic is divided into a number of smaller rooms by a number of partition walls that were clearly installed after construction, each housing a bed for anyone passing through who might need one. In spite of, or perhaps because of, the plain practicality of the design the space rather recalls the feel of a prison. At least there are no leering soldiers, he tells himself, that counts for something. Nonetheless getting a good night's sleep up here will be impossible. Not that he intends to mention any such thing to his elders, and particularly not the fact that he may well be much better rested after his first night in the Green Dragon. Or not, he quickly corrects himself.

Guiding him into one of the larger box-rooms, which has the additional virtue of a small window, Tom grimaces at the sight of the rather dismal straw mattress within and quickly ducks away to go in search of some form of extra bedding. Both gestures are very much appreciated, nevertheless the teenager is relieved when the older Assassin shows no particular inclination to stick around and chat after he hands over the blanket. Teasing would have been inevitable if he had, and Connor is in no mood to endure any of that right now. Left alone, he wastes no time shutting himself in, preparing for a long night of lying awake and listening to the building creak. Stripped down and stretched out atop the blanket the novice knows that if he closes his eyes he will see the cave, replaying the memories yet again. It's a bittersweet prospect and, tempting as it may be, he doesn't dare indulge in it now, for the walls up here are paper-thin.

...

In the end it's quite fortunate that he doesn't get much sleep, as it spares him from a drenching when Tom comes to wake him with a bucket of water in the morning. He still thinks that wandering in there soaked-through is far from a good idea, not if he's going to stand any chance of doing anything useful anyway. Ignoring the blatant disappointment on the Assassin's face he slings his quiver over his shoulder, signalling his readiness. Inside he is torn between wanting to get things underway quickly and wanting to hold off the inevitable. The flights of stairs somehow feel even more precarious and narrow now in what little dim light manages to filter into the space. Ahead of him the line of the man's shoulders grows tenser as the distance to the back door shrinks but upon reaching it he turns to the novice with a sudden bout of breeziness.

'Don't you go getting all soft on them, all right.' Tom's hand rests on the door handle, there will be no time for talking once he opens it. He offers one last, slightly strained smile by way of parting; 'Stay safe.'

No sooner than feet have touched pavement than it shuts fast behind him, a bolt audibly sliding into place. Certainly the Englishman has mastered the art of closing doors near-silently. Connor's skin prickles with that sensation of being watched as he pauses, standing there exposed in the empty alley. Somewhere up above, just out of sight, the master Assassin lurks, ready to shadow his every footstep. That wavering disquiet is only building further now, in spite of the fortification provided by the, relatively, fresh air that he breathes in hungrily. Along with something that feels far too much like guilt. Ignoring the pressure of Yvette's watchful eyes as best he can, not foolish enough to expose them both by attempting to locate her, he braces himself and heads east. It is as the safe-house recedes from reach that he realises he actually has no real plan from here. So focused has he been on actually just getting to Boston and appeasing the older Assassins that he hasn't really had a chance to think past it. Part of him was simply so sure they would see through him, that they'd realise the danger and put an end to his association with the grandmaster.

Studiously avoiding any trace of red, he creates a rather circuitous route across town that gives him more time to think, or at least stall, and likely causes more than a few headaches for the following Assassin. If nothing else he can always claim that he's just trying to keep her sharp. Although the sky is quite clear of clouds this morning there is a frost on the ground and every exhaled breath is visible in the chill air. A prelude to the fullest onset of winter. Boston is nonetheless in the midst of waking to go about its business as usual, although those of its citizens out on the streets are a little more tightly bundled up and are moving a little faster. Just because people are keen to get back indoors to the warmth of a fireside though doesn't mean that they ignore him. He draws looks, as he always seems to here, and before long he is dearly wishing he at least had a hood to hide behind. Were he not already sticking mostly to the back-alleys and cut-throughs the stares would have caused him to do so.

Eventually however he has to near his destination, with a mixture of relief and trepidation; were he to start going in circles, as he half wants to, Yvette would probably decide that he'd changed his mind and promptly haul him back to the safe-house. He has the feeling that she, just as much as Achilles, will be consciously looking for the least excuse to call this off. Fortunately the novice catches sight of the sign before he can take more than a step out of the shadows of the empty alleyway. Fairly safe in the assumption that there aren't going to be any other taverns, inns, or other public buildings with a greenish-coloured dragon hanging over their doors, he nevertheless pulls back. Now more than ever Connor dislikes the idea of walking straight into the place alone. Even in the company of his fellow novices he has never felt very comfortable in any of Boston's drinking establishments, for their patrons are always far too interested in him for his liking. Frontier taverns are one thing, those in larger settlements are quite another. His concerns are certainly not helped by the fact that a group of redcoats are conspicuously looping round the block as if waiting for the moment when they can rightfully leave off duty and go straight inside.

Besides, the fact is that he can't be sure that Haytham is even in the building right now. So surely it's better to wait out here, to just watch until he sees the man before doing anything. The idea of having to introduce himself to the other Templars doesn't exactly thrill him. Sinking down, pressing his back to the reassuringly solid brickwork, the teenager does his best to disappear into the shadows. No one should pay him much heed here and he has a good, clear line of sight on the entrance to the Green Dragon. For the time being at least he can stay, although the novice is quite aware that this is a pretty poor tactic and that he'll have to bite the bullet eventually. The longer he drags this out, the more annoyed he's going to be making Yvette, and that's a worse prospect to face than the inside of the tavern. Still, he remains hesitant as the sun continues to steadily rise higher above the horizon. What if he's wrong? What if he's right? Either way, crossing that threshold will change things, tip the balance, and not necessarily for the better. There's no choice though, there never has been. Whatever there is between them, he needs to know. If nothing else it'd always be good to get rid of Braddock.

'I do hope you weren't planning on staying out here all day.'

Heart attempting to both leap and plunge in an instant, Connor ends up feeling slightly nauseous, and more than a little embarrassed. His attention must have slipped severely for him to have missed the pad of footsteps approaching from behind, however quiet they may have been. Deprived of the chance to properly steel himself, he looks up to meet Haytham's inquisitive expression and nothing has changed.

*screams*

Aaaaaahhhh oh man I love that we learnt a lot in this, and I like how you're detailing the other assassin's jobs and missions. I'm also glad in a way we didn't have to nervously read Achilles' conversation with Connor (unless I missed an update?) because I love Achilles but he's so scary sometimes, even when you're just reading him in fic TT_TT

oh man oh man oh man i don't know what to say except thank you write anon thank you so much!

<3

A/N: Sorry for the delay, still waiting for the job callback... and of course got distracted once more.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!"

The young Omega found that he did not possess his voice to respond to his best friend's urgent pleas. He did not even have the strength to turn over and look at him from within his tiny cage. So he lay upon the dirty rags that served as his bedding, curling up into a tight little ball as he drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his trembling arms around his legs.

He remained like that, ignoring the Alpha boy who continued to call out his name until one of the slavers banged on his cage and demanded the savage brat to shut up. Ratonhnhaké:ton felt bad. He was not trying to ignore his friend just to be mean.

He was scared.

The trembling Omega was shaking with fright to say or do anything that would draw attention to himself That would draw those horrible monsters back to him. Ratonhnhaké:ton shuddered, biting his lower lip and held back the sobs he kept trapped out in his throat. Knowing he would not be able to contain them all if even a little one escaped.

Never before had he felt so... sick.

Not even when he was actually sick back in his village, because Mother made everything okay. She would always tell him that he would be all right. She would always tell him he was special. That he was loved.

But those horrible people took him away from everything he loved and trapped him in their too small cage. Then they would violate him. To them he wasn't anything special. He wasn't even a human being in their malicious eyes... and they made him feel lower than an animal.

But he wasn't.

He wasn't.

Because someday he would break out of this animal cage. Ratonhnhaké:ton lifted his head as he watched a slaver's departing boots leave his line of vision. Someday he would get his revenge on all those who hurt him, and never again would he be forced to endure such depravity.

With one trembling hand, the Omega reached out and his small hand went through the cold steel bars...

"Never again."

Before his would-be rapist could inquire what he said, Connor slammed his elbow into the Alpha's ribs as hard as he could. Ben Church yelped in pain, taking an involuntary step backwards. The hunter did not allow him to get far as he grabbed hold of his assailant and spun him around and extended his hidden blade.

"Drop your weapons," he snarled over Ben's shoulder at the mercenaries.

They did not comply. Not at first, until Alpha Assassin had wrestled free from the grasp and was able to rearm himself. What finally had their muskets set upon the ground, was the thin sliver of blood as Connor's hidden blade lightly scratched the pale expanse of Ben's neck and the Alpha - who loved life as much as he did luxury - yelled for t hem to comply.

"Look Connor..." Ben's voice trembled with fear that he was unsuccessfully trying to hide, "I really wasn't going to..."

"Shut up, Ben," he growled against the Alpha's ear. "It was because of your unwanted attentions is why I wanted nothing to do with you."

"If you release me... I won't get in your way again, I swear, I..."

"I said to shut up," Connor growled back and immediately his captive complied. "If you... if any of you..." the wolf glared at the startled Templar traitors, "try anything, I will end you."

Kanen'tó:kon, with both his and Connor's flintlocks aimed at the unarmed mercenaries, paused to glance over at him before settling on the Alpha who had a hidden blade pressed against his throat.

"Where are the supplies you stole and intended to sell to the Redcoats?" he demanded.

"If you let me go, I..."

"Answer him," Connor hissed, refusing to ease up on his grip even when Ben swallowed uncomfortably.

"There's... there's another camp east of here. That's where we hid the supplies."

"And that is where I will find Benjamin Church?"

The son of the former member of the Inner Circle flinched and remained silent. Connor narrowed his eyes and pressed the hidden blade a little harder against his captive's neck. A thin stream of blood began to seep into the collar of his shirt, staining it a bright crimson.

"Well?" he pressed when the Alpha made a choke whimper in response.

"That... that is my father you are asking to betray!"

"You truly think he has not already done the same to you?" Connor sneered. "You said it yourself, that this was a trap for the Grandmaster. Do you really think my father would be subdued by the likes of you?"

The bleeding Alpha tensed and was silent for a long moment, either acknowledging or denying the truth in Connor's words until...

"Yes... yes, he's there."

"Good. You're going to lure him out for us."

Ben Church tensed and swallowed hard once more, but was ready to submit.

"If I... if I lead you to my father, you'll let me live?"

Connor removed the hidden blade from his bleeding throat and began to bind Ben's hands tightly behind his back.

"You have my word."

This story is just amazing, anon. That last sentence got me. I too am torn like our poor Connor here -- don't know whether he can trust Haytham or just shun the very prospect of going further... /pats Connor/ Paranoia can't feel pleasant either.

Very excited for the next part!

//gape//

What a rollercoaster! The memories of Connor's time with the slavers, the link to the present day, that inkling of how utterly ruthless and borderline unhinged Connor had become, and OMG the lie!

No wonder Kanen is wary of him later on. No wonder it ended up the way it did. O_O

I am actually scared for Ben, even though he is a disgusting human. Wow, just ...

wow.

Kudos on a spectacularly thrilling installment.

Thirded! Love me some Fem!Connor :)

Finding Connor

Chapter 28

Charles paced back and forth as he and his counterpart finished setting up camp.

He was...torn.

The other Alpha was arrogant and patronizing and completely infuriating. And if he had been anyone else, Charles would have done his best to put him in his place already.

Charles thought back to the man's ultimatum and saw red. To be ordered about and obviously expected to actually follow such orders...

Who did he think he was? Was Charles not also the same? They were the same person, and for his counterpart to treat him so dismissively was...was...

"Will you be useless this entire time or do you plan to find us some food?"

Charles grit his teeth and turned slowly to stare at the lounging man.

"I must be hard of hearing because I cannot have just heard you suggest that I should hunt for the both of us."

"It would not have been necessary if you had packed more."

Charles stared at him. He hadn't packed more because he had not expected to be in company for so long in the trip. He thought woefully to his soft heart. If only he had slain the man earlier...

"I certainly did not expect you to follow me and eat the food I packed," Charles said instead.

His counterpart snorted.

"As if you could ever believe me to be so naive as to let you wander off alone. It would be different if you were someone I had confidence in, but as it is..." He shrugged, seemingly seeing an end to the matter.

Charles did not.

"I confess that I do not understand this irrational hatred you possess for me," Charles pushed on. "Are we not the same person? Do we not share the same goals?"

A glare, though a halfhearted one.

"You know full well that it is because we share the same goals that I cannot fully let down my guard around you."

Charles felt his eyebrows climbing into his hair. Well, with a ludicrous statement like that, he could scarce blame them.

"Please," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am you. I know full well that you would never be able to let your guard down around anyone, not even Master Kenway, despite your feelings for him. It is the unusual strength of your misgivings that I allude you, and it does you a disservice to pretend otherwise."

Oh look. He'd upset the other Charles. Guess his counterpart did not much like reminding of his unrequited feelings for his mentor.

Charles had taken a gamble with that one. His own affections had long been fixed upon Mr. Lee, née Mr. Kenway. He held some mild attraction towards the elder, but as his mentor's son grew and blossomed into an especially talented and lovely and brilliant Omega...

Charles smiled fondly, remembering the first time he'd realized the strength of his admiration for his future wife. To see the young man so happy, playing with Spado and the others...

"My relations with Master Kenway are not for you to judge. And you know full well exactly why I would be a fool to trust you."

"I confess I do not," Charles returned. "I have no interest in your wife, beyond his safe recovery so that I may return to my own home. Why you persist in believing otherwise, I cannot understand."

"Can you not?" his counterpart had one eyebrow raised in sardonic amusement. "You, who have so recently lost a most beloved wife. And now you find a man who is your wife in a different world...can you truly not understand my reticence?"

Oh for the love of--

"No, I cannot," Charles said firmly. "I have said time and time again that your wife is not the same person as my wife. And I am not a cheater. I loved my wife with a passion that I doubt you can even conceive, given the way you treat your own. And I will not betray his trust in me."

The other Charles turned red. "And what is that supposed to mean? You dare to suggest that I am deliberately cruel to my wife? That I seek to harm him?"

Dear God, was the man deliberately being obtuse?

"No! But I do suggest that you are so used to thinking of him as your enemy that you automatically treat him as such, despite the change in his position with respect to you and yours."

"He is an enemy!"

Charles blinked, surprised at the outburst.

"He is an Assassin. I must never let loose his bindings, else he may raise that blade against the Order again. And I cannot allow that to happen. I will not."

His counterpart stalked up to him, suddenly fierce and very, very angry.

"Do you think that I am a weakling and a traitor? Ha! I put the Order above all else. All my relationships, all my bonds, everything dear to me. I know," he laughed bitterly, "I know what you think of me. You and that doctor of yours. And I do not care. I thought up this plan to defang a most dangerous foe and turn my enemy's strength into my own."

He paused at that, briefly looking away into the flames of the campfire.

"I admit I did not realize how magnificent he could be--" and he sounded almost regretful at that "--but it does not change anything. His talents are vital to the Order, and Master Kenway could only trust me to handle his wayward son. Even if he seems to have changed his mind now."

Oh?

The other Charles shook his head. "But that is neither here nor there. My first loyalty is to the Order. Yours seems to be to your son and your own Order, both waiting for you in another world."

Charles nodded. So his counterpart must understand then, why he could not be a danger to him. What had he to gain from stealing this Connor? His greatest desires needed this Connor to be well and whole, and did not the other Charles desire the same thing?

"I do not doubt you when you say you have no ulterior designs on my wife."

Charles blinked, suddenly feeling off-balance. Wasn't that why the man always treated him so disdainfully?

"I am sure you wonder why I have no been more welcoming to you in that case."

Charles could only nod mutely.

"Well, there is a simple answer to that."

A flash of pain, and Charles clutched his stomach in pain.

"It's a pity, because I truly do not detest you as you think I do. But you are trying too hard, and I cannot allow that."

He yanked the dagger out of Charles's stomach, and Charles dropped to the ground, curling around his wound.

Betrayal bled bitter in his mind.

What was the reason for this? Why? The other Charles had already said he understood, so why had he done this?

"I am not without empathy though, and I am sure you wish to understand why it came to this."

He glanced over Charles's shivering form and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, continued.

"It's really quite simple. My loyalties to the Order means that I am willing to sacrifice anything for it. Even," he said sadly, "my relationship with Master Kenway. He has not visited me, you know, since my wife fell ill. And I can only surmise that he has given up on me for my failure to convert his son from his improper thinking."

He seemed wistful, and Charles would have felt sorry for him if he were not bleeding away on the forest floor.

Charles carefully exerted pressure on the wound, doing his best to staunch the bleeding with only his hands and torn shirt. Damn the man. He deserved any kind of misery he received.

"And I truly do want to convert Connor. He has proven himself to be a most resilient wife and, with training, I am sure he could be a most admirable example. But in the case that he does not..."

He glanced again at Charles's curled form on the ground.

"Your first prerogative is to return home to your son and your Order. And so you are aligned with my wife's interests, not necessarily with my own. If Connor heals and does not adjust his wrong thinking, then you would be a very dangerous liability. And I cannot have that. I cannot tolerate a world where my wife is allied to my alternate self, an alternate self that is unduly sympathetic to him and not so much to his own counterpart."

And here the man glared.

"If Connor were to know his place, then I would not be concerned. But I cannot chance that he stands to gain such power when there is no proof that he has. It is too dangerous, and I will not allow the Order to face such risk. Better that I remove you from the situation early, to prevent any later misunderstandings."

Charles felt incredulous. Misunderstandings? As he lay bleeding on the forest floor? And, if his counterpart had been better with his aim, he would have been dead otherwise.

His scowled in pain at the man. And his blood chilled as the other Alpha withdrew a pistol.

"I am not without understanding and sympathy. And I am sorry to have to do this. But I will not allow you to endanger my Order. And I cannot take the chance that you've learned from your mistakes given that your very purpose here is to help my wife."

Unbelievably, he actually did look regretful.

Oh bugger that.

"I really am sorry."

And a shot rang out.

Finding Connor

Chapter 26

Charles paced back and forth as he and his counterpart finished setting up camp.

He was...torn.

The other Alpha was arrogant and patronizing and completely infuriating. And if he had been anyone else, Charles would have done his best to put him in his place already.

Charles thought back to the man's ultimatum and saw red. To be ordered about and obviously expected to actually follow such orders...

Who did he think he was? Was Charles not also the same? They were the same person, and for his counterpart to treat him so dismissively was...was...

"Will you be useless this entire time or do you plan to find us some food?"

Charles grit his teeth and turned slowly to stare at the lounging man.

"I must be hard of hearing because I cannot have just heard you suggest that I should hunt for the both of us."

"It would not have been necessary if you had packed more."

Charles stared at him. He hadn't packed more because he had not expected to be in company for so long in the trip. He thought woefully to his soft heart. If only he had slain the man earlier...

"I certainly did not expect you to follow me and eat the food I packed," Charles said instead.

His counterpart snorted.

"As if you could ever believe me to be so naive as to let you wander off alone. It would be different if you were someone I had confidence in, but as it is..." He shrugged, seemingly seeing an end to the matter.

Charles did not.

"I confess that I do not understand this irrational hatred you possess for me," Charles pushed on. "Are we not the same person? Do we not share the same goals?"

A glare, though a halfhearted one.

"You know full well that it is because we share the same goals that I cannot fully let down my guard around you."

Charles felt his eyebrows climbing into his hair. Well, with a ludicrous statement like that, he could scarce blame them.

"Please," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am you. I know full well that you would never be able to let your guard down around anyone, not even Master Kenway, despite your feelings for him. It is the unusual strength of your misgivings that I allude you, and it does you a disservice to pretend otherwise."

Oh look. He'd upset the other Charles. Guess his counterpart did not much like reminding of his unrequited feelings for his mentor.

Charles had taken a gamble with that one. His own affections had long been fixed upon Mr. Lee, née Mr. Kenway. He held some mild attraction towards the elder, but as his mentor's son grew and blossomed into an especially talented and lovely and brilliant Omega...

Charles smiled fondly, remembering the first time he'd realized the strength of his admiration for his future wife. To see the young man so happy, playing with Spado and the others...

"My relations with Master Kenway are not for you to judge. And you know full well exactly why I would be a fool to trust you."

"I confess I do not," Charles returned. "I have no interest in your wife, beyond his safe recovery so that I may return to my own home. Why you persist in believing otherwise, I cannot understand."

"Can you not?" his counterpart had one eyebrow raised in sardonic amusement. "You, who have so recently lost a most beloved wife. And now you find a man who is your wife in a different world...can you truly not understand my reticence?"

Oh for the love of--

"No, I cannot," Charles said firmly. "I have said time and time again that your wife is not the same person as my wife. And I am not a cheater. I loved my wife with a passion that I doubt you can even conceive, given the way you treat your own. And I will not betray his trust in me."

The other Charles turned red. "And what is that supposed to mean? You dare to suggest that I am deliberately cruel to my wife? That I seek to harm him?"

Dear God, was the man deliberately being obtuse?

"No! But I do suggest that you are so used to thinking of him as your enemy that you automatically treat him as such, despite the change in his position with respect to you and yours."

"He is an enemy!"

Charles blinked, surprised at the outburst.

"He is an Assassin. I must never let loose his bindings, else he may raise that blade against the Order again. And I cannot allow that to happen. I will not."

His counterpart stalked up to him, suddenly fierce and very, very angry.

"Do you think that I am a weakling and a traitor? Ha! I put the Order above all else. All my relationships, all my bonds, everything dear to me. I know," he laughed bitterly, "I know what you think of me. You and that doctor of yours. And I do not care. I thought up this plan to defang a most dangerous foe and turn my enemy's strength into my own."

He paused at that, briefly looking away into the flames of the campfire.

"I admit I did not realize how magnificent he could be--" and he sounded almost regretful at that "--but it does not change anything. His talents are vital to the Order, and Master Kenway could only trust me to handle his wayward son. Even if he seems to have changed his mind now."

Oh?

The other Charles shook his head. "But that is neither here nor there. My first loyalty is to the Order. Yours seems to be to your son and your own Order, both waiting for you in another world."

Charles nodded. So his counterpart must understand then, why he could not be a danger to him. What had he to gain from stealing this Connor? His greatest desires needed this Connor to be well and whole, and did not the other Charles desire the same thing?

"I do not doubt you when you say you have no ulterior designs on my wife."

Charles blinked, suddenly feeling off-balance. Wasn't that why the man always treated him so disdainfully?

"I am sure you wonder why I have no been more welcoming to you in that case."

Charles could only nod mutely.

"Well, there is a simple answer to that."

A flash of pain, and Charles clutched his stomach in pain.

"It's a pity, because I truly do not detest you as you think I do. But you are trying too hard, and I cannot allow that."

He yanked the dagger out of Charles's stomach, and Charles dropped to the ground, curling around his wound.

Betrayal bled bitter in his mind.

What was the reason for this? Why? The other Charles had already said he understood, so why had he done this?

"I am not without empathy though, and I am sure you wish to understand why it came to this."

He glanced over Charles's shivering form and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, continued.

"It's really quite simple. My loyalties to the Order means that I am willing to sacrifice anything for it. Even," he said sadly, "my relationship with Master Kenway. He has not visited me, you know, since my wife fell ill. And I can only surmise that he has given up on me for my failure to convert his son from his improper thinking."

He seemed wistful, and Charles would have felt sorry for him if he were not bleeding away on the forest floor.

Charles carefully exerted pressure on the wound, doing his best to staunch the bleeding with only his hands and torn shirt. Damn the man. He deserved any kind of misery he received.

"And I truly do want to convert Connor. He has proven himself to be a most resilient wife and, with training, I am sure he could be a most admirable example. But in the case that he does not..."

He glanced again at Charles's curled form on the ground.

"Your first prerogative is to return home to your son and your Order. And so you are aligned with my wife's interests, not necessarily with my own. If Connor heals and does not adjust his wrong thinking, then you would be a very dangerous liability. And I cannot have that. I cannot tolerate a world where my wife is allied to my alternate self, an alternate self that is unduly sympathetic to him and not so much to his own counterpart."

And here the man glared.

"If Connor were to know his place, then I would not be concerned. But I cannot chance that he stands to gain such power when there is no proof that he has. It is too dangerous, and I will not allow the Order to face such risk. Better that I remove you from the situation early, to prevent any later misunderstandings."

Charles felt incredulous. Misunderstandings? As he lay bleeding on the forest floor? And, if his counterpart had been better with his aim, he would have been dead otherwise.

His scowled in pain at the man. And his blood chilled as the other Alpha withdrew a pistol.

"I am not without understanding and sympathy. And I am sorry to have to do this. But I will not allow you to endanger my Order. And I cannot take the chance that you've learned from your mistakes given that your very purpose here is to help my wife."

Unbelievably, he actually did look regretful.

Oh bugger that.

"I really am sorry."

And a shot rang out.

OMG, never saw this coming /jaw drops to the ground/ oh moth!Charles... You signed your own death warrant !

Yeahhh and we're going to see more of Connor's dark side in the next installments /shivers/

Unnnnnffff this is the best thing ever. EVEEEEEER!

yes yes yes, can somebody please write this

A/N: Sorry, yet another filler flash-back.

As the sun began to set, they set up camp half-way between their destination and the now abandoned camp where they had obtained their living bait. No one spoke. Not that Ben Church had anything to say to the two wolves holding him hostage, without having his throat ripped into as a result. But Kanen'tó:kon appeared very uncomfortable around the other Mohawk, and they spent the rest of the evening without any verbal communication between them.

After supper, Church had fallen asleep first, followed by Kanen'tó:kon. When his childhood friend could no longer stop himself from nodding off from where they were sitting silently by the campfire, the Templar had thrown his own bedroll at him. As for Connor, rest remained an elusive creature; easy to catch but difficult to contain. As his body was allowed to relax from the strenuous day of infiltrating an enemy camp, the hunter's mind had far too much on it.

He tried to imagine several different scenarios of what he, his current partner, and their prisoner would face at this other camp. If worse came to worse, and Church had fled by boat along with the stolen supplies, he would have no choice but to either contact Nicholas Biddle or accompany Kanen'tó:kon on his own ship: The Aquila (at the name, Connor could not help but smile fondly at his sleeping black mare). But he was willing, to chase the bastard into the seven seas if need be.

If the Assassin would still have him. Connor sighed quietly and rubbed at his temples. The Omega knew he had put his friend on edge with the way he handled the mercenaries back at the camp. While Kanen'tó:kon argued that they could just simply imprison them somehow, Connor had pointed out that these men were no longer be loyal to the Order, but their own coin purses. If even one of these henchmen had escaped to warn Church senior.. they all could very well be walking into another death trap.

The Assassin had argued with this reasoning, but - very reluctantly - had given in. Together, the wolves had quietly decimated the camp's inhabitants. With the exception of their driver from earlier, who did not need much convincing; either participate in this trap or share the same fate as his fallen comrades. That man was also sleeping inside the wagon, snoring a little too loudly and waking up poor Aquila.

His poor black mare uttered a nickering sound of annoyance and changed her sleeping position from standing upright to laying down on the ground. Much to Connor's surprise, Aquila dug one of her front hooves into the ground and slowly dragged it back towards herself. It was a gesture she once used to beckon her rider over.

Connor stopped poking at the campfire and set the stick aside, as he climbed up to his feet and slowly approached his horse. Settling down on his knees before her, the Omega reached out with his palm and smiled as she bumped against it with her nose. Tentatively he began to rub the base of her neck and watched as the mare's ears wiggled forward, and those big beautiful black eyes drooped a little.

"That is a good girl," he spoke softly and continued to rub that spot while his free hand stroked at her glossy black mane. It was dark, much darker than his own hair, and reminded him very much of the Alpha who had gifted Aquila to him...

"Is a blindfold really necessary?"

"Fer the last time, Connah," came Thomas Hickey's exasperated voice in his ear as he was carefully lead down. "Ya don wanna ruin yer birthday surprise."

"My birthday was months ago..." the unseeing Omega pointed out.

"Will ya just shut yer yap fer a moment, we're almost there."

"Where?"

He was answered by a grunt of annoyance and decided to shut up and decided to try and figure it out himself. They were outside, this he could tell easily despite the servants quietly opening doors for them. There was the smell of fresh air and wet grass. The sound of a gentle breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees outside the Kenway manor, followed by the neighing of horses...

Under the blindfold, he blinked in confusion. Why were they at the stables? Were they going out somewhere in the city? If so, what was the purpose of keeping his eyes covered? Surely, Thomas did not expect him to ride in such a condition!

"Was the blindfold really necessary?" his earlier question was repeated in a deep familiar voice.

"Master Lee?" he inquired curiously.

The Omega took a step forward, and ended up tripping over something on the ground. He stumbled, colliding into a body that had been standing before them. Large hands immediately caught him before he could land heavily (and embarrassingly) on the ground, and helped him to his feet.

"Wotch yer step," he heard Thomas lamely add a moment later.

"You daft bugger," he heard the other Templar curse, "as if he can watch anything with his eyes covered like this!"

The sight obscuring fabric was then abruptly lifted away, revealing the vibrant colors that Connor so loved about the outdoors and nature in general. Azure blue skies. Emerald green grass. He couldn't help but relax, leaning against the large frame that was supporting him... and immediately went completely still.

Connor blinked, before staring up at that stunned face belonging to their next Grandmaster. There was a flicker of concern in those piercing blue eyes, and it was strange. For Charles Lee was never the mentor that Johnson and Pitcairn had been to him. Or the friend that Hickey was. But nor was he cold and completely indifferent as Church.

It was strange by how comfortable Connor had suddenly felt as those strong arms helped steady him.

"Are you all right?"

Realizing that he was staring, the younger Templar quickly averted his gaze and nodded his head while apologizing. His amber-brown eyes quickly turned towards the horses at the stable, and he sought out the horses and admire their beautiful brown coats... but there was one that immediately stood out to him. A smaller black one that was being lead towards them by a handler.

"I heard that your horse had been put down recently due to an ailment out in the frontier..." he heard Charles Lee begin to explain.

Connor's eyes went wide with disbelief as the man servant addressed him with a friendly smile and handed him the reigns. A horse... Charles Lee had given him a horse... and not just any horse but this striking black mare?

"She is beautiful..." he began breathlessly, glancing back and forth between the Alpha and his gift, "I... I do not know what to say... but... thank you."

"Heh... I'm sure ol' Charlie here wouldn't mind ya tripping into 'im again."

"What?" Connor asked almost in a daze as he reached up to caress the side of her face.

"I said that we need to get going soon, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The Omega blinked tiredly up at the Assassin who was kneeling beside his slumped over form. With a groan, he twisted in the blankets he had bundled himself up in and slowly sat up from the frost covered ground. He shivered, teeth chattering from the cold. It was morning now. Much to his dismay, the pretty vibrant colors from his memories had bled away, leaving behind a gray sky and a world covered in snow.

Squee! OMG this is so cute! XD

Connor and Charles and Aquila and Hickey and, and...

//flail//

It's all so cute...

And then that ending. Like a punch to the gut. D:

Yeah, thought with all the angst Connor is going through, he needs at least one good dream. This will probably be the last flashback, though I did have a lot of them. But they'll probably be carried over to the one-shots told from the servants POV whenever I get around to writing that.

i never knew i'd love this kink until now, the last idea is perfect. is anyone still going to continue this? please do, poor anon wants to read more :c

Utteryl brilliant! I adore Haytham/Charles so with added embarrassed Connor & friend it was perfection. hehehe

Gasping through laughter here! I loved the mission, the backstory and the characters. Loved the sex scene and the sappy moment (good Haytham & Charles YAY!).

I'm not dead! Just currently trying to get over writer's block for the next part and working out an outline I plan on sticking with.

No worries anon. :) I, too, am having time issues. Whole lot of crap going on right now = no time to write. ): Will get back on schedule this weekend.

HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY--THIS SUMMER HAS BEEN REALLY BUSY FOR ME BUT I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS FIC!!!

in fact--i'm going to index it on my new ao3 and update there, linking chapters back, and edit it while i'm at it!!

anyone who's still around, thank you for staying and please bear with me a little longer--i'll update with the next chapter once i get everything sorted!

It's okay, writeanon! Life always has priority to ficcage! But I'm very glad to hear that you're gonna post more! I can't wait! :D

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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Re: One-shot: Blood and Snow 6a/?

Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [13/?]

Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [13.5/?]

Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [13.7/?]

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One-shot: Blood and Snow 6b/?

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Re: One-shot: Blood and Snow 6b/?

Re: Charles/Fem!Connor, possibly one sided?

Finding Connor 27

Finding Connor 27

Re: Finding Connor 27

Re: One-shot: Blood and Snow 6b/?

Re: FILL 2/2

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One-shot: Blood and Snow 7a/?

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Re: A Lesson in Espionage (3/3) END

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From FW!Writer anon

Re: From FW!Writer anon

W!ANON HERE

OP