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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✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

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31 (Cristina Vespucci) and 4 (Ratonhnhaké:ton).

This is not a part of New Orleans I have ever been to. I vaguely remember journeying here, at Aveline's request, but there seems to be a festival of some sort, something she did not mention. There are coloured lanterns and masks everywhere, and even the canals are decorated with flowers and floating lights.

When I see her, I know her name immediately, as if she were a childhood friend. Something in me wonders where I met her before, and how I can recognise her with her face hidden. Those questions are met with memories of her pale olive throat exposed beneath my scarred lips in a dark Firenze alley.

"Cristina," I murmur to her, and there is something different about my voice.

"My love," she murmurs back, and suddenly our lips meet and her tongue is flickering against mine and I cannot help but notice how lovely her perfume is, and how pleasing her shape is beneath her dainty gown. I have waited so long to see her again, and I groan as her hands stray lower and lower until they meet my hips.

"I missed you," I gasp, breaking the kiss for breath. She smiles at me and her fingertips trace small circles over my arousal.

"And I you," she replies. "I am glad you came to Venezia."

Her beautiful, slender hands grasp my own and she leads me down a deserted side street, then down an alley, and we settle in an alcove for a more intimate reunion.

She is hot and tight and wet, and her skirts hike up as she wraps her long, lovely legs around my naked hips. I am thankful the alcove is so small, for I can lean back against the wall and let her do what she wills. Cristina has always liked control. Soon, all too soon, the friction becomes too much and just before my eyes flutter shut and I see stars, I hear her voice whimpering in my ear.

"Please don't leave me."

I open my eyes. There are no lights or festivals, just faint echoes of drunkards in the streets of New Orleans. I am alone in my rented bed, though I can faintly smell perfume. I grimace at the uncomfortable stickiness in my sheets, smearing over my skin.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hope for sleep to claim me once more, not merely so I will be well-rested when dawn arrives. A part of me hopes to walk the streets of Italy once again, to see the woman once more. The woman with carefully coiled hair and delicious painted lips. The woman I am sure I have not met before, a remnant of another man's life, perhaps. The woman whose name has slipped my mind like sand through fingers.

I need this so badly now!!! Hopefully someone will fill this!

and oh my god i love you anon this is pretty much exactly what i envisioned so far!

as for kinks i am a really huge fan of dp and dirty talk, if that helps any

This is lovely, anon!

Sorry for the short, sporadic updates. As Christmas is suddenly right around the corner, I've been suddenly stupidly busy.

Also, warning time. There is noncon. A borderline eating disorder. More horrible things. Mostly noncon and depression. Also, you may think the non-con is written strangely here. Trust me, it has a purpose.

He doesn't want to eat. He's too angry. Too tired. His days and nights have lately been a blur of sleeplessness and fear and memories he does not want to think about. Too often has he clawed his way out of the clutch of drowsiness at the feeling of imagined fingers ghosting along his hips. The only thing he can really be thankful for is that neither Lee nor Hickey have tried to 'train' him again, and Johnson has stayed away.

Church is with him now, lecturing him on the importance of taking care of his body. Church is standing in front of a bookshelf, while Connor is in the armchair, legs curled up to his chest. Connor doesn't care for his words. His hunger crossed the threshold into nausea a long time ago. Maybe he'll be left alone if he stops responding.

"Haytham was supposed to be back by now," he interrupts. Church looks irritated, but also somewhat relieved that Connor is doing something.

"Didn't anybody tell you? There's been trouble in New York. Haytham's trying to sort it out now. We don't know when he'll be back."

Connor's stomach drops and he feels worse than ever, now. A part of him, a very small part, hates Haytham for leaving him at the mercy of these monsters, but it is dwarfed by the part of him that hates himself for being so weak. He rests his forehead against his knees and ignores Church until he finally gives up and leaves.

He doesn't move for a long time. He can't put to words what he's feeling- or more accurately, what he isn't feeling- and there is nothing that can distract him from everything that's wrong.

He's tried reading, tried painting and drawing, tried thinking about things he loves and enjoys, tried sleeping, praying to the spirits. He's still injured enough that climbing and running is more trouble than it's worth, especially for prolonged periods of time, and he doubts they'll let him explore the woodland. Haytham would, perhaps, but he's not here.

...

When he hears the faint tinkle of a bell in the middle of another bout of half-sleep, it takes far too much effort than it should to force his eyes open and glare at Church, who's standing in the doorway to his bedroom.

"It's me," Church says. "I'm just checking up on you."

Connor glares at him, and says nothing. Church sighs, and turns his head to the adjoining room.

"He's still sulking."

There's someone else there. This cannot be a good thing.

"Let me at him," Lee's voice says, irritably, and Connor freezes. He can't move. Lee's here and he should've eaten because he's too tired to defend himself and his body isn't responding and this is bad.

Connor swallows a noise of fright as Lee pushes Church aside and glares at him. His eyes are narrowed, colder than usual.

"Church tells me you've not been eating."

Connor can't even open his mouth. Lee's expression turns to fury.

"I can't believe this," he spits. "Are you insane or stupid?"

Connor tries not to tremble. He's almost certain he knows what Lee is about to do to him.

"You must've really enjoyed our lesson the other day," he snarls, coming closer. Lee reaches a hand out and grasps Connor's jaw, nails digging through to his skin despite several days' stubble growth and his attempts to jerk back. "Perhaps I'll give you another."

Pure panic floods him, and he pushes himself away from Lee, to the other wall. Or rather, he tries to. He hasn't enough energy, and instead ends up half-sprawled on his back in his attempt to get away.

"No," he croaks. "Please."

Lee chuckles, and catches his wrists easily. Connor hadn't realised until now exactly how weak his fasting had made him.

"Ah, you've improved your manners, I see."

Lee gestures at Church, who throws a vial of grease at him. He catches that easily, too.

"You're supposed to do no harm!" Connor yells at Church, though his voice is strained and weak.

"I'm not the one actually harming you," Church shrugs, before going into the next room, closing the door.

"You're too noisy," Lee says, and then his hands are wrapped tight around Connor's throat and his trembling fingers cannot pry them off. He can't breathe. This is an obscene echo of their first meeting, though this time Lee is doing worse than injuring him and murdering his mother. Connor's vision starts to blur, to prickle at the edges, and Lee's other hand is snaking up his nightshirt.

When Lee's fingers enter him, he nearly blacks out. If only.

Lee finally takes his hand from Connor's throat and he nearly screams at the too-familiar sensation of violation. He turns his head away, blinking back tears of pain and humiliation. Lee moves slowly until he finds an angle he likes, then moves at a punishing pace.

Lee takes his jaw again, moaning into his mouth, tasting of wine. He pushes his tongue into Connor's mouth, this kiss an obscene parody of the ones he had shared with Haytham. Connor's shaking fingers curl into fists.

Lee's hips roll and thrust harder and faster and Connor almost wishes it hurt more, that it feels as bad physically as it does mentally. His body is merely uncomfortable. His mind is much worse off.

Lee groans and shudders, lifting his mouth from Connor's for a moment as he comes. Connor bites his lip until it hurts, because the sight of Lee in such ecstasy is the most disgusting thing he's ever seen. The hot, wet, full feeling that follows makes him glad there is nothing in his stomach for him to throw up. He pushes his face back into his sheets.

Lee sighs, and puts his hands on Connor's hips, withdrawing far too slowly. He pats the inside of Connor's thigh, contentedly, and tugs his nightshirt back down, before his footsteps retreat and the door creaks open and closed.

Connor stays where he is. He doesn't know what to do.

I really really hope something good will happen to Connor soon, however slight, because this is just heart wrenching D:

You'll like part 20/21ish, and part 25ish, then! :D (These are just rough estimates, I've lost all control I once had over this story.)

!!

I shall eagerly await those parts! (lost control or not, still an amazing fill, despite all the FEELS)

This is wonderful anon! And I really love how you've portrayed Haytham, especially how he reacted to Connor's supposed death. Or rather, how he didn't react. I like how he was initially sad, even distraught, but that sadness soon passes, and his final thought was how much of a shame it was that he didn't change Connor's ways. Then he immediately sets his mind on other important matters. That's just so...Haytham. He isn't one to mourn, especially for someone he barely even knew, so thanks for getting that right anon. 8D (I've read a few fics here and there where Haytham becomes this emotional mess.)

And LOL Captcha. "Charles' name is?"

asdfglkjh you're far too kind, anon! I'm glad you like my writing so much. I FEEL ALL WARM AND FUZZY INSIDE <3 <3 <3

Ezio has a picture (or pictures) in his phone of Leonardo giving him head.

Modern AU, obviously,, Young adults being young adults, they have broken up, but Ezio still has the picture(s). He has gotten over it, but then someone sees them and all hell breaks loose.

Alright maybe not, but I want to see the pictures reminding him of the happy happy joy joy times he had with Leo. Whether they kiss and make up and bone is up to you anons, but it is always preferable! Work your magic!

Yeah, Haytham you better feel some regret - he may not have known Connor for a long time but his son who claimed to be 'out of forgiveness' did save his life TWICE at the brewery when they were tracking down Church.

Also, you may think the non-con is written strangely here. Trust me, it has a purpose.

Lee being semi-affectionate is scary.. and I wonder what the 'trouble' is in New York that has Haytham occupied. Please update soon!

Sorry about your family drama! I haven't quite gone the hurt/comfort route with this, but I hope that it provides some succour anyway!

++++

Haytham had thought... Well, perhaps he had thought that it was only sadness that he felt, but as soon as he saw Charles, the knowledge that he had been deliberately disobeyed, that Charles, for all his intelligence, his efficiency, was no better than a common thug pretending at the higher ideals of their order, rose in his gullet like bile. That the man's unsanctioned actions had resulted in the death of Connor's mother was knowledge both new and surprisingly painful, but what really stuck in Haytham's craw was that Charles was, for all intents and purposes, more responsible for the man Connor was today – not merely a trained Assassin, but one hell bent on destroying the Order's foothold in the New Colonies – than Haytham himself. It was utterly aggravating to discover that the situation could have been so easily avoided had Charles just followed orders. It made Haytham want briefly to strangle the man.

"You seem a little singed, Sir," Charles observed as Haytham shrugged of his charred coat and dropped it over the back of his chair. He was in the middle of penning missives to their operatives in Connecticut, but at the sight that Haytham must have presented – tired, slightly unkempt and injured in numerous minor ways – he stopped what he was doing. "And... also soaked?" Charles' eyebrows rose questioningly; he was well aware it was mild weather out and had been all week. "A rough night, then? Did you find Church?"

Haytham stared at Charles for a long moment, but his foul mood seemed to preclude a more moderated approach to the issue.

"The assassin told me you burned his village to the ground and murdered his mother," he said severely and without preamble. "When I expressly said pursuing further knowledge of the precursor site was a gross waste of our time and resources. Would you care to explain your thinking to me?" But Haytham wasn't actually in the mood to hear what Charles had to say on the matter. "Or perhaps instead you would like to explain why you saw fit to do your utmost to encourage onto the path of vengeance someone with hereditary ties to our oldest enemies when they had all but been eradicated from this continent?"

Charles seemed stunned to silence by this dressing down, his mouth hanging open and his face suddenly quite pale in the lamp light.

"I..." he began, and Haytham felt his mouth pull into a tight, forbidding line.

"Yes? I'm waiting."

"I believed that they were hiding something," Charles said finally, carefully. "And that your... personal involvement, Sir, had... blinded you to that."

Haytham felt something go very cold inside him.

"My personal involvement," he repeated calmly. "And what piece of critical information led you to believe this? You have evidence, I take it? Actual fact upon which to base your actions?"

Charles paled further at that, but his jaw clenched and there was a strange kind of fire in his eyes.

"No evidence, but my own eyes," he said stiffly, and quite suddenly colour flushed his cheeks. "You were besotted, Sir! You refused to see reason! Would not hear a contrary word about her! What was I to think except that she was spreading her legs in order to keep you from the truth?!"

Haytham felt as if he had been slapped, not because part of what Charles said was not true – for Haytham had indeed been quite besotted with Ziio – but because of the insult in Charles' accusation; that he had been so besotted that Ziio had fed him lie upon lie like a mother feeds its young milk.

"I see," he said, so very carefully that Charles' eyes went slightly wider than they already were. "These are your reasons."

"I know how you feel about slaves," Charles said in a rush. "I made absolutely sure that the villagers had time to escape. I never meant- I mean, Sir, I did not intend for the woman to die."

Haytham sat down in his chair finally, suddenly tired beyond all reckoning.

"No," he agreed. "I don't suppose you did. Did you know it's her son? My son, I mean. The Assassin."

There was a clatter from the direction of Charles' desk, and Haytham looked dully over to find Charles was standing and his chair turned over behind him, and now his face was not pale but ashen.

"Your- " he said, as if something monstrous was clawing at his throat.

"Yes," Haytham said, watching him, wondering distantly at the extremely disproportionate response to the news. "Ridiculous, isn't it? The one thing I've always wanted, and he wants to kill me. You too, by the way. In fact, you most of all. It's like he holds you personally responsible for the world's ills. Me, he merely resents for abandoning him, for siding with an organisation he believes, in his ignorance, to be misguided in its aims and tyrannical in its ways. But you? You he hates with a particular passion."

"I – " Charles stuttered, starting at him like a man at his executioner. "I have to go."

Haytham watched narrowly as Charles began gathering up his letters and pulled on his coat. His hands were shaking as he did so. He was no longer looking Haytham in the face. Something about his reaction struck Haytham as horribly wrong, as the actions of a man with something else to hide, something worse than that which Haytham had already discovered.

"Charles," Haytham said warningly, and Charles froze halfway around his desk, his satchel crushed to his chest as if for protection. "There's something else, isn't there." It was not a question.

Charles' gaze darted to his before darting away again. It was long enough for Haytham to read the guilt in his face.

"You may want to tell me," he told him and it sounded like the unformed threat it actually was. "Before I find out elsewhere. And I will find out."

Charles flinched as if struck.

"There was a... boy," he began haltingly, as if dragging the words out of his mouth. He still wasn't quite looking at Haytham. "We found him a mile from the village, creeping around in the woods. He would have given us away. A snarling, spitting, violent little wildcat half-blood, and I didn't think at the time. I was focused on discovering the secrets the tribe had been keeping from you. I let my men... do what they liked with him, so long as they didn't kill him."

The now rushed words did not make any sense for a full few moments, like gibberish that Haytham knew he should understand but didn't. It was the way that Charles pressed his lips together, wet them with a quick, anxious flick of his tongue for some reason that made Haytham realise what he was actually saying, understand it perhaps on a visceral level - that Charles had let his men at Connor, barely only a boy, that he had stood by while a handful of grown men, no better than animals, had- had-

His son. His only son.

The world seemed to wash white, soundless, and inside him, Haytham felt nothing, his insides turned hard like stone.

"Haytham, if I had known..." Charles was saying, as if from very far away. "Of course I would never have- I mean, I didn't participate in the- God knows, I would never-"

"Get out," Haytham heard himself say very, very softly.

"Haytham, I'm –"

"Get out, Charles," Haytham said again, stronger. His own hands were shaking now, palms itching and if he laid his hands to anything right now it would be a knife and he would gut Charles where he stood.

"Yes, Sir," Charles breathed like he was afraid it was his last. "At once."

Haytham sat at his desk for a very long time after Charles had gone. He did not question himself or the decisions he had made in the past. He did not think about Ziio's lovely, rare laugh and how impossibly happy she had made him for such an unfairly brief amount of time. He did not think about his hand upon her huge round belly the day he left, feeling the baby inside her kick at his touch even as she told him she would raise the boy as hers and that wherever the Gods led Haytham, there would always be a part of him that was living in love.

He did not think about his proud, angry son and how he had seen him shy away from the casual innocent touch of other men.

He deliberately did not think of anything at all, but inside, there was a part of him that saw the beginning of the inevitable end; his death, Charles', the ruin of all their plans, decades of Templar work undone.

And welcomed it.

So nicely written~ You have a great grasp of both Haytham and Charles, very much in character~

Look forward to more~

D: D: D:

When I saw this was up, I literally squeaked with joy. Then I had to work up the courage to actually read it. o.o It took me 15 minutes to finally read this chapter all the way through, WriterAnon.

The best praise I can give you right now, believe me, is that this chapter was perhaps the least sexiest thing I have ever read. Far too often in fandoms, non-con fics portray the victims as secretly enjoying their rape or even worse, falling in love with their rapist. This fic, however, fully shows off Connor's mental and physical trauma. It's raw and painful and so terribly, amazingly good.

(ILU WRITER-ANON. HAVE ALL MY INTERNET BABIES.)

(Also, I have been working on the fill for your prompt in bits and pieces...unfortunately it's finals time and I'm swamped with studying. :-/ After next week I should be able to at least get the first part up. I'm sorry for the delay. ;-;)

TOTALLY FILLING THIS. First part should be up at some point next week. ;)

IS THERE MOAR??????? :D

Oh please do!

A2!Anon here, yes, just working out a few kinks with progression.

Thank you all for all of this feedback! It really inspires me to get these pages out quickly Cx. So this part may be a little shorter than the previous since this will be wrapping up the prologue here and the next part should be after Washington has declared himself King.

***

Kanen'tó:kon, Haytham decided, was more of a handful than Connor.

He had first chalked up the boy’s disobedience as being due to the fact he couldn’t speak English like the rest of the natives that traveled with them. He would take off early in the morning and then return as the sun began to set carrying large amounts of game--mostly hares as they were really the only thing he could afford to hunt while recovering from the gash he received--despite Haytham’s protests of him straying off from the group. He would yell at the young man until he ran out of breath, taking out his frustration onto the youth’s ears who would only stare back at him indifferently before walking away when he believed Haytham’s tirade to be finished. At least, Haytham thought, the man didn’t interrupt him like Connor used to. He’d grown so accustomed to only speaking to the younger man he decided to give the him a name as they reached the outskirts of Davenport’s land. He couldn’t just call him “imbecilic boy” all the time even though that name possessed a certain charm to it. He mused loudly on the choices as the two walked side-by-side ahead of the others.

“I wouldn’t pin you for an Andrew, or a Noah. Perhaps David? No, no, no that doesn’t fit either. Joseph maybe? Yes that sounds better, Joseph.”

“No.”

Haytham stopped and looked over to the young man in surprise. “What?”

The man paused and barely glanced back at him. “No. My name is not Joseph, its Kanen'tó:kon.” He started walking again, leaving Haytham behind gaping like a fish. He felt like he had been slapped in the face as he watched the man continue further onto the homestead.

“I. . .How?” Haytham managed to spit out when he had caught back up with the youth.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton taught me when we were children. Every new word he learned he would tell me.” He answered simply, not even casting a glance at the now cross Englishman beside him.

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” Haytham demanded angrily. Knowing now that the man had understood everything that he had told him over their trip frustrated him since it meant the boy had deliberately disobeyed his orders.

“I didn’t have anything to say.”

“Then why did you not listen to me?”

“Because my people were hungry,” he paused for a moment, “and so were you. You didn’t look like a man who knew how to hunt correctly so I did it instead.”

Haytham fumed when he saw a small grin tug at the younger’s lips. “I can hunt.” He shot back irritatedly, “maybe not in the same ways your people do, but I can survive.”

“Sorry I offended you, great hunter.” That grin wasn’t small anymore, it was showing off bright teeth that reflected his teasing tone. Haytham huffed in annoyance, he didn’t need this boy’s sass when he was already worrying about how to convince Achilles to let them stay.

“Anyway, I am still calling you Joseph. It’s easier for me.” Haytham stopped in confusion when the man turned around in front of him, glaring now. The teasing attitude that had danced across his words a second ago had turned into anger with hot pokers, ready to burn.

“No. My name is Kanen'tó:kon and that will be what you call me. You will not address me as Joseph because it is easier for you. I am not picking a different name for you because your’s is hard to pronounce.”

“Haytham isn’t hard to pronounce.” He muttered.

“Kanen'tó:kon isn’t hard to pronounce either.” He cut Haytham off before he could retort. “That’s the house up there where we must go, right?”

“Yes but the owner of that house is more than likely to send us away. We need to give off a good impression so let me do the talking.” Haytham didn’t want to remain still in this area for too long until he had gotten permission from the old assassin first. He continued to walk forward again, eager to get up to the newly restored estate. Although he had faith in his skills, the foreboding atmosphere of walking into assassin controlled lands made him a slightly anxious. He hoped the members of Connor’s flock were away from the the homestead for the time being. He really didn’t feel like fighting off a bunch of trigger-happy recruits. Thankfully he reached the front door with out any issue bigger than a few residents gawking at them as they passed. Sighing softly he knocked loudly, hoping the old man had lost that biting tongue. There was silence for a few seconds before the door opened revealing Achilles hunched over his cane.

“Ah, Achilles I hope you don’t mind-” The door slammed shut in his face. He shouldn’t have been so surprised really. It was an appropriate response from the assassin at seeing his Templar nemesis at his front door, yet Haytham could for some reason fathom that he just had a door slammed in his face. He shouldn’t have become so angry by that, but he did. Pounding at door like he was about to break it down with his fist, “ Davenport! You open this door!”

“No.” The man was peeking out the living room window now, fast for a man with a bad leg. “The only reason you aren’t dead yet Haytham is because of Connor. Now you and your friends get the hell away from me and off of my land!” He went to move back inside until Haytham spoke as calmly as he could, “He’s the reason I’m here you insufferable man.”

Achilles paused and looked back out at him. “What? Has he gotten himself into trouble again? If you’re behind this I will-”

“He’s dead.”

The old man gripped the windowsill tightly and for a quick moment Haytham thought what he said was going to kill him. Achilles was quiet for a long moment, head bent down, the rim of his hat hiding his eyes from view. “The door’s open.” He slipped back inside and shut the window, sighing Haytham opened the front door and had Kanen'tó:kon hold it open for the rest of the natives as they filed in after him. Walking into the living room he sat down in the chair opposite from where the old man now resided silently. Haytham gazed over to the aged assassin who held onto his cane firmly as he tried to find the correct words to say.

“I’m sorr-”

“No” The man silenced him angrily, looking up at him with hard, sorrowful eyes. “No you aren’t. Spare me the sympathy I know you don’t have.” Haytham wanted to snap back him, tell him he wasn’t completely devoid of emotion about Connor’s death, but it would only serve as another reason for Achilles to refuse them when asking for refuge.

“How did it happen?” There was no asking in his tone, he needed to know what happened to the young boy he’d grown so attached to.

“Washington had organized a raid on his village based on intelligence he had recieved that they were aiding enemy forces. Connor of course tried to stop him and was killed by the Commander.” Achilles scowled, his heartbroken eyes were now focusing on the floor’s wood-panelling. “The men and women who are accompanying me are those who survived the attack. Believe me Achilles when I say I would not be asking you if I had any other options, but these people need a place to safe stay and I do not have the means to house them all in the city.” There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence shared between them before Achilles spoke again.

“They may stay,” Haytham breathed a sigh of relief “ but not because you are asking me to do so. They may stay only for the reason being that they are Connor’s people. If they hurt the other inhabitants here in any way or put their lives in danger I will force them back onto you without a second thought.”

“You do not have to worry about such things from us. Thank you for your kindness.“ Kanen'tó:kon spoke up from behind Haytham, grateful. Achilles nodded lightly, a hint of recognition in his eyes as he saw the man’s face clearly. He turned away and lead the people out of the house to find and area to settle, leaving Haytham alone with the man.

“So-”

“Get out.” Achilles practically snarled.

“Achilles, please listen to me-”

“As far as I’m concerned your business here has just been concluded. You are not and will never be welcomed here Mr. Kenway, so get out!” Haytham was tired of being cut off while trying to speak, if only these imbeciles were as polite as Charles was. He hoped the irritation in his voice wasn’t as bad as it sounded when he snapped, “Our business is not finished yet when there is a deranged man who has an Apple of Eden in his possession.”

Achilles’ eyes widened as his voice came out as soft as a whisper, “What?”

That got his attention quickly, Haytham thought. “The natives, they had an Apple in their possession, Washington found it when he was exterminating them. The Apple its,” Haytham paused remembering the dark, crazed eyes that stared him down and the distant faces of the soldiers, “changed him. He’s psychotic, drunk with the power the Apple gave to him. When Connor tried to take it from him, Washington killed him, absolutely guilt about doing so either.” Achilles had looked down at the ground, deep in thought. “That man is neither an Assassin or Templar, there is no telling what he’ll do with an artifact of that magnitude in his hands. We have to get it back before he does anything else dangerous with it.”

“Once we get it back then what?” The assassin was glowering at him again. “Then you take it and use it for your own goals? How is your plan for the colonies any less heinous then what Washington may do?”

“Better to be in the hand’s of a man who knows it’s danger than in the clutches of a fool ignorant to them.” Haytham frowned.

Achilles sighed and rubbed his temples lightly. “I am in no mood to argue about the dangers of an Apple being in anyone’s hands today, Haytham. Assassin, Templar or neutral it is too much power to belong to a single person in the first place. It belongs to the remaining natives who didn’t use it in the first place and that is the last thing I will say regarding this subject.”

Haytham leaned back in his chair, gazing at the old man for a moment before speaking again. “Will you tell the recruits then?”

Achilles nodded, “Later, they all just departed to fulfill contracts across the colonies. If I told them now their work would no doubt be impeded by the sheer emotional baggage of the news.”

“Why not call them back?” Haytham suggested curiously.

“And let your Order’s influence grow instead? Do you think of me as a senile man who doesn’t know the way to my own bedroom? No. Your truce with Connor was between the two of you only, it did not extend to me or the recruits.” Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and took a deep breath to make sure his tone didn’t reflect it as he spoke again.

“How do you expect to get the Apple back if we are going at each other’s throats in the meantime? If I could get the Apple without a problem I wouldn’t have even told you that the Commander had one in the first place.” He stood up and straightened out his clothes, glad he left some dirt on the chair from the previous week’s fall if anything only to spite the man. “I’m going back to Boston, if you in fact decide in favor of a truce send a messenger to the Green Dragon Tavern.” He made to leave, stopping however to glance back at the now quiet old man. “I encourage you to make your decision quickly, just because you are far out on the frontier doesn’t mean you’ll be safe in the end. I just wonder how many more of your brotherhood have to die before you realize what your stupidity reaps.” Turning around swiftly he exited the manor, disappointed at the former mentor’s rejection of a longer and bigger truce between them. Now he had to look out for both the Assassins and Washington’s men, his week was continuing to become worse by the day.

He was so distracted he nearly ran into Kanen'tó:kon who had been waiting for him outside. “Haytham!”

“Oh uh, Kaneurghblah?” His name was not easy to pronounce at all, his tongue was making movements that he’d never thought were possible. The man chuckled lightly “At least you are trying. I appreciate that.” Haytham shrugged lightly, well at least he hadn’t offended the man by turning his name into a pile of word stew. “What do you request of me?”

The younger’s face turned serious, the playful attitude once again hidden behind an impenetrable wall. “You are a stranger to me and the people of our village. You could have easily walked away, you didn’t have to get involved but you did. And although you couldn’t safe all of us you were willing to protect those that remained and for that we are in your debt. If you in the future are the one in need of aid do not hesitate to ask us for help.”

“Well thank you.” Perhaps the journey over to the homestead wasn’t completely pointless after all. “I’ll remember that.”

“What do we do now?." Haytham thought for a moment before responding.

"Remain here for now and try not to irritate the old man. I will come to you when I know what and when our next move will be. " Noticing the man's unhappiness he added, "We will get your people back to their land and avenge their slaughter, I promise."

"Thank you for this, Haytham. May your return to Boston be safe.” Haytham thanked him quietly before departing, more pleased now than he had been a few moments ago.

Kanen'tó:kon watched him go, a bit ashamed he couldn’t of aided the man more for everything he had done. Looking up to the manor in front of him he stepped inside quietly, a hint of nervousness tugging at his stomach. He hoped the man wouldn’t react the same way he did to Haytham when he saw him. Peeking inside he saw the old man still in his seat, staring at the crackling flames in his fire place. When the man hadn’t acknowledged his presence after a few moments he stepped forward, taking a seat in the chair Haytham had previously occupied.

“You were Connor’s friend weren’t you?” He had to keep himself from jumping when the man suddenly spoke, glancing over at him from the corner of his eye. “What do you want?”

“Well I was hoping you could train me.”

SECONDING HARD!

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. PART 3 ::CRIES:: although it was shorter I was deeply moved by the scene between Haytham and Kanen'tó:kon, then the meeting between Haytham and Achilles... figured the truce wasn't going to be easy what with the long standing feud between Assassins and Templars; but now they have a common enemy... and sadly this was what Connor wanted. Speaking of Connor, I wonder how he'll take it when George tells him everyone believes him to be dead and there won't be any kind of rescue. Thank you again writer!anon, I look forward to your next update!

Oh, this is just beautiful! And heartbreaking ...

This was AWWWWESOMMMME!❤

I particularly loved Haytham's "Pity." I could totally hear him saying it in that droll, self-aware tone of voice of his.

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