At the beginning, they had no idea what had happened. Those who were close to General Washington and somehow managed to get away from him almost unscarred claimed he became withdrawn and troubled for no reason they could discern. They were concerned, but they couldn’t do anything.
They soon missed his moody state when he turned manic.
_________________
"It’s the Apple. It can be nothing else." A lengthy correspondence with Reginald confirmed that only one of the precursors’ artifacts could be the source of Washington’s lunacy and powers. It took hours to make the other Templars believe in this particular hypothesis, but they can’t deny it anymore, not when each day passing brings more destruction that they always fail to stop.
It hurts his pride, but the Order can’t manage this by itself. They need support. If Charles doesn’t like it, well, he’ll have to hold his temper for a while.
If he can convince his obstinate son to agree with him.
"You bring no proof."
"Why does it matter? Washington must be stopped. You tried, and failed so miserably it’s a wonder you were able to escape unscathed." So did he, to be honest, but Connor doesn’t need to know that. "Here I am, graciously offering you a second chance, one with much better odds, and you’d refuse? To what end? Shall you wait until he reaches your precious homestead, or until he burns your village to the ground?"
Obstinate he may be, but his son is like an open book. His weaknesses are exposed for the world to use, and the circumstances don’t allow for politeness. He folds, just like Haytham knew he would.
Finally, they can move against Washington. The Order and The Brotherhood have outlived wars, famines, epidemics and schisms of all sorts. They have stood against everything, including each others. United, the idea that something, or someone, could oppose them is risible.
With this army, he’ll lead such an assault the general won’t stand a chance.
_________________
"We have to retreat, now!"
Normally, he’d take offense at one of his son’s so-called recruits trying to order him around, but even he has to admit any further efforts are wasted. How Washington found out they were planning to take him down, he probably will never know. Their intelligence said that Washington would be vulnerable, separated from most of his army and supporters.
That none of them detected the now obvious trap will be a shame they’ll all take to their grave, which they might all go to soon enough if they get caught. He knows Hickey took a rather severe hit. He lost sight of Charles at the beginning of the struggle. He has no idea where are the other Templars. All he can see are the Assassins, who he accompanied because, ironically, his skill sets are better matched to theirs. They did pretty well for people taught by his son, he guesses. Only one of them, the priest, has a wounded arm, nothing incapacitating.
If only he couldn’t see Zenger happily butchering someone who could be William, he could almost fool himself into thinking they can regroup and launch another attack. He’s not that kind of man. The Apple’s hold is too strong. It took over a trained Assassin in a few minutes. He believes he would endure much longer, but he can’t risk it, and who knows what would happen to the Assassins surrounding him, they having already been shocked by their teammate’s fate. Even if he is their better in all things, he doesn’t want to take them on here and now.
If only they can disappear without attracting Washington’s attention, they might be able to evade the Apple.
At least he has the satisfaction of being right about Washington’s means. This close, he can see it shining its unearthly glow as the general lets himself be possessed by it. Haytham never liked the man, but he didn’t wish him to be corrupted that way. If there is something left of the general the Templars wanted to dislodge, he can’t tell. The man is front of him might be perverted beyond all recognition, or he might still be mostly in control, but Haytham doesn’t want to find out.
They eyes meet. He, usually so eloquent, can’t find the words to describe everything that crosses Washington’s eyes. He only knows he has to leave, as fast as possible, before he’s caught.
Too late. He can’t move. He can feel the Apple trying to take over his mind, like cold tendrils entwining in his thoughts.
Sudden pain at the back of his neck. Someone got him while he couldn’t defend himself. He can already feel reality slipping away. Let’s see Washington try to take over his unconscious mind.
Connor & Haytham, pleasuring the King (part 4)
They soon missed his moody state when he turned manic.
_________________
"It’s the Apple. It can be nothing else." A lengthy correspondence with Reginald confirmed that only one of the precursors’ artifacts could be the source of Washington’s lunacy and powers. It took hours to make the other Templars believe in this particular hypothesis, but they can’t deny it anymore, not when each day passing brings more destruction that they always fail to stop.
It hurts his pride, but the Order can’t manage this by itself. They need support. If Charles doesn’t like it, well, he’ll have to hold his temper for a while.
If he can convince his obstinate son to agree with him.
"You bring no proof."
"Why does it matter? Washington must be stopped. You tried, and failed so miserably it’s a wonder you were able to escape unscathed." So did he, to be honest, but Connor doesn’t need to know that. "Here I am, graciously offering you a second chance, one with much better odds, and you’d refuse? To what end? Shall you wait until he reaches your precious homestead, or until he burns your village to the ground?"
Obstinate he may be, but his son is like an open book. His weaknesses are exposed for the world to use, and the circumstances don’t allow for politeness. He folds, just like Haytham knew he would.
Finally, they can move against Washington. The Order and The Brotherhood have outlived wars, famines, epidemics and schisms of all sorts. They have stood against everything, including each others. United, the idea that something, or someone, could oppose them is risible.
With this army, he’ll lead such an assault the general won’t stand a chance.
_________________
"We have to retreat, now!"
Normally, he’d take offense at one of his son’s so-called recruits trying to order him around, but even he has to admit any further efforts are wasted. How Washington found out they were planning to take him down, he probably will never know. Their intelligence said that Washington would be vulnerable, separated from most of his army and supporters.
That none of them detected the now obvious trap will be a shame they’ll all take to their grave, which they might all go to soon enough if they get caught. He knows Hickey took a rather severe hit. He lost sight of Charles at the beginning of the struggle. He has no idea where are the other Templars. All he can see are the Assassins, who he accompanied because, ironically, his skill sets are better matched to theirs. They did pretty well for people taught by his son, he guesses. Only one of them, the priest, has a wounded arm, nothing incapacitating.
If only he couldn’t see Zenger happily butchering someone who could be William, he could almost fool himself into thinking they can regroup and launch another attack. He’s not that kind of man. The Apple’s hold is too strong. It took over a trained Assassin in a few minutes. He believes he would endure much longer, but he can’t risk it, and who knows what would happen to the Assassins surrounding him, they having already been shocked by their teammate’s fate. Even if he is their better in all things, he doesn’t want to take them on here and now.
If only they can disappear without attracting Washington’s attention, they might be able to evade the Apple.
At least he has the satisfaction of being right about Washington’s means. This close, he can see it shining its unearthly glow as the general lets himself be possessed by it. Haytham never liked the man, but he didn’t wish him to be corrupted that way. If there is something left of the general the Templars wanted to dislodge, he can’t tell. The man is front of him might be perverted beyond all recognition, or he might still be mostly in control, but Haytham doesn’t want to find out.
They eyes meet. He, usually so eloquent, can’t find the words to describe everything that crosses Washington’s eyes. He only knows he has to leave, as fast as possible, before he’s caught.
Too late. He can’t move. He can feel the Apple trying to take over his mind, like cold tendrils entwining in his thoughts.
Sudden pain at the back of his neck. Someone got him while he couldn’t defend himself. He can already feel reality slipping away. Let’s see Washington try to take over his unconscious mind.
All he can hope for is a quick death.