This chapter has a lot of angst! Actually, the whole story will have a giant heaping of angst all throughout, at least in the beginning, anyway. It may become happier in the future. I hope this doesn't bother anyone too much :o
"How are you feeling today, sir?"
"I am quite... alright."
Haytham was seated in his delegated chair at a long table in the Templar headquarters, fidgeting around his guilded Grand Master ring on a finger. He gazed down at it in contemplation, focusing on that only. He also had a tired look on his face, and his posture was somewhat slovenly, unfit for a proud man such as he. Haytham certainly lacked that appealing quality of confident leadership this morning.
Charles looked at him, concerned, as he came through the entryway and carefully made his way around the table to stand opposite Haytham.
The melancholied Master looked up at him disenchantedly, his eyes however asking Charles an innocent question.
"How come you are up so early?"
Haytham could have sworn he said that himself, but instead he was hearing it from a distance, and in slightly more polite language.
"Why is it you are up so early, Master Kenway?" Charles asked, forcing a chipper tone into his voice, a small smile on his face. If Haytham was depressed, then Charles had to do his best not to be. He always had to feel reliable to the Templar leader, if he were to successfully remain his anchor.
"..." Haytham was silent, finally lowering his eyes to fumble with his ring again, not even opening his mouth to answer the question.
"Sir, your eyes are red, did you have trouble sleeping?" Charles slid down into a chair and put his hands on the table. "You look... very tired. Perhaps you should try to get some more rest. There are still a few hours yet 'fore work is to be done proper."
Haytham looked away from him, not messing with the ring anymore. He clearly displayed that he didn't care for what Charles was saying, but it was obvious he was still attentively listening to him anyhow. His senses were finely tuned; such was custom for a Grand Master. He paid absolute attention to everything and anything around him... sometimes even if he didn't want to.
"Or, perhaps, sir... You could tell me what has been on your mind so these phantoms will haunt you no more this day."
Charles daintily reached over towards Haytham, leaning forward over the table, and put his hands softly over the top of Haytham's. The bittersweet feeling in the air around them suddenly shifted.
Haytham's eyes widened.
Charles felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his body in check to stop it from involuntarily shuddering. He bent down again and took the envelope out of his pocket. He stared at it, holding it with both hands. After a few heart-wrenching seconds, he slowly, self-consciously kissed the seal, gently pressing his lips to it.
Instantaneously, Charles whimpered, along with air exhaling noisily through his nostrils as a pang of agony suddenly overcame him. He shakily reached down into the hole underneath the dresser with one of his hands and picked up a box that was hiding deep in the darkness. He placed it next to him on a board and reached into his other pocket, where a small key was hidden. He took it out and unlocked the box, keeping the key still inside the lock for the moment. His stomach heaved, and he trembled when he saw all the letters stacked inside it, nearly overflowing to the top. Charles' bottom lip quivered as he ran his thumb up the stack, the envelopes all in turn falling back down afterward.
He soon began to realize the painful gravity of his situation and began to whine and sob, crying hysterically. Tears streamed down his face, unhindered as he lowered the envelope into the box and gently pushed down the stack so he could close the lid again. He wiped an arm across his eyelids and locked the box again, putting the key back into his pocket. Charles sniffled, and blinked a few times as moved the box back to its original hiding space once more. He started to move the dresser back across the hole and stared at the empty blackness as he moved it. He choked back another sob while he watched his dark secret start to disappear once more, saying goodbye to it for yet another night.
"Charles, no. I am not in the mood for this."
"B-but sir!"
Haytham snapped his hands away from his subordinate and stood up. A vehement tone laced brazenly into the Master's words. He was not to be trifled with, presently.
"Do not concern yourself for me. It is my burden alone; it makes no difference whatsoever should I speak of it."
"But sir, please, I'm worried about yo-"
Anger flashed across Haytham's face and he scowled, looking at Charles one last time before he furiously turned to leave.
"Enough."
Charles stared at his Master with wide eyes, watching him walk away. This always happened. Charles waited until Haytham locked himself inside his own living space before he punched the top of the table, slamming his fist down on it with a dull, aggravated yell.
"Why...? Why don't you trust me anymore? What did I do? What happened to... you?" he whispered almost incoherently, suddenly finding himself feeling very weak. He crossed his arms over the table and rested his forehead against them.
The board seemed to stretch all the way across the floor again, connecting to the other boards seamlessly. Nothing stood out of place. Ordinary, just like before. Charles went over to his desk and picked up the flickering candle, now down to its final embers. He slipped a finger through the loop of the handle and went over to his bedside, placing it down on the small round table next to his bed. He shrugged off his coat and laid it across the end of the bed, not having the strength or energy at the moment to stow it away properly. He even felt no need to dress into nightclothes, and with a slight sniffle here and there, he crawled under the covers, blew out the candle, and put his pillow over his face.
-
What Charles didn't know, was that every time Haytham stormed away without telling him anything, he always regretted it, sometimes instantly. As soon as he would get into his room he would break down, pressing his back against the door painfully hard, feeling as though he deserved it- ill and remorseful. However, no matter how many times this had happened he never could muster the strength to tell Charles what happened. He just couldn't.
FILL 2/? Onesided Charles/Haytham
"How are you feeling today, sir?"
"I am quite... alright."
Haytham was seated in his delegated chair at a long table in the Templar headquarters, fidgeting around his guilded Grand Master ring on a finger. He gazed down at it in contemplation, focusing on that only. He also had a tired look on his face, and his posture was somewhat slovenly, unfit for a proud man such as he. Haytham certainly lacked that appealing quality of confident leadership this morning.
Charles looked at him, concerned, as he came through the entryway and carefully made his way around the table to stand opposite Haytham.
The melancholied Master looked up at him disenchantedly, his eyes however asking Charles an innocent question.
"How come you are up so early?"
Haytham could have sworn he said that himself, but instead he was hearing it from a distance, and in slightly more polite language.
"Why is it you are up so early, Master Kenway?" Charles asked, forcing a chipper tone into his voice, a small smile on his face. If Haytham was depressed, then Charles had to do his best not to be. He always had to feel reliable to the Templar leader, if he were to successfully remain his anchor.
"..." Haytham was silent, finally lowering his eyes to fumble with his ring again, not even opening his mouth to answer the question.
"Sir, your eyes are red, did you have trouble sleeping?" Charles slid down into a chair and put his hands on the table. "You look... very tired. Perhaps you should try to get some more rest. There are still a few hours yet 'fore work is to be done proper."
Haytham looked away from him, not messing with the ring anymore. He clearly displayed that he didn't care for what Charles was saying, but it was obvious he was still attentively listening to him anyhow. His senses were finely tuned; such was custom for a Grand Master. He paid absolute attention to everything and anything around him... sometimes even if he didn't want to.
"Or, perhaps, sir... You could tell me what has been on your mind so these phantoms will haunt you no more this day."
Charles daintily reached over towards Haytham, leaning forward over the table, and put his hands softly over the top of Haytham's. The bittersweet feeling in the air around them suddenly shifted.
Haytham's eyes widened.
Charles felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his body in check to stop it from involuntarily shuddering. He bent down again and took the envelope out of his pocket. He stared at it, holding it with both hands. After a few heart-wrenching seconds, he slowly, self-consciously kissed the seal, gently pressing his lips to it.
Instantaneously, Charles whimpered, along with air exhaling noisily through his nostrils as a pang of agony suddenly overcame him. He shakily reached down into the hole underneath the dresser with one of his hands and picked up a box that was hiding deep in the darkness. He placed it next to him on a board and reached into his other pocket, where a small key was hidden. He took it out and unlocked the box, keeping the key still inside the lock for the moment. His stomach heaved, and he trembled when he saw all the letters stacked inside it, nearly overflowing to the top. Charles' bottom lip quivered as he ran his thumb up the stack, the envelopes all in turn falling back down afterward.
He soon began to realize the painful gravity of his situation and began to whine and sob, crying hysterically. Tears streamed down his face, unhindered as he lowered the envelope into the box and gently pushed down the stack so he could close the lid again. He wiped an arm across his eyelids and locked the box again, putting the key back into his pocket. Charles sniffled, and blinked a few times as moved the box back to its original hiding space once more. He started to move the dresser back across the hole and stared at the empty blackness as he moved it. He choked back another sob while he watched his dark secret start to disappear once more, saying goodbye to it for yet another night.
"Charles, no. I am not in the mood for this."
"B-but sir!"
Haytham snapped his hands away from his subordinate and stood up. A vehement tone laced brazenly into the Master's words. He was not to be trifled with, presently.
"Do not concern yourself for me. It is my burden alone; it makes no difference whatsoever should I speak of it."
"But sir, please, I'm worried about yo-"
Anger flashed across Haytham's face and he scowled, looking at Charles one last time before he furiously turned to leave.
"Enough."
Charles stared at his Master with wide eyes, watching him walk away. This always happened. Charles waited until Haytham locked himself inside his own living space before he punched the top of the table, slamming his fist down on it with a dull, aggravated yell.
"Why...? Why don't you trust me anymore? What did I do? What happened to... you?" he whispered almost incoherently, suddenly finding himself feeling very weak. He crossed his arms over the table and rested his forehead against them.
The board seemed to stretch all the way across the floor again, connecting to the other boards seamlessly. Nothing stood out of place. Ordinary, just like before. Charles went over to his desk and picked up the flickering candle, now down to its final embers. He slipped a finger through the loop of the handle and went over to his bedside, placing it down on the small round table next to his bed. He shrugged off his coat and laid it across the end of the bed, not having the strength or energy at the moment to stow it away properly. He even felt no need to dress into nightclothes, and with a slight sniffle here and there, he crawled under the covers, blew out the candle, and put his pillow over his face.
-
What Charles didn't know, was that every time Haytham stormed away without telling him anything, he always regretted it, sometimes instantly. As soon as he would get into his room he would break down, pressing his back against the door painfully hard, feeling as though he deserved it- ill and remorseful. However, no matter how many times this had happened he never could muster the strength to tell Charles what happened. He just couldn't.