Thank you for all the feedback! I’m really excited to get the main plot of the story soon and it kind of shows in how I’m trying to pump out the prologue as fast as possible, trying to slow myself down though. So this will be part 2 of the prologue and maybe it's end before the real main plot starts ***
He really, truly didn’t believe the Commander to be moronic.
No really, he didn’t or couldn’t believe a man of such “high military stature” could reach that position in the first place without having some form of intelligence--well as much intelligence needed to tell his men what to fire at. Haytham wasn’t the type of man to just assume such things of others either, but what could one do after being slapped in the face with amount of idiocy that the Commander had shown him? There was no more beating around the bush about it, Washington was indeed as half-witted as Charles told him.
The moment Connor had stormed off to his village the Commander had returned his icy glare to him. Haytham felt his lips beginning to tug into that of a smirk but was able to keep them in a hard pressed line. His original plan might not of exactly worked as planned, since Connor was now furious at them both, however it wouldn’t take long to get him back under his wing. The boy was so very naive and impressionable that way. His only concern at the moment was taking care of the fuming man in front of him without killing him outright. Or perhaps the two soldiers that found their places at Haytham’s side.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself, Kenway. Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?” Washington questioned lowly, beckoning another soldier over with a horse.
“I think I just told the boy the truth about something that impacted his life so horribly. He deserves that peace of mind at least, doesn’t he Commander? Or would you rather him be ignorant to the truth? The perfect hound that’s eager to please your every command as you slowly starve it?” Haytham questioned with a light innocence, which only served to enrage the man further. The man did, Haytham realized thoughtfully, have spectacular control over his emotions’ impulses though.
“As much as I would like to debate Connor’s ‘ignorance’ with you I have much more pressing matters to attend to,” getting up onto his horse he glared back down at Haytham, “however I am not finished with discussing how sensitive matters like these fell into your hands in the first place. These men will make sure you are present and comfortable when I return.” With that he spurred his horse and galloped out of the camp.
Leaving the Templar Grandmaster alone with only two measly soldiers as guards was the most brainless move Haytham had ever seen in his life. He really wanted to say that the escape had been nothing less than difficult, coming close to meeting death himself during such an escape, blood pounding in his ears as he blocked attacks left and right from the two “well conditioned” men before him. If only to honor the soldiers with that of a more noble-sounding death.
Alas, he was not a dramatic man.
Falling a step behind the two soldiers was all the opportunity he needed as he slit the throat of one with his hidden blade, stabbing the other in the heart a split second after before he could cry out in surprise. Retracting the blade and straightening out his clothes he sauntered over to the tied down horses, impressed with the rest of the men’s obliviousness to recently deceased in front of their Commander’s tent. It was a shame he couldn’t wait to see the surprise on the other’s faces when they finally stumbled across them--he could have even given them a lesson in proper guard techniques for next time. Another day perhaps. Pulling himself onto the large stallion he tugged at the reigns sharply making it rear proudly before galloping off in pursuit of the Commander.
Definitely not a dramatic man.
Haytham hoped, well hope wasn’t exactly the right word, he needed to reach his wayward son before the Commander did. The boy had an unhealthy reverence for dear Washington and even though he’d no doubt been hurt by the duel betrayal, if he was met by Washington first there was little chance he would even look at Haytham again. All those lessons--and blisters he was certainly gaining from riding bareback--would be for naught. He didn’t like losing much either, not that he was a poor sport but in reality fate rather favored winners over losers. That and having the loose cannon that was his son under control would prevent anymore future deaths of important Templar agents. He urged the horse faster when he didn’t encounter any sign of either man minutes after he left the camp, worrying for a moment he had in fact lost them in the maze of trees. However the tell-tale flurry of white movement in the distance assured Haytham that he wasn’t lost and wasn’t too late. Yet. The boy was running at a speed that had left Haytham at the ripe age of 40 making him glad he had taken the horse instead of trying to tracking them on foot. Not even remotely concerned about the threat Connor had promised them if they had chosen to follow he called out,
“Con-”
When questioned about it by Charles later he would say that the mud came from a very rude frontiersman whose horse’s hooves coated kicked up the slimy substance as it rode within inches past him. He would never explain how he lurched forward when the horse had made a sudden jump, taking a very ungraceful fall off the animal and into the wet ground below. He grumbled lowly, promising silently to turn the horse over to the cruelest farmer he knew while he picked himself up off the forest floor. Brushing off as much of the dirt as he could he looked up just in time to watch the end of his son’s robes disappear beyond the hill. Sighing lightly he jogged slowly after him, the fall having injured one of his legs causing him to limp. By the time he reached the hill where Connor had disappeared the leg was incredibly tender, which meant a quick retreat was impossible if a fight was waiting for him. With one hand resting on his sword he climbed over the top to see what awaited him.
Thankfully neither the Commander or Connor were waiting their for him, sword drawn and eagerly awaiting to sink it into his flesh. Leaning against a nearby tree he looked down upon the small Mohawk village that was overflowing with the sight of blue patriot uniforms. Catching the small flash of white that snuck in among the rear of the military men Haytham groaned inwardly. His thick-headed offspring was becoming much more trouble than he was worth, still Haytham found himself pushing off of the tree and making his way down the hill.
No use at going in the same way Connor had, if caught the soldiers would more than likely assume he was there to make sure the mission went on without a hitch. However if he himself were caught he'd either be turned into a pincushion for the bayonets or brought in front of Washington, who'd probably use him as an example of what the natives would face if he stayed. Walking around the edge was the more viable option, however walking through the river in order to get to inside the village itself was going to be a pain. He slowly eased himself into the water, careful to keep the splashing to a minimum as he moved into the village.
Haytham was so concentrated on keeping his actions as silent as possible he almost missed the flash of gold that reflected off the water. He squinted lightly and stared at the rippling of the waves to see if his old eyes were playing tricks on him.
"What in the world?"
The sound of a musket firing and a woman’s shriek caused him to shoot his gaze upwards. For a single moment the natives had moved back in horror, staring at the body of an older woman in a heap on the ground, blood pooling around her. Then there was chaos as several men leapt forward, weapons in hand only to be cut down by the swords of the patriot soldiers. The men in the back raised their muskets and fired into the remaining group as they tried to flee into the river, away from the slaughter upon the shore.
Haytham had no chance. Attempting to enter the discord caused by the carnage in front of him to look for Connor would only result in his death. However when he tried to step back, away from the bloodbath he could not, he was transfixed to the spot. What happened next he really could never find the reason as to why. Maybe it was that treasured memory of a cheeky Mohawk woman whose knowing smile always turned into a borderline smirk.
He ran forward.
“Stop!” He barked loudly, waving his arms to draw the soldiers’ attention. “Stop this!” Shockingly enough Haytham watched, awe-struck, as the men lowered their muskets, regarding him with a distant look in their eyes. He looked back to the remaining natives and frowned as he saw only a handful had survived unscathed.
“Where is Washington” He demanded fiercely. The men did not respond, only looking past Haytham with an empty gaze. He was about to move forward, to grab the first incoherent man and shake him roughly out of his drunk-like stupor. That was however until a hand gripped his pant leg and tugged weakly. He glanced down to see a young, bloodied native man looking up at him feebly but had eyes filled with stubbornness. Bending down he grabbed the man’s arms and helped him up carefully, noticing how he clutched his wounded side. Letting him lean on him for support he shakily motioned to the entrance of one of the longhouses.
“Thank you.” Haytham whispered gratefully. Turning his attention to the entrance he called out sharply, “Washington.”
Granted it only took a few seconds for the man to appear in the door way, hands behind his back, but to Haytham it felt like the Commander was deliberately taking his time to infuriate him. Although that anger was quickly replaced by slight bewilderment when the soldiers immediately straightened up in perfect attention when the man made his appearance, a display extremely rare from a ragtag group of militia.
“Haytham.”
Washington addressed him curiously, feigning a look of general surprise at his presence. But his eyes bore holes through him, full of bitterness and malevolence, however Haytham would be damned if let this phony of a man try to intimidate him.
“Didn’t I tell you for wait for me back at Valley Forge?” He wasn’t questioning, he was accusing. “Why would you come all the way-”
“Let’s not play this game, George.” Haytham cut him off quickly, watching as the man’s blue eyes turned stormy. “Hand Connor over to me and I’ll be on my way.”
The man took a minute to consider it for a moment, tapping his foot against the ground lightly, before he returned his gaze to him. “No.”
Haytham opened his mouth to protest but the Commander silenced him with a hand. “I cannot hand over someone who is most obviously dead.” He then stepped out of the longhouse, revealing a white heap of cloth among the floor from where his body once blocked. Haytham’s heart stopped for a moment as his breath caught in his throat. He shouldn’t have felt this way. He shouldn’t of felt his heart stutter at the sight of the broken body belonging to a son he never really knew, a son he had planned a similar fate for, a son who had shared so many qualities with his brassy mother. He snapped out of his state of shock when he felt the man next to him jerk forward, nearly tumbling to the ground if Haytham hadn’t caught him.
“Ratonhnhaké:ton!” he cried out desperately, eyes searching for any movement on the motionless body. “Ratonhnhaké:ton!”
Then Washington was in front of them. Haytham nearly swore in surprise as he suddenly caught eyes with bizarrely frightening man, having let his guard down just long enough for the him to get into a dangerous proximity.
“This does not concern you, Haytham. Leave before I decide to turn you into target practice for my men.” Haytham shifted uneasily, since when did the man gain an extra foot on him? He was towering over him now, glaring haughtily, practically daring him to give him a reason to strike Haytham down.
As much as he wanted to give the irritating man a black eye he held his arm back, he didn’t want to give the man an excuse to open fire on him or the few natives left. Despite this it didn’t mean the young man in his arms had the same control over his actions, which explained why he spat a mouthful of blood into the Commander’s face.
The backhand that Washington cracked onto the man’s face was enough to send them both back onto the ground. The Commander grabbed the throat of the native beside him and hissed viciously “You do not dare disrespect me again, boy. Unless you want to join your brothers beside you.” The man glowered up at him fearlessly and Haytham commended him silently for his bravery, or idiocy. He grunted slightly when Washington grabbed the front of his coat and lifted him off the ground. His achy body didn’t need to be manhandled around for the man to prove his point.
“Commander you’re being unreasonable-”
“Silence your tongue Haytham before I cut it out.” Washington threatened icily as he let him go. That was it. He’d had enough of this “act” the Commander was putting up, he wanted him to stop it and do so now. He reached forward to grab the man’s uniform as he moved to turn away, but his finger instead caught on the edge of the man’s small sack tied to his belt.
A flash of gold and silver.
The blade against his neck was cool to the touch but hot where it bit into his neck, staining it with blood. “So that’s what it is.” He stated calmly--not being able to help the smirk that spread across his lips--the source of the Commander’s sudden aggressiveness was hidden underneath the small covering of cloth. For some reason the knowledge that an Apple was the cause of Washington’s personality flip calmed him a lot more than it should of. Perhaps it was the fact the powerful artifact was within a hair’s reach, he only had to reach out and the apple would be his. The sword dug into his skin a little deeper as shifted his gaze down to the Apple momentarily before back to Washington.
“Connor had shown the same interest in it as you did. That is before, well you know.” The grin was malicious and Haytham’s eyes narrowed slightly the smirk disappearing. The man was trying to bait him once again and Haytham would not let his excitement over the Apple get the better of him. He wonders if that’s why the Commander had taken out Connor before his arrival. The boy clumsily trying to snatch it away from the man now drunk with power was starting to sound like what triggered the man to kill his friend in the first place. The boy’s daftness had indeed been the end of him and it left him with little remorse but heavy with regret that he hadn’t tried to change the boy sooner. But there wasn’t any time to mourn a man he had only just begun to associate with as the Commander had him move further away from him, from the Apple. He sheathed his sword when his men took up their muskets, aiming them at Haytham in the sword’s place.
“ I will not ask again. I have shown you multitudes of kindness only to have you throw them back in my face, leave now before I choose to run you through.” Locking eyes with the man one last time he looked away helping the fuming wounded man back up from the ground once again. As much as it annoyed Haytham to leave the Apple in a fool’s hands he had to formulate a plan with the other Templars before he could attempt to steal it from its new master’s all-seeing gaze. As he escorted the few grim natives away from their village and off of their land he wondered if he would ever get a chance like this again. Probably never, or at least until an opportunity presented itself again, which allowed him enough time to find a temporary place for the Mohawks to seattle.
He only hoped the cranky, old assassin wouldn’t mind a few more residents at his Homestead.
Welcome to the New Age - Part 2/???
***
He really, truly didn’t believe the Commander to be moronic.
No really, he didn’t or couldn’t believe a man of such “high military stature” could reach that position in the first place without having some form of intelligence--well as much intelligence needed to tell his men what to fire at. Haytham wasn’t the type of man to just assume such things of others either, but what could one do after being slapped in the face with amount of idiocy that the Commander had shown him? There was no more beating around the bush about it, Washington was indeed as half-witted as Charles told him.
The moment Connor had stormed off to his village the Commander had returned his icy glare to him. Haytham felt his lips beginning to tug into that of a smirk but was able to keep them in a hard pressed line. His original plan might not of exactly worked as planned, since Connor was now furious at them both, however it wouldn’t take long to get him back under his wing. The boy was so very naive and impressionable that way. His only concern at the moment was taking care of the fuming man in front of him without killing him outright. Or perhaps the two soldiers that found their places at Haytham’s side.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself, Kenway. Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?” Washington questioned lowly, beckoning another soldier over with a horse.
“I think I just told the boy the truth about something that impacted his life so horribly. He deserves that peace of mind at least, doesn’t he Commander? Or would you rather him be ignorant to the truth? The perfect hound that’s eager to please your every command as you slowly starve it?” Haytham questioned with a light innocence, which only served to enrage the man further. The man did, Haytham realized thoughtfully, have spectacular control over his emotions’ impulses though.
“As much as I would like to debate Connor’s ‘ignorance’ with you I have much more pressing matters to attend to,” getting up onto his horse he glared back down at Haytham, “however I am not finished with discussing how sensitive matters like these fell into your hands in the first place. These men will make sure you are present and comfortable when I return.” With that he spurred his horse and galloped out of the camp.
Leaving the Templar Grandmaster alone with only two measly soldiers as guards was the most brainless move Haytham had ever seen in his life. He really wanted to say that the escape had been nothing less than difficult, coming close to meeting death himself during such an escape, blood pounding in his ears as he blocked attacks left and right from the two “well conditioned” men before him. If only to honor the soldiers with that of a more noble-sounding death.
Alas, he was not a dramatic man.
Falling a step behind the two soldiers was all the opportunity he needed as he slit the throat of one with his hidden blade, stabbing the other in the heart a split second after before he could cry out in surprise. Retracting the blade and straightening out his clothes he sauntered over to the tied down horses, impressed with the rest of the men’s obliviousness to recently deceased in front of their Commander’s tent. It was a shame he couldn’t wait to see the surprise on the other’s faces when they finally stumbled across them--he could have even given them a lesson in proper guard techniques for next time. Another day perhaps. Pulling himself onto the large stallion he tugged at the reigns sharply making it rear proudly before galloping off in pursuit of the Commander.
Definitely not a dramatic man.
Haytham hoped, well hope wasn’t exactly the right word, he needed to reach his wayward son before the Commander did. The boy had an unhealthy reverence for dear Washington and even though he’d no doubt been hurt by the duel betrayal, if he was met by Washington first there was little chance he would even look at Haytham again. All those lessons--and blisters he was certainly gaining from riding bareback--would be for naught. He didn’t like losing much either, not that he was a poor sport but in reality fate rather favored winners over losers. That and having the loose cannon that was his son under control would prevent anymore future deaths of important Templar agents. He urged the horse faster when he didn’t encounter any sign of either man minutes after he left the camp, worrying for a moment he had in fact lost them in the maze of trees. However the tell-tale flurry of white movement in the distance assured Haytham that he wasn’t lost and wasn’t too late. Yet. The boy was running at a speed that had left Haytham at the ripe age of 40 making him glad he had taken the horse instead of trying to tracking them on foot. Not even remotely concerned about the threat Connor had promised them if they had chosen to follow he called out,
“Con-”
When questioned about it by Charles later he would say that the mud came from a very rude frontiersman whose horse’s hooves coated kicked up the slimy substance as it rode within inches past him. He would never explain how he lurched forward when the horse had made a sudden jump, taking a very ungraceful fall off the animal and into the wet ground below. He grumbled lowly, promising silently to turn the horse over to the cruelest farmer he knew while he picked himself up off the forest floor. Brushing off as much of the dirt as he could he looked up just in time to watch the end of his son’s robes disappear beyond the hill. Sighing lightly he jogged slowly after him, the fall having injured one of his legs causing him to limp. By the time he reached the hill where Connor had disappeared the leg was incredibly tender, which meant a quick retreat was impossible if a fight was waiting for him. With one hand resting on his sword he climbed over the top to see what awaited him.
Thankfully neither the Commander or Connor were waiting their for him, sword drawn and eagerly awaiting to sink it into his flesh. Leaning against a nearby tree he looked down upon the small Mohawk village that was overflowing with the sight of blue patriot uniforms. Catching the small flash of white that snuck in among the rear of the military men Haytham groaned inwardly. His thick-headed offspring was becoming much more trouble than he was worth, still Haytham found himself pushing off of the tree and making his way down the hill.
No use at going in the same way Connor had, if caught the soldiers would more than likely assume he was there to make sure the mission went on without a hitch. However if he himself were caught he'd either be turned into a pincushion for the bayonets or brought in front of Washington, who'd probably use him as an example of what the natives would face if he stayed. Walking around the edge was the more viable option, however walking through the river in order to get to inside the village itself was going to be a pain. He slowly eased himself into the water, careful to keep the splashing to a minimum as he moved into the village.
Haytham was so concentrated on keeping his actions as silent as possible he almost missed the flash of gold that reflected off the water. He squinted lightly and stared at the rippling of the waves to see if his old eyes were playing tricks on him.
"What in the world?"
The sound of a musket firing and a woman’s shriek caused him to shoot his gaze upwards. For a single moment the natives had moved back in horror, staring at the body of an older woman in a heap on the ground, blood pooling around her. Then there was chaos as several men leapt forward, weapons in hand only to be cut down by the swords of the patriot soldiers. The men in the back raised their muskets and fired into the remaining group as they tried to flee into the river, away from the slaughter upon the shore.
Haytham had no chance. Attempting to enter the discord caused by the carnage in front of him to look for Connor would only result in his death. However when he tried to step back, away from the bloodbath he could not, he was transfixed to the spot. What happened next he really could never find the reason as to why. Maybe it was that treasured memory of a cheeky Mohawk woman whose knowing smile always turned into a borderline smirk.
He ran forward.
“Stop!” He barked loudly, waving his arms to draw the soldiers’ attention. “Stop this!” Shockingly enough Haytham watched, awe-struck, as the men lowered their muskets, regarding him with a distant look in their eyes. He looked back to the remaining natives and frowned as he saw only a handful had survived unscathed.
“Where is Washington” He demanded fiercely. The men did not respond, only looking past Haytham with an empty gaze. He was about to move forward, to grab the first incoherent man and shake him roughly out of his drunk-like stupor. That was however until a hand gripped his pant leg and tugged weakly. He glanced down to see a young, bloodied native man looking up at him feebly but had eyes filled with stubbornness. Bending down he grabbed the man’s arms and helped him up carefully, noticing how he clutched his wounded side. Letting him lean on him for support he shakily motioned to the entrance of one of the longhouses.
“Thank you.” Haytham whispered gratefully. Turning his attention to the entrance he called out sharply, “Washington.”
Granted it only took a few seconds for the man to appear in the door way, hands behind his back, but to Haytham it felt like the Commander was deliberately taking his time to infuriate him. Although that anger was quickly replaced by slight bewilderment when the soldiers immediately straightened up in perfect attention when the man made his appearance, a display extremely rare from a ragtag group of militia.
“Haytham.”
Washington addressed him curiously, feigning a look of general surprise at his presence. But his eyes bore holes through him, full of bitterness and malevolence, however Haytham would be damned if let this phony of a man try to intimidate him.
“Didn’t I tell you for wait for me back at Valley Forge?” He wasn’t questioning, he was accusing. “Why would you come all the way-”
“Let’s not play this game, George.” Haytham cut him off quickly, watching as the man’s blue eyes turned stormy. “Hand Connor over to me and I’ll be on my way.”
The man took a minute to consider it for a moment, tapping his foot against the ground lightly, before he returned his gaze to him. “No.”
Haytham opened his mouth to protest but the Commander silenced him with a hand. “I cannot hand over someone who is most obviously dead.” He then stepped out of the longhouse, revealing a white heap of cloth among the floor from where his body once blocked. Haytham’s heart stopped for a moment as his breath caught in his throat. He shouldn’t have felt this way. He shouldn’t of felt his heart stutter at the sight of the broken body belonging to a son he never really knew, a son he had planned a similar fate for, a son who had shared so many qualities with his brassy mother. He snapped out of his state of shock when he felt the man next to him jerk forward, nearly tumbling to the ground if Haytham hadn’t caught him.
“Ratonhnhaké:ton!” he cried out desperately, eyes searching for any movement on the motionless body. “Ratonhnhaké:ton!”
Then Washington was in front of them. Haytham nearly swore in surprise as he suddenly caught eyes with bizarrely frightening man, having let his guard down just long enough for the him to get into a dangerous proximity.
“This does not concern you, Haytham. Leave before I decide to turn you into target practice for my men.” Haytham shifted uneasily, since when did the man gain an extra foot on him? He was towering over him now, glaring haughtily, practically daring him to give him a reason to strike Haytham down.
As much as he wanted to give the irritating man a black eye he held his arm back, he didn’t want to give the man an excuse to open fire on him or the few natives left. Despite this it didn’t mean the young man in his arms had the same control over his actions, which explained why he spat a mouthful of blood into the Commander’s face.
The backhand that Washington cracked onto the man’s face was enough to send them both back onto the ground. The Commander grabbed the throat of the native beside him and hissed viciously “You do not dare disrespect me again, boy. Unless you want to join your brothers beside you.” The man glowered up at him fearlessly and Haytham commended him silently for his bravery, or idiocy. He grunted slightly when Washington grabbed the front of his coat and lifted him off the ground. His achy body didn’t need to be manhandled around for the man to prove his point.
“Commander you’re being unreasonable-”
“Silence your tongue Haytham before I cut it out.” Washington threatened icily as he let him go. That was it. He’d had enough of this “act” the Commander was putting up, he wanted him to stop it and do so now. He reached forward to grab the man’s uniform as he moved to turn away, but his finger instead caught on the edge of the man’s small sack tied to his belt.
A flash of gold and silver.
The blade against his neck was cool to the touch but hot where it bit into his neck, staining it with blood. “So that’s what it is.” He stated calmly--not being able to help the smirk that spread across his lips--the source of the Commander’s sudden aggressiveness was hidden underneath the small covering of cloth. For some reason the knowledge that an Apple was the cause of Washington’s personality flip calmed him a lot more than it should of. Perhaps it was the fact the powerful artifact was within a hair’s reach, he only had to reach out and the apple would be his. The sword dug into his skin a little deeper as shifted his gaze down to the Apple momentarily before back to Washington.
“Connor had shown the same interest in it as you did. That is before, well you know.” The grin was malicious and Haytham’s eyes narrowed slightly the smirk disappearing. The man was trying to bait him once again and Haytham would not let his excitement over the Apple get the better of him. He wonders if that’s why the Commander had taken out Connor before his arrival. The boy clumsily trying to snatch it away from the man now drunk with power was starting to sound like what triggered the man to kill his friend in the first place. The boy’s daftness had indeed been the end of him and it left him with little remorse but heavy with regret that he hadn’t tried to change the boy sooner. But there wasn’t any time to mourn a man he had only just begun to associate with as the Commander had him move further away from him, from the Apple. He sheathed his sword when his men took up their muskets, aiming them at Haytham in the sword’s place.
“ I will not ask again. I have shown you multitudes of kindness only to have you throw them back in my face, leave now before I choose to run you through.” Locking eyes with the man one last time he looked away helping the fuming wounded man back up from the ground once again. As much as it annoyed Haytham to leave the Apple in a fool’s hands he had to formulate a plan with the other Templars before he could attempt to steal it from its new master’s all-seeing gaze. As he escorted the few grim natives away from their village and off of their land he wondered if he would ever get a chance like this again. Probably never, or at least until an opportunity presented itself again, which allowed him enough time to find a temporary place for the Mohawks to seattle.
He only hoped the cranky, old assassin wouldn’t mind a few more residents at his Homestead.