asscreedkinkmeme ([personal profile] asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
Entry tags:

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
Fill Only


Join or Die

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

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

✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

✩ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 12 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-17 05:09 am (UTC)(link)
Eeee, thank you all again for your wonderful comments! I am, as always, very flattered to have you all reading this beastly thing. Please allow me to scoop you all up into a monster hug. :3 Also, haha, I'm afraid that this chapter is not especially exciting (to me at least), but alas, plot's gotta do what plot's gotta do! Still, I hope you all enjoy it! ♥

***

Day One Hundred and Forty-Two
Following his return, Haytham had thought the next few days would be busy, but even he had underestimated the amount of work that had piled up in his absence. With New York City (and even Boston, to his dismay) in Charles’ pocket, there was little business to attend to in regards to those two locations, but he was relieved that the rest of the Americas still largely considered him their rightful leader.

Mere hours after he’d finally left the comfort of his quarters on the morning following his return, he had a wealth of visitors inquiring about his well-being, his travels, and, of course, the state of the Order. Information started to flow all around him again, and Haytham relished it, evident in the enthusiasm of his conversation and simple desire to get back to business. Thirty minute meetings with his brothers turned into sessions that stretched late into the night.

And through it all, Connor remained a quiet and pleasant shadow in the background.

At first, it had been a little strange, a little unsettling, to have an Assassin in attendance to these Templar meetings, and there had been whispers among his men and worried looks. With each passing hour, however, it became clear that Connor was not there to cause trouble; he remained a comfortable blue in Haytham’s second sight, and once or twice, he even thought he caught the faintest of smiles on the boy’s lips.

The days continued to pass this way until, at long last, the initial flurry of activity settled. Haytham still felt the keen sting of losing the support of both New York City and Boston, but now that he knew he still had faithful men, some of his anxiety started to ebb; his worries had been a touch overblown. Even so, it would take some work to unify the Templars as they had been before--one cohesive and powerful unit, especially if there was still bickering amongst their highest ranked members.

With continued silence from Charles, Haytham sent out several messengers to locate the man, and as he waited for a (hopefully favorable) response, he turned his attention again to his son. Over the course of the last few days, he’d seen the boy with a book in his hands as he sat in on these meetings, and that, he figured, was what Connor had hinted at when he’d sneered at his educational comment the night of his return.

“One or two books does not amount to a very thorough lesson, you know,” he commented idly, as he quickly penned a letter to the Templars in Charleston; his visitors might be gone, but his work remained. Connor glanced up, and again, there was that soft, knowing smile that only caused his father to frown.

“I agree.”

“So you agree that my statement still stands: your education has come to a complete and utter standstill in my absence.”

“If I had only read one or two books,” Connor answered, slipping a ribbon in between the pages before snapping the book shut. Haytham’s gaze lifted, a mildly curious expression crossing his features. “In your absence, I have gone through a good portion of your collection.”

At that, Haytham remembered a comment Mrs. Langley had made several days prior about putting up books.

“You decimated my library, didn’t you?” he asked flatly. When the boy said and did nothing, Haytham pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You wasted my servant’s time and made her put up the reading material you removed? How many books did you take from the shelf at a time?”

Apparently, Connor had not expected his father to become upset about his books being in disarray, as a slightly troubled look appeared on his face. “I would have replaced them myself, but your organizational methods have no rhyme or reason to them,” he replied, frowning now, and well, Haytham couldn’t really fault him about the organization bit; few people could make sense of the way he liked to store his things (and yes, there was sense to it!), Mrs. Langley being one of them. “Besides, I took up other chores in her place.”

Haytham’s eyebrows lifted.

“I assisted in the kitchen--” Well, the boy’s knifeplay certainly was excellent; that didn’t seem to be that far-fetched of a place for him to help out. “--and I have taken over part of the laundry.” That, however, was rather odd.

“I had much time to kill,” Connor hurriedly continued, as his gaze rather purposefully drifted sidewards, and it was with a soft, “Ah,” that Haytham understood.

Well, that certainly explained why and how his bed linens disappeared so very suddenly the day after his return, as even Mrs. Langley was not so in-tune with him to know a quick bedding touch-up was needed. Still, Haytham had to applaud the boy for his forward thinking; despite the maid’s continued blindness toward his son’s deviant behavior, she would be hard-pressed to deny the evidence on the sheets if she ever caught sight of them.

“It is not as if I have never helped Mrs. Langley in the past,” the boy finished lamely.

“I’m... glad to hear that you are getting along with my staff,” he finally said, as smoothly as he could manage. Was this an awkward conversation? Yes, he liked to think that it was. Best to change topics before Connor clammed up entirely from embarrassment. “And what did you think of my book collection? I trust that you enjoyed it to some degree if you saw fit to leave in shambles.”

“It was extensive--informative, too.” Connor fondly ran his fingertips over the cover of the volume currently in his hands. “There is a heavy bias to your choice in works though.”

Haytham allowed a smile to curve his lips. “Go on.”

“I have come to understand why some would pursue the ideals of the Templars as you have,” the boy continued, brow furrowing slightly. “There is a certain degree of protection that comes from order, and peace can be attained through it.

“But I still believe that the methods the Templars use are wrong. It is too easy for those lulled by a sense of security to fall to tyranny.”

“You still prefer freedom then--or rather, the illusion of it.”

Briefly, Connor narrowed his eyes at him, and his words took on a slightly sharper edge. “Of course. Freedom for both body and mind.”

Haytham chuckled and rose from his seat, circling around the table to gently lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “When you have seen as much of the world as I have, son, you will come to realize that true freedom is but a dream.”

“That will not be the case here. The birth of a new nation will provide us with the opportunity we need.”

An almost pitying smile crossed Haytham’s features. “I’ve kept you inside too long,” he said, expression gentle and voice soft--bordering on condescension. “Let’s go on a walk, shall we? I believe you’ve a cloak and hat in your wardrobe.

“I will wait for you out front.”

Without another word, he swept off, leaving a mildly stunned Connor to collect his thoughts at this sudden development. To be quite honest, even Haytham was a touch surprised with himself; the decision had been a bit more spur of the moment than he would have cared to admit to. Like with his travels, though, he knew that this day would have to come eventually if the two of them were to stand on equal ground and view the world in the same light. Thankfully, Haytham felt a little less trepidation about this than he had about leaving for New York. After all, his son had not fled in his absence, and this time, Haytham would be here by his side.

The boy came to meet him in a flurry of half-donned outerwear a few minutes later, and Haytham could not help but notice the boyish excitement his son displayed at being able to step outdoors again. He watched the boy inhale deep and close his eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the moment. It was a shame, really, that Haytham couldn’t exactly let him remain this way--carefree and joyous--because there was something infectious about the smile that spread across his face.

“There will be plenty of time to enjoy what Mother Nature has to offer later,” he said, beckoning for Connor to hurry after him as he stepped past the gates. “I’d like to welcome you to Philadelphia first.”

Like a dog coming to heel, the boy tailed after him as he started down the street. While this was yet another test of their relationship, Haytham hoped for their little trip to be instructional as well. Age and experience had taught him in no kind way that the world, for all that the Assassin’s fought for it, would never take easily to their Creed; while the Templars merely had to win once, their enemies would have a never-ending battle upon their hands.

“Freedom only exists for those in power,” he started as they walked through the marketplace. Though it was a cold day, the sun was shining, and people thronged the stalls as shopkeepers shouted about their wares. Connor made a noncommittal sound as he looked at the products on display, and Haytham gently led him away. “Listen to me,” was what he said, quietly getting his to focus again; his son merely gave him a smile. “This is important.

“It is their definition of freedom that suits their needs. You have seen it with the slaves--” Haytham gestured at the empty platform on the other side of the square where humans were often bought and sold, and the boy’s gaze flicked over, the joy in his expression at last faltering. “--and your people have suffered at the hands of such privilege as well.”

“We need only a leader who would stand for the rights of all--” Ah, the boy didn’t bring up Washington. Good. That bastard wasn’t worth mentioning here.

“And what is a leader?” Haytham asked, continuing his slow amble. Connor frowned.

“An individual who would guide us--”

“But isn’t that infringing upon one’s free thought? If we are truly to be free, no one should be dictating what we think or do.”

“You are trying to twist my words,” the boy said, now looking a little cross. Haytham merely turned to regard his son and shook his head.

“I merely show you the reality of them.” As they continued down the street, he gestured at the church nearby and the militia stationed up and down the street. “We talk about morals and demand justice for those wronged. Why? To create order for a civilized world--to maintain peace.

“Don’t misunderstand me: I do not mean to say that the Assassins are wrong and that we are right, but the ultimate goal of your organization simply cannot exist in the real world.” Haytham again touched a hand to the boy’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, as if trying to impart understanding upon Connor. “It’s simply not practical for a truly free world to exist, so why not allow for a benevolent leader to guide humanity along a better path?”

“I will not resign myself to such a bleak outlook as you have,” his son finally answered, still walking in step with his father, but he looked a touch crestfallen now. “I fight because I must and because no one else will.”

“An answer fit for a man true to the Creed,” Haytham responded with a shadow of a smile. By no means did he expect the boy to leave his precious Brotherhood with a few words and some real world examples, but he wanted him to think about it--for it to fester in his mind and thoughts. And if the troubled expression upon his face was anything to go by? Connor had listened and taken the words to heart.

They continued on in silence now, footsteps falling in time with each other, and the remainder of Haytham’s tour of Philadelphia was a rather quiet one. He continued to point out famous landmarks, noted good spots to survey the area from, and on several occasions, even made mention of a few of his favorite locations in the city--a theater, a tavern, a bakery.

The hour was late by the time they at last returned to the Kenway home, but as he opened the gate, Haytham turned to regard his son before letting his gaze flick upwards toward the trees. “If you would like to explore for a while longer, you are free to do so.

“You will not find your allies in Philadelphia, but the Templars here are faithful to me and you are too quick for the militia to catch; you’ll have free reign over the rooftops. Go on, stretch your legs.”

“What?” The tone of Connor’s voice clearly suggested that his thoughts had been elsewhere, as Haytham had suspected they had been since their tour had turned into a one-sided conversation. Over and over again, he’d caught the boy staring at the rooftops and trees instead of the more terrestrial offerings he’d been pointing out. He sighed and gave Connor a gentle push back toward the gate.

“Enjoy the city as you will, seeing as you clearly didn’t enjoy my rendition of it. Be back before dawn unless you wish to be thoroughly punished in the morning.”

“And what if I leave and never come back?”

Haytham smiled, confident. “You care for me too much.” Like one of his brothers, like an Assassin. “You won’t do it.”

Connor merely stared at him for a moment and then disappeared, scrambling up a tree and vanishing into the foliage. Haytham didn’t bother to watch him go, instead heading straight into the house. Their unexpectedly long trip outside had put him quite behind in his paperwork, and if he was going to be getting any sleep tonight, he needed to get back to it straightaway; Haytham could worry about the boy in the morning.

After all, it was time to see if the hawk he was training would return to the falconer’s glove after hunting. A songbird in a gilded cage was of no use to him.

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 12 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-17 06:20 am (UTC)(link)
I enjoyed the exchange between these two quite bit. I wonder what Connor plans to do while he's exploring and when/if he returns to Haytham. I love how Haytham has used Connor's affections as a leash.

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 12 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-17 07:00 am (UTC)(link)
The last two sentences were just amazing-- author anon your writing style is just so asfghkjfkkd. I also couldn't help but snicker when Haytham told Connor about being 'thoroughly punished' hahaha either way I will be eagerly awaiting for more as always!

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 12 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-18 05:55 am (UTC)(link)
i must say that the way you write these two (and the others, mind you) is so authentic that i can hear the words in their voices and so clearly imagine what's happening in my mind. your style is wonderful and spot-on; i am never once taken out of the story nor does my mind's picture break. thank you for taking the time and effort to write such a brilliant and long fill. i will definitely be here to see it through! :)

A wild OP appears!

(Anonymous) 2013-02-21 06:33 am (UTC)(link)
Aaaaggghhh, OP is terribly sorry for the lateness of this! I humbly beg for WriterAnon's forgiveness. This OP loves you. Unfortunately, University gives OP less time than she would like for reading AC pr0nz. :(

Oh Anon, this was absolutely lovely! *squees* I love how Haytham's getting back to business here, preparing to kick ass and wrest control of the Order back from the nefarious Charles Lee! And since Lee is my least favorite AC III character, I hope he gets his arse handed to him by everyone's favorite Templar Grandmaster. ;)

Haytham's relationship with Connor is proceeding splendidly! I loved how he allowed Connor a little tree/rooftop-running excursion there at the end. Although it doesn't seem to me as if Connor is in imminent danger of becoming a Templar, so perhaps there is hope for an Assassin/Templar truce...?

The line about the falcon/songbird there at the end was a great metaphor for their relationship too. You're so wonderful and talented, WriterAnon *showers you with endless love and flowers and chocolates and Internets*

Re: A wild OP appears!

(Anonymous) 2013-02-22 04:58 pm (UTC)(link)
Writer!anon here.

OP, there is absolutely no need to apologize! ♥ I hope that this chapter managed to be something of a break for you between your work! Besides, it's not like I'm all that fast either...

And you know, about the Charles bit--I originally didn't intend to make him the antagonist, but as I wrote more (and solidified the plot more as well), that's how it turned out. |D I do love hating on Charles though. (Unless it's fanboy!Charles, in which case I'm right alongside him getting excited about Haytham.)

Anyway! Thank you all, as always, for your lovely comments and for following! As a random side note, I seriously feel like getting told that one's characterization is spot on is one of the best compliments a fanfic writer can get. :3 And that you guys like my writing style? Icing on the cake. ♥ So yes! Thank you so much! You all never cease to make my day!

Also, I felt like I needed to comment here just to say that I'm running late on this update. (Guess who spent what little free time I have playing a certain DLC about a president turned monarch. /coughs) I'll try to get it up as soon as I can. Again, sorry! e_e

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 13 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-23 09:24 am (UTC)(link)
Ahahah, I honestly did not think that I'd be able to finish this thing tonight, but it looks like I managed it somehow or another. If I had known, I wouldn't have made that rambling comment earlier about this chapter being late. OH WELL. I showered you all with my love there, and I will shower you all with my love here, too.

Thank you all for reading and commenting as always. You have made me a very happy writer!anon! Please enjoy the smut chapter. :D

***

Day One Hundred and Sixty-Seven
Haytham had been right: there had been no need to worry.

Well before the sun rose, he’d been woken up by a rapping at his window, and who did he find there? His son, of course. By the looks of it, he was tired, but his exhaustion could not hide the exhilaration he clearly felt; his smile practically lit up the room with its radiance. Connor showered him with hungry kisses when Haytham opened the window, all but tumbling on top of him, and he replied with nips and bites, reprimanding his son for tracking dirt into the house and ruining his clothes--shoes scuffed, coat torn, and hat gone.

He didn’t mind as much as he pretended to though.

Connor would go on to beg his permission to continue exploring the city, which Haytham said yes to--under certain conditions, of course. His son always had to return to him by a certain time, and usually, he would include some sort of errand to be accomplished. Haytham did not try to send the boy on any obviously Templar-related work, but on more than a few occasions, he passed notes to his brothers under the guise of a much more innocuous task: a trip to the bank, the grocer, or the local print shop.

His son’s observations of the city helped him gauge whether or not a threat was upon him as well. Connor was more than delighted to talk about what he’d seen during his ventures outside, and while he would feign only mild interest, Haytham was actually quite curious, drinking in the topics of their conversation. Peace in one district of the city meant that his men were holding their ground, while something as simple as a break-in at a store could signal future trouble to come. The boy was his eyes and ears around the city, and even if he did not know it, Haytham found him more effective than many of the other men he had at his disposal.

In addition to eagerly regaling him with his tales, Connor had also started to be more openly affectionate toward him as well. His hands would touch and caress, linger and press--the actions never too obvious to appear wrong to the outsider--but Haytham recognized them for what they were: calls for attention.

To say that work had consumed him would not be entirely true, despite the many hours that he put into meeting with his men and writing to those he could not see in person, but this was the angle that he played at. Haytham refused most (but not all) of Connor’s invitations for further intimacy, and as the days passed by, it became clear that while he was still enjoying the outdoor freedom that he now had, his son still wanted more. Oh, they kissed now--hot and desperate or slow and gentle--and sometimes, when Haytham was feeling especially generous, he’d crush the boy against the wall, grinding their pleasure out with pants and growls.

All that said, though, they had not slept together since his return from New York City.

Haytham had often thought about it (and knew Connor did as well), and there had been a fair few instances when he’d nearly bent the boy over his desk and had his way with him. It would have been all too easy to succumb to something that they both wanted, but there was something undoubtedly delightful about knowing that the boy wanted him--desired him--with ever-growing desperation and frustration. This relationship of theirs had originally been built upon a series of rewards and promises, and while he too would have to suffer to some degree, Haytham liked to think that when they would eventually join together once again that it would be more than worth the effort. In the meantime, he’d simply enjoy the mental satisfaction he gained from having his son under his thumb.

See, Connor had to earn the privilege of getting fucked, and while his deeds up to this point were helpful, they weren’t quite worthy of that sort of response.

Of course, Haytham never saw fit to let the boy know about the rules of the game, and he was left to fumble in the dark. His growing dissatisfaction was evident in the way his aggression grew, in the way he looked at his father with undeniable hunger and lust, and by the time he slipped out of the window with a scowl this morning, Haytham knew that things had come to a head: something was going to happen tonight.

Needless to say, he wasn’t all that surprised when Connor was late returning to his side--two hours late, in fact.

His son greeted him with a smile that was all teeth and a kiss that stung his lips, hands pushing against his shoulders until they knocked against the wall. Haytham felt a knee shove his legs apart and then the press of a hard cock pressed flush against his thigh; Connor groaned and whispered filthy things in his ear, things that made him hiss with growing arousal. It was only when he felt a large hand curl around to his backside that Haytham realized that he’d given the boy too much leeway, and he snarled, dropping the boy by knocking his feet out from under him.

Connor growled as he straddled his midriff, securing his arms behind his back with one hand, and Haytham narrowed his eyes, ignoring the way his son shifted beneath him. Though he’d been momentarily blinded by lust, he could see what the boy was trying to do: incite him into action and elicit a reaction; his son wanted attention, and when he could not get it through positive actions, he tried the reverse.

Well, if he wanted to be punished, then Haytham would most certainly deliver.

“A poor decision, but then again, I’ve come to expect that,” he murmured, leaning down so he could nip at the boy’s ear. His free hand struggled with the ribbon tied around his neck, roughly working it free, and when he finally yanked it loose, Haytham was quick to circle it around his son’s wrists, all but smirking when Connor tugged against them and failed to release himself from his bonds. Haytham chuckled and then rose to his feet, circling the boy as he awkwardly got to his knees.

Grasping his son’s chin, he stroked his thumb over his lips and then stepped away. Behind him, Haytham could hear Connor try to get back on his feet, but he tutted quietly and shook his head. “For your indiscretions, you’re not allowed to touch or be touched,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Is that understood? Stay exactly where you are lest you wish for a harsher punishment.”

When Connor remained silent, Haytham arched a brow, pausing with his hands on the laces of his breeches. “I asked you a question, boy. I expect an answer.”

“Yes, father,” came the low growl, and he smiled, clearly pleased with himself for causing his son such frustration. There was so much anger in Connor’s gaze, but that he would still bow to Haytham’s will... Well, he thought it was terribly arousing.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Haytham drew himself out, humming as he slowly swept his fingers over the shaft, almost experimental. His hand was usually a poor replacement for an actual partner, but with an audience, it stirred within him an entirely different feeling of lust. He spit in his palm and all but sneered at his son, whose irritable expression was already melting into one of want: lips slightly parted, gaze trained upon the easy up and down movement of his hand, the slight twitch of his knees as he struggled to comply with his father’s wishes.

“Wish you were closer?” he asked, his voice a soft, velvety purr, and Connor’s gaze flicked upwards to meet his; the boy swallowed and tried to appear defiant. “You always did seem enjoy having my cock in your mouth, taking it deep until I thought you might gag.”

Haytham closed his eyes at the thought, remembering all too well that wet heat--perfect lips sealed around his erection, a tongue pressed against his shaft. His hand picked up from its languorous pace, the friction he felt delightful, but still not as erotic as the feeling of a pair of wanting eyes taking in his every movement.

He’d never thought himself the type to enjoy being watched.

“Or--” He was a little more breathless this time, and he paused to lick his lips as he briefly toyed with his balls. “--Do you prefer to take it up the arse? You kept asking for more, if I recall correctly.” Haytham moaned softly as he gave his cock a tighter squeeze, trying to replicate the sensation of fucking the boy. “You’d be easy enough to tip over with your hands bound. I’d hold you down, face against the floor, and take you.”

Connor groaned, and his hips jerked of their own accord, thrusting against the air. “Father,” he said, sounding broken and raw. “Please, father...”

“This... This is your fault, you know,” Haytham replied, planting his free hand heavily in the sheets, his fingers curling against the plush fabric. His legs spread a little wider, and he moaned softly, rocking into the curl of his fist. “If you had only been more patient--” He hissed and cursed beneath his breath, as he swept his thumb across the swollen head. “--If you had only listened to me, we would not be having this conversation.”

--If this could even be called a conversation, of course.

“To punish you is to punish myself.” The sound of a quiet whimper reached his ears, causing Haytham to smile, all too pleased with himself. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, the desire for release growing ever stronger, and right now, there was no reason to hold back and stall his pleasure. In fact, it’d likely work in his favor in admonishing Connor, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Oh, the disappointment at not having a hand in his father’s pleasure!

With a self-satisfied sigh, Haytham spilled, leaving a mess on his hand, his waistcoat, and his breeches. He continued to roll his hips into his fist a few times more before beckoning his son over with his free hand; Connor hurried to do his bidding, awkwardly shuffling over on his knees. The expression on his face was so strained, and Haytham could only imagine his discomfort. “Are you properly repentant?” he asked softly, still breathless. “I would prefer that we do not need another lesson on this matter.”

“Father, please--”

“Are you properly repentant?” Haytham carded a hand through the boy’s hair before fisting it and yanking his son’s head forward; Connor winced but did not complain. “Yes or no.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now clean up this mess,” he said, offering his dirtied hand. For a moment, it looked like the boy was going to try and bring up his own needs once more, but then his tongue snaked out, drawing a wet line over his skin. Connor closed his eyes and set to work with vigor, and Haytham shivered with residual pleasure as his son lapped up every drop of his issue from his hand and clothes before taking his mouth to the source. He hissed, all too sensitive now for such attention, and gently pushed Connor away, and the boy licked his lips, still wanting.

“I suppose we should attend to you as well,” Haytham mumbled, as if in afterthought, and his son moaned, turning his head to nudge at his hand, to nip lightly at his fingertips. Connor opened his mouth, as if to make another plea, but Haytham pressed a finger against his lips and shook his head. Instead, he shifted one leg so that the sole of his boot rested at the front of the boy’s breeches; Connor’s hips automatically jerked against his shoe. “You won’t be having my hand today. This is still punishment.

“Go on then. Pleasure yourself.”

The boy whined but did as he was told, shamelessly rutting against his father’s boot. His breath came quick and fast, and Haytham affectionately combed his fingers through his son’s hair as he waited, a faint but amused smile playing at his lips--not that he would have much time to kill.

Connor came with a muffled shout shortly after, face buried against the soft fabric of his father’s breeches, and he panted, shoulders slumping, as he slowly but surely came off the high of his release. Haytham continued to remain surprisingly mild, his touch gentle and comforting, and it was only when they heard the sound of the gates being jangled that his hands stilled.

He waited for the noise to stop, but when it didn’t--when someone started shouting and begging for entry--he pushed Connor away, rising to his feet. Haytham was quick to free his son, quicker still to put himself back in order, and when he looked out the window, the very window the boy had come in through a short while ago, he saw a man astride a horse, blood staining the white shirt he wore.

Several of his servants were already running outside to let the man in, and just as they wrenched open the gates, he wavered and toppled off his horse, a crumpled heap on the ground. Before Connor could say a word, Haytham swept out of the room, arriving in the foyer just in time to see the injured individual being carried inside.

He swore quietly when he saw just who it was: he was one of the men Haytham had sent off to find Charles.

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 13 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-24 10:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, Connor. I hope you get the D soon. Afterall you're not the only one desperate for some sexytimes...or so I hope? Anyway, great job as always writer!anon. The wait is all worth it.

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 13 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-24 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)
how is it possible to have amazing smut and an intriguing story interwoven? i'm not sure, but you, dear writer anon, seemed to have discovered the formula. i literally emit a high-pitched screech at a frequency only certain animals can hear every time i see an update.

OP is here!

(Anonymous) 2013-02-26 05:31 am (UTC)(link)
FAP
FAP
FAP

I...I...I...have been reading this multiple times now, and I have no words. My brain has melted into a pile of gook. There is only fapping.

*fapfapfapfapfapfapfapfapfap*

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 14 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-03 06:41 am (UTC)(link)
Ahahahah I have nothing even remotely intelligent to add here, so! Enjoy, and thank you, as always, for reading and commenting. Your tired writer!anon is off to catch up on more sleep. ♥

***

Day One Hundred and Seventy
His name was Gilbert Rogers.

He wasn’t an especially high-ranking or notable man in the the Order, but Haytham remembered his name. After all, he had asked for it before he sent Rogers off to Boston, a letter tucked into his coat pocket and a smart smile on his face. The man was still young and eager, all too willing to prove his loyalty to the cause.

This was not supposed to have been a dangerous mission, and as he had not gotten more than a few mumbled apologies from Rogers thus far, Haytham still did not know what had happened. The doctor had said that his injury was not fresh (a gunshot wound to the shoulder--one that had reopened on several occasions), but because of the lack of treatment directly after the incident, the man was septic; his prognosis was, unfortunately, grim.

With Rogers delirious with fever, Haytham could do very little but wait and hope that he would get well soon--or at the very least, remain lucid long enough to say more than a handful of words. No other messengers returned, and with one already on the verge of death, he wondered if Rogers was actually the lucky one, if the others had already been killed. Haytham dreaded to think that Charles would do something like this, that he would harm one of his own brothers, but it would not be the first time an ally had turned on him--turned on what it meant to be a Templar.

Then again, he supposed that Charles likely thought that it was he who was the traitor.

Connor, for his part, remained largely silent about this entire mess. Oh, Haytham could tell that he had a few sharp words on his tongue about the general, but for his benefit, the boy kept his lips sealed. His son had taken to spending a great deal of time sitting just outside the doors leading into their guest’s room, not unlike some sort of overgrown watchdog, and Haytham honestly wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be delighted or disturbed by such a display of... questionable worry. Certainly, there was the off-chance that the boy was growing closer...

No, it seemed too easy. Connor would not--could not--have started to sympathize with his men, common enemy aside. Maybe Haytham’s agitation had rubbed off on his son, or perhaps Rogers had reminded him rather sharply of his own allies and left him in low spirits. After all, their fate was still largely unknown to them; they had all but disappeared into thin air after the raid in New York City.

Either way, the atmosphere at the Kenway residence had taken a decided turn for the worse. The heavy rain that fell outside perfectly mirrored the mood within, and it was with some sense of relief that Haytham left the company of Connor, all angry stares and tight-lipped frowns as he was. His daily reprieve in Rogers’ room typically left him feeling no better, but today, the man was alert when he entered, pale face tilting in his direction as he stepped past the threshold.

“Master Kenway,” he said, voice breathy but carrying well in the otherwise silent room. Haytham hurried over to the bedside, carefully brushing past the doctor, and knelt, a grim hope filling his chest. He knew that he should not press the man to speak more, given his health, but he had to know--this was terribly important to both him and the Order. Likely sensing the gravity of the situation, Rogers needed no prompting to continue speaking. “It was Lee,” he began. “Gave him your letter. Got told that you’d been bewitched by the Assassin.”

Anger should have been the emotion that filled him, but all he felt was disappointment--a deep, bitter disappointment that his old ally and friend could not understand, refused to understand the importance of having Connor on their side.

“I tried to reason with him, sir.” A fool’s errand, he thought, as a feeble smile flitted across his subordinate’s face. “Got shot for my trouble. Couldn’t return the favor while I was tryin’ to get out.

“He said...” Rogers grimaced, and the doctor placed a warning hand on Haytham’s shoulder; the poor man was fast approaching his limit now; a thin layer of perspiration sheened his skin as he continued to exert himself. “He said he was gonna make the Assassin pay.”

“How, Rogers? Tell me how.”

“Bridewell Prison. A public execution.” Outside in the hallway, there was a thud, and it took Haytham less than a second to realize that Connor had heard. He cursed and ran toward the door, but he was already too late; the window down the hall was open, rain slowly but surely drenching the rug there.

“Connor? Connor!” he shouted. Logically, he probably should have stayed by Rogers’ side and sent someone after the boy, but on an emotional and personal level, there was no choice--Haytham had to give chase.

The rain was cold--frigid--and without so much as a coat or cloak, he was soaked to the bone in a matter of seconds as he skidded over the roof, desperately trying to find his son before he disappeared into the curtain of water that fell from the sky. Even with his second vision, Haytham found it difficult to spot the boy, to spot the blue speck that was leaping over rooftops and across tree limbs.

Connor was heading in a northeasterly direction. It had taken Haytham a moment to realize this, but as they passed more and more familiar landmarks, he could draw no other conclusion: the boy intended to go to New York and save his allies.

He forced himself to run faster, leap further--slipping and sliding, all the while shouting himself hoarse. His voice was drowned out by the hiss of the rain, though, and his son paid no him no heed, eventually disappearing down into an alleyway. By the time Haytham arrived at that spot, he was gone without a trace.

Still, not all hope was lost.

The boy had clearly studied the city, studied it in hopes of finding the most direct route toward New York, but Haytham still held the advantage; Philadelphia was his home and a place he knew like the back of his hand. Finding Connor in this maze of a city was pointless, but if he could catch him before he made it too far out into the countryside, Haytham could still bring him back before he got himself killed.

Couldn’t he tell? Wasn’t it obvious? It was a trap--for both the boy and his Assassin allies. Their brothers were the bait, and... Dammit, Charles! That man was trying to eliminate them all in one fell swoop, and here was their leader, running off without a plan, without a single thought in his skull except the singular desire to save his friends.

Haytham headed northward, skipping over rooftops and wires until returning to ground level when he spotted a lone traveler down on the streets below. Of course, it wasn’t the man he was interested in; it was his horse.

Scrambling down, he was quick to yank the individual off of his steed, dropping him unceremoniously in a large puddle on the ground. Haytham mounted the beast without giving the man a second thought, and as the traveler screamed profanities at his back, he spurred the horse into a gallop, feeling powerful muscles bunch beneath him.

Weaving through narrow alleyways, sprinting headlong down open roads, and slipping through abandoned parks and marketplaces, Haytham made a beeline toward the fringes of the city until, at last, he was surrounded by the countryside. Though the rain still made visibility poor, he felt confident that he could find the boy now, squinting against the onslaught of water as he searched desperately for a fleck of blue against a sea of grey.

And then, there--an individual with black hair astride a chestnut-colored steed could be seen riding through an empty field, hooves kicking up mud and splashing water. Haytham urged his own horse in that direction and simply hoped that the beast would have enough strength, speed, and endurance to catch up; losing the boy now would sting all that much more, what with his target so close--now that he could see his son’s broad back.

“Connor! Connor!” he yelled, and at last, his son acknowledged him, glancing briefly over his shoulder.

“Do not try to stop me!”

“Just listen to me, you fool!”

--But his words fell upon deaf ears.

He could tell that his horse was tiring, and his final opportunity to stop the boy was fast approaching. Coming up behind his son, he leapt from the back of one animal to the other. He first looped an arm around the boy’s waist and then grabbed at the horse’s reins and yanked, causing the creature to rear and toppling father and son onto the muddied ground below.

Connor’s weight upon him forced all the air out of his lungs, and when he felt his son’s fist slam into his jaw, there was a sense of disconnect before his own survival instincts kicked in, making him roll away before blindly trying to tackle the boy. Haytham caught Connor around the waist and threw him to the ground; they tussled in the mud, trying to force their will upon the other.

Dull nails raked at his face, and he swung at the boy, sneering when he heard Connor snarl, blood now flowing freely from his nose. His son replied in turn, catching him in the eye, and Haytham mistakenly lifted his hands in pain; Connor took this opportunity to roll them over, pinning his arms.

Neither man seemed to care that their horses had run off a long time ago.

“Why did you let him do this?!” the boy yelled, his voice filled with a rage that Haytham had not witnessed for months now. Anger twisted Connor’s expression, and the grip of his hands turned painful; he’d have bruises to show for this encounter. “Why have you let Lee do this? Tell me! Tell me now!

“I didn’t!” he spat, all bared teeth and flashing eyes. “Wasn’t it obvious? Do you think I would have ordered him to shoot one of my own men? Do you think me that cruel and heartless?”

The pause was answer enough, and Haytham huffed, rolling his eyes.

Fine. Think what you will of me, Connor, but what I said still stands: I did not order your precious Assassins to be hanged,” he continued. Connor’s hold upon him lightened--only just, though; his expression was still untrusting, and Haytham could feel months worth of work disappearing right before his eyes. He couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t risk losing his son; he couldn’t take it-- “I can no longer consider Charles an ally. What he does, he does on his own.”

The admission hurt, if only because it meant letting go of what little hope had remained; his friend was lost to him--completely and utterly lost. In truth, this was something he had never wanted to say, least of all to Connor, but desperation could make even the most prideful man break. “There was no need to kill them; keeping them in prison simply meant that they were out of the way.”

“You have killed people for far more petty reasons. I know. I’ve seen you do it,” the boy finally said, his voice a barely audible growl over the sound of the rain. “Why spare them now?”

Because Charles was right: Connor had changed him. The bitterness that had driven him for so long had started to fade, and the more time he spent with his son, the more hope he found in the world. It was almost like he was becoming that idealistic individual he had once been when he’d first stepped foot on American soil--almost.

Still, one confession was enough for today, and as the boy’s hands were at last relenting, Haytham figured that the immediate danger of losing Connor was past. Besides, they had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Considering how you were so willing to get yourself killed for these people a few minutes ago, do you really think we should be discussing this now?” he replied, completely and utterly sidestepping the question. Before Connor had time to protest, Haytham roughly shoved him aside and rose to his feet. He was cold, wet, bruised, and completely filthy, but it was a worthy price to pay: his son was still by his side, still his.

He extended a hand to the boy. “I believe we’ve a common enemy to face.”

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 14 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-03 06:55 am (UTC)(link)
/WAIILLLS/ I hope the recruits aren't dead yet, ohh Charles you evil jealous bastard. Finally Haytham and Connor teaming up against him, yay!

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 14 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-04 12:19 am (UTC)(link)
Whoa, this is their first conflict in a while. Haytham's getting almost a little unhinged in his need to keep Connor by his side, isn't he? I'm definitely looking forward to how that plays out in his future interactions with Charles! So just omg Writer!anon, please continue <3<3<3

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 14 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-04 02:55 pm (UTC)(link)
haytham finally admitting that charles is no longer an ally is certainly a milestone here. it's also interesting how desperate haytham is to keep his son on his side--how much he needs him.

"He couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t risk losing his son; he couldn’t take it..."

granted, he has lost power and friends for taking in connor (so his desperation is understandable in that regard), but it seems as though this feeling also stems from a deeper, more personal reason.

whatever the case may be, you are brilliant as usual, and i look forward to more updates! ♥

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 15 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-13 01:34 am (UTC)(link)
Been running into some writer's block recently, so I've been trying to pull myself out of it by writing some other random things for a change of pace. Sadly, though, cranking out this chapter was still akin to pulling teeth. e_e As such, I apologize if this is a little more lackluster and uninspired than usual or... uh... something. /flops around

Oh yeah, there are a few nods to AC: Forsaken here, but it's nothing huge if you've never read the novel before. Anyway, thank you all, as always, for reading! ♥

***

Day One Hundred and Seventy-One
Haytham had long considered writing to be his favorite way of unwinding.

Since boyhood, he’d confided in the pages of his journals, leaving his most private thoughts and darkest secrets between their leather bindings. As he grew older, he did wonder about the safety and security of doing so, considering that he’d never bothered to really hide the things, but by the time his journals contained more than the ramblings of a child, the habit was too ingrained into his being to stop--and the number of people he could trust, truly trust, had dwindled. There simply was no one that he could speak to anymore.

Even so, though, the words would not come easily today.

Immediately upon returning to the Kenway residence the night before, Haytham had one of his servants book passage on the next ship to leave for New York City at Connor’s insistence, but he could not fault his son’s need to depart as soon as possible--really, he’d been expecting it. Rogers had again faded into fevered delirium by the time they had come home, so there was no way to know when the execution date was.

It was raining when they left the docks, and it was still raining now, several hours into their journey. Despite the weather, though, Connor had taken his leave to wander the deck; Haytham could only assume that he’d left to gather his thoughts and try to formulate a plan--something he should be doing as well. With the city under Charles’ control, what could the two of them accomplish alone? Oh, he did not doubt their skills, but even so, ability could only counteract the weight of numbers to a certain degree when the odds were stacked so heavily against them.

He could not come up with anything though; his mind was too clouded with other thoughts. Despite that, Haytham stared at the journal opened before him, unsure of how to progress and unable to put anything to paper--unable to clear his mind. He’d written the date and his son’s name at the top of the page before stopping; he knew of the root of his problem at least. Haytham had already written extensively about his son in previous entries, but he had not touched upon the subject of father and son as a unit--or rather, together in this... this... partnership that they had.

Was it some sort of subconscious disgust? Doubtful. Considering all that he had done to the boy thus far, Haytham was of the mind that if he was going to lose sleep over it, then it would have happened long ago. Then maybe it was a fear that others would find his writings and assume things? Again, he doubted that that was the problem: Haytham was the sort of individual who took into account the opinions of others, but he would never be ruled by them.

No, he suspected that his hesitancy to write about them being them stemmed from a feeling he’d once felt in the presence of Ziio--a most unusual sensation of confusion and indecision. He’d recognized the possibility back then of having something more, something incredibly intimate, but Haytham had opted not to act on it until it was too late, until she’d slipped right out of his grasp.

That same hesitancy lingered with him to this day. Time had taught him to be all too cautious about bringing people into his inner circle and past his emotional walls; it was almost like he’d been cursed. On one too many occasions had those he cared for, cherished, loved, left his side: his father, his mother, Reginald, Ziio, Holden, Charles...

Haytham was less than eager to add one more to the list.

Connor had changed him for the better when it came to thinking about the relationship between Assassins and Templars--the things that they shared, the ways in which they differed, the possibilities that could open before him if their forces combined. For this, he was thankful, and for this, he approved of keeping the boy beside him.

When it came to a personal level, though, Haytham was again unsure of where he stood, if his gains outweighed his losses. With each supposed victory, he wondered what he had given to attain it--wondered if he had, in fact, lost to the boy instead. He had never intended to become so attached to his son; the idea had been for the clinging need to be one-sided, so as best to make use of Connor’s skills and abilities--not for the feeling to be mutual, or worse yet, to be one-sided on his part.

Haytham was supposed to be above the mess of emotions that ran between them. So where had his plans gone so wrong? When had he fallen for his own trap? He was falling madly, deeply in--

The sound of approaching footsteps had Haytham jerking his head up and instinctively shutting his journal, and a moment later, Connor stepped into their shared cabin without so much as a word of warning or greeting. The boy’s gaze swept over the notebook in front of his father and the quill in his hands before sweeping away; a faint rustle of fabric told Haytham that he was removing his soaked cloak and coat, and the slap of wet clothing against wood signaled that he’d tossed it away somewhere.

“You shouldn’t have gone out in such weather,” he said quietly, carefully stowing away his writing materials. “Are you trying to catch a cold? I hope you realize that I won’t be rescuing your men on my own.” Connor grunted behind him in answer, and Haytham sighed.

So, the awkwardness between them lingered.

He still felt rather ashamed about his own behavior, the desperation that he’d allowed to bubble to the surface, and to add to his displeasure, Haytham felt some residual anger toward Connor for having bolted like that, especially after all of the liberties that he’d granted the boy. It left a rather bitter taste in his mouth, and if he allowed himself to dwell on the matter, he would have recognized the feeling as jealousy--jealousy over the fact that, even now, his son cared for his men so much that he’d tear after anyone who would do them harm while armed with nothing but his fists.

--A matter that he had to resolve when they reached port.

It would have been easier to just return the boy’s equipment to him, but a part of him did not want to. Like his Assassin robes, those tools were reminders of things that Haytham did not like, did not approve of, so it made sense, did it not? It made sense to want to gift him with new things--things that would remind Connor of him. Oh, he knew all too well that his son was not the type to be won with trinkets, but it would make Haytham feel better at least.

“Have you thought of what you want to do upon our arrival?” he eventually asked, turning in his chair to get a better look at the boy. Connor had taken a seat on a barrel, arms folded loosely across his chest, and he calmly met his gaze, his voice steady and matter-of-fact.

“I will save my brothers. It is that simple.”

Haytham had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, that much is obvious. I assume that you have some idea of what to do before and after as well? Or have you already forgotten that your friends are being held at Bridewell Prison?”

“You do not need to come with me, if you are finding this to be troublesome. This is not your battle, nor is it your problem,” Connor replied, biting the words out with a low growl, and Haytham wished that he could say that it wasn’t, that he could ignore the two prisoners they’d come for; they were, at worst, his sworn enemies, and at best, irritants in his side. The only reason why he cared (if this vaguely annoyed emotion could even be called that) was because the boy did, and, well, he was here to make sure that his son didn’t accidentally get himself killed during the rescue attempt.

“You have made it my problem,” he muttered under his breath. Haytham drummed his fingers against the table and sighed. “Look, even if the other Assassins appear, you’ll be outnumbered, and I doubt you’ll have much time to coordinate anything with them. Blending with the crowd can get us in, but what is your exit strategy? Where do you intend to hide them?

“And before you suggest it, we are not taking them to my residence. I’ve enough trouble with just one Assassin under my roof, thank you very much.”

“I do not think they would accept your hospitality, even if you offered,” Connor replied, the faintest hint of a wry smile pulling at his lips. “The frontier is vast. They can take refuge there for the time being, but their final destination should be the Homestead. They will be safe there.”

“They?” Haytham lifted his eyebrows. “You do not intend to go with them?”

At that, the boy gave his father a puzzled look before shaking his head. “I am staying with you. You said that we would hunt for Lee together.”

It was difficult to not cringe a little with the boy’s wording, but he nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, I... I suppose I did.”

If Connor picked up on his discomfort, he did not act upon it, instead plowing onwards, as if suddenly taken by inspiration. Perhaps his trip up to the deck had cleared his thoughts some, the rain washing away his agitation and replacing it with crisp and clear focus. Haytham’s own preoccupations continued to gnaw at him, but it helped a little that he could turn his attention to something else for the time being.

“We will need horses to reach the outskirts of the city and a means of taking out the hangman’s noose.”

“Throwing knives work better than a fired shot,” Haytham added idly, and when the boy gave him that inquisitive look of his, he merely smiled. As realization dawned upon him, Connor lifted a hand, touching it to his throat. For a moment, it looked as if his son would ask him additional questions, but Haytham cut him off before another word could slip out of his mouth. “They’re easier to conceal than a musket in any case, and they’ll no doubt be keeping a close watch on the rooftops after what happened at your execution.”

His son gave him one last curious look before nodding his head. “We have a plan.”

“The bare bones of one. I’d prefer to have something a little more detailed to go off of.”

“Then let us work.” Connor dragged his barrel over to the table and took a seat, and in that moment, Haytham knew that he wouldn’t be getting a wink of sleep that night. He’d brought it upon himself, but it was necessary to save the Assassins--necessary to make sure his self-sacrificing son didn’t get himself killed in the process.

Haytham had saved the boy at Bridewell once before; he prayed that he wouldn’t have to do it again.

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 15 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-13 04:19 am (UTC)(link)
Love this author!anon, especially Haytham and Connor working together and hunting Lee... Charles' worse nightmare, I'm sure.

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 15 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-13 11:03 am (UTC)(link)
Ooh I love that reference to Haytham's saving Connor from the noose. What a sneaky bastard Haytham is.

And what's that? "Falling madly, deeply in -" love? ohohoho oh dear, Haytham. You're in trouble now.

Go Team Kenway! Charles is in deep shit :D

OP is incoherent with happiness!

(Anonymous) 2013-03-20 08:16 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh my gosh, WriterAnon! The last two chapters of this have been an absolutely wonderful read. Your talents have made this fill everything I'd hoped for and more. I am not worthy!

Grrr, Charles Lee! *shakes fist* You're in for some trouble when Haytham and Connor get ahold of you, that's for sure.

And oh my gosh, Haytham's having feels for Connor now. He's in love, even if he won't admit it to himself. ^.^ Wonder how he'll deal with that fact? He's been roped into saving the recruits now too. Hopefully this will be the start of a new, beneficial partnership that won't end in tears and death like in the game.

As always, I eagerly await the next chapter! You're a godsend WriterAnon~

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 16 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-24 10:45 pm (UTC)(link)
WHERE IS CHARLES LEE!? I mean, uh. Enjoy. 8D Much love, as always, from your very slow writer!anon. ♥

***

Day One Hundred and Seventy-Eight
The remainder of their journey aboard the ship passed in a flurry of talks and discussions, plans hatched and refined. There was no time for precious sentiment, and Haytham was blessedly not given the opportunity to dwell on things like feelings and emotions. New York City would greet them with sunny skies, and after hitting the shore, all was proceeding as expected--better than expected, actually.

Really, the only missing piece was Charles, but Haytham was not exactly surprised that the general was not here. While Templar influence in Bridewell Prison was strong, they did not technically--legally--have possession of the facility, and even if they did, there was no reason for Charles to be here, disgraced as he was in the public’s eye.

No, their hunt for the man would take them elsewhere. For now, though, his attention needed to be on what was to come in a few moment’s time.

The gallows were mere feet away from them, and father and son were both armed to the teeth beneath their cloaks: pistols, knives, darts, and swords. Hoods pulled low over their eyes, they waited, attention directed toward the short train of prisoners being marched forward; around them, the crowd shouted and jeered, anticipation--excitement--filling the air around them.

It was a touch sickening, Haytham thought, to see humans delight in the death of strangers; his son likely would’ve commented on the irony of such a thought if he’d voiced it though.

The prison guards marched four individuals onto the platform: three men and one woman. At first, Haytham thought nothing of it; he was here for one purpose and one purpose only: to save those two men whom his son called brothers. The spares? Well, it was a shame that they got caught for whatever it was that they’d done, but this was their just reward for upsetting the peace.

The roar of the crowd increased in volume as the nooses were looped around the prisoners’ necks and burlap bags placed over their heads, the sound becoming deafening as the announcer stepped onto the platform to list their crimes. It was difficult to hear anything above the din of the crowd, and Haytham watched impassively, eyes shifting from one Assassin to the next, as their names and offenses were ticked off in a dull, droning voice.

What came next, however, caught both his attention and Connor’s.

“Zenger, Henrik. Guilty of attacking a military officer and disrupting the peace.” The boy’s elbow jabbed him in the ribs, and Haytham merely brushed him off; he needed no prompting to know what was going on here. “Zenger, Wilhemina. Aiding in the attack of a military officer and disrupting the peace.”

So Charles had found them, but instead of treating them with respect, he’d jailed them. And now? Now he would see them hanged. Beside him, Connor tensed, hands bunching into fists at his sides, and Haytham placed a calming hand on his shoulder, stopping him from bolting and putting all of their plans to waste. Leaning toward his son, he whispered, “You help your men. I’ll get the other two.”

There was a slight nod of confirmation, and then they both turned their attention to the executioner, whose fingers slowly closed around the lever that would send all four individuals to their deaths. Hands stole beneath cloaks, readying knives; bodies tensed, ready to strike at the best moment. This was it. This was their moment of action, and--

Gunshot rang out over the rooftops, and as one, all of those in the square turned to stare at the source of the noise. A woman with a white hood scampered across the rooftops, a number of militia members struggling to climb up after her. When she paused to grab the musket hefted over her shoulder, Haytham cursed beneath his breath.

Time slowing to a crawl, the Assassin pulled the trigger, her shot grazing one of the ropes, and then someone in the crowd screamed--high-pitched and filled with terror. The world erupted into chaos as another shot was fired from the rooftops, this time by a man, and Haytham twisted back toward the gallows in time to see the executioner pull the lever, shouting in pain as his free hand went to clasp at the red blossoming across his chest.

Instinct moved him, two daggers flying out of his hands before his aim was compromised by fleeing civilians jostling him about and obscuring his view. Beside him, he knew the boy had managed to loose at least one blade, but the other...

Something silver flew skywards, glinting in the sunlight, before sinking into the wooden frame of the gallows, and while three ropes were severed, one remained intact, strung taut by the weight of a body on the other end. A strangled cry erupted from somewhere to his left, and Connor burst forth from the suffocating press of civilians, rushing toward the platform.

He’d be too late.

Haytham cast one final look at the battle unfolding on the rooftops before hurrying over to the gallows, ducking under the wooden beams to check on the individuals they’d managed to rescue. That French-speaking Assassin was muttering something to his son, desperately trying to pull him away from the body of their second brother; the mother and her son were huddled in another corner, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.

Connor!” he shouted, and when the boy didn’t budge, Haytham came over and shook him by the shoulders. “Connor, let him go. We have to get out of here unless you want all of us to die.”

The sorrowful look his son gave him sent a chill lancing down his spine, making him suddenly hesitant. Still, he pulled himself together, and when the other Assassin tried to remove his hands from his son, Haytham gave him such a look that he stopped, fingers quickly drawing away.

“Please, son. Let us go. Now.” One hand still gripped tightly around the boy’s shoulder, he turned his attention to the other man, gesturing toward the Zengers. “You’ll find four horses tied up at the back of the building on the other side of the street. Protect them and ride for the Homestead.”

“You cannot tell me what--”

Do as I say.” With an easy movement of the wrist, the hidden blade engaged, and he shifted to press it close against the Assassin’s throat, allowing the sharp edge to dig ever so slightly into skin. Connor had already lost one of his brothers, and while Haytham would prefer not to take the life of another--not here, not now--he would if he had to. This entire operation had been shot to hell, and he wasn’t going to allow for himself or his son to die here because of the Brotherhood’s stupidity. “Am I clear?”

Chin lifted to avoid cutting himself on the hidden blade, the man could only manage the slightest of nods, eyes betraying the anger that he did not voice. Haytham lowered his hand, and the Assassin moved away, grabbing the mother and son and hauling them off; within seconds, they’d vanished into the panicking crowd.

When he turned to look back at his son, Connor was still kneeling by the body of his fallen brother, head bent and arms tightly circling the lifeless frame. Haytham sighed and folded his hand around the boy’s wrist. His voice was quiet when he spoke, barely audible above the sounds of screams all around them. “Let it go, son. You did all that you could.”

“I cannot leave him here.”

For a moment, Haytham thought he had misheard, but then, his son was repeating it again, louder and with more conviction. “I cannot leave him here.”

He should have known something like this would happen; it was so very... Connor.

Sighing, Haytham glanced at the mess all around them and grudgingly gave thanks to the Assassins for creating such a commotion; the guards were so distracted with trying to calm the crowd or chasing after the two individuals on the rooftops that they didn’t bother to pay attention to the two people still situated beneath the gallows. “Carry him. I’ll protect you, if it becomes necessary.”

Connor gathered the body in his arms and started toward the fray, pausing briefly to give him a look over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Two simple words should not have filled him with warmth--not when there was pandemonium all around him, not when his son was carrying a dead man from the gallows--but they did. Haytham gave the boy a fleeting smile and pressed a hand to his shoulder, a wordless gesture of sympathy.

“Later. You can thank me later.”

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 16 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-24 11:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Jamie... Jamie is dead...? Ouch.

I will (guiltily) admit, though, that I thought Jacob had died and had to go back and re-read part 9 to make sure, and... well, Jamie was the recruit I interacted with the least... so I'm *almost* relieved but oh man it's still painful.

And now Stephane knows that Connor and Haytham are working together and Connor's still alive after all... shit's about to hit the fan, huh? Oh man, I thought this update would relieve some of the tension but you are a master of keeping us on the edge of our seats! Eagerly awaiting the next instalment, as always! <3

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 16 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-03-31 01:50 am (UTC)(link)
Hey there, i've just read your whole fic and. I love it.
I mean: really, the story and, all. Especially your way of writting it, clear, smooth, great balance between dialogues and narrative part. And all the background you includes in, from the serie and it's universe. And, jesus, those nosebleedin' parts, and so are those cliffhangers, wtf.
Gosh, I can't wait for more and more ahahah! Longin' for more connor/haytham sweety things lol
Let me love you writer!anon *u*
Just, Good job, keep it on!!

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 16 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-03 09:11 am (UTC)(link)
I have to agree with the anon above me. I've read through the entire story last night (morning?) and stopped only at 4 in the morning, when I was finished. It was worth every damn minute.

Anon, words fail me. This is fucking astounding, the way you turned about a simple kink into an intricate story; I'm absolutely hooked. I'm looking forward not merely to the smuty parts, but to the rest of the story as well. The public execution scene had me breathless. Please do continue -- I can assure you, there are a lot more people reading this fill than the comments suggest. Keep up the excellent work.

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 16 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-03 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Above anon is totally right! I usually get too embarrassed or shy to write up a response to fics so I don't do it often but oh my god I just wanted to say that a whole bunch of people are reading this and appreciate it immensely<3 I've been following it since chapter one and I admit that I check for updates literally every day because its just SO WONDERFUL WOW.
Writer anon I love u don't ever stop being amazing

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 17 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 05:26 am (UTC)(link)
Reader!anons, you all are making your writer!anon turn into a giant pile of goo on the floor, okay? To the two anons who read this whole thing in one sitting, I applaud you and thank you for your enthusiasm, and I am honored (and absolutely delighted!) that something I've written would prompt such a response. And to the anon who had been lurking around before, thank you for following this story since the start! Annnnd thank you for breaking from the norm and commenting! I am most flattered that you would do that for me. *^*

And last but not least, to the first anon who commented, it was hard killing off Jamie. I've actually shied away from character death several times already for this story, but it just... had to be done this time. :( But um, yes, I hope I don't disappoint with the rest of the fic. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your lovely comment!

So now that I've rambled enough... The next part, from your slow writer!anon to you lovely, lovely reader!anons. ♥

***

Day One Hundred and Eighty-Seven
Escaping Bridewell Prison turned out to be easier than escaping the city proper. The confusion surrounding the gallows gave both men enough cover to slip out unnoticed, but once they were out on the open streets, there wasn’t really any good way to hide the fact that they were carrying around a dead man.

Walking the horses gave too many individuals the opportunity to gawk and draw attention to them, while galloping their rides through the streets was hardly any better, snarled with people as they were. By the time they’d managed to get halfway down the block, they had no choice but to trample all in their path in the hopes of escaping the droves of militia that were now on their tail. The frontier was their only hope of escape, and it was toward that destination that they rode.

Time and time again, Haytham was tempted to tell the boy to leave the Assassin’s body behind. It hampered his riding, which slowed him down, and it also meant that traveling by foot and escaping to the rooftops were not really viable options either. It irritated him to no end, but to see the determination on his son’s face made him swallow whatever words of protest that sat at the tip of his tongue; Haytham had done enough damage in the boy’s life, and for once, he would not try to do more harm.

It was only when the soft embrace of twilight enveloped them that they were able to shake off their pursuers after many hours of looping, circling, and backtracking through the forest. They had ridden largely in silence, what few words they shared were terse and to the point; this was, Haytham felt, more than just because they were being chased. The expression Connor wore was frozen in a mask, and he seemed a touch too focused on the task at hand, like he was trying to mask another emotion behind his concentration.

He would not pry though, would not do anything aside from press a hand to the boy’s shoulder when they at last stopped for the night. Haytham assumed that he was still mourning the loss of his brother, even if he had put up a brave front while they had still been in the city; the woods did, in a way, have a way of making a man feel sentimental.

He, too, could feel its effects upon him, and he hated it. Haytham could think of nothing but bronzed skin beneath his fingertips, proud eyes, and soft lips beneath his own. It did not matter how much he tried to work on their next plan of action; his thoughts would continue to turn toward his son until at last he gave up, allowing himself to wallow in his feelings.

They would eventually bury Colley at the base of the tallest tree in the area, and they did so in near silence, with Connor murmuring something in his native tongue as they settled the earth over the freshly dug grave. Haytham was not a religious man and had no idea if the Assassin was, but he hoped that the individual had found peace, somewhere and somehow.

When the task was completed, Connor thanked him again for allowing him the time to do this--to give his brother a proper burial despite the risk that it put the both of them at--and Haytham had merely smiled, bittersweet. Pain was still etched in the features of the boy’s face, but there was nothing he could do to erase it. For too long, he was not the father that he should have been, and while their relationship was patched now, he was still not the father he should be and never would be, given all that had transpired between them.

What comfort he could give would be found in gentle caresses and soft kisses, but it felt... wrong at this moment. So, he did nothing.

By the time they arrived back in Philadelphia, Haytham felt as if he had gone mute, seeing as he’d hardly spoken for days now. The sounds of the city were loud and grating upon his nerves after the quiet of the woods, but his mood lightened a little when he saw Mrs. Langley waiting for them in the open doorway of the Kenway home.

--Even Connor managed to crack a smile when the woman came over and pulled them both into a fierce embrace.

The joy, however, was short-lived. No more than a few hours had passed since their return that his son came to seek his company in the privacy of his bedchambers, his expression serious and his gaze revealing a sorrow he still would not voice. “I must return to the Homestead,” he said quietly. “Lee will not be satisfied with the results from Bridewell Prison.”

The words, “And he will want to finish the job,” hung unsaid in the air.

“And?” Haytham turned away from his dresser, hands automatically moving to fold behind his back; he had been expecting this. To be quite honest, he was surprised that Connor had not taken them straight there. Perhaps he had needed time for his grief to stew, for the anger he felt to rekindle his need for action. Well, it didn’t matter; the time had finally come. “What will you do?”

As much of a fiasco as the execution had been for them, Charles had fared no better. One of the Assassins was now gone from this world, but he’d failed to kill the rest whom he flushed out, and now? Now the general had no more cards to play, no more victims to put out on display and draw the Brotherhood to him. No, if he wanted access to them, Charles would have to go to the Assassins--to the Homestead, which was, logically speaking, their last stronghold.

“I will kill him,” Connor replied simply, arms folding across his chest as if daring Haytham to challenge him.

He rolled his eyes and made a soft, irritated noise. “Do you think he will march there alone, boy? Do you think that he’s that much of a fool?

“He has many men of the Order at his disposal. He has led armies. What will you do against such odds?”

“My brothers--”

“--Are battered and lost. Will you still send them into battle when their best hope is for a quick and painless death?”

“We have won against greater odds before,” Connor countered, the volume of his voice growing with his irritation now. “Do not try to stop me, father.” Those words came out as a snarl. “Lee will die by my hands.”

Anger welled up within him, flaring like it had when he’d stopped Connor from riding for New York. Again and again, the boy insisted on doing everything on his own, and Haytham could not help but feel a touch offended that he did not think to ask him for assistance, especially given all that he’d done for that worthless Brotherhood of his thus far.

“Your memory is poor. Must I remind you again that we share a common enemy?” he muttered, giving his son an irritated look. “He will come at you with as many men as he can muster, so I ask you this: why do you not do the same?”

“I cannot ask the Homesteaders to fight. There are only the seven--” Connor froze for a moment, gaze dropping toward the ground. “There are only the six of us. Who else is there?”

“You forget the men I have at my beck and call.”

The boy lifted his eyes, brow creased and lips curled into a frown. “I do not understand.”

“It’s quite simple,” Haytham answered, taking a step closer to his son. “You need men to help you protect the Homestead, and I--” He pressed a hand to his chest and forced a smirk to his lips. “--command the other half of the Order. Surely you don’t need me to explain the rest.”

“Your men would never fight for an Assassin cause.”

No, they wouldn’t. On this matter, Haytham had to agree wholeheartedly with his son, but the difference was that he already had a plan in mind. True, he’d be gambling a little here, relying entirely on his son’s fiercely loyal heart and unfailing desire to protect those he cared for, but it was because of those very things that he could not help but feel surer of this plan than many others he’d put together over the years.

“But they’ll fight for a Templar one.”

When Connor said nothing, Haytham looked down at his hand, fingers toying with the silver ring he found there. With a quiet sigh, he removed it and then grabbed the boy’s wrist, turning his palm upwards before depositing the item there.

“An Assassin takes on many guises to accomplish his goals,” he said, slowly curling Connor’s hand into a fist for him. “Think of this as one of them.”

He didn’t want to help the Brotherhood, not really, but to save them was to earn his son’s unswerving aid in finding and disposing of Charles. To have the boy be a Templar--a real Templar--would have filled him with an unspeakable warmth and happiness, but right now, Haytham would have to be satisfied with this lie that he himself suggested.

Pressing his hands against the boy’s arms, he pat them gently before moving away, pausing briefly to glance over his shoulder. “May the Father of Understanding guide us, hm?”

Re: Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 17 / ? ]

(Anonymous) 2013-04-06 01:00 pm (UTC)(link)
!!!!!!
Writer anon I am so excited to read the next chapter<3 this is getting so goooood oh gosh

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 18 / ? ]

(Anonymous) - 2013-04-19 05:12 (UTC) - Expand

Fill: The Re-Education of Connor (Kenway) [ 19 / ? ]

(Anonymous) - 2013-05-13 03:34 (UTC) - Expand