Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.6
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≈ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

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

≈ 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!

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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FILL: Second Chances [Part 3/?]

[(Anonymous)]

1760, Concord

The curtains were drawn shut, the fire in the hearth low as three men stood over one of the two beds in the room. The child they were observing was by all means a mess. Hair tangled, covered in soot and other dirt. Haytham stood at the foot of the bed, hands resting on the wooden frame, trying to muster up patience as the doctor saw to his patient.

“From the looks of it, rest. Perhaps complete bed rest for a few days,” the doctor concluded. “Make sure the boy drinks fluids, keep him away from open fires. There's not much I can do, sir, not much anyone can do.”

“Thank you,” Haytham said, signalling Charles to give the man's payment. “Your hard work is appreciated, as is your candour.”

“A bath, perhaps, once the child awakens,” the doctor suggested before Charles showed the man out. “One can not be blamed mistaking the boy for an Indian.”

Haytham let the comment pass, only moving to sit on the opposite bed once Charles and the doctor had left the room. Where earlier that day he'd been so sure of his cause now not an ounce of certainty was to be found. What would have happened if he had shot the boy? Is this what he would become later in life, a killer of babes?

The feelings he carried from his older self were hopeless and bitter in a way he couldn't imagine himself ever being. All the more reason he could hardly believe he had let himself get so carried away, to point a gun at an innocent child, at his own child, God damn it all. He'd been so convinced of his being right that he'd overlooked what was right in front of him.

This Connor was not the Connor he would fight at Fort George, just as he was not the same man as the man from his future memories, or the man he had been before he received those memories. The path was already changing because of what he'd done. Why had he been given this insight?

The child moved in his sleep, mumbling half sentences and words in his native tongue before settling down again. Haytham noted the frown on the child's face. Sleep did not seem to offer him peace. Had the other Connor slept like this as a youngster, always uneasy and on edge?

There was a knock on the door before Charles entered. They watched each other in silence until Charles' eyes flickered over to the child before meeting Haytham's gaze once more. “I believe there's much to be discussed, sir,” Charles said, keeping the door open. “In private.”

- - -

It seemed Charles' definition of private differed from Haytham's, as they were seated downstairs at a table in a corner of the inn, near the fireplace. Charles offered him rum, but Haytham refused, asking for tea instead. This seemed to worry the man further, as his expression became more perturbed.

“May I speak frankly, sir?” At Haytham's approval, Charles continued. “You seem... distraught, for lack of a more suitable term. What did you find in that valley, if I might ask?”

Haytham's heart stilled in his chest, images of the bodies flooding his mind. He had tried not to let them linger in his thoughts, common as death was in his profession, but with no immediate threat or mission they came back and refused to be shaken off with such ease as before.

He looked at the hearth and willed his tongue to speak. “The whole village was butchered. Men, women, children... their animals. Anything with a pulse was dead and burned. Senseless.”

“And the child?”

“Mine,” Haytham said, still watching the flames in the hearth dance. “He's my son. I found him next to his mother, but she was...” He dwindled off, unable to finish his thought as he saw her face in his mind's eye, blackened and lifeless.

“She was strong, for a woman,” Charles said eventually, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them. “My condolences.”

The level of sincerity surprised Haytham. Before, Charles had never minced words when it came to his opinion on Ziio and her people. To call her strong was high praise, coming from Charles. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well. We have more pressing matters to attend to. With the village gone, the Precursor site is left vulnerable. Johnson and the others, how far along were they?”

“They needed more time, sir. Should they come here once they're done?”

Haytham shook his head. “Washington's men were in those woods, burning that village for God knows what reasons. His presence worries me. We should secure the location and and have someone seek out Washington's motives. See what he knows.”

Charles leaned, cheeks rosy from either drink or eagerness, or both. “We could buy the land. Cultivate it, even.”

Feeling an end to the conversation, Haytham stood up and regarded the man. “Make sure it falls into the right hands. And Charles? Do me a favour.” He waited until he saw the man sober up a little and become aware that what was to follow would not be a request, but an order. “Do not tell the others about the boy. This is a private matter. I would prefer it stayed that way.”

On his way to the stairs, the innkeeper's wife beckoned him into the kitchen. “I seen yer come in with the poor lad, thought yer might be needin' this,” she said, handing him a tray holding a pitcher filled with water, a mug, and a bowl of broth.

Haytham's first instinct was a polite refusal, as gifts usually came with prices to be paid later. “Most kind of you, madam,” he said instead, as the woman was right. It was unhealthy for a man to go without food, let alone a child. “For how much should I compensate you?”

The woman waved him off. “It's none of me business, right, but yer 'ave a lost look about yer and with wot I've been 'earin'...” She stole a glance out the door and lowered her voice. “Yor not the first ter come in 'ere like that, is all I'm sayin'.”

All the more reason to find out what Washington's plans were. He'd found the man a poor leader before having seen what he'd do in the future, and even more so now. What lead can not do will be done by hunger and winter. To what end? What good would come from killing hundreds upon hundreds?

Haytham brought himself back from his thoughts, and offered the woman a small smile. “You have my gratitude.”

Again, she waved him off, turning her back on him as she went back to work. “Anyfink yer need, yer just ask.”

Haytham was about to head out the kitchen when he remembered the state of young Connor. Well. The woman did say anything. “I realize this would be asking much, but there is one thing I require help with...”

- - -

Upon returning to the room Haytham carried not only the tray, but also some clothes for Connor to wear and the promise a wooden tub would be brought up the following morning for Connor to bathe in. A mother of five, the innkeeper's wife had insisted she need not be paid for her actions, as common decency should not be rewarded with high praise.

Entering the room, Haytham found Connor's bed empty, the linens askew and half on the ground. He placed the tray on the wooden table with a calmness that belied the underlying need to find the boy, before activating his second sight. Almost instantly he found the soft golden glow in the corner of the room, wedged between a chair and the other bed.

Haytham turned off his sight and put away the clothes hung over his arm before looking at the boy. The boy looked back, his face like a mask and eyes like a hawk. Closer examination showed tear tracks running through the layers of dirt, but the boy's eyes were dry. Determined.

“I am not here to hurt you,” Haytham said slowly, showing his hands and hoping the boy could understand him. Connor's face showed no sign of either confusion or comprehension, and he stayed put on the ground, knees pulled up to his chin, arms wrapped around them.

Seeing no other way of communicating, Haytham filled the mug with water and placed both mug and bowl at Connor's feet. The child suppressed a flinch when Haytham took the chair to place it back at the table. So the boy was not completely fearless. Haytham set aside the thought and instead searched his bag for his writing tools. Circumstances be damned, he was still a grandmaster with duties to perform.

Haytham sat with his back turned to the boy and set about writing his first letter. Hunger and thirst were strong motivators, he knew from experience, and sooner or later the boy would reach out and help himself to the meal before him.

Halfway through his first letter, there was the distinct sound of ceramic being dragged across the wooden floor. Haytham congratulated himself on a well executed bargain and settled in to work the remainder of the evening.

By the time he was done the boy was fast asleep, still sitting in the corner. The mug was empty, although the broth had been left untouched. Haytham put away his ink and pens before carrying the boy to his bed, mindful not to move too much and risk waking the child. He left the clothes as they were, seeing as there was no harm in leaving the child in them for now, and pulled the bedding up to rest under the boy's chin.

A strange feeling coursed through him, a mixture of uncertainty and doubt. He could remember his own father putting him to bed, though it was long ago, the memories half faded at the hands of time. Haytham had never imagined himself as a father before, not with his lifestyle. Even during his weeks with Ziio, the thought of raising a child together had been absurd, with his own youth at the back of his mind as a stark reminder of what could happen should they try.

Had his father ever felt this way? He was certain of it, but Haytham could not envision the man having doubts in fatherhood or how he would have dealt with those feelings other than perhaps drinking to the point of passing out. Not a cure Haytham was willing to try any time soon. Had the man still been alive, he might have known...

A dry chuckle escaped him. Here he was, thinking of could-have-been's, of all the things to waste his time on. Such foolishness. Haytham was only too glad there was no one around to see him do it. “You're dilly dallying, Kenway,” he whispered to himself, stepping away from the child's side.

As he laid himself to rest, he wished for the morning's light to bring clarity. If anything, today had proved he was in dire need of some.

Re: FILL: Second Chances [Part 3/?]

[(Anonymous)]

read it and love it ❤❤❤❤❤❤
can't wit for more :D

Re: FILL: Second Chances [Part 3/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Take as long as you need! Absolutely wonderful update!

Re: FILL: Second Chances [Part 3/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Love it! Really eager to read more.