A/N: Also uploaded on my AO3 and Tumblr.
The day had been long, tedious and it felt as though every step forwards he had taken for the betterment of his Order (and by extent, the rest of humanity, once they came under Templar rule) three steps backwards were achieved when trying to further the tenuous truce he had with the Colonial Brotherhood. Haytham had yet to knowingly meet any of Connor's recruits, but he knew that some of them were in the city, by the amount of headaches they had caused him.
One of them had angered the city guards to the point of provoking them to set up checkpoints to catch the criminal. To make matters worse, several of Haytham's agents were caught in the crossfire and hauled into one of the forts for questioning. He had managed to talk the British commander into letting them go, but not until three hours of pointless, circular arguments until some other poor sod who looked guilty was brought in for questioning and admitted to being the one who killed several guards.
Said moron was a hot-headed Patriot who had ranted and raved about all and sundry, having been quite taken in by the propaganda that Washington and the other so called Founding Fathers had fed them about this being a people's rebellion, rather than an attempt by them and other wealthy landed white men to escape paying more taxes.
Haytham had just barely left the fort, his ears ringing with the passionate if flawed ranting of the Patriot, sending his formerly captive agents off on their missions once again when he was accosted by Connor – apparently the ranting lunatic who had been captured was either a friend or someone important to the Patriots. As a favor to them, Connor was determined to free the man, and assumed that he, Haytham had control of the fort and could thus order the British to let the man go. When the Templar Grandmaster explained (again) that the Templar Order and the British Empire were two completely separate entities and that he had little influence with this fort. In fact, he had just left with a few of his own men who had been caught by the British due to a misunderstanding…
Connor somehow had convinced him to help the other sneak into the fort and lead the other to where the captive Patriot had last been ranting. The cramped and dimly lit cell did reveal the man, slumped in a corner and muttering to himself hoarsely. Haytham kept watch for soldiers as Connor picked the lock on the door and the man's manacles and the three of them were able to escape the fort without being noticed. For the most part.
The pair of Kenways took turns with one keeping the idiot muffled whilst the other darted ahead, to find hiding spots large enough for two men to hide in and switching off at every hiding space. It took another three hours, by Haytham's estimation and they had reached one of the fort's walls – near a spot where one could perform a leap of faith into a pile of hay that was on the other side of the fort. A short distance away from that was a clump of bushes that one could crouch in and wait for the roving patrol to pass them by if they were quiet and still. A brisk but short walk from there was the entrance to Boston's tunnel system, from there they could navigate to almost anywhere in the cities with relative ease and lack of guards.
They had (with some difficulty, as the man was still struggling a little from time to time, visibly confused about what was going on to him, from the nonplussed expression on the Patriot's face) gotten up onto the palace was, when the Patriot regained enough of his voice to ask in a shout "Oi! If you think I am going to jump to my death. You have got another thing coming! We might be able to get past the guards at this time of night. Especially if a bit of coin greases their palms."
Haytham squeezed his eyes shut as he counted to ten in his mind, curbing an acerbic remark as he knew that several of the rooftop guards as well as at least a half-dozen of the soldiers on night patrol on the ground within the fort had heard The Idiot's shout. "Connor. Get him. Out of. The fort. Now. I will deal with the guards and join you when I am done."
For once, Connor simply nodded, not arguing at being told what to do, grabbing the patriot by the face and pulling The Idiot close to him as the Assassin performed a leap of faith, into the pile of hay with a bit less grace, given that he was muffling a civilian's screams as they went down.
For Haytham, nearly two-dozen dead British soldiers later, he followed the two of them into the haystack. His clothes were a little bloody, but none of it was his. Connor shot off into the bushes, after making sure that Haytham had a firm grip on their rescuee.
After getting out of the fort, it was a fairly silent and easy trip to the outer edge of the city, where the Patriot was loaded onto a borrowed horse "I have some questions for the two of you!" The patriot spluttered as his surly rescuers shoved him onto a horse "How the fuck did you know how to hide like that? What happened to all of those guards? Are you injured, and shouldn't we be getting him to a doctor if he is injured? And how in the depths of hell do the two of you know one another? I met Connor in Bridewell Prison… but you and I have never met, although I do know who you are, lord Kenway."
Haytham glared at the idiot… Mason-something he thought. The other was a propagandist on the Patriot's side, spewing fairy-tale childhoods for various important and well-known members of the Founding Fathers. "I have just saved you from interrogation, and quite possibly for being hanged for being a rebel. That is if they did not simply beat you to death for your tongue. I have no desire whatsoever to explain myself to you and nor do I have any wish to. However if my son would like to explain how we know one another, I do not have any objections. This blood is from the soldiers who you alerted when you shouted. None of it is mine."
The look of startled delight and vulnerable happiness that Connor sent him was worth the startled sputtering from Weems. The Patriot spluttered "You are asking me to believe that a man like you can kill that many in such a short amount of time? I do not see any weapons on you." The shock of Connor being the son of Lord Haytham Kenway sending him reeling. How such a dauntless, forthright and determined young man was spawned by such a haughty and hard to read person such as the irritated British Lord, was beyond Mason.
Haytham moved with startling swiftness, half pulling the patriot off the horse as he extended one of his hidden blades, lightly placing it on top of the other's adam's apple. "Just because I am not always visibly armed, does not mean I walk with no weapons at my side. This world is more dangerous and uncertain than you could possibly know. I did kill all of them myself with just these blades, as pistols attract unwanted attention and I did not have any throwing daggers on hand. I helped Connor rescue you because he would have tried to do so without my help and I have no desire bailing someone else out of trouble with the British in a civilized manner today."
Weems gulped nervously, eyes almost crossed as he tried to keep the blade at his throat in his view. For a man with many words, the Patriot seemed strangely mute. A fact that Haytham was about to comment on when Connor tentatively moved closer to Haytham, placing a hand on the arm that held a blade close to an ally's throat.
"Rake:ni… Father… The day has been long and exhausting for all of us. Yes, Mister Weems has been less cooperative than either one of us would have liked while we rescued him, and yes he is trying to pry into affairs he has no business or right to know… However, killing him after all of this effort would render most of today entirely useless, yes?" Connor coaxed gently, watching his father with large, cajoling brown eyes.
Haytham let out a silent, short huff and let Weems go, watching with no small amusement as the other flailed to keep from falling off the horse the Patriot had previously been half pulled off of. "I suppose you are correct, Connor. Do try to stay out of trouble? I have a distaste for dealing with idiots this much, and I will not aid you in this manner again, Mason Weems."
Weems kicked the horse at that, a shiver running down his spine. For reasons that he could not name, Haytham Kenway was utterly terrifying in that moment. Not simply because of the fact that blood of multiple soldiers was still on his clothes (and that Kenway didn't seem to mind that fact overmuch), and the cold, killer's stare that pierced through what felt like Weem's very soul… But the way Kenway had said his name felt as though someone had stepped on his grave, or some sort of covenant had been signed – one the costs of which the Patriot did not yet know. In any event, he urged the horse on as fast as it could move, before the tetchy Englishman changed his mind about killing him.
Father and son walked back into Boston in companionable silence for a time. Connor made his excuses after spotting someone – and Haytham politely did not look in that person's direction, but the temptation to use his second sight to confirm whether or not the person was one of the other's damnable recruits or not was strong.
The call to bed was stronger, and with the sun hanging low in the sky Haytham trudged into his room in the Green Dragon Inn, briefly tempted to leave the door unlocked and just collapse face first and hang the consequences. His good sense at not wanting to be robbed or fending off an idiot who was trying to kill him won out over his exhaustion (barely) and the Templar Grandmaster locked the door to his room with a nearly silent groan of exhaustion and irritation.
There was a stack of paperwork on his desk. All of which he had been going through in the morning, before everything had gone to hell in a handbasket, completely diverting from what he had been planning on doing.
No… That was not quite right – there was a letter he did not recognize that had been left in the center of his desk. Haytham checked it over with his second sight, on the off-chance that it was trapped somehow. It glowed with a soft grey-white shine that the rest of his paperwork and indeed, most of the room did, so he switched back to his normal sight, rubbing his temples as he did so. He had used his second sight rather a lot during the rescue, and overuse came with nearly-blinding headaches. Haytham opened the letter and begun to read the contents, eyebrows rising a little more as a blush dusted his face the more he read the letter, surprise filling him.
Haytham,
I know it is rather bold of me to write to you in such an informal way, particularly since I have not introduced myself. However, I cannot quite find the courage to speak to you in person about certain things, so a letter must do. I hope that you will forgive my small amount of cowardice about this matter.
You might be wondering what this matter is… And that is that I love you. I love the eloquent manner in which you speak, even though when we do speak – as we have met before and on more than a couple of occasions – your tongue is harsh and often acerbic, the silvered nature of it is apparent even then. And your silver tongue is gifted to you, as you have a brilliant, if sometimes terrifying mind. You are the most intelligent person I have ever met.
It is unfortunate that when we do speak, we are often at odds with one another. But the passion in your eyes and the stubborn determination with which you go about each and every task is stunning.
You have such grace and elegance with how you move as well. It matters not if you are simply walking down the street – or defending yourself against soldiers or bandits or when you climb and run on rooftops. Not a single motion is wasted. You possess the ferocity and grace of a wolf hunting.
As for how I was able to get this to your room… I asked one of the maids to put this on your desk, as it is a letter for you, but I had other matters to attend to and I… I am uncertain as to how you would react to me. I hope that your day, afternoon or evening goes as you wish it to.
Sincerely
A Secret Admirer
p.s. your eyes shine a brighter blue than the sky on a sun-lit day.
Haytham stared at the letter, trying to process what he had just read, trying to figure out who would have written this letter. It was not something He had ever encountered before. Haytham had heard of those who would initially try to court someone they fancied, to see if the person they were focused on was interested in being romanced. He had never thought to do something like that for anyone he had entertained romantic thoughts for, and was uncertain as to how to respond to the heartfelt (or a strange attempt at trying to manipulate him) letter. Haytham intended to ask who had left the letter to the maid, and hope that he could convince her to tell him. He disliked surprises… Even though this was rather sweet.
On the other hand, this supposed admirer of his was a curious mix of bold and shy… This person was obviously someone with whom he had contact with… And was involved in the conflict that Haytham had been part of since he was a child. He would watch his fellow Templars more closely, to try and figure out which of them it was. Haytham decided that he would write a letter in return. He would inquire with the maids as to which of them had been given the letter, and ask that if she found that person again, to give them his letter in response.
Haytham had decided against writing to this secret admirer, it could very well be some sort of hoax- or ill-considered prank. He was intensely curious about the sender- he did not recognize the head writing, but it was neat in the way that meant that this was written by the author's dominant hand. If another letter came his way, perhaps Haytham might have anymore clues as to the identity of his supposed suitor.
It was a pleasant end to an aggravating day, nothing else. Haytham repaired for bed, a small smile on his face as he quickly fell asleep.