1789

Towards the end of my life, I sat in my drawing room, a fire crackling in the fireplace. I had a book resting in my lap, but I wasn't really paying attention to it. I was staring blankly at the wall, thoughts wandering aimlessly about my mind until my maid, Helen, informed me I had a visitor.

I looked up tiredly, jerking abruptly out of my thoughts. "Who is it?" I asked wearily.

"A young man, maybe in his early thirties." Helen answered, "He says he's from the colonies. He told me that came to London specially to see you, ma'am."

"Does this young man have a name?" I asked.

Helen gave me a wry smile. "He certainly has one, but I couldn't pronounce it myself even if I tried, my lady."

I sighed. I didn't know, nor particularly care who this man was, but it would be rude to turn him away at that point. Funny. I mused to myself, Had I been a younger woman, I would not have cared if I was rude or not.

"You may send him in." I sighed, shifting in my slightly overstuffed armchair.

Helen nodded respectfully and exited the room. I reached one withered hand over to the table next to me and snatched up the red ribbon I had been using for a bookmark.

I had not had company for ages. I was getting on in years myself; thus, I was much too old for suitors. The only human interaction I had on a regular basis was when I spoke to Helen or, occasionally, to compliment my cook on his fine cooking. Really, in the past couple of years, the only "guests" I've had were people trying to sell me something, or convince me to sell parts of my estate. I figured that this young man, whomever he may be, had similar intentions.

"Jennifer Kenway?" asked a voice after I heard footsteps enter the room.

"Scott." I corrected tiredly without looking up, a correction that was automatic at that point.

I gestured lazily at the chair sitting across from me. Only when the young man had sat down awkwardly did I bother to look up at him. He had blackish hair and dark skin, with deep brown eyes. However, these were the only features he had that were unfamiliar to me. Looking at him, I realized who he was in an instant.

"Ah, so you're the one." I said, looking at him up and down with not quite a smile, "You look like him.

"Helen, would you get us some tea?" I asked, turning away from my guest, "I know who this is."

"Yes, my lady." Helen said, bowing her head respectfully and leaving the room.

The man said nothing for a moment or so, looking at me critically as I was doing to he. Eventually, he said, "How do you know who I am?"

"My little brother wrote of you quite often." I admitted, noting how he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Forgive me, but what us your name? I'm afraid I can't remember."

"My given name is Ratonhnkaé:ton," the man stated. "But I am known to many as Connor Kenway."

"What made you decide to visit me now, Connor?" I asked, leaning into the back of my chair.

Connor shrugged. "I only learned of your existence quite recently, to be honest."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

Helen entered the room once more and began to set about pouring tea. She handed a cup each to Connor and I, before bowing slightly as she exited the room once more.

"I read about you in his journals." Connor admitted somewhat sheepishly, withdrawing a small parcel from within his coat and holding it out for me to take, after he took his tea from Helen, "You are welcome to take them, if you like."

I stared at the rather unspectacular package for a moment before reaching out to take it. I put it on top of the book I had been reading before, as if they were something precious.

"I will keep them, but I will not read them. Haytham's business was nothing but his own." I informed him sternly.

Connor nodded in agreement and sipped his tea. He made a face and set it aside. Amused, I sipped at my tea as well. We sat in silence once more, each contemplating our own thoughts.

"You said he spoke of me?"

I nodded, leaning forward. "He mentioned you in his letters. At first he was mostly just wondering if he did, in fact, have a son. Towards the end, however, he spoke highly of you, despite the fact that you are an assassin."

A flicker of bewildered surprise appeared on Connor's face. He swallowed nervously and said, "And you know, then, that-"

"That you killed him?" I supplied.

Connor nodded, clearly anxious for my response despite his stony expression. I sighed and cracked my back.

"I always warned him that the assassins would get him eventually." I sighed.

"You're... Not angry?" Connor asked, surprised.

"When I was first informed of his death, yes, I was angry. But Haytham knew that his murder was always a possibility after he joined the Templars. Not to mention that we were never close," I added with a shrug. It was sad, but it was the truth of the matter.

"Young man, holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die." I informed him, "I forgive you. I'm sure you acted according to how you saw fit in the situation you were presented with. 'Everything is permitted,' is it not?" I added, truly smiling at him for the first time.

Connor seemed slightly taken aback. "You know the Creed?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "My father was an assassin, dear boy, do try to keep up."

Connor nodded again. "Thank you." he said truthfully.

"You may stay here, in the manor, until your ship departs for the colonies once more." I said, offering him my hand, "Now please help me up, it is nearly supper time and we must get to the dining hall."

Connor stood and gently took both of my hands and helped me get to my feet and the two of us walked down the hall, together.