Desmond is sat down at the top of the hill, overlooking the land that made up Connor's tribe and home. He listens to the voices of the tribespeople rising up through the New York summer air.
Kanatahséton was beautiful this time of year, the afternoon sun shining down warmly on the healthy long grass and trees swaying companionably in the breeze. The chanting harmony of stories that Desmond can't quite understand echoes in his ears and up to the wind that carries them across the Mohawk Valley.
Unlike Altair and Ezio, Desmond was just barely starting to notice the symptoms of the Bleeding Effect from Connor's memories. Picking up the Mohawk language is harder to understand as a result. He can pick out only a scarce few of the words sung, but he can enjoy the song itself and the spirit with which it's being chanted all the same. He doesn't hear Connor walk up and sit beside him until he speaks.
"Are you okay?" Connor asks, his head inclined towards Desmond, who had startled at the unexpected company. Desmond clears his throat and nods, embarrassed at how he didn't even hear the native come up. He's an assassin for Christ's sake! Connor must be ashamed to have him as his descendant. But one glance at said man proves him wrong; Connor's eyes are not judgmental or harsh in the slightest. Just curious. Desmond takes a big breath of the fresh air, not used to the cleanliness of the earth that the mid to late 18th century thought as normal. There is no significance of smog nor pollution that many here would be shocked to experience in his time.
The land was free out here, and with every stroke of the wind, every cry of an eagle soaring overhead, and ambience of the rivers, he's reminded of that fact. This was how the land should have stayed. He admires how the Native Americans used everything around them while also giving back to the earth. The percussion of the tribe below commands his attention as well, and he's reminded that he's meant to be holding a conversation with his ancestor at the moment. Connor doesn't seem to mind.
"Just listening," Desmond replies, returning his gaze back to the frontier sprawling out in front of him and from all sides.
"Relaxing," he adds as an afterthought. Connor nods slowly beside him.
"This must be different for you," he responds after a second, and Desmond chuckles.
"You have no idea. It's nice not having ruckus all around you at all hours of the day, scientists hovering over your every move or someone always urging you to work. And not having to worry about saving the world is a plus... a big plus. I don't see Juno anymore. I get the feeling she's waiting for something, though. Why would my mission suddenly stop being important? I'm still the 'chosen one'," Desmond mutters bitterly.
"Desmond," Connor says gently, patiently, as he sets a large hand on Desmond's shoulder. He waits until he has his descendant's full attention before continuing.
"You must not agonize over what is happening in your time. You are here now, and you are safe. What Juno has planned is a cruel fate, and I hate how it's been a burden on your shoulders that you have had to carry alone. You are brave, Desmond. Those who think otherwise are foolish. You are strong. A warrior."
Desmond stares into the steady, warm brown gaze that Connor has fixed on him, speech eluding him at the sheer wisdom and pride in his words. He doesn't appear to be finished, however, so Desmond keeps his mouth shut and listens because something is telling him that he needs to hear this.
"But even warriors must rest their head and settle in the fact that they are human. Don't think yourself less just because you do not battle with a weapon. Your war is a painful one. But you should not have to snare yourself inside of it and suffer on your own, Desmond."
Connor moves his hand up to rest on the back of Desmond's neck, the gentle weight there causing a strange comfort that the time traveler finds himself clinging to.
"I will help shoulder your pain. Chosen or not, you are human. Look around you. The world is as it should be, is it not? Take this in comfort. I am with you, Desmond, and I will not allow you to do this alone any longer."
Desmond is well and truly speechless. Connor seemed like a man of few words from what he'd experienced in the Animus. He never knew that his ancestor could impart such reaching, knowing words without even asking Desmond what was really on his mind. All he can do is lean into Connor's calming, grounding touch and nod, shooting him a small, grateful smile.
In return, Connor smiles, but with his eyes. That's enough for him. That is more than enough, with the sounds of a free land and a people who lived so fiercely and unchained around them. Not for the first time, Desmond is truly glad that the Apple of Eden seemed to malfunction and send him back to Connor's time. To Connor.