Hey guys! Here's the first chapter of a story I've been working on. Let me know what you think!
Haytham POV
I lean back in my chair and sigh, looking at my journal entry for the day. It had been a long one, for sure. I'm simply glad it's over. I close my weary eyes, letting the ink dry in my journal. Nothing sounds better than a warm cup of tea after a relaxing bath.
But I suppose it is not to be so. The front door just opened and closed. It is loud enough that I know it isn't someone sneaking in. In fact, I recognize the footsteps coming this way. They belong to the one man who enters my house without knocking: Charles Lee.
Sure enough, I also recognize his stressed breathing just outside my door. He knows I'm in here, so why doesn't he knock? Is he trying to will the courage to come in here, most likely with more bad news? Ever since the rumors of a new Assassin began, that was always the type of news he brought. But, as of yet, they're just rumors.
"You may enter, Charles," I say, growing tired of him waiting. I sit up straight in my chair and face him as he enters.
"Sir, good evening," he says. He looks as tired as I feel.
"By the look on your face, it isn't one. What seems to be the trouble?"
"Well, I do have some bad news. However, I also have some good."
"Oh? What is it?"
"First, the bad. Hickey was arrested today in New York." I sit up a little straighter, the closest thing to alarm Charles will see.
"On what charges?"
"Counterfeit."
"Damn, I told him to be more careful. I dislike the practice as is, but if he insists the least he could do is not get caught. Anyway, you said there's good news?"
"The Assassin was arrested as well."
"And how do you know it was an Assassin?"
"Besides the attire, he was chasing down Thomas with murder in his eyes. Plus he fits the description of the rumors."
"So he does exist. That's only good news because he has been caught. What did they get him on?"
"Get this, they actually thought he was with Thomas." I just scoff.
"Even he is above that." I'll admit, I have been pretty sure he existed for some time. The Assassin has been known to hold fast to his principles, and to be honest he is as upright as they come. I could use a man of his conviction and skill.
"What should we do, sir?"
"Well, I suppose we ride for New York and see what we can do about Thomas. The Assassin will not be going anywhere, so I'll think on that."
We have arrived in New York. Charles and I have already pulled some strings, though I had hoped for better. Thomas's stunt will be hard to erase, but for the time being this will do.
Charles and I enter the holding cells. There seem to be a few other people within, perhaps this is where they keep prisoners while processing them. There's a native boy, maybe about seventeen or eighteen, next to him. Thomas looks like he's been pestering the poor boy.
"Thing is, I believe I just been pardoned," Thomas says as he notices Charles and me. The guard escorting us opens the door. "Thanks for the rescue, gents."
"There can be no further mistakes, Thomas. Am I understood?" I say, hoping he can tell from my voice how upset I am. I turn to leave.
"What about the Assassin?" Thomas asks. I look at him questioningly over my shoulder, and he gestures to the native boy he was harassing.
"This is him?" I'm in disbelief. A child has been tearing us apart? Perhaps I've allowed too much slack.
"That's right, they put him in a cell right next to mine. How convenient, eh?"
I look the boy over, suppressing a sigh. As I had worried, he is my offspring. I wonder if he knows. I wonder... does his mother know he leads this life? Surely not, she wouldn't allow this. He's still a boy. I almost feel bad, here I am plotting the murder of not only a teenage boy, but my own son. Is this really who I've become?
"Sir, what is it?" Charles asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
"Nothing. He's just so...young. I didn't expect that."
"Not too young to stop you," he says with determination. Yet I almost want to laugh. Here he is, completely defenseless in a prison, making threats? But no, I should not take him lightly. He means business and has taken down both Pitcairn and Johnson. I need to not underestimate him.
"We shall see, won't we boy?" I say with a smirk. From the look he's giving me, I'm sure he knows I'm his father. But I'm sure he also plans to bring me to my demise, and I must put an end to him before he can. "Besides, you'll be too dead soon to do anything. I thought I'd get a look at the boy who's been a thorn in my side before we put an end to you," I add.
"Last I checked, this is no zoo." I smirk at him.
"But that's where you belong, you bloody animal," Charles says.
"Charles, pay his comments no mind. And, mind your own, shall you?" I say, then turn to leave.
"You forget, Charlie, boss man is an injun lover," Thomas says. He must think I can't hear him.
"I said enough, Thomas." I can imagine the look on his face, shocked and maybe embarrassed. But I don't bother turning, and instead exit. Charles can handle things from here.
A couple days have passed since Thomas was locked up. I've been working hard, pulling as many strings as possible, trying to get him out. I'm just lucky word of his plans to kill Washington hasn't spread. If it had, this would be impossible.
I sigh, knowing that I must have done so thousands of times since I came here to New York. I sit back in my chair, trying to relax here in my quarters at Fort George.
Charles just brought me the news. Apparently, both Thomas and the Assassin, Connor, decided to break out last night. I believe Connor intended to kill Thomas, but instead walked into a trap. Thomas killed the warden, and he and Charles framed Connor for it.
"No trial for traitors. He was plotting to kill the commander after all, and killed the warden trying to get out. See to it that he's hung. Tomorrow," I had said when Charles finished the tale. He nodded and left me here alone to think.
I plan to go to the hanging. Not because I wish to see it, because I don't. Since I confirmed my beliefs about him being my son, I have had an uneasy feeling about this. I used to want a family, hoping that one day my life would be peaceful enough to achieve that. But since Ziio, I gave up on that. Still… seeing my son sparked that within me.
However, I'm going to go and see to it that it goes smooth. I can't let my curiosity get the better of me. I owe it to the Order to finish him. But more than that, I know that Thomas's life may be on the line. I need him now more than ever.
I look out the window and frown. I can already see the sun begin to rise. I must have been thinking about this all night, though to be fair I'm sure it was quite late when Charles delivered the news. I'm getting too old for this life.
I sigh once more before changing my clothes. I mostly wear one outfit when on Templar duties, but today I must wear something more mundane. I would like to blend in with the crowd today anyway, even from Charles and Thomas. I feel like I'll need to.
As I arrive at the location, I can't help but notice the ever-growing crowd. It truly sickens me how people come to see these things like it's a sport. Death is no joke, it is cruel and terrible. Even I, an artist of death, still am bothered by it sometimes. Today is definitely one of those.
I see the prisoner wagon approaching, and it comes to a stop a distance away. The guards have already cleared a path from the wagon and the gallows. My son should be safe from any people trying to harm him along the way.
Finally, the door opens. Connor is thrown out, and lands face first into a puddle. Hickey was quick to be there, picking him up and taunting him. I pity him, I do. He's so young, he hasn't lived his life yet. If only I could have gotten to him, he could be saved. Saved from his foolish ways and brought over.
He looks around, and I'm surprised to see both shock and fear in his eyes. From here, I see him turn to Hickey, and by reading his lips I can see him saying something about a trial. For the love of God, did no one tell him this was happening? That's why he looked so scared, he thought he was going to a trial. My poor son.
After a few moments, Thomas shoved Connor down the path. He's not resisting, but instead is walking boldly toward the gallows. Such confidence for a man— no, a boy— about to die. He isn't flinching at the harsh words and the objects thrown his way. I feel my heart rate increase. I realize that I'm beginning to get nervous, though I can't pinpoint why.
A woman breaks from the crowd and punched Connor, knocking him to his knees. Without thinking I move toward them, with more anger within me than I've felt in a long time. It only grows as she spits on him.
I nearly reached them when a figure that was both familiar and much older than I remembered, stepped from the crowd as well. He gently pushed the woman back from Connor, then bent down to talk to him. Is Achilles saying his last goodbyes? Is he offering words of hope, or maybe comfort? I doubt that very much.
As I look around, I see I'm right. Someone on the rooftop stabbed a guard before moving into position. He's readying his bow and arrow. I feel relief wash over me, but then curse at myself. That's a bad thing.
I must have been looking at the Assassin for some time, because when I returned my focus to the gallows, Connor is standing up there with the bag on his head. Charles is finishing up his speech.
I watch the ground beneath Connor disappear, and he only struggles for a couple moments before an eagle cries from somewhere up above. As response the Assassin on the rooftop releases the arrow. I hold my breath as it hits the rope, but it doesn't quite cut it. With panic in his eyes, the Assassin is pulling out another arrow. But he will miss, he is too shaky. I look at my son, seeing his struggling slow. I feel panic rise within me. No, not panic, that's too mild. I feel utter terror.
I only just realize what I'm doing as the knife left my hand. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding as the rope cuts. Connor is safe. My son is safe. However, the angry crowd around me says that this is my cue to leave. I only catch a glimpse of Connor leaping into the sky, tomahawk in hand, before I must leave the scene.
