I've had a few tokw ideas for a while (another involves the connor that may have existed before canon timeline connor appeared), but mongoliantiger of tumblr's wonderful tokw!haytham art inspired a plot idea (and has been pulling me out of the awful writing slump I've had for the past few months, yay!)
Wolf Pack
Haytham woke to the intermingling tastes of bitter tea and bile on his tongue.
He tried to push himself to a sitting position – slowly, slowly, because his body felt weak and worn down. His cup was still lying beside him, shattered to a hundred pieces. A pool of red – that blasted tea – surrounded it.
Haytham put a hand to his clammy forehead. And then the bunch of thick fur around his neck; a cape? How had that gotten there? He lifted it closer to his face and realized that its coloring resembled…
Wolves.
He forced his eyes shut.
The dream he'd experienced after drinking the willow tea had been so vivid. Empty, off-white space. A pack of wolves. They'd circled him, followed him. Obeyed him. And then they'd attacked him, one by one-
And he woke up. He was back beneath the massive willow tree, protected by the shade its long, drooping limbs offered.
He wanted to lay back down. His stomach still ached and his head was spinning.
But he had to move. Washington's men could come crashing through the woods at any minute; this he had learned from countless ambushes. They were a dull bunch, to be sure, but it would be deadly to underestimate them.
Haytham struggled to his feet, and even when he was standing, he was still shivering all over. Perhaps the willow tea hadn't been his best idea; perhaps he should have let it be, as some of the men of Ziio's village suggested. But, in the end, the temptation for the power to defeat King Washington had been far too great, and he wound up asking the Clan Mother for directions to the tree.
Now he felt too tired to handle even one of Washington's men. What in the world was he thinking, rushing off to drink some concoction made from a bunch of bark? Such foolishness.
Ziio could help him. Maybe she had something to counteract the bad effects of the tea. He'd be back to his old self before long – and he could continue the fight against the mad king. Haytham wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and stumbled in the direction of the village.
He made it a good half mile before the patrol appeared. They took one look at him – recognized him, most likely, given that he was surely a wanted man after what happened in Lexington a few days ago – and drew their weapons.
Haytham took a long, slow breath through his gritted teeth. Of course something like this would happen.
"There he is," one of the soldiers said to his companions. "Kenway, innit? The general's been looking for you."
Haytham forced a smile. "Oh, I don't doubt it."
The man opened his mouth to say something else, but Haytham had already engaged his hidden blade and was closing the gap between them. The soldier barely had enough time to throw up his bayonet – and even that wasn't enough to stop Haytham from stabbing him clean in the throat.
There. One down. But Haytham could feel the sweat pouring down the sides of his face, could hear the throb of his heart in his head, could feel the ache in his bones-
That didn't stop the remaining soldiers. There were still four of them left, and he didn't doubt that another patrol would be coming through the area soon.
The four began to circle and surround him. Haytham held his ground. He had the hidden blade on one wrist, and he reached for his sword with the other. This was far from a fair fight – but his childhood training wasn't for nothing. He waited for one of the men to lunge, to try to feint, to do anything to give him an opening-
There it was. The man closest to his right stepped forward. Haytham spun around and, despite his fatigue, easily blocked the attack. The soldier staggered backward.
Fast footsteps behind him. Haytham turned again and shoved hard against the second approaching soldier. This one didn't stagger; he pursed his lips and pushed back just as hard. Haytham found his feet slipping beneath him, forcing him back into the circle of soldiers.
An upward stab, quick and beneath the man's ribs. He gurgled and fell back.
Hadn't been expecting that, at least. Two down, three left.
And this time they were all coming for him at once.
Haytham parried the first strike with his sword and tried to kick the soldier away. That worked, at least – the man went flying backward, but he managed to keep his footing. The next soldier took advantage of Haytham's distraction and lunged, bayonet whistling through the air – Haytham sidestepped that attack, but sloppily. The blade sliced down his arm and drew a fair amount of blood.
The third soldier… Blast, where was he? Haytham looked around wildly, and – there he was, loading his gun. Preparing to shoot.
This had certainly taken a turn.
Haytham dropped to a crouch. The best he could do now was grab one of the other men and use him as a meat shield; but they were moving away from him now, dancing just out of his reach. It would take too much time for him to stand up and throw himself behind one. And even if he did, one of the others would take the opportunity to stab him in the back while he tried to defend himself against the gunshot.
Haytham muttered a curse under his breath. Who knew that damned tea would be his undoing? He put a hand back to the fur cape that had appeared after the dream, and-
The soldiers suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. The one loading his rifle lowered it.
"Where…?" They looked around, looked away from where he was sitting. "Where did he go?"
"He was there just a second ago, swear I saw him-"
"Vanished right into thin air-"
Haytham stared at them. Maybe they were even stupider than he thought. Maybe-
He looked down at his hand. Looked right through it, actually.
He had disappeared. But how…?
He held his hand out in front of his body. Transparent, but he thought he could still see the thin, wavering outline of it. Clearly, the three soldiers could not.
Maybe the tea was working after all. Or maybe he'd completely lost his mind in the last moments of his life.
Regardless, Haytham stood again. The men were coming closer to where he was hiding. So he sneaked between them while they fumbled about and positioned himself on the outskirts of their group.
It was hard not to laugh out loud. The soldiers were still talking amongst themselves, but they were looking up to the hills, to the trees around them, to the bushes nearby. All he had to do was walk up and stab them.
The fatigue was coming back, though. It was somehow stronger now than it had been before. Haytham took his hand from the fur cape and reached up to touch his forehead-
"There! Right over there! Found him!"
He looked back down. His body was fully visible now. And the soldiers were coming – or at least the two of them were. The third was reloading his rifle, was lifting it to aim-
Damn.
An anger welled up in Haytham's chest. How could he possibly die like this, to a couple of bumbling fools who only happened to come across him by chance? Why did he decide to take the risk with the tea? He should have listened to the men who warned him about it. Should have stayed at the village instead to help defend it against future attacks.
His chest felt heavier now. Hotter. The fury he felt was growing, raw and primal and strong.
At the very least, Haytham Kenway would not go down without a fight. He slid into an offensive position, raised his hidden blade and sword-
Three shapes rushed out from beside him. They were semi-transparent, almost as his body had been when he touched the fur cape – but he knew what these creatures were as soon as he saw them.
The three wolves from his dream growled and barked. The soldiers weren't sure what to make of it; keep running toward Haytham, or try to escape these strange beasts?
They didn't have a chance to make their choice. Two of the wolves leapt and buried their fangs in the soldiers' throats. The men started to scream – but the sound was cut off, replaced by the snap of bone and teeth.
The third soldier managed to drop his gun and run. Still, he only made it a good few feet before the last wolf grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him to the ground. Haytham watched with horror and fascination as the creature tore into the man's face.
And when the three wolves were done, they turned back to Haytham. They stood at his side, tall and proud, licking the blood from their chops.
Haytham touched the fur at his neck again.
Something strange was happening. Something in the tea was bringing those dreams to the waking world. These weren't just hallucinations, either - they were real, tangible, and they could kill. This was the power the villagers had mentioned in whispers and – in some cases – been deathly afraid of.
And he was finally beginning to see why.
