My Phoenix

Summary:

After his supposed death at the hands of the people he thought of as his family, Shay Cormac is left in a state of desperation, a world in his hands, and the fate of hundreds of innocents over his shoulders. A mess he is, until he is taken under the guidance of the Templar Grand Master. Haytham Kenway plans to take the former Assassin, and turn him into a fire that will blaze the world, completely untamed by none other than himself. Shay is ever eager to take flight. They could take on the war itself and end on top, and nothing could stop them. Shaytham.

"I'm gonna change you, like a remix, then I'll raise you, like a phoenix."

Inspired by the song by Fallout Boy.

Notes:

Inspired by the song, The Phoenix by Fallout Boy. This story is a Shay x Haytham, or otherly known as Shaytham. I've been playing Rogue a lot recently, and gods I forgot how much I love Haytham Kenway. I don't know what it is, but he kills me. After listening to this song, I received the inspiration to write a story, an AU of sorts on the game. With that said, events and such will happen at different times than in the game, and some in a different order. The ending of the game is entirely different, and takes a major role in how the story plays out.

Last time I wrote a story based on a song, it became my first and most successful story on the internet. Writing this brings a nice sense of nostalgia to myself. I hope you enjoy.

-Anonymoux

Prologue –

He ran, his ears ringing with the explosions of dynamite, the screams of Assassins left and right, the Morrigan, his beloved ship, shooting her mortars at him as he bolted across the island, Achilles's yells echoing across the snowy fields, somehow making their ways to his ears, through all the noise around him. A tree bursts into flames and splinters as a cannon ball smashes into it, sounding like thunder as it crashes to the ground. He barely slides under in time, and then he's running again, ducking under the swipe of a blade from an Assassin running towards him. He keeps going, pushing forward, a bullet whizzing by and nailing him in the shoulder. He curses and takes a sharp left, nearly being crushed under the avalanche of snow falling down to block his path. He hears Hope calling his name as he makes a right, over another fallen tree, across a smoking crater, and up a hill leading to a cliff.

Shite.

The cliff led right over a large pile of rocks, the distance he would have to go to make it safely in the water too risky. He would hit the rocks no matter how hard he pushed himself. The sound of quickly approaching footsteps behind him as he skidded to a halt, had him grimace and close his eyes in pain.

"That's enough!"

Liam…

Shay reaches up, grabbing his hood as he slowly turns to face him, face the Assassins, the ones he thought he could trust, the ones he called his family. Liam, his friend, his brother from childhood, looked enraged with him. Liam was never angry with him. Liam wasn't…

"Give back the Manuscript, Shay!" Hope exclaims, beautiful Hope, and Shay's heart is torn. "I'm sure Achilles-"

…but anger wins over his heart, and Shay stomps his foot into the snow, like a child refusing to give up the candy he stole. "I cannot," his voice is choked. "I will not let this happen again. All those souls lost… One more hardly matters."

…and it was all he had left to do.

They would kill him.

He might as well die with a cause.

"SHAY!"

He turns on his heels, ready to fall to his death.

The loud bang of a gun scares the birds from the trees, the bullet pushing him before he could even make the leap himself.

New York City, New York
August, 1758

It was always so bloody cold in the northern colonies.

Despite it being the last, dying heart of summer, it was chilly, the rain from overnight leaving a dreadful fog behind that left sailors mistakenly ramming into icebergs. The clouds moved fast, no doubt ready to dump snow on the spreading population whenever it had its chance. He could see his breath as he walked, the little white puffs blending in to the grey of the streets, crowded by dozens of New Yorkers up early, ready to get on with their day, to only collapse in a tavern later. One person in particular he was on his way to see, his second sight seeing through the civilians around him, spotting the speck of yellow a few blocks down.

His focus is distracted too long, startled back to him when a child rams into him, the boy sputtering apologies as he backs up and takes a good look at the man he collided upon. Instead of scolding him like most of the folks do, the man smiles and tosses him a gold coin instead. "Just be more careful, mate," he says, sidestepping the awestruck lad and continuing his way down the brick road.

He puts his hands into the pockets in the sides of his coat, blowing out another puff of hot air. With the temperature dropping as quickly as it was these days, he was half expecting to see penguins joining these people waddling their way down the streets. A sight it would be! he thinks with a smirk. Gist had a personal dislike for the water birds. It would be amusing to watch him run from a flock of them; a tale that would be passed from generation to generation.

His thoughts are cut short when an odd noise whispers in his ears, and that's exactly what it is: whispers. His brows furrow as he slows his walk down to a cautions pace, using his Eagle Vision to scan the area. He was closer to the man he was supposed to meet, but the closer he got the more whispers he heard.

He saw her.

An Assassin on the roof of a building right above his companion, ready to jump down at the right chance.

Shay takes off, right towards the side of the building, throwing and arm up to catch a support beam and throw himself up over the edge of the roof, his right hidden blade extended and as he slams into her, knocking the wind out of her with a startled cry. The two go over the edge of the building, slamming into the street below with a sickening crack of her back, the Irishman pulling his hidden blade from her throat with a distasteful scoff. A few people nearby let out surprised screams and took off running for help. She gargles a final breath of blood before going completely still, and silent.

"Well that was quite fortunate," he hears behind him as he whips his blade around in the air to get the blood off, turning to meet the grey-blue eyes of the man that said it, "for you to arrive when you did."

"Master Kenway," Shay greets, taking a good look at the Grand Master while his blade slides back into its sheathe. The man was dressed immaculate as always, still wearing that ridiculous triangular-shaped hat the former Assassin both hated and bemused at the same time. He can hear one of Gist's stupid jokes about that hat in the back of his head, and for good measure he tells it to shut up. With a witty grin, he holds out his hand to his side. "I'd shake your hand sir, but it's a bit of a mess right now." Good thing he didn't wear gloves, he thought to himself. Blood was such a stain.

Kenway's lips turn up slightly on one side, the usual smirk for the stoic Templar, something that people claim to be rare. Weeks once told him that he's never seen the Grand Master show as much emotion as he does around Shay. "You're not secretly hitting him with those darts of yours, are you?"

"We've all had a little blood on our hands in our times, Master Cormac," Haytham motions for him to follow, turning down a nearby alley. The sound of soldiers running to the scene of murder were getting closer.

Shay walks alongside him, smirking slightly. "Really? I can hardly see you wanting to ruin your precious, rich clothes with even a drop of rainwater."

The man chooses to ignore him, like he usually does at his brash jokes. "I hope you've properly equipped your ship with the needed upgrades, Master Cormac. We'll be sailing into heavy, enemy territory."

"Where to?" the ex-Assassin questions. It always threw him through a loop when Kenway went along on their missions. Most Grand Masters would sit inside their cozy little (figuratively speaking) mansions, sipping tea with their pinkies out. Even Achilles, Mentor of the Assassins, spent most of his time on the Homestead. It was honorable to see a leader of his army out on the battlefield with them, leading.

Then, there was the feeling of pride and accomplishment whenever they succeeded in their missions. The pat on the back, the smile from the Templar leader, the praise he would receive for a job well done. The Assassins never gave him that, that satisfaction of doing good. Whenever he did something for them, it was never good enough. Apparently, he was all the Templars needed. Their, what the Assassins have been calling him lately, attack-dog.

Kenway's attack-dog.

Having the Grand Master at his side, heading into battle, gave him a strength he wasn't familiar with.

"Île des Pins," Haythem answers. "We've found Adéwalé."

The way he says the Assassin's name, one would assume he despises him more than he does Achilles. Shay bites the inside of his cheek, a bad habit he's started recently, not sure what to think of it. He didn't want to kill Adéwalé. He was a good man, but corrupted by his mentor just as the rest of the Assassins.

"May I ask, sir," Shay starts hesitantly, "what the man has done to deserve your spite?"

Kenway is quiet first, his brows furrowing just slightly and his mouth pulling into a thin line. For a second Shay regrets asking, wondering if he should even be asking any questions at all, but then Haytham answers, his voice a bit lighter.

"He worked with my father," he says, and Shay can't contain his surprise, his brows flying up, eyes widening slightly. Kenway continues. "As you may have heard, Master Cormac, my father was an Assassin. Adéwalé and he may have not agreed on most terms, but they were friends, nonetheless."

Shay puts the pieces together in his head. He doesn't need to hear it to know where this was leading. Adéwalé must be disappointed in Haythem for becoming a Templar; Grand Master, to be exact.

The two are quiet as they make their way towards the pier, an uncomfortable tension in the air. Not necessarily between them, but with what they were about to do. Deciding to break the ice, Shay stares off at the Morrigan, proud of how she was looking. "I've always admired Captain Kenway," he admits. "I could listen to stories of him for hours upon end. My father would talk about him like the legend he was."

Haytham's walking slows, and he turns to look at Shay. The man was always hard to read, but the younger of the two could see slight surprise in the man's eyes. He smiles and continues, turning to look back at his ship. "I particularly enjoyed the stories of his life on sea. The life of a pirate is a good one. Full of dangers an' many risks, but thrilling and worth the pay. Gets you the attention of the pretty, young lasses at taverns, too."

He's not sure if he should keep talking, but he does anyway, because that's what he's always done. Liam would tell him that mouth of his will either get him killed or make him the luckiest man on the continent. Shay had always laughed. "I make my own luck."

…but it seems his mouth was doing the right thing, this time, as Kenway's lips pull up at the sides in a small, but noticeable smirk. "Yes…my father certainly had quite the reputation in taverns all across the seas. He settled down only when he went back to London, but even then he would slip at times."

Shay smiles now, glad to have eased the tension. "Any man would, with the girls up there. You also can't deny a good drink every now an' then."

The Grand Master turns and continues his quick pace to the Morrigan, his tone stern once more. "We may require one or two when we take back the French fort."

Shay raises a brow again, but this time its in mirth. "Are you offering to buy us drinks, Master?"

Kenway still has that small smirk on his face, despite trying to act serious. "Possibly. That all depends on how well you do today. I want Adéwalé's head." His tone darkens considerably, the Templar leader in him surfacing. Shay nods, understanding.

"I won't disappoint you, sir."

He would stake his life on it.

No matter how much he was going to ache killing an Assassin he once looked up to, the old man also telling him of Captain Kenway's stories, sitting around a fire under the night sky, like a grandfather figure, taking care of him the few days he had pneumonia, being one of the people that came to his defense when Achilles was too harsh…

For the safety of the world…

For the Order…

Even to give Haythem Kenway some peace…

It needed to be done.

"You dare beg forgiveness, child? Hell welcomes traitors like you."

Shay swallowed the painful lump in his throat. Kenway stood behind him, slowly stepping up to overhear.

"Then I go there proudly," he answers, his voice thick with emotions he forced to become anger, "knowing I have done right."

Adéwalé scoffs, choking on his final breaths. "It does not matter…. Achilles already has what he needs."

A sudden jolt of terror at the fact that the Assassins were ever closer to destroying the world… Shay glares down at the man he once used to look up to. "I will kill every last man who defends him, if I must. I cannot let him succeed."

Before he can pull away, the dying Assassin reaches up, grabbing his arm, as if trying to reach out to him.

"You… have become… a monster, Shay."

Shay's eyes widen, the words hitting a nerve in his chest, one that struck his heart. He wrestles off the man's arm, staring at him with wide, confused eyes as he watches him die.

Has he?

Is he a monster?

To kill some to save the rest… Did that make him just as bad as they?

No…

All those people in Lisbon…

Achilles would pay for their deaths.

"Perhaps I have," he whispers. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Kenway giving him a look of both sympathy and approval.

"Come."

…and he does. He follows the Templar, unable to look back at the mess he caused.

Kenway never takes his hand off of his shoulder.

Gist is grinning like the idiot he is. Weeks stands there with his hands crossed behind his back, an approving smirk on his face. Johnson is stoic but has a proud stature to his stance.

Shay feels nervous when he knows he should be proud of himself.

He feels somber even though he should be happy.

Kenway must know, must see it in his eyes, as he puts the golden ring on his fingers.

"You have earned the title of Master Templar."

He says it in a tone that speaks volumes. He's proud of Shay, and that thought in itself is enough to ease some of the pain, and yet he understands that the now Master Templar is suffering from a trauma that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to give us a moment," Kenway asks, and the three men nod.

Shay gives the Grand Master a confused look, as he turns around and grabs somethings off of a shelf nearby.

"I believe I promised you drinks, Master Cormac."

The boy tries to smile, he does, but he feels heavy.

"You've become a monster."

He can't get the words out of his head.

"Sit," Kenway says softly, but the order is there under the surface. Shay does as he's told and gratefully accepts the glass, the Templar leader sitting in a chair adjacent to him at the small, polished round table.

"You are heavily troubled, and so I'm going to tell you something that may help," he says, and Shay sips at his drink with surprise most likely written all over his face. Kenway watches him for a moment, not for the first time noticing that the Irishman had a hard time keeping his emotions from his facial expressions.

"I've only ever shared this story with one other person," he continues, thinking of a once beloved one he had held closely to his heart, "but I feel it will aid you greatly."

"You're concern is appreciated, Master Kenway," Shay has to admit, and the man gives him one of those small smiles.

"What you're going through now, Master Cormac, is very similar to what I myself had to go through not too long ago. Do you know how I came to be in the Order?"

Shay's eyes widen for the third time that day. Kenway had the unique ability of startling him quite frequently. He frowns. "I don't believe so, sir."

Of course he hasn't, but it was just a way to start conversation. Kenway has a distant look in his eyes as he tells him his story. "I was born and raised in London by my father, Edward Kenway. He raised me with hopes of me becoming an Assassin, and the next Mentor of the British Brotherhood, however, he never told me about the Assassins, nor the Templars. Just trained me to become one."

Shay takes in this information slowly, letting the Grand Master take his time.

"When I was a child of ten years old, five men stormed my house and killed my father before my very eyes," he starts, his voice even and seemingly unfazed. Shay wondered if anything could faze the Templar. "They took my sister and sent her away, and burned the house down to the ground. I was found by the man Reginald Birch, and he brought and raised me into the Templar Order. At the time, I didn't even know what the Assassins were, or that my father was one.

"So many years later, I find out where my sister was. I went to her rescue and together we escaped. Then…she tells me the five men that ambushed our home and killed our father, were Birch's men."

Shay gets where this is going. He puts his glass down on the table, it now empty, and gives the Grand Master a respected look. "I take it you killed him…"

Kenway has no emotion when he says "Yes."

Cormac looks across the table and out the window on the other side of the room, his mind absorbing this information like a sponge in water. Haytham sighs and puts his own cup down on the table.

"What the point of my story, Shay, is not that everything ends in revenge. I'm merely telling you this because I want you to understand that you're not alone."

These words bring the captain's attention back to the Templar. Kenway continues, his eyes locked on Shay's.

"Sometimes those we believe we can trust the most, turn out to be the ones we should never have trusted at all. What Achilles and O'Brien did to you is what Birch did to myself. I understand what you are feeling and the ghosts that are haunting you." He stands up, and walks over to where Shay sat, offering his hand. The Irishman blinks a minute, before reaching up and taking it, allowing the man to pull him to his feet. "What I offer is reincarnation. I see a potential in you none of my men can compare to."

Shay, still holding onto the man's hand, frowns, but feels an opportunity about to offer itself to him. "What exactly is your plan, then, if I may ask?"

Haytham's fingers holding his hand feel around the newly made Templar ring, most likely subconsciously. "Your abilities are flawless, but I can make you better. What I plan is training, Master Cormac. We work together to retrieve the box from the Assassins, but I want to make you into more than just a Master Templar. Monro believed you would be the best of us. I intend to see to that myself."

Shay is hot and he doesn't understand why. The Assassins…never believed he would be anything more than a pirate fit for delivering their cargo. An extra hand to spare in their war. That's why they sent him to Lisbon alone, instead of with Liam. They didn't care if something happened to him. They only used him to test their own theories.

Now, here he was, holding the hand of the Templar Grand Master Haytham bloody Kenway, being made an offer to become something more than a captain, an errand boy; to become what he says the best, what he claims he can be and so much more.

Kenway watches him patiently, but…hopefully? It's hard to read the man. Shay isn't sure what to think.

"I…" he begins slowly, finding it hard to speak through the lump in his throat. "I would like nothing more, sir." To be something. To be someone. Trained by the hands of a Kenway.

For the first time since he's known him, instead of the usual twitch of the lips, Haytham smiles.

"Then let us enjoy this victory. Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow..."

Shay nods, swallowing.

"Tomorrow, it begins."