Author's Note: *contains AC3, Forsaken and Rogue spoilers* This takes place right after the "Broken Trust" mission of Sequence 10 (approximately 2-3 weeks afterward)
*Major divergences from Forsaken's canon, as I had not read Forsaken when I began this*
July 1778
Despite his best efforts to avoid the subject of Ziio altogether, Haytham's thoughts often drifted back to her. Whenever he happened upon a native during his travels, or catch a couple taking to the shadows to indulge their amorous desires, he couldn't help but remember her, the feel of her hair between his fingers, the way she smelled. Many a night and countless hours of which there was little else to distract him, Haytham would allow himself to wonder how different his life might've played out had he and Ziio actually stayed together.
Their time together had been cut painstakingly short, and yet, their relationship had changed the course of fate, perhaps even all of history. It was then when he, the Templar Grand-Master, had sowed the seed of the very Assassin now destroying his order. Not that he regretted having been with Ziio, heavens no! She'd been the only person he'd ever loved and he'd do anything to relive those stolen weeks...
Maybe if they'd stayed together, his son wouldn't currently be picking off his comrades one by one. Maybe, just maybe, they could've been a family... but now?
He should've killed Connor back at the church. What a decidedly perfect opportunity! Luck had presented many chances even after that, especially on the Aquila. Yet he failed to take advantage of any of them because something was getting in his way. He was far too proud to admit that 'something' was nothing more than sentiment. In vain he fought to convince himself it was plain curiosity about his only offspring, even voicing as much whenever asked, but he couldn't help that little part inside that felt attached to his last remaining connection to Ziio.
Connor had failed to make another appearance after their little spat with Washington two weeks prior. Upon looking back, Haytham supposed he could understand the boy's anger. He'd hoped that by exposing Washington for his actions, particularly his orders to burn the natives' villages, would make Connor more sympathetic to Haytham's words. Yet in that, he exposed himself and ended up only thickening the barrier between him and his son.
It was just as well. Connor was an Assassin; Haytham a Templar. There was no way around it; they just could not, would not ever be successful together. Connor was far too blind, too naïve, too impulsive. So many times he'd tried to correct his son, to show him how reality really was, but alas, the boy refused to listen. Of course, out of anything, Connor would inherit his father's stubbornness!
Haytham sighed as he made his way into his quarters at Fort George.
Immediately he tensed, sensing another presence in the room. It took a few moments for his eyes adjusted to the darkness, but he could make out the figure of Charles Lee, leaning against a far wall.
Haytham's fists clenched at his sides, lips pursed. Did he not say time and time again, for no one to enter his quarters if he wasn't there? He was the Grand Master, damn-it. Respect and privacy were expected, especially from his second-in-command!
"Charles. What in the bloody hell are you doing here?"
To Haytham's further astonishment, instead of receiving any kind of reply, Charles pulled out a pistol, daring enough to aim it straight at the Grand Master's chest, "Sir. What were you doing with the Assassin?"
"Pardon me?"
"One of the recruits tell me you've been working alongside that damned half-breed Assassin. Just whose side are you on, Haytham? Did you aid him in killing our comrades? Thomas? Johnson? Pitcairn? Are you helping him tear apart our order from the inside?"
"Charles, I had nothing to do with the murders he committed. I merely ran into the man during my investigation of Church. There was an obvious strategic advantage of working together to take out the traitor. I have come to realize - my son is grossly mislead. He can be converted to our cause if you'd give me time. He'd be a strong addition to our order."
Charles scoffed, "You've grown soft, Haytham. Ever since your little vacation with that savage in the woods. There's no way the mutt can be converted. I had no choice but to notify Reginald Birch of your traitorous actions."
"You did what?"
It was taking every ounce of self-control for Haytham to stop himself from tearing Charles limb from limb, loyal accomplice or not. During the 20-some odd years since he first met the man, Haytham had watched his ego grow, his hunger for power and control becoming quite the nuisance. Really, this sequence of events could've been predicted had he taken a long look at the facts. Haytham was thoroughly disgusted with himself for allowing anyone in the order to find out he was working with Connor. Especially Charles.
"Sir. You've been exiled from the Order. I will take over your place as Grand Master. I've been ordered to kill you when I saw you again. However, since you have been such a great mentor for all these years, I am giving you this last chance to run." Charles stepped closer to Haytham, the pistol now pressed against his chest, "After tonight I will not hesitate to fulfill those orders. So I'd suggest you leave this town and just disappear."
Haytham stiffly nodded. Connor had officially taken everything from him. His comrades, now his reputation and his power.
Haytham had every reason to hate his son, every reason to kill him. Connor would pay. Haytham wouldn't waste another thought, another ally's death, another ounce of affection to the Assassin scum. He would regain the Templars' trust once he brought the Assassins' colonial branch down to nothing. As he had once, he would do so again. This time he would not make any mistakes, wouldn't hesitate to end the Assassin's life, son or not.
That's what he told himself. Yet he was lacking the confidence and the hatred required to carry out those wishes.
Meanwhile, Connor spent his time recruiting and training, trying to distract himself from the memories of Ziio and Kanen'to;kon that plagued his mind. His thoughts often returned to Washington as well, only rekindling his anger. It was still so hard to believe, that the man he'd believed to be his ally, the commander of the Continental Army of all people, could be the reason behind the deaths of so many natives. Behind his mother's death.
Weren't they fighting for freedom? Liberty? Equality? What happened to those morals on the day 5-year-old Connor was forced to watch his mother burn to death?
Washington was the ultimate hypocrite. A traitor. Perhaps he should've allowed the Templars to finish him after all.
Connor was forced to pause in his task of idly grooming the horses. He'd joined the Assassins purely for revenge on his mother's killers. Which, for his entire life, he'd believed were the Templars. If he'd known the truth right from the beginning... would he still be an Assassin?
He was interrupted from his thoughts by the low rumbling of thunder. In his pondering, he'd failed to notice how dark the sky had grown, the sun blocked by clouds dark with the promise of rain.
He gazed out over the homestead, attention snapping to the road when he caught sight of a figure. The Assassin mentor set down the brush and braced himself for a fight as this figure ran toward him, growing larger and clearer as it neared. The figure turned out to be one of his recruits, a certain Jacob Zenger, currently gasping for air.
"I have news. You're not going to like it."
Connor pulled the man aside, having him sit on a nearby crate. He gave the man a few minutes to catch his breath before questioning him.
"What has happened?"
"Apparently there is a new Templar Grand Master, Connor."
"My father… does that mean he…"
Connor had pushed away any thoughts of his father after he'd ended their 'allegiance'. If he could even call it so. Wrongly, throughout their missions together, he'd come to believe Haytham might actually be trustworthy, but the man continued to withhold information. What else did he know?
Yet Connor's stagnant anger dissipated completely at the suggestion of the man's demise. Imagining his father's cold and lifeless corpse before him, Connor found he didn't feel any bit victorious or triumphant as he once believed he would. Now there was only remorse and guilt. As if he'd driven the final blow himself.
"No, no, Connor. From what I gathered in New York, Haytham was exiled. Caught working with an Assassin." Well shit. Someone saw them and it cost Haytham his position in the order. No doubt, in Haytham's eyes, the blame would be placed upon Connor, despite the allegiance being Haytham's suggestion. However, father or not, the man was still his enemy.
Haytham deserved to be stripped of all his power for the things he'd done.
Even so, guilt still gripped the Assassin, and he couldn't deny his relief that the punishment had not been his father's life. But... if Haytham was exiled...
"Then who is the current Grand Master?"
Jacob scratched the back of his neck, "Well… obviously the position would be granted to the second-in-command."
For a moment, Connor was still, paralyzed with anger. Cussing under his breath in his native tongue, he began pacing, fists clenching and unclenching, "Charles Lee is the Templar Grand Master?"
"I'm afraid so, Connor."
Jacob had been a bit afraid to break the news to Connor. His undying hatred for Charles Lee was no secret among the recruits. Sometimes, just the very mention of the name could send Connor into a rampage. Jacob was surprised, albeit thankful, that his mentor was not currently punching holes into the stables' wall.
"Where has my father gone?"
"The last time he was seen was a few days ago, heading out of New York. He was without any belongings or provisions. I can only assume he is somewhere in the frontier by now. Connor, I know you probably want to go find him… but he is our enemy. Don't you think you should just leave him out there to starve to death?"
Jacob shifted uncomfortably under Connor's fiery glare, "As you said, he is no longer a Templar, nor does he have any influence or power over them. He is my father. We were allies for a while, even if that time had been short. I can not leave him out there, Jacob. I must find him."
"Connor…"
"I do not wish to hear any more. I know the risks, and I have chosen to take them."
As misfortune would have it, the first rain began to fall just as Connor was saddling his strongest horse. The downpour only grew, cold needles against his face, paired by harsh wind as the Assassin rode out into the frontier.
He followed the main trail into the wilderness, carefully scanning the trees, but his vision was terribly blurred by the rain. The storm had muddied the trail, washing away any sign of footprints.
It wasn't until a couple hours later, well into evening before the rain finally ceased and the storm passed. After a bit more wandering, shivering all the while in his soaked robes, Connor spotted a recently-abandoned camp not far away and rode up to it. He searched the area around the camp until he finally caught sight of a dark figure slinking off into the woods.
He caught up quickly. Thankfully, the figure had indeed been Haytham, clutching himself tightly against the cold.
Haytham sighed heavily as his son called out to him, closing the distance between them in moments. Connor was the last person he wanted to deal with that very moment.
"Why did you follow me, Connor?" He practically hissed up at his son.
"I can not leave you out here without food or provisions."
"You're the one who forced me into this damned situation, Boy!"
"I am only here to help, Father."
"Help? Connor, you've done plenty as it is! You killed my comrades and now you've taken my authority from me. I don't require your damned help."
Haytham made to continue on, to leave his son far behind, but Connor simply rode his horse into Haytham's path, blocking his escape. Connor stared emotionlessly down at his father, "Just get on the horse."
Haytham refused to budge, taking to simply glaring at his obnoxiously stubborn son. The menace the glare was intended to portray was lost on the Assassin, however.
"Father, do not make me drag you up here myself."
Haytham scowled, "You will not touch me." By all means, the boy could try, but Haytham couldn't garuntee the boy's hands would still be functional afterwards. Ah, one more similarity between them; the sheer hatred of being touched.
The ex-Templar visibly shivered as a breeze picked up; his clothes were soaked and clung uncomfortably to his skin. As of yet, the air still held the promise of more rain yet to come. A night outside in this weather would be far from pleasant.
Caving in, Haytham finally climbed up onto the horse, absolutely loathing Connor's smug grin. He would give in to his son's wish only because he'd rather take advantage of his sympathy than spend an entire night outside in a storm.
Yeah, that was definitely the only reason.
