Author's Note:

Only recently finished AC: Forsaken, which I hadn't even started reading when I started this fanfic.
Which is why Reginald is still alive (oops) but I've adjusted slightly my plans for future chapters to deal with that plot-hole (I hate that guy so much holyshit)

Anyways,

Enjoy :)


That night Connor and Haytham once again found themselves outside Fort George, hiding in the bushes. There were extra guards patrolling, and these seemed much more alert than the previous ones; undoubtedly due to Haytham and Connor's actions from the previous night. This time, they instituted a slightly more complex plan than before.

Haytham stood before the guards, hands in the air as they immediately pointed muskets at him. While they were distracted, Connor made his way atop the nearest rooftop. Before either of them had recognized the exiled Grand-Master, arrows pierced their chests with expert precision, and both collapsed with breathless gasps.

The pair made their way into the Fort, this time heading to the old storage house. Luckily it wasn't too far away and was left unguarded. Either Charles wasn't aware of their intentions, or he already had everything he needed. Nonetheless, Haytham was able to easily break the lock and they made their way inside.

He took an oil lantern from a nearby table and lit it. The storage house was filled with crates, barrels, broken weapons and old, broken furniture. The air was stale and musky. Connor silently flinched as a rat squealed and ran across the floor. Haytham didn't seem to notice or care.

"What exactly is all this stuff doing here?" Connor asked, unable to retain his curiosity. The Assassins did not have a place for storage such as this. Only the basement in the manor for his outfits and weapons, but that was roughly a quarter of the size of this place.

"Evidence." Haytham stated quite simply. Connor thought to inquire further, but decided he rather didn't want to know.

Moments later Haytham let out a triumphant "Ah!" as he found his stuff lazily dumped into a heap. He sifted through it, tossing aside things he didn't need. Among a pile of books, he grabbed a thin journal with the letter "H" scribbled with ink in the corner and stuffed it inside his leather bag. He continued to dig, but sighed heavily and shook his head in defeat.

"What is it?" Connor peered over the man's shoulder.

"The amulet. It's not here. Of course Charles must have found it already." Haytham shook his head again and stood, "Let's go."

Back in the relative safety of the inn, Haytham sat beside the window, legs propped up on the table. The mysterious journal with the H on it was open in his lap, his eyes scanning the words and pages carefully. His eyebrows were drawn in undivided focus. Outside, the sun was just starting to rise, providing Haytham with just enough light to read by.

Connor sat on his bed on the other side of the room. He'd originally been trying to rest, but he was once again, unable to. So instead he decided to watch his father read. Neither had spoken a word in the past hour since he'd begun.

"Father, why did you choose that journal, out of everything that was at the storage house?"

He continued reading and his expression remained unchanged, "Jim Holden was a Templar. An old friend of mine, in fact. He also knew of the precursor race and the artifacts, but unlike me, he knew how Reginald would use them for ill... so he hid everything he learned in this journal, expertly hidden within meaningless accounts of his experiences and thoughts on life and the sort," he flipped the page, "With that in mind… after his death, I also added my own discoveries. In symbolism that nobody but me would understand.

"What seems like useless scribbles—actually deadly secrets hidden in plain sight. I used to be just as focused on Those-Who-Came-Before as much as he and Reginald were. After I figured out the kind of man Reginald actually was… I hid any of my findings from him, with the front we were getting nowhere on the search. I had my own men, without Birch's knowledge, hunting down every lead we had," Haytham laughed to himself, "It was your mother who brought me out of that obsession. Made me realize…"

"So why is it important now? What will we do with this information?"

"Unfortunately, Charles was one of the men helping with my secret investigations… I have no doubt he's run to Reginald by now and spilled everything. They'll be after those artifacts. I need time to decode the notes in the journal, so that we might go after them, find them first. However, we still need to get the amulet from Charles." Haytham shut the journal and set it aside, "We will worry about that tomorrow."

Haytham woke long before Connor and quietly redressed himself in his original blue coat and tricorn hat. Once everything seemed to be in proper order, hair refastened into a ponytail, he took one last look at his son, still sleeping soundly. He was completely relaxed, soft snores almost soothing. Haytham frowned, slightly jealous at his ease. When was the last time Haytham had felt so peaceful?

Careful not to wake his son, he slipped out of the inn unnoticed.

On his hunt for Lee, Haytham first checked the Green Dragon. This had been their headquarters once, after all. Charles, however, was nowhere to be found.

The owners recognized Haytham at once and sent him friendly smiles and waves. He kindly rejected their offers of food and drink, making it clear to them and everyone else present, this was only a brief visit. Yet others in the room glared at him suspiciously over their shoulders, others avoiding eye contact at all costs. It almost made him tense. Almost.

Not too far away, he found another face he recognized; a recent new recruit of Lee's. The man obviously recognized Haytham as well, for he suddenly stiffened.

"Hello, Lad. Mind telling me what's happened since my… departure?" Haytham took a seat and clasped his hands on the table.

"Lee's got everyone lookin' for the laboratory again. Anyone who opposes 'em gets a bullet in the head. Same for anyone who questions em' or still supportin' you. Make this quick, sir, I don't plan on getting my ass killed for you."

"Of course, just one more thing. Would you kindly tell me where Lee has gone off to?"

The man took a swig of his beer before answering, "Huntin' you down. He's pretty pissed 'bout what you did at Fort George these past few days. I recon he's got his higher-recruits scanning the streets for you. Ask 'em."

"Many thanks."

The recruit had been correct. Haytham quickly found himself at the end of several muskets after roaming the streets, eavesdropping on guards. Silently reproaching himself for his recklessness, he complied with their orders and followed them back to Fort George, where he was met by Charles himself.

The man now had a much more confident aura about him though Haytham could not pinpoint exactly what it was about him that had changed other than his newfound power. His stolen power.

Ah, that was it. The man had taken extra time to properly groom himself that morning, combing his hair and shaving.

"I told you to disappear, Haytham. You have no reason to be here anymore. Did you think you could get away with killing my men and stealing property of the Order's?"

"Is it really stealing when it was mine to begin with, Charles? I don't appreciate hypocrisy or theft, especially that of power."

Charles smirked, "It is for the best. Our order will grow strong under my rule. You won't be able to ruin us anymore. Finish him." He nodded to the guard beside him.

Before the man could fire, an arrow pierced his chest and he collapsed with a pained gurgle, blood soaking the front side of his shirt. Now who could've done that? It was slightly humiliating, having to be saved by his son (for the second time too), but really, the boy's arrival couldn't be any more well-timed.

"What the devil?" Charles exclaimed, turning to the source of the arrow. Another guard was taken out, arrow piercing his stomach, and Haytham used the moment of confusion to break free; killing the two guards holding him in place with well-times swipes of his hidden blade.

Beyond them, Connor jumped down from the rooftops and pointed his bow at Charles, now without the defense of the guards. Haytham withdrew his pistol and took aim as well. Yet this all felt way too easy. Could they kill him so soon, take the amulet and disappear? No… no, this situation wasn't right.

Charles's glare darted between the two a few times before he chuckled.

"Give us the amulet, Charles."

"No, I don't think so, Haytham." He reached into a bag at his side, pulling out a gold sphere. Odd symbols were engraved in it and the strange object seemed to glow in Lee's hand.

Connor noticeably tensed as brown eyes grew wide in horror. He made to send an arrow through the man's heart before he could do anything, but wasn't quite fast enough. Charles raised the sphere and a pulse of golden light sent both Connor and Haytham rolling.

It took a minute for Haytham to recollect his senses and get to his feet, feeling the onset of a headache. This was not good… where did Charles get that thing from? More importantly, what the hell was it? He tried to think back to Holden, to the journal, remember anything describing such an object. The headache was making that too difficult.

Connor's bow had been knocked away from him during the tumble, the string broken. He muttered obscenities as he scrambled to his feet, reaching for the weapon.

By then more guards had arrived to defend Charles. As Charles raised the orb again, Haytham and Connor decided, with silent nods, to make their escape rather than continue the useless fight. A couple guards made chase, but were quickly lost to their speed as they ducked around sharp corners and dashed up the sides of buildings.

Connor slammed the door of their room shut behind them, "How the hell did Charles get it…"

Haytham turned sharply to glare at the boy, "You knew what that thing is? Explain this to me, Boy!"

"My people have kept it safe for generations. It is a means of communication from the precursor race to us… this was how I had the vision that sent me to Achilles," Connor paced the room, shaking his head, "However, it is also capable of much more. I do not understand how he obtained it…"

Haytham sighed, rubbing his temples, "He must have convinced the natives to give it to him when he was using them to fight the Continental Army. Never did he mention the artifact's existence to me. Neither did you," he snapped at Connor, "and you were angry that I withheld information."

"I needed to know I could trust you."

Really? The damn boy still didn't trust him after everything he'd revealed?

"Trust? Connor, I revealed the true purposes of the Templars' plots; the very core of our work. I have now broken every law the Templars have, in the sake of helping you! If you and I are going to succeed, I expect you to extend any information you might have. This is no longer just about the Templars and Assassins, Boy. With that object, Charles could make slaves of everyone in this world!"

Connor crossed his arms, glaring at his father, "You are only angry because it is not you who gets the control now. You and the Templars probably meant for this to happen."

Did the lad even listen to anything he said? Really, this was becoming troublesome, "I meant to collect these artifacts to stop this from happening!"

"You may dress it in kind and just wording, but your cause is obvious."

Haytham was suddenly upon the boy, pinning him against the wall, hidden blade against his throat, "You are naïve and oblivious. Do not for one moment think yourself better than others based upon what you think you know about them. You may just find the truth to be the exact opposite."

In one swift motion, Connor punched him in the gut and had reversed their positions. He withdrew his own hidden blade and aimed at the elder man's chest, "I know enough about you and those you work with. You mean to enslave and overpower. To take away liberty and freedom. Your intentions are ill and unjust."

"If you think me so evil, Connor, tell me… why do you insist so determinedly that we work together?"

For a moment, Connor was silent, distracted. It was all Haytham needed to knock Connor's blade away and shove him aside.

Both stood on opposing sides of the room, glaring daggers at one another. The tension was almost tangible.

Haytham silently pondered taking his stuff and leaving. How could they succeed when all they did was fight? When the damn boy was so determined to try his patience, insisting he was evil and untrustworthy, despite everything Haytham told him, everything he'd done for him?

It was Connor who finally broke the silence with a sigh, "I insist we work together because it will make taking down Charles easier. Like you said, he is evil and… maniacal."

"Isn't that what you think of ALL Templars? That's why you distrust me still, without proper reasoning; simply because I'm a Templar. Then why stay?"

"Technically, you are no longer a Templar."

"Only in title. Because of you, Boy."

"I do not believe you to be like the other Templars, Father. If you were, you would have killed me long ago, back at the abandoned church."

If the boy admitted to Haytham's obvious difference from the others, why did he still distrust him? He was talking in circles… no. This wasn't really about the Templars anymore, was it? This was personal.

"I saw the strategic advantage of using you to track Ben."

That was the truth; a pest needed to be exterminated, but that was obvious.

"Even after Church was dealt with, you did not kill me. So that must not be the only reason, is it, Father?"

"If you're expecting or hoping that I'm going to give you some heartfelt speech about wanting to forge a familial bond with you, once again, you are wrong. My work with you is only to stop Charles Lee. After that, we are done. Remember that, Connor, we are enemies. Our blood means nothing."

Hurt briefly flashed through Connor's eyes before his expression returned to its cold mask. So that really was it after all, Haytham had struck a nerve.

Goddamn-it, sentimentality just couldn't get in the way. It would screw everything up, and this time the mission was more than a simple thief; it was stopping the forthcoming of a dictatorship. Why couldn't the stubborn lad just get that through his head? How many times was he going to force Haytham to break his spirit to make him understand that?