On the floor of the Manor's bedroom, two men were drowning in their own laughter.

"And then... and then I said, 'Get the hell out of my hand!" exclaimed the former Assassin.

"And what did he do?" asked the Templar, taking another mouthful of bread and a long sip of wine.

"Then, of course, he didn't go away. Stubborn boy"

"I'm glad he didn't. God knows where he'd be now".

"And you, too. Probably still a scoundrel among your Templar friends" said the older man.

"I don't want to talk about that, now"

The air grew a little heavier. The past had never been an appropriate topic of conversation in that house, not even that night, when spring seemed to have melted old angst and hatred. Some sore spots were simply too painful for both of them.

"Wasn't it a shock for you? Discovering that he was my son?"

"It was. But not that much"

"And now... look at us. Sitting in the same room, chatting like old friends"

"Well, that's a big word".

Haytham closed his eyes and rested his head against the bed's feet. That life was not so bad after all. The wind was gently blowing between the just-born leaves; soon, flowers would blossom and new bushes would cover the green meadow of the Manor. He listened to the sounds around him and he could not find any of the disturbing noises of the city: no carriages passing by, no shouts from nearby taverns. All he could hear was the wind, his new friend's light snoring and light steps from the path which lead to the Manor.

Steps.

"Wake up, Old Man!" He whispered, shaking the man's shoulder. 'Bloody hell. Why did he have to fall asleep now?' He thought.

"What?"

"Steps. Connor." They both looked at themselves. They were still wearing the dance clothes, and the surely could not justify their sudden friendship after such a bad fight to Connor.

Quickly, they hid any signs of their dinner in the wardrobe; Haytham crawled under the desk while the elder man snuffed the candles and got in bed, fully clothed and with his hair in a complete mess.

A long minute passed by. Then another one. Just when the former Assassin had began to wave to signal that he had no intention of sleeping in a room with his worst enemy did the door open. In a few second, everything calmed down again.

"Old Man?" Called Connor with a jovial voice. He stepped lightly in the dim candle light, and for a moment Haytham felt very proud of his boy. He saw him standing in front of him, just a few feet away, looking just like a true man, proud and fierce and handsome. His boy.

Connor approached the bed without making a sound. He walked towards the chair by the window and he groped at the chair's arm, probably looking for the man who had been watching over him for the past ten years. Not finding him, he turned to the bed.

"You're finally sleeping in a proper bed, Old Man" he whispered softly, voice full of affection.

Haytham felt a stab of envy in his guts, but busied himself to hush those feelings before they engulfed him. He was so focused in this attempt that he almost skipped what happened next.

A low giggle. And the swift of a long gown.

"Old man!" He exclaimed in a whisper.

"Shut up! Do you want to be discovered?"

"Connor's upstairs"

"His ears work pretty well, you know, unlike ours".

"He brought a girl upstairs"

"What?!" Achilles exclaimed, sitting bolt right on the bed.

"He brought someone with him. I saw her dress".

"You saw?"

A laugh interrupted their words. Connor.

"I saw her shadow"

"Well, it must be true. You don't hear the poor boy laughing often"

"Weren't you the one saying a girl would be a distraction to him?"

"Weren't you the one talking about descendants? Don't tell me you're jealous"

"I am not. As a matter of fact, I do think that time has come for him to lose his virginity. He has passed the twentieth year of age"

"Well... That's not for us to say. But I suppose you're right. It must not be easy for him to live with two men who constantly watch over him. We should let him know that he can do what he wants as far as he's discrete. As he's always been, as a matter of fact"

"What? You mean he's been with a woman before?"

"I'm not saying anything. Now, go to sleep and don't disturb them, right? It is late and I want to get into my chair".

"But... My room is next to his!"

"It is"

"Do you think he has been drinking?"

"I don't, but who can say"

"I don't want to invade his privacy"

"The kitchen has comfortable benches. No one is forbidding you to spend the night on them, or in Bubba's nest"

"All right, I understand. Good night".

"Good night"

Haytham slowly climbed the first couple of stairs.

As the formal Grand Master of the Colonial Rite (how ridiculous it sounded to him right now!) slowly climbed one step after the other, he thought that maybe he had been wrong. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to look at the kitchen's chair with such despise.

Sighing, Haytham moved a step forward.

On the following morning, Connor woke up later than usual. The sun was shining in the cloudy sky, and even though the clouds threatened to spit some rain, his mood couldn't have been better. He stirred in the large bed, causing the blue cloak Ellen had given him to fall on the ground with a pleasant swishing sound.

"But where are the old ones?" he said to himself as he walked into the empty kitchen. Unlike usual, there was no one downstairs notwithstanding of the late hour.

"They must have gone out" he thought, and a side of him was grateful that neither of them was there to witness his hangover. He had drunk too much the previous night, more than he ever had, and now his head felt sore and his limbs dumb.

The young Assassin drank a long gulp of water before checking on his father's bedroom. He was always a bit afraid that he might leave any moment, more so now that he had a bad argument with him.

As he imagined, his bed was empty, but all his things seemed in the right place, even his hat. And his clothes.

'Strange' Connor thought, 'he never goes anywhere without his hat. Or his cloak".

Now with slight concern, he decided to check on his mentor. Maybe he would know where his father was to be found.

Silently, Connor entered the man's room. Even by standing on the doorframe, he could hear the familiar soft snoring which made him smile in relief.

However, something didn't quite fit in the picture.

The young boy walked stealthily on the left side of the bed, the one that was usually left empty. Usually. Now there was someone there.

He blushed only at the thought of what he was doing. He had no right to intrude the Old Man's privacy, but curiosity won over him.

As he delicately removed the bed sheet from the mystery woman's face, he realised that he had made a mistake.

There was no woman under the sheets. Connor had to stiff a sigh of relief, and a burst of laughter.

Under the covers, his father slept peacefully, still dresses in the ridiculous black robes he had been wearing to that silly dance competition. His forehead bore signs of a struggle, perhaps that which had awarded him the right of sleeping in that bed.

Still, Connor had a question: what could have made his proud father run to his worst enemy's side like a little, frightened baby?

A couple of hours later, three men sat around a table. Everything was ready for lunch, but no one ate. The young boy was having a terrible laughing fit he was trying to cover with coughing. A man that looked very much like him fixed his full plate with an apparently stern face but a proud look in his eyes. The third man looked extremely confused.