If there is no struggle, there is no progress.

~~Frederick Douglass~~

For the sake of continuity, it is November 1770.

´Mrs. Lee?'

There I stood on the doorstep of that beautiful mansion, the estate currently occupied by the Lee family. Oh, how I had cursed the Grand Master for sending me to this place, and why? Because Mrs. Lee, nicknamed 'The Witch' by Haytham, would never allow him in his home, let alone accept the invitation I was about to give her. I can still hear his voice ringing in my head.

'Do not let yourself get discouraged by their awful maid. You can trample over her if you must.'

Well, since when did Haytham let his feelings get the better hand of him?

'I couldn't care less about that maid. It's all the way to bloody Pennsylvania, Haytham. It will take me two weeks to get there.'

'Then you should better be off, then, wouldn't you?'

Oh, that triumphant smirk. How he could send an almost 18 year old girl all alone on her way to a part of the colonies I'd never been before is beyond me. I tried one last time to change his mind.

'But we will discontinue our training…'

He did not even allow me to end my sentence.

'The sooner you'll return, the sooner we'll resume your training.'

There it was then. I had no choice in the matter but to follow the path to Charles Lee's manor in the midst of Pennsylvania. I took the best horse in our stables and set off. It had not been amazingly eventful, I can tell you that. I stayed at different taverns on my way, only once did I have to set up a camp. Of course I was used to sleeping outdoors, but there had always been plenty of men and women to protect me. This once, there was not even a wall to secure me from the wild animals.

It did not matter though. No wolf, bear or puma dared to thread closely to fire. Honestly, animals were not my greatest fear. It were human-beings that meant real danger. A bear will only attack if he is hungry or threatened. A human-being will attack at any time he pleases. I was aware of that fact when I was only a little girl, and that knowledge became more prudent as I became older. And I would soon discover that not only applied to men, but to women also.

The door to the manor cracked open, revealing a boring looking maid. She was in her mid-twenties, brown-haired and rather plain.

'Good afternoon,' she said stiffly while taking me in from head to toe, which made me feel uncomfortable.

'You must excuse me, I've had a long trip,' I said swiftly upon seeing her disgusted look.

'I'm sure that must be it, then,' she said with an air of disapproval. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge to smack that smug-looking face, but before I could she added: 'What is your business here, miss…?'

'Sofia Bright. I'm a business associate of Mrs. Lee's husband. I'd like to hand her an invitation.'

'What kind of invitation?' The woman squinted as she examined my face.

'That's none of your business,' I said dismissively, having trouble to keep my voice even. I glared threateningly at her, making it quite clear not to elaborate on her question any further. She considered me for a moment before pulling the door open. As I entered the premises without her explicit permission, she analysed the wide arrange of weapons I was carrying with me. My horse, which was bound to a beam next to the entrance of the manor, was decorated with a great assortment of knives and pistols, and my favourite sword hung from the saddle. I was, of course, wearing my father's Hidden Blade, although I hardly expected her to recognize the device. My bow hung over my shoulders, along with the arrows.

'Please wait here,' mentioned the woman as she indicated towards a chair in the corner of the entrance hall. I complied immediately, craving for the feel of a comfortable chair. I jumped into the seat a little too eager, receiving an awkward look from the maid before she left the hall to search for her mistress.

Charles had made himself a comfortable home, I can give him that much. The entrance hall was tiled with white marble, the walls were decorated with carpets depicting stories of mythical heroes. I was about to decipher their stories, entertaining myself with the remembrance of the tales as a well-dressed Mohawk entered the hall through a door on the left side of the majestic stairway. She descended it almost teasingly slow, taking me in as I gaped at her. Never in my life had I seen a Mohawk woman in colonial dressing. Well, that was not true. William's common law wife Molly Brant also wore colonial dresses, but she still wore jewellery that defined her native background. And Mohawk women often mistook English tea cosies for hats, but I wonder if you can categorise those under 'clothing'.

None of those could be found on Charles Lee's wife. She wore a pink dress with an obvious corset around her waist, high lightening the wide skirt. It surprised me she could even walk. Her black her was curled and flowed down her back.

For Mohawk standards, she could be considered beautiful. I wondered why Charles, of all people, ended up marrying an outmost desirable woman, seen from a Mohawk point of view. Was she also considered beautiful for English standards? I highly doubted that, seeing her explicit cheekbones and full brows.

'Mrs. Lee,' I said clearly, slightly bowing to her.

'You must be Sofia Bright,' she said kindly, surprising me with her knowledge of my identity. She read the amazement from my eyes, and added: 'No ordinary woman would wear colonial clothing with our traditional moccasins.' She pointed at my leather moccasins, and realised she was right. I duly noted her perceptiveness. And Charles' surprising talkativeness.

'Indeed,' I said, reaching out to shake her hand. She took it, and the softness of her hand grazed over my rough skin.

'You have the hands of a warrior,' she noted, inspecting my hand for a moment. 'Yet they are a tad too small.'

'No hand is too small to fit around the hilt of a sword, Mrs. Lee,' I commented, feeling uncomfortable. She let go of my hand.

'I guess that is true, yet I have no experience in that area,' she said calmly, smiling slightly as she turned. 'This way, Ms. Bright.' She lead the way over the stairs again, turning to the right. After passing a few hallways, we finally entered a cosy looking room, not too big nor too small. The walls were painted a warm red colour, the floor was made out of a dark kind of wood. A few candles were lit, yet it wasn't light enough to reveal the faces on the portraits on the walls. In the centre of the room were a few rich-looking couches, positioned in a triangular form.

'Please take a seat. I take it you must be tired from your journey all the way from New York.'

The older woman sat on the left couch, obviously expecting me to sit in the opposite one. As her comment was rhetorical, I decided to snuggle up on there, first placing my weaponry against the couch and kicking of my moccasins as not to spoil the velvety covers. Once I realised I had just done something completely against the English etiquette, I stared at her in shock, like a child searching for an reproachful look on her mother's face. Yet there was none to be seen. She smiled at me instead.

´I see that, despite Master Kenway´s endeavours to teach you colonial customs, his efforts remain fruitless?' If it weren't for the warm smile, I might have taken her comment for an insult. I smiled sheepishly at her.

'Not entirely,' I answered, sitting up straight. Once I was settled neatly, she took me in with her intelligent brown eyes.

'Charles has told me a great deal about you,' she began the conversation.

'None of which is positive, I presume,' I interrupted darkly. She laughed politely, calling her maid again. The maid must have second guessed her mistress' wishes, for she already carried a teapot in her hand. Pouring us some tea, she put the teapot on the table and decorated it with a tea cosy before she left.

'That is not true. He has spoken of your spirited enthusiasm for the Order.'

'Are you sure he said nothing on the line of "childish vigour"'?

'Perhaps,' she complied with a grin. 'But he has also told me of your bond to my people…'

'Our people,' I corrected her monotonously, making her lift a brow at me.

'Our people, right,' she said, her gaze full of wonder. A silence filled the room as she ordered her thoughts.

'I was born into the village most east of the Mohawk river –'

'The Wolf tribe?'

'No, the Bear clan,' I corrected. 'My mother had befriended the Clan Mother's daughter and because my father was an enemy of the English Army, he sought a place most unlikely the British would find his already pregnant wife. Then my mother was invited by the Clan Mother to join her village and everything seemed to fall in its place.'

The Mohawk woman sent me a contemplative look.

'Is that what your mother told you?'

'No,' I conceded. 'It was William Johnson who told me this story. He is a close friend of my father's.'

'I see,' she mused softly, and her thoughtful look made me slightly uncomfortable. It was time to change the subject.

'I was sent here to deliver you an invitation… of sorts,' I added as I remembered Haytham's utter dislike to write the letter. I felt in my pocket to grasp the invitation and handed it to her. She looked at it as though it was something rather disgusting, but took it nonetheless. 'Well well,' she murmured, breaking the Grand Master's seal and unfolding the letter. As her eyes glided over the slightly fumbled paper her expression grew darker with every sentence she read. A slight hint of humour could also be seen. As she was finished and folded the letter again, she pursed her lips in a brooding manner.

'And?' I asked curiously.

Her eyes darted back to me again, but did not lose their pensive expression.

'Are you aware of the content, miss Bright?'

'I believe it is an invitation to a family gathering of the highest ranking Templar members, Mrs. Lee,' I said politely. She let out an ironic laugh.

'That is what Haytham Kenway wants everyone to believe. However, we all know that he doesn't want to miss out on a chance to assemble the most powerful of his men to discuss God-knows-what and uses their families as a cover-up for his real intentions.'

I was at a loss for words when I eyed the furious Mohawk before me. Clasping the fragile paper of the letter too hard, it was reduced to a spoilt mess of crumpled paper. I had never seen or heard someone badmouthing Haytham like this. From what I had seen, he seemed to inspire only kindness in people. Of course I had realised when I met him that he was not a man to defy his authority, but no one ever even dared to disobey him, let alone challenge his power. I had seen the most powerful of men, such as Charles Lee, bow before Haytham and why shouldn't they? Haytham was the smartest man I had known, and his expertise was recognized by everyone. Why did she question his intentions? Before I knew it, the question was already leaving my lips.

'How come you abhor Haytham?'

She saw I was shocked by my own bluntness and replied sarcastically:

'How come you despise my husband?'

Good point. But it seemed she felt her own need to elaborate on this matter.

'Allow me to enlighten you, then.' Although she introduced her answer to my very question, she stood up from her chair. She seemed in need of some space to clear her mind. With an infinite gaze she pondered how to put her words to make me understand her position on Haytham. She closed her eyes as she touched her brow with the tips of her fingers. A dramatic sigh announced the beginning of her speech.

'When I met my husband, he was just beginning his career in the Army. Sent to the Frontier to discuss matters of property of land, and without any knowledge of native language, he was utterly helpless in the negotiations with my tribe. He grew frustrated easily, with the weight of an approaching war and his loyalty to the Army burdening him.' She laughed heartily, her warm brown eyes sparkling. 'Once in a while, when the lack of communication became too hard for him, he ran towards the lake and bathed the aggravation off his body. Rumour has it the water became so warm, the water boiled every time he bathed.' She snickered a few times before she realised she was telling me a story. Her laughter subsided, making place for a thoughtful frown.

'I found his youthful enthusiasm endearing and took pity on him when his well-meant diplomacy seemed to fail due to lack of communication. I sought him up and we met in the forest unbeknown to my tribe. Even though we didn't speak each other's language, we communicated with our hands and feet.' She smiled at the reminiscence of her love story and I wondered if those were the only body parts they used to communicate with. 'Eventually I could teach him some of my language, he taught me his. And during those lessons, we fell in love. We married a little while after and lived in New York when he wasn't called upon for duty.'

She looked at me for the first time since she began to tell her story. Her gaze was suddenly much darker, almost accusing as she glowered at me.

'That was before Haytham Kenway crossed the Atlantic Ocean. Charles had always been an ambitious man, he was determined for two, it seemed.' She shook her head. 'But when he met that foreign nobleman, I sensed he was bad news. Where Charles had been a loving and supporting husband, being at my side as long as his Colonel let him, he disappeared more and more often. First, he cared enough to explain himself, saying he was temporarily preoccupied with another cause than the Army. A better one, that is. But that temporary became permanent after a while, and I saw little of him. And when we met, I perceived a change in him that I could not comprehend. Or perhaps he had always been like that, and I didn't want to see it.' She sighed unhappily. 'Charles became secretive, and when I met Master Kenway, I understood why. While I can't deny the Grand Master's sense of authority, the very impression of him made Charles almost crawl on his knees and kiss his master's boots. He was a completely different person around Haytham, and I did not like that man one bit. No matter how diligent and respectful my husband seemed without the presence of that Templar, I cannot erase the mental picture of him lurking around the Grand Master to jump at the slightest opportunity to gain his favour. And that is not even the worst part. Can you imagine what it feels like if your husband, the man who is supposed to be your sentinel, puts the safety of his family, his promising career in jeopardy to become a spy for some lunatic?'

The poor woman was raising her voice every sentence, her cheeks flushing with anger. Although I could not help but feel relieved that even Charles Lee's wife mirrored my own suspicions about him, I felt sorry for her. When she plopped down on the couch rather unceremoniously, and held her head between her hands, I recognized she was on the verge of breaking down.

'I have two beautiful sons, around your age, that barely see their father because Mister Grand Chancellor has important business to take care of. So yes, I'll take your invitation, but not for the sake of Haytham Bloody Kenway and his Order. I will accept the invitation because for once, our sons will be giving the occasion to spend some consecutive days with their father.'

I did not dare to tell her Charles might not be able to give them his full attention during Christmas due to Templar related obligations. That might sadden her even more, and she had reached that point, the very verge of an enormous cry fit. Seeing the pristine cup of tea on the table before me, I reached over and downed it all at once. Luckily, Mrs. Lee did not see me for she had her right hand before her eyes.

'Well then, I'm glad to give Haytham an affirmative answer.' She nodded, and I sensed it was time for me to leave.

'It was – err, interesting meeting you, Mrs. Lee. I'm looking forward to seeing you on the 23rd of December.

'Much obliged,' she answered, and I could already hear the sob in her voice. Grabbing my moccasins and weaponry, I left the room quickly, but not so quick to make a hasty impression. As I closed the door discreetly, and started to make my way down the hallway, I was given such a shock that I let out a strained scream and dropped my moccasins.

There, right before me, stood one of the subjects of our conversation himself.

The ghostly blue eyes seemed lost in thought and although the orbs were cast upon me, he did not truly seem to see me. Well, Charles did not only disappear without a word, but he obviously also appeared without one.

Bending swiftly to pick up my shoes, I was torn between leaving – that seemed the better option- and waiting for Charles to say something. He was officially my boss, meaning I could not leave without his permission.

I have thought of Charles as an angry, scary man. Angry because he made it rather clear he didn't like me, and angry because his light blue eyes haunted me in my dreams. He had the same air of authority around him like Haytham, but whereas it seemed a natural quality for Haytham, Charles had forged the attitude, as though he was a weak imposter. Haytham could make someone comply with one look of his dark eyes, while Charles took it with force. It made Charles a hardened man, and his eyes seemed to convey: 'If you don't obey me, I'll hurt you' all the time. Perhaps that was just my perception. Whatever it was, that coercive look seemed scattered to little pieces as he stood before me. Instead, I saw a grief for things long since lost. I wondered how much he had heard, but that question seemed trivial at the moment. A pained man, finally realising the mistakes he had made during his lifetime.

'It may not be too late, Charles,' I muttered, voicing his doubts. For the first time, his eyes focused on me without a trace of contempt in them. He did not respond for there was nothing to say. I took his silence as a cue to leave. But before I was out of earshot he said loudly:

'Before you go, stock up on the food in the kitchen. And take the black stallion in the box on the far right. He's yours.'

It was a kindness I never deemed Charles Lee was capable of displaying.

AN: I've written this chapter mostly for the purpose of showing Ubisoft is a complete historic liar. Though I've made up Charles Lee's love story, he was married to a Mohawk woman and had twins with her. Not much is known about her (I believe that is pretty much it), but I love the twist she can bring into the story. More so, I dislike the display of Charles as a one dimensional character. I hope you liked it!

Grand Chancellor: the official second-in-command in Templar terms. The Templar Order comprised of two domains, the political one and the army. The Grand Chancellor is responsible for the politics, and so is Charles in a way.

And also, I've rated the story M for future violence (hell, she's being trained by Haytham Kenway), and possibly sex. Just in case people were wondering.