A/N: (Who would have thought? It seems you are not a random NPC after all, Edward.)
Part 8
One year after leaving his family, Haytham found himself in Switzerland, following the trail of a traitor in the Order. He was closing in on his target, he could tell, but the man was a Templar-trained agent and, according to Reginald, very good at making himself disappear. Pinpointing his location was going to be tricky.
But he was not doing anything related to his mission at the moment. No, he was searching for his future second-in-command. Charles was supposed to be studying in a military academy in the town he was currently in and it was about time he started making some changes - changes he actually intended, unlike the mess he had left behind in London.
There were still several years before he was due to sail for America, but it never hurt to start planning early. The biggest problem, of course, was Connor, who had managed to cripple the Colonial Rite in more ways than Haytham cared to admit and singlehandedly resurrected the Assassin Brotherhood. Oh, his father would have been so proud of his grandson. A shame, really, because Haytham did not intend to let the boy live.
He had, long ago, considered the possibility of starting a family of his own, but he had chosen his work over his personal life and by the time he found out about Connor, he was already a different man, one who had killed too many and given all he had to his cause. He might have been capable of being a good father once, but no longer. And if it was not a strong enough reason for him to rob the boy of the chance to even exist, then there was also the possibility that his son would remember. Jenny did, after all, so it was reasonable to think Connor might as well. Haytham could not take that risk.
But his son was not the only problem. If the Templars were to rule, they had to win the people over. Charles was a keen pupil and an excellent leader, but he never seemed to understand that senseless slaughter and violence only served to drive neutrals away and create enemies. If Haytham could get a hold on him when he was younger, however, and start moulding him early like Reginald had with -
Well, it was hardly a fair comparison, was it? Both of Charles' parents were in the Order, so he was going to end up being a Templar anyway. There was no 'conversion' or any kind of deception involved; Haytham merely wanted to steer his future student in the right direction early on. Charles, of course, was only a boy at the moment and was likely very different from the man Haytham remembered, so it was best to observe from a distance first and plan from there.
After another round of fruitless search, Haytham resorted to his usual method and made his way to the top of a church tower near the edge of the town. He scanned the area. It shouldn't be too difficult to find -
"Thief! Someone help me!"
He sighed. Really? Well, it seemed looking for Charles would have to come later.
He jumped off his perch, dived into the pile of hay below and chased after the thief. A lifetime ago, he likely would have ignored the civilian. His time with the Assassins had changed him; there was no point in denying that. And he saw no reason to act differently just because he was a Templar now.
The thief relinquished the stolen necklace the moment he saw Haytham's blade then quickly scrambled away. Haytham returned the necklace to its owner and was about to head back to the church tower when someone blocked his way.
"How did you do that?"
It was a well-dressed boy around ten years old, glowing in blinding blue in Haytham's second sight with three Pomeranians tailing behind him.
Well, so much for observing from a distance.
"I beg your pardon?" said Haytham. It was the first time he spoke to Charles - and the boy was most definitely Charles - in German, if memory served.
Charles pointed to the top of the tower. "I saw you up there, then you jumped off and at the next moment you were down here and after the thief. No one can jump from that height and live."
Haytham motioned to the pile of hay on the ground. "Not unless you know where to land."
"Oh," Charles murmured, "I see now." He looked up at the tower again, absently reaching for his dogs as they yelped for attention. "What were you doing up there anyway?"
"It is a great vantage point," said Haytham. "You can overlook the entire town from that height."
"But you were standing on the cross. I saw you."
When the other Charles first saw him scale a building and perform a Leap of Faith, he had been in awe for days. This boy, however, was eyeing the cross at the top of the tower with peculiar interest. This did not bode well.
"Don't even think about it," warned Haytham. "You'll fall before you even reach the first window."
Charles frowned at him. "I'm good at climbing."
"It took years of training for me to do what you just saw. You are way too young to be -"
"I'm not too young," Charles cut him off, looking offended. "I'm going to be an Ensign soon."
"Really?" mocked Haytham. "And, pray tell, how is that rank of yours going to help you climb? Magically extend your limbs?"
He really should watch his mouth; riling Charles up could not be a good idea. And yet it was hard to treat this boy as a mere child when, seeing him again, brought back all the memories of them fighting and planning together. But what if...
Yes, he might yet turn this ridiculous argument to his favour. Charles biggest weakness was his quick temper, which almost always led to rash decisions that harmed both himself and the Order. Now was as good a time as any to teach him a lesson.
It didn't take much further goading at all before Charles decided to take the insults as a challenge and made his way to the tower. Haytham said nothing when the boy started to climb; he merely crouched down against a wall nearby and watched. The boy's dogs took to him immediately, licking his hands and fawning on him.
Charles was a good climber; Haytham would give him that. In fact, he was the only one in their little group who could follow Haytham on rooftops. He couldn't always keep up and he absolutely refused to attempt any of the wider jumps, but he was still better than the others. (Thomas, on the other hand, was the only one besides Haytham himself who could pull off a perfect air assassination. John probably could as well, but the man usually opted to confront his enemies head on.)
Despite what Haytham had claimed earlier, the tower was not too difficult to scale and, as expected, Charles managed to climb about a third of the way up without trouble. The problem came when he reached a small window below a projecting ledge. He stopped and looked around, but there were no alternative paths.
Had Haytham been in his position, he would have simply jumped and grabbed the ledge above the window. Charles couldn't possibly have the strength to push himself into a jump when he was hanging in mid-air. Even if he did manage to jump, his arms were far too short to bridge the gap.
"See? This is what happens when you let your anger control your actions," said Haytham, loud enough for Charles to hear. "Had you bothered to take a good look at the tower, you would have known that even though it started off as an easy climb, you couldn't possibly get any further than this window. Now come back down before someone sees you."
Charles shot him an angry glare - not an easy feat considering his position - then looked back at the window he was hanging onto. He shifted his feet and looked further up at the ledge, then -
"Oh, for the love of -"
Haytham rushed forward when Charles pushed himself off the window and reached for the ledge. Or attempted to, anyway. He barely managed to lift himself up at all before falling. Haytham carefully adjusted his position and bent his knees, then let out a grunt as the boy crashed into him and sent them both to the ground. Charles picked himself up, uninjured but shaking, clearly in shock. Haytham couldn't bring himself to care. He grabbed the boy by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
"Are you out of your bloody mind?" he snapped. "I expect impertinence and childish antics, but I see I have underestimated your idiocy. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"
Charles looked about to protest, but whatever he saw on Haytham's face made him stop. He turned away, looking sullen. "There was no danger," he murmured. "You were down here."
"Really? You let yourself fall to your death and relied on a complete stranger to save your life? Right after being provoked by him, I might add."
Those words, instead of shaming Charles into silence, seemed to help restore his confidence. He even had the nerve to sound a little smug when he spoke.
"Father said whoever wears this ring is a friend." His eyes flickered to the Templar ring on Haytham's finger. "I wouldn't have talked to you otherwise. You didn't seem to be the most friendly fellow."
Haytham found himself staring, then sighed and let go of the boy. "Not friendly, was I? I seem to be under the impression that I just saved your neck."
Charles straightened his shirt. "I will repay you one day," he said, his voice surprisingly solemn.
Haytham raised an eyebrow. "Oh? We shall see."
He recognised the look in the boy's eyes as the same one the other Charles, back when he had just been inducted into the Order, had shown whenever he was given a particularly challenging mission. He rarely ever failed.
But the eagerness to prove oneself could only fuel a person for so long; what really mattered were beliefs and convictions. Looking at the boy in front of him now, Haytham wondered how Charles' life would play out this time.
He held out a hand. "Haytham Kenway."
The boy regarded him in silence for a moment, then reached out and took his hand firmly. "Charles Lee. Pleasure to meet you."
