Connor is four when his mother dies, thirteen when he starts training as an assassin, and seventeen when he his wings grow in.
He doesn't believe it at first, of course. He's just had a horrible bout of fever, and it's been so long since anything goo happened, that it's easy to dismiss the wings as just a hallucination. It's not until later, when Achilles walks in on him and is just left absolutely speechless at the sight, that Connor understands that they're real.
After that, everything changes. For the first time since Connor had been a very small child, he's happy. On the day he left his village, he'd gone on a spirit journey where he'd been given the form of an eagle. This is like that, only better, because he has his own body and his own wings.
He has wings.
Whenever Connor has free time from then on, he climbs something tall and launches himself from it, teaching himself to fly by sheer stubborn persistence. He makes a lot of mistakes- all too often, he comes home covered in cuts and bruises. But he's always happy at the end of the day, and determined to do better with his next try.
The first time he manages to stay airborne for more than a few seconds, it's the best day of his life.
Through trial and error, he learns the best way to keep his wings clean, and how to exercise to make them as strong as possible. He relies on them the way he would any other limb, and he wants them to be healthy when he needs them. After that, more or less by accident, he figures out the trick to hiding his wings, and masters that, too. He hates it, but he knows that his color and his features already make him stand out enough. Whenever he goes into the city, he keeps his wings hidden, but when he's in the homestead he never does. Those days are good ones, and for once it seems like everything is going to end well.
Then, when he's eighteen, Connor happens to look out his window just in time to see someone else in the air. It's clearly a person, but he's too far away to make out a face. Connor is through the window and in the air himself before he has time to think it through, chasing after the stranger as fast as he can go.
But not quite quickly enough. His quarry is still faster, and before long Connor has lost him entirely. The land below him is heavily forested, and after a moment's consideration Connor decides there are more places for the stranger to be hiding on the ground than in the air, so he lands.
There are footprints on the ground, human but strange- they barely leave an impression on the undergrowth, as if the person that made the prints is lighter than they should have been. Connor feels a thrill of excitement course through him, but tamps it down. The only thing he knows about this person is that they have wings. He doesn't have any idea if they're an enemy or a friend or just a person that wants to be left alone. So, cautiously, he follows the prints.
After five minutes or so, he rounds the side of an unusually large tree and comes face to face with the person he's been tracking.
He freezes, wings half spread behind him in position to take off if the stranger tries to flee, but he does no such thing. The stranger looks just as surprised as Connor, and with his own wings thrown back in almost the exact same position, they could have been mirror images of each other.
The stranger looks no older than Connor, with the same dark hair tied back from his face in just the same manner. And, now that Connor has had a chance to take in more details, he realizes that there are similarities there, too. The stranger's face is paler and thinner, but there's a definite resemblance. And more than that, Connor feels like he's seen him somewhere before.
The stranger relaxes first, although not a lot. "Why are you following me?"
Connor feels his face go bright red- he's been so intent on the chase that he hadn't even thought about how obvious he'd been. And to make matters worse, he has no answer ready. He can't admit how badly he wants to talk to someone else with wings, someone who's been through the same struggles he has, someone who will understand. But the stranger is looking down at him (impressive, since he's at least three inches shorter) with an impatient, almost arrogant expression, and Connor finds himself suddenly tongue tied.
"Well?" he demands.
Connor shakes his head and starts to turn away. "Never mind," he mutters. This is clearly a mistake, and the best thing to do would just be to leave-
A second stranger drops out of the sky then, landing soundlessly on the ground just in front of Connor. He stops dead in his tracks, stumbling backward in surprise. He hadn't even realized there was a second man here.
"What's going on?" he asks, too startled now to worry about what to say. "Who are you people?"
"Nobody special," the man in front of him says, and Connor hears a snort from behind him. "But if you're looking for answers, we're probably the only ones that can give them to you."
-/-
That's how Connor comes to find himself in an impromptu campsite a mile or two away, in the company of four of the strangest people he has ever met. Or three, technically, because the first boy he'd spotted and followed doesn't come back with them. Of course, 'boy' probably isn't the right word, but he hasn't quite grown into the word 'man' yet, either. He's in the same awkward in between stage as Connor, as far as he can tell.
"He'll be back later," the other man- who by now has introduced himself as Altair- explains. "We're short on supplies at the moment, and he drew the short straw."
Connor nods, but doesn't say anything. The other two- Ezio and Edward- are several yards away, talking loudly and bickering over something.
"This is normally the part where people start asking questions," Altair says, and Connor nods- he has quite a few of those.
The answers Connor gets are more fantastic than anything he'd imagined. His head is spinning, and more than once he wants to interrupt and ask if any of this is real. He never does, though, because after all he's in a group of people with wings. That shouldn't be possible either.
The boy from earlier comes back about halfway through Altair's explanation, and after a brief conversation and a not-as-subtle-as-he-probably-thought-it-was push from Edward, sits on the ground so that Altair is sitting between him and Connor. He waits there until Altair hits a stopping point in his explanation and quickly excuses himself.
"So…" he makes a face and glances at Edward (who makes a get on with it already gesture). "Sorry if I was kind of a jerk earlier. You kind of surprised me."
"Yea," Connor mutters. "I'm feeling kind of surprised myself today."
"I bet," the boy says, laughing just a little. "So, um…" The conversation threatens to drop into an uncomfortable silence, and he makes an obvious attempt to keep it going. "When did your wings come in?"
"About a year ago," Connor says. "Yours?"
"Eighteen months, maybe?" He chews his lip absentmindedly. "Two years? Something like that."
And for a while after this the conversation turns to flight, and the hundreds of little details that no one else understands about having wings. Within five minutes they're both excited and talking over each other- Connor is unbelievably relieved to finally be able to talk about this to someone, and he can't stop the words from pouring out of him.
Then, in a momentary silence, the stranger- whose name Connor still hasn't learned- makes an impatient noise and says, "We never did introductions. What's your name?"
"Connor."
"No last name?"
"None I want to use," Connor says, a little more sharply than he'd meant.
"Why not?"
"My father…" Connor hesitates, but he's already seen the hidden blades most of the others are wearing, and looked them over in eagle vision. They're allies, assassins, so he explains. "My father's the grandmaster of the templar order here," he says. "I don't think he even knows about me-" and Connor has always been grateful for that small mercy, at least- "But I know about him. He organized the attack that killed nearly every assassin in the colonies a few years back." He scowls and stares down at the ground. "When I was a kid, he ordered an attack on my village, and it burned to the ground. My mother was killed…" but he can't bring himself to go on, and he realizes his hands have clenched themselves into fists.
"I'm sorry," someone says, and Connor jumps as Ezio appears at his side. "Templars killed my father, too."
Connor nods, even though it's not at all the same thing, because he only wishes his father was dead.
"What's his name, then?" Ezio asks.
"Haytham Kenway," Connor says, and knows immediately that he's said something wrong. The clearing goes abruptly and absolutely silent, and the atmosphere is suddenly so cold that Connor shivers a little. "What?" he asks.
"I'm leaving," the boy- the one whose name Connor still does not know- announces. "I don't have to sit here and listen to this. He stands, and Connor notices that he's shaking uncontrollably. Then suddenly he's gone, spreading his wings and shooting straight up in a tornado of dead leaves and loose dirt. Connor throws an arm across his eyes to shield them from the grit, and when he can see again, Edward has gone as well.
Connor springs to his feet, turning on the remaining two. "What was that all about?" he demands. "What's going on here?"
Ezio looks over at Altair, who looks absolutely miserable. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?" he asks.
"No," Altair sighs. "I'll do it."
"Tell me what?" Connor demands.
"Well- time travel," Altair says.
"Yes, I know," Connor says. "I was listening, but what does that have to do with anything?"
Altair and Ezio share another quick, worried look, while Connor waits impatiently to hear whatever it is they don't want to tell him. Finally, Altair gestures vaguely upward and says, "That was your father."
"Oh," Connor says. That at least explains why he'd looked so familiar. "And?"
"Well-" Altair's still looking at Connor like he's expecting an explosion. "I was honestly expecting a bigger reaction from that."
"Why?" Connor asks. "You just explained how time travel works. I mean, it's a surprise, but it's not like they're the same person. So if he hasn't done anything yet, then I don't have a problem with him. Why should I?"
Ezio laughs, and that seems to be the end of it as far as he's concerned. Altair looks relieved as well, but it's slowly dawning on Connor that this is only the beginning. He can remember all too clearly the look on the stranger's- on Haytham's face, and the way he'd shaken as he left.
-/-
Connor doesn't see Haytham again that day, or in the days or weeks that follow. Part of that is Connor's impossibly busy schedule. He's still training under Achilles nearly all the time, and his free time nowadays is spent with Altair and Ezio and Edward. Still, Haytham never seems to be around at the same time as Connor, and he's got a nasty, guilty feeling that he's avoiding him.
It's not until nearly two months later that they run into each other again, in Boston. It's a complete coincidence, actually, a chance meeting in a general store crowded with people stocking up on supplies. It's turned cold just recently, and the weather seems to promise snow and poor weather will be there soon.
Haytham stiffens when he sees Connor, and his face goes stormy as the sky outside. "What are you doing here?" he asks.
"Buying supplies," Connor says. "Same as you, I expect."
Haytham nods and crosses his arms, half angry and half defensive. "I can go somewhere else, though, if the sight of me offends you."
His voice is sharp and sarcastic, but his shoulders are hunched and he looks more embarrassed than anything else.
"It doesn't," Connor says. "Listen, what I said before, I didn't mean-" he stops, not quite sure how to apologize. It's not something he has much practice in. "You're not my father. You have his face and his name, but you're not him. So I guess I just mean that… I'm sorry."
"Oh," Haytham says, and seems to uncurl himself a little.
"What are you here for?" Connor asks, and Haytham sighs.
"Half the goods for sale here, I think," he says, and pulls a sheet of parchment out of his pocket. Connor looks it over with a critical eye.
"You can get most of this for less coin in other places," he says. "If you want, I could show you..?"
For a moment, Haytham looks like he's going to say no. He frowns, uncrosses and recrosses his arms, looks at the wall. Then he shrugs and nods. "Sure," he says. "Why not?"
Their conversation that day is stilted and uncomfortable. Had they parted on these terms, Connor doubts they would ever have become friends. Luckily- or unluckily- the snowstorm that's been looming for days hits late in the afternoon. For three days, the whole world is covered in swirling snow and ice like daggers. It's too cold to venture out for more than a few minutes, and the blizzard makes visibility impossible.
So, with no other choices available, they take rooms and spend their time in endless conversation. It's the only form of entertainment they have at the moment, and it turns out to be exactly what they need. Sometimes they argue, and once they very nearly come to blows. But mostly they just talk, and when the snow stops falling, they've more or less buried the hatchet.
Despite the weather, it's one of the best few days of Connor's life. It's also the last time for a while that he sees Haytham. Connor is still busy with training- busier, even, now that he's got missions and targets of his own to deal with. But while they rarely speak, this is the point where they start sending messages back and forth. Sometimes they're letters, sometimes random notes and doodles, and often they're covered in scribbled comments from Edward, who acts as their most frequent courier and apparently has no concept of privacy.
(It's one of these notes that Haytham will one day give to Desmond to pass onto Connor, a pointlessly cruel reminder of when they used to be friends)
The next time Connor sees Haytham, it's once again an unexpected accident. Only this time, it's much less pleasant, because he's dealing with his actual, literal father this time, the templar that is responsible for so much pain and suffering.
They both happen to be hunting the same man, Benjamin Church, and their separate searches take them to the same place within minutes of one another Not that Connor knows his father is there, not at first, anyway- he doesn't figure that out until something heavy lands on him an suddenly Connor is on his back, with his father's face inches from his own and a blade at his throat.
Connor freezes. Just completely freezes as his brain stops working. Everything about his father is a twisted echo of the Haytham he's come to know over the past couple years. He's years older and miles more bitter, and Connor's first reaction is one of overwhelming pity. This isn't how things should have turned out.
For whatever reason, his father decides not to kill him. They even work together for a time, although it's tense and awkward the entire time. And then-
And then.
Connor hadn't known that Haytham was following them the whole time. Not until he stumbles on him actually talking to his father. They argue, loud and long. Haytham doesn't see any problem with it.
"He's me," he snaps. "From the future. Why wouldn't I want to meet him?"
"Because he's not a good person," Connor says. "He's-"
"I never said he was!" Haytham yells. "I don't want to turn out like that, obviously, but that doesn't mean I'm not curious!"
"And what happens when he wants to know who you are?" Connor asks. "If the templars find out about you, how long will it take them to figure out time travel and wings and all the rest?"
Haytham mutters something, loud enough for Connor to hear but softly enough for him to pretend that he hasn't. Then he storms off, still angry, leaving Connor with a sick feeling in his stomach. Because the truth is he's not worried about the group's secrets getting out. He can't shake the thought that the more time Haytham spends with his older self, the more likely he is to be- tainted by him. Obviously Haytham has it in him to become a templar- Connor knows he'd briefly been one before meeting with Altair and Ezio and Edward, and he's terrified of the thought of him switching sides again.
He doesn't see Haytham again after that, not until the day Edward is killed. It's a dreary morning in New York, cold and wet and rainy, and Connor is in a foul temper after weeks of chasing what's turned out to be a false lead. He's hurrying down a busy street, head down and hood up, eager to get out of the weather for a while, when he looks up and sees Haytham hurrying away in the other direction. Connor recognizes him at once, and thinks about calling out or trying to catch him.
What stops him is a scream. The door of house Haytham had just come from is open, and a wide eyed woman stands just outside, hands clapped over her mouth like she can't believe what she's just seen. Connor doesn't stop to ask any questions, just pushes past her and into the house.
Where he stops just over the threshold as suddenly as if he's run into a brick wall and stares. He's seen dead bodies before. Many of them. But this-
There's a body in the middle of the room, and Connor only barely recognizes it as Edward. The face has been mutilated, and there's a gaping wound in his stomach that's still dripping blood even though Edward looks like he's been dead for hours already. There are deep gouges on his shoulder and back, and his wings have been hacked off until they're nothing but nubs on his back. The wings themselves have been ripped apart and scattered around the body.
This hadn't been a quick death. Edward is covered in injuries, small and large, and Connor can imagine the fight that must have taken place here. The furniture in the room has been knocked over and smashed, adding to the overall violence of the scene, and there's blood absolutely everywhere. And the stab wound in his stomach looks like the kind that would kill slowly. Edward must have lain here for ages, suffering and in pain, as good as dead but still breathing.
It wouldhave been a terrible way to go.
Numbly, not fully aware of what he's doing, Connor kneels down and picks up one of the feathers. It's stained and dripping with blood, and he's is reminded of stories he's heard from Altair about the early days of the assassins, when feathers were dipped in the target's blood to prove a job has been completed.
He laughs, even though there's nothing funny about this at all. He laughs because the world is falling apart around him, and he just can't deal with this. He can't. This would have been bad enough if this had been a stranger on the ground in front of him, killed by someone Connor has never seen before.
But it's not a pair of strangers. It's Edward lying on the floor, and it's Haytham that's killed him. And this makes it worse. So much worse.
-/-
Desmond is curled up with his feet on the chair and his chin on his knees, arms wrapped protectively around himself by the end of the story, and Connor feels a hot flash of guilt for having to tell him all this. But he has to know, especially if Haytham is going to come bothering him at school.
"Why would he do that?" Desmond asks, his voice barely a whisper. "Why would anyone do that?"
"I don't know," Connor says. "I haven't seen him since then." Not for lack of trying- he's tracked Haytham through two different centuries by now, always just a step or two behind. "But if I ever do…" he shakes his head. "Trust me. I'll ask." He wants to know. He needs to. The only explanation he can think of is that Haytham had in fact turned back to the templars again. But even that rings hollow, because Connor had seen him with Haytham. He'd adored his father, and Connor would have thought Edward would be the last person in the world Haytham would want to see dead.
But there it was. Connor had actually seen him leaving the place where Edward had been killed, and it wasn't like anyone else even knew Edward had wings. It must have been Haytham. And Connor wants, more than anything, to find him again and learn every detail of what had happened that day. Why Edward had been in New York in the first place, why Haytham had killed him, how he'd overpowered his father in a fight and walked away without a scratch.
Connor closes his eyes and sees, as he has every day since that day, Edward's body in his mind. He'll find out the truth, and then he'll kill Haytham.
"Connor?" Desmond says, in a voice that's shaky with tears. He looks up at Connor, a pleading expression on his face. Connor's not a fan of being touched, but Desmond looks like he's seconds away from a panic attack. So, when Desmond grabs him and holds on tight, Connor lets it happen. He pushes thoughts of death and vengeance away, and focuses on the feel of Desmond clinging onto him like he's the only solid thing left in the world.