Letters Home: Broken Trust

by: Shadow Chaser

Summary:

Set during Season 2, Episode 9 "The Prodigal" and concurrent with Sequence 10, Mission 2 (with slight modifications to both). After Ben's return to camp, he is ordered to investigate the natives' involvement with British forces and the war. Crossroads and paths converge as Connor confronts him about his alleged involvement in the attack on his tribe. The tentative alliance that had been forged between the two is violently broken.

Story:

It was hard for Ben to keep the sting of hurt from appearing on his face as he sat on his horse. He had been dismissed from the General's door in the farmhouse without even making his formal report to him about the state of troop readiness in Boston. He had hoped for Washington's forgiveness with a positive report. He had consoled himself by retreating to his tent and writing out his report so that at least Washington would be able to read it. That was one thing he knew the General would not ignore. He had considered putting in a small missive about further intelligence and of the death of Major Hewlett that he and Caleb had seen a couple of months ago, but had stopped when he supposed it would only inflame Washington's ire towards him.

That had been a few weeks ago and there was not even a reply from his General or even a summons. He had seen his General wandering about camp in that time, his guards, and Billy Lee behind him, but Washington had not even deigned to come near his tent. He had seen General Arnold summoned to the tent that Washington occasionally inhabited in between his quarters in the farmhouse, but then saw the General leave, marching angrily to his own quarters.

A few days later, he saw the General leave, head held high, a pinched angry expression on his face. He learned that Arnold had been posted as military commander of Philadelphia and was on his way there. The men cheered at the news, but Ben had caught Bradford, Lee, Conway, and the others that had denigrated Arnold behind his back snickering at his supposed 'misfortune.' Ben supposed that it was somewhat of a misfortune that Arnold would not see combat this year against any force unless the British foolishly decided to attack Philadelphia again. He would be settling affairs and taming riots in the city. But Ben held out hope that perhaps once the city was settled, Arnold would be recalled and he would be able to serve and fight like the proud soldier he was on the front lines. Ben's only consolation for the impressive General was that he would perhaps strike up a friendship with the venerable Peggy Shippen he had heard of him talk about in their brief meetings in camp.

But no orders came to him from Washington and so Ben had resigned himself to drill and train his troops, most of them having taken up some patrol shifts after their month-long scout along the Schuylkill River last December to stop British troops from supplying then-held Philadelphia as well as to raid those supplies for Continental use. It had been long, arduous, and Ben was glad that his men had the chance to rest just after the New Year as he went to Boston for his inspection.

Caleb had not arrived back in camp and Ben feared that he was somewhere in the bottom of York City harbor, the one-man confines of the Turtle his coffin and grave. He held out a small candle of hope, especially since Caleb was an expert seaman, but at the same time knew that there was the greater chance that his friend was amongst the long-list of casualties of the war. It had started with his best friend from his Yale days, Nathan Hale, and now Caleb Brewster was part of that list. He supposed he would have to soon add Abe to that list if Caleb was truly dead. Caleb had told him three days to extract Abe from Sugar House Prison, and it had been more than three days since.

Ben refused to let the despair that he was alone eat at him as he sat high in his saddle, watching his men drill with the Marquis de Lafayette. Near them, in another area, was his dragoons. They were completing cavalry maneuvers with Baron von Steuben who had recently arrived from overseas.

"Sir," the voice of Joseph, one of the army's pages spoke up and Ben glanced down to see the young soldier hand him a folded note with Washington's seal on it.

"Thank you," he said, taking the note and tipping his hat at Joseph's salute before he left to deliver more messages around camp. He had long wondered why the young man would not become one of Washington's aide-de-camps, but Joseph had told him long ago that he preferred to be on the front lines, to fight with the men for a cause he fervently believed it. That had warmed Ben's heart and he had appreciated the young man's sentiment.

He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his fingers a little cold from the winter thaw that was happening around Valley Forge. The letter was succinct and contained only orders. Washington was worried about rumors of natives who had joined the British cause and wanted him to investigate and if need be, put a stop to their activities. There was a local tribe north and east of Valley Forge, near Poughkeepsie, New York where he could inquire into the rumors and put forth the request for the natives to stop their alliance with the British.

Folding the letter back up, Ben wondered if Connor had anything to do with this, but it did seem odd that the natives were allying themselves with the British. Connor had proven that he was allied with the Patriots, but then again, Ben knew that he was part of the Assassin Brotherhood. His father and Achilles had made it clear that sometimes the goals of the Brotherhood were vastly different that the goals of the Patriots or even that of the British. They fought their own war against the Templars within this conflict for American Independence.

He wished he knew where Connor was at this very moment. He could easily ask him about Washington's concerns instead of going to the natives. However, since he did not know and the orders were explicitly clear that he was to depart as soon as possible, he could not write to Achilles inquiring about Connor's location. Sighing quietly, he dismounted his horse and walked over to Baron Friedrich von Steuben, the Prussian drill and horsemaster who was staring out at the cavalry forces.

"Sir," Ben interrupted quietly and the Baron turned to him, "I've received orders from General Washington to take a small detachment of my men to investigate rumors of natives involved with the war."

He handed over the orders he had received as the Baron scanned it. Ever since the man's arrival in mid-February, troop morale had grown along with the warming of the weather. The Baron had made changes to the way the camp was run, re-organizing and distributing food, clothing, and proper equipment as well as instilling a sense of discipline in the men that made him popular. The Baron had also developed a reputation for swearing while drilling the men and it had made him popular with them. Ben found him to be a good instructor if a bit grandiose and prone to getting his way even though he had volunteered as part of the Continentals. The one thing he had learned very quickly was that any for patrol, any soldier that needed to leave one of his currently-conducted drills had to present orders or at least have their commanding officer be there to confirm the orders. The Baron disliked having his drills interrupted and though Ben could see other balk at that, he understood that it was a way of keeping the men focused instead of having their thoughts wander or for them to think of other things.

"How...many men you need?" Baron von Steuben was also slowly learning English, though Ben had to strain himself a little to hear through the man's thick accent. Thankfully though, between him and the Marquis de Lafayette, the two conversed in French and the Marquis spoke English. Ben wished he had learned some French at Yale, but it was all Latin, Greek, and Hebrew for him. He was, however, picking up a bit of French from being near the Marquis and watching him drill the infantry part of his unit. He still couldn't quite pick up the guttural Prussian the Baron spoke though there were some shared words.

"Four should be enough for a small scouting party," he said.

Washington's orders were to investigate and if they found anything to parlay the natives to not ally themselves with the British. He did not want to show any hostile intention towards them, but also did not want to alert the British of their intentions. Though the Continentals nominally held New Jersey, Morristown their fallback headquarters, it was still rife with British patrols as well as Continental patrols. He wanted to travel fast and light.

"Very well, Major," the Baron nodded, handing him his orders back, "I give sugges...Frederick, John, Daniel, and Kurt. They good men, good horsemen."

"Frederick is also a sharpshooter," he pointed out and the Baron nodded with a small smile.

"He likes to hide," the Baron indicated with a vague wave of his hand towards where Ben could barely make out the faces of four of his men. He did not quite understand what the other man meant until he saw John give a challenging look to Frederick who only shrugged and performed the same maneuver on horse, but then suddenly duck his head, as if shy. He realized that Frederick more than likely was a good as John, but tended to be humble and shy about it. Hence why he 'hid.' He knew that John and Fred were good friends as well as friendly rivals, both Sounders from Stratford and Fairfield respectively and from whaling families. They usually got along with Caleb really well, trading whaling stories and the like.

The Baron suddenly barked a command in German before he saw one of the Baron's adjuncts issue the same command to John and the other three and saw them heel their horses and trot up the hill towards them. He nodded his greetings to his men. He knew that Samuel would have been with them, but he had injured his leg dismounting a day ago and was on bed rest from the doctor's orders. Both Samuel and Daniel had been saddened to hear of what had happened the day they had been due to rendezvous at Wethersfield, but they also understood that it was war.

"Pack provisions for three days, we're headed on a quick patrol," he ordered and they nodded before heading off to their tents and the provisions tent to pack for their patrol. He was glad that they obeyed his commands without even questioning his orders – and was immensely proud of their unconditional commitment to the cause. Whereas, there were several units he knew had deserters, he had not heard of even a single one of the 2nd Continental Light Dragoons deserting during the harsh winter at Valley Forge.

Seeing that his men were situated, Ben headed back to his own horse and guided it to a post and tied it up before heading to his own tent. In reality, the journey would only take a day or so, but he wanted to prepare for an extended stay with the natives in case negotiations took longer than usual. He quickly packed up a small travel bag with the necessary items he needed before checking the weaponry he had on himself. Sabre secure, pistol secure, and his two knives, one on his belt, the other nestled safely and securely out of sight in his boot, he finally checked the documents he had. He tucked some of the more important and secret correspondences in a locked box he had taken from Sackett's own wagon after the man had passed. It had originally contained the man's own correspondences with his wife and had been left alone after the assassin had ransacked the area. The box had gone unnoticed since it was cleverly hidden amongst some of the more fouler-smelling experiments Sackett had been conducting before his death. Ben kept his discreetly near some of the more odd-smelling experiments he had also taken from Sackett's wagon. They were situated near the entrance of his tent flap, almost ignored by anyone who came in thinking that the odd smell was that of a latrine bucket or some food gone bad, and that was the way he wanted it.

Seeing that everything was in order, he headed back out and was pleased to see the four men that were to accompany him almost done with their preparations as he swung into his saddle and waited for them. They soon joined him and Ben headed out of Valley Forge.

They rode northward before turning east and stopped to rest after a few hours. Though Ben normally would have started the patrol in the morning, he had only immediately set out late in the afternoon because he did not want to earn Washington's further ire. It was one of the few things he knew he could do well – soldier on and follow orders even though it seemed Washington did not welcome anything he had done in relation to intelligence gathering and the like. He supposed that was his only consolation now that he had lost his position as the Head of Intelligence. He wondered if one of Washington's aide-de-camps like Hamilton had filled the position, or maybe General Scott had been recalled. He knew the General camped with the rest of them at Valley Forge, but had barely seen the man in the brief times he was in camp.

His men were used to camping in the woods, even falling asleep in their saddles, their month-long foray up and down the Schuylkill River all but hardening them to the harsh elements. If they had left in the morning Ben knew that they could camp in the newly built Fort Westpoint near Poughkeepsie and be fresh and ready to enter into disputed territory between the natives and the colonists. Albany was part of the disputed territory, but it was also a central trade hub for both trappers and ships going up and down the Hudson. However, since he had left in the late afternoon, he and his men would have to content themselves in staying in the wilderness for the night.

Ben estimated that they were near the border of Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. It was not the most ideal place to camp since it was a known British patrol area, but it would have to do for now. Any further south and they would readily encounter the British haranguing the Patriot camps in New Jersey, north or west would take them into the more hilly and mountainous regions which were still snow covered and colder. East was out of the question – east was York City.

"We'll set watches," he said as he dismounted, finding a small clearing off the path that they had taken, "small fire, rations for tonight."

"Sir," his men nodded as they too dismounted and started to prepare the camp. John and Kurt left to gather dry kindling while Frederick and Daniel busied themselves with the horses.

There usually would be tents pitched, but since he had ordered watches and a small fire, it meant that they were on active patrol – meaning they all would be sleeping quite close to the fire tonight, using the horses as a shelter of sorts from the cold elements and their own packs. Active patrol meant that they would have to mount up at a moment's notice. It wasn't ideal, but Ben did not want to chance any ambush until he knew he was in secure territory.

John and Kurt came back a few minutes later with a small bundle of kindling in their hands and Ben helped organize a small stone circle for them to set their kindling in. He went to grab one of the oil-soaked cloth he kept in one of his saddle bags and found a good-sized branch nearby to wrap it around before returning just as the two started a small spark. The kindling burned quickly, but before it went completely out, Ben touched his makeshift torch to the kindling and it quickly caught on fire.

He handed it to John who nodded and returned to the woods with Kurt to search for more kindling and larger sticks of dry wood to use for the night. Ideally, he would not have had to use the oil-soaked cloths as torches, reliant on searching during the daylight hour, but since the daylight was still waning early, it was the only option.

"Sir, the horses are bedded down for the night," Daniel came over and gestured for him to look around and he smiled in approval at the sight of each of their horses kneeling or standing in a circle of a sorts around the fire. His own mount was absently chewing some hay, more than likely stubbornly refusing any attempt for Daniel or Frederick to making him kneel on the ground until he was good an ready.

"Get some rest, you will have middle watch with Kurt. I'll take first one-" he stopped heard the crunch of leaves and cracking branches and tensed for a second before the familiar dripping torchlight signaled the return of John and Kurt. Relaxing, he let his hand go from the butt of his pistol, "Kurt, you're taking second watch with Daniel. John and Frederick, third watch."

"Aye sir," Frederick replied as he helped the other two with their bounty by relieving them of the torch and stuck it into the kindling and woodpile they had set up.

A small fire sprang up and Ben found himself gravitating towards it to warm himself. The others took their packs and situated themselves around the fire, Daniel breaking out some of his food to eat while John had opted to immediately fall asleep. The burly man placed placing his hat on his face as he shifted himself against the flank of his horse to use as both a makeshift pillow and source of heat. Ben smiled a little as the others snickered at his horse's reaction to the movement near him by nibbling on the man's tricorn, only to be batted away by an absent hand.

Frederick had procured a small dirk and was absently pouring some whale oil onto a cloth and rubbing it much like Caleb had during the times he was not needed in camp. Ben felt a sudden pang of sorrow at the absence of his best friend that he quickly pushed away. "Get that from Lieutenant Brewster?" he asked quietly so not to disturb John.

"Aye sir," the other man replied, finished with his ministrations on the dirk and procured yet another small dagger from somewhere on his persons and started to rub that. "Brewster, sorry, the Lieutenant sold it to me for fifteen pounds. Told him he was robbing me, but it's really high quality and plus reminds me bit of home."

"Huh," Ben decided not to let Frederick know that Caleb got a profit of an extra three pounds from the whale oil. He watched as Frederick produced two more daggers from his being, this time from his pack and blinked. Just how many knives was the man packing? "Ensign-"

"Skinning knife, this is actually me mum's kitchen knife," the other man replied before finally putting the cloth down and stuck all four into the fire as they lit up and burned away whatever material had been left on them. He watched with a little trepidation as Frederick flipped one in his hand, the fire barely touching his fingers as he caught the dagger expertly in his hands on each flip.

The acrid smell of burning oil finally reached Ben, but just as quickly, he saw Frederick douse each of the four small flames he had going on his knives and examine them in the light of the fire with an expert eye and pursed lips. He seemed satisfied with his work before he sheathed all of them back where they came from and tipped his hat at him as if to say good night and settled down with his arms folded across his body.

"Fred, can I borrow-"

"No," was the short reply from closed eyes and Ben hid his smile at Kurt's crestfallen face.

Daniel laughed next to him as he finished eating and settled himself against his own horse and pack. Kurt only seemed to shrug in resignation before also settling himself to sleep before he would be woken for second watch. Kurt was formerly a trapper and fur trader from the Massachusetts regiment that had joined the 2nd Light when they were raised in Wethersfield. He knew his skinning knives really well and had even helped the other procure some on the black market trade for their use when they were on scouting patrols.

As Ben watched his men settle into Morpheus' arms, he could definitely see the improvement in morale, in discipline, as well as generally in how they conducted themselves since his absence. The Baron had really out done himself in training the men and he knew that if his men were like this, the whole of the army was for the better. Attrition and desertion still wore at the Continental Army, but there seemed to be a hope that had not been there before he left. He could only hope that the natives Washington had sent him to investigate would not join the British – otherwise, he knew that the small candle of hope that had been lit since the passing of winter, would be quickly extinguished by the brutal way the natives fought.

It was the harsh gurgling, choking sound that roused him from his slumber, but what truly made him awaken was the heavy weight of a body falling half on top of him. Ben snapped awake in time to see the life leave Daniel's eyes, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. The sudden danger sense screamed a silent warning and he pushed Daniel's body away while he rolled opposite in time to avoid the cleaving blow from a tomahawk that crashed down.

Ben scrambled to his feet, drawing the knife he had on his belt and half-drew his pistol before he froze at the sight of his attacker. The familiar white beaked hood of the native Assassin was perched on a half-fallen log next to Daniel's fallen body. "Connor! What-"

"Where are Sullivan and Clinton?!" Connor demanded harshly as he leaped at him. Ben backpedaled quickly, barely got out of the way of the native's tomahawk. He finished pulling out his pistol and pointed it at Connor who stopped again, tomahawk raised. The man's expression was utterly fearless at the gun pointed at his face and charged at him again.

But he only got one step towards him when the bang of a pistol going off in the dark startled them. Ben blinked in surprise at the sudden appearance of a greenish hue around Connor that seemingly sent a small ping! into the night. However, all of that was suddenly obscured as he ducked again and hastily blocked the tomahawk arcing downwards at him.

He instinctively kicked, but caught Connor's twisting foot that hooked around his own and found himself tumbling to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Jamming his pistol into the ground to right himself, Ben found his dagger flying out of his arm at the sudden flash of pain from a blow to his wrist and grunted. He stumbled off-kilter at the uneven footing outside the radius of the clearing the camp was in.

"Connor-"

He saw Connor raise his tomahawk again, but suddenly stagger and grunted in pain as something silvery flashed in the night. Ben saw the faint glint of a dagger sticking out of the native's left arm before Connor turned and lunged towards where Frederick had appeared, holding his skinning knife and dirk in both hands. John was on the opposite side of the fire, furiously reloading his pistol. Near him, Ben saw what could have been the slumped body of Kurt, more than likely dead.

"No, wait! Connor don't-"

He saw Frederick twirl on his knives in anticipation of Connor's attack and knew that he had to stop Connor from killing anymore of his men, but also to get answers. Ben stood up, his bruises aching, but he forced himself to move and launched himself at the Assassin. Ben managed to catch him by his legs and tripped him to the ground. But Connor was already moving, rolling with the fall and lashed out. The coppery taste of blood spurted into Ben's mouth as pain flared across his face from the vicious kick Connor managed to land on his face. It forced him to let go of his pistol his hand going to his mouth to stem the blood from his split lip. He saw Connor swiftly roll to his feet like a mountain cat before suddenly turning and pouncing-

Ben only had a hairsbreadth of warning before he instinctively dropped his dagger, and put both of his hands up in a defensive catching block. He barely stopped the small stiletto-like blade that suddenly appeared from the man's wrist from skewering him. He caught it just as he felt the tiniest prick against his cheek and gritted his teeth against the deathblow he knew Connor had attempt to deal to him.

"Connor, stop-" he could feel the blade cut the smallest line on his face, "we're not your enemies- Frederick, stop!"

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw both Frederick and John halt, surprise evident on their face from the moonlight and from the flickering fire.

"Sir-"

"Connor, stop-"

"Where are Clinton and Sullivan, Tallmadge?!" Connor demanded harshly, trying to push against his own counterweight to skewer him. Ben strained his muscles to push back, shocked at how strong the half-native Assassin was. He could feel his arms shake from exhaustion, the thin line now cutting a little deeper into him.

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about!" he growled out, "Sullivan and Clinton are at Valley Forge-"

"You lie!"

Ben felt the tip of the blade rake a thin line of pain down his cheek as he almost faltered and was able to barley recover to keep the blade from his face. Now, though, it hovered just under his jaw, near his jugular.

"Sullivan and Clinton were sent to kill those in my village down to the very last child and salt the land! I saw those orders on Washington's table in his tent!" he yelled and Ben's eyes darted to him in surprise. This close, he could see the barely held-back rage in the man's face, the dark eyes of a predator, and the feral outrage at what he had discovered.

"I swear," he realized that he had maybe one chance in convincing Connor with his words that he did not know, that he had no knowledge, because if those orders were true, it meant- Ben cut himself off from that thought as he shook his head, "I swear Connor, on my father's live and service, that I did not know anything about that. I received my orders to attend to the native tribes near the disputed territory around Albany to convince them not to ally with the Loyalists. Washington was concerned about the potential of British forces using natives as allies-"

"Washington burned my village when I was just a boy-"

"Connor! Connor-I swear I didn't know-" Ben could see that he was losing and made a last effort to stave off the native's incredibly powerful strength on that tiny blade that was sprung from a wrist-strapped hidden contraption.

"And he'll do it again! You were sent to notify Sullivan and Clinton to attack my tribe-"

"I wasn't!" Ben could see Frederick and John looking back and forth between the two, John with two pistols pointed at Connor, Frederick itching to pounce on Connor, but the two thankfully held to his orders. A fleeing extraneous thought passed through his mind for the discipline they showed was indicative of the Baron's training. "Connor, we were allies! We helped each other-"

"No! You-"

"You know me! You know I wouldn't do something like this!"

"Do I?!" Connor glared darkly at him and Ben swallowed heavily, as he could feel his strength waning, his hands shaking against Connor's far more superior position over him. The point of the blade now was pricking his neck and Ben knew that he could not do anything to move it further away. It would either plunge into his chest, into his jaw, or into his neck at this rate. Plunging it into the dirt and bramble he was lying on was out of the question as the blade had become all, but parallel to it, making it nearly impossible.

"You know in your heart that no matter what, I would never condone such a fiendish scheme. That this is not the work I would see to it done. That if my Commander-in-Chief ordered it done, I would protest strongly with my very being. That I would not see such harm befall him or his soul. If he had ordered such an atrocity, it is not within his nature that I know of," Ben said slowly and carefully, mildly surprised at how calm he was in the face of his impending death. He supposed that perhaps God had decided it was his time, that his death would come at the hands of an Assassin – of all ironies. "If I must die by your hand, then know this, I die with the truth in my heart – I did not know of this. My men did not know of this, they are innocent."

Something must have resonated with Connor as Ben realized a half-second later that he was not dead, that there was no bloom of brief pain and then the gates of Heaven opened up to him. But nothing of Connor's thoughts had appeared in the Assassin's dark eyes from what he could see. Just as suddenly there was the barely sound of a soft snick and the blade retracted into the contraption on the wrist and Connor roughly shook him off, standing up. He towered over him, his eyes still hooded and dark.

"You have orders," the man stated and Ben nodded carefully, still wary that Connor would plunge the blade down into him as he cautiously sat up He gingerly rubbed his neck, smelling the brief smell of copper and twinge of pain from where the blade had cut into it.

He reached into the folds of his jacket and pulled out the small folded paper with Washington's seal on it and handed it over to the Assassin, "I received it early this afternoon."

"Sir-"

"Hold, John," he looked up at John who was nervously fingering the triggers on both pistols as Connor walked two steps closer to the fire to read the missive. He knew that it was an unusual circumstance he men were seeing him in – defying all conventions of officer to a civilian to boot as well as allowing said civilian to see orders.

Connor was silent for a few minutes, more than enough time for him to read the few sentences on the paper several times over. Ben watched, still sitting on the cold, frosty ground, wondering what the Assassin was going to do. He knew that anyone else would take advantage of the momentary distraction offered and attack, but Ben wanted Connor to trust him again, to show that he truly meant no harm and was telling the truth. After a few minutes, he saw Connor shift a little bit, his left hand loosely curling and uncurling and realized that Connor had expected him to attack while he was 'occupied.'

Instead, Ben waited the perceived sign out and was rewarded for his efforts as Connor folded up the orders and turned back around. There was something now in his dark eyes that Ben had not seen before. He did not know what it was, but he somehow knew that it was specifically directed at him and no one else.

"The problem with my tribe will be addressed by myself alone. Follow and I will kill you without a second thought," Connor warned and Ben nodded. "Generals Sullivan and Clinton had been sent to Fort Westpoint to await further orders should your negotiations fail. It is plain to see that they were to attack my people if they did not stay neutral or ally with the Continentals in this war."

"Your people are known for their fierce woodsman skills and fighting techniques," Ben said and caught the hint of a wolfish smile on the man's face before it returned to its neutral expression.

"Do not follow me. I will deal with this," Connor warned again before suddenly sprinting off. A few seconds later, he heard the whinny of a horse followed by the sound of bramble being crunched underfoot as the horse galloped away. Ben and his two remaining men were left in the remnants of their camp.

A few days later, Joseph hailed him as he crossed the camp, claiming that a man in a white hooded Continental uniform with blue accents was looking for him. Ben immediately knew that it was Connor and hurried to the small log house that had been specifically built to house prisoners. There were several in the camp, but the more immediate one was the same one where prisoners of importance were house – usually defectors. It was near Sackett's wagon, the man wanting to be close enough to question a prisoner without walking halfway across the muddied, snowy Vallye Forge. But it was also far enough that nothing important could be overheard except for common soldiers talking around the prisoner.

He entered and found to his slight surprise, Washington's manservant Billy Lee waiting inside along with one of Washington's aide-de-camps, Alexander Hamilton. Ben saluted the Lieutenant Colonel, wondering what the man was doing here, but Hamilton gave no explanation for his presence and instead, looked at Billy who cleared his throat a little.

"This man approached me to find you, sir, and I thought it prudent to alert you," Billy said, "I also notified General Washington of his arrival since he is known to the General, but Colonel Hamilton is here to represent him, sir."

"Understood," Ben nodded.

It certainly explained Hamilton's presence in the small log cabin. Though he did not know Hamilton well, having graduated from King's College as opposed to Yale, he did understand that the man more than likely had Washington's confidence over certain matters, having been his aide-de-camp for the last two years. However, he was surprised at the fact that Washington knew of or about Connor. He did know when the two had ever met, but he surmised that it was more than likely during the time he was in Boston.

"You wished to see me?" he turned to Connor, noting that the Assassin looked worn, almost melancholic. There was something in his posture that seemingly tried to bow in pain, but could not – as if he refused to let it affect him so. Ben noticed that there were flecks of brown on some of the white parts of the man's jacket, even on the blue panels. Connor had fought somebody, or someones and more than likely had killed them. But somewhere in that kill, he had been reluctant and sad about – which meant it was more than likely personal. Something had happened with his tribe since they had last met.

"It was Lee who was behind it all," Connor said quietly, staring at him with the same look he had seen at blade point just days ago, "Charles Lee tricked members of my tribe into attempting to attack Clinton and Sullivan at Fort Westpoint to force a retaliatory attack. They believed that the Continentals were there to take their land. Clinton received a report from Lee stating that the natives were about to attack and so sent the report for an attack on my people to stop them and salt our lands."

Ben nodded, refraining from adding that it was what Connor had seen and misinterpreted before riding out to stop him and his men. Instead, he caught the Assassin's eyes and let him read the sincerity in his posture. "Thank you, for bringing this to my attention."

Connor took his thanks with a short nod as he stood up. Ben knew that the proud Assassin would never apologize for attacking him, nor would he fault him for it. Connor was only doing what he had perceived from the pieces he had with him at the time and Ben knew that it was because of the limited intelligence. He had learned something in the past year and half he had served as Washington's Head of Intelligence. Ben could only hope that Washington would do the same, even with all of the evidence he had tried to present to him before his sacking.

He stepped to the side to allow Connor to leave. The Assassin walked a few steps and drew parallel to him as he paused. He saw the native flick him a concerned look. "Charles Lee is a Templar and traitor," Connor whispered for his ears only.

"I know," Ben replied, aware that both Billy and Hamilton were staring at them.

He did not say anymore and instead, hoped that his hard look would at least convey the frustration of what he knew and Washington's inability to do anything about Lee. It seemed his look succeeded as Connor only shook his head and walked out. Ben was left once again to his frustrations at how easily Lee had almost manipulated the whole situation. The man needed to be reigned in or arrested for treason, but Ben did not know how to do it and Washington's inability to do anything about it only made him even more frustrated.

He supposed the only way now was to gather more information on his own, in an unofficial capacity and hopefully, when the opportunity presented itself, present it to his General.

~END~

Author's Notes:

The Sullivan Expedition occurred around 1779 where Washington sent Generals Sullivan and Clinton to attack the natives, burn their villages, and salt their lands who allied themselves with the Loyalists in upstate New York. It was one of the first cases of a 'scorched earth' policy being implemented in war by the U.S.

Assassin's Creed 3 placed the Sullivan Expedition mission before the Battle of Monmouth, which would have been mid-1778 instead of it's actual historical date of 1779. I've kind of finagled both AC3's narrative and actual history into all of this for it to make sense. Also, the original mission required Connor to kill all of the scouts who were sent to warn the Patriots of the impending native attack and so I kind of turned it into something similar, but since I was sort of casting Ben into the role of the scouts, I couldn't exactly kill him – hence this modification – some of his men die (ala the scouts) while some lived.