"Half the truth is often a whole lie."
English 18th Century Proverbs
The three commanders were apprehended. They were unarmed save for a single pistol they had on their waist, but they were unarmed. One of them tried to escape the hold of the two men, not wanting to be interrogated for they knew what the elder gentleman who do once he had his way. Both youths could even smell it—that this Englishman had more blood on him than any other soldier or foe they have faced. It was of little consequence. They had to know what the Loyalists were planning. The country would be enclosing an ensured victory if they only knew. The two captured redcoats were taken to Fort George not too long ago and the Assassin's observers were told to aid the Grand Master at keeping them at bay until they were inside. Once they were, the young woman and the elder tied the two down, waiting for the last one to be delivered unto them. The old man circled around, wondering what was keeping him. The young woman didn't mind leaving—she wanted to do so all night.
"Well, this is taking longer than I thought. Hope he isn't lost…" he looked out the window and wondered. The hostages shook and squirmed in their seats. "I suppose we should get some information out of these two for confirmation first, but as his honorary observer, you will have to go out and find him."
"And why should I listen to anything from someone who belittles me?" Tsipporah barely turned or bat an eyelash for she did not care. She should for the sake of this ever-growing country. The 80's were pushing forth, so now would be the time to quell the storm the colonists have made. "I'll find him on my own accord," she said in a dark undertone as she made her way to the door and the hostages fussed and wrestled in their seats about how they were Englishmen and Englishmen do not beg. An inhuman screech jumped out of her throat as she looked over her shoulder, leaving the bound men to soil themselves.
Outside, she fled only a few feet from the Templar's hold before seeing the Assassin hold the commander at gunpoint. At least that part of the job seemed easy. She turned on her heel and was met face to face with the Grand Master who wanted to greet his son for a job well done.
"Wait! Wait!" the redcoat begged, "I'll tell you anything you want—anything! Only don't make me go in there!"
"We only have some questions for you," Connor stated calmly. Rather too calmly, one might add.
"Cross that threshold and I'm a dead man!" He did not fear charges of the British, but more of the merciless hands of the extremists who made this fort their den and headquarters. All the soldiers knew that all who passed the entry line was ensured imminent death. Haytham met up with them for the commander to be dragged inside. By accident, the novice looked over her companion's shoulder and saw the bodies he's bloodied lingering in the shadows. She turned away, meaning to ignore it to follow the men deeper into the fort. The young man kept pushing the redcoat further inside with each hesitant step the hostage took. At this, the novice was reminded of how frightening her leader in the Brotherhood was. He was tall compared to regular infantry men and other ranks alike—and more built in such a bestial manner. His fighting style even more so for within an instance there'd be a spill of men's blood; even blinking would be a miss to most of the action. And all his kills were quick—all his work was temperamental. That's right… the battlefield is his ventilation for his short temper.
Haytham shoved the redcoat into a seat while the others were behind him with their heads faced down in the shadows. He wanted answers.
"What are the British planning?" and the redcoat bit his tongue, but not without taking a second look to the men who had him bound.
"To march from Philadelphia. That city's finished. New York's the key. They'll double the numbers—push back the rebels."
"When do they begin?" the Templar pressed.
"T-Two days from now…" he trembled.
"June 18th… I must warn Washington." The novice whispered something in her boss' ear. Something that was bothering her that they should get to once they've gotten this info out of the way. Haytham did not hear it, but was more occupied with disposing the man they've caught. He begged to be released and so he was. A single hidden blade was brandished from his wrist. By the take of the other's shoulder, the elder man allowed the blade's sharpness to reel out blood from the redcoat's throat, fatally killing him. Both youths glared in shock. Connor was even more appalled to see.
"You killed him… you killed all of them. Why?"
"They'd have warned the Loyalists."
"You could have held them until the fight was done."
"What, and waste precious time and money on their care? What would be the point? They'd given up everything they knew. I'll meet you at Valley Forge." He brushed past his son's shoulder, leaving the two alone. The novice didn't want to linger in a room with dead men, so she turned to leave as well, but stopped at the young man's side. If anything of the curse, she was feeling his displeasure in all of this. She turned her head a little, wondering if she should say something. Connor sharply inhaled, opening and closing his fists; and then turned to the door.
"Connor…" she blurted out. She wished she hadn't, too. It seemed too awkward now to start a conversation. Forget it. She gusted out some air and nervously waddled to the door. "I'll wait outside, then." He took her hand. An intense firm grip, she thought it, much like the death grips done on his enemies before he buries something sharp in their heads. "Is something wrong, boss? We're still on mission time—approximately 169.95 miles and 114.2 minutes, 16 seconds if we go now."
"We'll leave immediately then," he went for the exit, dragging behind the observer. Up until the end of the fort where they were back in the city, she tried pulling her hand out of his. He was giving a whole new meaning to the phrase "death-grip". She wondered how he wasn't being bothered by this for they were cursed to share the same pain. His mind must be elsewhere as his eyes were sharp and facing front. The foot injury didn't seem to bother him much either, though the same cannot be said for the novice. Now she really couldn't say anything, not now that he looked and felt pretty volatile. Every passing redcoat who tried to halt him was either pushed or lost a finger… literally. She wanted to know why on earth he was being so quiet. Well, of course he's calm and collected, but he seemed a little disturbed right now. When they finally reached the edge of the city upon calling their horses, the novice mended some words to herself. He was acting too strange for her liking. If it wasn't because of her, then she absolutely had something to worry or fear.
"Is there something you wanna share with the class there, boss?" she asked bluntly. She had enough of beating around the bush. He only creased his brows. He was an open book and wished not to lie to his allies.
"My father is all that I feared he'd be," he sighed.
"What? An asshole? Blood as cold as ice? An unfeeling, neglecting type of guy?" His irresponsiveness was starting to press too many buttons. "You know what I think? I'm still thinking of the opinion I had about you and your father a long time ago when I used to just sit back and watch you train."
"Which is?" he already knew.
"You just want to fill in that gaping hole in your chest about him. No matter how bad your relationship is—to know him and try to make up for all the times he wasn't there for you as a parent when you were growing up. It's only natural, though. Who doesn't want to know who or how they're parents are?" He fell deadly silent again, giving her a quick glance. It was not far from the truth; he wanted to know his father better than all of the names that he was given on the surface. Even more was that the Brotherhood and the Order were like-minded in terms of winning this country's independence. Why fight against each other when they had the same end-goal? She assumed he was a little more relaxed, but he was far from that and didn't want to put it up for discussion—at least not for now. They continued their way to Valley Forge.
…..
Once they met up with the Grand Master, he scoffed on seeing the two together. She wanted to gather the saliva in her mouth and spit on his boot, but not with her boss watching. Watching them walk side by side made her feel out of place. As usual, the two men were arguing.
"We should be sharing what we know with Lee, not Washington…" Haytham fussed. Just by the mention of that man's name sent his blood pressure skyrocketing.
"You seem to think I favor him, but my enemy is a notion, not a nation. It is wrong to compel obedience—whether to the British Crown or the Templar Cross. And I hope the Loyalists will see this, too, for they are also victims." Maybe she should find the Commander before she gets dragged into this debate.
"You oppose tyranny. Injustice. These are just symptoms. Their true cause is human weakness. Why do you think I keep on showing you the error of your way? Your observer knows this, yet she fails to indulge you of it." She glared at him and made a guttural noise. For once, Connor didn't scold her for it. His father had criticized the both of them and their beliefs for a while. His words gradually crawled under his skin about what the Congress had to say about liberty, but it didn't have him think of changing sides. The way Haytham was trying to persuade him into doing so pissed him off even more.
"You have said much, yes, but you shown me nothing." She hasn't seen him this mad—brimming mad—since their very first mission in the early 70's with the tea party. The Templar murmured something to himself, but the novice didn't hear it. Knowing him, she should've. When they approached the Commander, they revealed what the British were planning in order to topple the rebellion. Predictably, he was pleased to be notified and would have his men moved so that they can prepare themselves. Haytham slinked his way past Washington, snatching a piece of paper the commander was just reading closely. The contents of it… it seemed that the very flow of time was slowing down painfully.
When the commander noticed the Englishman nosing about, he tensed defensively, nearly lunging at Haytham.
"That is private correspondence!"
"Well, of course it is. Would you like to know what it says, Connor?" What was he talking about? What's so private? "It seems that your good friend here has ordered an attack on your village. Although, 'attack' would be putting it mildly. Tell him commander." The young assassin couldn't believe what he was hearing. He felt rooted to the spot; he needed to know why such a ploy to hurt his people? What have they done wrong? They didn't deserve this!
"We've been receiving reports of allied natives working with the British. I've asked my men to put a stop to it." A stop? Really?
"By burning their villages and salting the land. By calling for their extermination, according to this letter. Not the first time either. Tell him what you did fourteen years ago." Oh no…
"That was another time. The Seven Years War." The Seven Years War? The world-wide conflict in which the Iroquois Confederacy got involved in where they were siding with the British?
"Wait…" she gathered, "So you're saying the colonists who went up against the natives were—"
"Led by your great Commander in Chief? Yes. And so now you see what happens to this 'great man' when under duress. He makes excuses, displaces blame. Does a great many things, in fact—except take responsibility—"
"Enough!" he stopped them both, "Who did what and why must wait. My people come first." He was ready to take off, but Haytham called for him. The novice went ahead in the woods as if she was expecting some company. The Grand Master bid himself to accompany him. No. Connor would not allow it.
"Son…"
"Do you think me so soft that by calling me son I might change my mind?" he's had enough of that charade, "How long do you sit on this information? Or am I to believe you've discovered it now? My mother's blood may stain another's hands, but Charles Lee is no less a monster and all he does by your command. A warning to you both—choose to follow me or oppose me and I will kill you." He pointed to Washington and Haytham before departing on his way. Most of the ways up the dirt path; he was alone save for the rustling of animals. His mind was too busied—too bruised. The people he had come to aid for such a long time did not seem to benefit for his people's safety after all. Those he had helped had these plans and histories turned away so the eyes could not see. It pained him to think that his father was once again right about the colonists—more so with Charles Lee. He had told him before that Washington was insecure and unworthy for the position he was placed in.
Once he laid eyes on a single column of American 'soldiers', he climbed up into the trees with the very air muting the sound of his footsteps. He watched as they were galloping in order leisurely, speaking of the location they were to purge. His eyes darkened as they spoke. Swiftly, a direct hit of the throat stupefied one of the men and alerted the others. The hooded man that was shrouded by darkness took his victim as his neck was tangled in the rope jumped down with its end in hand. Hooking the deadly rope into the ground, the colonist wrestled to adjust his weight in a futile attempt before his life's breath finally escaped his lips. The others barreled towards him in anger, but no… he saw the fear and uncertainty in their eyes as they charged with their muskets in hand. The musket of the closest one was caught under his arm and its holder was kicked to the dirt harshly. The next one came at full force only to be caught in a headlock and the ever-feared tomahawk was brandished from his side, burying it fatally into its victim. There were three left. Only three. He dashed to the side as their muskets were full and at the ready to fire. The man knocked to the ground found his footing, but as soon as he did, the assassin held his arms behind his back and got around—using him as meat shield. As soon as his blood spilled, the men came at him in an attempt to surround their grim reaper in the night. It was no use. He countered their moves, slit their vitals, and finished them without a second of mercy. The assassin did not stop there. He would continue down this path until he knew his people were safe.
"Connor!" a voice off the road called to him and its owner appeared. It was his novice he had thought to flee to secure the area. He stepped towards her, but as he saw, she was not alone. It was the wolf pack that they met in the earlier weeks only now they weren't as pure as the winter snow. Their fur dark and dim with fresh blood dripping from their coat… They came from a vigorous battle, he gathered. Was it near the village?
"What happened? Did you eliminate Washington's men?"
"No," she whipped the blood off her elbow-blades, gripping them for dear life, "Not all of them, sir. There's still more in the area—probably more to come, too." This was bad. All the rage repressed was being set out on these men defending their country, yet… She saw it in his face. There was much confusion under his blank mask that he was trying to contain. Maybe she should have said something before. It was something that was told to her even before she reached America at a young age. "There's… something I have to tell you. It's about the future, but…" she sniffed, "I'll tell you when everyone's alright."
He stopped and gazed into her eyes as if she had seen the end of the world. He wore those eyes once when his mother died before him. Connor nodded, continuing down the road. The novice bid for the wolf pack to keep to the shadows near the village should something happen. She expected nothing good to come from this and sucked up her oncoming tears to venture on. There was no time to be pessimistic. In fact, there was no time. The next man in a blue coat she spotted was rammed into without given a chance to counter. Squaring him in the face, she shattered his entire nasal cavity and finished him with a strike to his ribs—collapsing his lungs so that he drowned in his own blood. Then came another. It was just one more. Tsipporah gave herself a head-start by digging her heel to the ground and then…
The soldier stopped, feeling pain sear at his chest. He felt the chill of the air come across his face as he rapidly paled with death. When he looked down to see what has been done to him, he wanted to scream, but couldn't. The novice took her hand back abrasively as more blood flowed and soaked. Cracking noises sounded as she retrieved something vital in her hands and crushed it before the man's very eyes—his heart. He watched as more blood seethed from his sundered chest and fell to his knees, then to the ground. She moved on, picking up speed under her heels.
Along the way, she was met with the corpses of Washington's men—both fresh and cold. There were soft howls that only her ears were able to hear. At least she knew now that the beasts were creatures of their word. It was a pain to have to take the entire way back, but it was necessary and quickened the pace even more by turning. Once she was in the area, she heard nothing but the night of the forest. Good. They were killed; they were gone. Nothing was going to hurt her friends—her second family, now. She morphed back into human form, seeing that the area was clear. Was she ever wrong. As soon as she assumed her human state of being, something assaulted her from the side. The novice cursed at herself for being careless. Of course there would be some hiding in the forest still. Whoever she was wrestling with, they were sure strong and overpowering. Finally, she was able to strike him in the privates and he buckled, but recovered too quickly to her dismay. He turned, fixing his blade to do a number on her face. She was able to stop it coming a few centimeters from her face, gasping about who her attacker was.
…..
Connor made it to the village beforehand, meeting with the Clan Mother. She, too, was glad to see him well. Kanatahséton was unharmed. That was good.
"(Ratonhnhaké ton!)" the elder woman greeted, "(You have returned, but why? I thought you would be with that other man.)"
"(What other man?)"
"(Boiling Water. The one called Charles Lee. He took Kanen'tó:kon and a few others with him.)"
"(What? Where have they gone?)"
"(To push back those who would take our land.)" He allowed his grandmother's words to sink in. They were aiding Charles Lee? This isn't right… "(Why are you troubled? Is this not what you wanted? For us to take a stand?)" True this is exactly what he wanted, but not like this. He had to stop the warriors of his tribe. They should be still out in the forest. He was about to leave to do so, but one from his tribe called to him. It was his cousin as well as her children.
"(Ratonhnhaké ton, you are here!)" She greeted and her small sons grinned.
"(It is good to see that you are safe, but I must stop the men.)"
"(I know… but, my husband will not listen to me.)" she looked about her cousin, "(Where is Tsipporah? Is she not with you—)"
"RATONHNHAKÉ TON!"a desperate voice echoed through the forest, alerting those over the walls. Kateri's mother rushed out of the longhouse and jerked her head around, recognizing the sound.
"Was that not your observer?" she spoke in the King 's English.
"Tsipporah…" he said under his breath and dashed out of the village. He knew she was in peril for he started to feel some bruises under his coat. It didn't seem she was fighting back at all; only defending herself. Once he was in the forest, he saw his men gather and surround their helpless prey. He saw the figure scurry up the tree only to be pulled down to the rubbish and grass once more. The novice lifted her fists up to the level of her eyes. She didn't want to hurt the men of the Mohawk tribe. At least… at least there was a less painless way to do this, but she didn't want to leave them out in the forest. What if there were more of Washington's men on the way. If she knew anything, it is that the natives were determined to keep their home—the Commander would send his finest.
...
"(Surrender yourself and we shall bring no harm to you!)"
"(What's gotten into you guys?)" she was backed into a tree, "(Why are you doing this?)"
"(It was mistake to welcome you to this village. You have brought misfortune upon us and for that you must die!)" the elder spat at her shoe. The novice was more confused than any other feeling that churned in her gut. The native men cleared, making a space as another one entered their circle. The young man's face was stern with purpose, unfeeling, but she saw in his eyes that he felt betrayed and angered. The novice recoiled as he looked at her.
"(So it is true that you and Ratonhnhaké ton were helping Washington—the man that would end our clan?)" he readied his knife in his hand, coming towards her. She buckled, not wanting to go up against him.
"(Kanen'tó:kon… please…)" her tears were threatening to spill, "(Listen to me. I am your friend. I had no idea what the commander was doing…)," her tears fell and she choked, "(You know me—I would never put you or anyone here in danger—)"
"(Lies!)" he took her by the collar and the others blocked any means of escape, "(You have come to kill us—all of us! We shall not let you live… nor Ratonhnhaké ton.)" He raised his knife, aiming to carve out her heart. The novice waited for the fatal blow, knowing that she could not defend herself from it. She waited for the arms of death to welcome her… but it never came. She opened her eyes, not realizing that she had closed them that second. Her collar was not tugged nor was she the main attention anymore. An exhale was released from her lips and looked up. Kanen'tó:kon swung his knife in the opposite direction, sensing someone reach for him from behind. Around them, the other men of the village were unconscious on the ground. When did this happen? The native man readied his knife once more until he found the man responsible before him. The other meant no harm nor did he wish to kill his own clan.
"(Peace, Kanen'tó:kon)," Connor said as he was eying between the novice and his childhood friend. She didn't know what to do. Her feet were rooted to the ground.
"(Ratonhnhaké ton! Come to kill me yourself?)"
"(No! That's not why he is here!)" The young woman reasoned, but was swiftly pushed to the ground with a carved blade to her throat. She shivered at the contact, knowing that if she made one wrong move, both she and the assassin would die.
"(What do you mean…?)"
"(Charles Lee told me everything. The Patriots seek to destroy us. And you and her would aid them.)" Lee…
"(That man is a liar!)"
"(He said you have been corrupted. That you would try to deceive, but here they are on our doorstep. What do you say to that?)"
"(It is a mistake…)" he tried to reason.
"(The only mistake was trusting you would help to keep us safe. You and this outsider)," he pressed the blade further onto her skin and she held her breath halfway.
"Boss…" she whined, trying to get away, but the native holding her down was stronger and bigger than her. Much less, she didn't want to hurt him.
"(They have seduced you and turned you against your own kind.)" He was ready to slit her throat—
"(Stop!)" The young assassin pleaded his friend. Surprisingly, he did and left the girl alone save for the kick to her side as he rose from her and approached the other. The novice coughed. She couldn't stop the tears. The village was safe, but for what? No one believed they were here to protect them. Perhaps it was their fault. She placed a hand on the tree she leaned on and tried to get a hold of herself. When her eyes focused, she saw the worst of this night. She witnessed two men—two friends fighting each other. Connor begged him to stop this, but his friend thought him a traitor. He kept swinging his weapon expertly to draw blood. All she could do was watch for her boss ordered her to stay out of it. The battle seemed to go on for a while until Kanen'tó:kon had him on his back with a knife looming over his throat. The novice panicked—not for her life, but for his. This can't end like this. No… he can't die… not like this…
"Ratonhnhaké ton…" she said under her breath as the knife closed dangerously close.
"Ratonhnhaké ton!" her tears spoke and Connor acted fast, without thinking. He had to defend himself and pushed his friend's armed hand as much as he could. It pained him to do this, but the adrenaline that ran through his system sparked. The young man who he had called a "friend" for years was determined to end him. There were many more things to do—tasks to fulfill. His life's mission and his lineage could not end with him. If he were to die now, the line of the Assassins would diminish and the Templars would have their way. His mind truly woke when he heard his observer's voice carry through the air. Immediately and instinctively, he brandished his hidden-switch-blade and inhaled sharply… STAB.
Kanen'tó:kon's throat opened and spilled his blood at a quickening pace. It was rather abnormal at first, but then the novice understood. In fact, it explained why Clan Mother would not let him out of the village as much and others would be gentle about him. It wasn't for spoil at all. He was anemic. She rushed over to Connor's side as he rose to his knees to hear his friend's last words. He would never show much emotion outside on missions, but this was different. He was distressed to have done such a low blow to his closest friend—a brother to him. Tsipporah saw his apparent pain and anguish. She wished no harm either. She sighed sadly. It was not permitted, nor was it allowed. She folded her hands and whispered to herself and the Passage Field expanded all around them. This place was meant for only essential kills and for important conversations to be recorded…yet… How could she not?
"(My passing wins you nothing… Ratonhnhaké ton. Charles Lee rides for Monmouth to reveal the Patriots' plans. The Loyalists will destroy them. The revolution will be ended. The Crown victorious. Our people… safe.)" Connor held his hand as he passed and trembled.
"(It seems our people will never be safe)," he furrowed his brows, "(You are resting now, my friend.)" He released his hand from his hold and his face wrinkled in great sorrow, bowing his head. The Field rose after that. The novice sat down beside him, looking down at their fallen friend. Again, she didn't know what to say. Again, she was incapable of consoling him. She would have blocked his chi to stop him from attacking, but it would be no use. He would have come to kill them tenaciously and it was trouble they didn't need—her rational thoughts analyzed. Even her inner voice of Juno had said such things to her once. This was too unbearable. The man who had teased her so much about her liking his friend was no longer in this world. She sniffed, reaching over to his face.
"I… should close his eyes, so he can sleep."
Connor nodded, so she brushed her hand over his face so that his eyes were closed. She got to her feet and helped the young assassin up, but he never took his eyes off his friend. To her surprise, he had barely shed a tear. Every other emotion was cruelly pulled out of him but tears failed to surface. She opened her mouth to say something, but a scream traveled through the air. It made them both jump a little. When they looked to see who it was…
"(Ratonhnhaké ton! What have you done?!)" Kateri lifted her voice from her lungs as her mother used all her strength to hold her back, "(You killed my beloved! I thought you were protecting us…!)" She cried and eventually fell to her knees. Aghanashimi held her still, close to her bosom. She rubbed her child's head and turned her eyes away so she couldn't see anymore. There was too much to absorb—too much to take. The native woman gently raised her child to her feet, whispering for her to go back as she eyed her nephew. He barely spoke; only bowed his head in consternation. The aunt released the tight embrace she had on her child and she stood, petrified and shivering. She sprinted towards the pair that stood over her son-in-law's body.
"Leave," she bluntly suggested, "You must go. Now."
"Aghanashimi…" he managed to say, but the words perished on his tongue. She grabbed his shoulder roughly.
"No… you must leave this place. You cannot let the Templars win. We may have lost today, but you cannot allow them to stand any longer. Stay… and our village—our home will reap the consequences." She straightened him up, "Leave—both of you. Return to where you are most needed." She shooed them off, pushing them further away with her club until they were a distance from the area. Kateri shuddered, falling to her husband's side. All that they were… all that they promised to do… all of it erased in an instant.
The rest of the way was in silence. Neither of them said a word since the prior events. Tsipporah twiddled her fingers, unsure if she should say something. In mid-stride, Connor whistled for his horse to come, which it did, but was accompanied with the wolf pack. That's right, she recalled. She also could have had the wolves defend them, but that, too, was a risky choice. It didn't matter now. Everything was done and the youths were exhausted both physically and mentally. It was a shame how many disappointments were met all in one night. The assassin's face was obscured, leaving the novice wondering what was going on in his head right now. Before, she saw so much pain. While he rode off, she morphed. Things remained that way until they reached the Davenport manor. He quietly put the horse away in its place and closed its door. The novice turned again, heading for the porch. She felt indifferent to see her blonde companion waiting there for them. Angie's face brightened, but died down when she saw the defeated look on their faces.
"Sipsy? Boss?" she stammered, not sure if she should smile for them, "W-What happened?" she grimaced comically at the instant thought, "It was the sexy-British dad, huh? Talking shit about you again, babe?" Connor brushed her shoulder and got inside, slamming the door. She sensed a gaping hole in his heart just from that single touch. Now she was worried. "Alright, babe. Tell me right now: what the fuck is going… on? Oh… Sipsy."
She cupped her hands on her friend's face as tears spilled over and the novice hiccupped. Her eyes swelled red and she kept choking, failing to find the words of what just took place. She was afraid she would end up seeing this—feeling this way before the war's end. The novice threw her hands around friend's waist and cried in her bosom. It started to escalate into a scream she couldn't hold. All the animosity she's pressed under her skin was finally revealing its ugly hues. Before she knew it, the two were inside by the hearth. Angie slowly seated her down on one of the chairs by the fire. The novice rubbed her face in her palms, feeling more tears falling without restraint. It was too much to bear that she knew that sleeping was no option tonight. Pulling off her boots, she sniffed at the thought of Connor distancing himself from everyone for a while. Was he the sort? It would be understandable if he was. She would lock herself in her room when under duress when she got her feelings involved. She would do so now. Tsipporah quickly stood up and went around to the archway, but almost ran into Angie.
"I brought your sketchbook, drawing pencils, and paint. Do you want any water?" Yeah, at desperate times like this she would sit and draw out her emotions whether they are ugly spirals or spirits fleeting in red. Slowly, she accepted her 'baby' into her arms, wondering what to draw… what to paint. There was so much pain... too much actually. Whatever she was trying to cover, Connor must be feeling ten-fold. Connor…
"Angie… thank you for bringing this," she rasped tiredly, "This always cheers me up when I'm down—you know that, but…"
"What's wrong?" she took the other's hand in hers.
"I shouldn't be the one to be consoled here. We were tricked—Connor especially. The Patriots were sent to exterminate his people, burn their houses, salt their land…" she choked, "We stopped them, but the Mohawk men didn't believe us and Connor killed his best friend—all I was able to do was watch. I… I-I didn't do not a fucking thing to stop it!" she kicked the chair over and exhaled harshly.
"Babe…"
"I need to get upstairs… I can't stay down here like this, Angie…" she gave a sad smile before going up the steps with the last of her energy. Placing her hand on his door, she wiped her eyes and softly knocked. "Connor… are you awake in there?" she turned the knob and found that it was open, "I'm coming inside, ok boss?" She opened the door enough to get in and closed it behind her. She saw a figure at the corner of her eye as she did, recognizing it to be him; could be no one else. He sat at the edge of his bed hunched over with his hands folded. He was buried in his thoughts that he didn't notice anyone come inside his room.
"Connor?" his silence was understanding, but heart-wrenching, "Please say something. Anything." She reached for his face, but he turned away.
"What should I say? That my father is right and the Patriots are wrong?" there was a depth of sadness and a bit of anger in his voice, "The men of my village thinks me a traitor for following the commander willingly. My cousin will never speak to me again even if they are—no. I now know that my people will never be safe."
"Connor…" she touched his face, "That is not true."
"It is and you know this," he said coldly, his eyes sharpening, "You said your people were taken from their land only to be brought suffering and to be treated like dogs. They believed they were safe for years—what more can we expect here?!"
"We can expect to survive, Connor!" she blurted, but this time she would not take it back, "As the old man taught you your skills and I helped with your studies, you showed me that a person can still hope to be free and it can happen. I just thought this was a whole adventure and then I go home, but it's not even that… not even the point either. For once, I actually care and for once, I don't want to stop here and let the whole thing play on itself. Kanen'tó:kon's death cannot be in vain. He is your best friend and he was mine, too. But I can't side aside being scared and do nothing… anymore."
He looked at her for second and felt at her hand that touched his face. She felt him tremble from the shock of what's happened. He's never acted like this after killing a man for his face was drained and his palms were unsteady.
"What I've done cannot be undone… I am an outsider now."
"No you're not—"he gripped her wrist.
"Then what, Tsipporah? What?!"
She didn't say anything after that—only breaking from his death-grip and wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her chin on his hair as she stood. The young woman thought she was going to cry all over again as she held him in her arms. This reminded her so of the time where he had a terrible nightmare and she sang him back to calm when they first came here at their stay in the stables. Only now, this was real. Nothing could be undone and stamped as a bad dream. It was strange for him to be soothed by her. Even as they trained, every time he was distant, she gave up on ever reaching him. Her hands rustled softly through his hair, beckoning that he'd calm down. The novice didn't think it was probably going to have the same effect as it did when he was sleeping, so she loosened her hold. Connor pulled her back in, weaving his arms around her waist and leaned into her torso. This surprised her ever so slightly. Even though he told her how he felt about her, she was still shocked. She leaned her head onto his even more.
"I… I know it looks bad now, but you always say that it'll get worse before it gets better," she tried to say, "Besides, he's not taken away from us—just resting…" Suddenly, she felt a bit of wetness on her blouse. At first, she thought it was her own tears she had spilled earlier, but then she lifted her head and watched. His shoulders were shaking and his fingers dug into her back. The wetness kept its freshness and more came onto her. She gave a small smile, stroking the strands of silky hair. Her beloved was strong—what he was doing now didn't make her think of him less. He has simply been strong for too long. All that murder and slaughter; and solitude wasn't enough to make him stronger. She hoped that he didn't feel too discouraged of all this, but how she felt didn't matter right now. She'd stand here all night by his side if it meant that he would find peace.
…
"They aren't coming down, I gather?" Achilles sat by the hearth and Angie brought out some snacks, aiding the maid. The two women took a glance up the steps and sighed to serve the tea and pastries.
"Young Master and the Young Mistress are having it hard. The Patriots are a crafty lot. They yearn for freedom, but what they fail to notice is just how bad they want it."
"I've never seen her look like that in my entire life. Well, except when her artwork is trampled or stolen. She never cried for people… ever." The old man tapped his knee and took his cane to stand.
"I suppose now they understand just what type of world they are really dealing with." The two women grimaced, knowing of this inevitable truth. Angie took a sip of her tea and heard knocking coming from the front door. She smacked her lips, putting down her tea and headed for the knob. Upon opening it, she frowned deeply… then moved back to shut the door. His face was the last face she wanted to see right now. He wedged his foot in the door, not going to leave until he did what he came here to do.
"Dude, go away!" she hissed, "You are not welcome here, Haytham! You've done enough. Now leave before I find out what else my new musket can do."
"Please… I come in peace," he held his hands apart, signifying that he was unarmed, "I only wish to give you something that my son should see." He took out a book from his side and handed it to Angie. Achilles lowered his head, not wanting to make eye contact. The blonde flipped open the pages, skimming its contents.
"A journal?" she clapped it shut, "Why this?"
"My son has to know some sort of truth. I meant no harm to him or his people, but I know now that he will not speak to me as an ally—not anymore. Give this to him as soon as I pass. I know for sure that he'll be coming for my blood or Charles'. I want him to know that it is too late to mend things now. I shall no longer criticize his observer—loyal to a fault, indeed. I'll be on my way now," he turned and looked to Achilles over his shoulder, "Take care of him as I'm sure you are better suited to than I." And he left. He did not look back to see their faces. He got on his horse and urged it to leave at once.
Upstairs, the two youths watched him leave from the window pane. They didn't bother to make a rush for the door, it'd be too late and what was the point? They would miss him anyway. Connor clenched his teeth, still spiked by all his father did not warn him of. All this time, his people were targeted. This all could have been prevented and now he was marked an enemy. The very thought of it made his blood boil. A yawn sounded from his side and saw that his observer's fatigue finally caught up to her. She flinched when she realized that he was already looking at her.
"Y'know, you should sleep, boss," she shrugged her shoulders and stretched, "I'm gonna go to bed. Good night—"he took her hand without looking at her. "Um…"
"I told you to not call me that indoors or in privacy."
"Sorry."
"And I fear I cannot sleep alone tonight…"
"…" she paused, "Are you sure? Because I'm a little vulnerable and you're a little vulnerable. I might just go straight to sleep, but if company is what you need, then I guess that what I'll give you." They couldn't do anything this night. Their nerves were too rattled. Of course nothing but rest will do something about it. At this point, the novice could care less about undressing in front of him and took his night-garment, plopping into bed. Connor followed suit, but not without bringing the novice into his arms. She didn't wriggle out of it this time or attempt to. Not in want of the romantic scent of her—simply her warmth and company. He needed her near. Deep down, he was afraid if the Patriots would cut her down without a second thought; his fellow warriors hunting her down. He held her tighter just thinking about it, smelling the wildness of her hair. Then he remembered. They would have to warn the Patriots at Monmouth for Lee would exploit their plots to the Loyalists. It made him cringe at the thought of coming to their aid, but it was no use. He would have to stop Lee and in order to do so he would defend the Americans.
The novice woke to the sun in her face. Why women of her time loved this feeling she could never comprehend. She blinked a few times and went to go on her forearms to rise from the bed. It proved difficult. Something kept her anchored down persistently. Looking next to her, she saw Connor's arms still wrapped around her waist and close to his own. She felt her skin grew goose-bumps, her body marveling his strength. He was like this since last night. Last night felt so surreal… Oh right, he killed his best friend. Tsipporah laid her head back in the pillow, her eyes glazed. If bending time was really a dominant ability, she would redo that night so it wouldn't happen. Connor was silent as the grave the rest of the night. Only a few words and he slept with his brows knitted together in worry. Even now as she looked to him, his face was disturbed. He mumbled something and pulled her closer until her body molded with hers.
"Um…" she reached behind her to boop his face, "Hey, boss—Connor! Wake up!"
Connor inhaled sharply, jerking in his wake. The novice thought for sure that he was going to roll over on her. After a few breaths, he let his vision adjust to the light and got on his forearms, rubbing his head in the reality of what happened just hours ago. To have his friend's blood stain his hands. He would have to live with this for the rest of his life. He suddenly snatched whatever was trying to touch his face and looked down to see novice pokerfaced. Then she smiled the best she could.
"Good morrow!" she had gotten used to the classic English… maybe too classic.
"…" Connor smiled and shook his head, sitting up to the edge of the bed, "Good morrow to you as well. Did you sleep well?"
"Actually… I was more worried about how you were sleeping." He didn't say anything at first. His shoulders tensed and he got to his feet with his back to her.
"I shall try to manage today. We must reach Monmouth before the day ends."
"Sounds like a plan," she stood and stretched, "I'll get my clothes ready after I take a bath of course."
"Tsipporah—"
"I like to stay hygienic, thank you. You take a bath, too." Then a knock sounded on the door and the young man went to answer it. Upon opening it, Angie showed up and was pale as the china at the dining room table.
"Emily, what is wrong?"
"Angie?"
She bit her lip in anxiety. In fact, she looked petrified as if she's seen a ghost. Her bottom lip looked like it went through war as she kept searching for words to say. She murmured some words, but Connor urged her to speak up.
"Emily, speak to me—what has happened?"
She finally gathered some courage to say something. Tsipporah circled around the young assassin to hear the news. Of course, it was like Angie to knock or barge in through another's bedroom; especially if she was close to them, but this time was different. She made her presence known with a sense of exigency. It was like the midnight ride of Paul Revere all over again. Were there redcoats? Loyalists somewhere? They were in the dark until she sputtered.
"Your cousin… Kateri's here. And… she's not happy."
March to Monmouth! Whoo! \(^.^)/
Okay, I know it's kind of early to anything like "whoo" when Connor's childhood friend had to die by his hands. Alienation from your own family is the worst-even more worse is trying to reconcile with your father who's your enemy. Very stressful. Too bad the OC never had that big of a problem, so all she can do is try to be by his side. No offense, but... when your life is pretty normal and things are fair with your family, and your friend/lover has it more divided than you; how do you comfort them? I mean... when you've never been anyone's crying shoulder... meh, it's tough.
Try to get action and some sentiments in. I also got some feedback from the previous chapter(s) of people saying that my OC is a... BAMF. :D
First of all, I appreciate that because making sassy characters is my thing and I try my best, but to be called a BAMF... It's my first fanfiction using any OC I've made and I really appreciate it you guys, I really do! Got my feelings involved when people actually liked my fan shipping. OMG.
But we all know who the geniuses behind this game is-Ubisoft! Without them, there would be no fangirling over this and I wouldn't be inspired to make this fanfiction. I really loved this game! Thanks for following. See you in the next chapter! ;D