In the far corner of a bustling New York City tavern, on the second floor, Matthew Kenway sat in anonymous peace enjoying a cool drink. After all these years of war and moving about the continent like a goddamned rat, it was a pleasure to finally have that rare moment where he could spread out his legs and simply think about what was going to happen. Peace hadn't been officially declared yet, but it was coming. Matthew knew it. Then he heard a familiar voice, taking him out of his personal thoughts.

"Matthew!" Albert Carver, a little worse for the wear, but still the same greeted him. "I hadn't expected to find you here in New York City out of all places! I thought you'd still be down in New Orleans, celebrating!"

"It's just quick stop. I still plan on sailing all the way up to Davenport." Matthew said as he finished his drink. "I just plan on delivering my report to the Assassins regarding Andrew Jackson before leaving."

"Surely you can tell me what you wrote on it? We are friends after all…"

"Alright then." Matthew whispered to Albert: "I think that Andrew Jackson is a man we should keep our eyes on. He has a magnetic personality that draws to him the support of the common folk, a weapon that can suit the purposes of the Brotherhood well. But he's also an egotistical and short-fused sort of fellow. Never do know what could set him off. Took me so many near-death jaunts just to win his trust. I do not think it would do us well to align ourselves with him."

"All that for nothing? I imagine you are disappointed…"

"Perhaps… but I did help win the damn battle of New Orleans, didn't I? Now my father isn't the only one in the bloodline who can brag about having a battlefield record on his belt. And regardless, I finally have the chance to sail home. What of you, though, Carver? Have you got any news regarding the Assassin Mentor? Have they found him yet?"

"No. They've been searching across the entire country since his disappearance following the burning, but at this point…"

"I understand." Matthew felt a twinge of uncertainty. But it quickly cleared. "Anyways, Carver, I'm setting sail. Do you wish to accompany me to Davenport? I'm sure my father would like to meet my new friends."

"Um… perhaps you'd better take someone else like Mr. Crockett instead. No offense, Matthew, but something about Davenport tells me keep away." Carver shuffled away.

"Odd." Matthew said to himself. "I've never known Davenport to be anything but a place that said come here."

"That should do it." Connor grunted as he heaved the last of Dr. Tomlinson's heavy bags onto the top of the carriage. Servants from the Homestead quickly came up after Connor stepped back, binding the bags in place.

"Ah, I cannot thank you enough for the hospitality that you have shown me during my stay." Dr. Tomlinson said. "It is only a pity that my occupation does not grant me the opportunity to stay forever."

"You are always free to return if you like." Connor told him.

"I shall. Perhaps sooner than either of us can anticipate. But until then…" Tomlinson tipped his hat before climbing into the inside. "…It's off to Maine for me!" The carriage kicked up a trail of dust, and Connor turned his head to shield himself from the blast. When the dust cleared, the carriage was already rolling far away. Connor thought he saw Dr. Tomlinson lean out and wave his farewells one last time. Connor turned and walked back to the manor. As he walked in, he thought it felt surprisingly empty aside from the sound of a housemaid dusting somewhere upstairs. But there was no sign of those most familiar to him these past couple of years. No sounds of child's play or the wife presiding over her manor.

He looked briefly towards the secret door, disguised as a simple bit of tapestry hanging in the corridor, its truth revealed only when Connor pulled onto the web-coated candelabrum. Could they be? No. Although Alexandra knew of his past life and the secret door, she never had a reason to be down there. Neither did he, really. As far as Connor knew, these past few years had shown that phase of his life had faded away. He hadn't even stashed Matthew's mysterious "Black Apple" in there. Meeting a woman, getting to truly bond with her instead of being coerced via a promise of first cracks, and raising a child without the life of an Assassin taking attention away, these years were the happiest of his life since he was a child.

He'd finally found triumph, the light at the dark-shrouded road upon which he had walked since the day his mother died.

"Have you seen my daughter or wife around here?" Connor asked the house servant as she meticulously cleaned the portrait of Benjamin Franklin upstairs. Connor still couldn't believe that he hadn't put these in storage yet. His daughter was starting to ask him more and more every day how some of these worked, and although Connor had occasionally obliged, he still had no idea what half of this stuff did because to be honest he was frightened that one of these things would go wrong and bring down a great lightning storm that would set the house on fire.

"Oh, your wife did pop by earlier, say she was taking your daughter out for a walk in the woods."

"I wish she'd told me… I've known these woods since my teenage years and I would not say that they are quite the safest place for a child and her mother to be wandering about."

"Oh come now, Mr. Kenway, you've done a bang-up job of huntin' all of the wolves and other nasty beasties roaming in the forest." The servant said without looking, continuing to dust.

"I hunted yes, but it was mainly the work of the other hunters on the homestead that reduced the levels of wildlife in the nearby woods… I never killed enough to bring any living things to the brink of extinction, be they harmless dear or vicious cougars…" Connor said, remembering many past hunts as well as other things that the hunting had inadvertently led to. He still couldn't how naïve he had been regarding certain matters back then… but still, he looked back on the events of that wedding with fond nostalgia.

At that moment, there was the sound of doors banging open. Connor nearly jumped at the shock, but his nerves had been trained for such things by the Assassins. He heard the panting of a woman. "Connor! Come quickly!" She screamed. He recognized whose voice it was. Alexandra's. His heart suddenly tense, Connor rushed downstairs.

"It looks just like I remembered…" Matthew said, his voice slightly sad. "But there are differences here and there…" The Assassin stood on the bow of his ship, looking at the town. He could spot people milling about, and as he moved his eyes to the cliff overlooking the bay, he saw a large manor. He'd grown up there, until one day in a fit of teenage impulse, he'd run away. Now, the prodigal son had at last returned.

"Well…" Matthew turned. Standing in the middle of the deck were several poorly dressed Africans. "I suppose this is your new home. If the old seamstress is still around, I'll see to it that she gets to making you folks a new pair of clothes…"

"We can't thank you enough…" The oldest one said to him.

"Don't thank me, thank your son." Matthew said, hiding the bitterness in his voice. "It's only a pity that he can't be here with you… but I'm sure that Isaiah is free somewhere."

"Where do we go?"

"Get yourself acquainted to the place. Walk around it for a bit. Then later, head up to the big manor up on that hill." Matthew pointed towards the Davenport Manor. "He'll sort things out. I know him. And also… I don't suppose you'll wish to go by Mr. Wilkinson anymore."

"No, sir. I don't think any of us want to go by the old master's name, especially now that he's six feet under the ground."

"You're free… that's a good tune to it. Mr. Freeman, I welcome you and your family to Davenport." Matthew said. He noticed a young child huddling behind the oldest black's legs. There was a faint trace of the same sparks he had seen in Isaiah's eyes before the day he died at New Orleans. Perhaps… yes.

"What's your name, son?" Matthew asked.

"Israel…"

"Well, Israel Freeman… if you ever do get lonely in the next couple of days and need a friend, come and see me. I'll either be in the inn or the big place up by the hill." Matthew waved good-bye to the liberated slaves and walked off onto the deck of the port. Some of the sailors, but only the older ones, stood back in shock as they recognized who this new captain was. Matthew walked on the path from the docks, to town. He'd might as well see what had changed and what had stayed the same before making his return known to Father. Perhaps even take a stroll in the woods like he had always wished to but never quite found the time or parental permission to do so as a young one.

It was a perfect time to be alive. She had only turned five years of age last month, but the young girl knew this nonetheless as she lifted a rock and peered underneath in curiosity at all the specimens that thrived underneath a cover of stone. The woods surrounding her home seemed to be endless… around each corner and through each trail a new surprise just waiting to be found. Of course, she hadn't gone alone. Mother had followed her, watching over her. She didn't mind. Mother loved her and she loved her mother. Of course, she would've loved it had it been her Father instead. But he had been in town doing his growup business and she couldn't bring herself to wait to embark on this little adventure of her's. When she came back to her big house, she'd tell Father all about it.

Everyone seemed to be happy, now with that big fight – what did the big people call it, war? – finally coming to a close. Father and Mother were happy, her friends were happy, even the eternally depressed baker seemed to be happy. Helena Kenway stood up, and looked up. The trees reached towards the heavens. She wished she could fly up and see what the world looked like from up high. Father had sometimes told her stories about people who could go that high… she wished many times that those stories would be true. But regardless, Helena was five years and old, and having the time of her life. She was sure that all this… tranquil nature, loving family, these days would last forever.

Helena came to a small creek. She was tempted to simply wade across, it wasn't very thick and it looked shallow enough. But she was sure that Mother would get upset if she got her clothes wet, and she loved her Mother dearly. As such, she waited for her mother to catch up.

"May I, Mother?" She asked slowly. Pointing to the other side of the creek. Alexandra smiled, her eyes locking with her daughter's.

"I see no harm in doing so. I'm sure we'll find something nice on the other side. Maybe even a rabbit you can take home as a pet if your father permits it. Take off your shoes, sweetheart. It'll make it easier to cross the rocks." Helena obliged, removing her moccasins and handing them to her mother. She swiftly leapt across the stream, her bare feet barely touching the surface of the slippery rocks.

"Follow me!" She shouted to her mother who was still across the stream. After hearing her mother's words, she was dead-set determined on finding a rabbit. But she couldn't find it alone easily… as she once heard Mother once say to Father… two pairs of eyes were better than one. But something seemed to be one. She silently stared ahead at Mother in curiosity. Mother seemed to be shocked at something. Above her? Helena did not look.

"Mother? What's wrong?" She shouted, best as her five-year old lungs could allow her.

"Run!" The only answer her mother gave her before sprinting back the way they came.

Curious, Helena ignored her mother's advice and turned around.

"Ohgod… ohgod…" She was hunched over, panting frantically. "We're safe… we're safe… Ohmigod!" Alexandra wheeled around, seeing that no one had followed her, seeing nothing but the curious stares of the residents as they passed back.

"Alexandra! What is wrong?" Connor asked, his face already wrenched in a mask of grave concern. His eyes darted down. Helena's shoes had fallen onto the ground, but his daughter herself was nowhere in sight.

"Someo…" Tears were streaking down here face. "Oh God… I'm such an idiot! I should've taken her with me! Connor…"

"Something's happened to her, hasn't it?" A burst of anger making its way into his voice.

"I don't know!" The confused, anguished mother said. "We were wandering in the woods and Helena had just crossed a creek… oh God… I saw someone come down from the treetops! Like one of those Assassins which you use to train here!"

"There have been no Assassins on the Homestead since I retired." Connor said, his voice grave. He considered the possibility of the alternative. Connor, instinctively grabbed the servant's dust brush. "Stay here, Alex-"

"No. I left her there, and that was a damn mistake. She's so independent and free-willed even at this age that sometimes I go lax regarding my responsibilities to her. And don't forget, she's my daughter too."

"Alright, then. Let's rescue our daughter together." Connor and his wife ran through the open door, back towards the forest.

Matthew leaned against the large branch of the tree as he stood where the tree split into two branches. These woods seemed just as big as he remembered them growing up, but he was certain they weren't. The town was bigger, and something had to go. He'd had enough of running about reacquainting himself with this world. It was about time to go and reintroduce himself to his family. He knew that Connor had remarried and sired another child, with Matthew's mother long ago reduced to a worm-eaten corpse underground. He supposed that the first couple of dinner conversations would be rather uncomfortable for all of them, with stories of Connor naively being drawn into promising first cracks and whatnot.

He heard noises from below. It was an odd sight. A small girl, possibly couldn't be very old, with dark brown hair was taking off her shoes and giving them to her mother. The older woman was speaking with an English accent of some sort. Must've made her time her since 1812 rather awkward. Was she planning to cross the streams or something? He knew that those rocks were slippery, and their surfaces weren't smooth by any degree. It seemed like a small kid like that would have hell trying to cross. And the waters around here, if you fell and weren't prepared, could be deceptively fast. Matthew observed unseen as the girl crossed. He was expecting her to slip and get a drink at any moment, and he supposed that when that happened, he would have to break his free-run flow to rescue her. But the fall never happened. Nimbly, the girl made it across and began to ask for her mother to cross over. He supposed that the fall would happen for that woman, she was wearing a blasted blue dress with fancy embroidery of all things to wear when crossing a creek. Matthew, without thinking, dropped down from his tree.

The Englishwoman's face was instantly marked by a slash of panic as her eyes locked onto Matthew. Matthew was about to say a greeting when her girl asked her what was wrong and the woman only shouted for her daughter to run before scurrying back the way they had came. Well, looks like she wasn't going to be winning any parenting accolades. Daft lady ran off and left her daughter here all by herself.

Matthew was about to speak when the girl turned around, and looked him in the eye.

Helena stared up at the stranger. He was as big as her father, maybe even bigger. He had brown hair but it was lighter than hers. He was dressed like a ship captain she sometimes saw while peeking through her father's telescope at the ships coming and entering the town port. Helena's mother often warned her about strangers, that Helena was too young to be so friendly, and Mother had run off when she saw this man. He had to be dangerous… after all, her parents knew best. Helena started to back away.

"Now, now. There's no need to be so frightened of me… I'm a friend of your father's." The man said, and he smiled at her. Helena continued to back away, until her feet were at the place where soil met water. She considered bolting across the stream, but she was certain that she couldn't cross the stream as smoothly as before with any sort of panic upon her. She was able to swim, Father had taught her. There was nothing to be afraid of. Helena got ready to move.

"Don't run." The man reached for her, but Helena inched away.

"I'm not afraid of you." Helena wasn't a particularly aggressive girl, and she was generally friendly to all, but she had gotten into an occasional scuffle with other children around the Homestead. There had been one last month, after her birthday. It was with the town banker's daughter, Abigail, who was about her age. The two girls shared a mutual dislike. Helena detested Abigail, who always strolled around town acting superior to the other kids. She often taunted Helena about how her banker father was the only man richer in town that her father, or how Helena dressed up like a filthy savage whenever she wore the clothes she was currently wearing. Both her parents had advised her to ignore the banker girl, saying that she'd eventually grow out of it, but Helena wasn't one to easily wait. The fight had started with a stream of insults (the best insults five-year olds could come up with) and eventually Helena had gotten fed up and hit the other girl. But it seemed that even for a spoiled rich girl, her rival wasn't afraid of hitting back. The fight had ended with their dresses torn beyond repair and their mothers dragging them away from each other. Father had gotten angry at her for starting the fight, one of the few times he did get mad at her. But he calmed down after she said that she wouldn't fight Abigail again, and the next day he'd taken her to Abigail's house and made her apologize. The other girl didn't do the same, and Helena that day had felt the same urge to hit her again. But she resisted the urge to ball her fingers into a fist... torn between doing what she wanted to do and her father's wishes. Ugh, she'd gotten off track again. Sometimes, with so much to see and learn and with so much happening, her mind would wander. She focused on the man again. "I'll hit you back if you do anything to me."

"You're a twig. I don't know if you've ever been in a real fight. Not too smart." Helena glared at the man who had a doubtful look at he pondered her statements. She saw that there were weapons on him - blades and guns. Mother was right, this man was dangerous, but there was an alluring strangeness to him. There was something so foreign to this man, yet so familiar. But Helena, only five, couldn't grasp what it was.

"My father will hurt you if you hurt me any way!"

"He'd be rather old now, but I know that. I won't hurt you." The man said. "My name's Matthew. What's your name, kid?"

"I'm not telling you."

"I'll buy you a piece of candy for that bit of information." The man offered.

Helena remained steadfastly stubborn. "No. My father can do that anytime I want."

The man sighed. "Here I am, living through who knows how many goddamned battlefields, and I can't even get a little girl to tell me her name. How old are you, kid? There has to be something which to bribe you with…"

"I'm five." Helena would let him have that. Any second now, Father would be rushing through these woods to rescue her from this strange man.

"That's a start. You are a slight bit tall for your age." The man commented. He was looking down at her feet, and then back up at her face. "I notice that you aren't wearing a dress like most of the other girls in town. I haven't seen any girls your age in pants for a while… if I must say, there's a rather Mohawk influence in your clothing…"

"Father had these made for me. But Mother also has dresses made for me. She says that I should dress like a proper lass when I'm not running about in the woods. But I don't like dresses as much… it's harder to climb and run in them."

"That explains things. Tell me, does your father love you very much?" The man was asking about her father again.

"Yes."

"Does he always have time for you?"

"All the time!" She said to him. There seemed to be a wave of sadness over the man's face after she said that, as if he was remembering something he didn't wish to. Helena wondered what it was. Mother always told her not to pry and mind her own business, but Helena was cursed with a curious streak. She was about to ask him what was wrong when there was the sound of heavy footsteps padding across the creek. Something large whooshed past Helena but she didn't have to wait for it to stop before she knew who it was. With a grunt, the strange man was tackled down. His father rammed something against the strange man's throat.

"What the?" Connor looked down at his hands. There was a slight mark forming where he had hit the stranger, but there was no blood or puncture marks. There was no knife in his hands. Only a feathered duster that could only kill gnats and smaller. What the hell? Why had he even grabbed this in the first place? He hadn't even planned on making his introduction to the stranger like this, but he had seen the tall figure looming over his daughter and something that his wife sometimes referred to as parental instinct seemed to kick in.

Connor looked down at the stranger. Now, he wasn't so strange. It had been many years, but a father never forgot the face of his first son. Connor stepped off the man, allowed him to get back up. The man dusted his coat, and stepped back to retrieve his hat.

"Daddy…" His daughter said, hugging his leg and looking in confused curiosity at the man whom Connor had just released. Connor then became aware that this was the first time he had shown his daughter an indicator of the skills he possessed from his old life. Alexandra joined them, the tips of her dress slightly wet, and the three stared at Connor's prodigal son who was staring back at them as he leaned against the tree from which he had made his entrance.

"She's a talented girl, old man. Only a five and already she can cross a stream like that with no sweat. You've been training her, haven't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Connor said coldly. Then his voice grew warmer. "It's been a while, though."

"Yes, hasn't it… Father." Matthew said. "I suppose that this makes you two my half-sister and stepmother." Matthew observed that the girl's apprehension had slipped a bit, but her mother's gaze at Matthew remained cold. Of course. She must've noticed his hidden blade's bracer. Well, it wasn't everyday you saw people like him running around, approaching your daughters.

"Come, Matthew." His father said. "We have a lot to talk about."