HAYTHAM

Time passed.

The impossible happened: Connor and I learned to tolerate – even sort of like – each other. I would've thought our uniforms – ink blue and paper white – would've collided in a mess of Assassin and Templar, of blood and war. No. Instead we made use of our differences...and as a person, I'd never learned so much of myself.

I was no keener on Faulkner. Granted he finally gave Connor captain-hood of the Aquila, meaning that I had a chance of steering. But Faulkner seized every chance to make me the lowest of the low; the newcomer on the voyage. Often as a first mate, he'd directly-indirectly complain about Kenway senior "who's too dignified to mop the deck." He'd always emphasize the 'senior' part.

"I'm not that old," I said half-heartedly one day.

The (older) man chuckled. "Let's ask the captain, shall we?"

"Hm?" Connor perked up from behind the Aquila's wheel. "Ask me what?"

"How old d'ya reckon your father is?"

I rolled my eyes; Connor smirked across at me. "Fifty," he answered. "I already know."

"I – what?" Faulkner spluttered. "You two 'ave actually been talking?"

I laughed, patting my son on the shoulder to say 'thanks'. "When you share a cabin with your own flesh and blood, it's hard to avoid talking."

Faulkner stared dumbfounded, like I was speaking in backward Latin. Eventually he shook his head. "No. I refuse to believe that Kenway's only fifty. By Christ, you can't be younger than me!"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? What makes you think that?"

He took a gulp of salty air, struggling to fight back. "You're grey as a hound –"

"So are you," I purred.

Flustered, Faulkner thought again. "You 'aven't climbed to the crow's nest in this voyage. Not once!"

"Your point being...?"

"The rigging is jus' too hard for an old man. But I can manage it just fine. Why not you?"

At this, Connor's eyes flicked at me. Had a dog-like simper not been spreading on his face, he'd be quite convincing. He'd seen me climb rooftops; I was no old codger when it came to agility. Faulkner didn't know what was coming to him. Eventually, Connor turned his attentions back to the sea, murmuring: "I would be careful what you presume, Mr Faulkner."

Robert knew he was fighting a losing battle. Instead of being serious, he was finally playful. "Alright," he grinned. "Prove it. Climb the mast."

I spat in disbelief. "Sorry?"

"You heard me, old man! Or is it too much of a challenge?"

"I wouldn't bat an eyelash," I chuckled. I swooped my cape dramatically, like an eagle's wing, before throwing it to Faulkner. "Catch."

What on earth are you doing? I thought to myself. Connor was thinking the same. He looked bemused as I walked down the helm's steps. But there was no way that Faulkner would take me for granted. I could snap his neck with just my finger and thumb; the only thing refraining me from it was Connor.

Crew members on the deck turned. They were focused on tying ropes and the likes, sweating from the tropical heat. Things were about to be interesting.

Any newcomer would've taken the easy option: latch onto the riggings and crawl up to the crow's nest. But I was no newcomer. At the bottom of every mast, there is always a rope which acts as a pulley. What its real purpose is, very few know. On most ships it's tied down; it can go horribly wrong for less able crew members. I knelt, ejected my hidden blade and began to cut at the fibres.

"'Ang on!" came a crewman's protest. "That's cheating!"

I ignored him. A few more fibres, I thought. I nearly have it...

Ping. Like a dormant puppet the rope jerked. I held onto the end, and it whipped me high into the air. The wind whooshed past my ears; my stomach was still somewhere on deck. There came several cheers from people below, the loudest being my own son's. After moments of jumping weightlessly, I landed on the topmost sail beam.

Keep your balance, Haytham. Don't look down...

Why would I want to look down? I was level with the sun; the endless water winked like a beetle's eye. It was hard to tell what where it ended, and where the sky begun. Amazing. Absoutely amazing.

But I couldn't be distracted: one slip of my foot, and I'd fall what felt like a hundred feet. I crouched along the beam, gliding effortlessly towards the mast centre. The crow's nest was just above me; Faulkner and Connor were but dots on the deck. I imagined what their faces would look like...and laughed internally.

With one final leap, I was there. Breathless, mind: I wasn't as young as I used to be...but there. I fixed my jaunty cap, and listened to Faulkner's outcry.

"What the – how did you know about the rope?"

"Pardon?" I mocked. "I can't really hear you up here!"

"All right, don't be too chuffed!" his northern voice boomed.

Oh, I could've burst with smugness. Leaping down onto the beam again, I crouched. This would take some effort, but if I succeeded, Faulkner would be eating his words. I squinted, aimed and – with a mighty push of my legs – sailed through the air again. I landed lightly on the deck, knees bent. Not as easy as it used to be, but it was worth it.

A couple of men began to applaud; Connor looked upon me with pride. Faulkner, on the other hand, was sour as citrus. I strolled back over to him and took my coat, immensely pleased with myself.

"Your turn," I simpered.

Is it any surprise that Faulkner didn't respond?

Much later, I sat alone in my cabin. I knew I shouldn't have done it. Of course, it was foolish for a fifty-year-old to jump that far, even with my agility. Now, I sat massaging my sore knee. Was it really worth it for such a pain-in-the-arse?

I heard footsteps near the hatch; it had to be Connor. He was already in a nightshirt when he came in, with short breeches that extended his long legs. I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly manner.

"Quite an impressive stunt you pulled today," he said.

"Thank you," I shrugged, rubbing my calf muscles.

"I had no knowledge that your Templar training included such things."

"Well," I chuckled. "One of the only things I have Reginald Birch to thank for."

Connor sat down on his bed, leaning back on his hands. "Do all Templars learn how to climb like you?"

"Not all. When I first trained him, Charles –" I stopped. My mouth dried just thinking about him; about his crimes. "I mean, Lee – was new to the concept."

Silence. I'd expected my son to react to Charles' name, but he didn't. Instead, he watched with wonder as I flexed my fingers unnaturally. I knew he was going to ask. "You refer to him as 'Lee'."

I nodded. "I've had a change of heart."

"How so?"

I blinked. Was it worth telling him? Yes, Connor had a right to know: it was him who Charles insulted. "Charles and I had a...a bit of a row before I left." I snorted. "No, it was more of a conflict, actually. I don't want to talk to that bastard again."

Connor stared back, expressionless. No bewilderment in his eyes, nor approval. Just acknowledging. "What did he say?"

I sighed. "A lot of things. Some about me, some about Ziio...others about you."

"I expect nothing less," he growled.

"I wish I'd heeded your words." I rubbed my eyes, leaving my hand over my forehead. "He was the villain all along. All of my men were."

"When you grow in a certain way," Connor began, lighting the candle on the table, "it is hard to see the world in a different light."

I glanced at my son. The way he could simply come out with a line like that...he was wise beyond his years. Wiser still than I ever was, I noted sadly. "I doubt I'll come to see Charles in a good light again. Sometimes I wonder if..."

"If...?"

I bit my lip. Was it appropriate to say this? "If your mother and I had stayed together, would she have converted me? To your Brotherhood, perhaps?"

Connor sat down on my bed, making it sink into the stiff boards. "I joined the Assassins to avenge my mother. Had I been raised by her – and not my grandmother – I may never have come to know my path. I would never fight to help humanity."

This only filled me with more regret. "I wish I had been more like you," I confessed. "I'd have done anything for Ziio."

"Anything?"

"Anything and everything."

Who are you, and what have you done with Haytham? I didn't recognise my own voice. It was as if I'd been drawing a map for all my life; someone had come along and smeared the ink. When I re-drew the map, it made a completely different picture. Was I really changing for the better? Were these uncharted waters the road to a new world? I imagined a reformed Haytham; a senior Connor. I'd always alienated the thought of being an Assassin. But looking back across the years, all the Templars who'd ever aided me had somehow turned their backs on me. Birch. Benjamin. Charles...and all the traitors who kidnapped Ziio. The reality of that hadn't even sunken in. I wondered: if I continued on this path with Connor, would I end up with all the things I ever dreamed of? Freedom? Trust...and Ziio?

"What would you do?" Connor asked, his eyes focused on mine. "If Mother walked through this door?"

I shrugged. "Well, if we were granted that luxury...nothing masculine."

"It is not in man's nature to miss a person?" he challenged.

Remove the steel mask, Haytham. "Fine," I said. "I'd kiss her, of course. I'd promise to keep her safe...and I'd apologise."

"What for?"

"For being wrong. For not suspecting my men..." I looked at my feet, ashamed. Half the things the Templars had done were foreshadowed somehow. Why didn't I see it? "For my carelessness."

I felt Connor shuffle closer; his body heat radiated like the candle light. "There was no way in your power that you could've known."

"I could've." Why was there a lump rising in my throat? "I could've rode by the village, asked the Clan Mother how she was. Heaven knows I cared."

"That was no fault of yours, Father," Connor soothed. "If anyone is to be held responsible, it is me."

At this, my head shot upright. "You?" I barked. "Connor, how on earth are you –"

"I had Johnson's journal in my possession for two years." Connor's voice cracked in distress. "If only I'd examined it further, then I might've known what happened to my mother. She could've died in the space of those years."

"On the contrary, she could've lived."

"Or moved," Connor exclaimed, his voice rising. "Or escaped slavery, to live another life, or–"

"Son."

Connor gasped as my hand met his shoulder. I surprised even myself, but I wasn't going to let him blame himself. I looked him in the dilate pupils, and adopted a low tone. "Your mother loved you above any other. Only listen to the times she spoke of you, any you'd understand. If Ziio had escaped, she'd have come home to you. Should she have died, Johnson would hear of it. Either way, you are not to blame."

"That is debatable," he murmured, his mouth twitching.

I shook my head, and put my arm around him completely. Never did I think I'd be comforting my child, let alone saying my next words: "You're a good man, Connor. You just need to stop being your own critic."

Under my grasp, his shoulder relaxed. I felt like a true father, protecting my son from self-hatred. I'd experienced enough of that; I wished for nothing like it on Connor. He had no reason to be angry. Now - at least - he wasn't. His torso rose and fell against mine, and he barely stirred. If that displayed one thing, it was belief in me. I closed my eyes, internally grinning with satisfaction.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"You said earlier that you would do anything for Mother."

"I would."

"Would you..." Connor shuffled to face me properly. "Would you become an Assassin, if it meant you could save her?"

I knew the answer. I'd always known the answer, only years of doctrine and lies had twisted it. I'd always kept it in my conscience, as though I predicted Connor asking it. I was ready to face the truth. I was ready to confess – even to myself – with whom my heart lay. I glanced at my hidden blades, the candle on the desk, and my son.

He has his mother's eyes.

"Yes."

About the collision of blue and white? The ink and paper we forged was about to re-write the pages of my life.

Hey guys! So this was a really random chapter, and quite similar to the last one I know...BUT MY BRAIN IS BROKEN FROM REVISING OK. I hoped you liked it anyway, despite its randomness and cheese at the end...

So a couple of days ago I got a tumblr account, I'm tomatoegeek if you wanna follow me and stuff. Tumblr only adds to my procrastination *sob*! So anyway, I'm still gonna be abnormally slow at updates – be warned! I'm not on hiatus. These are only end-of-year exams and not GCSEs or anything. They don't really matter much – but school comes first soooo, sorry!

Thank y'all for reading!