Hey guys! Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites!

Told you it would be a little shorter. I've been working really hard on these chapters and I just now realized that chapter 40 will be nearing the end. I'm kinda amazed at how long I've hung on, and I thank you all for constantly supporting this story by reading it, especially those who have been here for a long time. School's been a bitch but I think that once May is done, I can devout all my time to finishing this up.

So, here's a little continuation. Hope you all like it.

As always, I don't own Assassin's Creed or Ubisoft's portrayal of historical figures. I do, however, own my OCs. Enjoy!

May 29th, 1778

As I predicted, quite accurately, I might say, I didn't get that safe house out of my mind for the rest of the week. I stayed up late, thinking about when would be the perfect time to attack. If Haytham or Methoataske had any inkling that I had intercepted their letter, then I had to make sure my plan was slow, calculated, and free of error. A few days after I visited Anne, I returned for New York, waited by Fort George, and bid my time. A long time. I waited so long, I was probably as old as Achilles these days.

Ugh, thinking about Achilles at this time makes my head hurt. When he's not asleep in his room, he and Connor are yelling at each other as if their lungs did not need to take in air. Achilles said one thing about Haytham, and Connor snapped back with a remark about the order. On and on they went: it was pathetic. I'd take sides occasionally if I thought the other was being too unfair, and when I once spoke up in Achilles defense, I was vehemently screamed at by both men. What a pain it was, living with those two. It was like being a mother, trying to keep her children from biting off each other's throats over something ridiculous. So often was their ridiculous banter that I found myself wishing I could live out in the growing warmth of summer. June was creeping up like stunted hands, and I found myself fearful. The revolution, once so loud and full of excitement, was dull and quiet once more. I guess that was what happened when you stuck a bunch of young farmers into a war and gave them muskets, telling them this would be just like the days when they mock-battled against their friends as children. Soldiers, be it patriots or regulars, would march through the frontier, eyes stormy and wild and wide, the horrors plastered there that could never be washed away. Full of vivacity a long time ago, the war was at a halt. I suppose the idea of French and Spanish reinforcements was enough to keep the English at bay, and Washington didn't want to make a move without certainty less he lost the entire Continental Army to hasty action. What a year it had been.

I remember when there was a time, when I was young and living in the tribe, when the little boys my age would run around, swinging sticks and laughing as they tried to hit each other. It was like they were fighting for a war too. I suppose I just never noticed it. I recalled once when I picked up a stick and tried to join in, only to be chased away with insults, be it my gender, my position in the tribe, or my skin. Perhaps it was a combination. Back then, it was because I was too light. Now, it was because I was too dark. What an odd cycle it was. At first, it made me angry, but in reflection, it just made me…

…tired.

And when I went that one time, crying, back to my father, he would pick me up and insisted he loved me despite that. It would make me smile. It was bittersweet, that memory, dusty and earthy after years of abandonment in my mind. The edges of my lips creaked upwards a pinch.

I sat on a bench outside of Fort George between two older men, swinging my injured leg. I winced when I swung it too far and made it ache. Doctor White said that this was probably as good as I was going to get it, and yet I still couldn't climb without a little pain and I had to walk much more briskly at my best days when I went with Connor. I leaned back, a somewhat contented sigh escaping through my mouth. The man on my right caught sight of me, scowled, and buried his face deeper in his newspaper. I rubbed my nose, a barb crawling up my throat. I could feel it's lash as I prepared it for delivery.

Movement from the gates made me pause, and I had to shrink back as Haytham Kenway walked outside, blinking bright sunlight out of his eyes. I pressed myself into the bench as he began to walk down the road, blending into the crowd. I stood up, so abruptly that the men in between me looked up in both contempt and bewilderment. I kept my distance as I followed Haytham through New York, taking back alleys and forcing myself into crowds but managing to keep out of his line of sight.

Near the gates that would lead to the frontier, and as I slipped behind a tree to watch Haytham stand idle, another man came into view. He appeared to be a patriot lieutenant, his uniform well-kept and his musket armed and at the ready. He greeted Haytham with reverence, to which the Templar acknowledged with a nod. Together, they set out on foot, out the gates and into the frontier.

I kept out of sight still, choosing to stick to the trees as the two men sauntered onwards, exchanging small talk. Eventually, about a mile outside of the city, they made a hard right, barging through the undergrowth and into the foliage of the forests surrounding us. As I hovered above them, I could finally make out words that had some significance.

"Blasted vines." Haytham gritted his teeth as he struggled to pull his cape loose from a clump of thorns. Eventually, he succeeded, brushing himself off and rejoining the soldier who was leading him.

"Nothin' I can do. It's the way she wanted me to take ya." The soldier spoke up, probably feeling the need to defend himself, but the Grandmaster dismissed it with a shake of his hand. The two walked on in silence, and I tried to keep quiet, but it was hard to hear a conversation at such a far range. I was afraid one wrong move—certainly possible with the state of my legs—would send me crashing downwards.

"Is something troublin' you, Master Kenway?" the lieutenant spoke suddenly, cutting the stony quiet.

I could feel Haytham's drastic spike in irritation. "What, you mean besides the thorns?" he asked sarcastically.

I stopped halfway across a branch and retreated backwards into a fork. Haytham and the soldier paused as well, the former man's face screwing up with an unpleasant thought or two.

"It's her," Haytham confessed. The soldier nodded in silent agreement. "I've put her in charge of that place, but to be honest, I think she has little self-control. I'd much rather keep her in Fort George where Charles and I can keep an eye on her. She's almost as impulsive as the girl she's trying to kill."

My hands tightened around the bark of the tree as Haytham continued. "By the way, what do you know of the last letter she sent to me?"

"I was unaware anythin' was wrong with it. What seems to be the problem?"

Haytham began moving again, and the soldier fell behind. I kept my distance, straining to hear the rest of their conversation. "The letter was torn in two and was being delivered by a courier different than the one we normally use. The man claimed he lost it in a bar fight, but a blind rabbit could have told he was lying through his teeth." Haytham explained as he ducked slightly flat-footedly under a fallen tree branch.

"You suspect some sort of foul play, sir?"

The Templar didn't answer at first. "The possibility is up in the air." he sighed at last. "From Connor, no, but perhaps that girl Ava had something to do with it. If that man did get his teeth knocked out, then I suppose it happens. But if I find reason to suspect otherwise, then we best keep on watch. I have a feeling she wants to know where Methoataske is. Best not dismiss that, shall we?"

And with a shake of the head, Haytham and the lieutenant were off again, and I kept my distance, wondering just how much Haytham knew. Maybe I had said too much on that trip on the Aquila all those weeks ago. Maybe Methoataske had said something. Haytham was either incredibly observant, or he was a really good guesser.

Maybe Cory said something to him.

I shut that thought out almost as soon as it spoke up, forcing it down angrily like a bad dose of medicine.

Haytham and his guide fell back into their silence again and trudged through the forest. I began to lag a touch, praying that the older man wouldn't look up. My white outfit could easily be spied through foliage as thin as this, and even though I had the high ground advantage, something in my gut told me that Haytham was a fight I would never win on my own. The two of them eventually stumbled back onto the dirt path, marked with cart treads and mud prints, and continued what I thought was east. I hung back this time, because I had finally caught sight of their destination.

The first thing I noticed were towering walls, thick and made of both stone and wood. I could barely see above the tops from my position in the tree, and even there I could catch glimpses of guards patrolling the tops of the watchtowers, staring out intently to ward off intruders. The smell of gunpowder burned my nostrils, and I grimaced as I took a big whiff of the stuff. With that, I could also smell another peculiar scent. Salt? Scorch marks burned the sides of the fort, like someone had tossed fire at it. As Haytham and his lieutenant approached the front gates, they opened for him, and the two men slipped inside. As quickly as they opened, they slammed closed again. I stood there, dumbfounded, nearly ready to turn around at that moment.

Haytham had given Methoataske a fort? How paranoid was she? And just how willing was Haytham in terms of protecting her? So much for a shack.

At second glance, I realized that indeed there was no way to get in from the front without ending up with a chest full of musket balls. Guards posted at all corners of the place adjusted their positions from time to time, gazing out to the section where the other guard was not looking. But, as I studied their positions, there was a small opening every time one turned around. The man on the opposite side of the wall waited a few seconds before following suit. He was clearly bored and tired. The only blind spot on the fort was against the wall; if I slipped around, I could maybe sneak in through the back.

I was about to move and put my plan into action, determination chasing away my apprehension, when I heard a rumble of confusion from the inside. In response, the gates slammed open wide. Templar soldiers raced to get them closed again as Haytham and Methoataske pounded out, each on horseback, each looking furious with the other. If they spoke words, I couldn't catch them. Together, they hurried down the dirt path. It seemed that fortune was on my side today.

As they raced off into the distance, and the commotion inside the fort settled back down, and slipped down from the tree and prepared myself to make a dash for the fort wall, staring intently from behind a tree, waiting with baited breath. The guard to my right turned. The guard on the left, like I predicted, did not.

I sprinted for the wall, only a small distance, like my life would surely end had I not. My leg cried out in protest at the sudden burst of energy, nearly making me stumble. I pressed myself up against the tower and recovered, heart drumming like my footsteps only moments before. I waited for a horn or a bell to show that I was seen. But it never came, and I headed around the wall somewhat satisfied with myself.

I could smell the ocean as I slipped around the side of the fort, and turned to my left to see the rocks fall away to a beautiful view of the sea. It was glorious and sunny, the water sparkling in the midday sun and looking like a precious stone. A warm, brisk wind was flowing off the water hard, and I ducked under some pines to avoid the strength of the gusts.

As I approached the backside of the fort, the ground slopped away, and I would have to slide down in order to make it safely. I shrugged and bent down low, sliding on my arse and keeping balance with my hands and feet. I ducked around a tree, adjusting my weight to keep steady, and by then I could see the end. The large cracks in the side of the cliff would provide an easy climb. Of course, I could not see the drop that was just before it.

All of the sudden, I was launched into the air, flying straight for a large rock face. My concentration broke down into pure shock as I flailed and twisted in the air before slamming into the rock face head on at full speed. I felt myself begin to plummet, but not before finding a grip in the craggy side of the cliff. My whole body jerked, and suddenly, I was hanging by my fingertips, suspended almost in midair with a one hundred meter drop into sharp rocks and rough water below me. My arms immediately began to strain, relying on their strength alone to not kill me. I tried to gasp, but no sound came out. Oh God…I thought desperately, trying to get a foothold.

Eventually, my feet did get hooked into the cliff side, and only then did I dare a look down. I swear my heart plummeted without my body, looking at the crashing waves and the rocks sticking out like teeth waiting to devour me. I gaped but no sound came out, and quickly looked back up, trying to block the sight.

I don't recall ever climbing as fast as I did up that rock. I scrambled like no man or woman had ever done before, finding any slip or crack that would propel me faster. When I reached the top, I collapsed and lay there panting and taking a few minutes recuperating in the bushes. The sea wind no longer did anything to calm me, and I found myself with an odd mix of both chuckling and wheezing at my situation.

Once I had recovered, I clambered up the small elm tree growing desperately on the cliffside and dropped into the fort undetected. I fell into a small pile of hay, peering out of the depths and taking a look around. There were about five men that I could see, and at my guess about five more at least on the inside. The place stunk like booze and horse slopping, nearly making me gag. Strewn bottles of ale and whiskey were piled up in a corner as if to add a further point. A powder shed was across from me, where three men were loading fresh barrels into it and mumbling to the other. As I watched, another man came up from around the corner, his hat practically sideways on his head to reveal flyway hair and a freckled face. He looked no older than me. As he approached, one of the men stopped what he was doing. "Hullo, Dickens," the younger man spoke up. "She just left. Master Kenway's apparently had enough with her runnin' the place."

"Can't blame him. Look at the mess she made." The older man motioned to the pile of bottles in the corner. "And that's just last week. You know how Kenway is. Strictly business and no time for fun. He's been saying he wanted her out of this place since last winter."

The younger boy looked a touch perplexed. "But, then who'll watch this place?"

"Exactly." Dickens grunted, picking up another barrel. "Alright, boys, that'll do it. Leave the rest for later."

The other two men helping Dickens nodded and left, leaving Dickens and the boy alone. The older man put an arm around the boy's shoulder. "Imma tell you this now, since you're none all too bright," he began cheekily, to which the boy furrowed his brows, clearly not liking to be insulted. "If the savage lady gets kicked out of this place, than good riddance. And from the looks of it, that's what Kenway's gonna do. Did you see the look on his face when he came in with Patrick? He looked ready to throw her into the sea right then and there. But, Kenway probably wanted to save her face from humiliation, God knows why, so he went out to the woods. But if she leaves, then who gets her job, huh Henry?"

Henry rubbed his neck. "Uh…no one does?"

"Precisely." Dickens confirmed, brushing past my haystack. I ducked a little further back inside, but they didn't see me. Dickens picked up a bottle of ale, peeked inside, then downed what little remained. "Or, maybe Kenway promotes us. Who knows? Probably not, 'cause he's one of those 'inner circle' kinda guys. Now that that kid has been striking, ain't got nobody left. Now come on, we have walls to repair and pretty much no time to do it."

Dickens and Henry turned around and went back into the proper part of the fort, leaving me to crawl out of the haystack coughing lightly and brushing hair out of my eyes. Pulling my hood down further, I slipped into the unlocked powder shed.

Inside was a small lantern and at least a hundred small barrels of powder. The air smelt of the stuff, and a plan quickly formed in my mind. A few tools hung on the wall, and I grabbed the hammer and seized the nearest power barrel, smashing the top open to reveal the black sandy substance contained within it.

I quickly looked outside to make sure no one could see me before tossing handfuls of the stuff onto the ground. Once that was done, I smashed open another one and did the same. On and on this went, until about thirty barrels had been discarded and the surface began to turn black as the powder accumulated like a deadly snowfall. By the time I was done, the entire back half of the fort was covered in black powder. Quickly, I loaded my pistol and holstered it. I hoped to whatever was out there that this worked, or else I was a dead girl, most likely at the hands of Haytham and Methoataske. The thought made me shudder with distress.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the lantern and stepped outside. I turned to face the Templars inside the fort, my hammer in one hand and the lantern in the other. One by one, people caught side of me. There was a pounding under my soles as men raced for where I was standing. Thinking fast, I swung the lantern to their faces and motioned at the piles of gunpowder to my side. There was now a loud sound of boot heels screeching on earth as eight men stopped in their tracks. Dickens and Henry both pointed muskets at me, looking queasy, and Haytham's guide Patrick brandished a sword. "Assassin!" he bellowed, taking a small step towards me.

"Come any closer, and I will blow this backside of the fort so high into the sky that it will reach heaven before you do." I threatened. The little flame flickered dangerously. Some of the men looked at each other shakenly.

Patrick the guide's face twisted with uneasiness, but his voice refused to waver. "You wouldn't dare," he snarled.

I responded by holding the lantern over the powdered area and using the hammer to break open the glass surrounding the flame. As glass rained down, I could hear an audible gasp.

"Try me." I snarled.

The men looked at each other. Henry was trembling, and Dickens looked about ready to throw up. Finally Patrick stepped forward, placing his sword on the ground, not once taking his eye off me. The others followed his example. "What is it that you want?" he asked.

I thought my words over, not really believing that I had made it this far. "Take what little you have and leave," I finally decided. "And don't come back. Don't tell Haytham Kenway, or Methoataske. Leave and break all contact with the Templars, giving the fort to me. And if I find that you did tell Haytham about me, I will be sure to hunt you down and personally end your life before anyone, or anything, else can."

There was a great pause as the men pondered what to do, great deals of emotion and thought running over their faces like rippling waves on the sandbar. Then, slowly, the men backed up. But Patrick still held out his hand.

"Give me the lantern, and then we will leave," he asked of me. The others nodded in agreement.

My hand tightened around the thin handle of the lantern, but I slowly came over and handed it to him. There was a brief moment where both of us held onto the lantern handle, not wanting to part with it, but I slowly released it and stepped away from him. He put it on the ground next to his sword, and with a wave of his hand, Patrick and the rest of the Templars rushed forward to grab various crates to take with them. I turned to the gates, where a few men had lined up in shock and awe, watching them grab what little belongings were left for them.

As my back was turned, I heard a soft conversation, a grunt in fury, and the hard click of a musket.

I spun around to see Patrick wrestling a gun out of Henry's hands and aiming it at me in an enraged moment of opportunity.

Time seemed to slow down. I didn't even think twice before whipping out the pistol on my back and pulling the trigger.

The ground behind us exploded in a plume of fire and soot, throwing all the men onto their backs and making me stumble from the shock of it all. I covered my eyes as soot rained down and heat now drowned out all other feeling. When I looked back up, the entire back section of the fort was gone, revealing the vast expanse of ocean, and all the men who had been caught in the explosion were stirring on the ground, clutching bleeding ears or holding their faces. Patrick stood up, contortions of rage passing through his face. His entire back must've been scorched, but he still lunged at me with surprising speed. "You little bitch!" he screamed.

I swiftly dodged to the left as Patrick careened past me. As he tried to regain his balance, I swung my hammer, which I was still holding in my left hand. There was a dreadful crunch as it connected with the guard's temple, and he collapsed sort of pitifully to the ground.

I stared, holding that blood-soaked hammer, for a long time, waves of different levels of fear, horror, and shock rolling against my body before I found my voice again. The whirl of thoughts that I had been feeling when I exploded the ground had ceased, leaving an empty space as wide as the ocean on the horizon. "Leave!" I commanded, flinging the hammer to the side. I tried to summon my anger, and it cost me nearly all of my willpower. "Before this happens to all of you!"

They didn't have to be asked twice. All the men, ash-covered or not, fled within a matter of seconds. As they did, I caught sight of that young kid Henry supporting his friend Dickens as they stumbled out together. They were dirtied and bloody, and the older man's leg looked mangled from the explosion. As they passed, Henry caught my eye, and sent one last hateful look before the two of them disappeared from my sight. I watched him go, my heart feeling somewhat heavy.

And then, when all the men had gone and I was left with nothing but an abandoned, half broken fort did I exit. I climbed a tree overlooking the wreckage to sit and rest and replenish my strength. I took in shuddering breaths, trying to process my actions. For the longest time, I thought I had been afraid of one thing, and one thing only, but now, I realized that there was another. It was something that I either hadn't realized, or I had ignored. But some things just couldn't be answered.

A loud noise, that of horses, diverted my attention. I looked around expecting Methoataske and Haytham, but only to find a ground of patriot scouts, their bright blue jackets standing out against the greenery. One was on a horse, flanked by four other men. They approached the fort with some trepidation, looking a little worried. Not really surprised, in that sense.

And then an idea formed in my head.

I gathered my wits, dropped down from the trees, and came out of the bushes with my hands in the air. The patriots rounded on me, terrified. It was sort of amusing, in a way, but I disregarded it.

"Halt!" the one on the horse spoke to me. I complied. "Who are you?"

"I can't give you a name." I answered honestly. "But I am friends with Commander Washington, as are my allies."

The man on the horse looked confused. "Your allies?" he demanded again.

I thought for a minute. "Benjamin Tallmadge," I finally answered. "I am friends and allies with Benjamin Tallmadge. That should be enough proof. And I have something to give to your commanding officers."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The negotiations to take the fort took a lot longer than I expected it to, but it all worked out in the end. Saying I worked for Tallmadge -not entirely a lie, mind you- worked rather well. The patriots set to repairing the back walls, which I explained had blown up in a freak accident and I came to investigate only to find it abandoned. It would surely provide some use to the Continental Army, to which the officers I had met with agreed. The men loaned me a horse, and I went on my way back to the homestead.

It occurred to me as I rode home that Haytham and Methoataske never returned after I had blown it up. I spent a good portion of that journey wondering why. Maybe they had seen or heard the explosion and turned around, not knowing what had happened or assuming the worst. They also could have met one of their fleeing soldiers and gotten the information from them. But my best guess was that Methoataske was forced back to Fort George, where I could now plan an attack properly, and Haytham would not return to her fort until the next day. Oh, what a surprise he was going to be in for. I ceased those thoughts as I rode into the valley of the homestead, dismounted, and headed for the front of the manor.

When I opened the door, I could hear shouting coming from the back of the house, down in the basement. I sighed, pulling off my boots. Connor and Achilles must be fighting again. Never a dull moment with those two.

I slipped through the hidden door and headed downstairs to the secret basement, and sure enough, the two men I shared a house with were snapping at each other, red in the face. Connor's fists were balled and he looked ready to throw a punch at his mentor. Achilles looked no less calm, his voice rising in his anger.

I cleared my throat, catching their attention. They both looked at me at the same time, and their faces faltered. For some unknown reason, they looked shocked and appalled. I raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, Ava." Achilles spoke first, leaning heavily on his cane. "Forgive my bluntness, but what the hell did you do to yourself?"

I cocked my head in confusion, and looked down. I was taken aback by the fact that I was still covered in grime and dust and soot and blood, having blown off in the fires and explosions I had caused. I was so caught up in the patriots and returning back to the homestead that I completely forgotten my appearance. Looking back to the two men, I could see Achilles's face begin to grow angry once more, and Connor just stood there looking a little lost for words. I tugged at my hair awkwardly.

"I…um…" I began, searching for the right word. "I went out, and I found a fort…and well, long story short, there isn't really much of a fort anymore."

Achilles' eyes grew so wide, I could see their whites from the top of the stairs. "You did what?" he demanded.

Connor looked halfway torn between disapproval and some sort of pride. I wasn't going to stick around and find out. I pointed back upstairs. "I'm going to wash up before dinner," I stammered as casually as I could, backing up the stairs. "I'll be down by the bay…don't bother calling me until dinner is ready. It's gonna take a lot of effort to get this muck off, right?" I let out a little fake laugh, heat rising up my neck.

Without bothering to wait for a response, I bolted back upstairs and raced for the back door. I slammed it shut behind me and sprinted down the hill, barefoot. And somehow, I found it in me to laugh a little, for real. The sun was still warm on my face, and nothing could take that away.

I wanted to put some sort of emotional development into this chapter, but it wasn't the time. Maybe later.

So yeah, expect an even quicker update than this. Chapter 39 is about 95% done but I have some other stuff I want to take care of first. Such as a little AC:Untiy oneshot involving Arno and Charlotte Corday.

As always, thanks for reading and please REVIEW, follow, or fav if you enjoyed.

(And no, Ava and Haytham aren't getting together. Never even passed my mind)