Part 4: 1787

Chapter 1

Shay sat nestled in the crook of a tree, listening. There were the usual sounds of the winter woods: wind blowing, barren branches smacking against one another, the crackle of snow where some creature stepped. But, above it all, were the whispers. Shay had never been able to properly describe them, not even to George Monro, the only one of his children to inherit even an echo of the gift. It was a sound, which was not a sound, just on the edge of hearing, loud and quiet all at once. The whispers spoke of only one thing: danger. Someone, somewhere near, was coming to kill him. The Grandmaster smiled coldly. So be it.

Shay focused on the not-quite-sound, tracing the whispers to their source. A red light appeared in the gray-tinted world of his Eagle Vision, growing more distinct as his unwary enemy approached. The Grandmaster waited patiently, keeping the Assassin in his awareness. For a moment, there was perfect silence.

The whispers shrieked and the Assassin leapt. Shay moved, turning his startled opponents blow and striking up with his own Blade. The world shattered. "I know you," Shay murmured, looking down at the man before him. "You were part of the Colonial Brotherhood."

"As were you," hissed the man known only as Joe. "Traitor."

"Yes," Shay said curtly. He had little time – Joe would be dead soon, and any information lost with him. "Connor sent you after me?"

The fallen Assassin laughed. "I came myself. But Connor will be after soon – poison won't keep him down for long."

"Poison?" Shay asked, but the world was already reforming around them. The Grandmaster scowled, dropping to the ground. "You should've kept to wife beaters, Joe," he muttered as he stalked off. Behind him, the snow slowly turned red.

"At least I know what's delaying him now," Shay muttered irritably, as he returned to his campsite. George Monro should have met him weeks ago. But if Connor had been poisoned… "I told you not to fight him," the Grandmaster said aloud.

"He found me, Da," George Monro defended, moving stiffly toward the fire.

"You were hardly at point non plus, little brother," Robyn scolded, turning to Shay. "He just wanted to darken the Assassin's daylights, and promptly made a mull of it. He's just lucky I was there to get him out of the scrape." She sniffed haughtily. "Father, must you pick such draughty places to stay? I'm like to die of cold!"

Shay chuckled. He had always been fond of his eldest daughter. "I apologize, Robyn. I was unaware you were coming. I would have ensured proper accommodations otherwise."

"Well, I would not have come," she admitted, "but for some goose who got himself injured near to death!"

George Monro glowered at his sister. "You're making it worse than it was. I was perfectly capable of getting away."

"Then why didn't you?" Shay asked pointedly.

The Hunter looked away. "I…"

"Yes?" Shay asked, his voice softening. He knew his son, and he knew what lay behind the façade.

His boy sighed. "I was angry, and I let it get the better of me." Shay nodded. "I was not erased," he added, eyes flashing with sudden heat.

It was Shay's turn to sigh. Damn you, Haytham… "I know. This is your choice. You can't be me now anyway; you're injured and I'm not." Which meant his son could be himself for awhile. George Monro would never forgive Shay if the Grandmaster didn't use the boy's remarkable resemblance to their advantage, but Shay sometimes wished he could convince the boy otherwise. It was far too late for that, though. My damn fault as much as Haytham's, Shay admitted. Training George Monro to mirror his father had been Haytham's way of enabling the boy to connect with a man he rarely saw. It had been Shay's choice to go looking for revenge, leaving his young, grieving children behind. Not that he'd been in any state to care for them, but he had still deprived them of their second parent immediately after they had been so cruelly stripped of their first.

Robyn sighed. "And after he got into the mill, he couldn't even have the Assassin backed!"

"I should hope not," Shay said, startled out of his dark thoughts. "I need him alive."

"Why?" George Monro demanded. "Why won't you let me kill him?" Shay raised a brow, questioning. "I only used a half dose."

"Ah." The Grandmaster paused, nodding. "Thank you. I could wish you hadn't fought him at all; it's put us behind. Have Luke and Daniel attacked?"

"Not yet," Robyn said haughtily, "though it was quite some work to keep them from it! I had to feign I was a cit!"

"How uncomfortable for you," Shay said dryly.

His daughter glowered at him. "Well, I'm sure I don't know why I should expect even the slightest understanding from my father. As you are a cit yourself, and utterly bereft of sensibility, one could hardly expect you to understand the indignity such façade must be to me."

"I'm not a cit," Shay protested teasingly. The lack of sensibility he could hardly deny.

"You are, Da," George Monro said dryly.

"Technically not," Shay pointed out. "I'm the Earl of Avon, remember?" Both his children promptly laughed, which was rather the point.

"What was dear George thinking?" Robyn asked, giggling.

"The King's mad, remember?" George Monro laughed. "I'd wager that had something to with it. I can't imagine he'd have given it otherwise."

Shay grinned, enjoying his children's mirth, even if it was at his expense. In truth, he'd saved the King's life, much as Shay had saved Franklin's and Madison's. Haytham had not been pleased, mostly due to Shay utilizing the King's ear to encourage policies such as the Coercive Acts. If by Coercive you mean 'liable to cause a rebellion'. Something Shay had wanted and Haytham had not. I'll have to thank Connor for the help some time.

His children's giggles and teasing slowly died, as the seriousness of the situation crept up on them again. "What next?" George Monro asked.

"You find somewhere to heal properly," Shay answered. "Robyn and I will return to Massachusetts to ensure nothing happens until Mentor Kenway recovers."

His son's eyes narrowed. "Which brings me back to my earlier question," the boy said coldly.

Which? Oh – "I need him to end the rebellion for me," Shay explained. "Assassins are very good at ending Templar plots, so I've given them one to take care of."

George Monro snorted. "Your plot includes the Assassins stopping the plot?"

"Every wise Grandmaster should include it," Shay said sagely. "Otherwise they're liable to do it when you don't want them to."

"Is that why you had Robyn warn Kenway?" George Monro asked.

Shay stiffened. "Robyn?" He asked, voice dark.

"Oh, don't set up your bristles so, Father," Robyn said airily. "You know I so hate punting on River Tick."

Shay stared at her blankly, anger flaring in his eyes. "What has that," he said through gritted teeth, "to do with warning him?"

Robyn shot him a confused look. "He let you live in Maryland, Father," she said simply.

"I see," Shay snapped. Damn Robyn and her idiotic sense of 'propriety.' He loved his daughter, but her eccentricity could be as problematic as it was helpful.

"Besides," the girl added, "now he thinks I'll help him."

"You might have led with that," her brother noted. Shay agreed.

"There's nothing to be done for it now anyway," he said, anger fading. "Just as there's nothing I can do for Job now; it'll have to wait until Hancock is back in power." His children nodded. "The war has started up again," he continued. "Dobby tried to kill Benjamin after the war broke out."

"Oh, poor Christopher!" Robyn gasped. "He must be utterly blue deviled! George Monro, you be nice when you see him now."

"Yes, sister," the younger of the two replied dryly. "I'll console him over the loss of his pretty Assassin maid."

"She escaped," Shay noted, a faint smile touching his lips. He'd never much liked the girl, but his son had, and that was enough for him. "Alexander shot an Assassin following him; as best we can make out, they both survived. There was no body to be found, at least."

"Uncle Nathanial?" Demanded Robyn.

"He was tracked by Atasá:ta, but managed to lose him. He's gone to ground for now; last I heard from him, he was heading back north – carefully."

"And the others?" George Monro asked.

"Gillian was warned by her brother, so she's long gone from Massachusetts," Shay answered. "I've ordered the rest of those who can to bury their affiliations and keep their heads down until I give the word. We'll need them in Philadelphia."

"Those who can," his son noted. "Who can't?"

"Benjamin," Shay answered. "He's trapped in Kentucky. Alexander: he needs to be active. Me, obviously. I need to be here. Robyn, too. And…" he sighed, "Arthur. They know what he is, and he can't just leave. And he can't defend himself either; he's no Hunter."

"We all know the price," Robyn said somberly. For a moment they sat in silence, holding vigil for their brother Templar.

"My mother-in-law?" George Monro asked at last.

"Safe on the Éire," Shay answered, "recovering. Miss Margaret is with her." Robyn smiled warmly, her relief hidden behind her usual vapid mask. Not that there was reason for it here, but such feelings would not be looked at kindly elsewhere and Robyn found it easier to retain her guise. "We made sure the Aquila saw the little ones playing; the Assassins won't attack her now."

"Are you so certain?" The Hunter snapped. "It hasn't always stopped them."

"This is not the Colonial Brotherhood," Shay said flatly, "nor the Portuguese." And he was not going to discuss the subject further. "Robyn, are you ready to travel?"

His daughter nodded primly. "I don't suppose you've acquired a barouche for us?"

"In this snow?" Shay laughed. "It wouldn't get two feet!"

Robyn sighed. "Oh, very well. But you're to carry me if I become fagged, Father."

"Be careful," George Monro said, as they prepared to leave.

"I will," Shay promised. A sudden thought occurred to him. "I killed one of the Assassins earlier. Do you think you could…?"

"I'll take care of it," the Hunter promised.

"Thank you," Shay said. "You be careful as well."

"I will," his boy promised.

Shay laughed as he walked off with Robyn. "Don't make promises you can't keep, lad." He looked back, smiling warmly at his boy, sitting alone by the dying fire. "You are my son."

Animus Notes:

Earl of Avon: I'm pretty sure there's still a Most Honorable Lord Cormac around somewhere. Come to think of it, his name may be Shay, too.

King George III: Not to be confused with his grandfather George 2, or his great-grandfather George 1, or his son George 4. Also not George 5, 6, or future monarch George 7.

AUthor's Notes:
The reference to George 3's mental health is slightly anachronistic; his first bout of madness occurred in the 1760's, but would not recur until 1788.