A/N: This is my first fanfic. I don't mind criticism, but don't just troll for the sake of it. Tell me what you think. Anyway, as the release date of Assassin's Creed 3 draws near, anticipation rises, and the waiting becomes plain madness. Everyone needs a way to get through waiting. This is something I've been working on in a half-arsed way, so I didn't actively look for time to write. Hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed belongs to the brilliant developers Ubisoft, except for the OC(s) and names for the various soldiers and other people, which are of my own invention.

Red Travels

Chapter 1

23rd of January, 1772

Connor Kenway surveyed the snow-veiled landscape from his tree-top perch, and sucked in a breath of cold, winter air. His eyes scanned the paths and trails for elk, or anything else he could survive on for the upcoming night. Rising from his low crouching position on the branch, he leaped forward, and started his path through the trees to the more populated areas of the wild. Moving silently like a ghost, gliding undetected above patrols and carriages travelling the countryside, he made his way. As he got to an area just outside his destination, Connor heard a commotion. Halting, he glanced left and right to look for the source of the chatter. Peeking over his shoulder, he found the source.

"Why do we 'ave to get the bloody meat every day, John?" said a British soldier carrying a dead elk.

"Because we that's the job we got chosen for us." The higher-ranked soldier named John said in a bored tone. "Don't be complainin' about it. At least we din't get lavatory cleanin' duty back at Fort Lyon."

"Aye," said another, a large man carrying an axe, in a hushed voice. "And not so loud, both of you. There's more than wolves and bears in these woods."

"You talkin' of the Assassin, mate?" said the first one, who had hushed his voice like his peer. "I hear he prowls the woods, pickin' off soldiers for sport. Me, I think that no living man could do that without being caught. Must be some sort of phantom or ghost, by my thinkin'."

Hearing this, Connor chuckled quietly to himself.

The one named John scoffed loudly. "You pair of fools!" He laughed. "You don't 'onestly believe that drivel? Just a story the men tell around campfires. There ain't no Assassin…"

"Don't be so sure of yourself, John!" said the one with the axe. "An entire patrol of ten men found murdered a hundred or so meters out of Fort Sharp last week. With no footprints leaving the area!"

"That's right!" continued the first man. "And, to boot, I overheard General Kane talking with someone in his cabin about said Assassin! Also said to the man somethin' about delivering a letter to Boston by the 3rd of February. That was just this mornin', too."

Connor's ears pricked up at hearing this. Matthew Kane was a British general and a Templar. He listened intently with the utmost concentration.

"Alright, alright, just shut up, and let's get back to the fort." said John, sick of the arguing. Satisfied with what he had learned, Connor decided it was time do take the deer from them. Dropping down to the ground silently, the snow muffling the sound, he drew his bow. Careful not to alert them to his presence, he picked one of the arrows from his leather quiver, and placed it in the bow. Pulling back the string, Connor let it fly through the air, before burying itself in the large axe-man's skull. Startled, the other two men turned around quickly.

"Assassin!" yelled John, drawing the rapier at his side. The other man, whimpering like a child, dropped the deer, and tried to run desperately away through the knee-high snow. Putting his bow away, Connor drew his tomahawk. He charged at John, who attempted to stab Connor. The blade missed Connor by inches, and was knocked away harshly with a swing of the tomahawk. Using this chance, he grabbed John's face, and extended his hidden blade. Drawing his attention from John to the fleeing soldier, Connor drew one of his pistols from the holster with his hand, drenched in blood. He took aim, and shot the man clean through the thigh. The man let out a blood-curdling scream, and fell to the ground, trying to crawl away, while Connor walked slowly to him, sheathing his pistol and tomahawk.

"Please! Please don't!" bawled the man. The Assassin ignored him, and drew his bow, and one arrow. Pulling back the string of the bow, he aimed down at the man's forehead, and let go. After putting the bow back, Connor searched the pouches of the three men. He found some dried meats and fruits, and a necklace on John that had a cross on it. Moving back to the deer, he drew his knife, muttered a short prayer, and skinned the animal, taking the pelt, antlers, and meat. Connor looked up, and saw that the sky was darkening to night. Climbing back up to the treetops, he stopped and took out a map of the area. He was two kilometres east of a clearing, and he could get there and set up camp before nightfall.

Half an hour later, Connor was in his tent with a fire, a bedroll, and a pot to cook his meal. He had taken off his coat, his weapons, his boots, his shirt, and his gloves, and now sat in nothing more than some loose, ragged trousers. Seasoning the venison with some herbs he had picked up earlier that day, he ate comfortably, and slept calmly that night.

24th of January, 1772

Connor awoke early in the morning, while the sun was still rising through the trees, and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He reached for his map, and checked where this part of New England was in relation to Boston. It was the 24th of January, and he could travel the whole region in the time between now and the 3rd of February, when the letter was being delivered. The clearing was on the opposite side of the colony from Boston, but was not far from Fort Lyon, where the letter was coming from. He decided that he would intercept the letter not in Boston or at the Fort, but somewhere in one of the smaller towns in between.

Feeling his stomach growl from hunger, Connor stood up, and felt a sudden craving for fresh meat, not dried or preserved. So he poked his head out of the tent, and spotted a small snow rabbit as it moving along the clearing. 'Perfect' thought Connor, as he turned back into the tent and picked up one of his personal throwing knives from his pouch, which lay on the floor next to his bed. Looking back outside, the rabbit had now stopped to sniff something on the ground. Connor took this chance, and threw the knife into the rabbit's side. Picking up the deer's pelt and wrapping himself in it, he walked out into the brisk winter air. He said a small prayer for the animal, and took it back inside.

When the sun had fully risen, Connor had eaten his fill, packed away his tent, and had dressed himself in his Winter Assassin's Uniform. It was just his normal uniform, only lined with fur on the inside and rims for extra warmth. Connor had skinned the rabbit, and used the fur as a mask that he wrapped around his face and covered his mouth and nose. Connor kept his hood down and his mask at his chin, as he climbed up through the trees and was soon looking over the forest. Once there, he spotted Fort Lyon. He could spy on the soldiers, and hopefully find out more about the trip to Boston. So pulling up his hood and mask, he dropped to a lower level, and started moving through the trees.

As he approached the area of the fort, he noticed that it was situated on a high cliff that looked over the forest from one side, and looked over the sea from the other. Grinning, Connor thought to himself 'smart of them, to be able to see an attack from both sides'. Hoping to enter undetected, he chose to climb the cliff instead of use the main gate entrance. So he began to climb. He climbed for five minutes before reaching a small hollowed out crevice in the cliff face. There was a tunnel that reeked of rubbish and waste.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Connor, knocked back by the stench. "This must be where they dispose of used things. It may be a perfect way to enter unnoticed. Should lead straight into a disposal room or something."

Bracing himself, Connor entered the dark, unlit tunnel, and began to climb the rocky walls inside. He climbed and climbed, faster and harder, until his hands felt smooth wood above him. Scanning the wooden panel, until he felt what he was looking for. A handle. Slowly lifting off the panel, he looked around the room he had arrived in. No soldiers. He came out of the panel, took off the fur mask on his face, and found that he was in the kitchens, which reeked of fish and herbs. Just as he was about to head for the exit, he heard something from outside.
"…heard anythin' about John's patrol, Simon?" he heard a soldier ask.

"No, mate. Haven't seen 'em since yesterday morning." replied his friend.

"Ah well. They'll show up eventually. Let's go check if the food's ready yet."

'Shit!' thought Connor 'They're coming into the kitchens!' Connor's mind raced, looking around the room for a place to hide. He looked up, spotting the rafters, and the path to them. Leaping into action, he jumped to the shelves that housed the food, and climbed up them frantically. He then stepped onto the rafters beside, staying low and silent, and moved along them to see the door. Looking down from the rafters four meters in the air, he heard the door handle turn, followed by two soldiers entering the room. Connor watched the soldiers as they walked through the room to a door on the other side.

"Oi, Euan, you useless chef, is lunch ready?" one of them asked.

"Not yet, lad." replied Euan the chef in a heavy Scottish accent. He was a middle-aged man with curly, brown, shoulder-length hair streaked with grey, an unshaven face, and a rather bulbous gut. "About five minutes left."

"Well, hurry up then, y'old fart. We ain't got all day." ordered the other soldier. They both left the small room and headed back for the door outside. Connor took this opportunity and dropped onto them, unhinging both of his hidden blades and jamming them into their skulls. He took the uniform of one of them, and dropped them both down the hatch he had climbed up. Storing his own clothes into his pouch, he outfitted himself in the clothes of a British Redcoat, and walked out of the door.

The camp was almost deserted. Connor could see one or two soldiers, playing cards or doing their patrols, but the emptiness of the fort was ideal. Pulling a mask over his mouth and nose, he went to talk to the soldier playing cards with himself.

"Hello, friend." said Connor, imitating the accent of the soldiers. "I seem to have forgotten where the Generals quarters are, and I need to deliver somethin' to him. Might you point me in the direction?"

The soldier examined Connor for a while, and began, "Yeah, if you go down those stairs over there, turn left, and go into the first door on your right, you'll find him. Say, where are you from? Your skin looks quite a bit darker than mine…"

"It's just a sun-tan…" Connor lied dismissively, "Thanks mate." He turned to walk away, the other soldier still eyeing him suspiciously, and headed for the stairs on the other side of the courtyard. He took a left where the soldier had directed him, and found the door with a wooden placard that said:

-General Matthew Kane-

-Commander of Fort Lyon-

Instead of knocking on the door, Connor climbed the wall to the top of the cabin and peered into a sunroof. He saw General Kane at his desk, poring over pages of messily written-on parchment, and surrounded by books. Shifting his position slightly to see more, he glimpsed a necklace with a red and silver cross on it identical to the one he had taken from the high-ranking soldier John the day before. The necklace of a Templar. The symbolic cross used to signify Templars since a time before the memory of anyone alive. It had always been the symbol of the Knights Templar and the modified A had always been symbolic to the Assassin Order. Connor had the shape of his personal Tomahawk in the same design.

Time passed. Connor sat up on the roof for hours, watching Kane diligently, who would sometimes stand and pace around the room, muttering inaudibly. It was well passed midday, probably around two in the afternoon, when Connor heard someone knock on the door below him. Not taking his eyes off Kane, he changed back into his Assassin garb and stored the Redcoat Uniform away in the pouch. Kane stood up, and opened the door for his guest. It was the same soldier who had been playing cards by himself hours earlier.

"Well, what is it you want?" barked Kane, spit flying from his mouth.

"Sorry to bother you sir, but Mr Till over in Boston has replied to your message about the meetin'. He says that the meetin's main topic will be the disappearance of several well-known people he referred to as 'brothers'. I know not what he meant by that." the soldier said quickly but politely.

"Hmm. Thank you, you may leave." said Kane, now deep in thought. Before the soldier could say anything more, the General had slammed the door in his face, shattering a few icicles on the door frame. The soldier left quickly, muttering out of Connor's earshot, and made his way back to the place where he was playing cards with himself. Connor thought to himself with an inward grin, 'Those well-known people are Templars, assassinated by me.' Connor stood from his position on the roof and dropped down the side he climbed up on. He then made his way to the Kitchens, making sure not to be seen by the soldier playing cards. Opening the hatch he had climbed through, he grasped the rocks again, and began shimmying down the wall, occasionally dropping to reach the next handhold. He reached the bottom of the tunnel, and looked over the edge, examining the land below for something to break his fall. Then he spotted a large pile of snow and leaves about 3 meters out from the cliff at the bottom. Taking a couple of steps back, he started at a full sprint, and his momentum carried him to the pile, where he flipped over majestically, and fell into it safely, without injury of any kind.

Connor started to walk back to the forest, but was confronted by a large black bear. Assuming a combat stance, he looked at the bear, careful not to tear his eyes away. The bear made the first move. He bounded towards Connor, closing the gap between them, and swiped his large, heavy claws at his head. Connor ducked, and pulled out his Tomahawk and one of his pistols. Before the bear pulled it arm back in, Connor made sure to swing at it with the Tomahawk, which was now firmly embedded into him. The bear roared at the startling pain, and Connor took his chance, and jabbed the barrel of the pistol into the bottom of the bear's jaw, before pulling the trigger and sending the bear's brains, bones, and blood into the air. Connor stepped back, and the bear's lifeless body fell into the space in front of him with a shuddering smash.

"I am sorry, brother." Connor said, before starting a small prayer for the fallen beast, all the while skinning and taking the meat of the dead bear. After storing away what he had taken, he rose, and climbed a large tree on the outskirts of the forest. Once up, he began gliding through the trees, as quick and silent as an owl. He made his way through the forest to a large tree, with a hollowed trunk. Connor entered the tree, and began climbing up through the middle of it. At the top he found a wooden platform, made by man, but not well known. The platform was veiled in a thick hide from various animals, to close it off and introduce some privacy. This was Connor's hidden home in this forest. He retrieved his bedroll, and tent and set them up, before going to fetch firewood. So Tomahawk in hand, he went, chopping down low branches and picking up fallen logs and bits of wood.

Connor sat on the wooden platform, thinking and planning. He sat for hours, until the orange rays of the setting sun pierced the trees, and set up his camp, assembling the campfire on a rock slab to prevent the platform from burning. Connor set himself on the bedroll, and folded out his map in front of him, and took out a quill and ink pot. Dipping the quill in, he set to work on marking the places he had been and annotated them with brief reports of what had occurred. He had done this many times before. Most of the map showed this, as it was crammed with black drips and crosses and messy, rushed writing. As the night pressed on, he ate a small portion of spiced meats and drank water from the spring, continuing his notes. As the moon peeked through the trees directly above him, Connor decided that it was time to rest. He doused the fire, to remain unnoticed for the night, and sat back, falling to sleep almost instantaneously.

Before the night was over, with the moon still looming over him through the trees, Connor sat bolt upright reaching for his tomahawk. He looked around the darkness madly. No one was there. But he could hear something. Coming from below. The sound of men, loud and thoughtless to the world around them. Donning his hooded jacket, Connor peered over the edge of his platform silently. He could see one, two, three, four red-coated men below him.

"Damnit, Andrew. What in the bloody hell are we doin' out this late in the woods anyway?" whined one of the soldiers.

"I told you, we're searchin' for the chap who killed Fredrick and Brian up in the kitchens. Should 'ave seen the look on ol' Euan's face when he came and told us. Absolutely hilarious." said one of the other soldiers, grinning widely.

"Tha's all well and good, but then why are we luggin' round this tart? What is this woman goin' to do to help us find him? We should 'ave left her up at the fort, I reckon." the first replied.

"Because I wanted to! Don't question my authority, whelp. I'm still a rank higher than you. Since when is it your business what I do with prisoners? Anyway, that's enough talk, we should be quiet. These woods are dangerous at night." the other said, finishing the conversation.

Connor blinked, confused. Connor thought to himself: I don't see any women…time for a closer look. Looking at the snow in the trail behind them, he saw five sets of prints. He looked back to the men, and rubbed his eyes. Still only four of them. He leapt, unheard, from his platform into the trees above them and looked down upon the men. The fifth set of footprints had indeed belonged to a woman. A colonist, but chained up, gagged, dressed in rags, and left to suffer the cold by these colonial forces. Connor scratched his head, confused. But whatever was happening, the woman appeared to be quite unhappy and quite cold.

Dropping to the ground below without a sound, his fall cushioned by the deep snow that lay there, he drew both of his Flintlock Pistols. He snuck up behind them, unnoticed, and placed the barrels of the pistols on the skulls of two of the four men.

"Good Evening." Connor announced himself, smirking to himself, and pulling the triggers simultaneously, splattering the men's brains on the trees and snowy ground around them. The other two men, startled by the sudden death of their comrades and the sudden appearance of the hooded figure, both let out an involuntary gasp. Sheathing the pistols quickly, he leapt onto one of the men, pinning him to the cold snow. The other had drawn his musket fitted with a bayonet, and was coming at Connor as fast as he could move through the thick whiteness. The soldier poised his musket above Connor, and plunged it down aiming right for the Assassin's spine. But he was to slow. At the last second, the white-clad hooded man had swiftly stepped out of harm's way, leaving the man's bayonet to pierce the heart of his comrade on the floor.

"Agh!" the soldier cried in sorrow as his blade went through his friend. Connor seized the opportunity, and kicked the man to the ground. Hard. The man's musket slipped out of his hand, and he was left sprawled on the ground, panicked and anxious. Placing his foot on the man, Connor drew his Tomahawk, spinning and twirling it several times in his hand, before delivering the final blow to the skull, punctuated by an abrupt scream from the soldier. Connor drew his attention from the dead man on the floor, and looked around for the woman. He couldn't see her. But he would find her. She would not last the night in the cold, unforgiving Frontier. Looking at the ground, he saw the smaller pair of foot prints scattered around the bloody snow-covered ground. Connor smirked slightly, before walking calmly along the prints. The prints ended up behind a large oak tree, and looking up from the prints, he came to the feet of the woman he had seen earlier. Connor's gaze moved upwards, noticing her features and what she looked like. Long, thin legs, wide hips, narrow waist, generous bosom, and long red hair passing down to her elbow length, and attractive features on a young, pale, fair face. A very scared young, pale, fair face.

"I'm not here to hurt you. Tell me who you are." Connor said gently, putting his hand on her cold shoulder. The young woman said nothing, shivering. "You're cold. Come with me."

"W-where?" the girl spoke up.

"Somewhere safe, where the soldiers won't find you. I have food and warmth, and I promise to do you no wrong." he said.

"C-can you g-get these chains off m-me? One of the s-soldiers had a k-key." she said, shivering.

"Of course, come with me." he said, leading her along to the bodies of the men. He looked in the coat of the higher ranking soldier, and found an iron key inside. Bringing it up to the lady's feet, where there were heavy cuffs, he unlocked them, and then proceeded to unlock the chains at her hands.

"Th-thank you so much, sir." She said politely, rubbing her reddened wrists and still shivering.

"Come. Are you injured, can you climb a ladder?" Connor said, gesturing her to follow him to the hideout.

"I'm sore, but I can c-climb a ladder." She replied, walking with him and breathing into her hands.

"Good. Wait here, I'll be back in a few seconds." he said as they arrived at the base of the large, hollow tree. Connor ran up through the trunk and arrived at the top in seconds, opening the thick leather bag he always had there, and took out a rope ladder. Dropping it down, he peered over the edge and called to the girl. "Alright, climb up!"

She grasped the wooden pieces of the ladder, and ascended slowly and carefully.

"Let me start the fire." Connor said, rekindling the flames of the pile of wood in the centre of the platform. He then picked up his bedroll and placed it next to the fire. "You may have the bed for the night." he said, addressing the redhead.

"Thank you very m-much." she said once again, wrapping herself in the warm bedroll next to the fire.

"Now, can you tell me who you are?" Connor said, sitting down opposite her on the platform.

"Yes. My name is Catherine Johnson. I was born up north in New York. My parents sailed over from England before I was born." she said, now talking comfortably and no longer shivering. "I'm not great at describing myself, so ask me questions and I'll answer them."

"Alright. Why were you a prisoner to those redcoats?" Connor asked.

"I honestly don't know. They broke the door down in my house and took me. They kept saying I was 'consorting with the rebels'. Can I ask you a question now?" she said hopefully.

"Go ahead." Connor said with a sigh.

"Who are you? Where are you from? Why did you save me?" said Catherine.

Connor took off his weapons and hooded coat and set them to his side. Catherine blushed, seeing how attractive he was, with perfectly shaped features that were strong and rigid, dark brown eyes, and long black hair pulled back and was scattered with several braids. "My name is Ratohnhaké:ton. I am half Mohawk, half your kind. And I saved you because I saw injustice. I despise injustice. People should be free. All people. And no-one should have unnecessary power over others."

"Rat…Ratohnha…Ratohnhake-" attempted the still-blushing Catherine, but was cut off by Connor. "Just call me Connor. Connor Kenway. It's what colonists call me."

"So your half-half, eh Connor?" Catherine continued, more at ease now.

"Yes." said Connor. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm not fussy, anything will do." she replied politely.

Connor stood and reached into the leather bag once more, this time retrieving some meat, herbs and water. He then set up a pot above the fire and put the items inside.

"Any more questions?" Connor said, stirring the pot.

"Uhh…", Catherine thought for a moment, then said " Where are you sleeping if I'm in the bed?"

"On the floor." he said calmly.

"On the floor? Won't you get cold?"

"I have deer fur in my bag, I'll be fine."

"Oh. Um…if you say so…" she said, sounding slightly disappointed.

Connor took out two small wooden bowls and spoons and poured the cooked stew into both of them.

"Here." said Connor, handing Catherine a bowl and spoon.

They sat in silence eating the food. Connor ate in seconds, and put his empty bowl next to the fire. He then walked over to the bag one last time and withdrew a deer's fur. He placed it on the ground next to the fire, and sat down on it, exhausted. Catherine, who had finished eating now and had put her bowl next to Connor's, watched, still in silence. He then proceeded to take his boots and leggings off, and then began unbuttoning his undershirt. Catherine made a little squeak at this, her eyes widening, and once again, face becoming red. Connor stopped unbuttoning, and looked at her.

"Something wrong?" Connor asked, confused.

"No. Nothing. Everything's fine." Catherine said rapidly.

Eyeing her, still confused, Connor carried on unbuttoning. After he unbuttoned the last button, he let the shirt fall to the ground, revealing his bare torso to Catherine. Her blushing became even more fierce, and she let out a little moan. His well-built, tall, slim figure was too much for her. The toned abs, the hard-looking muscles had over-excited her.

"Are you okay, Catherine?" he said, slightly concerned.

"Just fine. Good night, Connor." she said quickly, red-faced, and she lay down in the bedroll and turned over.

"Yeah, G'night." he replied, as he lay back onto his fur-carpet, and fell to sleep.

A/N: Alrighty then. That's that. Review it if you want to, and tell me where I might need to improve. However, as I've said above, I've been doing this half-arsedly, so don't expect very frequent updates. I'll do my best though. Thanks for reading!