Author's Note: Yeah, another chapter with actual history facts! Also, this chapter feels a bit lack luster to me. When I wrote up the notes for this chapter something very different happened. But when I wrote it and this came out instead. I don't know, what do you guys think?
FYI: I actually had to do a lot of research for this chapter, and there are no OCs, except Kyle of course, involved. Believe it or not but all the following characters your about to read about, also excluding Connor, were real people.
Special thanks to: Everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, and read last chapter! You guys are why I do this!
Sassiersphinx81: Thank you! I'll try my best! ^_^
Fox Mew Brittany: I'm hoping my future plot twists will be as interesting to you as they are to me. But the Templar thing was actually a sudden idea, but it kinda fit didn't it? You just wait, you only know half of Salvatore's relationship to Ezio. This chapter will reveal the other half. I'll just tell you now, nothing is as it seems. XD
Alpha Lima One: -Begins eating the pizza- Thank you! Glad you like the story thus far. I hope none of my future chapters disappoint! I hope I get this chapter out soon enough to satisfy you. Also, I appreciate the love and the pizza! ^_^
Portrait of a Scribe: Told 'ya it was cheesy. It was really an in the moment thing, kinda sorta. -_-' I'm glad you liked it though. No, from where this is going so far Kyle will not be with Connor. They mean too much to each other to think that way of one another. I will, however, give Kyle a chance to have romantic feelings with someone. Promise! And her lineage is actually a little complicated, but you'll see.
He's a Templar, hate totally justified now. I'm in complete agreement with you on that one. ^_^ And, with the YouTube thing, I think I'll have to do that. Some of the cut scenes don't replay with the DNA tracker, so I'll have too.
Thank you, and I hope to talk to you again soon! ^_^
Lureln
MoonCaller
Assassin Lin
Madman2014
Python3921
Artaddict15: Sorry to confuse. But Kyle still thinks Connor is attractive, but slowly as the story goes, Connor and Kyle's brother and sister bond begins to strengthen. Last chapter was probably the last chapter Kyle will ever mention her hormones while dealing with Connor. I will however, be giving Kyle a romantic interest.
Praetorianwarrior
Flametile
New Author's Note: I just want to say a HUGE thank you to all those who followed, favorited, and reviewed! I couldn't keep up with all of them but each and every single one of then mean the world to me, so thank you!
-X-
Revolutionary Tactics
Chapter 6: The Battle of Kyle's Hill
Breed's; June 17th, 1775.
"This is not Bunker Hill."
"Aye. It's Breed's. There's been some… disagreement as to where we should encamp."
The horse ride was a bit rough as we trotted down the trail. Connor seemed a bit upset that we weren't exactly where he thought we would be. But, baby steps, we had to start somewhere.
Our search for John Pitcairn, as you've probably guessed, has led us to Breed's instead of Bunker Hill. After a day's ride from the Homestead, we found ourselves meeting up with one of the scout's of the patriot army.
"Any news from Boston?" Connor asked, an edge to his voice as we rode past a lake on the trail.
"The Tories aren't moving. And anytime we try to press them, we lose a dozen men. I think Putnam and the others plan to assemble artillery on these hills. A good shelling might make the Redcoats rethink their strategy." The Scout replies proudly, more than happy to think of killing more Redcoats, giving them a taste of their own medicine.
"And what of John Pitcairn?" Connor intones, very interested in getting the information he craved.
I sighed. You could clearly hear the obsession in Connor's voice, if you were listening for it anyway. But instead of butting in, I just stayed deathly silent and followed closely behind the Master Assassin.
"That bastard is the cagiest of the bunch. He's appeared, time to time, to taunt us or send regards by way of cannon fire. It's all right, though. He'll have what's coming to him soon enough." The Scout replies, a smile to his voice.
I rolled my eyes. 'We can only hope.'
We ride for at least ten more minutes on horseback, down the trail, through the trees. The three of us end up passing a few streams as we go, but we pass far more wounded rebel soldiers than we do even trees. They litter the trail, most hiding, and some trying to flee with broken limbs.
It was a disastrous sight, all the blood and the dead. But it's nothing compared to what I saw at Concord. Back then most of the one's who littered the streets were innocents, killed in the crossfire. And then in Lexington, it was almost like a slaughter.
The stench is still sickening, the smell of cold metallic copper everywhere. I still feel unsettled by it, but after everything I've seen, I feel oddly calm. Almost as if all the killing wasn't affecting me as much anymore. It was like I was beginning to get used to it.
'Eh. Just remember, you're hands aren't so squeaky clean anymore either.'
Suddenly, I hear my father's voice in my head, as we begin to ride up hill. When I do I feel my heart skip a beat, my skin getting sweaty as the air around me becomes hot and humid. I couldn't stand that feeling, like he was still there, looking over my shoulder.
Like he was proud.
"Kyle?"
I hear Connor's voice and realize that I had stopped; my horse was standing still at the bottom of the hill. I take a deep breath and shake my head as my skin begins to cool off. Being around so much death was bringing back bad bad memories.
But Connor's voice helped, feeling Connor's eyes on me helped, and riding beside Connor helped. Just knowing Connor was there helped. It kept my thoughts focused; it gave me the ability to concentrate.
So, when I looked back up at Connor I gave him a I'm-fine smile and started riding forward again. This, however, was not good enough for Connor. I knew he could see right through me, and ever since that night in the storm he'd been keeping a closer eye on me.
Knowing that made me feel both safer and uneasy. I was okay with that though, I could handle that.
At least, I hoped so.
On the top of that hill was an encampment. It was, what felt like, a large foxhole surrounded by sand bags and sharp pieces of wood. On every side there were soldiers with rifles at the ready, in the center there were injured and supplies lying around.
It looked like a complete mess, to be honest.
The Scout suddenly stops his horse and we stop beside him. "Putnam's just up ahead, you can't miss him." He points out and then turns his horse around to promptly ride away.
Connor dismounts almost immediately after The Scout points us to Putnam. And the Master Assassin leaves me to tie both my horse and his to a post. I try and do that as quickly as possible, while also tying the reins securely.
"I don't care much for your excuses gentlemen. We should be building on Bunker Hill. Breed's is closer to the city, but it is also closer to their artillery!"
I heard what I imagined to be a very ticked off General Israel Putnam shouting at probably Artemas Ward. Because, if you didn't know, Ward was the whole reason why this garrison of soldiers was at Breed's instead of Bunker Hill to begin with.
The story is: On the night of June 16, 1775, a detail of American troops acting under orders from ARTEMAS WARD moved out of their camp, carrying picks, shovels, and guns. They entrenched themselves on a rise located on Charleston Peninsula overlooking Boston. Their destination: BUNKER HILL.
From this hill, the rebels could bombard the town and British ships in Boston Harbor. But Ward's men misunderstood his orders. They went to BREED'S HILL by mistake and entrenched themselves there — closer to the British position.
And that's the gist of it.
"Our orders came from men so divorced from the situation, we are compelled by reason to employ our own faculties to make a proper determination. Were that I could understand even HALF that nonsense you just uttered…"
Over the shooting, the canon fire, and the screams of dying men, Putnam's voice rang out above it all. His shouting was just so boisterous…. Yesh, I'm just glad he's not my commanding officer.
I tug on the reins one more time before running over to join Connor. He was waiting for me by the sand dune entrance of the pathetic dug out fort. Together, side-by-side, we head towards where we can hear Putnam creating such a commotion.
"What's not to understand? I'm trying to ensure our victory!" I can hear Ward's voice now, yelling at Putnam's arrogance.
As Connor and I walk farther into the camp I begin to see more and more wounded men. Some are even lying down beside what looked like it was once a bon fire. But now it was nothing more than a few burnt sticks.
"What would you know about victory? I killed a she-wolf in her den armed with only a knife. I escaped the Caughnawaga Indians, who sought to burn me alive. And I was the sole survivor of a shipwreck during the Battle of Havana. So you will excuse me if I choose not to follow your advice."
When I hear Putnam say that I flinch. I look up to Connor and go rigid; worried he might be insulted by what Israel had just said. But the Native American's face is completely blank, no emotion in sight.
He was either hiding it or he truly didn't care.
As we walk closer I begin to see Putnam amongst the masses. The General stands on the highest point of the fort, surrounded by other soldiers. He pushes some out of his way as he begins to stride toward us, and we advance towards him.
A split second later, before I can even blink, let alone move, a canon ball flies right past me, just two inches away from hitting my arm. It strikes the man who was standing behind me, right in his side, and sends him flying back. He screams at the top of his lungs, surprised and in pain.
Putnam goes to stand over the dying man after he lands, a big cigar in his mouth, and a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I rest my case." He says as calmly and as matter-of-factly as physically possible while standing over a now dead man. Putnam then turns sharply on his heel and begins to walk away. "I'm going back to Bunker Hill. Good-day, gentlemen." He waves, his tone like steel as he marches away.
Connor and I look at each other, unease in both of our gazes. I wince, and wring my wrists as Connor launches himself after Putnam. Reluctantly, I trail after him.
"General Putnam?" Connor calls, catching up with the man in question.
"What?" He growls, turning to glare down at my tsi'a.
Protectively, as a partner-in-arms should, I go to stand beside Connor. Giving him my full support. I knew he really didn't need it, but I was making up for the mistakes I had already made, I was going to show him that he could trust me again.
"I'm looking for John Pitcairn. I was told you'd be able to help me find him." Connor explains, standing his ground against the general's scrutiny.
Putnam narrows his eyes and looks Connor in the face. Something flashes in his stare, but he doesn't say anything. Then, for the first time, he looks at me and his brow rises. He seems confused to see me, but not shocked.
He shrugs off the looks and relaxes, blowing cigar smoke into both my face and Connor's. I nearly hack up a lung coughing on the billows, Connor; however, stays completely blank faced.
"He's tucked away inside the city with no reason to leave. So long as that ship continues its assault, we'll never flush him out." Putnam points out past the fort, through the forest, and onto Boston Harbor. Where there are three British ships firing directly at us.
I noisily wince, again. 'Oh my grandma, what big ships you have; all the better to blow you to smithereens with, my dear.' After that thought I pause, an embarrassed silence filling my mind. Two seconds later, I slap myself in the face. 'Oh my God, I did not just think that. I did, didn't I? Boy, I need a vacation.' I heavily sighed and massaged my temples as a headache was beginning to eat away at me. The sounds of screaming, shooting, and canon fire certainly didn't help.
"But if the ship was silenced…" Connor began to imply, and my head whipped over to him as he did. My eyes widened as I looked at him, then at the battlefield, then back again.
If he went out there to stop those ships he'd have to go through Boston, which, by the way, if you didn't know, WAS BEING SHELLED RIGHT NOW! It was suicide on a platter! A very big, dangerous, suicidal platter!
God, I wished Isaac was still alive.
"…Then poor John might be forced to get off his arse and come forward!" Putnam answers, a bit of gleefulness in his voice. He puffs out another cloud of smoke, and arches a brow at Connor's proposal. But Connor, most assuredly, had his full attention now.
Connor then looks around, and now it's my turn to be confused. He quickly catches sight of what he's looking for, and picks up a flag from off of the ground. It's sandy, covered in grit and mud, and its colors are bleakly faded. The flag itself had certainly seen better days.
"I shall fly this flag to signal my success." He states confidently, and I blanch at him.
Suddenly, I was beginning to feel nauseous with worry. I knew exactly what Connor was about to go do, and that he would be fine. But… that doesn't stop the horrible thoughts of what could happen from filling my mind. The worst thing was though; that I knew there was nothing I could do to stop him.
"And I shall speak fondly of you at your funeral." Putnam says sarcastically, disbelieve practically oozing out of his voice. For that, I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything unsavory towards the man.
Connor begins to leave then, but before he can I grab his arm, desperately, tightly. "Be careful tsi'a." I whisper, looking into his eyes, practically trying to see into his thoughts.
Connor smirks under the hood, his eyes lightly shrouded, but still aglow. "You as well khe'kén:'a."
And after that I release the bone crushing grip I had on him, and I let him run off, towards the harbor, praying that he would be okay.
-X-
On the Charlestown Peninsula on the North side of Boston Harbor….
Boston was being besieged by thousands of American militia. The British were trying to keep control of the city and control its valuable seaports. The British decided to take two hills, Bunker and Breeds, in order to gain a tactical advantage. The American forces heard about it and went to defend the hills.
With the outbreak of the war General Gage, the British commander in chief, found himself blockaded in Boston by the American Continental Army, occupying the hills to the West of the city. Gage resolved to seize the Charlestown peninsula across the harbor. Before he could act, on the night of 16th June 1775 around 1,500 American troops of the Massachusetts regiments and Putnam's Connecticut regiment occupied Breed's Hill and Bunker Hill on the peninsula. The American troops began to build a redoubt on Breed's Hill. The fortification was complete by the morning, after a night of frenzied work. The presence of the Americans on the peninsula was observed by His Majesty's Ship Lively, which opened fire on them.
Plans were hurriedly put in motion by the British to attack the Americans and drive them from their position. Major General Howe, one of the three generals sent from Britain to assist General Gage, was given the command. While the preparations were in progress, the Americans extended their fortifications from the redoubt to the seashore, to prevent a flank attack. More American troops gathered on Bunker Hill but few of them could be persuaded to move to the forward positions on Breed's Hill.
Howe landed with his force on the southern shore of the peninsular and directed the light infantry to attack the section of American line at the seashore. Gage and Howe would have been well advised to have landed in the rear of the American position. It is likely that the British senior officers discounted the ability of the American troops to resist a frontal attack and overestimated the ability of their own troops to make one.
The light infantry column was repelled with heavy casualties. General Howe then launched a frontal assault on the redoubt with the main body of his troops. This attack was driven back with heavy loss, in spite of an American shortage of ammunition. During the attack the British left wing suffered from the fire of Americans in the town of Charlestown and the town was set ablaze.
The attacks should have been preceded by a bombardment from the field artillery but it was found that the 6 pounder guns had been supplied with 12 pounder balls.
A second attack was then launched along the length of the American entrenchments and was again driven back with heavy loss.
A final attack was made, concentrating on the redoubt and center of the American position. The American ammunition was all but exhausted and this final assault carried the redoubt, forcing the Americans to retreat and leave the peninsula. They were not vigorously pursued.
Or so the history books had said, but something told me today, as the dawn broke through the clouds, that things would be little bit different. Today history would be changed, whether for better or for worse was yet to be seen.
-X-
Finding General Putnam again was not hard. All I had to do was head toward where I heard the loudest shouting. I made my way swiftly through crowds of soldiers, some getting more ammunition, others grabbing bandages where they could.
It was all just so chaotic inside the fort.
'That's what war is, kiddo, chaos.'
I shook my head again as my father's voice echoed inside my skull. Try as I might, but every single time I pushed his memory away he'd just come back ten times stronger. And the atmosphere wasn't helping!
"General!" I called to the man, having had lost him earlier. But now, as I stood in front of him, I had his attention. In turn he looked over at me and eyed me up and down.
"Ah! The young woman from this morning." He addressed me as he looked back down at the tactical map in front of him. "Shouldn't you be fetching supplies, or something of the matter?" He said dryly, his tone sounding as if he was not at all concerned with taking me seriously.
I huffed, but bite my tongue again from saying anything insulting. "I came to give you something." I explained, my hand going to the holsters at my hip. He looked back up at me then, and I took a deep breath as I unclasped the dual pistols from around my waist.
In a way, this was just another form of closure for me. Training to become an Assassin had lead me to Isaac and then our meeting had lead to his death. But now, now I was handing over the last part of him I had left. I was giving him up, letting go of his memory.
I was keeping my promise.
Slowly, gently, I held out the holsters for Putnam. He looked down at them forlornly, something dark and sad in his eyes. I knew he knew, and now Isaac's death was official for him too.
"He…" I had to take another deep breath and clear my throat. "He said to tell you that…. That he won." A lump was forming in my throat, I tried to swallow it down but it wasn't working.
"Yes," Putnam nodded sorrowfully. "Yes he did… the bastard."
-X-
It took me a few minutes to collect myself, my promise kept, my mission done. Now, now I had to be the Assassin I was trained to be. I had to help! There had to be something I could do!
"Ah! Shit!"
That's close enough!
Hearing the curse like it was a sign from God, I glided over to an injured soldier near the trenches, the same one who had uttered it. His arm was badly bleeding, his rifle lying in his lap. On my way over to him I found some bandages strewn out. I don't know why bandages would be out in the middle of the fort, but really that just proved how disorganized everything was.
"Hey," I called out to him. He looked up at me as I did, a trickle of blood slowly sliding down his head and over his right eye. "Hold still." I ordered, kneeling down by his side to shake out the dirt from the bandages.
"Who are you?" He asked cautiously, his voice shaky and pain filled. He sounded like he didn't trust me, and acted as such when he flinched away from my hands.
I looked at him then, trying to win over his trust with my gaze. His eyes were a deep deep blue color, like the ocean. His hair was dusty blond, with a military cut to it. That face, his face, was young. He might have even been a year younger than me. But most of all, he was scared, frankly he looked terrified.
His face was almost like a mirror, for how I looked back in Concord.
"I'm Kyle." I reassured him, gently patting his shoulder, the arm that wasn't wounded anyway. "I'm here to help." And with that I began to unwind the bandages, taking long strands and wrapping them around his bleeding arm.
"I'm…" He stuttered, his teeth chattering as if he was freezing cold. "I'm Peter, Peter Brown." The boy replied in kind, allowing me to get closer.
I smile warmly at him, trying to calm him down some. "Nice to meet you Pete." I say as I finish wrapping up Peter's arm. I wind it up as tightly as I can, and I make sure no blood leaks through the bandages before going on to his head wound.
Peter winces as I touch the back of his head; I determine then that he had been grazed by a bullet on both his upper left arm and the right side of his skull. The poor guy was definitely in some pretty bad pain; it was to the point where he was breathing through his teeth.
I knew exactly how he felt.
As the two of us stayed down, Peter mostly lying against the outer sand dunes of the entrenchment, me kneeling beside him, the war waged on.
"So," I started as I began to wrap up Peter's cranium. "Tell me about yourself."
"W-what?" Peter looked back up at me, his pupils blown wide. He had begun to check out as I tended to his injuries, his gaze far off and distant.
"Tell…me…about…yourself." I say slowly, annunciating as his blown eyes followed my bobbing head like it was the bouncing ball.
"Um…uh…" He's shaking his head now, and I have to hold his chin so he won't. It's not exactly easy dressing a head wound when the head won't be still. Peter just keeps stuttering, his eyes everywhere, head sweating, as he tried to gather his thoughts into coherence. "I'm… I'm seventeen." He utters, his pupils beginning to look normal again, not as glassy as before. "I live… I live north of Boston Harbor."
When he says this I look up. Beyond the sand dunes, past the hill, and over to Boston, the north was being shelled. By now his home was probably nothing but shredded bits.
"Sorry." I whisper, tying the final knot in the bandage around his skull. "I don't think you'll be able to go home after this."
Peter nods knowingly. "Yeah, well, my dad died a few days ago. Took a bullet to the heart, and I never really knew my mom so… I guess there's not really any where for me to go." His shoulders slump and his eyes become dark, tears threatening to fall. He had the look of utterly lost and hopeless about him.
Something inside me tightens when he says this. All he had was taken by this war, yet he still chose to fight in it. This, the boy sitting right in front of me, was just another way the world showed how unfair it truly was.
But sometimes, very few times, we have the power to balance things out. When I think of the way I can, I put my hand on his good shoulder and squeeze it reassuringly again. After I do this he looks up at me questioningly.
"You know, if your interested, I know a place where you can start a life all your own. With no Redcoats to worry about, and no war. Just a nice peaceful place with a bunch of amazing and kind people." I tell him, smiling widely as I do; the feeling of putting a little good back from where the world had taken it, filling me.
Peter looks back up at me and for the first time smiles. "I'd like that."
-X-
I stay with Peter for a little while, telling him all about the Homestead. I even get him to smile again and laugh, as I distracted him from what was going on outside our little social bubble.
I found out Peter was actually pretty smart for his age, and if the war hadn't occurred he would have been running his father's printing press service. He had a gift for words, he really did. He could even quote poetry like a pro.
I told Peter then that if he wanted to start up a printing press service down in Davenport, in his father's honor, that there would be plenty of people willing to help. This made tears come to his eyes, almost as if I was handing him his life back, it made him so happy.
But when I see Connor riding back up to the hill I have to say goodbye to Peter. Peter actually looked a bit distraught as I left, but I reassured him that I'd be right back. When I said that he looked a little bit better, but he still didn't look too happy about me leaving.
Had the kid already developed a crush on me or something?
As Connor rides up, soldiers begin to gather around. Putnam's called a last-chance speech conference to pull his men together. By now though, their ammo is beginning to run low, and Putnam's losing faith in the fight.
Things were about to get bad.
"The enemy advances and you tremble. They've better numbers, you say. Better weapons. Better training. But I do not fear…" Putnam starts, standing up on his figural soapbox.
As he talks I make my way through the crowd, silently passing soldier after soldier like I was a ghost. Connor's on the other side doing the same, and after a moment of the both of us moving toward one another, we meet in the middle.
I can't help the urge, and I certainly don't feel the need to control it. So, as we meet, I throw myself onto Connor and hug him. The warmth that rolls off of him in thralls comforts me, and makes the fact that he's standing there feel just that much more real.
"I'm glad your okay tsi'a." I say; my words muffled as I nuzzle further into his chest.
Connor pats my back and chuckles. "So am I."
"And neither should you. For what they have in materiel, they lack in conviction and care. But not us. We have discipline. We have order. And most importantly, we have passion. We believe! So maintain vigilance. Conserve your ammo. Ensure a proper line of sight. And above all else, men: do not fire until you see the whites of their eyes." Putnam finishes his speech and the masses dissipate as he dismisses the eagerly listening soldiers.
As I had explained earlier; the Patriots were getting low on ammunition. Because of this Putnam had said 'don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes.' It was his way of getting his men to conserve ammo. At least he thought it might work. But when your low your low, there's no changing that.
As the soldiers head back to their stations, Connor continues his trek towards Putnam, now with me on his tail. Israel, this time, is sitting down on a tipped over crate, chewing on his cigar as the two of us walk up to him.
Putnam instantly notices us, and with a shine in his eye, he looks up at Connor. "Well I'll be damned, you did it."
"That was quite a speech." Connor replies, not as surprised as Putnam by his own feats.
"Lies, all of it, I'm afraid. Still, such words have carried us thus far." Israel retorts, a shrug and dryness to his tone. Slowly, after that was said, he stands, and then dusts himself off.
"And what of Pitcairn?" Connor asks, his arms behind himself, as he follows closely after Putnam.
Putnam walks up the hill, to where we can see out to the far distances. There we see a sea of Redcoats to the north, marching against the few scattered rebel soldiers here and there below Breed's Hill. It looks bad; gruesome in fact, we were outnumbered by the hundreds.
"He's left Boston as I said he would, and sat up camp on Moulton Hill." Putnam explains, picking up an eyeglass from where it sat on a table beside him. It's essentially a telescope, and I watch closely as he extends it then looks through it to locate where Pitcairn is.
As soon as he does he hands the telescope over to Connor and points at the top of Moulton Hill, which was really almost directly across from us. Connor looks through it just as Putnam had, and spots John, with a twitch of hatred in his muscles.
"There's no good way to get at him-not with that maelstrom brewing down below. I suppose you could circle around a bit, or wait for us to thin their ranks." Putnam proposes, using his keen military eyes to see and think out a working strategy to solve Connor's over abundant Redcoat problem.
Connor shakes his head and hands the eyeglass back over to Putnam. "There is no time. I will have to chance direct approach."
Both Putnam and I whip our heads around to stare at Connor, shocked to hear he would try something so fool hardy and reckless. I was practically struck speechless. 'Cause, I mean, there had to at least be two hundred Redcoats down there, firing all at the same area. The exact area Connor would have to go through to chance that direct approach!
"That's twice today you've proposed the impossible!" Putnam scoffed, and then took another quick breath of cigar smoke, billowing it out through his nose. Rigidly, he folds the telescope back together and puts it in his pocket.
"I see no other choice." Connor points out, putting his hand on the hilt of his own sword.
"That's cos you're mad as a march hare, son." Putnam responds as he chews even more on the end of his cigar.
I couldn't help but agree with the horrible Alice in Wonderland reference, although, I didn't really have the guts to say that out loud.
Connor looks insulted as he glares at the older man. He then inches his face as close to Putnam's as he can, making his figure seem even more daunting. As he leans in, Connor narrows his eyes and says: "I expect an apology on my return."
A brow rises on my face, as I'm pretty surprised Connor would say something like that. But, after training with the man, I knew he could be pretty harsh and serious at times you wouldn't expect him to be.
The look on Putnam's face though, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. He just looked so shocked and confused, it was such an odd countenance on his usually rough and tough expression, and it was absolutely hilarious.
-X-
After Connor leaves I return to Peter and find him speaking with another, older, man. He's saluting the man, so he's obviously a superior officer. And yet this man had an air of kindness about him. He was looking over Peter's wounds with such a gentle touch; I could barely believe the man even considered himself a soldier.
The man in question didn't even wear a uniform. He did, however, have long black hair and dark brown eyes. His face had a few scars here and there on it, he had several calluses on his hands, but he was still very handsome. When he smiled at Peter it was warm and reassuring.
I already liked the man.
"Oh," Peter notices me out of the corner of his eye and waves me over. "Doctor Warren! This is Kyle!" Peter introduces me to the older man and I smile politely at him.
Warren smiles kindly back, extending a hand towards me. "So you're the woman who dressed Peter's wounds." I shake his hand and nod my head. "I'm Doctor Joseph Warren, and believe it or not I'm supposed to be in charge around here." After he says this he sighs, sounding disappointed and exhausted.
When I pull my hand back I smirk sympathetically. I knew the story, and I understood how he felt. I really did.
"I see you have your hands full." I state, looking around at the wounded that kept piling up.
"Exactly." He replies quickly. "And after seeing of your work on Private Brown, I was going to ask you for a hand."
Hearing this I beam. "Of course!"
Joseph gladly grins back. "Thank you."
-X-
So, as the second wave of Redcoats came and retreated I helped Doctor Joseph with soldier after soldier, injury after injury. All I really did was dress wounds and clean out grazes. But help was help.
While I was not equipped with the knowledge to stitch up a wound, or diagnose a sickness, I did know how to bandage, medicate, disinfect, and pop bones back into place. Mainly because Achilles had insisted I learn such things, and I did, under Doctor White's watchful eyes.
During my stint as Warren's nurse Peter practically became my assistant. He carried around the supplies both me and Joseph needed. In fact; Doctor Warren had to sow up a good many cuts and grazes, so he would ask Peter to bring him something to put on the open wounds.
Joseph was beyond being just a good man. He was strong, leading the little bit of an army he could, he was kind, being his own men's medic, and lastly he was wise. Doctor Warren knew exactly what to say to keep men's minds at ease about their mortal lives.
I saw at least ten men die while still under the care of Doctor Warren, and each time he took the death just as badly as the last. But he pushed on, even when he shouldn't have had to.
"Peter!" Joseph shouted over the shooting and screaming, a desperate tone to his voice.
"Coming!" Peter yells back, taking the arm full of supplies he had over to the doctor.
I finish up wrapping one last wound on another man's arm and pat his back, telling him I was done. The man nods his thanks and gets up, limping off down the hill to join the other wounded men.
After I'm done watching him walk off into the distance I run over to where Joseph is. The doctor was working on a man who had lost his leg earlier, when the canon fire had still been going.
"Damn it!" He curses as he tries to stop the bleeding on the stump of the leg that's left on the soldier. "Kyle, come here." He beckons me to come sit down beside him, and I rush over to do so as quickly as possible.
"Hold that." He orders, shoving a roll of gauze into my arms. I do as he says, but even after all our hard work and patience, given little time, the man still dies from blood loss. Doctor Warren couldn't save him.
Joseph breathes through his teeth as he fists his hands. I know he's looking away on purpose; he can't stand to see the dead sixteen-year-old boy that lies in front of him. And, really, neither could I.
"I hate this damn war." He mumbles to where I know only I can hear his voice. Peter though, he's looking off into the distance, watching the remaining soldiers fire at the approaching Redcoats. "Why do so many boys have to die?" Joseph asked, now looking directly at me, tears in his eyes. "Why do they have to be so young?"
I couldn't answer him, nor could I even look him in the eyes anymore.
"I just wish the monster that did this would die." Warren whispers angrily, pure hatred and loathing in his voice. "I just wish Howe would drop dead."
Hearing this from him surprises me, but it wasn't too shocking. He was a man of unshakable conviction and beliefs. But, mostly, he just wanted to heal people and he wanted to save lives.
And really, I've never been much of a hero; frankly I've never been able to save anyone. But if there is one thing I can do, it's kill the man responsible for this slaughter.
"I'll do it." I say, my voice even more shaky than Joseph's. I trembled as I touched his hand, and everything was blurry as I looked back into his confused eyes. "I'll kill William Howe."
Doctor Warren shakes his head in reply and crushes my hand in his. "No, no you mustn't kill." His voice is stronger now, and confident like before, but anger still lingered there, like venom deeply embedded into the skin. "No one should have the right to chose who dies and who lives."
"But…" I start, slowly taking my hand away from his. "Sometimes there are certain people who have to die for the greater good." The creed I had vowed to not only follow but protect said so.
In reply he just continues to shake his head. "I'm sorry you believe that."
I gape at this. 'Sorry? He's sorry for me?'
'Only weaker minds think that anything can be solved by peaceful means.'
I hear my father again as I stumble back, away from Joseph. Something, deep down inside me, twists. It twists and cracks into pieces, then reforms into something completely new and dark. I feel it creep into every crevice of my mind. And as I felt that I became determined to show Warren how wrong he was.
I steady myself, back onto my own two feet as I begin to run off, leaving a confused distressed Peter, as well as a slightly ashamed Doctor Warren, behind me.
I would prove to him that he was wrong.
You could save people by killing others.
-X-
Through the redoubt, down from the hill, past the forests, and around the British infantry was where Howe was. Pitcairn was on the complete other side of the infantry fire, as he had stationed himself on Moulton Hill.
Running past fire was challenging. Trying not to get hit by any of that fire was even more so. But I had gotten much faster since Concord and Lexington, and now I had weapons of my very own to use.
Circling around the infantry was easier than I thought. Since the British were so consumed with their need to destroy the American troops on the top of the hill, that they weren't even watching they're own flank.
As soon as I hit the forest I climbed onto the nearest tree and used branch after branch to soar through the distance much faster. It took me less then ten minutes to get General William Howe in my sights.
The tall and frightening looking figure was sitting atop a horse. He was behind his men, barking orders like a dog. And, right behind him, was an open branch. Swiftly, I flung myself toward that branch.
I made it in one far leap. The branch, luckily, held my weight. And after I was settled and sure the branch wouldn't collapse underneath me, I got on the balls of my feet and pulled out one of my throwing knives.
I was just close enough to make the kill.
'Do it! Show that fool how wrong he is!'
For once I listen to my father's voice. I flick my wrist, and as smooth as the wind itself, the knife sailed from my hand. All I had to do was blink to miss it, as the all-powerful General William Howe fell from his horse, cold stone dead, a knife buried deeply into the back of his head.
The act was too easy.
But the guilt I later felt would be crippling.
The fact I had let my father control me….
I had felt blood lust….
Two dead at my hands; what kind of monster had I become? And yet, the transformation was only just beginning.
-X-
When I make it back to the encampment I'm prepared to tell Joseph that maybe he was right, maybe killing wasn't the answer. But as I make it back I see a group of soldiers surrounding something.
Peter finds me first, and there are tears in his eyes. He hugs me and kisses my cheek before running off down the hill, evidently done with this war. I'm frozen after he does this, and I feel of my cheek… confused.
The yelling takes me out of my stupor though, and rapidly I rush over to see what everyone is staring at. I force my way through the gathering of nearly dead soldiers, and find at my feet the body of Doctor Joseph Warren; dead, a hole going right through his head.
I stand there, paralyzed, my heart bleeding like it had when I was forced to watch Isaac die. Warren had been just another good man that was killed by the British, those who wanted to take America's freedom. He was just another amazing man that had been in their way.
I feel my fists clench, finger nails digging into my palm, blood dripping down from my hand, as I forced myself not to cry.
I was done with crying! Crying never did shit to save anyone! Just like me, if I had been here I could have saved him. If I had even slightly been a hero I could have saved him!
'If he wasn't such a fool he wouldn't have died…'
Because, I was right, there are those who do have to die…. for the greater good, for men like Joseph Warren.
I was an Assassin, I was right; I do have to kill to save lives. I get that now. And, from this day forward, I was never going to let men like Joseph and Isaac die ever again. I'd take a million lives before I'd let that happen… because I had made my choice.
I was an Assassin.
"He was a good man."
The sound of another person's voice snapped me out of my revere. Quickly, I put my hands in the pockets of the pants Ellen had made for me, and pretended I hadn't just made a life changing decision.
"Yes," My voice drops and I have to clear my throat to keep my tone from sounding like a low growl. "Yes, he was." I agreed, nodding my head sluggishly.
The tall man with blue eyes, an average face, and messy brown hair nodded too. He wore a heavily medaled blue uniform, and bowed his head as he said, what seemed like a prayer, over Warren's body.
"Colonel Prescott!" The older man's head whipped up as he heard his name. He looked over to another soldier and nodded again.
"Good bye, miss." He says, his voice profound and commanding, as he pats me on the shoulder and walks over to the person who had been calling to him.
I take in one, very deep, shaky breath, before I pull my bloodied hands out of my pockets. After a few more moments of looking at Joseph's body, I kneel down and close his eyes, my blood getting all over his face.
"Rest in peace, and know, that you helped me make my final decision."
-X-
I wrap my hand in bandages, and then put back on my gloves, as I try and silence my dark foreboding thoughts. Things are only getting worse, as the British are making their final push forward. It had only been moments ago that Ward had announced a retreat.
I feel… different. No longer lost, but in an even darker place than I had been in before. I wasn't confused I just felt… I just felt like there was something I should be noticing. Like, there was something lingering in the air that I should know about.
"How dare you sneak up on me like that! Why don't you just go off there and just help this camp retreat! Don't ever do that again you hear me! God Damn'it."
When I hear Putnam the thought I had been having floats to the back of my mind. I turn around and see the General holding some papers in his hand, his gaze hard and heavy as he read them.
Connor's not far off and I wonder then if he knew…. If he knew that I had killed General Howe and that I felt… worse because of that. Instantly, I decide that if Connor didn't know about Howe then I wouldn't tell him. I'd rather he think I was still clean instead of otherwise.
Silently, I fall in line behind Connor. I see his eyes watching me, but I don't say anything. After realizing I was behind him Connor runs up to Putnam, an envelope secured tightly in his hands.
"General Putnam." Connor calls, and almost immediately Putnam turns to him.
"You live." He answers with surprise, his attention squarely on the Master Assassin's shoulders now.
Connor nods easily, stepping up to stand right beside the General. "The same cannot be said for Pitcairn."
Putnam sighs when he hears this. "Well done, I suppose. But it matters little now. I'm ordering a full retreat. We have lost too many in exchange for too little. If the Tories want this hill so badly, let them have it. Boston is the true prize."
This time I nod in agreement with Putnam as I stand at the sidelines in the conversation. I can't help but think of all the soldiers I had helped to patch up, and of the doctor who still had so much to do and so little help.
There is a pregnant pause between the two as they walk to the sides of the fort. Then they come to stand at the top most part of the hill, looking down over the nearly demolished Boston Harbor.
"We have a bigger problem." Connor states reluctantly, trepidation buried deep inside his voice. Putnam looks at him sideways, not sure what he means, that is, until Connor hands him the letter.
"What do you mean?" He asks, even as he begins to open the envelope. Silence falls as he reads the letter, and even Connor is fidgety as he waits for Putnam to get to that last line. Suddenly, Putnam's eyes widen and his mouth gapes, that ever present cigar falling to the ground. "This can't be right. It says they plan to murder Washington!"
-X-
Davenport Homestead; July 20th, 1775.
"I can still see you."
"You're cheating!"
Connor smirks slyly as he leans against the tree, his hood down, and the sun-casting rays of light at his back. I glare at him from where I sit in the grass; even from here I can tell he had been using Eagle Vision.
"Fine! I'll go try again!" I pout as I stand, brushing my knees off. Then, when I'm satisfied with my freshly cleaned, no longer stained green trousers, I turn on my heel and begin to run off.
"Try harder this time!" Connor cheerfully yells after me, as I head out further into the forest. When he does I go to run backwards and stick my tongue out at him.
It's been several weeks now since Bunker Hill, and yet the blackness from the event still lingered in the air. That day, during the battle, something had shifted. Not just in our war against the Templars, but also inside of me. I was afraid to think about it; even now I could still feel my father's gaze over my shoulder. And with every attack or kill I'd make I'd ear his voice slithering around inside my skull.
As the day went by, dark clouds began to loom overhead, almost like foreshadowing. They were here and there, casting shadows from above. And ever since we got back I've been training just that much harder, trying to become the Master Assassin I need to be to take my revenge.
It wasn't just about revenge though. Not anymore.
Today, and for the last few days, we've been playing hide and seek. I know, I know, it's kind of childish. But apparently hide and seek was an excellent stealth training exercise. Who would have thought?
Quickly, I find another spot where the grass is high, in a matter of seconds too, another new record. There's a rabbit sitting, or really eating, inside said grass. So, I have to shoo it away before I can sit down and hide.
When the rabbit's gone I go to lie on my stomach and I crawl into the grass. As soon as I'm settled and where I think Connor won't find me, I relax. And just as soon as I do that it begins to drizzle.
"Oh, come on!" I whine, as I sit up, and look at the over casting clouds. The second I say that the drizzle turns into a downpour and I get instantly drenched. "It's official, the world hates me." I moan.
-X-
Back at the manor….
"Achoo!" I sneeze and wipe the snot from my nose using the towel around my shoulders. "This is all you fault!" I whined, nudging Connor in the side with my elbow.
In reply he just grins and shrugs. "I did not know it would rain today." He says innocently.
"Yeah but…." I cut myself off as I begin to rub my chin. Suddenly my thoughts become slow and I can't remember what I was going to say anymore. "Achoo!"
Connor sighs.
-X-
Davenport Homestead Manor; July 21st, 1775.
I was sick.
Due to being drenched, wet and cold for so long, I had gotten a fever. With that came the normal symptoms of having a Cold. My thoughts became sluggish, my movements slow, I had aches, I couldn't stay warm, and Doctor White stated I needed constant attention. He thought for sure if no one was watching me the sickness would develop into the flu.
This, on my part, was a major pain.
Connor insisted that I stay in bed, that I eat all my soup, and drink all the water that was brought to me while getting plenty of rest. And all I could think was; 'What am I, five?'
And when I was tired of Connor watching over my every movement like the eagle he was I told him to go take a hike. And, of course, the Native American had to take me seriously. So, now the Master Assassin was on a hike in the wilderness, leaving grumpy old Achilles to watch me.
Not that I minded so much. At least Achilles was reading a book; Connor would just stare at me for hours on end like something could happen at any second. I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate his diligence and all, but yesh that was just creepy.
My consciousness wavered in and out as I felt the heat on my forehead. It wasn't so bad that I might pass out, but it did feel pretty pressuring. In my state of mind though, on a fever high practically, I was imagining things teenage girls tend to imagine.
AKA: Getting it on with a hot guy. And, while some time ago Connor might have made a special appearance in this fantasy, he wouldn't now. Thinking of Connor like that had been absent from my mind for quite some time. I really only thought of him like an older brother these days. So, instead, I made due with the lingering thought of Ezio's lips.
But just as things were getting good….
-THUNK.-
"Uh, wa!" I sprang up, startled and completely awake now, due to the loud noise of a book closing. Blinking continuously, I looked over to where Achilles sat on the couch, supposedly watching over me.
In his hands was a thick leather bond novel, now closed with dust still bellowing up from it. Strongly, Achilles' gaze connected with mine, and there was a glint there, of frustration I imagined.
He coughed into his hand and replied quickly to my confusion. "You were moaning." The statement was direct, with no emotion attached to it. Almost as if he wasn't embarrassed by it, he was merely annoyed by what he believed was the inevitable.
He may not have been embarrassed, but I was. I could feel red tinting my already sweaty and flushed cheeks. "Sorry." I said miserably, sitting up as I saw a glass of water on my nightstand. Reluctantly, I reached for it and took a sip, then weakly put it back.
After I apologized, Achilles went back to his reading, as if he didn't even mind, not too much anyway. If it disturbed his reading then he very much minded, well apparently.
It took me a second to recall what I had been feverishly day dreaming about. A second later I remembered, and felt even worse about the whole incident. I knew I was hormonal, but that was just low.
But with the memory of Ezio's warm lips back in my mind I remembered how I even knew how Ezio's lips felt. Salvatore. I had almost forgotten about my; as-close-to-an-animus-session-I-hopefully -ever-get. And then I wondered about her, I became curious about my ancestor.
And, what do you know; the oldest and wisest among us was sitting not but a few feet away. Perhaps he would know something of Salvatore?
"Achilles?" I called, my voice hallow, dry sounding. I coughed evenly and Achilles pulled his nose out of the book in reply. "Do you know anything about an Assassin named Salvatore?" I asked carefully, feeling as if I was walking on my tip toes. I had to make sure I didn't incriminate myself.
There was a pause, one in which you could hear Achilles thinking. I couldn't really see him very well from where I sat, covered in quilts and sheets, but I knew what the sound of gears turning sounded like. Even if it didn't come from Achilles as loudly as it came from Connor.
"I might have. But it depends." He states suspiciously, just as I'd feared, he was on to me.
Achilles may be grumpy and commanding, but you had to give the old man credit, he could pick up on things from a mile off. He knew what smelled fishy, and he knew how to weed things out of people. As kind as he could be at times, he was far more callous at others.
"Depends on what?"
"Why you're asking about her."
I sighed heavily then coughed again. Swiftly, or as swiftly as I could, I sat up and took another sip of water. My throat just wouldn't stay wet, my mouth kept drying out and it was driving me crazy.
While I took a drink I began to formulate an excuse as to why I would ask about my ancestor. Achilles didn't know she was my ancestor though, or about any of my lineage, and to tell the truth I'd rather like it to stay that way.
I was the queen of reasonable excuses though; I had been most of all my life. Growing up with the parents I had, well, let's just say practice makes perfect. That's why I wasn't there the day my father was killed, because of excuses.
But then, a swirling churning feeling of sickness appeared in my stomach. It was the strong feeling of guilt. Sure I'd lied to my father and mother countless times, but here beside me was a man far better to me than both my parents. Even now he set by my bedside, watching over me because both him and Connor cared about me. They were the family I had always wanted.
And I couldn't lie to him, not again.
But I couldn't tell him the whole truth either, I was still trying to protect both of them from that.
So, I left out some key details.
"I had a dream about her." I finally answered, believing this would be good enough reasoning for Achilles, as well as it being the truth.
Achilles 'hmm-ed' deeply, and as I looked over at him from where I lay, he looked thoughtful but not at all disappointed or confused. If anything he almost looked as if he expected that answer. Maybe Achilles did know more about me than he let on. That thought alone was enough to send me hiding under the covers.
"What would you like to know?" He enquired, his hands folded under his chin, reminding me of a book full of secrets, just waiting to be read. It surprised me he would just openly share with me like this, but then I realized, I had a right to know. He probably thought so too, this history, these facts, it was all a part of me now; I was, after all, an Assassin.
I didn't have to think long about the answer to that question. Any information about Salvatore would interest me. But her life in general was what I mainly wondered about; her love life however, plagued me almost constantly.
"Did she…," God, I had no idea how to phrase this question. But I guessed I'd just come out with it. "Did she have a relationship with Master Ezio?"
In reply to that particular question, Achilles' brow rose. But he did not scoff at it like I expected him to. He merely just gave me a quizzical look and shrugged. An answer was promised so an answer was given.
"Yes, she had….quite the affair with the Grand Master." He answered evenly, a light and accusing tone to his deep and gravelly voice.
"Affair?" I asked a bit surprised, I thought for sure her and Ezio were just a thing, a fling I guess. Them having an affair did not come to mind though.
"Yes, quite." Achilles reassured me, his book on the table in front of him, forgotten. "Salvatore was a married woman, already with child, when she was saved by the Grand Master. And like most, after seeing such kindness and strength in the dismal darkness that had been Rome at the time, she pledged herself to the Brotherhood."
I gaped at Achilles' words. Not only had Salvatore been married but she was also pregnant at the time. So, as shocking as that was, it lead me to belief that I wasn't, in fact, distantly related to Ezio. If so then, how was I related to the Kenway's?
-X-
End Note: Crap guys, I'm SO sorry for the wait. I was sure that being graduated meant having a care free Summer where I could write to my heart's content and give you guys the best chapters I could. Boy was I wrong. My life only got harder after graduation and a lot of stuff happened then I got fixated on something else. But I'm back and I promise I won't leave you again for as long as I can.
Sorry again! But thank you so much for reading!
R&R please!