Author's Note: Okay, I wonder if you guys can explain this to me. Why is it Connor goes to Bridewell and is nearly hung in 1776, but when he goes to see Washington in Philadelphia after talking to Putnam its 1775? Something is amiss here. So if anyone asks….I changed the date so it fit better in the story. 'Cause this really confuses me, so I'm just doing with it what I can. Hope no one gets angry. Also, ahead of time I want you to know, this chapter is mostly filler filling in the two year blanks between Sequence 8 and 9. But I'm going to get through with it as quickly as I can so I can write the Haytham I've been waiting for!
Special thanks to:
Estein: Thank you so much! Your review means a lot to me! It means even more to me that you like the character and the story. I try so hard to make realistic characters who go and just screw stereotypes. Sometimes I don't know for sure if that's what I've created, but your reassurances help give me the motivation to push forward! So, thank you!
Praetorianwarrior: I understand that, I read and not review a lot too. But I was just really worried when I didn't hear back from anyone. So, hearing your review really lifts my spirits. Thank you for breaking routine for me. I really appreciate it. And this chapter is on it's way!
Fox Mew Brittany: 'meh, we've heard this before.' I laughed when I read that cause that was kinda their reaction. XD And I didn't think the chapter was too detailed, but as the writer I never can tell. But Kyle actually was waiting for the panic to happen, to help her blend and escape. I'm glad you liked the chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one too!
FantasyHearts818
Dugongolah
AgoTheTiny: Thank you, I really appreciate the compliment! ^_^
wolfgirlisawesome
Quina: I know how you feel, I myself, ironically, am not a huge fan of self inserts or OC stories. Especially in the Assassin's Creed fandom where it's always girls who are stereotypical and swoon over there Assassin's as they fall in love. But, as you can see, my character is a lot more realistic than that. Which is what I set out to do, make a far more interesting OC read. AC 3 was the perfect set up to, as I have a historical passion for war. But thank you so much for the review and for being honest, I wrote this story for people like you, and I hope you continue to enjoy it.
Crash Overdrive: Thank you; I very much appreciate the support! And I really didn't mean to mess up the canon portion of this story, but I did what I could to fix that. I'm really glad you've liked it so far, and thank you very much for the review. I'll try not to let you down as things continue! And yes, yes you did. I even read that in Mordin's voice. XD
ShadowRhythm
ThatWeridChickNamedAnica
AquariusOtter: Thank you, I'll try my best!
mmagner
-X-
Revolutionary Tactics
Chapter 8: Kyle the Assassin
Philadelphia, June 16th, 1776
There was one problem with killing Hickey that I had overlooked. With Thomas dead there was no one to attack Washington, proving Connor's innocence. This, however, was easily remedied.
Putnam was the cure to our cause. Tallmadge, the day Connor was imprisoned, had sent word to the man, telling him of what had happened. In no time at all, Putnam had mounted a horse and rode here to stop Connor's execution. Putnam believed in Connor's innocence and owed him, not only that but Washington trusted the man absolutely. One word from him and Connor was a free man again.
And we had Benjamin to thank for that.
But that didn't mean this was over, far from it. Connor was insistent on telling Washington that there were more men after him, that Hickey did not work alone. Putnam even told us where to find the Commander in Chief. However, it was four months' time before we really set off looking for him.
Why we waited that long I don't know. And as we stewed in that time, back at the Homestead, Connor got it more and more in his head that we should tell Washington about the Templars and their plots. For once, I agreed with Achilles, in thinking that was a very bad idea.
So, now, we traverse the halls of a government building. Achilles even tagged along for the ride this time. I was surprised he was even interested in coming, but the Old Man would only say he needed some time to stretch his legs. I didn't believe that though.
"It's quite impressive, what you've accomplished." Achilles offers, his cane in hand, as he limps alongside Connor down the hallway.
I was surprised to hear him say that from where I strolled behind them both. As always I stayed in Connor's shadow, made nervous by all the watchful eyes of politics around us. If I didn't like Government employees back in my time I sure don't like them now. They seemed to be just as crusty and suspicious.
Connor was a bit shocked to hear Achilles admit this as well. "Is that a…..compliment?" He asked, sounding unsure of how he should take Achilles' words.
As we passed a long winding staircase that lead to the second floor of this grand establishment, Achilles tsked Connor for being so open. "Now don't misconstrue. I'm sure the whole endeavor will end tragically."
I rolled my eyes, arms crossed. He had no idea.
"But to have come this far….Well, it's more than I ever expected." Achilles admits, as we walked through an open door and into another hallway, this one darker than the last. Connor tries to stay at the Old Man's pace, but while he's thinking he passes him, going at his own speed again in a thoughtful manner.
When Connor realizes he's passed Achilles he stops and waits for him. I, however, am already waiting at the door I clearly hear shouting coming from. I know this is the door Connor will go through to speak to Sam Adams, and I thought I would wait here instead of invading their conversation. Yet, the two are loud enough to where I can still hear them from where I stand, hidden in the shadows again.
"The people yearned for freedom, but feared to grab hold of it." Connor explained, even now still arguing with Achilles over his motives and beliefs. The two would never stop, given the chance they would probably be fighting about this long after they died. "That fear is gone now."
Connor says it so simply, like it just happened, instead of many bloody massacres causing it as they did. I would have liked to have seen Connor's expression, as I know it must have been full of determination and certainty, but he had his hood up, as he does when we are not at home. So, I was left only to read his body movement, which was hard considering how still and silent he becomes while we walk through this place.
"Thanks to you." Achilles says quickly, finding his way beside me, next to the door leading to the convened congress. He stands stiffly, almost all his weight put on the cane. But I do for him what I used to do for my grandmother after she had hip surgery; I lean against him, like a nudge, showing him he could lean against me. And without any words he did, automatically understanding my silent signals.
"No. This they did on their own." I lift my head back up when I hear Connor speak again. He talks as if these people would have been able to save themselves from drowning in a sea of their own spilt blood. And while I know how history goes without Assassin help, I also know without Connor many more would be dead.
"You diminish your role." I completely agree with Achilles there. "But you've always been of humble heart." I guess I also agree with that too. Achilles states it so matter-of-factly, a kind and sincere tone to his voice. I can even see a small grin on that old wrinkled face.
And at Achilles' words I notice, through the shadow of the hood, a little shy smile on my brother's face as well. So under my own hood I also smile. That is something I've come to learn a great deal about over the past year and a half after all, how kind, humble, and caring Connor can be. He certainly seems to be two sides of the same coin sometimes.
"I do what is right." Connor replies sternly yet gently. "No more. No less." He adds, a hand on the knob of the door we wait at, and now he was actually trying to hide his face. I could tell, as his body was fully turned to the door, his back to me and Achilles.
'I know he thinks he's doing the right thing.' I sigh inwardly as I feel the weight of Achilles at my side; and something much heavier upon my shoulders. 'But what kind of consequences are going to come from those actions?'
"You cannot tell him." I hear a small note of pleading in Achilles' voice as his eyes gaze strongly at Connor's turned back. I feel the same way about all of this, but I don't believe my words will have any effect, or that I even deserve to say anything on this matter. So, I stay quiet, but remain physically and metaphorically at Achilles' side.
"I have to. Otherwise, he will never be safe." Connor states, but with a tone that sounds like not even he's too sure about that. It's almost as if he's waiting for that final push, those last words that will help him make up his mind.
"He is safer not knowing!" Well, if he was looking for those words from Achilles he wasn't going to get them. Achilles thought that keeping our war a secret was the key to our continued survival. And to tell the truth I agreed. History has enough problems without letting a secret war that's lasted thousands of years out of the bag. "By planting the seeds of doubt, you threaten to topple his entire endeavor. If Washington is paralyzed, Charles Lee will strike."
"Like the serpent he is." I mumble, trying to stay out of their argument, but unable to resist an open insult against the dark hearted man. Matter of fact, as I speak my hand almost reflexively goes to my back, where the hideous burn mark scar still lies, put there by HIS hands.
Achilles, however, pays my remark no mind and continues. "You'll cause the very thing you aim to prevent." He explains; vigor and purpose in his old voice. Even if the Old Man does not openly support Connor's actions, one could easily tell that he didn't want him to fail either. A bit contradicting that. "Hunt the Templars, as is your duty…." Achilles actually leaned against me a little more when he says this, as if he wanted me to listen as well. As if I wasn't already.
"But do not drag these men into it." Achilles finishes, taking a deep breath as if winded, but more for, I think, to settle his own nerves. He may pretend he doesn't care, but I know he does, dearly in fact. If anything Achilles Davenport is a good man, but tired too, he was a tired good man.
I don't know if Connor listened, or if he just closed his eyes and pretended he didn't hear, because the very next second he throws open the door he had been standing against and walks in. And while I would have gone in after him, I didn't this time. Achilles was still leaning against me, but now it was for the comfort of the act, not just for the help.
"Sometimes I worry about that boy." He whispers, sagging against me lightly, his hat tilted half way down his face.
"I know." I reply gently, putting my arm around his shoulder. Something about the move just felt right, it reminded me again of my grandmother. And while usually that would have sent a shot of despair and depression into my heart…. I had long since given up on such feelings; ever since that night, in the rain, with Connor. This was my family now, and if Achilles needed me I would be there for him as much as I would be for Connor. "I promise I'll keep an eye on him."
Achilles chuckles light heartedly after I say that. Almost as if it didn't need to be said, just like the words he spoke before. "I know you will, as you always have." And without saying a word, he looks at me, with warmth in his eyes, as if to say: Thank you.
-X-
Homestead, December 3rd, 1776
Things progressed as they usually would at the Homestead. Norris tries to get closer to Myriam, Warren and Prudence do the farming and take care of little Hunter, Lance tries to build a folding chair, Big Dave gets harassed by Redcoats, and Peter tries to ask if he can court me.
The last thing didn't go as well as the others. Luckily Peter was bright enough not to ask Connor and asked Achilles instead. To which Achilles laughed in his face and said he no more controlled my love life than he could train a wild fox. I'm not sure if that was his way of calling me a vixen or saying I had the freedom to choose. But either way, I'm glad he respected my choices on such a decision. I know most girls don't get that kind of freedom in this time period.
So, Peter asked me himself if I would be interested. I was really reluctant to answer that question. I mean, on the one hand I was an Assassin and didn't really have the time for such things. But on the other; this was what I always wanted, a cute sweet boy to be interested in me. In the long run my answer was that I'd give him a try, and that if things didn't work out I didn't want him to be hurt by that.
Apparently, that was a good enough yes for him.
The downside was I had to keep our relationship a secret. If Connor found out I have no doubt in my mind he'd skin Peter alive. I really don't know why he's so against me and Peter being together, but he really really was. Talk about over protective.
But right now it was snowing. Winter had come again to our home, marking my second year here. And to tell the truth, even though it hasn't been very long, I could barely remember what my life used to be like before. It was like time moved slower here, I'd say it was more peaceful seeming but that would be a bad lie. I supposed it had something to do with nature, no global warming or crap like that. Things were a lot simpler here, and I guess it just made time move more slowly. Therefore those few short years felt more like decades.
And as Winter came upon us, savagely and ferociously, things seemed even slower. One thing that never seemed to slow though was training, if anything that had picked up in pace considerably. Connor thought, now that I had taken my first kills, he should start pushing me even harder. What I didn't know was that he was going soft on me this whole time. 'Ugh!'
Above me snow fell, and below my feet snow crunched. I tried to remain as still and quiet as possible. But it was so cold I couldn't control my shivering, even wearing my Assassin robes, expertly padded with leather, I was still freezing!
I was actually up in a tree, hidden in the branches, my boots touching the spot I found that was driest. As I hid I kept my eyes peeled, ears wide open. I heard the noises of snow rabbits and white foxes, but nothing of what I was searching for.
The sun was going down now and it was beginning to get dark, yet the valley below stayed lit, the snow shining brightly. It wouldn't get even remotely dark down there until the sun was completely gone behind the horizon.
My advantage wouldn't come until it was too late. And as my target appeared, sneaking slowly through the bushes beneath me, I readied my attack. Swiftly, my dagger fell from where it was secured in my sleeve into my palm. I spun it in my hand as I watched my prey, just waiting for him to make one false move.
And it wasn't long until he slipped. Somehow he thought he had evaded the danger, long since out of Connor's reach. I'm sure the rest of his gang was already taken care of. Myriam's knife had taken three of them, Connor's pistol and Tomahawk five more. But one lone soul had run, jogging past the forest and into the valley of the Frontier.
He had tried to kill one of the Homestead residents though, Ellen actually, coming here with ill intent, like a true animal. Connor might have let him go, but as established, I'm not as kind or generous as Connor. He almost hurt Maria; whom I had made a promise to protect! And with my transformation, I had vowed to become a better person as well, and that meant keeping my promises.
So, as the thug made his way out of the bushes, and into the deep snow of the Frontier, I saw my opportunity. I had wanted to wait until dark, using the cover of the shadows, but if I waited much longer my kill would be lost.
Mind made up, without further hesitation, I quickly jumped from the branch and onto the ground. The thug seemed surprised by the sudden noise, his guard let down as he passed the forest. Tensely, he turned around. His hand jittery but still quick, he pulled out his flintlock and aimed it at my head.
His hand was shivering; the man's trembling only increased as I held out my dagger. He saw the blood glinting off the blade and his eyes widened. With fear all over his face he looked at me and tried to pull the trigger. But due to the cold, the metal of the gun was slower than usual, and so were the joints in his hands.
My legs were too well stretched and used, flowing with adrenaline, energy, and thick warm blood, to be slackened by the weather. And I was on him just as the sound of a gunshot ripped through the peaceful air like thunder. It echoed, and so too did his scream, as I stabbed him in the heart.
Blood dripped, pooling at our feet. The hot red substance steamed and washed away the shining white. It dripped 'till there was nothing left but disgusting red mud. And I thought all of it was his blood, but as my face began to sting, I knew some of it was mine too.
The bullet had graced my cheek, leaving a deep long drag of a wound there. It bled onto the shoulder and chest of my robes. At this I whined, not because of the sudden burst of pain, but because now I had to wash the red off the white frock coat.
As the moon quickly raised, sun long gone, I just stared at the thug's dead body. I don't know why but my mind felt blank. I had taken his life and used it to wash away the beautiful innocent snow. But if I hadn't…what then? Would he have come back with more goons? Would they have killed Ellen and Maria? I couldn't bear the thought.
But even still, did I really have the right to take his life?
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 choose who dies and who lives."
-AHHHHWWWOOOOOOOOO!-
Suddenly I'm broken from my contemplation, as howling shatters the dread and darkened silence that had been lingering around me. I grit my teeth as I feel stupid, I should have known earlier that the sound of gunshots and the smell of blood would attract the wolves in this region.
Before I know it they're here, a whole pack. There are at least six of them, hungrily licking their lips as they stalk closer from beneath the shadows of the forest. Snow crunches beneath each of their paws, blood lust emanating from them.
I stand as still as I can, holding in my breath. I know that won't work, but I have to try something; even I couldn't ward off six starving wolves. Killing a badly trained thug with personality issues was one thing, but wolves are one of nature's perfect predators.
I even close my eyes as they get closer, and closer, and still closer. Yet, they never growl or snarl, I don't even hear one bark. And when I open my eyes again I stiffen, seeing the wolves eating at the dead thug's corpse, but ignoring me entirely. Desperately I breathe, and as I do one of the wolves, the biggest and most likely alpha of the pack, sniffs at my ankles.
I stay as still as I can, and the white wolf looks up at me, with steel blue eyes, and tilts his head.
'Ga Okwaho.'
I hear it on the wind, cold and strong, and turn around abruptly to see who said it. And like before, off in the distance stood a ghostly figure, see-through in fact. He stood tall, shirtless, with war paint on his face. An Iroquois warrior, fierce and bold, and as he turns and begins to walk down the hill his visage is replaced by a pitch black wolf.
I groaned and carefully, very gingerly, stepped away from the man eating wolves. They made no move to follow me or attack me, which I counted my blessings for and decided to visit Father Timothy about. But even now I was still seeing things.
Or worse…things were seeing me.
It had been such a long time since Minerva's talked to me. Maybe she was behind this.
I didn't know….I still had so much to learn about my purpose.
-X-
Homestead Manor, March 22nd, 1777
Designing your own fighting technique is complicated.
It's kind of like creating moves for a fighting game, or at least that's the closest I can come to describing it. Today would mark the third month I've been doing some training on my own, since neither Connor nor Achilles had ever adopted dual swordsmanship. That meant it was up to me to learn it, no big deal though, I was kind of enjoying the challenge it brought to my daily work out.
The one bad thing was I didn't have a dual sword pair to practice with, leaving me only the training stick swords to wield instead. However, I had commissioned an identical short sword from Big Dave a week ago. This time I was able to pay him, and did so earnestly.
He gave me three weeks before the sword was done. If I really wanted it to be exactly identical to the first, which I did so that I'd have perfect balance between the blades, I'd have to wait. In the mean time I worked hard trying to perfect my technique, using the practice dummy in the basement.
I was lucky the wood training swords were so equal in weight and length; it allowed me to use them far more accurately than any other blade I could have borrowed. But each time I began a round of blows I put the sticks in my leather sword loop. I had two at each side, allowing me to carry four swords. That may seem a bit excessive, Connor assured me though that if we were to ever face off against a large group of opponents again that I would need all the weapons I could carry, without weighing myself down.
My favorite way to take out the practice swords was by crisscrossing my arms. Meaning; my right hand would go to my left sword, and my left hand would go to my right sword. And if I did it right, with enough speed, the blades would meet in the center as I pulled them out, creating a spark between metal and metal. A sort of intimidation tactic, if you will.
The first thing I practiced with the swords was speed. I needed to be able to pull out the two blades quickly, so that I could block and counter as fast as possible. It took me a solid month just to reflexively learn to pull out the swords swiftly and block, ready to counter, in a matter of seconds. That was still slow compared to the time Connor could counter using his Tomahawk.
Month two was all about blows, learning how to hold the swords, in a way that was comfortable for me as well as rapid. I taught myself to hold them like a rogue would a dagger, since essentially these short swords were just long daggers. But this allowed me to always be prepared to strike, counter, and block all at the same time.
Month three was about all the different ways I could strike using this technique; which is where the practice dummy came in handy.
It was so warm today though I was only wearing a pair of short trousers and something akin to a tank top. This allowed me to move much more freely, as well as exercise my arms more.
Momentum was key when striking from the back, something Connor taught me early last year, in the fall. Side stepping, when you're smaller than your enemy, gives you the advantage you need. And I've learned, through my own studies, that using that moment to counter an attack, like an axe swing, then side stepping with momentum, to where you're at your opponent's back, then using that extra force to drive your weapon into his spine; is a good move. Bloody, painful, and very gruesome, but good.
That was the attack I was practicing now. And it was all about speed and timing.
I took one deep breath before I began. Removing my swords from the leather loop, the loud sound of wood smacking together, was in the same moment I rushed forward, side stepped, spinning around the left of the dummy, and then stabbed the burlap sack made man as hard as I could in the center of his back. All that came from the move was a huge amount of dust, and a rip in his fake skin.
I sighed and coughed at the same time, hoping I could patch that up before Connor or Achilles noticed.
"Kyle! Supper is ready!" Achilles yelled from upstairs, marking the end of my solo training for the day. After supper Connor would want me to work on my normal swordsmanship skills, and when that was done I'd be ready for bed.
"Oh well…it's only month three."
-X-
New York, May 3rd, 1777
"So, what's the plan?"
"Uh…we kill them?"
"Very creative, just genius, I'll be sure to nominate you for an Emmy."
"Wot?"
I sighed; hiding in the bushes while it was blistering hot outside did not make me a nice person, not at all. But Connor pairing me up with young Clipper wasn't exactly what I thought was going to happen today. And earlier me and Dobby, whom I actually like working with a lot, took down a group of Redcoats that were about to squad fire an innocent man.
So, today was meet the recruits' day…..Yeah, that's pretty much it.
"On the count of three you take out as many as you can with your rifle and I'll grab the kid, how about that?" I asked, turning my pointed green gaze to my fellow Assassin. Clipper nodded, not really getting the insult earlier, he seemed to let it slide. Cocking his musket, he sat up in his position, and aimed his gun using his arm to steady it.
"Right." I nodded again and got up on my feet. On my toes but still within the bushes I pulled out my dagger and took a deep breath. "One." My muscles tightened, pulling back like a horse about to race. "Two." I was ready to pounce, except this time I wasn't intent on making a kill. That was pretty different for me, but this was something I could handle while keeping my sanity a bit more intact. "Three!"
I leapt from the bushes, and with the speed I've earned through untold amounts of training, I passed several Redcoats, just as they fell to the ground, bullet through their skulls. Some tried to stop me, but if they did I'd just stab them in the shoulder or chest and leave them for Clipper to finish off. In a matter of seconds I had the young boy in my arms, an apple thief, trying to feed his starving siblings. I felt a bit like Robin Hood then, except when I had to throw a knife between one guy's eyes so he couldn't get a shot off at me or the boy.
The rest was done by Clipper, and as mean to him as I had been before I appreciated his help, and the boy did too, him giving us his thanks before running off to find his family. I could tell he was the type of kid that was going to be in trouble his whole life. But maybe someday I'd see him again and offer him the chance of a life time; just like I did Peter.
-X-
"You ready?"
"Aye, he won't be gett'n away this time!"
It seemed like today me and Connor were just changing partners and doing Liberation missions back and forth. I suppose this was him trying to get me more prepared for field work, or something like that.
Dobby was more fun to work with than Clipper. She didn't doubt my skills just because I was a woman. Both Clipper and Duncan had been on the fence about working with me and Dobby at first, but when they saw we weren't a joke they wised up real fast.
This time we were after a recruiter, picking on the young men of the streets, forcing them to join the military. Well, me and Dobby knew exactly what to do with him.
On my signal, when I was up on the rooftop of a nearby building, Dobby made a show of getting the recruiter off a young man's back. The coward jumped on the closest horse and tried to flee, but Dobby made sure to steer him in my direction. And as the man passed right under me I jumped down and onto his horse; my dagger going right through his hat and into the top of his skull.
As the man's steed began to grow wild from her rider's death, I jumped off and onto a nearby grassy hill. The dead man was caught in the saddle of the horse, and his corpse rode all through New York, sending a message to local recruiters.
"Ey!" Dobby called to me as she ran up. Then she abruptly stopped, only an inch away, and held out a hand for me. "You all 'ight?" She asked as she yanked me to my feet.
All I did in reply was grin wickedly. "I love my job."
-X-
After a job well done, I went looking for Connor, and found him lingering around a chest. He was looking at it from all angles, the guard of the chest dead and dragged off into an alleyway. The sun was lowering beyond the docks and lanterns were being lit as he pulled out his lock picking tools.
I remembered this chest from when I used to play this world as a game. It had a timer on the lock and it frustrated me to no end trying to open it. Even now, just standing in the shadows, watching Connor try and pick the lock, it aggravated me.
And it wasn't but ten minutes later I took something from Connor's belt loop as I shoved him aside. "Let me show you how to open a chest Connor!" I said slyly as he just narrowed his eyes at me. Arms crossed he leaned against the wall behind us, giving me the go ahead.
I grinned maniacally then as I pulled up the stone tomahawk and smashed the chest to pieces. "Okay, all yours." I shrugged and gave Connor back his weapon. The Master Assassin only looked gob smacked for a second, then shook his head and took the loot.
-X-
The Frontier, May 7th, 1777
We spent a week in New York, cleaning up the districts with Clipper, Duncan, and Dobby. The experience was enlightening to say the least. Working with a team is exhausting, and I was more than happy to be heading back to the Homestead. Of course, that's not to say I won't miss those guys, but a girl…Well, I guess I'm a woman now. A woman can only stand so much.
Connor and I are on our way back to Davenport. But the journey takes two to three days at least, since cars don't exist yet anyway. And neither of us really have the pocket change to stay at an Inn here in the Frontier, so we decided to camp out beneath the stars.
While three years ago I would have objected to the idea of sleeping on the ground, surrounded by bugs, I don't seem to mind so much now. I like the idea of being surrounded by nature, instead of men out to kill me. It's much more pleasing than it used to be, I guess.
But even here, among the trees and the stars, I have nightmares.
I hear screaming, there's blood, and my father's voice. He put the gun in my hand, what was I supposed to do?
It's dark; everything is so dark and red. Why? Why did he put the gun in my hand? I didn't want to kill anyone!
'They all have to die! You understand that now. You are my heir, a Templar by blood!'
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" I wake up screaming, my body covered in a cold sweat, made worse by the chill in the air. It's dark, the fire just barely burning. I can hear owls and wolves calling off into the distance. I try and focus on those things, even out my jagged breathing. But it's hard, the nightmarish memory still fresh in my mind.
"Kyle?" Then I hear Connor's voice, and the darkness just seems to slip away, giving into white clarity, and hope. I look up and he's closer to me than before, his hood down, jacket undone. His expression is covered in worry and concern. Hesitantly, he brings his hand to my cheek and just looks at me with those warm amber eyes. I practically melt into his hand.
"Sorry." I apologize, smiling shyly at my brother, soaking up his warmth and comfort. "I didn't mean to wake you."
At this, Connor narrows his eyes. "You woke most of the forest from its slumber, but not me from mine." He explains, gently taking away his hand to sit cross legged beside me. "Why are you plagued by such terrors in your sleep?" He asks boldly, his strong yet heavily concerned gaze never leaving mine. It was strange for him to ask such a personal question; usually he thought it none of his business. But I guess now he understood that I am his business; that we are family. Not that he didn't already know that, it just took longer for it to sink in for him.
When he says this I freeze; paralyzed by a sudden huge weight in my chest. What do I tell him? What answer could I possibly give him? He sought answers about my past, which I suppose seemed shrouded in mystery to him. And that wasn't really fair; since I knew everything about his dark and dreadful childhood but he knew nothing of mine.
I couldn't look him in the eye after he asked me that question. What could I say to something like that? I sighed inwardly, still shaking. I supposed a variation of the truth wouldn't hurt. I know telling him the absolute truth was too much right now, but someday I swore I'd tell him everything. I'd even tell him about Minerva and Juno.
So, I took a deep unsteady breath and turned to look at him again. If anything I could admit to Connor's patience when it came to me. Something I appreciated more than he'd ever know.
I told him about my father then, how terrible he was to me. A drunken inventor, as I remembered I had told him that that was my father's occupation. I explained to him how I was still haunted by the things he did, and how loyal he was to the crown. Which, in a convincing lie, was why I supported the Rebels so much, so that I could go against my father in every possible way, and that I also craved freedom for myself. In a story that was only half composed of convenient lies, I told him about my home life.
And then I told him how he rescued me in more ways than one. How, after my father's death, I had nothing and no one to go to. I was nothing but a stray dog left to rot on Richmond's streets.
Connor looked at me differently after I finished, sympathetically, as he had also become a stray dog after his mother died, wondering where his destiny might lie. Suddenly, with his strong arms and hard chest, he hugged me. I understood that to mean he was happy he stumbled upon me that day too.
-X-
Even an hour after our heart to heart I felt antsy. It was hard getting back to sleep after something like that. And by now the fire was completely dead, burned out; the moon and stars were the only things casting light upon us.
It was late into the night but nowhere near morning. I had been lying back on my blanket, staring up at the sky, restless for a while. Even as tired as I was I couldn't go back to sleep, too many things were running through my head all at once.
I needed something to calm me.
"Anioniha tewaten:ron
Kahnawake ietsi:tewe."
Suddenly the forest goes peacefully silent, and all I can hear is Connor's voice. He sounds so sad and yet serene, it's hard to describe, but it made me feel…tranquil. His voice is deep and smooth, he sings like a stream trickling over rocks. And with his tone I can hear his mother, and all the memories he holds of her singing him to sleep in their native language.
"Tsethiiatken se:ra'na niha
Ne iethinoronhkwa."
Connor sings barely above a whisper, but as the rippling breeze flows through the forest everything is still. Almost as if the whole world wanted to hear him and it became quiet so that it could. At this point I believe Connor thinks I'm asleep, either that or he knew I wasn't and he was deliberately singing to help me get a peaceful rest.
"Kak are'non:wa tsi tekanato:ken
E:tho tiotirharenion."
Perhaps when Connor was young and frightened his mother would sing to him, pushing away the darkness and the nightmares with her voice. At that moment I said a silent prayer for Ziio, to the spirits his people believed in. I begged for them to allow her to hear her son's voice now, to see who he had become. I know, no matter where her soul might be that she was proud of him. I only wished Haytham felt the same.
"Kak are'non:wa tsi tekanato:ken
E:tho tiotirharenion."
When the song began to end, Connor's voice slowing down and stopping, I felt my eyelids become heavy. I didn't understand anything of what he sang, but it was still beautiful, and it was still more than my mother ever did for me. With his last breath, Connor lulled me to sleep, and that night I dreamed of a happy village with people that glowed like gold and that never died.
-X-
Homestead Manor, August 12th, 1777
"Tha'tesato:tat." The word comes out of his mouth slowly, but his accent was still something akin to the sound of someone gargling rocks. It was hard to understand, and I tried desperately to catch every syllable I could pronounce. But still I barely grasped it.
"What does that even mean?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the parlor chair, head in my hands as I sulked like a child.
Connor, bare of his usual equipment, only grinned at my mental pain. "Behave." He said, taking the apple in his hand and biting into it.
I whined. "I am behaving!"
"No." He chuckled, shaking his head. "That is what tha'tesato:tat means." He explained, tossing his knife in the air just to catch it again. I was getting increasingly nervous, him tossing throwing knives around like that.
Today though, today was our first day off in months, years really. After our time spent in New York, and then going over to Boston a month later, we haven't really had that much time to study or relax. Redcoats and their insistent activities have kept us busy for a while now, not just that but my training has as well. Achilles had argued not that long ago that we needed a rest, and I needed to catch up on the schooling I'd fallen behind on.
I was reluctant to stop my self-training regimen though. After only a month of dual swordsmanship training with real swords, I felt obligated to continuing my work on the technique I had begun to form. Achilles, as bull headed as he is, insisted I put down the swords and pick up the books. He said if I didn't my brain would begin to rot.
So, forced as I was, I decided to finish the lax day with some language lessons. My last visit with Oiá:ner, the Clan Mother of Connor's tribe, had been a disaster. If I ever visited again I'd like to at least be able to greet her without screwing up so royally.
And that is where we are now. Connor stripped down to almost his night clothes, a fire going as we sat comfortably in the parlor. I sighed at the frustration I felt mounting inside my skull. His words were just going in one ear and out the other.
"Try again." He says calmly, finishing his apple, knife securely in his hand.
I hummed deep in the back of my throat as I sat up. "Tha-tis-eto-tat." I frowned when it was evident I didn't remotely say the word right. I groaned as I threw my head back and went limp in the chair. "I'm horrible at this!"
Connor only smiled, one foot on the chair, one leg dangling off the armrest. He really looked like he was waiting for someone to paint him. I would have drawn him, if I had the utensils and the will to do so. But at the moment that was the last thing on my mind.
"Not really." He commented, brushing his loose bangs out of his face. "Most colonists never even learn to say one word of our language." Connor explains, laying his head back against the red and blue pillowed chair. "It seems most difficult to someone used to speaking a language such as English, to adapt to the way our words are formed." He adds, going to pick up another apple from the bowl on the small round table in front of him. "You are doing exceedingly better than most."
I puff out a breath of indignation, pouting with my arms crossed as my long hair falls on to my face. It was bad enough I couldn't concentrate, thoughts of the coming year clouding my head, but now my hair was beginning to bug me too.
"Ugh!" I groaned loudly as I pulled at my long auburn hair, most of it was dirty and matted; nothing like it used to be. If anything it needed some shampoo and conditioner badly, but I didn't really have those things on hand. What I did have was a knife and an idea.
Connor only stared at me, apple to his mouth, eyebrow raised in curiosity. Sometimes he reminded me more of a pup than a Master Assassin. But thoughts like that I kept to myself, as I felt like keeping my head attached to my body.
"Hey, I got an idea!" I exclaimed, holding up the length of my hair, I pointed at it. "If you cut my hair," Then I pointed at Connor's long ebony locks, now reaching past his shoulders. "I'll cut yours. We both need a trim pretty badly."
Connor looked skeptical, thinking about the proposition but not quite sure about it. I waited a few minutes before Connor took his last bite of apple and gave a mental shrug using his eyebrows. It was only a second later the core of the apple was deposited back in the bowl on the table and Connor was behind me, his knife gently touching my hair.
Hesitantly, he carded his hand through the fuzzy mess that was on my head. His hand got caught in it several times before he was holding it up. Delicately, he sawed through it with the knife. Bits and pieces of it rained down on my shoulders, and some got on my nose.
The action seemed so domestic, way more than I thought Connor was capable of. But then again I had helped him corral pigs while Prudence was still pregnant. Now the newborn Hunter was two years old, almost three. Till this day I still found it weird, that when my mind goes back to almost three years ago, I was living in an endlessly dull and dreadful nightmare. It seemed nothing more than that now though, just a nightmare I woke up from. Here was my home now, better to me than the real world ever was.
I guess that's why adapting was easier for me, because I had nothing to really miss or regret losing. There were certain things, for a while, but overall, there had been nothing.
When I feel my hair slowly fall back down against my neck I blink, woken up from my thoughts as I remember where I am. This almost makes me think of old trips to barber shops, but with no spinning chair or large mirror. So, instead of looking into a mirror I reach out to touch the end of my curls, now only as long as the mid-way point of my neck.
"Alright." I said, getting up to brush off the spare hair on my shirt. When I look down I watch it all float to the floor, making a small pile of auburn on the regal red and gold carpet. Achilles would kill me if I didn't clean it up, and I will, but later. "Your turn." I announce, turning to Connor.
He nods silently, going to sit down. Later I'd wonder where the huge chunk of my hair that he cut went, but at the moment I was distracted by his gaze. It was a slightly worried look, but without saying anything I knew he didn't want his hair cut too short. I know it has something to do with a Mohawk tradition about warriors and protectors keeping their long hair, or something like that. I only vaguely remember hearing something about it.
As Connor sits he hands me the knife. But he does it by holding the blade end, that way the handle was out for me to take. An Assassin doing something like this, with any weapon, showed a huge amount of trust and respect planted in the receiving participant. It might have been small to most, but sometimes I still feel warmed by how much faith Connor has in me. But that also meant there was more pressure on me as well.
Right now though, I was just cutting his hair, not fighting by his side to take out the Templar Order. Therefore, the crushing burden I usually feel, lifted somewhat.
I took the knife and stepped behind the chair. The same way Connor carded his hand through my hair I carded mine through his. But his hair was lighter than mine, naturally straight and not frizzy or thick. So, it felt like pulling my fingers through a sea of ebony, smooth and soft.
I caught the end of his locks with my palm, and then measured out four inches with my fingers like Achilles had taught me to. After that I carefully took off the little hair I'd measured out, and let the rest fall to the bottom base of his neck.
"Nia:wen."
"You're welcome."
-X-
Homestead, December 20th, 1777
"Kyle."
I shifted in my sleep, pulling the covers further up my body as a cold chill went down my spine.
"Kyle."
My brows furrowed, a headache beginning to form behind my eyes. I turned over, trying to get the moonlight that shown from the windows out of my eyes. But even after that the throbbing in my skull persisted.
"I know you can hear me child."
I gritted my teeth then, a sudden push inside my mind. The cold only got worse, and the pain like agony. It was hard ignoring her, but the last thing I wanted to hear about was my supposed destiny. It would suit me just fine if the Ancient Soul never spoke to me again.
"You will listen! I haven't the time to entertain your stubbornness!"
I flinched when the voice began to shout, lightning like pain shooting through me like currents. I had to bite my tongue to keep from yelling.
'If you're looking for a hero to save the day again, count me out! You should start looking for someone who's actually capable of saving the world, instead of a girl with social anxiety and emotional issues!' Inside my head I shout right back, knowing the Goddess could hear me.
"You are the last remaining Spark. It is not up to you to decide your own fate. Your destiny has already been decided. Whether you wish to take part in it or not is irrelevant."
'What? Just like Desmond? Who got caught and tortured, then started fighting for your cause, just to be exterminated!? Sorry if I think you keep making dumbass decisions that only get good people killed!'
"I have no time to argue with you. You will listen!"
Cold like ice needles shot up my spine again, making my mind go numb, and my body completely tensed. Even if I wanted to keep screaming and shouting I couldn't, I was physically and mentally enable.
"The death of Desmond Miles is why you are here, out of your own time."
I moved my teeth the little bit that I could; all of my muscles feeling like taut draw strings. I even tried flexing my fist to get my blood circulating again, with no effect.
"It was Juno whose scheme killed Desmond Miles. And it is her who will decide the fate of your very world with your inaction."
'And what,' I forced the words into my mind, like pushing a heavy object through a small hole. I struggled to keep conscious the pain was so severe. 'You're going to tell me what I have to do to play hero? I'm really started to think humans are just puppets to you people. Why should I even trust you?'
"Trust is not necessary; nor is your willingness. It is either you fight against us and every one on this planet dies, or you do as told, and we save your race through you."
My nostrils began to flare, an agony filled snarl ripping onto my face. Anger was bubbling beneath my skin, keeping me warm against the cold of her control.
'Why should it be up to me to save all those people? I'm not a damn hero, I said that already! All I want is to be left out of this!' I argue, my words like screeching in my head, my mental voice hoarse from the strain.
"Yet you willingly and joyfully fight by his side, in this war. You have entrenched yourself far too deep to deny your position now."
At her statement I relent. I allow myself to relax, the fire inside me finally being doused by the ice. It pained me more than anything else, the fact that she was right.
'What would you have me do exactly? I'm only one woman.'
"You weren't chosen because of your label or what you had accomplished previously. You were chosen because our calculations showed how capable you would become."
It was hard hearing her say something like that. The more Minerva spoke to me the heavier the burden I carried became. How was I the one that was supposed to save the human race? What idiot thought putting me in this bullshit position was a good idea? This wasn't a game anymore, real lives were at stake, and here she was telling me I was a Chosen One or some stupid shit like that! How was that even fair? Those people deserved someone far better than me to save them.
All I had ever wanted was a real family. I suppose this was the price I paid for getting my dream come true.
"Your heritage, as well as past experience, make you the one who could best handle this."
'Uh? What are you talking about, past experience? You mean my daddy issues?'
"The key to stopping Juno and saving Earth's last hope; Desmond Miles, is to stop the Templar and Assassin war once and for all."
'Oh, so now I'm not your precious hero- Wait, what? You know that's freaking impossible right? As long as there are opposing beliefs Assassins and Templars are going to exist!'
"This is the only opportunity in history where it can possibly be done."
'So, you just want me to get Haytham and Connor on the same side right? Yeah, that'll be easy. As hard headed as those two are-'
"Or they must both die. Those are your options."
I gasped deeply, my hand tightly fisting the sheets on my bed. 'Are you crazy? I can't get them to become allies, or kill them! I refuse! I won't be your fucking puppet! Not yours or Juno's!'
"You have no choice. Even nature itself has recognized the change within you."
'What?' I shifted in bed again, as a sweat began to roll down my back in waves. 'Change? What are you talking about?'
"Either you make the father and son allies, or you kill them both. Your fate, however, is sealed. Failure will only result in your relocation."
'What the hell do you mean by change Minerva? Damn it, answer me! I'm not your puppet you bitch! And I'll find another way, you hear me! I'm not gonna kill either of them, and you can't make me!'
"It is far too late for you, Savior. No matter how things could have altered, this would always have happened. Your destiny is a cruel one."
'You bitch! What did you do to me? Is this why I haven't changed any? Is this why I didn't die? Why I haven't even had my period since I got here? What the hell did you do to me?'
"Sleep."
I struggled then, as my body began to disobey me. But as I felt myself move my mind began to shut down, forced by something other than me. No matter how much I fought I couldn't stay awake. Even in the dark I cursed the immortal figure of light.
She had turned me into nothing more than a puppet on a string.
-X-
Homestead, December 28th, 1777
They're fighting again.
"Don't do this, Connor!"
I flinch at Achilles' yelling, as I follow reluctantly behind Connor out the door of the manor. Outside everything is cold, covered in snow again, marking my third year here in this world. And Connor stubbornly carries his blanket and gear out to his horse. Achilles stands at the threshold, cane long abandoned, looking distraught as ever.
"Then what would you propose we do?" Connor asks, turning like a whip to strike Achilles harshly with his tone. "Sit and watch while the Templars take control?" Connor only narrows his eyes angrily, his pack under his arms as he stares up at the Old Man. "We are sworn to stop them. Or have you forgotten?"
I don't have a pack though. Connor brings everything he will need to camp out, away from the manor and the Homestead, with him. All I have to my name though, is the weapons I carry, the Assassin robes I wear, and the horse I ride. And I think if I had brought more, I would seem to be on Connor's side, just another stab to Achilles' heart. I couldn't bear to be such.
While the two fought I stood at the top of the steps, shivering from more than just the cold. I'd like to say Minerva's words didn't still linger on my mind; I'd like to say I knew a way to save Haytham and Connor. But Achilles and Connor's arguing was almost like white noise in the background of my still growing panic. On days like this, I thought about killing myself to protect them. Not that the idea of suicide was new to me, but the idea that I might not stay dead if I preformed such was.
"Assassins are meant to be quiet." The Old Man argued still. "Precise." He added, following Connor down the steps, the two of them passing me as if I was nothing but a statue. "We do not go announcing conspiracies from the rooftops to all who pass by."
Maybe I could save them, if only there was something to bring both Connor and Haytham together permanently. If I killed Lee, then explained things to them, maybe they'd listen?
"Who are you to lecture anyone?" Connor stopped abruptly again to turn heel and spit venom in Achilles' face. "You locked yourself away in this crumbling heap and gave up on the Brotherhood entirely." He stated, a fist at his side, ready to physically strike Achilles as he always threatened but never did.
I shook my head profusely, not being able to think straight with the two of them shouting. How was I supposed to save Connor and Haytham if I couldn't even think? Who was I kidding, the proof that I needed was right in front of me. If Connor couldn't even get along with an ally who had a slightly different opinion, how would he ever get along with an old enemy?
"Since the day I arrived, you've done nothing but discourage me." Connor shouted, his tone only getting wilder with anger as he progressed. I could only sigh and shake my head. How could he be so blind as to not see how much Achilles has helped him? How much the Old Man has supported us both? "And on the rare occasions you've chosen to help, you've done so little you might as well have done nothing at all."
I crossed my arms, a white puff of steam coming out of my mouth as I scoffed. How could Connor be so hateful toward the only man who has cared for him all this time? If not for Achilles Connor would be nothing. He'd still be the stray dog he had become.
"How dare you!" Achilles yelled back furiously, the tense air escalating a hundred fold. Without a cane the Old Man struggled to get down the steps, scrambling after Connor blindly as the younger went to his horse. This was really getting out of hand.
"Then tell me: On whose watch did the brotherhood falter?" Connor asked, securing his pack to Yakohsa:tens' saddle. "Whose inaction allowed the Templar Order to grow so large that it now controls an entire nation?" The Master Assassin accused arrogantly, never grasping or understanding the bigger picture, nor ever asking for the true story.
I was the one looking down at both of them now, at the top of the stairs, my arms crossed, shoulders aching as my head pounded. Thoughts, my fears and paranoia never stopping, but now what was once something someone might have sent me to a shrink to talk about, was justified. I had to save Desmond, so that he could save the world, but to do that I had to save the two most stubborn hard headed men in all of human history! Making what was already hard for me damn near impossible! All the while I have to stand here, in the cold, watching these two men squabble like fucking children!
"If I sought to dissuade you, it was because you knew nothing! If I was reluctant to contribute, it was because you were naïve." Achilles began to explain, all the while hobbling down the steps, hoping his proximity might help his voice to carry the truth to Connor's ears. But instead the younger ignored him, still getting ready for his journey ahead. "A thousand times you would have died and taken God knows how many with you." Achilles subtly looks over his shoulder at me when he says this, but I'm still too infuriated at them both to even nod back to him in understanding. "Let me tell you something Connor: Life is not a fairy tale and there are no happy endings."
'Amen to that.' I agree, finally turning to walk down the steps. I know where this goes from here, and this time I'm not going to let it happen. If there was ever a moment I held a fire inside my chest it was now. I was under enough stress and pressure as it is, not to mention my father's voice screaming in my head to kill the both of them. My sanity was slipping by the day, and their fighting was not helping. I was a hundred percent done with this shit.
"No. Not when-"
I reach the last step when Connor begins to say this, but I don't let him finish that sentence. "Enough!" I yell loudly, so much so both men flinch, and I can hear a bunch of crows protesting and flying off in the distance. The sound of my voice echoes throughout the Homestead, and with it the tension of my anger. "This is over!" I state resolutely, crossing my arms as I glared deeply at Connor. "I've had it! And this time I mean it, damn it!"
Connor looks a bit surprised, since I've never really spoken out against him. But Achilles knows, I know he does, how upset all of this makes me. The Old Man had keen eyes and a wise mind, as well as a big heart. And if Connor hasn't noticed this it's his own fault.
"Achilles is right, and you know it! Stop hiding behind your hard headedness like a fucking child!" I nearly scream, trying to hold in my anger as much as I could. Under the pockets of my jacket I white knuckle my fists, pinpricks of pain blooming in my palms. "There are no happy endings! Only bitter, cold ones! There are no heroes or villains; the world's not black and white. If anything its red, covered in spilt blood. It's kill or be killed. We only say it's for the greater good to make ourselves feel better about being cold blooded killers!"
The moment I've said the words is the moment I realized I've said what's been on my mind for a long time, and also something I promised I'd never say aloud. It's not what Connor or Achilles was expecting, you can tell by the look on their faces. And while I was slightly out of breath, and a bit regretful I'd even said anything now, I still continued.
"You either get your head out of your ass Connor, or you get us killed! Life is not fucking rainbows and kittens, and optimism is nothing but a weakness!" I sneered, feeling my whole body tense. 'I'm nothing but a puppet on strings.' "We fight and we die, that's all we get!" I began to make my way to the stables then, needing to grab Noir. I passed Achilles and Connor both, no longer having the desire to look them in the eye. "The sooner you learn that the better." I whisper, the anger draining out of me like water out of a boiling pot. I'd already said too much, and I feared they'd never forgive me.
"Khe'kén:'a." I hear Connor almost murmur; his voice trembling with disbelieve. I don't want to turn back, I don't think I could bear the look he might wear on his face. But I stop anyway, and hear his last words. "I'm sorry." His tone is almost sympathetic, like the night I told him about my father. I think then that maybe he thought that my dad was why I was so cold and angry. And if that's what he thought then he would be right. Well, partially.
I don't look at Connor's face when I turn, but instead I glance at Achilles, with determination set in my eyes. "Don't worry; I'll look after him for you." I did promise, and no matter what, I would keep that promise. Even as upset as I was, I wasn't going to give up on my brother, not ever. Too much was at stake for me to snap and break. I needed him, and now he needed me too.
And with nothing but his eyes, Achilles smiled, and nodded a thank you; understanding as always.
-X-
End Notes: Okay, so I was a little upset when I typed the last 2,000 words of this chapter. Can anyone tell? Sorry about that, but I kinda felt Kyle's rage.
I'm not really a huge fan of this chapter either, but I got to write some stuff that I've been meaning to get to. And I know a lot of questions were raised. But I promise that in the coming chapters I'll answer all questions. However, if you are really confused by something just ask, I'll gladly answer any question.
Also I started writing this chapter when I got sick, and I'm still sick. I have no idea when I'll get better, but I'm still gonna work on the chapters. It might just be slower progress. Sorry.
R&R please!