Letters Home: Between Two Worlds

by: Shadow Chaser

Story:

Ben found himself being reluctantly herded beyond the schoolhouse and towards the more wooded area behind all of the houses that belonged to the teachers. "John, what ever they-"

Davenport made a quick shushing noise and dug the barrel further into the back of Ben's head making him fall silent. He continued to march across the snow, the crunch of packed snow mingled with crisp dried leaves underneath seemingly echoing loudly in the nearly silent woods. But he knew it was drowned out by the crackling roar of the fire consuming the schoolhouse and knew that no one nearby would be able to hear anything.; which meant no one in town or in the houses nearby would be able to come to his aide. All of them were at the burning schoolhouse, trying to do whatever they could to save it or help rescue those still trapped inside. He suspected that was what the whole plan was, to distract the town itself and lead him away from curious eyes.

And by God it worked. It worked so well that Ben knew he should have trusted his feeling earlier; that something was wrong and that he should have followed his instincts. Ben assessed his surroundings as he saw the small dots denoting people grow larger as they approached what looked like a small clearing. A frown appeared on his face as he saw that there were at least two people kneeling on the ground, a person holding dual pistols pointed at their heads. Another stood by the side, rifle held loosely in his hands as he stood at rest.

To his dismay, as they got closer, he realized that the two kneeling on the ground were Henry and Betsy Adamson. Henry was clearly still wounded, blood soaking through the bandages Dr. Regan had wrapped him up in. Betsy's eyes were red rimmed and tearing, though the two looked up as he approached.

"M-Major-"

"Quiet girl!" the soldier, dressed in rough green attire that was reminiscent of the Queen's Rangers, said harshly down to Betsy, cutting her off with a muffled whimper. Ben saw Henry's eyes track him with a seemingly bleary coherence, more than likely drugged with laudanum. His face was pale and his cheeks too bright to be rosy from the cold. The young man must have ran a fever during the night after the bullet had been taken out.

"Let them go-" he started.

"Shut up, sir," John's pistol dug harshly against his head, making him grimace as he felt himself being pushed forward before the pistol settled in between his shoulder. "Oy, you, I've done what you asked now let my family go."

Ben flicked a quick look back to see John's jaw set with anger as he glared at the one who was holding the rifle loosely in his hands. He realized that John had not betrayed him out of any sort of gain, but rather out of necessity. Whomever the two were dressed like Queen's Rangers, they had threatened John's family too, much like they had more than likely shot Henry and probably set fire to the schoolhouse. It felt eerily like when he was dealing with Newt, his brothers and cousin over a year and half ago.

"On the contrary, Sergeant Davenport," the one holding the rifle took a step forward, "you are right where we need you to be. You will continue to stay where you are, or else all I have to do is to fire this rifle into the air and your wife and your baby daughter will die." He turned his gaze towards Ben and a small smile graced his craggy features. It reminded him of Captain Simcoe and the snake-like predatory look he always wore.

"So glad you could join us, Major Tallmadge. I will be remiss in introducing myself as a simple Mr. Welles," the man said in a pleasant tone, tapping the barrel of his rifle in an absent manner. He gestured with a chin towards the one pointing pistols at Henry and Betsy's heads, "this is my colleague, Corporal Ames." Ames flashed him an unkind smile as Betsy whimpered, the fabric of her dress bunched in her hands in fear.

"What do you wish of me?" Ben asked behind gritted teeth, trying to tamp down on the surge of anger he was feeling.

He wished there was a way to signal to Liam that he needed reinforcements, but knew that the young man – and more than likely also Alexander – were at the schoolhouse, trying to save it like the others. Daniel and Samuel were too far away in Farmington to be of any help. As long as this Mr. Welles had his rifle in his hand, he held John's family hostage. Ben flicked a quick look at how loosely it was held in his hands, trying to calculate if he could disarm the other man before his companion shot Henry or Betsy. He had to find a way to communicate with John holding the gun to his head that everything would be fine.

"My fellow compatriots would really like you to stop meddling in our affairs," Welles said in a pleasant and amicable tone, as if he was simply discussing the weather instead of threatening him.

"Compatriots," Ben all but spat, "not the Queen's Rangers, I'm presuming?"

"Told ya he's a smart one," Ames spoke up and Ben saw Welles shoot the other man a dark look.

"And here we thought we were being clever," Welles glanced down at his uniform and seemed to pick an imaginary piece of dirt off of it, "I suppose not having Robert Rogers here does seem a bit suspect."

"I would have expected an ambush," Ben replied, "though hostage taking is not above him."

Welles made a humming noise of agreement as he nodded, "Yes, yes, but as I had said before, my fellow compatriots would really like you to stop meddling in our affairs."

"And this is the warning?" Ben gestured with a quick flick of his hand and felt the gun shift against his head.

"Oh no," Welles' smile was full of teeth, "this is not even close to a warning. This is just a simple execution."

Before Ben could do anything Ames suddenly fired one of his pistols, making him jump a little. But the shot was not directed at him, and a second later, he saw Henry's body pitch forward lifelessly, a bloody hole through the back of his head. He could not stop the gasp that escaped from his lips and even sensed John's shock as the gun digging into his head wavered. Betsy's face was splashed with bits of blood and grey matter as she stared in mute horror at the body of her dead brother. Silence reigned in the clearing for a few seconds before Ben caught the moment when Betsy regained use of her faculties. Her fingers trembled as they touched her mouth, her eyes widened in abject horror-

"No, wait! Stop! Stop!" he shouted as he saw Ames about to shoot the pistol and held his hands out in an effort to stop him from shooting Betsy. "She's innocent! She's not a part-"

"She's a witness," Welles cut him off softly, "and you dragged her into this yourself Major-"

"Please...please!" Ben had never thought to resort to begging, but he took a step forward, ignoring the push of John's gun into the back of his head to stop him from moving another step, "Please don't shoot her, okay? Don't...for the love of God, don't-"

His words stuttered to a halt at the sudden banging discharge of Ames' pistol going off. Betsy's chest suddenly bloomed red as she fell to the ground with a sudden sharp cry before falling silent. He blinked, knowing somehow that what he had seen, he should not be so shocked at, but at the same time, could not believe that it had happened. Betsy had only greeted him with a watery smile just hours ago in the middle of the night, had given her thanks for saving her brother. Henry had even survived Dr. Regan pulling out the ball, was looking to make a full recovery since he was so strong. The two were supposed to have survived the war, Betsy probably to be married to someone in town or nearby and raise healthy children. Henry was going to be like his father after he received his bounty, a prominent lawyer and open his own practice. The two had futures.

And to see both Adamsons lying face down on the ground, blood pooling a crimson stain upon the powder-white of the snow... Ben almost could not comprehend it. He could feel himself shaking a little, but as he felt the tears form in his eyes, he quickly banished it at the same time feeling the swooping fury at what had happened. He instead, glared at Welles and Ames.

"Your quarrel was with me," he said quietly, marveling inwardly at how calm he sounded when all he wanted to do was to take John's gun away from his own head and shoot them dead.

"We can hardly call them innocents now, can we?" Welles said, keeping his tone pleasant as he rocked back and forth on his heels, occasionally tapping on the rifle in his arms. "After all, they were associated with you and your unit."

"What," Ben stated flatly as the words rang familiar in his mind. His father's words about one of the tenets of the Creed echoed in his mind. Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. And Welles had said something eerily similar to that... It hit him as he realized who they and their 'compatriots' were.

Templars. Templars dressed as Queen's Rangers and more than likely a part of the British forces. The British somehow knew about him, maybe about his father's work as an Assassin? But that did not make sense...or had the documentation that had been stolen from Sackett's papers named him as the Head of Intelligence and perhaps Major John Andre was a Templar? But if he was, Ben was sure that Connor would have assassinated him by now, since Andre was more than likely the one who had turned Charles Lee to the British.

There was also another factor to consider, that the Templars did not know his familial association with the Assassin Brotherhood and simply had been ordered to kill him. But Ben did not put too much stock into that as he saw Ames calmly reload one of his pistols, his other one holstered to be reloaded later.

"Ah-ah," Welles suddenly spoke up at the same time Ben heard John shift behind him, "please don't make this any harder Sergeant Davenport."

"I won't kill him," he heard his Sergeant rumble behind him, "you can't make me kill him-"

"Not even for your wife and child?" Welles tapped the barrel of his rifle as Ames snickered, still occupied with reloading his pistol.

Ben swallowed hard. He realized that his execution was more than likely to come by John's hand and darted a look to his side. He could feel the barrel of the pistol digging into the back of his head shake. He surmised that it was more than likely from rage and from fear and all of his animosity towards John and his betrayal fled from him at what they had forced his man to do. He wished Caleb was here...Caleb would know what to do – quick with his tomahawk and quicker with his words.

"Just what the hell did the Major do here-"

"Ah, no," Welles held up a finger, waggling it back and forth, "you do not presume to pass judgment-"

"Judgment or not, Major Tallmadge doesn't deserve to be killed by you skulking assassins-"

The moment the cold metal of John's pistol moved from the back of his head Ben realized what he was going to do and was about to voice his protest when he found himself shoved to the side. At the same time he heard the echo of a rifle being shot behind him along with the report of a pistol. He heard John grunt as he regained his footing and grabbed the un-fired pistol in the man's hand, pulling down on the flintlock as he looked up.

Ames' fell to his knees, his fired pistol falling from lifeless hands. A neat hole decorated the middle of his forehead with a trickle of blood trailing it. He fell forward, dead even before he hit the ground. Ben's eyes darted to Welles who had stared in momentary shock before fumbling for his rifle-

He had his pistol up and fired at the same time he saw Welles discharge the rifle into the air. His shot struck true as Welles' head rocked back, the ball wedged right in-between the man's eyes and he collapsed sideways to the ground, also dead. A moment of silence, echoed loudly by the report of the guns going off, filled the clearing.

Ben lowered the still smoking pistol and glanced behind him to see who had shot the rifle. To his surprise, saw his father lowering his familiar Pennsylvania rifle, a grim look on his face. His father had killed Ames, after years and years of preaching as a Reverend and even saying that he was done with killing and war after his service in the Seven Years War.

A movement out of the corner of his eye, made him look down to see John, clutching his chest as blood poured out of it and he immediately knelt down next to his Sergeant. He clutched the man's hand at the same time John grasped onto the sleeve of his jacket, staining it with blood, but Ben did not care. "You did the right thing-"

"I-I know...c-couldn't let...bastards..." John struggled to speak as he choked and coughed, spitting blood out of his lips, "m-my family-"

Ben had almost forgotten that Ames had not readily pointed the rifle at him, but had rather shot it into the air. The signal to whomever was holding John's family hostage to kill them. "I'll make sure they're fine, I'll make sure-"

"P-Please...Major...I-It...was an honor..." John's hand suddenly fell away from his and the last bubble of breath left him as he died. Ben wanted to scrub furiously at the tears that threatened to pour out of his eyes, but instead, stood up and ran up the small hill his father had stood on to shoot Ames.

"Benjamin-"

"Give me your pistol," he demanded and saw his father stare at him with a curious look, but handed over the pistol he carried by his side. Ben grabbed it before kneeling a little and pulling out the knife he had in his boot with his other hand.

"Ben what are you-"

"Davenport's family is in danger. Welles was shooting off a warning signal," he replied curtly with a look at his father, before he turned and ran towards the tavern as fast as he could.

He heard the harsh crunch of snow under his boots, his breath coming in cold gasps as he drew upon his knowledge of the woods, shortcuts he had learned in his three years of living here. He leapt over bramble and snow cover logs, splashed through small streams and ignored the acrid smell of smoke and screams of those who were still trying to put out the fire at the schoolhouse. Finally, Ben careened into the town center and put on a burst of speed, the niggling sense that something was terribly wrong pushing him to go faster as he burst through the doors of the tavern-

Only to find Alexander Mayfield coughing rather violently into a bucket, Mrs. Davenport rubbing soothing circles on the young man's back as she held a small tin of water near him.

"That's it...take it easy..." she said quietly as Ben took in the scene before him. She looked up at his entrance and tilted her head in puzzlement. "Major?"

The cooing giggle of a baby made him turn to see Liam bouncing John's daughter in his arms, apparently taking care of the girl while Mrs. Davenport attended to Alexander. There was nothing to indicate that either were being held hostage.

"Major Tallmadge?" Mrs. Davenport called again and Ben belatedly realized he was holding his borrowed pistol aloft and lowered it. He sheathed his knife into his belt instead of where it usually was kept in his boot.

"Uh-"

"Alexander was trying to rescue someone inside and breathed in too much smoke. I was going to take him to the well, but Mrs. Davenport saw us out there and brought us in to sit down," Liam spoke up before gesturing with a chin towards the weapons he had on him. "Is something wrong, Major? I can get my things-"

"Did anyone suspicious stop by?" Ben asked, ignoring Liam's question as he directed asked Mrs. Davenport.

"No, Major," she frowned puzzled as Alexander coughed again into the bucket. "Was there supposed to be? My husband-"

Ben drew in a stuttering breath at the mention of John. "He...he thought he saw the person who set fire to the schoolhouse, ma'am..." he lied, and saw her stop her rubbing motions as she caught the quaver he tried to keep out of his voice.

"J-John...where-"

Ben opened his mouth and tried to say something, but nothing would come out. Finally, he forced himself to speak, "I'm s-sorry- They were armed and shot him-"

"No...no..." Mrs. Davenport's eyes grew wide as she suddenly sank down next to Alexander. He was acutely aware that Liam was staring wide-eyed at him at the news, still holding onto John's baby girl.

"I...I thought you should know...right away..." Ben finished lamely, wincing at the keen wail that emerged from her lips.

There had been no hostage taken at the tavern; which meant that Welles and Ames had bluffed their way into strong-arming John to hold him hostage. He wished John had known about that before he died. But it was too late...and Ben could only feel utterly helpless at what had happened.

Ben trudged up the small hill in the woods with a heavy heart. He crested over the ridge and stopped as he saw several people clustered in the area. John's body was in the process of being shifted onto the stretcher. Two were already bearing a stretcher with a body covered with cloth it down the hill. It was more than likely Henry's body as he saw the third one being lifted with Dr. Regan fussing over it. Ben hurried down the slope as he realized that Betsy was still alive, but stopped as he saw his father and Achilles talking with Mr. Adamson. All three looked up at the sound of his appearance before he saw his father speak a few words and move away, headed towards him.

"Benjamin-"

"She's still alive?" Ben asked, glancing beyond him to see Dr. Regan and the two stretcher bearers disappear down another small hill.

"Yes, but her wound is grave and serious. The ball went through her and Dr. Regan says she lost a lot of blood. If she survives the night and the next few weeks, she may recover, but I fear she may never recover from what she probably saw," his father held a hand against his chest to prevent him from following them. Ben stepped back, head bowed at his father's words, suddenly feeling like a child in front of his father.

"It's my fault-" he began, but stopped as his father placed his hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"Benjamin, it is by the will of God that this has happened-"

"They were Templars," he suddenly hissed, the swooping fury returning momentarily as he jabbed a hand towards Ames and Welles' dead bodies. "Insomuch of their words, Father. They were-"

Ben stopped as his father suddenly embraced him tightly, a soothing sound issuing from his lips. He heard his voice rumble in his chest, "-They were going to kill you and I would have never allow that to happen. Never..."

He nodded against his father's embrace and felt his arms release him before stepping back. "Your vow-"

"Never," his father repeated with an unreadable look, "I'd rather break my vow than to lose you. I will not lose you, not like I lost Samuel or your mother. Achilles and I speculate that those two men must have overheard you talking with the two of us yesterday and planned accordingly. They thought to get to you to get to us. They ambushed Duncan when he went into the schoolhouse, and coerced your man Davenport there, to distract you and ultimately kill you as a warning to us, to Achilles and indirectly to his apprentice Connor."

"But-"

"Achilles told me that you think Charles Lee is a Templar. Have you given any indication to him that you side with the Assassins or have any affiliation with them?"

Ben thought rapidly about what had happened at Bridewell Prison. True he had defended Washington, but it was in the context of actually defending him from an attack, not anything associated with the Assassin Brotherhood. He was pretty sure Lee did not see Achilles in the crowd, nor witnessed him bumping into him before Connor's execution. "No, but-"

"And Connor already knows the other Templar leadership which are not within Washington's army," his father cut him off gently, squeezing his arms in reassurance, "so there you have it, my son..."

Ben pressed his lips together, the sudden well of emotion nearly overwhelming him. He realized that his father was serious and the more he pondered his reasoning, the more it made sense. But at the same time, he realized that even if he had not been associated with the Assassins, he had come close to being killed by the Templars, just because he had apparently been spied upon talking with known Assassins.

"The Templars do not know of your lineage, Benjamin because they do not know of me. They only know you as who you are, Major Benjamin Tallmadge, the commanding officer of the 2nd Continental Light Dragoons. Your standing in their eyes is safe," his father reassured him and Ben could not help a small tiny smile at the irony of the words. It echoed the same exact statement he had made to Abe regarding his standing as a Tory in Setauket.

"Ames and Welles?" he gestured to the two bodies dressed in green.

"We will take care of them after seeing if there are any intelligence upon their persons to pass along to Connor and the others," his father said as he let go of his arms.

Ben sniffed and rubbed his nose, finally allowing the tears to appear in his eyes, "You know, it's amusing that in all of this, you'd think me to join the Brotherhood, no? I mean, to protect my men from this...killed in their own hometown even..."

"Your answer is still no, am I correct?" his father smiled sadly.

"If only to protect my men even further from retaliatory attacks by the Templars just by associating with Assassins..." he replied, running a hand through his hair, "it wasn't supposed to happen like this..."

"War never is," his father replied sagely, "but at least I sensed something amiss enough to save you. It's something Achilles said was valuable to the Brotherhood and has save my life along with the lives of others more often than not. I am glad that it has not gone away and that I was still able to put my skills to good use."

Ben could only give a watery smile back as his father clapped his hand on his shoulder and steered him to go back up the hill. In that instant, he knew that he could never voice to his father that he had that same skill, that same sense of danger, that gut feeling that helped him avoid ambushes or the killing blow from others. Because if he voiced it, it would not only put himself in further danger, but become a beacon for those in both the Brotherhood and Templars that such things were passed down family lines. And as much as Ben loved his father, he knew that if he ever had family, he would have to protect them from the machinations of the Brotherhood and of the Templars; much like his father had done so to him. But he would do it outside of the Brotherhood's influence.

The Templars had proven to him that they were willing to go to great lengths for their never-ending war with the Assassins. And that made Ben even more driven to protect Washington from their machinations – now that he knew what to look for. The only question remained was, why? Why did they target him when they could have easily targeted his father or Achilles.

Coda:

He pretended to be engrossed in the latest news printed by the Continental papers, with the casual, lazy air of an officer off duty and enjoying some good port on a mild winter day giving way to spring. But in reality, watched the comings and goings of the camp like a predator. There was a certain person due to return within the last two days and while accounting for potential trouble on the roads as well as inclement weather, he made it his mission to see if said person would actually return.

In reality, he was hoping to see just four of the seven that had set out for Boston before the New Year, returning early March. Two of them were supposed to report to him discreetly, but he would be content in just seeing four of seven. Just as he was about to go and re-read the same passage one more time, he heard the thunder of hooves across the campgrounds and looked up.

The smile that had been on his face became a little fixed at the sight of five instead of the four he had been expecting. And the fifth one, the one in the middle of all things was still wearing his fop of a dragoon helm and looking hale and healthy. Not even sporting a single wound. He watched, dropping his smile as they rode by and stopped near the farmhouse that housed the Commander-in-Chief and the senior Generals.

"Thought you'd be stuck in Boston with all of the snow we're getting here, Tallmadge," he called out with a touch of arrogance in his voice. Inwardly, he was seething. Those idiots had failed. They had utterly failed even when he had clearly told them what route Tallmadge and his men would be taking on their way back from Boston. It had been provided to him by the man he had in that group.

"What, couldn't find a wench in the city to warm your bed? Play your hornpipe?" he echoed Tallmadge's words back to him as he stood up and sauntered over. "Came back because you prefer-" He held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture as the man stomped over to him with a murderous look on his face.

"The cold must have addled your wits to not even recognize a jest, Major," he said mildly as he saw Tallmadge's eyes dart over to the new golden epaulettes on his shoulders. They denoted his new rank of Colonel instead of his previous position as Lieutenant Colonel and he was rightly proud of them.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel Bradford," Tallmadge replied with an edge to his voice and a toothy smile that he did not like, "I'm sure your competence was well deserved under such an illustrious and battle-hardened General. Now if you'll excuse me..."

Tallmadge dismissed himself with the briefest nod of his head, leaving William Bradford standing there, staring at his back as he headed into the farmhouse. Those idiots had failed, even after he had provided them with the semblance of green to pretend that they were Queen's Rangers. He shot a look at his man who was in the process of dismounting and saw him made a motion to indicate that even he did not know how Tallmadge had survived the assassination attempt. Bradford gritted his teeth together in anger as he decided he would make a report to Lee about this. His only saving grace was that it seemed Tallmadge had no indication that he had a mole in his group, nor was he aware of who had orchestrated it.

It was perhaps time for a new plan.

~END~