NOTE: In this chapter, there's loads of quotes from various parts of the game (mostly the Benjamin Church mission). Sorry to rearrange Ubisoft's entire script – it'll kinda feel like a montage, which I didn't intend! Anyway, here goes!

HAYTHAM

He has returned. I've sent him on his way to Martha's Vineyard, to meet you in the tavern. He was reluctant to submit to this task; do not expect a joyful family reunion. He is a bitter one. I should know.

Those were the only words on the parchment. I picked it off my doorstep on my return from New York. The front door was locked; my staff were yet to arrive. There was only one man tending my wheat crop on the field. I wandered up and asked him:

"Did you see the man who delivered this message?"

He scrunched his eyes to remember. "Aye. An ol' negro man, sir. 'Bout an 'alf hour ago."

There was almost no point in asking: I knew it was Achilles. Heavens, the thought of an Assassin on my land felt like a threat. This was becoming a habit of the old man's: wandering onto my property as if it were his own homestead. What have I agreed to?

I unlocked my door and stepped inside, breathing the scent of home. Not that I could stay for long. Back from one mission, onto the next. The life of a Templar: as tiresome as it was unnerving.

I'd had a lot of time to think on my way home. About Connor, mostly, but also of Church. I should've known that slippery bastard would betray us. He was once so keen on the Templar dream of order. What went wrong? It only showed how easy it was for him to switch allegiance. Perhaps I was jealous of him. I was a blinkered horse, spurred onto the Templar path at a young age. Too late to turn back.

Sometimes I despised what I was. Seeing myself among the likes of brutal Charles, careless Thomas and bluffing William was hard. Was this really me? Were these men truly my crowd? Some things they'd done were by my command. Their ways were branded on me like iron.

Then how have I found paternity in my heart?

I brooded over my empty ale. I'd not drunk so much as a pint since last week. There was a brief funeral for Hickey – and I was forced to give a speech about what a wonderful man he was. Oh, the irony. The tavern was a hospital for me that day: a last resort to drown out the confusion. There was an awful lot of it. My world was revolving so quickly; even I grew sick of it. I couldn't remember what normality was anymore. Life had not been normal since the day Ziio left. I wanted that normality back.

Where is Connor, in any case?

If he was staying in the area, why was it taking him so long? I was still angry at him for killing Thomas. Not because I cared for him, but because he was our only hope of assassinating Washington. But it was hardly worth avenging Hickey: all respect for him had spilled away like my conscience. I had to stay sour, only so I wouldn't soften at seeing my son again. I'd have to mask my words with steel.

The tattered door opened, and my wait was over. A young man, who – under his Assassin robes – I hardly recognised, strolled inside. Connor's face was concealed by a peaked white hood. Over his back he slung a bow, with a quiver and tomahawk around his belt. His boots were similar to his mother's, only they were pulled right up to his knees. He walked a few steps in; I noticed a Mohawk bracelet around his arm. It was difficult not to be reminded of the ones Ziio left me. I beckoned him over.

"Son."

"Father." He didn't look me in the eye. God, what did Achilles say about me? I ignored it as he sat at my table. The boy was enormous, looking up close. I was quite a tall man at nearly six foot, but Connor exceeded that easily. Must've been a paternal gift.

"I'd hoped for a better meeting point than this, but such is." I stopped bluffing when the barmaid glared across. Brushing off her spiteful stare, I turned to my son. Those robes...I recognised them somewhat. Did they belong to Achilles? I supposed so, considering the boy lived with him. I was paying far too much attention...but what else was I to do or say? Ask him about Ziio?

No. Too soon. There will be time for that later.

"What? Why are you staring?"

"I'm not. Only, those robes seem familiar." Sarcastically, I added: "I wonder how much Templar blood has stained them since their last wear."

"The same could be said for you," Connor replied. His teeth were gritted to sound threatening, which only amused me. Achilles already said that Connor wouldn't kill me. Christ, this makes for a difficult meeting.

"Well, shall we get on with this? I'd hate to hinder you from finding your...answers. Fire away, then. What do you need to know?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." It was the first time Connor looked me straight in the eye. I was almost swallowed by how striking his eyes were. Every brown fleck was exactly like his mother.

"Ah, I see. Achilles didn't even tell you what you're seeking. How kind of him."

"There was no time," he snapped, his voice rising. "There were too many of your British brothers in Philadelphia, snuffing out man by man like a –"

"Dear God..." I despaired, stroking my forehead. The very few people in the building swivelled at Connor's sudden volume. "I expected naïveté, but this! The Templars do not fight for the crown. We seek the same as you, boy! Freedom. Justice. Independence."

"But –"

"Hm? But what?"

"Johnson. Pitcairn. Hickey. They sought to steal land. To sack towns. To murder George Washington!"

I sighed. This would take some considerable energy. "Johnson sought to own land, that we might keep it safe."

Connor scoffed.

"Pitcairn aimed to encourage diplomacy, which you've cocked up thoroughly enough to start a goddamned war!"

The barmaid glared as my voice rose.

"Hickey? George Washington is a wretched leader. He's lost nearly every battle in which he's taken part. The man's wracked with uncertainty and insecurity! Your execution, for example. You were dropped alive, and what did he do? Scurry off and hide in Philadelphia."

"Says the one who fled from the scene."

"Oh, and who saved your neck?" I snapped. "I did. You're welcome, son."

Already, both of us were burned out. How had I even considered this? The boy despised me as much as I did myself. We were like oil and water: never destined to mix. Already I wanted to go home.

"Look," Connor muttered in a charged silence, "I am not here to spar with you. Tell me, why did Achilles send me here?"

Finally, we're getting somewhere! "Well, Benjamin Church's mouth is as big as his ego. Clearly, the Assassins want the supplies he's stolen. I was hoping you could elaborate on that one."

"Yes." Despite being a man, he sounded so much like Ziio. "A close friend of the Virginian Brotherhood is missing some medical supplies. He knew it to be Church, but how he justifies his theory, I am uncertain."

"And you've spoken to him?"

"No," he murmured. "I have never met him, nor any of the Virginian Assassins."

Back to square one. "Perfect. Is there a single thing you do know?"

"He asked Achilles to retrieve these supplies, as they heard that Church was in New York and so was Achilles."

"And he isn't any longer. I sent Charles Lee to tail him..." I paused, waiting for a disgusted spit or a flash of Connor's eyes. Nothing. "But I'd rather have the pleasure of killing that traitor myself."

"When do you hear from Lee again?" Connor asked, itching to move on from the subject of Charles.

"Another week, I'm afraid. Benjamin will be long gone by then. It's not an ideal way to go about this, should we proceed."

Silence. The barmaid retreated to the kitchen; we were alone. I glanced at Ziio's necklace resting on Connor's collarbone. In turn, his eyes flashed to the amulet around mine. They weren't filled with greed, though: only mild recollection from something his mother must've said. Maybe it was a symbol of our blood relation? A way of clinging to the few ties we had? It was an interesting moment, if nothing else.

"What do you propose?" he asked at last.

"A truce. Perhaps..." I cleared my throat. "Perhaps some time together might do us good. You are my son, after all, and might still be saved from your ignorance."

Connor's lip curled; I wished I'd said nothing of the sort. Do not soften, Haytham. It's already caused a scrape.

"You clearly want what Church has stolen; I want him punished. Our interests are aligned."

"For now," he hissed vainly.

"Excellent." I lounged back in my chair. "What now?"

"There may be some British officials in the area," Connor uttered, biting his lip. Ziio did that when she was unsure. "If we can find them, we'll see what information they hold. They may allow us to track Church without waiting another week."

"Hm! British officials in this little pit? Show me."

"Fine. Follow me." With that, he stood from his seat and strode towards the door. He turned and – beneath his peaked hood – simpered. Hang on...what?

"Connor?" I barked. "Where are you going? You just sat down!"

No reply. Only a flash of his glossy lip, smirking like the devil he was. He left the tavern; I rolled my eyes. Connor reminded me of my younger self (only with the charming looks from Ziio, and by far, more ignorant). I forced myself off the chair – not that it was that comfortable anyway – to follow my son. We'd barely planned this mission. Heaven knew where Connor was headed. Nowhere sensible, was my sentiment exactly.

Well, this is just brilliant.

Woo this was a heck of a laugh to write! Not my best I know, but the next one will be extremely tense. Sorry to have so many tavern scenes – I'm afraid there's another to come. Makes Haytham look like an alcoholic, right? He isn't. He doesn't drink that much ever, really.

Anyway, hope everyone had a good Easter! Thanks for reading :)