HAYTHAM

I didn't care how sorry he'd be later. I hated Charles.

His words echoed in my mind for days, turning from insults to an angry mantra. "That savage was more than your heart-throb. She was your concubine. Your animal. Your whore, whom you could leave with a half-breed child, that she might raise him in the dirt." The words were unforgivable. Unforgettable...and unadulteratedly evil. He always was. So why did I turn a blind eye in vain, for all these years?

I think that meeting Connor had much to do with it. Seeing something so close to myself, yet as an Assassin, was like holding a mirror. It was what I could've been; what I was raised to be, and that my closed-mindedness had made an enemy. Up until now, our only connection – if there was any at all – was through Ziio. I felt no love for Connor; only fascination. But when Charles insulted him ("half-breed", he called him), paternal instincts bubbled to the surface. Locked inside what remained of my conscience was love. I would love my son. Even if we parted as enemies, I would learn to love him.

How?
I will discover it.

What better way than to spend three months on a ship with him?

Well, I say 'ship'. My first impression of our ride was quite different. By early July, I'd packed my essentials and rejoined Connor at the Davenport homestead. He led me to the sea front, where the Assassin vessel – the Aquila – was docked. By the pontoon was an old man, slumped over a barrel talking gibberish, and there stood a man about my age. I recognised him as Robert Faulkner, a once-sailor for the Assassin Brotherhood before it collapsed. Faulkner regarded me with as much distaste as I did the Aquila.

"I thought you said we'd be sailing on a ship, Connor," I hissed.

Faulkner strode forth in disgust. "She is a ship!" His northern accent was stronger than the cider on his breath. "Make no mistake about it."

I scoffed. "What, this piece of driftwood? I've seen bigger fishing boats!"

"The Aquila is larger than it looks, Father," Connor huffed. He turned to Faulkner (who by now had his arms folded). "I am sorry for his insolence. I will make certain it does not last."

"Scolded by my son," I laughed. "Touché."

I gazed up at the Aquila's mast. Granted it skied like a pine tree; the white sails draped elegantly with the ropes like a spider's web. Perhaps my statement was unreasonable, I considered, noting the twenty-or-so cannons below deck. I wasn't going to voice this.

"And what of the cabins? If we're to board for months, at least let me sleep well."

As it turned out, the cabins weren't up-to-scratch. I couldn't hold my sword at arm's length from centre to wall; the wooden walls were streaked with dust. I was sure I heard dripping from the ceiling, and the stench of stale timber made me gag.

"I sleep by the hatch," I grumbled. "That is final."

Oh, did I mention that I'd be sharing with Connor?

"I fail to see how it makes a difference," he remarked, tossing his supplies on the far bed. In turn, I began to unpack mine. My bag contained weapons at most, but I'd stashed a few essentials as well. Nothing luxury.

"No, you're right," I mocked, before testing the mattress. Shallow. I can feel the boards below, for goodness' sake. "We'll be equally uncomfortable, so what does it matter?"

If sharing with Connor wasn't spirit-dampening enough, things were about to get worse. A few days in and Faulkner demanded we help with the ship's housekeeping. Unbelievable, I thought, as a mop was thrust into my hand.

"What is this? A maiden's voyage?"

"If you're to sail with me..." Faulkner was almost laughing at the ship's wheel. "You're to keep the old girl clean."

"I was raised as a soldier," I said indignantly. "Not a servant."

The captain responded by cuffing me round the ear. Connor stood at the rigging nearby, poorly concealing his amusement. "Get on with it, 'less you'd rather mop the helm with your tongue!"

Somehow, I didn't think he was joking.

Menial tasks aside, it was pleasant on the deck. The homestead's horizon far behind us, we were already shortening the distance between us and Church. The sea breeze tasted not of salt – but nostalgia. I hadn't travelled by ship since my arrival in Boston – and that was half a lifetime ago. I missed the familiar creak of wood, of water that gleamed like a gemstone. This – the breeze in his hair – was the life my father loved so dearly. It was easy to see why.

Connor was often put at the helm. He was reckless with his steering; sometimes I feared for the Aquila. Certainly on one occasion – only three days into our voyage – Connor took a rogue wind at full sail. What sort of mindless imbecile would charge headlong into a storm?

"How is it," I bellowed, teeth chattering from the gale, "you came to captain a ship, given the way you sail?"

Faulkner must've been thinking the same, for he swiftly took the helm. The waves clawed at the Aquila's sides, soaking the crew members. It was dark by now; a storm was inevitable. Men shouted in all directions, but they were barely heard.

"What would you have us do?" Connor asked.

Faulkner's fingers flexed on the wheel, before he said calmly: "Go into the kitchens, and help with the meal preparation."

What? Meal prepa– what?

He couldn't be serious. Here we were, being battered by a storm, and he was asking us to cook a meal?

"Have you not a cook?" Connor spat over the hissing waves.

"We've two more mouths to feed," he replied, eyes fixed ahead. "It'll take days to prepare at this rate."

I exchanged glances with Connor incredulously. I was a Grand Master and skilled swordsman, and one thing I despised was being ordered about. Why wouldn't Faulkner let me take the helm? I'd have us out of this rough sea in minutes. But no, I was being forced into something as lowly as cooking. Sometimes – sometimes – this man struck me as insane.

The kitchen was a pigsty, even compared to the rest of the boat. Rotting peel, grubby walls and the moving space of a single bed...this had to be torture. Nonetheless, Connor and I were set (yet more) menial tasks of chopping vegetables. How I managed not to punch the angry little cook, that escapes me. But I now knew that Faulkner had a plan. This wasn't to push us off the deck...it was his attempt to bond us, that the voyage would be more peaceful for everyone.

As the cook retreated into the storage room, Connor and I began our work. My flimsy knife barely scratched the potato skin; I cursed in frustration. I'm tempted to use my hidden blades, I thought. They've been tucked under my sleeve for too long.

I knew it wasn't hygienic, but who was ever going to know? I pinched my coat sleeve and rolled it up, inspecting the blade's silver casing. Just as I was about to eject it, I was stopped. Connor's hand brushed against my wrist; he grasped the hidden blade. I froze in astonishment. My son stared at them in wonder. He'd never seen nor suspected my iconic Assassin weapons. I felt some sort of elation prickling my arm. Was this just from physical contact with Connor?

"Where did you get these?" His voice was low; awestruck.

I looked down at them, shame flooding through my body. I didn't deserve to wear them, and if I told Connor the truth, he'd think the same. I tried to pull away, but his grip did not slacken. Connor wasn't going to let go until he had answers. Eventually I sighed, reluctant to admit it. "My father."

Silence. Thunderclaps boomed across the sky outside; the commands of crew members grew louder. But Connor still wouldn't let go. I wasn't expecting that sudden jerk, that urge to break the physical barrier. Why wouldn't he stop there?

"An Assassin?" Connor asked casually.

"Yes."

Still I refused to look at him; I focused on the potato in my palm.

"Then why not you?"

I was tempted – so tempted – to spit back a sarcastic answer. But I couldn't. "A long story," I sighed, "and not one you'd want to concern yourself with."

"I want to know." Connor's reply was immediate. I looked him in the eye, and saw the curiosity mirrored in his mother's eye. He diverted his gaze to the wrist blade again, holding his gauntlet against mine to compare. "I want to know my father's roots, and of the shadows he emerged from. Now, why was my grandfather an Assassin, but not you?"

"Did your mother not tell you this, either?" I scowled.

"Why should she? It could've poisoned my mind, in her eyes."

I savoured his words. My son was making an effort...to understand me. Could it be true? Well, it wasn't worth missing the opportunity. If I told Connor everything about my journey through life, from start to finish, it'd take all evening. "Very well."

And so I told him of my past. Ziio and I once had the exact same conversation, but over dinner. I watched as Connor's eyes widened when I spoke of Father's murder, of Jenny's abduction and my imprisonment (yes, I used that exact word) into the Templar Order. It felt like breathing new air, speaking of the Templars in a negative light. It was a whole new perception of my morals altogether. Some of Connor's reactions were exactly as his mother's, I recalled with a tinge of sadness.

I seemed to have exhausted myself. When I was done, I looked down at the (not peeled) vegetable in my hand. I was ashamed for sharing so much emotion, when Connor was meant to see me as his enemy. Was that wrong?

Connor was also starting to have doubts. He chewed his lip pensively, though his eyes were calmer than I expected. "So you kept the symbol of your betrayal, that you might be reminded of it day by day?" His voice was so placid, I couldn't be angered.

"I didn't betray them. I...it's hard to understand," I exhaled, before smiling slightly. "Besides, the blades come in handy."

Connor nodded. He ejected his own blade; it clinked richly against the steel gauntlet. "For killing, for hunting..."

"For slicing vegetables..."

He burst into laughter, abruptly stopping himself. "What? You wouldn't."

I rolled my eyes jokingly. "Oh, I would. There are plenty of things I wouldn't mind slicing."

"My throat, for instance?"

That simper, it's exactly as Ziio's was...is.

"No," I chuckled. "No. Not anymore."

Connor's hand retracted; the blade swished back into its holster. "Not anymore?"

"No! I mean – time was, I only knew of an Assassin. I had no knowledge it might be you."

He shrugged, the humour sliding from his face. "Would you have killed me, was I not your son?"

"Probably," I murmured, hating the sound of my voice. Quickly I changed the subject: "And you? Did you plan to kill me?"

The muscles in Connor's eyes tensed, almost in fear. Fear of himself? I recalled the second time I saw him. The way his lip curled, just at the sight of me. "I wish I could deny the truth. But yes. I would've, if it kept the amulet safe."

I bowed my head. "I understand. I did burn your village, after all."

In the storage room, the cook cursed loudly. We spun in alarm – forgetting about his presence – and chuckled in unison. Again, I turned to my son sombrely.

"Then why did you agree? When Achilles sent you to cooperate with a Templar –"

"Why did I not refuse?" he finished my question. God, and I thought this boy couldn't read me. "The same reason as you. Distantly, I'd hoped to discover the side of my past I'd never witnessed. I suppose curiosity overtook me."

I patted his shoulder, and he flinched. "Curiosity is a virtue," I smiled. "Else we wouldn't be here, looking for Ziio."

Connor looked down at his feet. "I wish I had been curious before," he mumbled. "That way, I wouldn't be so spiteful."

How humble. "Do not dwell it, son. It won't solve any anguish...but it is a start."

Finally, he looked straight at me again. He had done several times, but it was different. His smile tore down any defence I had left. It was a glimpse, which – if I'd read him correctly – extended the hand of friendship. It didn't make us family...but it was a start.

"Thank you...Father."

Wow, that took way longer than I'd like to admit. Sorry if this one's rubbish (I've reached a bit of a plot-hole, as it were! This is the one part of Everbound which is still a blur, so I'm sorry it was such a mess!). I'm gonna be super-busy for the next few weeks; I've got exams and then I'm on a school trip so if updates are slower than usual, there's why!

Thanks for reading!