Author's note:

Hey! I don't know if anyone noticed, but...I saw that fanfiction was down over this weekend. Sorry about the delay: I had exams and a lot of other stuff in and out of school happening.

Just to let you know that this term/semester may just be the busiest ever for me, with over 24 hours of extra-curricular drama rehearsals, extra cello lessons and extra orchestra rehearsals. I guess what I'm trying to say is that writing has fallen a couple of places on my priority list, even if it pains me to admit it.

Hope you're all having a great start to the year :D love to you all! Reviews, follows and favourites are always appreciated.

HAYTHAM

I had to tell someone. But who?

Granted, if I told the Assassins I was unlikely to be expelled. Yet that wouldn't guarantee Shay's safety. I wanted him to live. I wanted him to know I admired him; that not all Assassins were his enemy, in the same way that not all Templars were mine.

My war was not with the Templars, but with injustice. Shay believed the same. Our ideologies were identical, so why not our allies?

Seeing him again made me no less loyal to the Assassins. I was still determined to preserve peace, and above all, my family. But how could I instil such peace if I was conflicted inside?

I couldn't tell Ziio – not after all she'd been through. That above anything broke my heart: the last time I evaded her was the time she lost all faith in me. I wouldn't let those circumstances write their rhymes.

Jack? Definitely not. Despite his belief that notions were more important than wrongs, I'd still opposed the Assassin's Creed. Eva? The same story, if not more so.

George? George was a kind man, and in many ways, he reminded me of Shay. Perhaps that was why we got along so marvellously. But no – secrecy would never last living with Eva. His wife would sense he was hiding something, then oust the truth from him. The same went with Connor: anyone could force a lie from him, not because he was weak, but he'd confess to avoid conflict. Connor would doubtless try to explain himself; to change the Assassins' opinions on Shay. But no matter how right he would be, no-one would listen.

I needed someone different. Someone who knew Shay well; someone who understood his true nature. But any Assassin who did know him was dead. All killed, to mine and his very blade.

All dead. All but one...

Bloody hell. Why did that one have to be...who it was? Quite frankly, I'd rather die catching flies than talk to the lone survivor. But I had no choice.

"It's cold out here."

Aaron wrapped his knuckles on the door of the Davenport Homestead. This was an unexpected visit, so neither him nor his sister were too contented to be dragged from their game.

"Aaron, it's only a little frost on the front door."

"And that isn't cold?" Alexa challenged.

I sighed down at them. I wanted to be here no more than them. "Oh, stop complaining. Surely it's worth it to see your brother?"

"We saw Connor last week," sniffed Aaron.

"No, you didn't." My irritability had conducted over to Ziio now. "He was in New Orleans, remember? In fact, Ratohnhaké:ton only returned yesterday."

At that moment, the front door opened; a surly-faced elder looked out onto the porch. "What? now?" Achilles grumbled, before seeing Ziio. "Oh, it's you. Sorry – so many people have been knocking on this door lately. I'm not used to so many guests." Bypassing me, he looked to the twins with a sort of warmth. "Hello, you two. Come in."

At the touch of Ziio's hand, Alexa shuffled her way inside. Aaron followed; Ziio stood still chewing her lip. She only did that when she was thinking. I was about to look at her; ask what was wrong, but she suddenly sprung to life. "Sorry to intrude like this, Achilles," she said. "The children wanted to see their brother."

Aaron frowned at her: this was a fallacy, but the jab of a look his sister gave him advised the boy to keep quiet.

"Right," Achilles sighed, prodding the door closed with his cane. "He's upstairs, I think. Give me a moment."

And so he turned to ascend the steps. Part of me wondered why he didn't simply call Connor down. The other part of me was relieved by his absence. Aaron and Alexa stood in front of us tensely. Not for long, though: Achilles stopped halfway up the stairs and said: "You can come up, you know. Don't stand around in the hallway. It's cold."

"Thank you," Alexa nodded politely.

I watched them warily, ascending the staircase, until they disappeared from sight. Hm. Considering they didn't know the real reason for us being here, the twins were covering it very well. Not even Ziio knew why we were here...but I could tell something was wrong. I glanced back down at her, only to find her glaring at me.

"What?"

"Haytham, you need to stop this."

"Stop what?" I said, a little too defensively.

"Stop...ignoring Achilles." The excuse I'd given her was that I was here to make amends with the old man. Ziio must've noticed the way I avoided him coming in – she was observant like that. "I know what happened years ago was no small matter, but please. This tension between you two is making the whole Brotherhood uncomfortable. Settle your differences and be done with it."

"How can I? The man won't so much as look my way."

"Well, he's going to have to." Her tone was harsh, but her frostiness soon melted. "Besides, I know you are a sincere man."

"I'm not," I murmured warily.

"What's the matter with you?" Ziio sighed. "You've been nothing but miserable for days now."

"Sorry." And I truly meant it. "I...I haven't been sleeping well."

Her eyes centred pensively; she shrugged her sturdy shoulders. "You seemed fine when I was awake last night."

"You were awake?"

"I'm often awake," she stated casually. "You knew that."

I felt my throat tighten. Usually when Ziio had trouble sleeping, it was bad news. "Not...not the nightmares again?" I whispered, before becoming annoyed. "Ziio, why didn't you tell me?"

"No – no nightmares. Not really. Nothing to worry about."

As my anger subsided, I wrapped an arm round her awkwardly. "Well," I breathed, "I'm here."

"I know you are," she murmured, ear to my chest. Normally she would resist this unnecessary attention – but it was me, and I was different. I'd felt so distant of late, so the warmth of her body in my arms was a source of great comfort.

What as no source of comfort was Achilles appearing again. He descended the staircase (surprisingly quickly), pulling me and Ziio apart. Immediately she adopted a worried frown. "Wait. Achilles, when you said you'd had too many guests…what sort of guests?"

This seemed an odd question, but the old man understood. "Ah," he sighed frailly. "Someone has told you, then. They're mostly Mohawk villagers. The elders have been concerned about Continental interference of the land of late, so I've asked them to keep me informed."

I'd expected a passionate reaction, but Ziio only nodded. "Yes, my mother mentioned the Continental Army. The front line pushes closer and closer towards the village. What news have my people brought?"

Achilles waved his hand halfheartedly. "Ask Connor – he has it all written down somewhere, in Mohawk. A friend of his wrote a letter."

"I will," Ziio murmured, "once he comes down."

"Oh – Achilles." I hoped I'd intruded at the right moment. "I...may we speak in private, please?"

Even when my eyes didn't quite meet him, the old man shrugged. "If we must."

He hobbled towards the dining room; I smiled at Ziio and began to follow. My smile was wholly artificial, however. I took no pleasure in being here. I took no pleasure in any of this. I had seen and done plenty in my career – yet being this close and personal was (dare I say) my Achilles' heel.

"Right." Some time later, Achilles leaned back in the dining chair. "I am glad you're telling me this, but...it is rather a lot to take in."

I couldn't say I blamed him. I flexed my palms, partly out of discomfort and partly from the cold. The fire in the corner was doing no favours. I did, however, feel the heat of my collarbone. Here I was, making a confession to this frosty-faced priest. "Did you know that Shay had returned to America?"

"No. Somehow, despite informants coming out of my ears, Shay evaded my attention." Achilles scratched the whiskers on his chin. "Hm…he must have gone straight to Charles, if he didn't consult you first. Why? You would be the first one to take the Precursor box to."

"Perhaps he knew," I said hopelessly. "Charles and I had a row shortly before he left. Perhaps it was him who told Shay to be wary. Only a guess, although…I had a feeling Charles was onto me, the day I freed Connor."

My chest felt lighter, yet my heart heavier. Achilles still wouldn't meet my eyes – and I was trying.

"Do you think that Shay has followed your advice? Or do you think he has returned to Lee?"

"Hard to say. I did tell Shay to leave Boston, and to steer clear of Virginia too. And he believed me." Unexpectedly, a mass of sadness grew in my throat. I swallowed it roughly. "He ran straightaway, not even retrieving his weapons."

Something about that clearly moved Achilles. The old Assassin seemed to shrink back into his chair, before exhaling sadly. "As I imagined he would not. He is...was...a good man."

"The only Templar I could truly call a friend," I said sombrely. "But...there's something else I wish to address. The reason I sent Shay to France in the first place was to –"

"Retrieve the Precursor box?" Achilles just had to twist a snarl into his voice: "I already know. My informant who had it in his possession no longer lives."

Part of me felt I should apologise. But why over the death of one Assassin, when countless had fallen to my blade before? Should I sit and repent for every last one right here? "Well...I had not been aware of his return, evidently – forgotten about his mission in the past months. Yet when he arrived at my door with this Precursor artefact, I had to act. That probably lessened his trust as we went along, but what else could I say? 'Actually, Shay, I'm an Assassin now...but I'll have that box, thank you very much.'?"

"You have the Precursor box, presumably?"

"Yes." I rummaged in the small pouch I brought, and produced the polished wooden artefact. The surfaces of Achilles' eyes rippled with relief, despite no real light beaming from the box. "But I am conflicted as to where I should keep it. Naturally I've no intentions of using it, so I need to keep it locked away."

"And why bring it to me?" the old man challenged. "You safe-keep the amulet. Why not this?"

"Because –" I stopped, remembering how confidential this was. "Ziio does not know of Shay's little visit, nor will she ever. If I have suddenly acquired a Precursor artefact then she'll accuse me of hiding something. Now, do not be mistaken: I trust Ziio with all my strength. But I don't want to make her think she is unsafe with me. If a Templar was in our very house – knows where we live – she will fear for Aaron and Alexa's safety. And we all know what measures Eva would take if she thought I was –"

Achilles held up a hand. "Understood, understood. Say no more. I'll take it. God knows I've enough space for the damn thing."

"Thank you." As I handed the box to him, something occurred to me. "Oh – and...Achilles?"

"Hm?"

I checked no others were listening, then whispered anyway: "Ziio believes our chat to be about...settling our differences. So I'm afraid I have to ask you to act. No need to pretend you like me, only that you can tolerate me. I'm sorry, only I don't want any suspicions aroused."

The man gave an indistinct snort. Not agreeing, not disagreeing. Still, the skin around his eyes became lukewarm. "I do tolerate you, Kenway. That is where I draw the line."

"Good to hear...although I won't lie, I am surprised."

"So am I, Haytham. So am I," he chuckled humorously.

"There. Another reason why Shay's existence is fortuitous." Suddenly my chest tightened; I leaned away from the old man. Did I dare say this? "Else I may not be forgiven for my...actions."

"No apology will ever mend my leg," Achilles said gruffly. "But...I guess I've no choice but to forgive. You were different then."

"I know." And I really was sincere: I regretted shooting Achilles years ago, a dozen times so. However true my words were, speaking of the sentiment was like treading through tree sap. I cleared my throat: "So what will we do? About Shay, I mean. Will we monitor him?"

Achilles – evidently glad to have moved on – leaned back in his chair even further. "Yes. Well, if we guess in terms of Shay's natural reaction, I'll have my spies keep you informed. Confidentially, of course."

"No," I gasped suddenly. "Don't. If word gets to Gérald, it's bound to reach Jack and Eva. By then it'll be twisted; saying I was helping a Templar. Then what?"

"I wasn't talking about the Blancs. I have my own informants."

Which explains the report of Shay's activity in France. "I see," I sighed. "Thank you. Sorry to burden you with this...you're the only man who knows Shay as well as I do. Or...did, I suppose."

Achilles gave a small hiss, which resembled the crackling fire behind. "You should probably say hello to Connor. You've come all this way to see him'."

It was an interesting closure to our long discussion, but somehow I was glad of it. Had I made amends as Ziio asked? To some extent, yes. Did I feel my conscience was lifted? Yes. Did it make me feel any less of a traitor? Not really. I was still lying to all my family, and the Assassins. God forbid they'd been listening in. Even if they had, they wouldn't have overheard much: the dining room was the size of my hallway in itself.

When I held the door open for Achilles, it was to discover silence. At first I assumed they were all upstairs – and so I checked. Achilles stayed downstairs, but gave me permission to search Connor's bedroom for the rest of my family. Oddly, Ziio and Connor were not there.

"Aaron and Alexa are outside," Achilles called from downstairs. "I can see them through the window. Is Connor up there?"

"No," I replied, descending the stairs. But I only had to reach halfway to see that something was wrong. In his right hand, Achilles clutched a small piece of parchment by the door. I couldn't see what it was, since he held it to his eyes to look. "A note?"

Achilles nodded, not looking up. "They've gone out. Look."

I hurried to the bottom of the stairs and took the parchment from him. I recognised Connor's relatively untidy writing at once.

Word from the village – not good news. Continental Army manipulating villagers, making them think we've betrayed them. Mother and I have left to reason with the elders. An hour at most.
–C.

I held the leaf at an arm's length, unsure of what to think. How had they crept out so quietly? How hadn't we heard any of this commotion, supposing a messenger had arrived? And more importantly, what did he mean by "making them think we've betrayed them"? Besides, "we" could mean a vast range of peoples. The Assassins, Connor and Ziio, those at the homestead...who were "we"? I voiced this to Achilles.

"Probably Connor." His voice was surprisingly halfhearted. "Although, I'd bet my right arm that it's Charles Lee up to his old tricks."

My face furrowed into a frown. "And what exactly are "his old tricks"?"

"Charles Lee is still a chief the army, remember? Indoctrinating the natives may only be the start of it. That man has the power to turn a whole village against Connor."

"Indeed. Just one white lie about Connor double-crossing his village to the British...and soon, we would have all the Iroquois Confederacy after the Assassins." I cleared my throat, handing the parchment back to him."Well, what would you have me do? Should I wait for them to return?"

Achilles rocked on his cane for a moment, then shook his head. "Connor said he would be an hour, and it's growing dark outside. You should take the children home. They were growing impatient when I saw them."

"I suspect they grow hungry." I tapped the loop on my belt where my pistol normally rested. I admitted, my head was far too occupied to even consider hunger, but it came to me spontaneously. I had an idea. "Since we haven't the company of Ziio, I'll take them into Boston to eat."

When we found Aaron and Alexa five minutes later, they were stood by the stable. The freedmen and women had kindly taken our horses to rest on arrival. However, seeing my children peering into the stable (Alexa on the points of her toes) made me realise before I could even see.

The horses were gone.

"Dammit," I cursed loudly. "Not only have they left, they've taken the horses too! Did Ziio expect us to walk home?"

I looked around the corner by the burning lamp, to find that the miniature cart we'd brought was still intact. It was always hard work fitting all four of us onto the seat, particularly at the rate Aaron was growing.

"You don't have to walk, Haytham," Achilles yawned. "I can have one of the freedmen take you home."

"No. You needn't do that for me. We'll walk."

But the old man had already turned his back, headed for the stable door. No point in stopping him: Achilles doing me a favour was a memorable occasion. Despite all we had discussed, it was clear from the distance he kept from me that he liked me no more than before. I stared after him for a moment; analysed his stance and surliness. What was he really doing, by offering to take me home? A form of redemption? An outward sign of a feeble tolerance?

Whatever reason Achilles had, it wouldn't prevent Aaron and Alexa staring after me.

"You never talk to Achilles," Alexa stated plainly.

"Special occasion," I grunted.

"The occasion being...?"

"All right. Your mother persuaded me to make amends with him."

Alexa was innocently unaware of why we'd need to "make amends", but nodded in false understanding. In the silence that followed I saw my daughter's eyes flicker. They went from the all-too-familiar brown to a darker shade. I wondered if that was something maternal, when she was thinking.

"Wait," I thought aloud. "Did you see your mother leave with Connor?"

Aaron nodded. "Yes. They were with Kanen'tó:kon."

"Kanen – what?"

"A young man from the village," he explained. "He looked very troubled...and that was from a distance."

Which meant anything between stressful and catastrophic, in Aaron's terms. "And you didn't think to tell me they'd gone?" I demanded crossly.

"Why should we? They didn't."

"Your attitude," I scolded, "is becoming unacceptable, Aaron. Honestly, the way you address me nowadays! Anyone would have half the sense to think you're an adult at thirteen."

His automatic response was to glance nervously at his sister, then flash a small smile. "What do you mean? My attitude has not changed." He folded his arms neatly. "It's you who has been behaving differently, Father. Even I spoke to Mother about it the other day."

The pleated skin in my cheeks locked icily. Had I really been that obvious? Alright, Ziio had picked up on my poignance for the past week. But Aaron? Yes, he was intelligent, in ways, but intuition was not his strong suit. Evidently, my acting skills had been wounded by Shay's trigger to my heart. Why did I feel I had to act around my own family, in any case?

"It's nothing," I replied, without apology.

Achilles chose a convenient moment to reappear, prodding the door open with his cane. After observing this mild family feud, he said: "There's a ride waiting for you at the foot of the hill. Tell him to avoid the village – bound to be trouble, if what Connor says is true."

I nodded in a lukewarm air. I didn't thank him – felt no need to. We both knew that sentiment was my weakness.

Perhaps that was why it had the better of me on the way home.

The man who steered the horses knew every twist and turn of Boston. The usual zest in the town air had diminished to emptiness, like my stomach. We rode through the streets I knew so well...yet I recognised nothing. The darkness loomed like that of midnight, though it was no time near that hour. The blandness was uncomfortable, but it gave me time to think.

What was wrong with the village, and how grave was the situation? Was Charles there at this very moment? Did...did Shay have anything to do with this?

Good Lord, I should hope not.

But if he was...the Brotherhood was bound to take this crisis to heart. Would they kill Shay? A horrible parasite sucked at my empty stomach, instead filling me with that fear. Then I remembered: I was overtired, and drained in every sense. All would be well after a hearty meal.

Out of the darkness, I saw a figure swishing...

I turned my head so suddenly, my neck clicked as a result. Clutching my stiff skin, I squinted to look back on the unlit corner. No. The figure was gone, but was certainly real. Almost as if I could...sense him there. He lurked in the corner – attentive as an eagle – with an oddly illusional red glow around him. Worst by far was his shadowy poise: the stance adopted by a soldier spying. A sixth sense, or paranoia?

"What is the matter?" Alexa asked immediately.

"Nothing. Sorry, I thought I saw a man in that alleyway."

I sighed deeply, forcing myself to look ahead. A street lamp flickered sadly on the street corner; the Green Dragon Tavern was in sight. A hint of stale nostalgia drifted over me. Much had been built in this little inn; many Templar schemes had received an approval within its walls. To the lamp's left was a window spilling its light, and the chatter from inside almost warmed the air. The Green Dragon was clearly busy.

But I could hear more than just chatter. I could hear more than the sliding of horses' hooves on ice. There was something – someone else.

The freedman halted the cart just as I was becoming suspicious. Immediately Aaron hopped down from the seat, nearly sliding on the ice. I would've barked at him to be careful (that ice'll be the death of you), but I was preoccupied. I was the only one who heard the rustling behind me; Alexa lifted the hem of her skirts and stepped down gingerly.

"Give Achilles my sincere thanks," I nodded at the freedman. The outline of his head dipped; I stepped down onto the icy street.

The strap of my leather pouch almost caught on the wooden wheel; it tugged to reveal the lack of a Precursor box. I flipped it closed, hugging my bare hands into my coat. I tried not to look behind me, since I'd already behaved strangely, though I did glance back at the corner.

The figure was still there.

He was hidden, but not well-hidden. Almost as if he wanted me to find him; as if he wanted me to be aware of his presence. He couldn't have felt my eyes on his darkened silhouette (how could he in this dark?), but he responded. He moved...it was such a clear jerk that I almost stopped in my tracks. It was at this point when I felt a claw of concern pierce my gut. I was alone in the dark, with children...and most probably a wanted Assassin.

The cart rattled past us in the street, leaving Aaron and Alexa to skid to the Green Dragon's window. Aaron put a hand to his forehead, rubbed it, and looked inside the glass. Alexa soon followed suit.

"It's very full," she announced, when I approached them.

In turn, I peeked into the luminous window pane. As ever, the melodious, mostly male voices flared from the Green Dragon. Alexa was right: the men were everywhere; and there were no free tables. Well, almost none.

Eager to escape the chill, I tapped Aaron on the back. "In you go, then," I murmured. "I won't be a moment."

Usually one of them would question, but not with their current hunger. They slipped past the window pane and into the musk of the tavern. The moment the door clicked shut after them, I reached for my gun for reassurance.

Wait, I have no gun.

Cursing in crystals on the window, I turned again to look at the alley corner behind me. And he was still there.

I blinked, trying to appear unfazed. Either I was seeing ghosts or that man wanted to be seen. Alright, I had no weapons...but I could at least acknowledge his presence.

"Hello?" I called boldly.

Under a tricorne hat he hid his identity, but edged closer to the light. Slightly. A shiver blew both ways in my body.

"Show yourself," I commanded.

At this point I had several hypotheses. One was that Charles had sent a man to spy on me...but how would he know I was here? How would he know I'd pass through this street? Another was that Shay had sent a man to watch me – only to see that I was well. It was highly unlikely that the man was here to assassinate me. Not here, and not in front of a public house. So what was he doing, stood in that alleyway?

My attentions were then diverted, because with a manoeuvre which would've pained my bones, he was gone. Dashing down the alley. His feet running faster than the ice should've allowed him. As mission instinct kicked in, I felt I should follow him – but then I remembered: Aaron. Alexa. They were currently in a tavern alone, and I could not allow that.

I stood stiffly, perplexed at what had just happened...when the silence was broken. The tiniest chink of metal...like a coin dropped on the empty street. About a foot away from my boot was not a coin, but a small pewter ring. It wheeled around on the street for a moment, before stopping.

He was the only one who could've rolled it. And it was directed at me.

I was far too tired to comprehend this. Begrudgingly I bent to pick the ring up. Holding it to the light, I could see exactly what it was. It was a Templar ring; a small one at that. The cold, pewter cross was etched into metal like indoctrination. I let it rest in my palm, thinking aloud.

"Why roll me a Templar ring? A warning? A threat? Asking me to return to the Order?"

I looked closer, and I saw the significance. With a blunt knife, someone had etched the Assassin enigma over the Templar cross. And...yes, they'd slashed that, too. That was when alarm bells screeched at me, clearer than the light inside. That was when the danger pierced me like the cold. It was a warning...it was Charles' way of letting me know: he was after me.

"Father, are you alright?"

In a panic to hide the ring, I jumped on seeing Aaron and Alexa standing outside the tavern. I caught my breath and looked at them. No. I wouldn't let them be involved in this. Too innocent, too young. What if Charles was after my family?

Oh no. The village. He has Connor and Ziio under his wing already.

Urgently, I strode up to Alexa and grabbed her wrist. "Come on, you two. We're leaving."

"L-leaving?" she spluttered. "Why?"

"The tavern is full – there's no space for us. Your mother may be home by now...we will eat there."

"But this makes no sense –"

"Don't ask questions!" I snapped, far too furiously. "Hurry up."

No further questions were asked that night. Not for the entire journey home. Not for the twists, turns and side-routes I took in Boston, just to make sure. I checked every corner we crossed, grabbing both children's hands and dragging them across the ice when they fell behind. They were suspicious. I knew they would be – didn't care. But this only added to the things I had to hide from Ziio.

Had Charles found a weak spot within me?