OK, so the next few chapters are going to be episodes like this (ten minutes, nine minutes, eight minutes, etc). It's better this way because it's easier to write, you guys don't lose track of the drama or what's going on, and...well, it's just more exciting really ;) enjoy!

Let me know what you think of these episodic chapters...

TEN MINUTES

At the moment when Haytham Kenway enters, nothing changes.

The Grandmaster of the Colonial Templar Order stands imposingly over his desk. By his left hand, the artefacts stacked and tied with string in a parcel; a stack of satirical books on his right, including the Holy Bible.

The lids of Lee's eyes do not flicker as he bursts through the doors. Instead they fall to his two guards, awoken from a standing slumber. They fumble for their muskets and take ballet-steps back. Their guns are the only eyes looking at Kenway.

Charles raises a hand. "Step back," he orders. "I will take care of this. Leave us."

The guards stop mid-crouch, have a private, questioning conversation between their eyes...and nod at their master. In unison their feet clap together and march forward. They push past Haytham and out into the corridor.

The cacophony of conflict pours into the room. When the doors creak closed again, it returns to its ritualistic silence. Just two brothers. Two men once in a misbegotten friendship; now a fatalistic hatred. Neither of them see it as such. Each to his own cause, they both think it their given right to kill the other. And now is that moment.

Before he speaks (or even moves), Haytham studies his new surroundings. The study has barely changed since it was rightfully his: same ebony desk. Same arched window; same round, grey brick walls. Same floor. Same torches on the racks. The only difference is the man behind the desk...and the barrels.

In here too? he wonders. If this is for some sort of self-destruction, it is a poorly-laid plan.

"I take it you expected this." His voice is testy, saving his venom for later.

"Naturally," Charles drones. "You Assassins are so predictable. None more so than you and your son."

Haytham replaces his feet; plants them firmly on his ground. His fingers flex as if ejecting hidden blades which he lacks. "Then why lead me here?" He steps closer. "Why take us both hostage if you knew Ziio would free us? And Robert. You knew he would never outlast her —"

"The pig was useless to me." His moustache wrinkles in disgust. "Equally as useless to you. Did you know that, Haytham? His only religion was money. Much like Thomas Hickey, the egotistical bastard."

"Egotistical...egotistical?" Haytham savours, then spits the word like spoiled wine. "Your men are bleeding on the battlefield!" he yells, indicating the window. "You can hear their dying wails from here. Yet here you are, like a rook in a castle. And you're the saint they all obey?"

The Holy Bible clutters to the floor as Charles' veiny hand sweeps. He moves it steadily, holds it up to his icy eyes and inspects his Templar ring. He flashes a wry smile. "I could say the same of yours, old friend." He steps over the pile of books towards his enemy. Even his heart, supposedly still, is rising. "You needn't have called them here. They're all going to die. Ziio included."

His proximity makes Kenway both furious and uncomfortable. His teeth grit in Lee's face as he returns to a mutter: "Don't think you can frighten me with your ominous sweeping statements. Whatever this battle is, it certainly was not your original plan. I know that for certain."

"Every good strategist has an additional plan," Lee replies, raising his eyebrows. "Not that you would know. The Assassins charged into this without looking first."

"Alright then," Haytham almost laughs in his anger. "What was your initial scheme?"

Charles' laugh is throaty, callous and calculated. "As if I'd be such a fool."

"You've been nothing but fool for years." Haytham takes the opportunity: suddenly, he grabs Master Lee's collar. "Look at this. Do you see this? The uniform you're wearing? It is man's immaturity embroidered in a coat."

He pauses for breath. The din of death and battle taps on the window pane like raindrops. When he returns to the frigid intensity of Charles' eyes, he ploughs their depths and sees nothing but sin. Mirroring Lee's gritted jaws, his fury begins to rise: "I was fortunate to have such a veil removed from my eyes. And do you know who did that, Charles? Moreover, what did it? Do you? Love."

Unable to take Kenway seriously, Charles looks away for a moment.

"Love," he continues, "which you'll never comprehend. The only difference between your cause and mine is a concern for consequence." Haytham pauses to pierce the serpent's eye sharply. "If only you could see her now, Charles. If only you could see her! You have broken her. You've absolutely shattered Ziio's life to pieces, yet she persists. She fights. And she loves. That is a woman's strength. But you!" he yells, shaking the man by the collar, "You seek nothing but immediate gratification. And look how much hatred it has brought you. Look at where it brought my family!"

"Touching. Truly. But you've me to thank for your family's very existence."

"Why — how dare you!" With all his might, Haytham hurls Lee to the other side of the room. The former's wrath is so strong that the latter collides with a barrel of gunpowder, splitting it down the side with a crack.

"How dare you crow something so wicked! What you did — are doing now — is unspeakable." Kenway lets Charles dust himself off, his face infuriatingly passive. This angers Haytham even more, and something awakens within him. It is the temper of his father Edward, which screams with the roughness of every sea: "She deserves to kill you. She deserves to watch you bleed at her feet a thousand times!"

Haytham clenches his scarlet fists. Without warning — drums thudding in his head — he charges at Charles again. "But she left the task to me. She did not want revenge, because that is the pure woman she is. She sent me. She sent me to cut your throat. She sent me to kill you."

Without difficulty, Charles kicks Kenway away from him. He buckles slightly as he teeters backwards, but recovers himself and impulsively reaches for Ziio's sword. Yet there is no panic on Lee's face: in fact, his eyes regard his old friend tepidly. "Then why haven't you already? You're wasting my time and yours." He holds his hands at his sides, his chest completely open to a stab.

With the wait of five years, nothing is restraining Haytham now. He lunges, sword drawn. The steel still tainted with Robert's blood, it glints at Charles in the second that he dives.

Haytham is taken by surprise: the snake still has much more energy than he expected. Before he can strike again, a second sword is drawn. The grunts of metal against metal; the steel of man against man fills the room. The noises of death and dying have broken through the glass; are seeping between the muscles of these fighters.

Clash. Clash.

Already the strikes are as rapid as their heartbeats. Their teeth glint darkly at one another, jagged as a double knife edge. There is no doubting it now, as the grunts turn to shouts of rage.

One will live, and one will die.