Color The Sky

by Mystic Blade

Connor's life at Davenport homestead brings a sense of family after leaving Kanathséton as he makes new friendships with the residents and finds himself slowly assimilating into one large family. He partakes in a part of life that isn't tied to the assassins while one young resident tackles the new wild frontier to carve a dream for herself as they cultivate their new community.

61. Father & Son

Music Inspiration: Lorne Balfe- "Connor's Life"

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Father & Son

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26 January 1778

Ratonhnhaké:ton and Caroline escaped their tangle with Church's men with a few bruises and simmering annoyance for being ditched by Haytham. The redhead easily understood why her husband would prefer not to deal with him, apart from the evil Templar overlord part. On a positive note, not having him around on their trip to New York was a relief for the couple. Ratonhnhaké:ton had been grinding his teeth after every sentence upon meeting Haytham and with his abrupt leave, he was glad to say good riddance. His right ear had stopped throbbing within the day but Caroline had stuffed a small ball of cotton in there to prevent the cold from irritating the sensitive eardrum.

Thankfully, the snowfall lessened on their return trip which shortened the hours on foot. Caroline was not keen on spending time in inns that would not allow entrance to her husband so the two set up their shared tent and kept their horses close to the campfire to ward off the cold. Grazing was difficult with the snowfall but Ratonhnhaké:ton had taken a portion of feed for the horses from Valley Forge after debriefing Washington. With the commander unable to spare men for a search that far out, the two signed on to continue the hunt.

New York had gradually recovered from the great fire of 1776 and the charred buildings had been torn down, reduced to clearings and new skeletal frameworks for new buildings. The city remained a bustling trade center and with the Assassins setting a foothold in the city, it had fallen into a cold stalemate with the Templars. Certain pockets were retained by their enemies but Ratonhnhaké:ton's latest recruits kept a firm hold of their own sectors. He was not surprised at all that he ventured to a part of the city by the docks where his enemies dwelled and had informed Caroline to stay on guard. Their horses were in a temporary shelter with Dobby at her current safe house for her courier services. Being lured into a trap would not be surprising and he kept his right hand over the butt of his pistol when approaching the brick-red building his father had picked out as a rendezvous point.

The Templar's back faced them when they entered the dimly lit area, given the time of night. This was also not a point in their favor against concealed snipers but the two refused to be frightened away. Haytham heard their footsteps approach from behind before they revealed their presence, speaking up evenly, "Evening, Connor. I see you made it here in one piece with your little friend."

No thanks to you, Ratonhnhaké:ton thought bitterly of being abandoned in the middle of winter against strangers. Luckily, having his wife helped to make quick work of the camp but alone, he would have been delayed. Why did his father work so intentionally to see him fail? Was it because they were enemies or estranged family? Ugh, he didn't even like to use the word family with him but there was a begrudging part of him that had to maintain some form of respect for his elders. Even if they were murdering ones bent on destruction.

I'm not little, Caroline thought sheepishly because she reached her husband's nose which was a feat considering his tall height. As a teen, she constantly stretched in the vain hope that it would boost her growth spurts. Her family wasn't little either – that is, compared to other townsfolk. Great, he made her self-conscious! How did he keep doing that?!

Ratonhnhaké:ton stiffened to hearing his nickname uttered, still oblivious to how he found out about it. Had his spies revealed it? Was it back in Bridewell Prison? He rubbed it out of his mind, reminding himself not to care that he knew facts about him. Of course he would, he was their enemy and a good one would have extensive information. His knowledge came from a need to wipe out the Assassins, not paternal care. Brushing off the subtle insult, he shot back with one of his own, "Recovered from your beating, then?"

Haytham's gaze stiffened to the chide while Caroline subdued a snicker by clearing her throat, calling for peace to their collaboration, "Gentlemen, shall we remain cordial?"

"You're no gentleman" the older man pointed out skeptically because the baggy clothing was androgynous and hung from Bartlett's frame. His son, meanwhile, was physically built to tackle a small militia and wore fitted clothing to avoid hindering his movement. In the dim lightning of night, the other man's features were hidden under a bicorn hat but the mystery was mildly intriguing to pass the boredom.

His mind was confounded further by the Scotsman when a grin was sent his way, followed by a cheeky, "Never said I was."

He was not one to tolerate insubordination or crude sass but he – her? - polite speech mixed in with dry sarcasm was reminiscent of his own. Unlike his son, who was direct and lacked much of a funny bone, his partner was more calculating. Was the redhead an Assassin or a hired mercenary? If it was the latter, they might have a chance as a Templar. Pointing a finger at him, blue eyes watched his appendage vigilantly while he remarked, "Sharp. Are you sure he shouldn't be following you?"

Caroline quickly shook her head to such an idea and hoped he wasn't trying to play divide and conquer. She and her husband were a tight team and nobody would drive a wedge between them. Otherwise, they would have an extensive conversation at their homestead. She followed him out of respect and supplied firmly without hesitation, "No."

Haytham shrugged nonchalantly to causing a shift in power, earning a glare from his son. Would he ever get a mildly calm version? Honestly, he felt like he was dealing with a sulky teenager. Turning back around with caution, he peered over the city to target a specific neighborhood by the water. Church's private brewery that served as a hub for the Templars was located by the water's edge and he wanted to scope out the number of guards. It appeared desolate to keep away thieves but leaving people in the perimeter would scatter busybodies. He kept his eyes trained on his two new associates and explained the situation, "Benjamin Church is holed up in an abandoned brewery on the waterfront. We should be done with this by sunrise."

Ratonhnhaké:ton was glad to hear that it would be an easy mission and hoped to retrieve the lost shipments. On the other hand, he could be walking into a trap if it were easy. His trials in life had taught him that no easy tasks existed unless they were family related in good fun. He highly doubted that was the case with Haytham and replied evenly to their joint venture, "Good. I would like to have those supplies returned as soon as possible.

Haytham was aware that his son was not a barrel of laughs and barely cracked a smile, unless it meant bodily harm on his person. He expected a more logical and level-headed enemy rather than the stoicism that brewed restrained fury but he couldn't handpick the qualities of his children. They would be butting heads during this tense alliance and he remarked dryly, "Of course, I wouldn't want to keep you from your lost cause."

An offended glare was sent his way, lightly amusing him, and he ushered the duo, "Come along then. Follow me."

He was going to be making the decisions on this mission to prevent having Church run off prematurely. To flush out a rat, he would have to pretend to be none the wiser about his treachery. He guided the two towards the rear of the building to a stairway leading to the second level. The entire building was dark, given the middle of the night, so nobody would be surprised by their presence on the creaking floorboards. They needed a vantage point to scope out the area and he gripped the edge of the roof to pull himself onto the top of the building. Ratonhnhaké:ton followed him in case of any funny business but his father simply crossed the distance to peer over the opposite side of the building.

Caroline pulled herself up onto the building, keeping to the rear to let the two handle the mission. Like Ratonhnhaké:ton, she was not entirely trustful of the Templar but would follow her husband's judgment. A hidden blade would not come in handy in a rooftop ambush but she kept her right hand on her pistol to placate her paranoia. The area was clear but she kept an eye on the shadows under the moonlight while Ratonhnhaké:ton spoke aloud to inquire, "Tell me something. You could have killed me when we first met- what stayed your hand?"

Yes, why? I could have let you die at the gallows or had Thomas kill you in Bridewell Prison but no, Haytham pondered darkly to his own search for that answer because he had been fine to let the Templars take care of him. Until he interfered and betrayed his own meticulous planning. Why had letting him walk through that courtyard full of hateful people strike him with uncertainty at letting the man believe his own father wanted him dead? Would his own father had allowed such a thing with him? Brushing aside those old memories, he chastised himself, Am I getting old? Sentimental?

Like any child, Ratonhnhaké:ton was curious about his origins and his family was shattered glass. He had never been in the presence of both his parents and there were moments through his life where he wished for his mother. His father, on the other hand, was not a father like most. His relentless drive to see the Templars triumph in seizing the colonies had effectively divided them, not to mention his loyalty to those like Lee. Still, a cold-blooded killer would have ended his life at that dilapidated church because he didn't hesitate to order his execution back in Bridewell Prison. What stopped him?

His blind hope that Haytham would feel any hints of remorse were thwarted when the older man replied bluntly, "Curiosity. Any other questions?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton knew their association to warring organizations would keep them estranged. His father was only working with him to meet their mutual goal of finding Church and the missing supplies. Once that goal was reached, they would cut ties and become enemies again. He decided that venturing into the mindset of his enemy would garner more insight for him and asked cautiously, "What is it the Templars truly seek?"

Haytham was surprised to hear an open-minded comment from his son and answered simply, "Order. Purpose. Direction. No more than that."

If he was willing to listen, he would gladly show him the superiority of the ideals of the Templar Order. The Assassins were trying to derail order and spiral the new nation into disarray. Maybe this temporary alliance could work in his favor by sprouting seeds of doubt in his son's mind. Brashness was common in early adulthood and many individuals were moldable by those of stronger minds. Aiming a sharp glare at him, he critiqued his flawed judgment with the enemy, "It's your lot that means to confound with this nonsense talk of freedom. Time was, the Assassins professed a far more sensible goal, that of peace."

Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head to his negative interpretation of it and insisted heatedly, "Freedom is peace."

Haytham was already prepared for that rose-colored view about saving mankind and being the hero. Life was not black and white and eventually, one would have to get their hands dirty. To him, freedom would bring unchecked dangers for the sake of uniqueness. Strict order brought equality with minimal risk of danger. He didn't walk on eggshells to reflect that mindset and shook his head to correct sharply, "Oh, no. It's an invitation to chaos. Only look at this little revolution your friends have started. I have stood before the Continental Congress and listened to them stamp and shout. All in the name of liberty but it is just noise."

Unlike his father that was driven to enforce unanimous order, Ratonhnhaké:ton chose to believe in a world capable of making the right choices. If he followed and upheld the laws in place, he and Caroline would never have married. However, he knew right from wrong and would never harm innocent civilians. The ideal between freedom and order had both positive and negative implications but given a chance, a world could be created with both philosophies. Just like his home in Davenport, they protected their own but everyone was free to live a life without criticism or fear. His father's dream of a world of imposed order would strip his own principles and he questioned, "And this is why you favor Lee?"

His son was blindly idealistic but Haytham had chosen his second-in-command long ago after mentoring Lee. He knew the situations to support, abandon, and obliterate for the duty of their order. Weakness would not be tolerated and his own experiences in life had shown him the brutality others would take for survival. From that, he strived to win all battles and trusted only in himself. Why would he dare to believe in those that professed empty promises? His son was a fool to think that the Patriots would have principles based on equality for everyone and pointed out shrewdly, "He understands the needs of this would-be nation far better than the jobbernowls who profess to represent it."

Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head to his conviction, wondering why he was staunchly against letting the colonies flourish alone. His order was not looking to control its people and imposing their ideals, contrasting the Templars. How did his father know that his order knew what was best for society? They were chasing down a man who was filling his own pockets and he was meant to trust that they knew better? So far, the Templars were exuding iron-clad supremacy through the use of force and he accused coldly, "It seems your tongue has tasted sour grapes. The people have made their choice – and it was Washington."

When did people know what was best? Haytham counted himself lucky for being able to receive a good education but half the people in the colony didn't even know how to read! What would they know about making rational decisions? Their selfish need to do as they wished was a prime example of the current war and innocent civilians were being caught in the crossfire. His own son didn't even grasp the truth that Washington was the same man that attacked his village. Still, if he played his cards right, he could reveal everything conveniently in his favor and destroy whatever blind trust he had in the other man. The downside would be that his entire world would be shattered but Haytham could pick up the pieces to let him interpret the true reality.

With the Templar Order, wars would be a thing of the past with rules (and forces) in place to prevent uprisings. There was nothing unique about this society, or any other, that warranted unrestrained freedom and chastised sharply, "The people chose nothing! It was done by a group of privileged cowards seeking only to enrich themselves. They convened in private and made a decision that would benefit them. Oh, they might have dressed it up with pretty words, but that does not make it true."

Caroline bit her bottom lip because his words did ring painfully true because most people in power were those that were in a higher social class. You wouldn't see people like her or from a small town running for office in a big city and actually winning. Not to mention, her gender automatically disqualified her. Her husband was not falling for his words, however, by returning a placid stare and Haytham lectured coldly, "The only difference, Connor – the only difference between myself and those you aid – is that I do not feign affection."

With that said, Haytham returned to the rear of the building to hop off the roof and onto the top deck of the stairway. Caroline let him pass, not wanting to cross that dramatic hotpot, and stepped forward to block her husband's path from following after. It was not easy to deal with harsh words, especially when they came from your parents, and she wanted to encourage his resolve. Templars were notorious for being manipulative and they had to remain strong. She didn't know if there was a paternal concern lurking somewhere within the man but she wouldn't risk Ratonhnhaké:ton's emotional integrity. Meeting his uncertain gaze, she smiled fondly at him to whisper dryly, "He's just grumpy because he hasn't had his morning tea."

Ratonhnhaké:ton was trying his best to keep all the people involved in the war safe. His father clearly wasn't thinking about that but to end the war swiftly to subjugate everyone under an iron fist. He didn't see society as mindless sheep but one to nurture, regardless of their origins. A man like him would never be one of those privileged individuals but he could do his best to change how those at the top viewed those at the bottom. His father saw it as a foolish weakness but he refused to let his negative criticism change his mind. Caroline rested her hands on his broad shoulders to squeeze them and reminded him gently, "Always trust your instincts, my love."

His father might have been an anchor threatening to drown him but Caroline was his rock that offered shelter.

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Their route to the brewery warehouse was stopped prematurely by Haytham when he raised his right arm. In the narrow alleyway, the assassins stopped while he scanned the front of the building. Something was amiss. The usual guards on the late-night shift were entirely different, noticing no familiar faces, and he muttered under his breath, "Church, you clever bastard."

The last thing they needed was a bump in their road in a lair of their enemies. There would be no safe cover against them and Ratonhnhaké:ton wondered if the supplies were worth all the trouble. Yes, yes, they were. He was simply mildly annoyed with his father and questioned, "What is it?"

Haytham narrowed his gaze to the guarded entrance of the warehouse. How was this being inconspicuous about their work? It was setting off bells of alarm and he growled internally to the stupidity of Church. He was practically telling his men to trigger the Assassins to snoop around! Or, keep him away? Had he possibly caught onto him? He would keep that tidbit for himself to prevent the other two from running off and explained tightly, "I was hoping I could wave you past the guards, but he's replaced most of them with men I don't know. Well, I should be able to pass without arousing suspicion but you. . ."

He motioned offhandedly to his weapons and manner of dress which earned a defensive stance from his son, "No. We do this together or not at all."

How was he supposed to pass him off as a Templar? His entire aura and attitude spoke of rebellion and the wilderness. Ugh, it was another reminder of his mother. Unlike her, he was more brash and impulsive when taking orders. Deciding to hand over an olive branch, he allowed him to offer an alternative solution, "Then what do you propose?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton doubted he would listen to his suggestion but decided to risk it. Quite frankly, the man disapproved of everything he did since meeting so how much farther could he drop in the approval scale? Did he think he was going to blindly charge into the building? Maybe in his youth but time and marriage had matured him to tread carefully. Motioning to the guards surrounding the building, he offered easily, "I will find a guard who is off duty and take his uniform."

Haytham allowed him to tackle that problem and found a nearby crate to sit down on. Despite letting him have free reign on that plan, he wouldn't be caught helping him with it. Otherwise, the plan really would be blown if he were detected. That, and he wanted to see how well and quickly he accomplished this task. Crossing his right leg over the left, he leaned back against the brick wall to tell his son nonchalantly, "Very well. I will wait here then."

The young assassin glared at him for his lack of support, not that he was surprised. After being abandoned in Valley Forge, why would New York be any different? He had already left him in a prison to rot and their interactions scarcely improved. There was no sign of fatherhood in the man and he shook his head with annoyance to mutter, "Of course you will."

The Templar raised his hands, scoffing lightly to his childish slight, and remarked dryly, "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to come along and hold your hand, perhaps? Provide kind words of encouragement?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton waved his right hand through the air, wishing to do away with him. He was becoming more frustrated with him by the minute! He was being treated like a hindrance more than an ally. Turning around, he left the area swiftly with Caroline hot on his heel. She didn't want him to lose focus of the mission and vocalized her opinion to let him vent, "I didn't think I would meet anyone that could outdo Eliza's sharp tongue."

She gripped his right arm to hurry him along down the alleyway, squeezing his forearm to cheer him up with a cheeky grin, "I don't mind holding your hand."

Ditching his father temporarily did indeed make him feel better and her joke diffused his irritation. He was tempted to kick a few crates but her presence reminded him that he was past those impulsive actions. Besides, he could destroy old useless crates at home without earning criticism. Haytham was terribly sharp with his insults, begrudgingly agreeing with his wife. He didn't want to hear more sass inside the warehouse, which would be full of enemies, and grumbled, "I'm going to dread being alone with him. He has a very punchable face."

Caroline laughed softly to his fussing but it was completely understandable. Haytham was not the doting father or the type to offer support, expecting him to figure out everything himself. She highly doubted that the man spent his time fumbling around in his childhood like her husband, given his extensive vocabulary and sophisticated clothing. Ratonhnhaké:ton had given her a velvety soft cape that she wouldn't dare wear outside their town for fear of ruining it, treasuring her pretty clothing, and hoped that a fashion lecture wasn't inbound for them. She and her husband did not wear fancy clothing, choosing resilience against the elements and wear in the quality of their fabrics rather than aesthetics.

The couple lingered on the opposite end of the alleyway where it ended, circling around the building on the left to get a better view of the warehouse. She removed the navy hat off her head to let her auburn tresses fall onto her shoulders and struck a feminine pose against the brick exterior. If anyone turned a curious eye, they would simply appear like a couple by the docks. She made it easier to blend in with her abilities to camouflage and impersonate, opening her coat to puff her chest. Ratonhnhaké:ton gazed towards the size of the warehouse where one guard smoked a pipe, ignoring his wife's dramatic posing, and he offered, "That one."

"He's a little short" Caroline disagreed with a disappointed tsk and shook her head to his pick. He would need a uniform that didn't make him stand out by being too tight or loose. He would earn scandalous looks if his ankles were exposed. That or when he tore the seam stitching out of the shoulders when extending or flexing his arms in a fight. She began to scan the crowds for the perfect fit and pointed out matter-of-factly, "You need a good-sized suit to fight in."

Spotting a random guard sitting on a crate overlooking the pier, he nodded in their direction to say, "That one?"

She scoffed to the other man's thinner build that lacked the muscle definition of her husband and smiled mischievously, "He wishes he was you- too lanky."

"Grace" he remarked with a faint smile to her comparing him to the other men like a prize turkey. She knew how to lighten his tension on the field but he wouldn't have her inside the factory. His father would have to sneak him inside or abort the mission but Caroline would be waiting outside. His promise to Godfrey would be upheld to keep her out of unknown danger.

"I know my husband's measurements" she stated confidently because she had sewn his captain's garb to modify it to his growth spurts during adolescence. Growing up alongside him, she knew the outline of his shadow and the sound of his footsteps from everyone else's. The winter had also sent her into a sewing frenzy to keep him cozy with underclothes during their work around town. She saw some decent contenders hanging by the docks when looking past the previous guard. They looked more closely for his size from across the distance and she pretended to wring her hands, pointing out the men, and piped up sweetly, "Either of those two should do. Go on, dear."

He quirked an eyebrow to her innocent enthusiasm and she wagged her own eyebrows to offer, "Should I lure him with a sultry dance while you knock him out?"

She was willing to place herself in danger for him but he would not risk her safety. Her attempt at comedy at that early hour did amuse him, sliding his right arm around her shoulders to squeeze her affectionately. Shaking his head, he was quick to order her to remain as a lookout, "No, you will stay here and cover my back. No random chaos."

"Aw, darn it" she sniffed impetuously but cracked an impish smile, winking at him for courage. Whatever he needed done, she would oblige. It didn't matter that she wanted to be by his side as his wife, their mission took priority. She would keep trouble off his back and raised her hand to salute him politely like a sailor to promise, "I'll be here, boss."

She kept an eye on his retreating back, pretending to take notice in her fingernails while whistling a soft tune. That would draw more attention than her husband walking towards the docks and she kept her tune echoing until she saw him sneak behind crates. It was never easy staying behind but she trusted in him to listen to his instincts and not get injured. With his father being in their group, he could draw his attention unnecessarily with a snarky comment which could end up costing him an injury. Shaking her shoulders, she snapped herself out of that negative cloud and kept her mind on the fact that they had a little home to return to. Yes, that would beat back any negativity!

With that heartening reflection, she refused to let anything but positivity enter her mind. The passing minutes beside the brick wall and seeing no sight of her husband gnawed at the vulnerable parts of her heart – so much for building a tough shell. The silence that was broken by either laughter, clacking hooves, or doors banging through the city would set her on edge. The sun had not broken the horizon nor changed into the light silver-blue of dawn and the neighborhood was bustling with a symphony of sound. She assumed the fishermen at the docks brought the most business at that hour while her town was up and about at dawn. Was country life that much quieter? It certainly wasn't lacking in chores.

Her heart jumped into her throat with relief when she spotted his outline against the glowing lanterns hanging by the buildings. He had a small bundle under his right arm and she tried not to pout with pity to his discomfort at undressing a man. She still remembered his modesty with her on their first night as a married couple and they had known each other for years. Hmm, he was indeed her sweetheart, no matter how old they became. She clapped silently with a smile of encouragement when he rejoined her, his lips set tightly in a displeased frown. She looped her arm through his left to tug him down the street to return to the alley, walking close to him to give off the old couple ambiance.

"Let's get you dressed and presentable" she directed him to pull him away from his thoughts, hoping the guard wouldn't have nightmares or a painful headache. They couldn't afford to waste time with the shroud of the very early morning concealing their tracks. That, and Haytham would likely have something cheeky to say. She pushed her husband into the alley to get them moving and blocked the starting path by pretending to stretch from one side to the other. She tied her hair once more to place her hat back on to conceal her gender and become a boyish man once more.

"I'm not a turkey being presented to the Templars" he muttered flatly with great reluctance to leave his warm and familiar clothes for a stranger's. It was his idea after seeing Caroline and the other assassins dress up and he hoped nobody would tell him apart from the guards. He didn't look that different . . . in the dark, anyway. His great plan didn't seem so great when it meant wearing other people's clothes.

"Don't make me laugh and give away our position" Caroline sighed to his boyish complaining but loved his innocent jabs, especially at that hour. Where were his jokes on the way to New York? He had been more nervous about meeting his father again and awaiting the worst during their journey. Not that she could blame him. His decision to take a chance and crack a joke wasn't lost by her. He offered a quip when he was most relaxed while silence and short answers were the opposite spectrum with tension. She didn't want him to feel under pressure with their mission and smiled brightly to compliment, "You choose the most interesting times to joke."

Placing her palms flat on the right wall of one building, she leaned most of her weight against it to stretch her lower leg muscles- effectively obstructing the alley. He wondered how she managed to stay spry at this early hour when they would normally be sleeping or beginning to wake. Had she snuck in a coffee while he was searching for that guard? Noticing his hesitation at her display, she wiggled her hips comically to trigger his shy modesty. Sticking out her left leg, she playfully tried to kick his lower legs and shooed him off, "Go. Time is of the essence."

Regretfully, he found a decently dark area in the alley to change into the new clothing. He was not the greatest with camouflage and infiltration like his wife, wondering how she managed to change flawlessly for their arrival to Valley Forge. The chill of the early morning did not help by breaking his skin out in goosebumps and he shivered when removing his overcoat. Caroline outstretched her left arm towards him to let him toss it, freeing his hands to put on the guard's dark gray overcoat. There was no way he was changing all his clothing for an unknown's strangers so he would keep as much as possible. Caroline tried not to chuckle at his swift and frazzled movements, holding back a yawn from the lingering sleepiness. She couldn't wait to get some sleep – hopefully, it would be before dawn.

Caroline folded his handsome white-blue coat into a neat square to hold it against her chest for warmth and familiarity, running her fingers over the silver buttons. She was tempted to don it over her own shorter coat but her husband forbid it to avoid mistaken identity, only allowing it with his presence. His oath to her and her parents would not be betrayed which she appreciated. Once he finished adjusting the new uniform, she smoothed her hands over his shoulders to align the seams against his body. It wasn't perfect but it would do for the mission. He wasn't sure whether it was good but she grinned at his addition of a bicorn hat on top of his head to finish off the look. Given the darkness and lack of a mirror, his appearance would not be spotless.

The two resumed their walk down the alley as she hugged his coat and he fidgeted in the unfamiliar clothes. This would be his first time infiltrating a Templar location and being in disguise so he would hope for the best. Her voice filled the silence when she warned him, "Be very careful. Do not lower your guard simply because he is your father. He has been a Grandmaster far longer than anything else and prioritizes that."

"I will return to you" he promised to ease her heart but understood her concern. He had never taken her into the middle of a Templar infestation and the only time that came close was off the coast of Georgia with the Belladonna. With the passing years and his order pushing fiercely against the enemy, they were bound to clash. Now, it was both leaders undergoing a mission and she feared him stepping into a trap. His main concern was her, rather than himself, and he reminded her of their own plan, "Wait for me at our rendezvous spot."

Caroline embraced him tightly around the shoulders before kissing his right cheek with farewell. It was the most she would receive in terms of safe affection to keep one set of eyes on their surroundings. He brushed a kiss across her forehead to settle her nerves and she smiled with encouragement to boost morale. She tried to calm her heart but sending him into the den of their enemies was not easy. How did wives and husbands deal with their spouses being assassins? Did it get easier if both were affiliated or worse? She felt silly for worrying, given how long he had been in the order, and made note to simply make him an apple pie when they returned home. With this investigation spreading from one place to another like a leaky hole, she doubted it would be soon.

They returned to their supposed Templar ally and Haytham stood upright, already scanning the two with his gaze. For once, Haytham approved of the chosen attire because it was a surprisingly good fit. When did his son begin to have accuracy with fabric measurements? His quiet and mysterious friend, on the other hand, could easily have tricks up their sleeve. The darkness didn't help him at all in figuring the other one out but his son had easier tells. As a man raised in a sophisticated culture, he knew how to dress appropriately and reached out for his son's collar. The other man tensed momentarily but he didn't fault him, given their tumultuous history.

Caroline was a hair's width away from triggering her hidden blade when both she and Ratonhnhaké:ton stared at Haytham's adjusting his shirt's collar. What was happening? When did a Templar grandmaster begin adjusting his sworn enemy's clothing? If they weren't on opposite ends, they wouldn't bat an eye but this made them blink in bewilderment. Haytham ignored their flabbergasted stares because he didn't want the mission to fail because his son was careless with his appearance. Any child of his should have some common sense with fashion, even if they wore subpar fabrics. Pleased with his smoothing and folding, he stepped away from the wary assassin and spoke with renewed enthusiasm, "That should suffice. Follow me."

He didn't wait for a reply and strode forward confidently while Ratonhnhaké:ton offered his wife a halfhearted shrug. Guess he wasn't going for his jugular today. Caroline nodded firmly in farewell, silently wishing him the best, and watched the men leave towards the warehouse. She heaved a long sigh with the hope that neither would kill the other, hugging his folded coat to sniff its familiar woodsy scent. Or at least, her husband would escape unharmed. Sticking to the shadows of the alley, she would linger there until they were inside and head to their ride home. Ratonhnhaké:ton had taken advantage of the mail system between the militia and sent a letter ahead to Jamie's clinic, who passed it to Dobby, who fetched Duncan to summon the Aquila. If they had to return the supplies to Valley Forge, they would not be light by the way Washington made it sound and it was easier to float them south on a boat than haul them by wagon.

Haytham kept a straight face when the guards blocked the doors and called out suspiciously, "Hold strangers! You tread on private property. What business have you here?"

He would be taking the lead in their interactions to avoid having the plan disintegrate and being labeled a traitor despite his own secret espionage against Church. His order could not find anything amiss or Church would go on the run, making the chase even riskier. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stated easily with the hidden password, "The Father of Understanding guides us."

Ratonhnhaké:ton made note of that strange response but given the lack of insight to the Templar Order, their inner workings were a mystery. The information passed through the generations of the Assassins did not yield much, apart from their controversial beliefs, and the only one who came close to understanding them was Altair due to his marriage. It was why he and Caroline didn't mind asking questions to learn more about them to find neutrality. Nobody had tried to broker peace and if he could somehow achieve that, or at least change his father's mind on his plan of being a colonial overlord, it would be something.

The guard in charge was apparently half-decent at his job because he waved Haytham in but scrutinized him by declaring stiffly, "You, I recognize. Not the savage."

Ratonhnhaké:ton fought the urge to scoff or knock the other man out with a punch, reminding himself to play nice. Otherwise, he would never hear the end of how he ruined another mission by his father. Despite the passing years, the slurs from colonials never ended but the pain of rejection and disdain dulled to a mild sting. Prudence and Warren had been kind in teaching him to keep his mind calm through an intense roll of emotions from it. He decided to survey everything that could potentially be a risk to his safety while pretending to be mildly disinterested. His surprise of the night came when Haytham derailed by seizing the honest route and stated calmly, "He is my son."

On the outside, he was calm as a fall leaf dropping onto a still lake. On the inside, however, his heart was flipping tables and declaring blasphemy for all the annoyingly sharp quips he had been subjected to since reuniting. What in the world was he spouting now? That they were a team after bickering less than half an hour ago? He was willing to pat him on the shoulder for their infiltration but not participate to help him find a disguise? What mind games was he playing?! It was a well-played convincing ploy because the guard opened the door but he was not fond of having their true relationship revealed. He didn't want a larger target sign on his back among the Templars whenever he wandered through New York. His annoyance threatened to hit maximum mode when the guard spouted off smartly, "Tasted of the forest's fruits, did you? Off you go, then."

He paused momentarily, dwelling on the idea of what beating him senseless would feel like, but it wasn't worth it. His fists would likely be sore after beating out his teeth and Caroline would likely reprimand him for bruising his hands. There were more important goals at hand rather than beating an ignorant fool senseless. His incensed mind calmed to the image of his homestead and he remembered his wife's pep talk, telling himself, You can't kill him, remember you're here for a mission.

Haytham took a risk by patting him on the back to move him forward and he followed quietly after a small scolding glare at the guard. Part of him dreaded that the words would trigger a bloodbath – not that he would have stopped it . . . immediately, anyway. For once, his brash son was able to set aside emotional impulsivity and he gave him a point on that. They walked inside into a small open courtyard which Ratonhnhaké:ton swept over with his gaze for any hidden enemies behind corners. Despite the earlier vantage point over the warehouse, anything could change. Haytham walked straight into the wooden warehouse, opening the main door and entered first, adjusting his vision to the lantern-lit first level. Did Church not think of the fire hazard this created at that early hour? A faint glow illuminated alongside the walls to fight back the darkness that was even greater indoors. The doors creaked horridly and loudly behind them to seal shut once more and Haytham lectured quietly, "Do not kill ignorant buffoons and lose your cover."

"I am not a savage that lacks self-control" his son shot back tightly to the insinuation that he would fall into the stereotype given to his people. Did his father think the same? If so, why had he been romantically involved with his mother? That thought soured his stomach and left a bitter taste in his mouth because he couldn't see his father being the romantic type. Even now, he was correcting every little thing. Had his mother actually liked this man? Willingly? He couldn't imagine them like himself and Caroline. They resembled her parents more than anything.

"Your naïve impulsive actions have said otherwise" the other man replied sardonically because playing nice with interrogation targets had yet to prove positive. He would not have approved of senseless violence when it failed to achieve a goal. Now, if killing the ignorant guard helped their infiltration, sure, a little brutality could be carried out. His mother was quieter and calculating in her techniques against enemies, blending flawlessly into the snowy landscape and losing him more than once. Their child, on the other hand, needed to do a little more to earn a thumb's up. Was he being too hard on him? Possibly, but he needed a dose of harsh reality to knock down foolish ideals.

Ratonhnhaké:ton pretended to ignore yet another chide and assumed things had returned to normal. Otherwise, his speech would be more neutral and shorter. He did not want the Templars to gossip through their ranks about the true nature of their biological ties. It was far better for all parties to believe they simply disliked each other based on group affiliation. Despite his father raised some interesting points about his steadfast beliefs, he held to his own and stated quietly, "Let us find Church."

---

Their first conundrum came at a locked door where supplies were stored in the warehouse. It was where Haytham assumed the stolen supplies would be kept for redistribution or more than likely, selling them off for personal profit. Everything else had been sold off and written away as a donation that Haytham never saw in their treasury. He kneeled to inspect the lock on the door and muttered under his breath when it failed to budge open, "It's locked. Give me a moment."

Ratonhnhaké:ton leaned against the door to let his father take care of the lock. It appeared they both shared skills in lockpicking. If he was petty with praise like him, he would chide him if he took longer than a minute with the metal lock. He would earn a scolding glare but it would be satisfying. Instead, he decided to take this opportunity with silence to comment simply about their tattered ties, "Must be strange for you, discovering my existence as you have."

Haytham could not fault his curiosity, given his own when he learned of his existence in 1774, alongside his mother's fate. Her death was not easy to overcome, silently biding his time to kill the one responsible, but assumed his son would be safe. Instead, he wandered down the path originally meant for himself before fate intervened in both their lives. A normal semblance of family did not appear to be in their bloodline and he feigned nonchalance by asking casually, "I'm actually curious to know what your mother might have said about me. I always wondered what life might have been like had she and I stayed together. How is she, by the way?"

He expected a pause or reaching a verbal wall with his son but the other man was direct in his approach, "Dead. Murdered."

Despite knowing the truth, he pretended his best to appear shocked at the answer and blurted, "What? I am sorry to hear that."

Ratonhnhaké:ton was highly skeptical of that, given his unwarranted attack by Lee. Now that he was a grown man, he couldn't bring himself to hurt any child – regardless of stubbornness. He would never condone any of his assassins behaving in such deplorable manners against innocents, especially children. The forest had been his sanctuary with unbridled freedom and the Templars ripped that safety net from him. His fright from the assault led him to seek his mother, who was already beyond help. It was a day he wouldn't forget and would make sure his father knew his distaste for his colleagues, stating bluntly, "Really? It was done by your men."

Although he had finished picking the lock, he kept the door closed rather than walking forward. The insistence for the truth made Lee and the others squeal when he returned from England to discover their continuation of finding the Precursor Site. Their account of interrogating a child did not sit well with him, mainly because the action would have repercussions. The distaste doubled when they speculated that it was his child that they roughed up. He had the narrative of his Templars but curiosity made him wonder about his son's, playing the fool by asking, "What?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton narrowed his eyes at him, wondering if he even cared about his abuse back then, and replied coldly, "I was a child when they came looking for the elders. I knew they were dangerous so I stayed silent when they asked. Charles Lee beat me unconscious for it."

Lee had made a grievously arrogant error by intervening with the natives against his orders. He engraved the brutal negativity he inflicted on his son to fester and grow into resentment and hatred after watching his village burn not soon after. How was he going to change his mind about those two different events not being related? He couldn't blame him for believing Charles was responsible but the horrid reality was that his son was now helping the same man that ordered the attack on his village!

Any semblance to paternal care that he might have had was extinguished by decisions made for the pursuit of the Order's expansion. Still, his child could have been spared a lot in his early life, much like himself. He knew Ziio would never leave her people and he held a duty to his own but a child would have changed things. Complicated, yes, but he could have done something to change all their fates if he had been there in the colonies. It was of no use now, however. His second-in-command had a large part in affecting his son and leading him down his road to the Assassin's Order with him in the center of it. Despite his numerous years in the art of killing, he would never and has never harmed or killed a child. After experiencing the death of his father at a young age, he tried not to leave such permanent emotional and mental scarring that could create future enemies. His son had become another casualty, much like himself. It was a bitter cycle being repeated and quite frankly, he hoped it ended if his son sought a family one day.

Ratonhnhaké:ton crossed his arms, breaking his piercing gaze away from the man that orchestrated it, and finished, "When I woke up, I found my village in flames. Your men were gone by then as well as any hope for my mother's survival."

This was the entry point he was waiting for to divulge the truth and he seized the advantage by pointing out, "That's impossible. I gave no such order. I spoke the opposite, in fact – I told them to give up the search for the Precursor Site. We were to focus on more practical pursuits-"

The pain of the past, particularly his mother's passing, was not something he overlooked easily. He would have preferred his mother's death be quick, even if he didn't get to see her again, because it would have been merciful. Instead, he was plagued for years with nightmares of that day. Even now, he still woke up every few months from brief dreams but his new life with Caroline soothed over that pain. He tried to control the rage and grief in his neutral tone when he interrupted shrewdly to paint him a picture, "Oh, you're sorry? I found my mother burning alive. I will never forget her face as she sent me away."

His acting might have been on par about her death earlier but his son's revelation to witnessing her death was horrifying. Ziio was a proud and admirable woman, for her life to be extinguished in such a way before their child . . . he sympathized with his son. Even now, he resembled her passionate spirit greatly. Instead of meeting the amused inquisitive brown eyes of Ziio, their son's burned with pained accusation for what he unleashed. Ratonhnhaké:ton narrowed his gaze, wishing to have Lee in front of him to fulfill his oath to end him, and snapped tightly, "Charles Lee is responsible for her death by your order."

He pushed himself away from the wall, shaking his head to his father's rationalization, and shot back mockingly, "And you're sorry?"

Haytham remembered his own father's murder vividly and would not wish that on any child. Enemies or not, that was not what he sought for his child to see. He had never given an order to attack the village and kept his Templars on neutral ground with the natives. He and Charles clashed after he continued meeting with Ziio, not that it was anyone's business, but he kept a neutral ground with those that held no ill will against them.

Placing his right hand on the door, Ratonhnhaké:ton spared his father one last glance and stated bitterly, "It doesn't matter. It's long done now and I'm out of forgiveness."

No, it did matter! On one hand, he was the instigator of his mother's death and on the other, he wasn't. If there was one person that he respected enough to let go, it was her. He knew exactly who was to blame but he couldn't blurt it without strategic timing. Frankly, he wanted to drop off the supplies in front of Washington to crumble that built trust and expose the killer of Ziio. He would not stand idly by and be blamed for her murder, pointing out sharply, "You've grown up believing me, your own father, responsible for this atrocity! I had no hand in it!"

Ratonhnhaké:ton pushed open the door to walk through it, ignoring his plea of innocence, and muttered despondently, "Maybe you speak the truth, maybe not. How am I ever to know?"

Great, it appeared evidence is what his son demanded to accept the truth. Fine, he would bide his time to find more proof of Washington's involvement with the village. He refused to be blamed for something he didn't commit, especially when the one responsible was working with the one searching for those answers. He almost pitied the young man but they had a mission to complete and he wouldn't fall behind.

Entering the main room, they found it mostly empty except for a few stacked crates and barrels. A man sat in the right corner, writing into a ledger by candlelight, his back towards them. The gleaming white hair matched his old colleague and given that this was his brewery, he called out, "Benjamin Church, you stand accused of betraying the Templar Order and abandoning our principles in pursuit of personal gain. In consideration of your crime, I hereby sentence you to death."

Haytham swore under his breath when the man turned around, revealing himself not to be Church. Splendid. Was he going to chase this pest halfway across the colonies? At this rate, they would be running around like blind mice and he was not one for guessing games. They had walked straight into a trap when the decoy hollered to beckon for backup. Well, at least it was humbling to know Church was too cowardly to kill him himself.

The room flooded with armed men, entrapping the two in the center, but neither backed away from the uneven numbers. Ratonhnhaké:ton was familiar with facing daunting odds in most of his fights while Haytham reluctantly admitted to himself that despite holding a master set of skills, age was unfortunately catching up. True, he could kill any man half his age but his son had an edge on that. His hearing was grated by the impostor's boasting screech, "You're too late. Church and the cargo are long gone. I'm afraid you won't be in any condition to follow."

Ratonhnhaké:ton unsheathed the hidden blade on his right hand and muttered dryly, "Order is the way of the Templars, is it? I'm starting to see chaotic disarray."

Haytham took the first jab by pushing a rifle aside and stabbing the nearest man in the neck, chastising his son, "This is no time for a smart mouth."

---

What Haytham expected to be an easy execution of Church or at least finding the goods for his wayward son turned upside down. They found themselves in a locked room against the larger number of mercenaries but they managed to prevail victoriously. An interrogation of the decoy yielded information on Church's escape on a ship, the Welcome, and he was promptly killed to take care of any loose ends. His son had promised to let him live, a foolish endeavor he continued to persist with, and he let him keep that wrongful practice by killing the man himself. He would not allow the principles and success of the Templar Order to be jeopardized by traitors. He had already thrown away the chance to live a different life with Ziio and raise their child, choosing the Order above all.

Their fight against the small force was a short-lived victory when a fire erupted around them that quickly began to expand through the warehouse. For once, he was annoyed at being right about that fire hazard comment earlier. Thus, a run to the nearest exit began but with the blaze ripping through the entire lower level, their only option was to head upwards. Fire licked at their heels as they ran forward, running and jumping over fallen debris, avoiding collapsing sections of the ceiling, and climbing the good remnants of the warehouse led them to the topmost level. One was that quickly burning around them as it closed in with only blocked double doors at their backs.

He slammed his fist against the doors when they failed to budge against his weight and snapped irritably, "Stuck! See if you can find something to pry it open."

Scrambling around the small area to find anything that could budge it open, he narrowly avoided catching fire from the tendrils of fire. His son, however, decided to ignore his order and backed away from both himself and the door. He had that same tenacious look in his eyes that Ziio held before she jumped off from high places. Oh no. What was he thinking? Quickly, he tried to dissuade any crazy ideas in the middle of the blaze, "Connor? What are you up to?"

When he ran forward with full determination in his eyes, Haytham shook his head hastily to prevent their premature demise, "Oh, no, don't do that! There's no way of knowing what's on the other si-"

His voice was cut off when Ratonhnhaké:ton grabbed him to use both of their weights to barge into the door. The wood creaked against their combined weight and gave way, the heavy smoke that was filtering into Haytham's lungs clearing away with salty air. The attempt to escape was indeed quick thinking for his son but not something he would have done. Where would they land? From what height had they fallen from? Would they live for a few more seconds only to end up crushed on the cobblestone or gored on a fence? Those questions provided answers as they flew through the air and in the illuminating moonlight, he saw the glittering dark sea below them approaching fast. Ah, he would either freeze or drown- splendid.

Caroline had been lounging around in wait on the docks, sitting on a random crate and sipping a cup of cheap coffee she bought from a vendor. New York was still busy as a transport hub but the residents were glummer and quieter after the Great Fire and repelling Loyalist forces. She had checked in with the stationed Aquila to update them on their mission and never felt happier for the extra set of support. Now, she simply waited for her spouse but her eyes widened when an explosion reverberated through the night air. Turning to her left, she saw the upper level of the brewery's rear side burst open with active fire and two figures flew out. Her wide eyes dulled when she heard a familiar English voice echo dramatically into the night and presumed her husband was done with his mission. This was her cue to return to their safe point of the Aquila and she left the docks comfortably, especially when she heard splashing and complaints, to ready their ride home.

Ratonhnhaké:ton treaded water with a small smirk of success while Haytham spat out water, swimming forward to catch his floating hat before it sank. The cold water pierced his skin like knives and he envied the casual ambiance of his son when he stated confidently, "We do now."

Haytham was not amused by his nonchalance after escaping mercenaries, snipers, a blazing fire, and an explosion that hurled them through the air. He was not the type of fighter that lived for that brutality, preferring a stealthier and respectable approach. His dignity would not be dragged into the ocean and he began swimming to the closest post on the docks. He would not let his mission to kill a traitor fail and called out firmly, "Church has at least a day on us. We must move quickly if we're to catch him."

His son surprised him by immediately providing a plan, earning a point of praise, when he proposed, "I have a ship we can use. Meet me on the pier when you're ready."

It was better than nothing. Questions would arise from his men if he chartered a ship south after one of their own. He pulled himself up onto the dock to return to stable ground and warmer air, leaving the frigid water behind. The entire night had been a waste with little information to show for it. Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his limbs to free excess water from his borrowed clothes, raining droplets all over the wooden floorboards. He was disappointed to see his father only a short distance away and took a moment to inhale deeply, closing his eyes briefly. He wouldn't be able to shake him off easily, would he?

"Shall we?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton turned to find him at the end of the dock, ready to head off on the next leg of their journey. Was he not going to take any travel belongings? At least a change of clothes? They had met during an investigation so neither had their packs but he always had a knapsack to carry essentials. Sweeping his gaze around the man in case he secretly hid a bag within his cape, he asked awkwardly, "You're not bringing travel gear?"

"The more we dawdle, the faster Church fades into the sunset" Haytham chastised indignantly because he could survive with the bare minimum or make a quick stop somewhere for supplies. Didn't ships do that all the time? Ratonhnhaké:ton begrudgingly joined him so they could begin the walk to the Aquila and mentally sighed in aggravation to spending more time together. Frankly, he hoped to get the supplies, let his father kill Church, bid him farewell, drop off the supplies, and return to his cozy cabin to continue his newlywed bliss. He almost tripped when his father piped up nonchalantly with a dismissive wave of the hand, "Besides, you can lend me some clothes for the time being."

"No!" he refused because he was already wearing a stranger's clothes and would not share his own. Besides, why did he automatically assume they would fit him? Being related simply didn't mean they shared the same clothing measurements. Was he intentionally trying to fluster him?

Haytham was taken aback by his stonewalling over clothing- what was wrong with sharing? It was not like he would run off with them and leave him destitute. He would more than likely increase that dwelling grudge of abandonment and create a stronger enemy. Would his son not extend some kindness to clothe him? Pretending that he heard wrong, he repeated skeptically, "No?"

"My clothes are mine" Ratonhnhaké:ton asserted, refusing to give up his own property to his father. Not to mention, his sworn enemy. He was not a man to be taken advantage of and trust had to be earned first. Did he think he would automatically agree to his whims for a shred of paternal love? No. He had plenty of years to approach him before his incarceration in Bridewell Prison and he certainly could have done something then. Instead, it was his Assassins, the Aquila crew, and homestead friends who came to his aid when he needed it most. It was the residents of Davenport who provided him with a sense of family when he left his village, not him.

"Who knew Assassins were stingy" Haytham scoffed to his refusal, crossing his arms to keep warm against the early morning air. The horizon was beginning to tint its silver-lilac to usher in the dawn and somewhere on the ocean, that lout Church was beating them in his race to escape. The floorboards of the dock creaked under their heavy footsteps while they left a trail of water droplets, the two men trying to appear as partners but detached at the same time. It was the strangest alliance to fall between the two warring groups and ironically, they were both its respective leaders and related. Thinning his lips, he stopped his teeth from chattering, scurrying forward to lecture indignantly, "This is what your independence and freedom brings you. Entitlement! Order would keep clothes on a man's back."

Despite the cold threatening to settle into his bones, Ratonhnhaké:ton was slightly amused to his whining. Denying his demands and earning nagging lectures told him his father wasn't used to hearing the word no often. They were going to be working together, possibly for weeks, so he would not cave to his orders. He was in charge of himself and his men, not his estranged father. Unable to help himself, he took advantage of his verbal upper hand and questioned, "Is that the only outfit you have? I've seen it for years and I'm twenty-two winters now."

Was his son talking back to him? What kind of world did they live in where children or even estranged grown children talked down to their elders? Not that he was willing to admit he was aging but his graying hair said otherwise. The other man was either silent or direct in his words, rarely sarcastic, and Haytham demanded with a scandalous offense, "What did you say?"

"Are Templar finances so poor despite the goal is orderly domination and economic stability?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked with extreme calmness but the smirk on his lips couldn't be helped. He had not been able to get an upper hand in their verbal chess game until now but kept his eyes open in case a hidden blade was flung his way. His father did not appear to be struggling financially, far from it in his appearance and mannerisms, while he felt out of place by being his son. He still couldn't imagine his mother with him but then again, society would say the same of him and Caroline. His pace picked up down the empty docks that were void of the usual fishboats, which would be due to come in soon to begin their daily sale of fish. Wiping away wet tendrils of dark hair behind his left ear, he added in, "I can buy you clothes if you have no life savings."

Haytham would not be caught dead with his child supplying money for him and stopped himself from wondering if the man was joking. He was a naïve young man that believed the best in the world so it wouldn't be a farfetched idea. His own father left him with financial and educational stability, which Haytham utilized to succeed as an adult, and his private homestead in Virginia was still there. Spending little time with his son, curiosity struck him regarding his life. It couldn't have been an easy one, given his current path, and he was tightlipped about it. Still, he wouldn't let him get away with disrespect and called out snippily, "Are you trying to hurt my feelings? Because if so, you're succeeding."

Extending a temporary olive branch to his son, he expected an apology or a halfhearted one. When he received none and Ratonhnhaké:ton kept walking without pause, Haytham picked up the pace to condemn his insolence by persisting, "Have you no pity for a man whose subordinate has betrayed him? Or at least garner some sympathy for your father?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed under his breath to what fate dealt him and continued walking down the pier. He spotted the familiar white sails of his ship and the navy paint of the decks beckoned him to safety. Comfort filled him at knowing he would soon be among his trusted companions and his mobile home away from home. This would be the first time he and Caroline would share his cabin but she left the room untouched, given the large bed, bringing only her books and traveling pack. He was glad that his wife was one for exploration rather than staying home at a time like this.

Haytham aggravated the wonderful silence surrounding them and his small moment of peace by asking, "Where are we going by the way?"

"My ship" he replied evenly with pride to his frigate because it allowed him to explore past the solid earth. The Aquila began as a carcass in the cove but she was rebuilt to her old glory and continued improving in the recent years. Upgrades to her armaments, ammunition, woodwork, and hull made her a sturdy enemy at sea. Their zero defeat streak was one of pride and he aimed to keep it that way against their enemies, Templars or not.

Ratonhnhaké:ton wanted to cover his ears when his father began on another tirade about his abilities when he spouted, "You're capable of captaining a ship? It took forever for you to even arrive here. If this is any indication of your skill-"

"Captain!"

Thank you, mighty ancestors, he praised with immense relief at hearing his crew call out in greeting to deafen his father's squawking. How was he going to survive being on a ship with him? There would be nothing but the sea around them! Quickening his pace, he closed the distance to his beloved ship to get onboard. Robert called out to lower the boarding platform and the deckhands were quick to lower it onto the pier. Ratonhnhaké:ton ascended the extended plank with a swift stride while his father paused to observe the exterior of the Aquila. He would not stand around for small comments and prayed with hope, Mother, please help me survive him.

The smoother floorboards of the Aquila soothed his feet, which were painfully uncomfortable in the stolen ill-fitting small boots. Greeting the nearby men around the deck, he headed to the wheel where Robert waved in friendly welcome. His home away from home. Caroline had changed into her navigator attire again, rather than her Assassin robes or the Bartlett outfit, and he was glad to see her feminine face once more at the bottom of the stairs leading to the captain's section. Although she was his wife, he found it humorously awkward when she dressed as a man and flirted freely with him. He smiled fondly to seeing her safely onboard, grasping her shoulders, but Haytham broke into their reunion from behind, "And who is your friend here? Apparently, personal company is the ideal choice in comparison to preparing a naval ship for departure."

His thinned lips told her he wasn't amused in the slightest by his presence and the Templar's appearance brought silence onboard the ship. She met his troubled gaze with one of bright optimism before winking to lift his spirit, peeking past his left shoulder to smile politely at the older man. Something must have happened with the mission and the two were still stuck together which meant Church had likely slithered away. This meant they would be bunking in the same place and an Assassin vessel would not tolerate a Templar, especially after being sunk by their forces.

"What's going on, captain?" Robert asked warily at seeing their enemy on deck without swords being brandished. Were they about to experience another purge? He was too damn old to deal with another. A Templar on the Aquila's deck was not something he expected to see, especially at dawn, and he leaned against the wheel to sigh aloud. Their crew had prepared to pick up their captain and navigator, not add a dangerous Templar. What was his captain thinking when bringing their enemy onboard? Was the mission that important? Wasn't it just supplies for the militia?

Ratonhnhaké:ton lingered at the base of the stairs to smooth over the new changes, hoping am mutiny didn't occur, and explained carefully, "Church is heading south on the Welcome and we must give chase to retrieve the supplies."

Robert kept his gaze pinned on Haytham, who was quietly assessing the ship by the left bannisters, and dared him to make a snide against the Aquila. He was not comfortable with having the enemy so close and hoped his captain knew what he was doing. Like Caroline, he knew the true origins between the two men and scrutinized the Templar's true intentions with Ratonhnhaké:ton. His captain believed the best in everyone and that could backfire when it came to his father, who was a staunch believer of his order. Nodding at the newcomer, he questioned dryly, "This 'we' include the Templar?"

Haytham had heard rumors of the old sailor surviving the purge and he couldn't help but chide back, "Faulkner, old chum, I'm surprised you're not in a ditch with a bottle."

Ratonhnhaké:ton glared at his father for the jab at his first mate to cut off any animosity. They were going to work together or he would drop him off in the next port. Haytham turned his gaze away from the two, not bothering to reply in reluctant agreement. He was on his ship, in his domain, and he had to begrudgingly respect the young man's firmness. Maybe he was not as impulsive and brash as he first assumed. His Templars were nervous of him as it were so this could prove as an opportunity to learn more about his son. Ratonhnhaké:ton ended any arguments by stating firmly with a loud voice, lingering his gaze on his father in warning, to order, "We are going south to the islands together and I expect everyone to behave respectfully."

Caroline was at her husband's back to support his decision but she would be watching the older man like an eagle. Not only for the safety of Ratonhnhaké:ton but for his emotional stability. Stepping forward, she slipped between him and Haytham to greet him with another fake persona to take the heat off her spouse. She wanted to have a little fun with her fictional creations and introduced herself with a cheerful smile, "Welcome aboard. I'm Grace Blackburne, owner of Blackburne's Knick Knacks, odd is my name but bargain is my game. Just hoped on board for what I thought was my voyage home but never mind."

Ratonhnhaké:ton kept a straight face to her salesman pitch voice, surprised at how innocently peppy and sweet it could go. She almost sounded like Alice! Was she secretly trying to learn how to mimic voices? He would not be surprised at all if she were. His father quirked an eyebrow of mild enthusiasm to her quirky attitude and asked perceptively, "Ah, you mean your husband owns the business and you run it?"

"No, I run it myself" Caroline lied with a confident flair and Ratonhnhaké:ton wished he could tell her the man could smell lies a mile away. Their short time together showed him he could manipulate situations rather easily and gain information by any means necessary. He would let his wife run with her story and wondered how far she could take it. Could she defeat his detection skills? She crossed her arms to show she meant business and grinned, "Don't need a man to hold me down and I can tussle my barter with the best of them."

"How are sales?" he questioned casually to speak business because the redhead was an interesting one. How many peculiar people did his son interact with? With Achilles, Faulkner, Bartlett, and this one sprouting out – was it any surprise his son was the way he was? When did his son use a frigate built for battle to carry people around for business trips? Were these the Assassins his people feared nowadays?

"Here and there, depends on the knickknacks I sell- sold a candle today" she smiled proudly to spin her tale since there was always a slice of truth to it. A candle had been traded for sticks of peppermint candy on their way to New York, which she planned to give to Sam but it wasn't looking that way. Damn, she'd really need that candle for nighttime reading now! That wasn't the best trade in hindsight, her shoulders slumping with disappointment and she muttered uncertainly with a pout, "But I stepped on a dead toad so that could be bad luck coming my way."

"And you travel out of town for this?" he clarified with skepticism because an unmarried woman traveling every day was highly unlikely. They were more likely to stay in a town and sell there rather than travel far unless they were in dire need. Studying her attire, it did not match a humble woman – particularly the lack of a skirt - but one in the seafaring business. When did a businesswoman dress like a naval officer?

"Every day or so" she replied dismissively but quickly remembered Boston wasn't close to New York in the slightest. On foot, it would take days to reach and a daily trip on a boat could become costly to drain finances. Double darn. Her story began to crumble through her fingers and she saw amusement flickering in the man's gaze, leading her add in, "But I sell on the road too-"

"You don't run a business, do you?" he interjected dryly to put the spun tale to rest as it reached its end. He did admit it began well in its structure but her attire, their location, and her business franchise didn't blend seamlessly to be believable. Why did she need to create such a silly story? Was she meant to play diversion while the Assassins tried to stab him in the back? No, for once, he believed his son would not condone such deceit.

"No, but it sounded so good that I ran with it" she confessed with a dissatisfied pout on failing to fluff up her persona and crossed her arms. Hmm, she needed to think better on her feet. What would she do if she were caught by another Templar that wouldn't hesitate t to kill her? Granted, Haytham could but her husband would likely kill him after. With her marriage to Ratonhnhaké:ton, she would be a target for their kind so detaching herself from her identity would help. Little fibs here and there could be confusing enough to have them dig through the pieces of information. Wiping the pout off her face, it was replaced with a cheeky grin as she reflected, "Although I do like the name. I do help to run a shop on the weekends, actually."

Pretending to not know a thing about him, she inquired innocently, "May I ask what you do for a living?"

"No, you may not" he replied with a cheerful tone that almost convinced her it was a good thing until she registered the words. Damn, he was good. While Ratonhnhaké:ton was quiet and meaningful in his words, his father threw out shrewd words to boggle the mind. Where was Elizabeth when she needed a sharp witty tongue? Her little sister would find her father-in-law as a puzzle to crack while she was trying to gauge the difference between honesty and constructed lies. Achilles warned her not to underestimate the leader of the Templars and she would tread carefully. She tried not to tense when his darker blue eyes narrowed with satisfaction and he declared, "Wait, I remember you."

Caroline shook her head vehemently to having her disguises fail against the man and tried to dissuade, "I don't believe so, sir."

"Yes, you were that crazy nun back in New York" he pointed out, finding himself absolutely silly for ignoring the signs of a masquerading Assassin or an ally of them. His memory was sharp when remembering physical features and her blue eyes carried a determination similar to his son and Ziio. The azure shade was familiar to the nun who had stomped across the prison to butt into his conversation, surprising him that she caught wind of it. Taking that into account and his son's presence, another recent individual matched the same features.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was finding it hard to keep a straight face when the nun was mentioned. Caroline had confessed that incident to Father Timothy out of fear of moral repercussion or earning negative points for the afterlife. It was done out of love to search for him so she was told her soul would be fine (apart from hiding all the bad people she killed). Her cheeks flushed faintly to being blasted with that persona and she chuckled awkwardly, "I don't think-"

"The red hair doesn't lie" Haytham pointed out flatly to her neatly braided hair, a shade that couldn't hide easily among the dark-haired or blondes. Caroline took that into consideration and wondered if she could die a white wig with clothing ink powders. Her husband knew where to find powders for pottery that could mimic hair shades as well. She prepared to brush off the accusation but he beat her to it by revealing his latest discovery, "You're Bartlett too, aren't you?"

Caroline tried to think fast to fool the man and tried to raise her voice to a higher feminine pitch to deny, "Oh no, I'd never impersonate a woman of the Lord or a man-"

"I commend your infiltration abilities" he complimented her quick thinking because he believed the disguises. Although, he had a nagging suspicion that the Bartlett persona was faintly feminine by the facial structure alone. Ratonhnhaké:ton refrained from shaking his head in outrage at hearing his wife earn a morsel of praise while his seafaring skills were questioned. Was he doing this to spite him? For Haytham, he wanted to assess who were threats on board liable to kill him. Half of them didn't make the cut by visual inspection alone and that included the first mate. With his son traveling with the redhead, the two were likely an effective team. Would breaking them apart with seeds of doubt make his son liable to ditch his naïve notions with the Assassins? He would keep an eye on this one and subtly began to pry at her loyalty, "You managed to fool me until now. Did you throw your coin in with this ignorant Assassin lot?"

Robert smacked the top of the steering wheel, incensed to being belittled on his own ship, and called out heatedly, "I beg your pardon?!"

"You're sharper than my ignorant son" Haytham stated frankly, ignoring the older man to annoy him further for petty amusement, and watched his son glare instantly. Success. He didn't know how long they would be on the boat and would do his best to haggle them to make it snappy on catching up. in the meantime, understanding the mindset of his son might provide more insight into his way of thinking. Today granted him information about his past and it was a tragedy he wouldn't wish on a child. Who knew, maybe time would serve to fix the tattered bonds. His best inside source to knowing his grumpy son was likely the redhead and he began politely, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

Caroline shot him a deadpan expression for the insult to her husband, not keen on any badmouthing. Crossing her arms, she replied coolly to breaching equal waters as her true self, "You're my captain's father, pretty self-explanatory."

"Haytham Kenway, Templar Grandmaster" he introduced confidently to let anyone within hearing distance know he wasn't shy or afraid of letting it be known. Robert groaned miserably from the wheel and Ratonhnhaké:ton shot him a knowing look to simply bear it for the trip. Their ship had the perfect crew to balance a formidable and well-run ship but now, they would have a wolf pretending to be one of their sheep. It was safe to say he would be sleeping with a knife and pistol at hand that night.

Shit, he wasn't kidding, Caroline thought to his frankness and wondered if it came with experience or power. Hopefully, the former. Ratonhnhaké:ton was the stronger one between them when it came to speaking, his carefully picked firm words and tone beckoning attention. Seeing him grow from a modest and soft-spoken young man to an observant man that placed meaning in his short words was a transformation. He would probably say the same of her but Haytham threw them both into the water. They had to tag-team him in questioning back in Valley Forge and now, they were stuck together for the foreseeable future. Direct persona all the way.

"Grace Burnett, I'm the navigator of the Aquila" she stated calmly to use an alias for her first name to protect her identity. Her last name was hollered by her crew constantly so it was no use to hide it. Her best chance was concealing her first name to keep one last shred of truth from him. The less the enemy knew the better, right? Or would divulging certain truths help to bridge the remnants of the father-son relationship and yield a better outcome in the war? Only time would tell. Her chest puffed with pride to her title onboard the gorgeous ship and turned to her husband to ask, "Captain, your orders?"

He was never happier to hear those words and motioned for her to take her position at the crow's nest. Nodding with a respectful smile, she walked off while he turned to ascend the stairs to resume command of the ship. He would let his father wander about, glad to step away from him to return to the sea, and called out, "Full-sail at 12 o'clock, we're heading south to the islands!"

Using the pulley system, Caroline headed for her perch but kept a strict eye on her husband. Ratonhnhaké:ton might be working alongside his father but she wouldn't let her guard down for a minute. He had been alone for most of his life without parental guidance and she wouldn't allow anyone to hurt his heart with lies and false promises. His kindness could be manipulated by cunning people but she would be there to stop it. She took her wedding vows quite seriously and would run interference to keep him safe.

---

The early dawn departure cost them some suave maneuvering to beat the fishing boats coming inland but they managed. Robert was almost inclined to shop on the way out for their lunch but David was quick to remind him that everyone on the top deck ended up puking the last time they went with that idea. Ratonhnhaké:ton steered his ship without any backseat driving from his father, who had stationed himself by the bow of the ship. He was more than likely sticking there as a secondary lookout but it didn't matter. Taking a break with the coast clear for a few kilometers, Caroline headed down to check on her captain. They had not slept well and eaten a quick snack, given their early mission, and were running on fumes. Ratonhnhaké:ton allowed Robert to take the wheel, given the lack of traffic at sea, for the time being to rest his eyes.

He descended the steps sluggishly, meeting Caroline as she leaned against the stairway post, and the two rested side by side at the door to their cabin. The shadows forming around it made him sleepier than anything and he leaned his head back against the door. Caroline pouted at seeing him fight exhaustion on his furrowed brow, aware that he was tackling the bulk of these missions while she simply assisted. Sighing softly, she asked gently with concern, "How are you holding up, my dear?"

"I'm trapped on a ship with my father" he murmured dryly to the horrible ironies in his life because he hoped 1778 would be kind like 1777. Were they headed for another horrid year like 1776? The stolen supplies were nowhere close and his father was insistent to chase after Church without stop. Easier said than done when out at sea where pirates lurked. They had only just met but now, they would be seeing each other every day. His blue hat tipped forward and down his nose when he sank against the door, muttering with misery, "My worst nightmare has come to life."

"Ratonhnhaké:ton" she teased softly to his nihilism about their reunion, aware the two were behaving like the other didn't exist. Was it shock or refusal to accept the reality? Shame and uncertainty from Haytham while Ratonhnhaké:ton held resentment? Apart from their different ideologies, they had blood ties to each other that couldn't be ignored. She would not act against her husband's wishes but if she could subtly nudge the two to talk about a mending road . . . maybe there was hope. Or maybe Achilles was right and they were hopeless for thinking such.

He wasn't foolish to think his father was an innocent civilian and shook his head to inform her, "We're keeping our door locked."

"Obviously" she grinned slyly to the catastrophe that could occur from an unlocked door. She was almost tempted to terrify Haytham by having him interrupt their alone time in the cabin but her husband would never go with it. He was too sweet and private about their life to live down that mortification while she would gloat with pointing fingers. Rubbing his right shoulder for comfort, she added in, "And taking different sleep shifts."

"I've never been happier to have you here" he sighed with appreciation to her unwavering support onboard and intervention when his father became too chatty. Whenever he treaded close to the captain's platform, she hollered down to him to innocently offer help to thwart any sneaky plans. Robert, on the other hand, was more than ready to knock him overboard and call it an accident. Ratonhnhaké:ton had a powder keg of emotions brewing on the Aquila but she helped to smooth them over. She saluted him with a cheeky smile to signal her endless devotion and he admitted softly, "He is my enemy but-"

Their small moment of reprieve was broken into by the man in question when Haytham approached the two. Ratonhnhaké:ton's calm expression hardened immediately while Caroline raised her eyebrows with a polite smile. Haytham flashed them a disarming smile, tucking his hands neatly behind his back to appear benign, and spoke evenly, "Excuse my polite boldness but your bedding is atrocious. Do you happen to have an extra bedroll in your cabin?"

Caroline blinked uncertainly to the friendly tone that threw off the insult behind it. How did he keep doing that? It was maddening . . . but how she envied the skill! Ratonhnhaké:ton glared at him for badmouthing his bedding because none of his men ever complained. His top officers would tell him what was needed to keep everyone comfortable at sea so he was skeptical to believe him. He was likely more akin to fancier rooming based on his ranking but this was his ship. Still, it was a simple request that he could oblige and agreed, "Yes."

His kind offer was rejected entirely with the next words out of his father's mouth when he spoke with delight, "Good! You can sleep on the bedroll and I'll take your bed."

What? Did he think he would roll over and agree?! His cabin was currently the only sanctuary on that boat for him and he wouldn't be kicking himself and his wife for his comfort. He worked hard to keep his room tidy for a bedroom/office and to plan their routes accordingly. Nobody was taking his private quarters unless they were on death's door. Pushing off the wall, he stood upright to the ridiculous demand and refused with annoyance, "No! You're taking the bedroll and sleeping anywhere but my cabin."

"Fine, I shall remember your abysmal treatment of guests" Haytham accepted with reluctance to losing on better sleeping arrangements and saw that he was not a pushover. Good. His spine would not be agreeing with that fleck of paternal pride come the following morning. Unlike his son, who was similar to himself at that age, his body decided to age without his say and morning aches were now common after fights. It would be a humiliating defeat if he ever threw out his back and cursed mortality.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was not intimidated to having his ship have a bad review among Templars for providing extra bedrolls and sheets. In what universe was that impolite? He was beginning to think his father was a little too pampered in his lifestyle. He survived just fine when outdoors in the wilderness and Caroline never complained about the little closet that served as her sleeping room before marriage. It was where he placed Haytham to stop him or others from getting into altercations. Although, his navigator's bedding was better than that. He couldn't help from pointing out facts from the past and reminded casually, "I am simply paying back the hospitality I received in Bridewell Prison."

"You're not dull, I'll give you that" Haytham sighed with disdain to the thought of fathering a fool but he had Ziio's tenacity. The matching glares were proof enough. He built an invisible wall between them and though he respected it, he cursed the part of him that wanted to break it and know more of him. He shouldn't be wanting such a ridiculous thing after all this time but there stood another portion of his legacy in the world. Years ago, the Templars were his sole focus but everyone appeared to be branching into personal profit with only Lee adhering to his orders. Now, he had the opportunity to understand who his son was but at the same time, he didn't intend to weaken his resolve to the Order by opening that door. Pointing to the redhead, who was quietly observing them, he ordered, "You there, fetch the roll and set it up nicely in that tiny coffin and away from the chamber pot."

Like Ratonhnhaké:ton, Caroline would not be rolling over to cater to the man. Her cheerful demeanor disappeared to be replaced with offense to being deemed an errand girl. She did not toil for years with her gender against her to be reduced to where her sixteen-year-old self began. Her brow furrowed over her narrowed eyes for the subtle insult and she pointed out sharply, "I'm the ship's navigator, not a maid . . . and I have a name."

Caroline understood perfectly why Ratonhnhaké:ton wanted to throttle Haytham when he ignored her flippantly, "Goodie, that's not what I asked, dear."

Grumbling under her breath, she whistled for one of the nearby deckhands to assist her. They were her little birds and the youngest on the crew with the least experience, just like she had been years ago. Their eagerness to learn would often have her teaching them tips and tricks for success after dinner. Smith, the young man who had almost drowned with her two years prior, was now in charge of her sail team. Her captain had given her control of the sails to let Robert focus on overseeing the top deck while David facilitated orders between decks to Richard. One of the young men bounded up from a small group sewing one of their emergency backup canvas sails to salute her. She chuckled softly to the respect from the suntanned blonde and requested kindly with the unfortunate task, "Would you mind procuring an extra bedroll for our guest?"

The young man nodded firmly before running off below deck to fetch it and she turned to Haytham with a protective gaze. She and Ratonhnhaké:ton could handle the sass but she would not have him run off her subordinates. The captain stepped back with amusement at watching the defensive stare of his wife because she kept vigilant of their crew's safety. The mother eagle jabbed a finger in Haytham's direction and ordered firmly, "Do not make my deckhand cry. I will hear if you've mistreated him."

What kind of rules ran this ship? Haytham was flabbergasted by the coddling that appeared to take hold on the frigate. Was this what the Assassins had been reduced to? Was this the enemy making his members think twice about engaging? It was as if logic had been removed for emotions – how maddening! His son was likely at the heart of this and he turned to him to accuse, "Your tenacity to protect everything is going to be your downfall."

With that said, he turned away to return to his shoddy closet to oversee the condition of the extra bed mat. The married couple released a held breath of relief to his leave and felt the tension slip off their shoulders. She leaned against him to brighten his expression, nudging him playfully like she did when they were younger, and intertwined her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand with a faint smile to return her affection, outlining her wedding band, and she spoke sarcastically, "Cheerful man. It's only for a few weeks, right?"

The travel south would be an endless strain on his sanity and test his ability to stay quiet. His father was the opposite of him by trying to prod answers or reactions out of him, stirring questions on how his mother tolerated him. He was more than ready to stuff his ears with cotton! Looking down at his wife, who had closed her eyes briefly against his shoulder, he smiled fondly and stated quietly, "I never thought I'd say this, but I am entrusting you to not let me kill him."

"He's outnumbered onboard so we have that" she chuckled with amusement to his aversion to interacting with his father. It would have to happen once a day at least on a ship where they could go nowhere but the sea. An attack on the ship would be foolish but they both knew taking out the top officers and gaining control of the wheel could secure a ship. Maybe they could move one of the cannons to keep him trapped in her old sleep quarters. A grin crossed her lips to that thought and she reassured him confidently, "You'll be fine. I won't let you commit patricide out at sea – that would be a first."

---

A/N: This was an interesting chapter to write and I had to draw insight from the Haytham novel for his thoughts on Connor for this mission. The chapter when he learns of Connor's existence (I thought it was rather sweet that he dreamed of a family when abroad) which is quickly overshadowed by the shock of Ziio's death is one of my favorite scenes, along with Bridewell Prison. The Haytham missions were always the most interesting to me for their family dynamics and I want to explore them. Caroline will be playing the mediator to keep the two from arguing about their ideologies while Robert is more than ready to fling a boot at Haytham. I'm hoping I kept everyone in character, particularly Haytham. The next chapter will explore life on the ship as they head south with an investigation on land when a glimpse of the Welcome is spotted.

Thank you to my last chapter reviewers and all of my readers!

danelleprae: I'll give Haytham the benefit of the snowfall and darkness but he caught on once they were on board the Aquila with adequate lighting. That's just one of the many funny surprises in store for him.

chriswill02: His sarcasm always made me want more! He's insulting you but he does it with a graceful edge that leaves you snapping your fingers for lacking a comeback.

East Coast Captain: I agree that Haytham both regretted and in his own way, appreciated knowing Connor. He mentions his similarity to Ziio in the novel which I really liked so I plan on the two having more conversations, even if explosive. True, Connor definitely has more of an Edward vibe than Haytham, ha. I really wished the game would have explored more of that father-son relationship but I can make my own spin of it.

Thunderstrike16: He'll be finding out about them being in-laws in the next chapter, ha. He and Caroline will be having more chats onboard the ship, mainly to keep him away from backseat driving, while he and Connor will be more vocal during fights. I definitely want to explore the family aspect of the two in the coming chapters before the Broken Trust mission.

Trainman-Captain Writer: Thank you for being a longtime reader, this story has definitely been around for a while. When my schedule gets hectic, which it has this month, I try to at least write an hour a day. It may not seem like much at first but eventually, within a month, there's progress! I will definitely bring back Prudence and Warren! With the Homestead missions being done, I need a few more to cover the years of 1778-1781. Connor will attempt farming once he's back home so they'll definitely be there to help.

taylor115: I noticed Connor always did things for the greater good and his culture is more verbal in nature, especially during that era, placing meaning into words rather than written things. Caroline, on the other hand, knows that the pen can be a mighty sword and drew the plans to make sure he does get something meaningful out of it. The end of that game made me feel so sad for him. Haytham's presence in the coming chapters will also teach her and eventually, Connor, not to trust everyone that promises you the world. Despite his nagging and chiding, I think Haytham has an internal conflict between letting the Templars win or letting his son live.

midnightsunfish: Thank you so much for enjoying it! I try not to go the route of repeating all the missions and if they are done, there's always a different point of view to it.

Next Chapter Excerpt:

"Templars and Assassins aside, he was still yours as a child when he lost his mother" Caroline pointed out with the facts because a child wouldn't know about a raging war between factions. If she was ever lucky to have children with her husband, they would not expose them to that harsh life until they were mature enough to handle it. Even now, she was struggling to keep Elizabeth on a level-headed path before opening that door. Leaning back against the crate, she reasoned to the sliver of hope that remained, "He wasn't an Assassin then. You didn't wonder what became of him? Do you feel no remorse at seeing your child thrown into a world of strangers, far from everything and everyone he's known? Maybe if you weren't so dedicated to your own cause, you'd both stop butting your heads against the same stubborn wall and realize you're family."

His dark blue eyes narrowed at her for posing numerous questions, noting the emotional edge to them, and questioned, "Are you attempting to analyze my mind?"

"A bit" she answered truthfully with a small nod to remain transparent in her efforts. He would likely rebuff her if she held deception which was interesting given the way he spun the truth. She had never been a liar and would not begin on that road today. Tapping her fingers against the top of the crate, she continued carefully, "I don't believe for a second that you didn't wonder about his mother. I overheard you tell Connor of your journey across the sea to rescue your sister. You're telling me that there was no inkling of curiosity about Ziio when you returned?"

"And here I thought you were a random woman of comfort my son kept" Haytham stated with veiled amusement, noticing her lips crinkle at the edges in a withheld frown. Was her right or wrong? He couldn't tell her emotions easily with her inquisitive expressions while his son held stoicism. This was becoming a tad harder than expected. Was he getting out of touch with nonverbal behavior interpretation? She said nothing to neither verify nor deny, leading him to add in matter-of-factly, "I've seen your little side glances. That, and you two retire to the same cabin."

"Don't attempt to sidetrack from the past" she smirked slightly at catching his verbal evasion of the topic, wondering if she was hitting close or he was hiding something. Ratonhnhaké:ton would find it painful to dig into the past but she didn't hold such memories. For her, she was his protector and gathering information on potential threats was part of that job.

Haytham shook his head at hearing her cling to her questioning, crossing his arms, to remark, "I will say you're sharper than my boy at keeping your eye on my weapons."

"Trust is earned, Mr. Kenway" she spoke earnestly because she wouldn't throw her vote in with just anyone. Her most trusted people lived in Davenport, followed by her Boston friends and the Aquila. Her husband was her best friend and there would never be secrets between them. The road for trust between him and his father stretched across the Atlantic Ocean. Tilting her head to the left, she contemplated aloud to their varying styles, "It's interesting to compare the personalities of both sides of this fight when you share the same blood. You have your motives, he has his."

"Don't remind me" he muttered under his breath to their biggest conflict in bridging peace. His son wanted to kill Lee and he couldn't have that. Otherwise, his twenty-plus years of mentoring would be for nothing! He had not even asked to annihilate anyone from his order, though he could target the redhead. There was a clear bond between the two and he questioned her intent with his son, "Why do you care so much about our cooperation? He's simply your leader or your lover, which would not be wise. I've learned the hard way it is not a viable road."

"I care because the one you keep calling an idiot is my beloved husband" she revealed coolly with a firm expression at having her spouse insulted. He was a good man, better than any she had met, and she would fight anyone that said otherwise. His eyes widened slightly to hearing the news and chastised himself for not looking at their hands for hidden wedding bands rather than their weapons. Caroline tried not to smirk at his disbelief but it didn't deter her protective tone when she warned, "If you dare to harm him, I will riddle you with enough bullets you'll resemble a colander."

Caroline hopped off the wooden crate with a small departing wave of the hand to return to her post. The snack break had offered some insight into the complex mind of the Templar but she had unveiled her marriage to his son. It was both a strength and vulnerability for them but she believed their bond was unbreakable after everything hurled their way. This was simply another bump and they could either learn from it or avoid it entirely by shutting the door. Her husband was curious about his origins, for the chance at peace, and she would help him with that goal with a cautious hand.

Haytham was left baffled at his spot, regrettably losing the win of that conversation, and blurted aloud, "I . . . I have no words. They've failed me!"

His son was married? Legally? Did he manage to make a life among the society that dared to cage his mother like an attraction and hurled insults at him in the streets? Not to mention, married to a colonist? Did they have a family? He didn't know whether he was surprised that time had flown that quickly or his son had achieved a milestone he would not. Leaning against the bannister, he watched the gentle glittering waves of the sea to ponder aloud, "I can't believe I have a daughter-in-law! Strangely enough, I'm not as repulsed as I thought I'd be. I, dare I say it, actually approve?"

"Did your mind finally go and you're talking to yourself?" Robert's sarcastic voice hollered from above the steering deck to cut his thoughts short.

"Silence, gas bag!" he shot back sardonically to shut him up and out of his private business. Wait, did everyone onboard know about his son's marriage? How did he not know until now? Why did he think the two were simply knocking boots? His son appeared the type of man to be respectable and do the right thing, unlike himself who gave up on a family life.

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Thank you for reading!