Okay!

Hello,

Yes, I am alive!

If you saw my note, I have decided to get back on restarting this fic! I am going to also fix Child of the Cross, but only with Grammar and Spelling as well as flow. Though for now, I am just going to delete all the chapters on this fic cause I wanna fix some story aspects on this. There are parts that I look back and just do not like at all. So here is the Reimage of the story going forward.

Thank you

Forever and Always

Moon

Pulling open the drawers of his desk, the Grandmaster reached to the back in search of another quill pen. Frustrated with the irritation of his writing, Haytham snapped the current goose quill he was using.

Reading the reports about sunken ships, he was confronted with a string of misfortunes. As he searched the back of the desk, his hand knocked against an oddly shaped wooden block. Haytham Kenway could not recall what he might have stored in the drawer. In his hand was a small, paint-chipped horse with the name "Catherine" engraved on the bottom.

He concluded on how it could have possibly gotten there from a time he had not thought about for a very long time.

Haytham Kenway had never truly understood the struggles of being a parent. He watched Shay dote on his own child. Meeting Mrs. Cormac in the parlor of the New York headquarters which had become Shay's home while he stationed himself in New York. The mother had been in rough shape, her left eye bruised and her lip split. She sat on a settee with the child in her lap, the little one playing with a toy horse.

The very one he held in his hand.

Meeting Rose Cormac was a disdainful memory he had. It caused a weakening of emotions that he could only relate due to the reflections of his8 family.

At the time of meeting the woman, He hadn't realized who she was until he saw the familiar brown eyes of the toddler. Recognizing the shape and color, Haytham knew this was Shay's small family. When Shay returned to the Templar headquarters, he embraced his wife, and their daughter fell into his arms at the sight of him. They listened as Rose recounted what had happened after Shay left.

It was a passing memory but it wasn't hard for Haytham to recall the events that followed the meeting. The voice of Rose, pained fear echoed in his head.

Before Shay's weekend visit, his brother-in-law had threatened his younger sister, trying to take away young Catherine. Rose had kept this from her husband, hoping that no one would notice. Unfortunately, one night while Rose was asleep with her daughter, she heard a crash. Men cloaked in darkness had roughed her up and attempted to snatch her child. Using her skills as a trained Assassin, she fought them off long enough to escape.

Shay held his wife as she sobbed in relief from the stress she had endured. Haytham stepped up, promising that she and her child would be safe within the headquarters.

Haytham thought that was the end of it until a sickness struck young Catherine. He had witnessed her collapse firsthand.
A promise that Haytham remembered feeling he had failed at the time after what conspired.

Haytham dreaded being alone with the young child. The Grandmaster stepped out of his study to get some fresh air and a stroll in the walled garden, hoping for a moment of solitude. Instead, he discovered the child wandering the halls alone. Haytham glanced around, searching for Rose, or just anyone that was watching but there was no one in sight.

Unwilling to leave the toddler unattended, Haytham approached the young girl. He paused, unsure how to address her. She turned around, smiling and holding up a cookie she was eating. The assumption that she was being spoiled by the servants had concluded in his mind. It had to be a rare treat for them to be around such a small child.

"Cookie?" she offered, breaking it in half and holding out the unbitten side.

He waved his hand with what he would have called an awkward smile. "No, thank you." Haytham noticed a tiny wooden horse on the table and assumed it belonged to her. "What's the name of your friend?" he asked, referring to the toy.

He had no idea how to talk to children, let alone how to be around them. The Grand Master of the Templars felt ridiculous asking about a toy preference from a child who might not have been fully potty trained.

"Apple, because horses like apples," she said matter-of-factly. "Papa bought it for me."

How original, he thought. Though for a child that young, he had to admit she had a certain charm about her.

Haytham bent down to her level to speak to her. "Of course. You're a smart girl." He handed the toy back to her. "Where is your mother, if I may ask?"

He had sent Shay on a mission earlier that day. The Assassin gangs were running rampant in lower Manhattan, and he had left it up to Shay to handle the situation as he saw fit.

"Sleeping. She's tired from our trip." Catherine's eyes twinkled with a hint of sadness, showing an emotional intelligence rare for one so young. "The bad men hurt her badly, but she beat them up."

Haytham hesitated before touching her shoulder. "Let's find someone to look after you for a while. Your mother is exhausted."

The child paused before taking a bite of the cookie. "Can't I stay with you until Papa comes back? I don't know anyone here."

Haytham sighed, scratching the back of his neck. He couldn't use work as an excuse since he had just left his study. It wouldn't hurt to keep her company until he could pass her off to her father when he returned. Though, on the list of things to do later, he would add Governess to the list of expenses for the order.

"I was going for a stroll in the garden, I like a moment of peace, so you can join me if you can be quiet."

Catherine lined her finger to her lips in expression of quiet with a nod. "

Watching as the girl turned and started running, Haytham smiled despite himself. She was a charming child. He followed her but noticed she came to a sudden stop, dropping to her knees, struggling to catch her breath.

"Catherine?" he called out, hurrying ove2r to her. She was on her knees, trying to breathe.

Haytham patted her back, thinking she might be choking on her cookie. As he tried to clear her airway, her coughing turned into dry heaves, and she began vomiting. Foam bubbled from her mouth, and Haytham felt a sinking dread. Someone had poisoned the child.

He shouted for help, hoping someone could hear him. Cursing his decision to send Benjamin Church away the previous day, Haytham's frantic last moments saw a servant rushing to fetch a doctor. He instructed another to find Rose while he continued to hold the child.

Haytham's fears were confirmed—Catherine Cormac had indeed been poisoned. Shay Cormac was in shock upon returning to find his wife sobbing by their daughter's bedside. The Grandmaster of the Colonial Rite approached him to seek a solution.

Shay was aware of the likely culprit but was stunned that they had resorted to poisoning a child. He reassured his wife with a kiss, promising that their only child would be well before she succumbed to her illness.

The two men stormed Hope Jensen's manor in New York, following the leads that pointed to her. Haytham assured Shay that he would focus on finding the antidote, while Shay pursued Hope, believing she held the artifact.

In the end, Haytham discovered the antidote in the west wing of the mansion, in a smaller lab near Hope's private study. The vial was among journals and herbs. A letter of evidence confirmed that Hope had orchestrated the plan to kill the toddler and her mother.

The Grandmaster snatched the vial and raced out of the manor, hoping Shay would arrive within the hour. Excitement erupted outside the manor as British soldiers clashed with Hope's gang members. Haytham defended himself against any attacks while rushing through the night back to Fort Arsenal.

To Haytham's relief, the little girl breathed more evenly as her mother sat beside her in bed. Quiet prayers of hope escaped Rose's lips as she awaited the return of her husband and Haytham. She looked up, startled, when she saw the Grandmaster standing in the threshold of the room.

"Do you have it?" Rose gasped, clutching the front of her shirt.

Haytham held up the vial. "I do." He crossed the room swiftly and handed it to her. "Tilt her head back." As Rose complied, Haytham uncorked the vial and poured the liquid into the child's pale lips.

Rose gently stroked her child's hair. "Who did this?"

"Hope Jensen."

Rose's face hardened with outrage. "Why?"

Haytham reached into his pocket and pulled out the evidence. "It seems your brother arranged it."

Rose took the letter and read it with tearful eyes. She stood there, frozen, overwhelmed by emotion. "My brother wants me dead along with my child, just because I chose my husband over my loyalties. I can understand my own death, but a child... his own blood." She glanced at her daughter, whose breathing was returning to normal. "You saved my daughter's life. I never trusted your kind, and I probably never will, but thank you."

Haytham nodded. "You're welcome." He understood her reluctance towards him and the other Templars. "I am surprised, though, that you chose your husband over your brother."

She had been an Assassin once, and he hadn't trusted her either, but she was Shay's wife. Rose had risked her own life for her child.

"My brother isn't the person I knew growing up," Rose said. "I made a vow to my husband in front of God to stand by him. When I thought Shay had died, my world shattered. I saw them shoot him in cold blood because he spoke out against Achilles. I watched him fall into the icy waters below while I was still pregnant with Catherine." She looked at her sleeping daughter, whose skin was returning to its normal color. "They are both resilient."

Haytham listened to Rose's words, finding them true for herself as well.

"Like father, like daughter," Haytham mused, observing the child. He had to admit that Catherine was a strong one, surviving such a deadly poison. Deep down, something nagged at him, suggesting he might regret saving her life.

Haytham twirled the small wooden horse in his hand. He snapped back from the memory of his past encounter with Catherine. Catherine had left it behind as a gift, and he remembered her smile as she thanked him and placed the toy into his hand.

It had been three and a half years since Catherine Cormac's death. Even with the note from Catherine, Haytham suspected she was dead. No one knew who had delivered the fake precursor box along with the note. Haytham had shared the note with Lee to make sense of it, but it had not affected him. Haytham decided to withhold the information from Shay, not wanting to raise false hopes in the poor sailor. Lee had promised to investigate, but there was no sign of Catherine. Haytham continued to believe she was dead.

He still couldn't understand the circumstances of her death. Catherine had killed Azura in cold blood but had trapped herself in the warehouse. It was a tragic loss, but Haytham was thankful he hadn't been the one to end her life. Azura's blood had sealed Catherine's fate. Despite it being dreadful news, a voice of reason argued that Catherine was an asset, not a threat. She was a young, intelligent woman who had outsmarted him and the other Templars, leaving a significant mark on Lee as well.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Haytham called for the visitor to enter. William Johnson walked in, his expression a mix of calm and concern.

"I received your letter, William," Haytham said, clearing his throat. "The natives' land is under threat of being sold without their consent? The site of the precursor?"

"Yes, sadly," Johnson replied, taking a seat across from him. "It's your son's land."

Haytham sighed internally, thinking of his estranged son. He remembered his initial reaction when he first learned about the boy. The only connection he had to the lad was Catherine's friendship with him. He had hoped to use her to get close to his son, but with her death, that connection was severed. The Grandmaster knew it was best to leave the boy alone. The one kind thing he could do was help purchase the land to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. The land was crucial as it guarded an ancient civilization site that should not be compromised.

"What funds do we have to purchase this land?" Haytham asked, tapping his finger on the desk.

"I've already secured them, despite the setback with the tea," Johnson explained. "Everything is ready to move forward."

Haytham fixed his gaze on the older Templar, surprised by this development. "How?"

"This is unusual as if it came from a stroke of luck,." Johnson stated, " and it should be your call"

Haytham prepared to hear on what unusual conditions that these funds seemed to fall from thin air.

"A letter arrived from a wealthy man in Greece. He is sympathetic to our cause and has reached out with an offer of alliance to help one another."

Haytham was ready to hear it. What kind of favor could this man possibly want in exchange for such a significant donation? "And what does he expect?"

"There are reports of an Assassin from a European branch causing him personal trouble," Johnson replied. "A brief description mentions she has red hair."

Haytham exchanged a knowing glance with Johnson, as if a ghost had entered the room. "I checked to make sure it wasn't who I thought." He didn't dare utter the name Catherine Cormac. "This is a much older woman, likely in her late 30s. They call her 'The Fox.' He is apparently trying to track her down personally, along with any bloodline she might have."

Haytham was incredulous. "Does he want this woman and her entire family dead?"

Johnson shook his head. "No. This is where it gets difficult to explain. All he said was that he wanted her alive. He didn't explain why, just that he needs our help finding information on her. She supposedly has something he requires. The last known sighting of this woman was in Quebec."

Haytham clasped his hands together, contemplating. He had worked with unsavory men in the past. If this was a lie to retrieve a runaway wife or daughter, he would uncover the truth. However, if this woman had something this mysterious man wanted, perhaps something related to artifacts from those who came before, it would be wise to let this man think he was getting what he wanted.

"We'll play along with his request," Haytham decided.

March 1774

Dressed in thick clothes, Catherine braved the biting cold. However, her attire wouldn't offer much protection if she fell into the river. She faced her opponent, a 16-year-old William de Saint-Prix, as they spared on a high wall. One wrong slip, and she would feel the icy sting of the Seine below. Her sword teacher, Perrier Bellec, had found a clever way to teach the students, balance through humiliation.

Catherine lunged hard at the younger boy. In a desperate attempt to evade her attack, William made a fatal error and nearly lost his footing. He stopped abruptly, catching himself just before he fell into the water.

The uptight Frenchman had a foul attitude towards his young apprentices and Catherine. The Master Assassin shouted at his trainees with curses, "Sloppy! Do you call yourselves Assassins? You both make me malade!"

Catherine grunted in disgust, striking her opponent's practice sword. Her strike caused him to stagger, giving her the advantage she sought.

Bellec spat on the ground in disgust. "Especially you, Pisspot, letting this planteuse de choux win!?"

Catherine scowled at the insult. "Cabbage farmer? How original. Maybe I should start calling you a baguette!"

"You'd be wise not to talk back to me, girl, unless you want me to send you back to Charles broken arm," Bellec threatened.

In a secluded area away from the public eye, the only witnesses were four other students, all of whom had already been defeated by the water. Their clothes clung to them as they shivered in the cold spring air. Catherine had been the victor so far. Beating initiates in practice battles didn't prove much to Bellec.

However, it gave the younger trainees a chance to improve their skills. The Assassin Council had appointed Catherine to work under Bellec as part of her preparation for training new initiates when rebuilding the Colonial Brotherhood.

Catherine didn't understand the disdain Bellec had for her. Dorian had advised her to be patient with him and the others, assuring her that there would be acceptance in time.

With one final step, Catherine knocked the sword from William's hand. His weapon fell into the river, and he raised his hands in defeat.

Catherine smirked at the Master Assassin and gave a small bow to her tutor. "How's that, Monsieur Bellec?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Fine, except you would have been slaughtered with that performance," the Frenchman spat at the ground.

Catherine grinned. "Then why don't you come up here and face me yourself, Bellec?"

A clap interrupted the Master Assassin before he could retaliate. Charles Dorian stood before Bellec and the other novices. Catherine smiled at the sight of her mentor. "Charles, you're back."

"As much as I would enjoy watching you put Miss Cormac in her place, she has a meeting with Sophie Trenet."

Pierre Bellec shrugged. "Fine, take her. She's done for the day."

Living in France had not been easy for Catherine. Her last name carried weight in the Brotherhood. Perrier Bellec had been part of the Colonial Brotherhood before its destruction and had witnessed her father's accomplishments for the Templars.

On the positive side, Catherine had grown close to some of the novices, like William. When she leapt from the wall and landed on the balls of her feet, her comrades patted her on the back, suggesting drinks later at the Café Théâtre.

Dorian eyed her disheveled appearance. "Go change, you look like Bellec dragged you through the mud."

"Yet it hasn't killed her pride, so that's worth something," Bellec waved dismissively. "Try not to be late, Cormac. Trenet does not tolerate tardiness."

Charles Dorian cleared his throat as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll walk with her to ensure she isn't late."

Grabbing her coat, she placed it over her shoulder as they made their way up from the river.

Charles began to escort Catherine to make it in time for the appointment that was slated for the day with Master Trent.

Dorian had secured a lovely middle-class townhouse for her and hired a maid to keep it clean, given Catherine's busy schedule. He lived outside Paris, which allowed her to dedicate all her time to the Assassins. It was a modest place, situated near the Sainte-Chapelle for easy access to the Assassin headquarters.

The most generous gift he had given her was the chance to complete her education. She enjoyed it, especially subjects like math and languages. With her French improving, her tutor had begun teaching her beginner's Spanish. Dorian declined her offer to pay him back, instead requesting that she make a monthly trip to Versailles for a weekend visit. Catherine agreed wholeheartedly.

Paris had become her second home. On her days off, she would explore the streets, getting lost in mazes of the city. It was much more busy then Boston, and so much more bigger.

The sights and sounds only deepened her affection for the city. Though the feeling of missing home ached in her heart. She missed the Snowdrop inn, James, Connor, and most of all her mother. She was freshly twenty years old and still missed her mother like a small child.

Catherine reached out to other Brotherhoods across the globe, thanks to the assistance of the council. Despite her efforts, there was no sign of her mother, and Catherine could only hope she stayed safe and away from the Templars.

"If you keep that up, Catherine, you're going to find a sword in your back," Dorian remarked, referring to her sharp retort to Bellec.

After living with Dorian for a few months, he declared that she would start her official Assassin training and assigned her the role of an initiate. This had been just under three years ago.

Catherine snorted. "I'd like to see him try."

Dorian patted her back, trying to keep a straight face. When they reached the townhouse, he waited in the small sitting area while Catherine hurried upstairs to her room. She passed her elderly maid, Anora, in the stairwell.

"Please get Monsieur Dorian some tea while I dress and reply to a letter," Catherine requested.

The maid nodded. "Of course, Miss Cormac." She had gotten use to her mistress

Catherine rushed to her room, unbuttoning her upper layer of clothes. Taking a moment to dab washcloth from a bowl of lukewarm water, rubbed it with soap. She cleaned her neck and arms. Scrunching up her face, she scrubbed away any dirt from her face, splashed water on it, and dabbed it dry with a hand towel.

The Assassin brushed her hair over her shoulder as she approached her wardrobe. Touching the dark oak, she swung open the doors and pulled out a cotton shirt, which she put over her chemise. She fastened the brass buttons of her powder blue waistcoat and wrapped a fine silk cravat around her neck. Finally, she reached for her Assassin coat and pulled it on.

Her new coat was a wool with elegant designs swirling at the tail coat, it blended well with the upper class of French society, but still durable against combat and the parkour of the Parisian rooftops. It had the same style as a captain's coat, but with elegant embroidery around the collar and sleeves. The top part of the coat had leather flaps over her shoulders that were attached to her hood. The tail of the coat stopped below her knees and buttoned down the middle, almost like a habit. It was a practical way for her to fit in without being suspicious.

Catherine touched the collar of her coat, adjusting it as she stared at herself in the mirror. Years ago, when she was trapped in the warehouse fire, she thought she had lost her father's coat to the flames. After she recovered from the harsh beating, Catherine had dug through the remains of the fire. In a surprising turn of events, she had found it. The edges had been burned, and the coat was no longer wearable.

When she arrived in the city, Dorian had surprised her with a new coat for her training as an Assassin. He told her that she should no longer wear something from her father's past but something that symbolizes her future.

She whisked over to her desk to reply to one of the letters. She had received a pile of letters just over a week ago, but had not had the chance to read any of them.

The letters were from Connor causing a smile to pull at her lips when she saw his handwriting. Every day, she would write a letter to him and send a stack each week. The native would reply in the same manner, year after year, since she arrived in letters keep each other updated in the ongoings in their lives.

Though she missed him, and with each stroke of the quill, she expressed it deeply in her letters.

Opening the back seal of the letter, she scanned with her eyes over the inked words.

Connor's written musings of life on the homestead made her feel sick with a hint of longing to return back.

Dear Catherine,

As we both anticipated, there has been no word from the Templars. It has been unusually quiet since the chaos the Sons of Liberty caused at Boston Harbor. However, I doubt this silence will last long. We are attempting to push back the sale of the land as best as we can, the destruction of the tea is what we would need to silence Johnson from make the purchase of the tertiary.

Though, we must consider alternatives if we do in need to protect the tribes who own the land.

Achilles sends his best wishes and urges you to be patient with Bellec. Our small community has flourished in your absence; we've welcomed some new members since we last spoke. The new residents are considering opening a tavern on our land, and I believe you would enjoy seeing it.

I wish you were here to witness the progress of the homestead. I know you may not feel ready to return yet, but I am confident that the time will come. The Templars are surely moving their pieces to tighten their grip on the colonies, though they remain silent for now.

Though, perhaps my reasons for wanting you to return are more selfish. I know we agreed to keep our intentions unspoken, but I cannot deny that my heart does miss you and its much easier to express it on parchment then in spoken words.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Connor

Connor worked tirelessly to diminish the Templars' funds. Catherine would have paid anything to see the expressions on their faces—the outrage as they watched the boxes of tea sink to the bottom of the harbor.

This event sparked an idea in Catherine: to raise funds for the communities across the Iroquois nation, so they could acquire their own weapons and protect themselves from being forced off their land. However, the challenge was raising enough money to compete against the Templars.

She was certain that Haytham was already working with Johnson to secure more funds.

Catherine shared her ideas with Dorian about finding sponsors to help. It would be a strong way to push back the Templar grip on the land and provide greater independence for the Iroquois Nation.

Setting the letter aside to reply later as she heard footsteps approaching her room.

"Catherine?" Dorian's voice called out. "Trenet is expecting us."

"I apologize." She replied, "I got caught up with the stack of letters on my desk," Catherine explained.

"Anyone interesting?" Dorian asked.

The Assassin shrugged. "Just Connor." A tight, simple smile pressed across her lips.

Dorian chuckled. "The way that boy writes to you, I swear there will be bells ringing for a union between you two." The Master Assassin grinned, causing Catherine to grimace and try to hide her embarrassment, stammering as she attempted to deny the thought.

Dorian waved off her short-lived embarrassment. "Shall we?"

Catherine gave a firm nod. "Lead the way."