#ask Haytham Kenway
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Colossal Squid! Desmond and I'll give you my bones
“Have you heard the legends of the Kraken, Shay?”
“Every sailor has.” Shay answered politely, glancing at their guest.
Even as bitter wind gripped its claws at them, Haytham Kenway looked as prim and proper as a gentleman on his way to watch an opera.
Shay, on the other hand, had pulled the fabric around his neck up to cover his freezing nose.
“And do the stories tell of the Kraken a monster that destroys without any care of one’s status or upbringing?”
“The sea is a cruel mistress to all, Master Kenway.” Shay answered, glancing to his right. Gist just shrugged, obviously also a bit confused to why Haytham Kenway was talking about the Kraken all of a sudden.
“Yes, she is.” Haytham agreed as he walked towards the bow of the ship, “But the Kraken is not cruel.”
“He is playful and intelligent. He also has the habit of trying to show his displeasure using his limbs.” Haytham continued, making the other crew members stare at him, forgetting their tasks as they listened to a man who sounded like he knew the Kraken himself, “But above all else…”
“He is one ugly squid.” Haytham commented.
They would have laughed at that but the waters beneath them grew dark almost immediately.
Large tentacles rose from the depths and the crew shouted in fear and surprise.
Shay immediately ordered them to main the cannons but stopped when Haytham said, “It is no use. Human weaponry does not work on him.”
Shay froze, noticing that what he had thought to have been sunlight against the tentacles was actually…
Glowing lines that reminded Shay of the light of that device back in Lisbon.
For a brief moment, Shay was paralyzed, the fear and pain of that day flashing before him.
Haytham was still speaking and Shay tried to focus on his voice.
Haytham wasn’t there in Lisbon.
Shay wasn’t there in Lisbon anymore.
Haytham was his anchor to the present.
“The Kraken is what those who know nothing call him. The Templars though… had a different name for him.” Haytham continued calmly, as if the ship had not been kept in place by tentacles coiling all around it. There was no creaking sound and that only made Shay more frightened.
The Kraken knew how to control its strength so it wouldn’t damage the ship, only keep it immobilized.
That kind of intelligence…
“Desmond.”
Shay frowned.
Where have he heard the name before?
“The sea monster that Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad tamed. The ruler of the seas that cares for the Assassin Brotherhood.”
That’s right.
Shay heard Adéwalé talked about a ‘Desmond’ before. Shay had thought it was some kind of pet because Adéwalé talked about how it followed his old friend whenever he sailed.
One of the tentacles reach out towards Haytham and Shay shouted, “Master Kenway!”
Haytham raised a hand, stopping Shay from unsheathing his dual blades.
“Do not move, do not speak, do not even think.” Haytham ordered calmly, “He is here for me.”
“Will this be the day you drag me into the depths, Desmond?” Haytham asked, a slight curiosity in his tone, “Or will you still prolong this dance we share?”
The tentacle wrapped around his neck but, with how big the tentacle was, it wrapped his entire upper body instead.
Haytham didn’t seem worried, looking at the sea below as he stood at the very tip of the bow, “Well?”
Shay and the rest of the crew could only stare, frozen by fear and confusion, as Haytham was slowly lifted.
… before he was placed in the center of the ship. The tentacles uncoil around him slowly. There was a pause before it flicked Haytham’s hat off and Haytham simply gave a tired sigh.
The tentacles let go of the ship and returned to the depths of the sea.
It took a few seconds before the water returned to its normal color.
The entire crew gave out a relieved sigh as many of them fell on their asses.
“Master Kenway, what was that?” Shay asked and all of them turned to stare at the mysterious man as he picked up his hat.
“That was Desmond.” Haytham said as if he was just introducing a family friend he didn’t get along with, “The Sea Scourge of the Templars. He attacks every ship that shows its Templar affiliation. He won’t attack this ship though.”
“It won’t?” Shay couldn’t stop himself from sounding skeptical.
“As long as I sail with you, he will not.” Haytham said.
“Why?”
“Because that squid still believes I am my father’s son.”
#desmond is turned into an animal subgenre#desmond is turned into a creature subgenre#look it was either this#or this is going to turn into a squidja situation#assassin's creed#ask and answer#teecup writes/has a plot#fic idea: assassin's creed#desmond miles#haytham kenway#shay cormac#ngl i just wanted to write haytham and shay#i've been writing edward for most marine desmond asks XD
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A quick sketch of a possible scene I have for the fallout between Ziio and Haytham— details are still fuzzy but this takes place morning-after, and she’s had a sneaking suspicion that Haytham was still hiding certain things from her… then she finds the journal. Haytham stays cold and collected as she interrogates him, demanding the truth. The real truth.
I wanna keep it somewhat ambiguous to whether or not Haytham truly had feelings for her or how genuine those feelings are, but the effects and end result would have been the same (him coaxing and stringing her into becoming a Templar or be sympathetic to their cause, and him trying to use the claim that he was sympathetic to hers as a justification and that she had owed him).
When Ziio realized his true purpose and motivation as a Templar, she left, but made one final deal. He and his men are to stay far away from her village’s territory— or she will kill him.
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Desmond, bartender in 2000s-2010s New York would absolutely binge shitty reality tv and adore eavesdropping on patrons when he can't get his drama fix. He's the RPG tavern owner who you ask if he has heard any rumors and his eyes light up because now he can info dump all the shit he hears. This follows him to the past, where now he has to actively seek out this entertainment.
He abuses his enhanced senses to sit on roofs and listen in with a hand to his mouth like, "oh my god. They were roommates." He is both the best informant and the worst because, while he is a master at getting information, the details he focuses on are useless to the Order.
"Yeah so this guy will be here at this time at this place, whatever. But! More importantly this guy has been having an affair with his wife's sister AND her brother and-"
"Please, Desmond, I am begging you just tell me the information for the mission."
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In Altair's time, Malik was originally Desmond's go to but after being chased out one to many times for "loitering and disturbing the peace of the bureau" (i.e. Malik's peace) Desmond switches to the Rafiq in Damascus since he "at least appreciates me." Eventually Malik would begrudgingly miss his presents and send a request for him to come back because Desmond is the only one he can rant at about Altair.
Altair does not know what the hell Desmond is talking about half the time, but now he does know the baker has three sons that his wife never knew of and one of the sons has shown up at the baker's home.
He normally will just let Desmond keep talking cause he likes his voice.
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In Ezio's time he is best friends with Claudia and her girls love him. He'll drop in and gossip with them about their patrons or even warn them about some of them. "Be careful I heard that he has some craziness going on between the legs." or the girls will ask questions about Ezio.
"I heard he is a beast in bed, is that true?"
"Well you didn't hear it from me, buuuut~"
He is 100% going off of hazy animus memories, but all the courtesans totally think he has either A.) slept with Ezio or B.) is actively sleeping with Ezio
With Claudia he talks about the goings on in Tiber Island and what Ezio is up to. Ezio doesn't know how the hell his sister knows everything he is doing or why he gets a message from her forbidding him from doing something he hasn't even gotten to do yet and Desmond just stands off to the side sweating.
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Connor is gonna go gray early with how often Desmond just disappears from the Homestead because he seems hellbent on not staying still as it gets "to boring there". Desmond will normally pop up in the strangest of places. Either Connor will find him, head tilted like a dog as he listens in on a group or Desmond will just hunt Connor down himself. "Heard you were in the area."
At time he loves it because Desmond always has a ready flow of information and he is very good at sowing discontent with it, making for good distractions. On the other hand he can do without the open commentary or rampant attention he gives any interaction Connor has with his father.
"It's so much more interesting when it's not me"
*Connor and Haytham both glare at him*
#assassin's creed#desmond miles#ezio auditore#altair ibn la'ahad#connor kenway#ratonhnhaké:ton#written post#Desmond loves when things get trashy#claudia gets annoyed if Ezio sends Desmond on a long mission#now who is she going to talk to?!#The older assassin's learn just to let Desmond talk#cause eventually it will circle back to the mission and he gives good info#Altair tries his damndest to find out things Desmond might not know so he can contribute to their talks#He just doesn't know what makes good gossip#Desmond talking to Connor about Haytham: “Well if you ask me-”#Connor: “I really didn't”
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Making out with your boss who is shorter than you
(I haven't drawn kissing in a long time)
【Don't reuse or repost without permission]
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These tender sort of kisses from Haytham, how his eyes would be so soft looking at his S/O, how he watches them brush their lips over his knuckles. He's never felt anything so pure in his life.
Wyyy why??!! 😭💞👍🥵🥰💔😫
No because this would be sooo adorable!! He kisses so soft and tentatively, as if another good thing will slip through his fingers!! Always keeping a close eye on you because there’s an attachment there that he is coming to grips with after what’s happened in his life
Thinking, doubting himself like “is this real?”
#assassin's creed#inbox asks#haytham kenway x reader#haytham kenway#ac rogue#assassin’s creed x reader#assassin’s creed#assassin’s creed iii#ac iii#headcanons#haytham#assassin’s creed rogue
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Would you write a short story about Haytham reuniting with his childhood sweetheart. Maybe they both meet, in an old barn, for refuge from the redcoats?
Of course, I can! I will do my best at this, but I hope you enjoy this! Also, sorry it took me so long. Procrastination and other things just said hello to me and I invited them in, lol.
Here you are, again, being chased by the egotistical Redcoats. It was all so simple to you: You were walking along the streets of New York, minding your own business, when a four-group army of Redcoats decided you were in their way. One of them dared to push you aside, and, of course, you would not ignore their rude behavior. One thing led to another, and soon enough, more Redcoats came by, but you did not have the skills to take on all 13 of them.
After a mere moment of blocking yourself from their attacks, and using other Redcoats as human shields from gunfire, you decided to make haste and, risked getting shot at as you quickly navigated your way through the big city, taking any shortcuts you could find. It felt like an hour passed as you kept running, your legs were aching and almost to the point of numbness if you did not stop soon.
At last, you found yourself in the middle of an open field, and a red, empty barn with a big, white barn door open was up ahead. You made your way in without hesitation, and without a sudden thought, you quickly pushed on the door to shut it and lock it tight. From that moment on, you decided to lean your body against the barn door, letting out some deep breaths you held in for so long. Your eyes glanced around the barn, only to see it was all filled with hay and wooden crates that took up space in empty horse stalls.
You also thought you were alone, completely and safely alone. You saw a shadow from the corner of your eye, from behind a pile of crates. Slowly the shadow started to disappear, your heart started to beat faster, and your mind was sending out fear signals, to the point where you had to, yet again, defend yourself from whoever or whatever was in this very barn with you. As you pulled out your gun, you could hear footsteps getting closer and closer to you. In the blink of an eye, your gun was pointing at the person who stepped once more in front of your view.
For a moment, all you could see was red, another Redcoat it seemed. But, as your finger was close to the trigger, almost to the point of pressing it, you saw a face, a face from your past. The features of this person were of an attractive man, with eyes of a dark gray color, and eyebrows lowered to make him intimidating. His lips are steady, and his nose is the one thing that makes everything else attractive to you. However, it was what came out of his mouth that only confirmed your suspicions of who this man is.
“It is somewhat a rare coincidence that we introduce ourselves again, Y/N L/N.”
His voice is that of a noble British accent, only one man that you know has this voice.
“Haytham Kenway.”
His name falls off your lips quite nicely, and with this, both his and your lips curl up into a small smile. Your hand is still raised with the gun in it pointed at his face.
“Grand Master now, are you not? It is quite an honor to see you so… languorous.”
“I think I should be the one to say such a word.”
He lets out a small laugh and with his left hand, he raises it to wrap it around the gun. You let your finger move away from the trigger, and you easily let him disarm you with a gentle touch. You feel your fingers brush against each other’s, something that you have missed for some time now, but you don’t act upon it for now. Your eyes watch as his hands hold your gun and his eyes inspect the color and design of it.
“Not a bad firearm to have. Did you have someone buy it for you?”
“I stole it.”
His gaze on the gun disappears as he tilts his head up with his eyebrows raised to look at your serious face.
“I took it off a Redcoat a couple of days ago. Better looking than the other one I had.” You continued.
He only nods his head in understanding, not saying anything else as he gives the gun back to you. You place it back in its holster, looking at his face the entire time which goes back to the serious look he always has on.
“How has New York treated you?”
He questions as he starts to pace around the barn, glancing at you as you finally sit down on a bale of hay and rest your legs on another one next to you. From this, you can feel your feet relieved from the pain, but the aching is still there.
“I have been managing myself. Though, it is not as easy as you think.”
You see Haytham makes his way over to you as you answer him, his soft stare starting to melt your heart. His eyes are now a bright gray with a hint of some blue in there too; he looks like a dream.
He sits down beside you on another bale of hay and he gently and slowly moves your legs to rest on his. As he glances at your features, his voice also grows soft, and his large hands start to caress your legs, but you do not flinch or make a sound, actually liking the care he is giving you. Your body starts to relax, but your cheeks leave a tinted red there, a small blush that he cannot help but chuckle at.
“I can see that.”
He pauses for a moment, the silence filling up the barn as you two glance at each other. In your mind, you are in heaven, living in a dream that has come true.
“I do wonder though, how you have survived all this after leaving the Order.”
“I only learned from the best, Haytham.”
Your smile at his thoughtful statement has him smiling along with you. Just then, you feel his other hand touch your right cheek, caressing it so gently that you could cry. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment, as you can tell from how blue his eyes have become, but you do not mind it at all. He has always been such a gentleman, from all those years you two have been together. It only seems like it was yesterday that you left and that he came all this way just to meet you in this very spot, away from Redcoats nonetheless. Though he wears a Redcoat outfit himself, you do not question it, already knowing that it is probably a disguise mission gone wrong.
The tension in the air is soft; just polite stares and sweet smiles on each other’s faces. You lean forward, along with him, looking into each other’s eyes, wondering, from each other’s point of view, who is going to do what first. A gentle brush of his lips against yours, a small kiss planted on your or his cheek, even something more like a gentle thumb brushing over your nose and his lips pressing against the tip of it in a loving, caring manner. Yet, that does not happen. Instead, he slowly and gently presses his forehead against yours, and a loving smile on his lips.
“Bienvenido a casa, mi amor.”
That is all he whispers to you. Nothing else needed to be said.
#haytham kenway#ac3#assassin's creed#assassins creed 3#assassins creed#assassins creed iii#assassin's creed 3#haytham#assassin's creed iii#asks#thank you anon#haytham kenway x reader#haytham x reader
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Don't know if anyone's posted this here, but this was on Adrian Hough's Instagram page. I can't unsee a young Haytham Kenway and now neither can you.
You're welcome ❤
(Source: @/realadrianhough on Instagram)
#adrian hough#haytham kenway#young haytham kenway#assassin's creed#assassin's creed iii#assassin's creed rogue#assassin's creed 3#assassins creed#assassins creed iii#assassins creed rogue#ac rogue#ac iii#ac 3#photo not mine#will remove if asked
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your thoughts on shay? <3
OMG RHEHRHEH I love Shay SO MUCH HOLD ON GUYS
God there's so much to love about him, he goes from being constantly berated during his time in the brotherhood to saying fuck them and going to the templars for his bettered life.
I think his character is so complex and it is so much more than just, I am doing this for the templars, he's doing it for himself.
Hes so silly too I just love how serious and goofy he is GAH I just love that trope.
I just think it's so devastating what he went through, losing something he loved, killing his BEST FRIEND and possible lover God he was so heartbroken. Then he meets cool important Templar man and dedicates his whole years to the order to find a fuckin box, it hurts so badddd.
I heavily ship Haytham with him too and it hurts so bad how they didn't have them have any fling in the game bc Haytham would MOST DEFINITELY be with him then send him off and forget about their relationship God he's such a DICK LIKE THAT
All things said I love Shay sososososo much and I wish he got a longer more deep game but I love Rogue either way, it's so underrated.
Thanks for asking anon HEHEHEHGS
#assassin's creed#assassins creed#assassin's creed rogue#ac rogue#shay patrick cormac#ramble#ask#answer#haytham kenway#character analysis#shay cormac#ac shay cormac#scallywagrants
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AC3/ Haytham and Ziio and baby Connor
#AC3#assassin's creed 3#Haytham Kenway#Ziio#baby Connor#alternate ac3#I had this idea to ask 'what if'#i made this 10 yrs ago#shatinnart
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Of course it doesn’t matter how late to the fandom or how old the games you like are as long as you have fun doing so that’s all that matters in my opinion. Games are there to be played for all time they’re timeless masterpieces for people to enjoy.
Yes Keep Posting, I encourage you to. Glad I could reassure and remind you, it means a lot to me that my words had a positive effect on you. Truly it does.
Which are the older games in the franchise that you like? In terms of old I like Black Flag, Rogue and AC2/Brotherhood in no particular order. What’s yours?
I'm hardpressed to pick one or even a few. I like them all for different reasons, and each of the games means something a little different to me. Even Unity, which I mostly loathed, I will begrudgingly admit had some merit to it.
I think my favourites are AC3, Syndicate, and Rogue, in no particular order. They're definitely the ones I replay the most, and there's no topping Haytham Kenway or Evie Frye. In fact, I firmly believe that the Kenway saga should have gotten one entry each, especially as Ezio got three for himself. It was a mistake to combine Haytham and Connor/Ratohnhaké:ton, and I would have liked to see Desmond's story and choices fleshed out even more, especially in the wake of Lucy and Monteriggioni; I still really miss Desmond from pretty much every game. And GIST! I love that guy. I don't care one iota that his voice is so anachronistic, he's perfect, though I wish we'd had more time with Munro. The Morrigan > the Jackdaw.
Still gotta laugh at the horse butts in AC3, though. 😂
#you ask kit answers#assassin's creed#ac#creed#ac3#ac iii#assassin's creed: syndicate#syndicate#assassin's creed: rogue#rogue#haytham kenway#connor kenway#evie frye#christopher gist#desmond miles
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Oh you reached that twist of the game! I'm pretty sure they hid it from all the promotional material before release and everything! (All the ones I saw atleast)
Where we find out Haytham is not an assassin? Yeah wtf??
I have zero knowledge about this game so it took me a long moment to actually realise why everyone was suddenly shocked that Haytham was inducting Charles Lee into the Templars 😅
I assumed because Ratonhnhaké:ton was the main protagonist, that Haytham was an assassin too, and that idk Haytham just died or something?? Anyway uhhhh fuck them old white guys am I right 🖕
#asks#assassin's creed iii#assassin's creed 3#assassin's creed#haytham kenway#ratonhnhaké:ton#ac3 blogging
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Here's an idea I think you might enjoy: animus but Des is in their head, controlling them. They can feel it and talk to him and everything, ratatouille style.
……………… You know what would be funny, nonny?
If Desmond sucks at controlling them.
Like, we’ve heard the rites of passage in AC games:
We make them jump instead of doing a leap of faith
We accidentally make them climb the wrong high building and the actual viewpoint is the tower next to it
We miscalculate a jump and fall into the waters below or into an unsuspecting civilian
And there’s the game specific problems I refuse to believe I’m the only one who suffered thru it.
So just imagine Desmond trying to control them in the Animus and they know they’re being controlled.
There’s this… change in the air around them. It feels more charged. More… mysterious.
And they also become clumsier for some goddamn reason.
Incidents include:
Altaïr falling into the waters in the docks of Acre for the fifteenth time and he just hisses under his breath, “What is wrong with you?! Do you enjoy seeing me wet?!” and Desmond’s just “Dude, your control sucks!” which leads to Altaïr having an argument with Desmond under his breath about how his ‘control’ (whatever that means) does not suck, Desmond just sucks at this thing he likes to call ‘platforming’ and they both just agreed that, yeah, okay, they’re gonna assassinate Sibrand by going around instead even if it meant Altaïr had to walk slowly and pretend to be praying the entire time.
Altaïr breathing heavily as he glared at the ten (nope, five more guards found him in open combat, damn it) guards trying to kill him. One of them stepped forward and raised his sword. Altaïr readied himself and he still got hit, “(Growl)! Desmond! Get your timing right!” “Your Hidden Blade counter timing is too fast, Altaïr! Let’s just use your swor-” “No! You will learn how to counter using the hidden blade or, I swear, I will find a way to control you and drill it to your body myself!” (Guards just glance at each other, thinking “oh shit, he’s insane”)
Ezio just staring into the sky as he places his hands on his waist as he called out, “Desmond! How about we try this again later?” “No! I almost got it!” “……… It’s been an hour, Desmond. Let’s try clearing this tomb after-” “No! We’re gonna get that Armor today if it’s the last thing we do! Just… this goddamn time limit is annoying! Time limit sucks!” Ezio who is already used to the mysterious voice (who calls himself Desmond)’s strange words: “………… (sigh)”
“I can take them out. Desmond, please, I’m begging you, let me take them out. I can do-” (Desmond takes control and Ezio watches as his recruits take down the targets) The recruits looking at Ezio for approval. Ezio: Bene, that was a good takedown. (inside, Ezio is just tired because Desmond is enjoying all this ‘summoning’ thing too much…)
“Why can’t we have different lethal bombs?! You have the ingredients for it!” “I don’t know, Desmond. Could we just please finish preparing all the bombs?” “Dude, wouldn’t it be better if we have, like, all of these bombs?” “… I don’t think I have enough space in belt for all of them…” “You should get a bag.” “(Sigh) Desmond, we already talked about this. This Animus of yours don’t allow more ‘inventory’, right?” (inside, Ezio is wondering what his life has become that he sorta kinda understand the words leaving his mouth)
“Desmond… I’m imploring you to not mess this up.” “I’m trying, man, this is hard.” “Who are you talking to, Haytham?” “Ziio! No… no one.” “…” “… sigghhh… Desmond say hello to Ziio.” “Hi, Ziio.” “… is this a curse placed upon you white men?” “…” “…” “…” “Perhaps.” “Sorta?”
“You are a Templar. May the Father of Understanding guide us.” “May the Father of Understanding guide us.” “Wait, what?!” “…” “…” “Master Kenway, is something the matter?” “… no, Charles. I simply… remembered something foul.”
“It’s okay, Desmond. You’ll get this soon enough. Just take a deep breath and………… Desmond. Desmond. Please stop doing whatever you’re doing right now. My head is starting to hurt.” “It’s not me! The cameras of these tree view points sucks ass!”
“How is it you came to captain a ship, given the way you sail?” “Oh, screw you, Haytham! You wanna talk shit, why don’t you try doing this shit yourself, huh?!” “…” “…” “…” “… Apologies, father. Desmond was out of line.” “No, I’m not, fuck you, Haytham!” “I can say with absolute delight I have not missed you one bit, Desmond.” “Bite me, tacohead.” “I still do not know what that means.”
#desmond is using the animus#to control them ratatouille style#but he sucks at controlling them#shenanigans happen#is he truly controlling them in the past?#or is this the animus giving them more agency than anyone expected#regardless#they suffer as desmond tries to not get them killed#ask and answer#assassin's creed#desmond miles#altaïr ibn la'ahad#ezio auditore#ratonhnhaké:ton#connor kenway#haytham kenway#teecup writes/has a plot#fic idea: assassin's creed
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Haytham did one good thing. One!
And that was give us Connor
LAMOAHDJA fumbled the bag with Ziio he could’ve just been happy with her fr
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Chapters: 1/6
Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Relationships: Haytham Kenway & Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor
Summary:
Lee answered, with a hand on his holster, staring past Haytham for danger. “Kenway, what the blazes—”
Haytham pushed his way inside. “I have a son!”
“I beg your pardon?” Lee was still huffing. He closed the door.
“A son. I found my son.”
There was a moment’s pause. Lee’s eyebrows shifted from baffled to concerned. “I am not sure what you were taught, Kenway, but one does not simply find a son.”
“I know that,” Haytham snapped. “But this boy is mine. He’s my son.”
***
Haytham Kenway comes across a boy practising archery outside of the city. He releases it's his son.
And he cannot allow his son to be trained to kill him.
So the alternative is raising him himself.
Chapter One
Haytham enjoyed a morning ride.
It was the smell of the hay; the quiet of him and the horse as he bridled it himself; that made him feel nostalgic. The simplicity of it all. The crips morning air; the pale blue sky; the empty streets; which were peaceful. It was easy, in the mornings, to forget about assassins and templars and the stakes that came with it.
He rode out of the city, often. And riding out of the city made him think of her. Ziio. Where she was now, and if she thought of him. She must think of him. Thinking of her always circled back round to thinking of The Apple, which was a pit of despair he forced his mind away from.
He heard the arrow before he saw it. It shot across the path, and thudded into a nearby tree trunk. The feathers on the end quivered.
Still the horse reared, and he had to yank the reins to keep it under control. It hardly seemed like an ambush, or a planned attack, but still, his guard rose. No allies knew he was out here – he was vulnerable. Though armed, at least. He stopped, ears straining to hear.
There was a thud from the trees. Haytham’s mind imagined someone dragging a body. Perhaps there were bandits out here. His muscles tensed.
A muffled voice came from the same direction as the arrow. Cursing, in a foreign language. But Haytham relaxed: it was a child’s voice. Unlikely to be a bandit, but curious, that one was out alone in the woods – shooting arrows, no less.
Haytham slipped form the saddle, looping the reins over a tree branch by way to telling his horse to stay put.
“It’s no use, osthó:seri, I’ll never hit the target.”
The voice said, with a soft accent familiar to Haytham. He crept towards the noise. After so many years sneaking round cities, it was irritating to think about twigs and dead leaves giving him away.
He heard a cluck. A sigh.
Haytham stood in the trees on the edge of an estate. The grand house sat on the opposite hill. The surrounding buildings were half-fallen down, half-taken over by nature. Everything was so overgrown it was a wonder anyone still called it home. He must have ridden further than he thought.
Just beyond the trees was an archery range with targets bleeding hay onto the dusty ground. A boy, no older than twelve, stood fiddling with a bow. The boy was a native. Like her. Very much like her, with his warm, brown skin and mess of dark hair. The odd braid swung haphazardly at the line of his jaw. Though he wasn’t dressed like a native; he wore a shirt and trousers two sizes too big, at least.
He faced a chicken that had been placed unceremoniously on a dead tree stump.
It gave another series of clucks, trying to step from its throne.
“No. You stay here.” The boy grabbed the chicken, pressing it back into place. “You are better company than Achilles.”
It must have been the peaceful morning, because Haytham couldn’t help smiling. Especially as the chicken went to run again.
He didn’t realise he shifted his weight until he heard the crack under his boot. A twig. It was a stupid, careless mistake.
The boy heard. Reacted quickly, his head snapping round like a dog’s, an arrow already notched into place and aimed vaguely at the trees.
“Who’s there?!” He was more angry than fearful.
He’d been discovered, but there was no danger from a child and a chicken. Haytham raised his hands in mock-surrender. “From the way you were shooting, I doubt you’ll hit me with that.”
The boy’s dark eyes were full of fire; full of rage. And yet the stubborn frown of his mouth made him look all the younger. He was endearing – Haytham must be getting soft.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Haytham added, but the smirk was still on his face.
The boy slowly relaxed the string of the bow, bringing the arrow down.
“How long were you there?” he demanded.
“Only a few moments, I swear.”
“I was not talking to chicken.”
“Of course not.” And Haytham finally managed to stop smiling, and attempt to look serious.
The boy didn’t stop scowling though. His shoulders were hunched, as though he was ready for a fight. “Who are you?”
“I could ask you the same.”
It seemed to fluster the boy. He paused, glancing to the chicken, like he needed a second opinion. It only hopped from its perch, clucking as it made its way through the makeshift archery range.
The silence stretched on.
Haytham should go. He had no interest in children. But this one intrigued him; maybe simply because he reminded him of her, maybe because he was talking to a chicken on an abandoned estate.
“Do you live here?”
The boy hesitated. He nodded, once.
“With your family?”
He watched the boy’s hands tighten on the bow. That could be Haytham’s excuse – he was concerned for the boy. He tried to sound light, and conversational. “I only ask because I believed natives lived in the plains.”
The boy spoke slowly, staring at the floor. “Istá’s gone.”
“Your father?” Haytham asked. He got a furious headshake and a grunt of frustration, as though Haytham should understand the boy even when he mixed two languages. “Your mother?”
The boy nodded. He swallowed heavily, his knuckles white on the bow. “Men like you came. And now she’s gone.”
“I’m sorry.” And Haytham meant it, if only because of his own history with the natives. “And now you live here?”
Again, the boy paused, like he was considering how much to say, then nodded.
“Why?”
He looked Haytham up and down, as though he was able to see through him. Haytham stayed in the shadows. Between the bright morning sun and his hat, there was little chance the boy would see his face.
Eventually, he realised he was not getting an answer.
“What’s your name?”
“Ratonh—” The boy bit his tongue. “Connor.”
So he’d had another name before. He had changed it. It wasn’t completely unusual, but it fed that concern. The excuse for staying this long.
“Connor who?”
The boy shrugged. “Maybe Kenway.”
It would have been better if the boy had punched Haytham in the stomach. He couldn’t breathe. A native boy with the last name of Kenway. It was too much of a coincidence. It was impossible. And yet—
“Who told you?” he demanded, the words coming out taut as a bowstring. “Who told you that?”
The boy blinked, seemingly astounded by the sudden change. “Achilles.”
Achilles. Haytham should have thought of it before – should have connected it before – it wasn’t that common a name, after all.
“Not your mother?” he pressed.
The boy shook his head, half-raising the bow, though the arrow stayed slack in his other hand.
"Your mother – what was her name?”
The boy’s chest rose and fell quickly. He was nervous, looking over Haytham again, surely calculating how much he could say. What the harm in the questions was. His own curiosity – own want to talk about his mother – won out, “Kaniehtí:io.”
Haytham knew that name – at least, he knew the version of that name he could say. That was Ziio. This was Ziio’s son.
This could be Haytham’s son.
The boy stared, the bow raised like a shield, waiting to be attacked. But Haytham was frozen like a deer. He couldn’t breathe. The timeline would match up. This boy said his last name was Kenway. This was his son.
Ziio had a son and kept him hidden.
Because she had died. He had lost Ziio. The news was a shock, and he thought it should hurt more than it did. But it was a numb pain. She seemed like a stranger, all these years later. Now he knew what had happened: ‘men like him’ had killed her. But not this boy. His boy.
Who was on this Achilles’ estate. Achilles Davenport. It must be. Shay Cormac had told all about him. An assassin. Who was teaching his boy how to shoot a boy. His son was in training. Being trained to be an assassin. To kill him.
It was surely the plot of a melodrama.
“Connor.” Haytham said it without thinking about it. His son’s name. “I want you to promise me something.”
“Why?” Connor was still full of flames, practically sneering. Haytham understood that; why should he promise a nosy, white man anything?
“Because I could have killed you ten minutes ago, but I didn’t.” It was harsh, but he had to say it. He let his sword catch the light, though it only made the boy look angrier. “All I ask is that you will not mention this.”
“People only say that when they have a reason to hide.”
“Please.”
“No.”
It called his bluff. He was not going to hurt a child. Not this one. Haytham drew himself to full height – at least the boy couldn’t identify him. He could see from the boy’s clenched fists and stare that he was just as stubborn as his mother.
Fine. Haytham turned away, and picked a path back to his horse. All the boy could say was that a man came around asking questions. At most, that it was a white man. That was no information at all.
He began riding back home. Achilles would hear about this visit, and still suspect it was a templar. Which meant he had to act quickly.
He had been determined not to have children. To remove the Kenway line from the chessboard. A scrawny, native child made things even more complicated. Was he to bring him back to England? To quiet mansions in the city? A boarding school?
But he couldn’t leave him in the hands of assassins. Could not let his son be trained to hate and hunt him.
He had a duty, as a father. Especially now Ziio was gone. He was a father, and his son spoke to chickens and fired a ferocious, if inaccurate bow.
He had to get his son back. Ziio would surely want him to be raised by one of his parents. He told himself that. This was his responsibility.
It was all he could think about as the horse galloped back into the city. He would have ridden through the front door if the horse could fit. As such, he managed to get off just in time – fingers fumbling as he tied the reins to the fence. He hammered on the door.
Lee answered, with a hand on his holster, staring past Haytham for danger. “Kenway, what the blazes—”
Haytham pushed his way inside. “I have a son!”
“I beg your pardon?” Lee was still huffing. He closed the door.
“A son. I found my son.”
There was a moment’s pause. Lee’s eyebrows shifted from baffled to concerned. “I am not sure what you were taught, Kenway, but one does not simply find a son.”
“I know that,” Haytham snapped. “But this boy is mine. He’s my son.”
He couldn’t stop saying it.
Lee still stood by the door, still frowning, but at least his hand wasn’t on his gun anymore.
Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose to gather his thoughts. Took a breath, and leant against Lee’s bannisters.
“When I first arrived, a woman helped me search for the arteact. We – our relationship developed.” Haytham swallowed. It still felt surreal. “She must have had a son. I found a boy in the woods, whose name is Kenway.”
Lee folded his arms, his brow furrowed. “A boy? Out in the woods?”
“He’s a native.”
That concerned, almost pitying look returned, as though Lee really believed Haytham was losing his wits. “His mother was. She never said she was – I didn’t know—”
Lee spoke as slowly as he would have to a child. “You had a son with an Indian woman?”
Perhaps that should have been a shameful secret. “Yes,” he snapped. “That’s not the point—”
“You say you found him in the woods?”
“Yes.”
“What about his mother?”
“She’s—” It felt much more real, now that he had seen her son. “Passed. What’s more important is that he’s staying with Achilles.”
Back to surprise. Perhaps even mild interest. This was certainly the stuff of stories. “Achilles Davenport?”
“How many Achilles do you know with estates?”
“Well—” A slight shrug. “Didn’t Cormac leave him a cripple?”
“He’s training him. My son. He’s training my son to be an assassin.”
Lee leant back against the door. Certainly mildly interested now, perhaps even amused at Haytham’s position.
“So, what do you plan to do?”
“Bring him back.” There was no other option. It had to be done.
“An assassin?” Lee was incredulous. “An Indian boy?”
As if Haytham was out of his mind. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he should think this through. But he knew that sleeping on it would not change his resolve. He closed his eyes, thinking of the boy who spoke to chickens.
“He’s my son.”
*
Connor was only half-asleep. He rolled over, wanting to burrow deeper in the sheets. But he could hear noises. It must have been Achilles waking up and starting his day. He bumbled around just as dawn was breaking and would no doubt barge in on Connor in a few minutes. Even though mornings were for snoozing.
It was still dark. Connor peeked at his room. He would use the excuse that whilst it was still so dark, he would snooze.
There was another noise. A shifting of weight. The sound was very close.
It was in Connor’s room.
His mind abandoned the thought of sleeping entirely. It stood alert, like a listening rabbit. There was someone in his room. If it was Achilles, this was a test. If it wasn’t, it was an intruder.
Perhaps the man from yesterday morning.
He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. But the stranger’s voice had been soft. He had sounded amused. White men usually weren’t like that. Connor hadn’t thought there would be any harm in saying his name. He had weighed every answer, but hadn’t seen any harm in them. He was a fool.
He reached a hand under his pillow and curled his fingers around the handle of the knife he hid there. His ears were pricked for more movements. The floorboards shifted again and he could hear steps. There were two, maybe three.
Connor lay still, keeping his breathing even and his eyes closed. He could hear the strangers approaching. His heart was pounding. He could feel it in every part of his body. This was what he trained for.
There was someone over him. He could feel that. His fingers twitched on the knife. He forced himself to wait. There would be the perfect moment.
“Asleep,” a man’s voice whispered.
This was the moment.
Connor thrust his arm upwards, the pillow flinging aside as he twisted around to stab at his attacker. He could see three lurking shapes in his room.
A fist tightened around his wrist, keeping the dagger from its mark with frustrating ease. Connor flung his other arm at the meat of the man, kicking his legs and shifting himself upright. His fist found a stomach and he yelled as he kept punching at it, the dagger handle slipping in his hand.
The figure yanked him from the bed by his wrist. The two other figures closed in.
“For God’s sake, shut him up!” someone hissed, so Connor yelled louder, struggling in the vice like grip. More hands caught his ankles. His knuckles connected with a face.
Panic burst in his chest – now he was a rabbit in a snare. He twisted – yanked his wrist, so it was free for a moment. He plunged the dagger into one of the shadows. There was a moment resistance, before the blade burst through the man’s clothes and then it was strangely soft.
The man he had just stabbed bellowed. His other arm was released. He lashed out with his fist, aiming for the first man’s groin and receiving a satisfying grunt.
He freed his ankles, screaming Achilles’ name, only to find himself pinned to the floor by his shoulders. His attacker was stronger, his arms too short to punch or stab the man and the grip on his ankles had been renewed. It made him feel very small, very weak.
“Connor – calm down – Connor!” a voice – a soft voice hissed at him. He tried to shout more, but he was out of breath. It wouldn’t come. He’d dropped the knife in the scuffle.
He could hear more voices. A mess of swearing and the word ‘opium.’ That was what Achilles took for the pain in his leg. Connor had knocked the man out for an entire afternoon when he had put too much in his tea.
Panic flared through him like lightning.
His struggle was in vain. Something wet was pressed over his mouth. He gagged on the cloth, his shouts replaced by coughs and the overpowering smell. It felt like a fog; invading his mind. It made it hard to think – hard to fight.
“That’s it, Connor, that’s it.”
He heard the voice once more, a few more garbled swears, and then everything was black.
*
There was blood on Connor’s hand.
He stared at it. It had dried to a dark brown and crusted under his nails. Another man’s blood stained his hand. Maybe he had killed him.
He had woken a while ago. The room was dark. There was a window at the top of the wall, but it was much too high to climb to. Much too small for him to wiggle through. It only let in a weak, winter sunlight.
The room had an iron bedstead that creaked when he had sat on it. One of the rods was loose, and he had spent ten minutes weakening it. He could pull it straight off from the headboard if needed. That was a weapon. The other furniture in the room was a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. The back of the wardrobe was wobbly, but it had been set against the wall. The chest of drawers held a candle, but no matches, a thimble and a spool of thread. He could work with the thread, he supposed.
The door was, of course, locked. He put an eye to it, but he couldn’t see anything in the room beyond. He couldn’t feel a breeze.
He tried ramming it. It didn’t even wobble; all Connor achieved was an aching shoulder.
Achilles had been teaching him how to lockpick, but there weren’t the right tools here. He usually hid a pick in pockets, but he not in his nightshirt. It was all he had.
So, he sat back down and waited. That was when he noticed the blood. But there was only so much he could stare at the blood on his hand until he got bored, and there was only so long he could sit cross legged on the floor.
He lay on his back, watching a spider in the corner of the room as it fiddled with a fly. He was so absorbed that he jumped when the door opened.
Connor scrambled to his feet. Tried to look menacing, though his hair hung in his eyes.
A man stood in the doorway. He recognised the hulking silhouette from the woods.
“Connor,” the newcomer sounded faintly surprised. “I hope you haven’t been awake too long.”
Connor didn’t say anything. He clenched his fists, the way Achilles taught him, thumbs out, knuckles pressed together.
“I know how you feel,” the man continued. It was that voice; the kind, understanding voice, from yesterday. The one that had put him at ease. “I know exactly how you feel.”
“You know nothing,” Connor spat. It wasn’t difficult to be angry, he was furious.
“Do you know who I am?”
The man was calm, unbelievably calm, and it made the rage spark inside of Connor. He hated this man. This made had taken him from Achilles. This man had kidnapped him. He didn’t want to admit it, but it scared him. He was scared and confused, but that would make him seem weak. He wouldn’t let them see he was scared; he would stay angry.
The man still waited for an answer. Connor didn’t think he would be able to dodge round him and escape; at least, not right now. So, he answered, “The man in the woods.”
“Yes. That’s good,” the man said. He was treating him like a foolish child; maybe he was. “My name is Haytham Kenway.”
“You’re a templar,” Connor growled. He tried to be menacing, like a wolf, but he didn’t think he was very menacing.
The man didn’t deny it. He stayed calm and understanding. “I am not your enemy, Connor.”
“You are,” Connor tried to keep growling. “You’re the reason Achilles is hurt. You’re the reason istá is gone. Templars are bad.”
It wasn’t a strong enough word, but his mind didn’t feel up to anything more in English. It was difficult enough to translate when he still felt fuddled and his heart was racing.
The man – Kenway – knelt down in front of Connor. So he had to meet his gaze; his eyes were colourless, but not cold. They didn’t seem suited for warmth, either.
“There is a lot more going on than you understand,” he said. Gently. Like he was talking to a wild animal.
“I understand more than you think.”
“Do you understand why you’re here?”
“I’m not stupid!” Connor snapped. But he didn’t really know the reason; not any further than this was business between assassins and templars. He frowned at the man in front of him. Haytham Kenway. He knew the name if not the face. He knew what Achilles had told him. “You’re think you’re my father.”
“That’s right,” the man still had that gentle tone of voice that made Connor trust him yesterday. Now it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. It was much easier to think of his father as a cold, ruthless killer, than the very real, very normal man in front of him. “I was sure, once I heard your mother’s name. I called her Ziio.”
He paused. It seemed like he was waiting for a reaction from Connor. He was hardly going to rejoice, but it was oddly worse not knowing how to react. He clenched his fists, and his jaw, and glared. Being angry seemed safer.
His mother had never mentioned this man; never really spoke about his father, other than to say he was an outsider. But it wasn’t impossible that he would call her that. None of this was impossible.
“You have to understand, I couldn’t leave you there with that man, learning all sorts of—"
“The truth.”
Connor stared. It was all the truth. The man stared back at him, the lines around his mouth deepening. But he didn’t argue that point.
“You are my son, and you should be at my side,” Kenway said, instead finality. As though it was simple. His tone was firm – fitting for the image he had in his head. But there was still that gentleness from before. Underneath it all, though, there was a flicker of fear.
Why should this man be afraid of anything?
“Should I be locked in a room all alone?” Connor asked.
He must have been imagining the look of embarrassment that flickered across Kenway’s face. It must have been a trick of the light. Surely this man wouldn’t be embarrassed about anything.
“It’s so you don’t hurt yourself,” he said. “Or, anyone else. Lee is still with the surgeon because of the wound you gave him.”
He could not feel sorry for that. “Good.”
Kenway’s mouth twisted. As if, for a moment, he was going to smile. But then it remained stern. Connor still glared. He would not show weakness.
“I am to stay here?” he asked.
“With me, yes,” Kenway said. “When I can trust you not to stab me, you’ll find yourself with more freedom.”
Connor glanced around the room. Fury pounded at his skull, but he’d learnt enough from Achilles, by now. He knew that throwing a tantrum wasn’t going to get him back to the Davenport homestead. He would have to be patient. And as manipulative as he could be.
“Achilles gave me a better room,” he said, folding his arms.
“And Achilles most likely trusted you to not stab in his sleep,” Kenway rose abruptly, his voice suddenly an angry snap. He had one hand on the door handle when he turned back, his eyes glistening. “I notice he didn’t stop us. It was pathetic, really.”
Connor thought about rushing forward and attacking, but he knew it wouldn’t help his situation. He would likely be pushed aside.
“It wasn’t fair!” Connor bellowed, instead, as Kenway slammed the door.
No, he had to be smarter. He thought back on the conversation, examining any weakness that this templar might have. Achilles had taught him that much. He was going to find his way out of this. Prove to Achilles that he could.
This Kenway did seem to have some kind of concern for him. It seemed to go further than just feeling entitled to his son. He’d trapped him here, but seemed strangely guilty all the same.
Connor could work with guilty.
He pulled the sheet off from the bed and crouched under the bed with it. Kenway wanted to feel guilty? Connor would make him feel guilty.
It was more boring waiting for someone to return than he had thought. He hadn’t actually meant to fall asleep. He had meant to lie there and stew in his own anger and fury. He hated that he was brought here and that he was too weak to fight off the men and hated that Achilles was left alone. He was a grumpy old man, that was for sure, but that didn’t mean that he should get hurt. Not for helping Connor. Never for helping Connor. Not when he had forced Achilles into teaching him in the first place. Now, maybe he thought Connor had run away.
He missed the Homestead. He missed his comfortable room with a small, but growing collection of things he could call his own. The chickens would miss him, and probably would get hungry. Not to mention the few pigs, and his horse. He missed his horse.
Thinking of the homestead lulled him to sleep.
The door unlatched.
The click made Connor’s eyes snap open. He knew where he was, but it took him a moment to remember all the details. His father and the uncomfortable feeling that settled in his chest with the knowledge. Especially why he was lying on the floor in a sheet soaked with his own sweat.
He peered up from under the bedstead to see Kenway standing over him again. This time with a large loaf of bread and a steaming bowl. He could smell chicken and despite himself, his stomach grumbled for it.
“Really?” Kenway raised an unimpressed eyebrow, his almost black eyes piercing through to Connor’s soul. He seemed almost disappointed.
Disappointed hadn’t been what Connor was going for.
“Really,” he said, ignoring the aching of his stomach and burying himself in the sheets. “If you are going to treat me like wild animal, I shall behave like one.”
“You’ve already behaved like one.”
“I am,” Connor popped his head out from the sheet, glaring at Kenway anew. “I am akohs—” He stopped suddenly, trying to find the right word and cursing his brain for forgetting it now, when it was so crucial. It made him look even more foolish. “Boy – boy horse.”
“A stallion?”
“No.”
“A colt?”
“A colt. You cannot trap me with any fence.”
Kenway stared at him for a long moment and Connor struggled to read the expression on his face. He shouldn’t have feelings; he was a templar master. He shouldn’t look as if he was about to smile, or liked Connor in any way. He leant down and placed the bowl on the ground. Slowly, he sat on the floor opposite him and held out the bread. Connor stared.
“You must be hungry.”
“I’m not,” Connor snapped, snatching the bread. He tore the top off, glaring as best as he could when his mouth was full and his stomach grumbling. He hated the spark of amusement in Haytham’s eye – he didn’t want to be amusing. He wanted to be fierce. He didn’t want to see this man as human.
“Who taught you English?” Kenway asked.
Connor stayed quiet, still chewing on the huge mouthful of bread. It seemed to be expanding in his mouth.
“Istá,” he said, thickly.
“Your mother.”
He swallowed. It hurt his throat as it went down and seemed to sit heavily in his stomach.
"You going to teach me?” he said, taking another large bite.
“You speak it well, but I can if you let me.”
“No.”
Kenway sighed and leant backwards. More slightly annoyed than truly irritated, which hadn’t been Connor’s plan.
“You’re here, now, Connor,” he said, at length. “You might as well make the most of it.”
Connor stuck his tongue out. He would not make the most of it. He would fight at every opportunity, he decided. He would never give in. That was what Achilles would have wanted.
Achilles. Had they hurt him, too? Connor hoped they hadn’t. Hoped that the man could carry on coping with his homestead, even with his injury. Kenway gave a long sigh through his nose and stared at Connor. Connor stared back, chewing slowly. He would not look away.
Kenway broke first.
And Connor felt a flicker of satisfaction. It actually made him want to keep talking. "You're going to make me a templar.”
Haytham didn't reply immediately. He ran a hand over his jaw. Then, "No."
Connor blinked. That wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d expected that he would be converted to the other side, and set on Achilles instead, like he was a trained dog. That he wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.
"No. Your mother didn't teach you about Templars or Assassins." Those dark eyes turned on him, and were serious. "She didn't want you to be part of either world. I’ll honour her wishes."
He continued staring. For so long that Connor felt self-conscious; though he didn’t care about his messy hair, or the blood still on his hand. He shifted, dipping the soup in the bread and gulping more of it down. What did this white man think of him. Why should it matter?
"I will drop ears on you." He would still be an assassin, even if he was trapped here. If it was the only defiance he could have.
"You can eavesdrop, but I don't know who you'll speak to."
"I'll escape."
"Alright." The look on his face said he didn't believe Connor could do it. "I wasn't planning to have you stay in the city. I thought about sending you to school."
Connor stopped. He put down the bread, and looked at Haytham. His heart banged against his ribcage like it wanted to be let out. School was much scarier, suddenly, than templars. A nightmare.
"What do you think they'll call me at school?" he asked. "How you do you think they will act?"
That knocked Kenway back. He blinked, his mouth working, as he thought about that. Connor could have grinned; it felt like he had won. Kenway sat back on his heels, his brows drawing together.
"What do you think they'll call you anywhere?"
"I know what they call me." He wasn’t being treated like a child anymore; he was being spoken to like an adult. It numbed the anger, when it shouldn’t. "Will you let them do that?”
"I'm not going to be the over-protective father,” Kenway said. Paused, and it was Connor’s turn to doubt him. He raised his eyebrows. Kenway sighed. “I didn't even want to be a father."
"Then why am I here?"
"Because I cannot have the alternative of you staying with Achilles.” Again, he paused, looking him over, and Conor wondered what he saw. A savage native boy, like most white men thought? “I won't have you becoming a killer."
"You are."
"Exactly.” Haytham drew himself up, as though trying to gain any kind of authority when he was also sat on the floor. “You are going to be a nice, normal little boy and grow into nice, normal young man."
"But I'm not normal." He was a native. Conor found himself smiling. He shifted, picking up the bowl of soup. "You think your enemies will let me live? That no assassin or templar will hurt me?"
Haytham’s eye twitched. "I'll teach you to defend yourself."
And Connor was enjoying the feeling of winning an argument. "So, you will train me?"
"You—" Haytham Kenway pointed a finger at him. Frowning, but there was a smile threatening to tug the corner of his mouth. "Are just like your mother."
And it shouldn't matter. That really shouldn't matter. His mother was not a magic word. But being like her felt like it was. Made him smile, despite everything, despite the fire raging inside him and that this man was the enemy. Because he missed his mother, still, and his chest still hurt to think about her.
Here was a man who also claimed to love her. "You loved Istá."
"I did."
Conor shrugged. He drunk some of the soup; it was thick and warm and numbed the pain of thinking about his mother. It was because of that pain – because this man thought he knew anything about her – that he said. "She did not mention you."
"She did not mention you.” Another very long gaze, and he didn’t meet it this time. He was very aware of how different they were. He did not and would never look like this man – not that he would want to. It was a strange feeling, one that had been creeping up on him since he joined Achilles. He had left his people, and he missed them greatly. Whilst he was away from them, he would never fit in with these people. He could talk their language, and wear their clothes, but the colour of his skin would always make him stand out.
He didn’t look anything like his father.
“Will you not escape for one day, please?" Kenway asked. Somewhat soft.
Connor finished chewing the bread and soup. "I'll think about it."
#turnupswrites#assassins creed#connor kenway#haytham kenway#fanfiction#ac#assassins creed 3#i am so good at writing fanfic no one asked for!#or will read!#this is incredibly self-indulgent
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" i was a heavy heart to carry ,
my beloved was weighed down. "
#shaytham#shay cormac#haytham kenway#assassin's creed rogue#art tag//#ask haytham#//#im just gonna drop this and be on my way
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Imagine being with Haytham and/or Shay as a cirquemaster of some sort. Something like Cirque du Soleil (which is what activated the neurons). Especially if you look really small but you can sling them around on a highwire or something.
Give the poor men a heart attack if you're doing the trapeze or silks and you suddenly start whipping them around. Something tells me Shay would have a great time while Haytham would be going "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT THIS WAS NOT PLANNED HELP"
I’d just like to say that the ones in Cirque de Soleil are the real ones for such an art
Shay is all for it! Cheering you on, commending you for your skills, always asking about how you’re able to do certain tricks and maneuvers, and has some choice words for you in your appealing outfits he’s grown fond of 😏
Haytham on the other hand is panic™️ whenever you do your flips or more complex aerodynamics, hoping you don’t fall! Plus, if you’re smaller than him, he’s really more shocked than surprised you can carry him. Still, he does offer you choice words of compliments and praise for what you can do
#inbox asks#assassin’s creed x reader#assassin’s creed#assassin's creed#haytham kenway x reader#haytham kenway#assassin’s creed iii#haytham#shay cormac#shay cormac x reader#shay patrick cormac#headcanons#assassin’s creed rogue#ac rogue#ac iii
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