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Chapter Text

Kaniehtí:io - 11 July 1743 - Kanatahséton Valley

When Kaniehtí:io was a little girl, her mother, Oiá:ner, the Clan Mother of the Kanien’kehá:ka Native American tribe always told her stories. Whether it be folklore from the past, how the Kanien’kehá:ka hunted and traded with the other tribes, or even just quick moral lessons, she listened to every single word her mother said with utmost attention. Young Kaniehtí:io especially loved when her mother spoke of spiritual tales and legends of the First Civilization Gods.

On one day particularly, Oiá:ner had a story to tell her daughter. She walked out of their shared longhouse and looked upon the village trying to find her spirited and tough-as-leather child. The Clan Mother knew that at this time Kaniehtí:io would be either playing with the other village children or climbing trees.

“Kaniehtí:io, would you come here please? I must speak with you,” the Clan Mother asked when she finally saw her daughter skip into the village entrance.

“Yes? What is it, Ista?” she responded cheerfully after walking to their longhouse.

Her mother tsked her and said in a happy tone, “Hmmm, lately you have been playing a lot under the sun of the Kanatahséton Valley. No wonder you are caked with dirt in your hair and grass on your clothes.”

Kaniehtí:io answered by attempting to brush off the grass and pluck out the dirt. The Clan Mother softly giggled. Remembering why she came to her in the first place, Kaniehtí:io asked, “What do you need from me again, Ista?”

Her mother said, “Ahh yes, I requested your presence because I wanted to tell you a story, but this one is special since you will be turning thirteen years old tomorrow.”

Kaniehtí:io gasped, “Oh yes! How could I have possibly forgotten?! Thank you for reminding me, Ista!”

“It is not a problem,” the Clan Mother said with a smile. “You will soon be a young woman, therefore I must tell you this legend.” Now Kaniehtí:io was especially excited since she absolutely adored the myths her mother spoke of the most.

“What is it about?”

“Patience, my beautiful snow, listen up,” Oiá:ner said. “Everyone in this world is meant for one another, but we do not know it. The word to describe this is ‘soulmate’. Everyone has a soulmate they do not know that is somewhere out in the world. Eventually, time will come for you to meet them either physically or spiritually and that is a very crucial moment. You will feel so much. Some people feel utter bliss while others feel that fate is against them. The thing is, you do not know who your soulmate will be, not until time and fate reveal them. Even the Gods of the First Civilization were connected in this way. The Goddesses and Gods met their husbands, wives, and lovers because they were soulmates.

Kaniehtí:io kindly interrupted, “But Ista, why are you telling me this now? Why not in the future, or when I was younger?”

“The reason I am telling you this now is because when you were younger you were so carefree and loved to run around and play with the other children, which you still do now, but you did not understand yet. And I am not telling you in the future because you will not care to listen either. Your age right now is a very special time in your life; you are old enough to interpret and listen to what I am telling you yet young enough to not ignore me and act rebellious.” Kaniehtí:io gravely nodded and apologized to her mother for interrupting.

“It is nothing to worry about, my child,” her mother reassured her and continued with the story, “Once you meet your soulmate, you two will stay together forever, through life and even death. If a person passes away, their soulmate will continue on with their life but will deeply remember their lost significant other. However, even when they go on living their life’s worth in this world, the deceased soulmate will become their guardian angel. They will look over their living loved one as a spirit. You see, Kaniehtí:io, this is what I mean when I say that you two will stay forever through life and death. Your connection with your soulmate is not magic nor is it a curse, it is one of fate. It is the power of love.

Kaniehtí:io had no words to say to her mother. She never knew such a force existed in the world. Love is a powerful yet beautiful thing, that she knew from the various stories her mother had told her. Usually what Kaniehtí:io associated with love was her adoration for running, playing, climbing trees, learning, and for her family and tribe. This was all very new for her and she struggled to believe what her mother told her, but she tried her hardest to hide it, not wishing to disappoint.

Oiá:ner interrupted her thoughts and said, “I understand that this myth I am telling you is very different from the other stories I have shared. My Ista told me this legend as well on the eve of my thirteenth birthday, thus I am telling it to you now, my beautiful snow.”

The girl nodded her head slowly whilst staring at the ground. Yes, the Clan Mother was correct, she never felt love in that way before, only with her family. Now Kaniehtí:io was curious of how it will feel.

“Ista, this is all very new to me. Thank you for sharing this legend with me, I will consider it when I am older,” Kaniehtí:io thanked.

Her mother answered, “Yes, yes you will.”

Chapter Text

Haytham Kenway - 14 July 1754 - Boston, Massachusetts

Haytham had been planning this mission for a while. Surprisingly he had Thomas to thank for giving him the idea in the first place. The mission was simple: commandeer the oncoming convoy, steal the redcoat outfits, drive the carts into Southgate Fort, free the slaves, then kill Silas Thatcher. Well, easier said than done, Haytham thought. As of right now, Haytham and Charles were perched on a roof of a building while the others: William, Thomas, Ben, and John were on the ground floor. The Grandmaster had commanded the men on the ground to flip over a wooden cart to signal that the convoy was approaching and that it was time to strike.

While Haytham was waiting, he saw the convoy approaching. He was also able to witness that the second cart was filled with Mohawk slaves and that there were redcoats surrounding the entire perimeter of the escort. Though upon closer look, he saw that sitting at the front along with the chauffeur was a Mohawk woman. Why does this one woman receive special treatment compared to the other slaves, Haytham wondered. What perplexed him even more was that she had a nasty looking bruise on the left side of her face. If someone punched her, presumably a redcoat, then why does she ride at the front, he thought to himself. He tried not to get distracted by her and focused on his men’s signal.

Right as the convoy neared the wooden cart, the Templars flipped the heavy item. While the soldiers in red stood their place confused, Haytham motioned for Charles to jump. Both men landed right on top of two soldiers, killing the redcoats immediately. All hell broke loose. Dogs were barking, muskets and pistols were being shot, swords were swinging, and fists were flying. While Haytham was defending himself, he managed to catch the Mohawk woman’s eye. They stared at each other.

He didn’t know which words to use in order to describe the feeling. It felt quite magical. The woman had very calming chocolate brown eyes. Haytham usually noticed these close details, considering he was the Templar Grandmaster and needed to know every single fact and particularity about the people he was about to deal with. What really caught the Englishman off guard was the fact that he usually never paid attention to women. The work of a Templar required most of his time. Even when he was in a brothel trying to look for Thomas, he never truly paid attention to those women. This woman, though, had done something right in order to catch Haytham’s gaze.

His breathing calmed a bit, even in the intense atmosphere.

Haytham started to feel a little bit awkward when all of a sudden, the Mohawk woman yelled out, “Watch out!”

He could feel the pain before it happened. One sly redcoat sucker punched him across the jaw while the two were sharing a silent staredown. Angered, Haytham snarled and whipped out his cutlass to stabbed the soldier. Looking around, he saw his men with cuts and bruises, and a whole unit of dead men in red. Haytham gave his Templars a nod, and each man then dragged a soldier off into an alley to change.

~

Moments later, all the men gathered outside.

Haytham then began to explain the rest of the plan, “Charles, you and William serve as vanguard. Let no man reach us.”

“Wot ‘bout me?” Thomas asked.

Haytham responded without hesitation, “You and John will follow from a distance and keep watch over us. I’ll signal you when I have need of your services.”

Thomas nodded, and the men then proceeded to their positions. Haytham climbed into the driver’s seat of the convoy. He attempted to make it as least awkward as possible, but ended up brushing the woman’s arm slightly. He gave her a quick glance, only to see that she was completely faced away from him.

Haytham cleared his throat, “We’re here to help you - along with those held inside Southgate Fort.”

“Free me.”

He felt a weird fluttering in his stomach, hearing this woman speak. I didn’t expect her voice to sound this calming, he thought. Haytham shamed himself, clearing his mind of such useless thoughts.

He replied softly, trying to convince her, “Not until we’re inside the gate. I can’t chance an inspection at the gate going wrong. I’ll see you safe. You have my word.”

She didn’t answer. Rather, she turned her head away and sighed, staring off into the distance. Haytham really didn’t want to lose her- nor her people’s- trust. He really needed to be able to persuade her to believe in him. Haytham spurred the two horses, and the cart began to move.

As the convoy moved along, he tried to at least get some information from the mysterious lady, “Do you know anything of Silas’ operation? How many men we might expect? The nature of their defenses?”

No words came past her lips. Stubborn, Haytham thought, yet cautious.

“You must be rather important to him if you were given your own escort…”

William broke Haytham’s “conversation” with her, “Sir, we’ve enemies ahead. Shall I engage them?”

Haytham answered the Scotsman, all while his eyes were still on the enigma of a woman, “No. Let Jonathan and Thomas take care of it.”

“As you wish.”

On his left, he heard Thomas chant, “I’m gonna enjoy this!” while mowing down an oblivious redcoat.

Haytham sighed, “I wish you’d trust us… Though I suppose it’s only natural for you to be wary. So be it.”

She still didn’t budge nor utter a sound. He truly thought that she would at least acknowledge or say something, but apparently, she didn’t.

~

Once the convoy reached the entrance of Southgate Fort, a soldier stopped them.

“Halt,” he said, “State your business.”

“Delivery for Silas,” Haytham said cooly.

“Go on then,” the Redcoat said, bored.

As the got past the main gate, Haytham began to free the woman of her binds.

He talked whilst cutting the ropes, “See. I’m freeing you, just as I said I would. Now if you’ll allow me to explain-”

Right as the last string was sliced, she ran off and into the distance. Haytham was surprised by her speed and agility.

Before his men could say or do anything foolish, he said, “Let her go.”

“But she’ll give us away!” Thomas piped up.

“No she won’t.”

“What’s the plan now?” John asked.

Haytham replied, “Free the captives and avoid detection.”

Ben then further inquired with a look of pure disgust on his face, “What of Silas?”

“He dies.”

Chapter Text

Later That Day...

Haytham sat calmly and quietly on the stone barricades of Southgate Fort. He folded his legs up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them. Haytham never really had any time for this type of rest, thus he relished the times that he did get to relax and made the most of them. Then there she was. It was the mysterious woman again! She had returned! Haytham figured that after she had booked it once he cut her binds, she wouldn’t have returned. He thought wrong. The lady was here and helped escort her fellow Mohawk people out of the fort.

Then it happened again. They locked eyes. Again. This time, Haytham felt something warm crawl up his cheeks. What was this goddamn feeling, Haytham cursed in his mind. Instead of giving him a blank gaze like she did before, a soft smirk was on her face. Haytham gave her a warm smile in return, his eyes calming. The Mohawk woman looked down, then continued to lead her people out.

Charles broke the calming silence, “What happens now?”

He answered, “We wait. Though not for very long, I suspect…”

Kaniehtí:io - 15 July 1754 - Kanatahséton Valley

Yesterday had been a very interesting day for Kaniehtí:io. Well… “interesting” would be an understatement. Daunting, riveting, exciting, nerve wracking, fun, and maybe even… awkward? For one, she had never expected to have the British convoy attacked and controlled by a group of men lead by one fascinating Englishman. The long flowing navy blue overcoat, laced with golden embroidery, the blood-red undercoat, the crisp white cravats, and the funny-looking tricorn. He looked like he came straight from London! Well, maybe he did, Kaniehtí:io wondered for a moment.

She rethought her actions from yesterday, though. Maybe she was being a bit too harsh. No, she shook her head. Those people were NEVER supposed to be trusted. He was an Englishman for crying out loud! Those folks of the King’s Crown were only brewing up trouble with the French, waging war just because of pointless reasons. They had no right to interfere with another country’s business! Gosh, how Kaniehtí:io hated political feuds, though she knew that they could lead to bigger problems. No matter how captivating this Brit was, he should be avoided AT ALL COSTS, Kaniehtí:io told herself.

“What seems to be bothering you, child?” a soft voice from behind her spoke.

Kaniehtí:io turned her head around, and there stood her mother. She gave a small shake of her head and a smile. Kaniehtí:io was currently in the family longhouse cleaning her wounds after the other day’s “skirmish.”

“After all these years, yet you still refer to me as ‘child.’” she said with a scoff, “Nothing is bothering me, Ista.”

Oiá:ner didn’t look nor seem convinced, “I call you ‘child’ because you are still one in my eyes, though you have matured much over time, my dear. And you know that I can see through you. Especially after those ruffian English took you and some of the other tribespeople captive. So tell me again, what’s on your mind?”

Kaniehtí:io wasn’t surprised. She knew that her mother always saw through her, no matter what. She decided to just spill it.

“Ista, remember how I told you that someone had freed me yesterday?” Kaniehtí:io asked.

The Clan Mother nodded.

“Well… the perso- the man that saved me… was an Englishman,” she continued, cringing a little as she awaited her mother’s reaction.

For once she was surprised. Oiá:ner’s face held a blank expression. Kaniehtí:io had at least expected to see the old woman have furrowed brows and a straight pair of lips. Instead, she was met with a deadpan look.

Oiá:ner sighed, “I see. I guess there are some exceptions to the average English folk, nevertheless a MAN. Whatever you do, stay away from him, Kaniehtí:io.”

“Yes, yes, Ista, I know. I’ve been telling myself that for the past hour.”

Kaniehtí:io’s mother gave her a quick nod and then left the longhouse. The children of Kanatahséton Valley could be heard giggling and running about outside. The birds were chirping, and Mother Nature herself was quite lively today. Maybe she could go out for a hunt, Kaniehtí:io reasoned, besides, the children complained of the hunger in their bellies and she did miss the delicious taste of venison and rabbit stew. She knew that hunting and freerunning on the forest’s trees would assist in easing her mind about the man from the day before. What was it about those grey eyes, confident voice, and tall stature captivated her so much? He was most likely like any other Brit. Selfish, greedy, and loyal to the Crown. Kaniehtí:io finished tending to her wounds then grabbed her knife, bow, arrows, and quiver. After adjusting her gear, she exited the longhouse.

Haytham Kenway - 15 November 1754 - Green Dragon Tavern

“Hello Charles. Any luck finding our mystery woman?”

After the rescue mission on the Mohawk captives, Haytham and his men had been waiting for months for any contact from the tribe. So far there had been none.

Charles answered the Grandmaster without hesitation, “Word is she’s been stirring up trouble just outside the city in a town called Lexington.”

Though Lee was one of, if not the most helpful man in the band of Templars, Haytham hadn’t expected him to provide this information.

He responded with enthusiasm, “Well then, that’s where we’ll begin our search! I’ll meet you there."

~

Both men had arrived at the frontier.

“Have you found her?” Haytham asked his right-hand man.

“She’s made camp not too far from here.”

“Excellent. Well the sooner we’re done, the sooner we can get out of this cold.”

Charles looked at the horses, "We’ll move faster on horseback.”

As the men rode to the camp, Haytham noticed some blood marks in the snow and hares scurrying up the hill. He assumed that some animal must have been killed or hunted.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, sir,” Charles said.

Haytham responded with an, “Oh?”

“Braddock is insisting that I return to service under him. I’ve tried to beg off, to no avail.”

Edward the goddamn dog, Haytham hissed in his mind. That man literally shows no sympathy, empathy, nor remorse to those around him.

Haytham answered, “No doubt he’s still angry about losing Pitcairn- to say nothing of the shaming we gave him. Do as he asks. In the meantime, I’ll work on having you released.”

Charles gave a nod of understanding, yet spoke as if he were guilty of something, “I am sorry for the trouble.”

“Not your fault.”

~

Both men arrived at the camp, only to find that it was ruined and put out.

“We’re too late,” Lee said.

Haytham took a closer look, “The fire’s only just been snuffed. The snow recently disturbed. She’s close.”

Just as he finished his observation, Haytham turned around as he heard a howl from a nearby pack of wolves. Both men’s horses fled in fear of the immediate predators.

“Bollocks!” Charles cursed.

Haytham began to follow the fresh tracks leading up the snowy hill. He kept near the snow, in case any wolves lurked about. Speak of the devil. A lone wolf scampered up the mound, though, it paid no attention to Haytham.

Haytham spoke up, “These tracks are fresh, they must be her’s. Seems she took to higher ground. Out of the snow and into the trees.”

And right as Haytham finished his sentence, there she stood, well… crouched, currently making another camp.

Haytham held up his hand, stopping Lee, “Wait here.”

He slowly approached the mystery woman, staying low as not to alert her nor the nearby wolves. As he made his way to her, he looked to his right and saw three wolves closing in on her.

BAM!

One of the wolves let out a loud whine and whimper. She quickly faced both men with a look of surprise on her face. With grace, she leaped and ran away. Haytham was also stunned and looked at Lee, who was poised with a flintlock in his right hand that had smoke leaking from the barrel.

Haytham yelled to the woman, “Ah dammit! Wait! Come back!”

He suggested to Charles, “Best you return to Braddock, Charles, before he grows suspicious. I can handle things from here.”

The other man tried to say otherwise, “But, sir-”

“But nothing, go!”

Charles unwillingly left as Haytham continued his hot pursuit of the enigmatic lady. Already he was panting like a dog, and he wasn’t even that old yet! He figured that it was the snow dragging his feet down that made the chase even worse than it should have been.

He attempted to call out to her, “Stop running! I only wish to talk! I am not your enemy!” Every callout made it harder for Haytham to sprint.

“Please just hear me out! Gods, woman! Only let me speak! Enough with these games.” Where the hell was she?!

“It is imperative that we speak! A moment of your time is all I ask of! You try my patience, woman!!!”

Finally. Haytham knew for a fact now that she was near. Another one of her camps had just been snuffed and the smoke was floating in the air. Haytham leaned against a tree to rest. He heard one soft growl at first. Then two. Then three. Then four. He looked around him and saw… that he was surrounded by goddamn wolves. The sly bastards had managed to track him down whilst he was chasing after the woman. He readied his blades, as he knew how these vicious beasts attacked. One wolf jumped at his left, only to be parried and then quickly stabbed in the neck. While Haytham was dealing with the first wolf, another jumped at his side while he was pulling his hidden blade out of its body.

“Agh!” the man grunted. The wolf was snarling with spit dripping from its mouth as it tried to gnash at him. It had pinned him on the ground. Haytham used his forearms and hands to keep the predator away from him. He then kicked the animal off of him and shot it with his flintlock. He quickly placed the gun in its holster and then blocked the next wolf’s attack, killing it with his hidden blade. The last wolf made its final jump at Haytham, only to have him duck out of the way and slice its stomach. Whimpering, the feral creature ran the opposite direction.

The rush of adrenaline had kept him alive. In London, there were no wolves, except in the wilderness which he never ventured forth because of Reginald’s words and scolding. The attack had reminded him when he and his men had freed the Mohawk. Both moments gave Haytham a sense of peril, that when he was noticed he would either be dead or hurt. Clearing such feelings from his mind, Haytham continued his quest of finding the mystery woman.

After a couple minutes of sprinting in the snow, Haytham looked up to the trees, only to find the infamous lady herself jumping with practiced agility and light-footed speed.

“STOP!” Haytham called out.

Once he tracked her down, she finally jumped down from the trees. He felt like he was going to pass out on the spot.

“Are you touched in the head?!” she exclaimed out loud.

Wow. Haytham had only heard her yell once, but he never knew how scary she sounded when she actually directed her anger at him. This lady did indeed do a fabulous job at constantly surprising and perplexing him…

Haytham held up his hands in defeat, “Me. Haytham. I come in peace.”

She imitated his moves and spoke in chopped up English, “Why. Are. You. Speaking. So. Slow?”

Again, Haytham felt that same warm feeling crawling up his cheeks. He dropped his arms in embarrassment, “Oh, sorry.”

“What do you want?” the woman asked defensively.

Haytham answered her, “Well, your name for one.”

“I am Kaniehtí:io.”

He smiled, a little too friendly, “Pleased to meet you, Godz-zio?...” He completely butchered her name…

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed, “Just call me Ziio.”

“Diio?”

“Ziio.”

“Ziio.”

The awkward tension returned once again, just like the moment they locked eyes on the convoy.

She broke the silence with a demanding tone, “Now tell me why it is you’re here.”

Haytham pulled the aqua amulet from his coat, showing it to her. Ziio furrowed her brows and snatched the gem from his hand.

“Where did you get this?” she questioned.

“From an old friend,” Haytham said.

She walked as she spoke, “I’ve only seen such markings in one other place.”

“Where?” he pried.

Now he noticed that she was at a loss for words.

“It is forbidden for me to speak of it.”

Haytham was a bit angered at this statement, “I saved your people, does this mean nothing to you?” Ziio looked up at Haytham, and he once again held up his hands.

He sighed, “Look, I am not the enemy.”

Ziio looked at the amulet one more time.

“Close to here is a hill. Meet me there, and we’ll see if you speak the truth.” She said it in an almost mocking- no, condescending tone. She turned away from Haytham, then jogged to the hill. This is going to be a long day, he thought.

Chapter Text

Ziio - 15 November 1754 - Lexington, Massachusetts

The weather was beginning to get cold and the sun was setting; snow had begun to fall as well. Ziio pulled her furskin tighter around her shoulders as she trudged up the soft white hill. Once she reached the top, she looked down at the vest expense bellow her. Everywhere was covered in sheets of pure white snow. It was quite beautiful in her eyes, actually. Ziio had always had history with snow, well... her Kanien’kehá:ka name meant “Beautiful Snow” in the first place! Her mother taught her that snow, though alluring, was deadly. It killed slowly, putting its victims to sleep, then lowering their body temperatures until it became low… too low. Once they fell asleep, it seeped the life from their bodies. Because of the delicacy and horror of the almost seemingly magical snow, the tribe had taught Ziio how to survive in cold and harsh weathers. Always wear or bring extra furs and protection, wear proper snow shoes, have weapons ready.

Looking downward, Ziio saw that several meters ahead on the ground level was a small town, which housed a pub called “The Wright Tavern.” Ziio knew that this joint was a common place for British soldiers to converse, drink, and share information. It was the perfect place for her plan!

She pointed down and said, “That town hosts soldiers who seek to drive my people from these lands. They’re led by a man known as ‘The Bulldog.’”

“Edward Braddock...” Haytham answered with a longing and slightly venomous tone.

Ziio already felt uncomfortable standing next to Haytham, let alone having allied with him on this “mission.” She felt a surge of annoyance and meager anger through her body after hearing THAT name and knowing that this man next to her knows and possibly has been associated with The Bulldog.

Defensively, she said, “You know him?”

“He is no friend of mine,” Haytham said, looking at Ziio with a shared hatred for Braddock. This did help calm down Ziio’s nerves, if only for a little bit. At least this man disliked him, too, she thought.

“Every day, more and more of my people are lost to men like him,” she explained, with malice dripping in her voice.

Haytham made a suggestion, “Then I suggest we put an end to it. Together.”

Ziio was a bit unsure at the last part of his idea, but she decided that if it benefited her people, then she would work with him.

“What do you propose?” she inquired.

“That we kill Edward Braddock. But first, we have to find him.”

The snow was starting to pick up its speed. Ziio took a couple steps forward, close to the overhang of the hill. She glanced downward. Below, there was a conveniently placed haystack, covered in snow. Holding her arms out spread and closing her eyes, she leaped. The wind and snow rushed against her face. Ziio’s mother had told her about this move called the “Leap of Faith.” Though the other tribespeople, taught her how to hunt, the Clan Mother was the only person that taught her how to perform this useful little tactic.

She landed with a THUMP! into the haystack. When Ziio opened her eyes, there was darkness. She always loved the adrenaline and excitement of a Leap of Faith. Ziio hoisted herself out of the cart and jumped onto the ground. She then proceeded towards the tavern. Right as she took her first step, she heard the familiar thumping sound again. Turning around, she saw Haytham get out of the haystack, adjusting his hat. She almost wanted to laugh at how the tricorn never got lost. When he stood up, he gave her a smirk. Immediately the humor stopped and she bore a frown upon her face. What did he want? Did he think that he can challenge her?

“I don’t trust you,” Ziio said plainly.

“I know,” he responded.

This made her blood boil. He was way too laid back. But she didn’t show it.

She tried to counter him, “Yet you remain.”

“That I might prove you wrong.”

Prove her wrong? What did he mean by that? Though she was willing to work with him, she would stay by her word and NEVER trust him or ANY other Englishman, even if he helped the tribe.

“It will not happen.”

“So you say.”

“So I know.”

“Yet… I remain,” Haytham said.

Ziio gave him a strong, spiteful glare. This man was seriously pushing her buttons right now, and she did not like it one bit. She knew that it was better to keep her anger at a minimum for now, because the two of them were about to enter the bar.

Haytham spoke, “Wait here. A Mohawk woman is likely to raise suspicions - if not muskets.”

Ziio scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes, “This is hardly the first time I’ve been amongst your people. I can handle myself.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle shove, entering the tavern. Honestly, she thought, why did he even care so much? The only contact they had had was at Southgate Fort and a couple minutes ago on top of the hill. Ziio heard a soft “I hope so,” right as she entered the pub. What she also heard was the sound of voices dropping as the men glared right at her. A Mohawk woman in a tavern filled with men and English soldiers. What a sight.

As she got herself fixated at the bar table, the conversation and voices resumed once more. She scanned the room, and spotted three cliques of Redcoats. One group was to her left, another behind her, and one across the room near the window. The doors of the tavern opened and Haytham stepped in. He decided to go to the bar table as well, and eavesdropped on the soldiers’ conversation.

Ziio ordered a drink, then got up and sat at the table behind her. She could hear every word the Redcoats were saying.

“Ugh I can’t stand being quartered there. The endless crashing of the waves. The sting of the salt in my eyes. And the goddamn gulls shrieking and shitting everywhere!” one soldier complained.

Another one of his friends asked, “You’re sure that’s where we’re going?”

“Aye. The Bulldog’s putting together another ‘expedition.’”

After listening to the men’s talk, Ziio walked over the bar table again, asking for another drink to not seem suspicious. She looked behind her across the room and saw Haytham leaning silently against the window between two men. To his right were another group of British soldiers. Over the loud tavern, she was only able to catch a few words about how the French were preparing to move onto British positions and that Braddock had already left for the advancement camp. Haytham left his place by the window and looked over to Ziio. He motioned for her to join him, as they finally got all the intelligence they needed. She stood up to walk to him.

“Oi! Where you goin’, cully?!” a voice angrily called out, right as Haytham was about to place his hand on the handle.

“Me?” he asked cluelessly.

The voice, who belonged to one of the English soldiers, said, “No, the other cock robin.”

Haytham cleared his throat, “Well, I was leaving.”

“Oh, and now?” the man taunted.

“Well now… I’m going to feed you your teeth,” he said in an extremely dark and hate-filled voice.

Ziio was shocked to say the least. She never knew Haytham had such sass in him! The least she could do now was to stay out of sight and lend him moral support. She had a slight feeling that he might actually win this fight against six other soldiers.

“And you were worried I was going to be the problem?” Ziio asked coyly with a smirk on her face as she left the vicinity and headed for shelter at the bar table once again.

She watched as Haytham readied for the brawl. The first soldier charged at him, only to be sucker punched in the gut. The Brit clutched his abdomen, only to have his head grabbed by Haytham and slammed into his knee. Said soldier let out a loud yell and fell to the ground in fetal position. Haytham was panting and held up his arms to block an incoming attack. Another soldier threw another punch again, hoping to break the barrier. Haytham used this opportunity to counter and break the man’s arm. He let out an anguished scream as the breaking of bones could be heard. Haytham then threw him on the ground violently.

Ziio watched in fascination at Haytham’s fighting techniques. They were so clean and flowed nicely together… almost like a type of dance. Each punch thrown by a soldier was elegantly blocked by Haytham, and each attack was either parried or countered. She saw that two men in red decided to fight Haytham at the same time. The first Redcoat attempted to kick him in the knee. Haytham took a step back, as the other soldier behind him was about to put him in a headlock. He quickly glanced around, and stepped away from the man. The two men were now in front of him, where he could perfectly see and sense their next moves. The soldier that tried to kick him made the same mistake as the first man, and charged towards him. Right as the soldier reached Haytham, he parried and shoved the man into one of the tables, breaking the wooden furniture.

Splinters and drinks were in the air, as the soldier lied on the ground groaning in pain. Ziio continued to cheer him on on the sidelines. She took a sip from her tankard and watched him fight with such skill. Haytham stood his ground proudly. What he didn’t notice was when one of the men on the ground grabbed his leg, pulling him down sharply. Haytham grunted as he fell down. He kicked the man’s arm roughly and looked up. The soldier standing above him was about to stomp right onto his face! Haytham quickly rolled to the left and stood up. The soldier missed and stumbled. Haytham took his chance to push against him hard against a table.

There were two Redcoats remaining, and both of them knew that the only way to beat Haytham was to attack at once together. They both ran at him with great speed. Using what Reginald taught him, he slipped one of the soldier’s feet and caused him to fall backwards. The other Redcoat was able to punch Haytham on the side of his face, leaving an already purple bruise. The bastard was also apparently holding a half broken rum bottle, which cut the side of Haytham’s face a little. With rage, Haytham punched the soldier hard across the face, and kicked him hard in the groin where it would hurt.

The man let out an extremely loud yell and crumpled to the floor in agony. There was cheering and roaring in the background, as well as broken tables and groaning British soldiers. The Wright Tavern was a mess to say the least. Some spectators were helping the incapacitated men up, and Haytham took his seat next to Ziio. She looked at him and saw the blood dripping down the side of his face. Though she knew this man wasn’t to be trusted, she all of a sudden felt concern for him. The Clan Mother had taught Ziio that she had to be caring and kind, especially when one was injured.

“You are hurt,” she said in a soft tone with a worried face.

Haytham looked at her quickly and said, “Oh, it’s nothing.” She could swear that she saw his cheeks turn a little red. Ziio reached behind the counter and grabbed the bottle of beer. She pulled a white handkerchief out of her furskin coat, and brought it up to the lips of the bottle. After she poured some of the alcohol onto the swab, she pressed it against Haytham’s cheek. She was surprised when he gently jolted at her contact.

“Here… this should stop the bleeding,” she said.

Haytham looked at her with soft eyes, “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”

Ziio gave a nod, and then stood up. She looked at the door and spoke, “We should move on. Meet me at Braddock’s camp when you’re ready.”

Chapter Text

Haytham Kenway - 15 November 1754 - Fort St-Mathieu

Over the next few hours, the both of them had arrived at General Edward Braddock’s camp: Fort St-Mathieu. The wind was blowing very hard now, causing a blizzard. Haytham kept his stance, kneeling near some shrubbery next to Ziio, as he watched a supply cart head toward the fort.

“Use the snowstorm to mask your approach,” Ziio ordered. Haytham didn’t say anything. He continued to watch the convoy.

“Having second thoughts?” she asked a little louder, interrupting his flow of ideas.

“Hardly,” he answered her, “but I’ll have to approach this carefully.”

“Go on, then. I’ll keep watch from here.”

Haytham gave her a nod, then proceeded to run over to another tall grass area so he could get a better view of the convoy. He could hide in that cart, Haytham thought to himself. As the cart neared, the storm picked up its pace. The harsh winds blew much of the snow in front of the driver, obscuring his sight. Haytham used this to his advantage and sneaked into the back of the wagon of supplies. Once he situated himself under a pile of Redcoat uniforms, the convoy picked up its pace once again along the snowy dirt road. Haytham was a bit nervous for the mission. He had never done something like this before in his 30 years of life in London. He hoped he wouldn’t get caught.

A few minutes later, the cart came to a slow halt.

“What’s in the wagon? I need a full inventory,” he heard one Redcoat speak, presumably a guard.

The driver responded, “As you wish. Let’s see - 2 barrels of salt, 12 pounds pork, 10 pounds beef, 7 dozen eggs, 16 wheels of cheese - none of it French, don’t worry, 5 bottles of whiskey, a couple dozen new uniforms, boots, and leather for patching. Blankets, too, and a cart of feed for the horses. Wot else… Wot else… That’s it. That’s all there is.”

“You’re free to pass,” the guard said.

Once the cart was properly within the fort’s boundaries, Haytham exited through the back and hid in an area of tall grass. He spotted two key targets: George Washington and John Fraser. The two men headed near to where Haytham was, and were talking.

Fraser asked Washington, “Tell me you’ve good news?”

“General Braddock refused the offer. There will be no truce.”

“Damn it! Why, George? What reason did he give?”

“He said that a diplomatic solution is no solution at all. That allowing the French to retreat would only delay an inevitable conflict, one in which they’d have the upper hand,” George explained to his colleague. Haytham continued to follow the men discreetly as they walked up a staircase. The rest of the conversation was mainly focused on Fraser’s and Washington’s negative opinions on Braddock’s plans. Not much of it was useful - nor interesting - to Haytham, until they started speaking of where Edward and his troops were heading later.

“Where’s the general now?” Fraser asked Washington.

“Rallying the troops.”

“And then it’s onto Fort Duquesne, I presume?”

George answered his friend, “Eventually. The march north will surely take time. There’s a copy of the plans in the command tent should you wish to review them.”

Fraser nodded and said, “At least this will be ended soon.”

“I tried, John.”

“I know, my friend, I know…”

Both John Fraser and George Washington had dispersed after their talk about Edward Braddock. Haytham was lucky that they had managed to tell where Braddock was headed in the near future and where the maps were located. That map would surely be of use. He needed to find it. Haytham jumped into a nearby hay cart, as a British soldier was currently walking up the staircase. The man entered one of the tents, and Haytham saw that he was sifting through and reading the map. Once he finished, he exited the tent and stood watch outside. Haytham waited to see what the soldier would do next. Reginald had taught him to always spend a couple minutes analyzing his target, seeing their patterns and how they performed things before acting upon them.

After standing outside the tent for about five minutes, the soldier returned back into the tent. Haytham took his chance, jumped out of the hay cart, and hid in the grass next to the tent. He waited yet again, and the same soldier exited the tent. Once he was on guard again, Haytham quickly covered the man’s mouth and locked his arm around his neck, silencing him and dragging him over to the hay cart. He threw the Redcoat’s body into the hay, took the maps, and then continued down the wooden staircase.

~

Haytham had managed to leave Fort St-Mathieu in one piece, to his surprise. Though upon exit of the fort, he was stopped by some English soldiers, which he managed to take out easily. He had always thought that their combat training wasn’t the best. He saw Ziio still crouched behind the bush where they had originally met.

She saw him coming, and asked, “What news?”

“Braddock has left to rally his troops,” Haytham answered her, “They’re marching on Fort Duquesne. It’ll be a while yet ‘til they’re ready, which gives us time to form a plan.”

Ziio took a closer look at the maps that Haytham had looted.

“No need,” she said, and pointed to an area near the fort, “We will ambush them here, near the river. Go and gather your allies. I will do the same. I will send word when it is time to strike.”

Chapter Text

Ziio - 20 November 1754 - Kanatahséton Valley

It had been four days since Ziio and Haytham formed the plan for the assault on General Edward Braddock and his regiment. It took her three days to travel back to the Mohawk Valley from Fort St-Mathieu in Lexington. Today she had planned to tell the tribe about the attack. She knew that her clan had contacts with many other tribes near the area and on the east coast, which would greatly help the cause. Ziio also trusted Haytham to bring his most trusted allies for the mission.

After having a quick rest, Ziio went to go find the Clan Mother. She exited the longhouse and asked some of the men if they have seen her. After they said no, Ziio continued her search until she found her talking to one of the women. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, she waited until her mother was finished talking with the other woman.

The woman and the Clan Mother conversed for about five minutes. The woman left, and Ziio decided that it was time to confront her mother.

“Ista,” she said, and placed her hand on Oiá:ner’s arm.

The Clan Mother asked, “Yes, Kaniehtí:io, what is it that you need?”

“I need you to gather all of the villagers. There is something important that must be discussed.”

“What is it? I must know first before our people do.”

Ziio was nervous. She remembered that her mother told her strictly not to be near Haytham or any other Englishman in the future. Though she was apprehensive of her mother’s reaction, she knew that everyone in the Native American tribes of the east coast absolutely despise and hate Edward Braddock. They would do anything for him and the settlers to stay away from their lands.

“Ista, do you recall that British man I told you about?”

“Yes. What happened?” Oiá:ner questioned.

Ziio sighed, “I partially lied to you when I told you that I was going out on a hunt and got lost four days earlier, and I apologize for that.”

She saw her mother’s face contort to anger, but before she could say anything, Ziio cut in, “But you must listen to me, Ista. When I was hunting, that same man found me. He questioned me and showed me this.”

She pulled the aqua amulet with the intricate designs out of her furskin coat and handed it to Oiá:ner. The Clan Mother took it from her child’s hand and carefully inspected the jewel. Her face changed from anger to that of curiosity and realization. The ornament bored the exact same designs in the First Civilization Temple. The Clan Mother looked at Ziio and urged her to continue.

“He didn’t tell me much about the amulet, but later he told me about his same enmity toward The Bulldog. We both managed to get information from The Bulldog’s soldiers and from a map we found at his fort.” Ziio also showed her mother the map that she and Haytham had stolen from Braddock’s camp.

She pointed to the map, “His men will be marching down this path. We plan to attack near the river, where they are least expected. I have told him to gather his allies and that I would do the same. Ista, if we kill Edward Braddock, then we can set an example on these settlers to not advance onto our land. We have contacts with the many other nearby tribes. I know for a fact that they would like to see him gone as well.”

Oiá:ner took a moment to look over the map and think about her daughter’s plan. After a while, she finally spoke, “And you trust this man so much as to follow along with his plans? He may trust you, but does he trust our people?”

Ziio was quick to defend Haytham, “He saved our people from slavery. He saved me from slavery, Ista. This man’s past and his intentions of wanting to kill Braddock may be a mystery, but if he is willing to help us, then I believe we should accept his assistance.”

Oiá:ner thought it through for a couple minutes. Finally, she came to the conclusion that they should work with Haytham only for the mission, then break ties with him. Though the man saved Ziio, Oiá:ner had a bad feeling about him.

The Clan Mother gathered everyone together for the meeting. Both Ziio and her mother explained the plan to everyone in thorough detail. Oiá:ner told her daughter to write several letters directed to the other tribes that are willing to help them on the assault. She then told Ziio that in a couple days time, the Kanien’kehá:ka clan’s messengers will send word to the other tribes near the area.

Once everyone dispersed after the convention, Ziio and her mother both entered their longhouse. It was nighttime, and the two women were getting ready to go to bed.

Right as Ziio was about to put out the candle, Oiá:ner spoke, “I really hope that this man knows what he is doing. You are for sure he will stick to the plans?”

“Yes, I am,” Ziio answered her.

“Okay,” her mother nodded, “but you must listen to me very carefully, Kaniehtí:io.”

Oiá:ner looked her daughter in the eye, “You must heed my instructions: Stay away from that man. I don’t care if the attack goes awry or not, but afterward, you must stay away from him. I can’t risk losing you, my beautiful snow.”

The Clan Mother knew that her daughter was almost an adult. Almost. Though she was 23 years of age, she needed much guidance. Especially after being held captive by British soldiers, Oiá:ner didn’t want anything happening to her only daughter. She had already lost her husband and didn’t want to lose her daughter.

Ziio saw that her mother was genuine. She reassured her by saying, “I understand, Ista. You needn’t worry. We have this under control. Let us get some sleep, we’ve had a very long day discussing plans.”

Oiá:ner nodded, and Ziio blew out the candle.

Haytham Kenway - 20 November 1754 - Green Dragon Tavern

Haytham was confident of his and Ziio’s plan. He had always had a deep hatred for Edward Braddock. Though the general did help him realize the brutality of being a Templar, he left the order for his army. Not only that, he ordered his men to slaughter a family in front of his very eyes. That scene had scarred Haytham for many years. Braddock was a cruel, cruel man that needed to be killed.

Haytham left his room and concluded that it was time to tell his men of the assault. It took him five days to get to Boston from Fort St-Mathieu. During his journey back, he had thought of the plan many times in his head, thinking of any possible counters and factors that may affect the attack.

When he exited, he walked down the stairs into the bar. At the center table, he saw all five of his men sitting at the center table. Thomas was the only one with a drink in his hand while the other men conversed. Typical Thomas, Haytham thought. The men greeted Haytham. They were anticipating seeing him. After Haytham arrived from Braddock’s camp, he told his men that they were going to have a discussion in the evening.

Charles spoke, “So sir, what’s this discussion about?”

Haytham sat down next to William. He answered Charles’s question, “Well, I was gone for the past five days because I was finally able to track down our mystery woman, Charles.”

“What was her name?”

“Ziio,” Haytham answered, with a tone of longing. Longing?! He couldn’t yearn for her at this moment! He needed to focus, “She shares a common hatred for Edward Braddock, like us. I have concluded that in order to gain the tribe’s trust, we must… eliminate him.”

The men all nodded in agreement. Haytham and Charles looked at each other, “Her and I intercepted valuable information about Edward Braddock’s whereabouts. You needn’t work under The Bulldog anymore, Charles.”

“Thank you, sir,” Charles said with much gratitude.

“Not a problem.”

Haytham pulled a second copy of the plans from his pocket and showed it to the men, “We plan to attack here at the bank of the Monongahela River. She is currently rallying her allies and we should assault in the later months.”

The men all agreed to the plan. They needed to gain Ziio and her people’s trust so they could find the Precursor Temple and activate it with the amulet.

Thomas spoke aloud while waving his tankard, “I guess we got ourselves’ a plan! Now let’s ‘ave a drink ta celebrate!” The men cheered, and for once, Haytham felt at ease.

Chapter Text

Haytham Kenway - 22 November 1754 - Green Dragon Tavern

Haytham rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed. He usually didn’t have days to spend for downtime, but the past couple had been quite the break, especially after he and his men had confirmed the attack. The plan’s confirmation put him at ease, a weight magically lifted off of his shoulders. Haytham changed from his sleep attire into his normal uniform, belt buckles, overcoat, tricorn hat, and all. Afterward, he decided that it was best to go get something to eat.

As Haytham walked out of his room down the stairs, he heard a cheery voice, “Oh, Mr. Kenway!”

His eyes gazed downward and were in view of the barmaid, Catherine Kerr, who was beckoning him over.

“Yes, Ms. Kerr? What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

She waved him off, “There ain’t a problem, no. Just wanted to let ya know that there’s a letter waitin’ for ya at the mailbox in the front.”

Haytham’s eyebrows inched up in confusion, “And did you happen to see who it was that left the letter?”

Catherine replied, “I dun remember clearly, but I did see one of ‘em natives drop by. A young lad he was.”

“Oh!” he chirped a little too excitedly, clearing his throat immediately and resuming his cool and collected self, “I see. Thank you for informing me, Ms. Kerr.”

Catherine nodded and hastily went back to her work, as the tavern was opening early for guests. Haytham didn’t even have to hear the rest of her sentence after she mentioned the word “natives.” He rushed over to the mailbox. Haytham wondered, though, did Ziio write to me to confirm the attack or just for leisure? He pulled the letter out with such delicacy and gently tore it open.

~ H

I have spoken with my people about our plan, and I am glad to inform you that everyone has agreed to assist us. We’re both very fortunate that they have even considered this idea… and I think you know the reason why. I am writing this to see if you would like to meet up sometime before the attack to discuss any further ideas or possible revisions to our existing plans. I do not recommend that our meeting be near the village at the basin of the Mohawk Valley because I know not everyone will take kindly to your presence. I would prefer if you write back to me as soon as possible. Please have the letter delivered to the mailbox at the outpost near the Wright Tavern, and I will try to reply as soon as possible.

~ Z

Such a simple letter, with the most immaculate handwriting, yet Haytham felt his face heating up slightly and his chest fluttering softly. She mentioned in her letter that this meeting was for the attack and to write to her... should I forgo the pleasantries and just rather give her a little surprise? This was foolish. Haytham was usually always one to keep things professional and not dilly-dally over (or even come up with the idea!) stupid “surprises” or anything of the like. Yet the fact that Ziio managed to even get him thinking about his own little idea of his without trying was a damn impressive feat.

After silently eating his breakfast, Haytham decided to take a leisurely stroll down the musty streets of Boston.

“I’ll never forget the putrid stench of this place,” he muttered under his breath and scrunching his nose after witnessing the horrible scene of a beggar pissing on the snow at the side of the tavern. Never eat yellow snow, as they say.

Haytham for once had some time of his own, as his men were busy currently working to extract more details concerning Braddock’s regiments. He trusted them to find any vital information that they could use to prevent potential ambushes or mishaps. As he walked, taking in the conflicting scents and intriguing sights of Boston, he thought of his plan to meet Ziio. She told him not to meet her anywhere near the Mohawk longhouses, so the best time and place to find her would be when she was out on a hunt.

It’s approaching the winter’s eve and it’s terribly cold, meaning the animals would be hibernating and preparing goods. That would mean Ziio and the other tribe members will probably be hunting more often. With these thoughts in mind, Haytham planned for his little “expedition.” First, he would pack all his necessary belongings for a night or two. Next, he would take a carriage to the Mohawk Valley and find a nearby inn. Then, he’d finally begin his “sneak attack” on Ziio. It all sounded too easy on paper, but he knew to execute this plan was far beyond that.

Ziio - 25 November 1754 - Kanatahséton Valley

It had been five days since Ziio had initially written her letter to Haytham. She hoped that the little parchment had arrived safely and that it had not gotten lost, or even worse: intercepted by redcoats. Her mother told her to calm herself and to not fret over these matters yet, for the attack wouldn’t even be executed until the next several months.

Ziio had been waiting for a letter back from Haytham. She knew that it probably would not get back to her in a couple of days since she was assuming that he probably received her letter merely a day ago. She wondered if Haytham read it and just decided not to respond; maybe he did not want to meet up. Wait, why am I worrying over whether he wants to see me or not?

Ziio had better things to worry about than whether a man wanted to see her. For one, the village would be starving if she and the other hunters did not begin their hunt. The tribal elders held a communion discussing the winter of this year, and they and the rest of the village came to an agreement that this season would definitely be one of the harshest winters. Ziio hated seeing the young children holding their bellies in pain because of hunger, which was why she often volunteered to go hunting with the others.

She decided that it would be best to go trapping the following day. The other hunters needed time to prepare their weaponry and polish their skills. Since she already had all her supplies ready, she decided to give the village children a visit, as she just loved watching over and playing with the little ones. It gave her a sense of calmness that she needed most and helped distract her from her own personal issues and “adult” businesses.

Haytham Kenway - 25 November 1754 - Lexington, Massachusetts

Though Haytham did have negative recollections of this place, it was the only inn nearest to the Mohawk Valley. It was the one and only Wright Tavern: the sweet, sweet place where he got his jaw punched and part of his face split. But, it was also the place where Ziio first showed him a sign of affection physically. Haytham would never forget that; few people had ever shown him that much kindness before.

After he checked in with the reception, the owner of the tavern led Haytham to his room. It was very similar to his residence at the Green Dragon: small and dingy, with a little bit of moss on the far wall, and, well-- overall depressing. It would have to do, he thought to himself. Besides, he would only be staying here for a night, two at most.

As he was preparing for bed, Haytham constantly thought of surprising Ziio. He never actually thought of how exactly he was going to do this. He didn’t even know if Ziio would be out on a hunt tomorrow! Well, that’s actually a pretty important aspect I forgot to consider… He would have to just simply sleep on it.

The Next Morning…

Haytham’s mind was as blank as a canvas. It was such a shame that he was basically here and he could not think of the best part of this whole “plan.” It frustrated him. Haytham usually wasn’t one to give up either.

After he finished his breakfast, a simple poached egg and lightly browned toast, he left a tip on the countertop and headed out the door. As Haytham climbed onto his horse, he finally finished formulating his plan for confrontation with Ziio. First thing’s first, I will make sure I look presentable. Next, I’ll try to detect Ziio and make sure none of the other hunters are near. She won’t be expecting this next part… It took a while, but at least it was something. With everything situated in a mental map, Haytham set off to the Mohawk Valley.

Ziio - 26 November 1754 - Kanatahséton Valley

Earlier that day, Ziio had directed the men and women to retrieve their supplies for the hunt. Since she was qualified as one of the best hunters in the tribe, the elders elected her to lead the group for the day. She always loved the feeling of leading a group, feeling that she herself was an appropriate leader. Leaders needed to be confident, decisive, calm, organized, loyal, assertive, smart, and above all, compassionate; Ziio believed she had most, if not all, of the qualities on that checklist.

Since this winter was going to be grim, there was a larger group of hunters for this year’s final hunt. The clan chief chose who would be going out on the hunt: Akwarion, an older Kanien’kehá:ka man nearly at fifty years of age. He was one of the superior hunters in the tribe, having led over hundreds of trips with hunters of all skill levels.

Then there was Atená:ti, a thirteen-year-old with a young spirit, yet aggressive temperament; Ziio had taught him how to hunt when he was able to walk (well, the child begged for Ziio to teach him), thus the two shared a close friendship. Following him was Kanátstet:si, Atená:ti’s seventeen-year-old cousin who had learned how to properly snare smaller game from Ziio.

The final hunter was Kó:r, one of Ziio’s closest friends and one of the greatest shots in the village. She remembered when she was first introduced to him during a clan meeting, they instantly clicked, sharing feelings about significant matters such as hunting, farming, and war decisions. Ziio considered Kó:r a brother, though they were not blood relatives by any means. He knew her life, inside and out, as she knew his.

Though she cared for the young man as if he was in her blood family, she was often concerned of his erratic behavior. Kó:r was much different from the other clanspeople. He was one of the few tribesmembers that enjoyed solitude, veering away from most social gatherings. Yet, whenever he did partake in clan meetings, he usually displayed aggression and disputed with the elders’ stances on almost every topic concerning politics with the neighboring Iroquois nations. He often ranted and vented about how the clan leaders were “not running the tribe properly” and how their “reign” would “burn the village to the ground.” She constantly worried that he would get himself into trouble doing something reckless. Kó:r took on an almost sadistic persona, as he voiced his opinions of how the Kanien’kehá:ka should split from the Iroquois Confederacy with Ziio, and with Ziio only. Though he never truly lashed out nor acted upon his impulses, he worried her with his opinions of the future of their people and other five nations of the Iroquois.

After the men gathered their clubs, bows and arrows, tomahawks, and other supplies, Ziio led them all to the outskirts of the village. She gave them further instructions on how the day’s hunt was to be executed, “As you all know, this winter is going to be significantly worse than any of the others that we’ve experienced before. To maximize efficiency, we will be in two different groups today. Akwarion and Kanátstet:si, you two will be with Atená:ti. Teach him new and more advanced concepts as you three hunt for the larger game; focus on elk and caribou, as we can stockpile their antlers for crafting. I wish for Atená:ti to learn from these new stressful times,” Atená:ti’s eyes practically shone in excitement at her words, for this was the first time he was allowed to hunt for big game,“Kó:r, you will be with me, as we will be focusing on tracking down medium and small game.”

The men had confidence in Ziio’s agenda. They knew that the clan chief taught her well in the ways of hunting and that the clan mother taught her how to properly arrange expeditions. Once they dispersed, Kó:r and Ziio headed north.

Ziio loved the thrill of hunting. It was one of the only times in her life where she was able to practice her marksmanship, train her mind mentally, and be close with nature. Silence never existed in the forest: there were always the soft sounds of the wind blowing, the singing of the birds, the trampling of herds of deer, or the scurrying of small animals on the forest floor.

Interrupting her thoughts was a voice to her left, “How have you been, Kaniehtí:io?”

Kó:r’s question tore Ziio away from her daydreaming, “I have been fine, thank you for asking. Though, the week has not been so eventful, unfortunately. I watched over the children a few times; they seem to be growing up so quickly!”

He made a sound of affirmation and urged her to continue, “I’m glad that our tribe and those of the Haudenosaunee agreed to assembling warriors for our assault on the Bulldog and his men, though. It gives me hope seeing tyranny fall at the hands of our united peoples.”

Ziio longed for the day that the British would finally back down from her people’s land. She looked at Kó:r, “And I ask you the same, Kó:r. How have you been, my friend?”

Kó:r rubbed the back of his neck and answered her, “To be frank, I did not do much as well. I did go on a lot of hunts with Akwarion to prepare for the winter. We have also been bringing Atená:ti on our trips. So far, we have taught him how to attack from the trees. He is learning quite quickly, surprisingly.”

Ziio was surprised. Kó:r was not one to help out others. He was more of an independent individual, egotistical, even, enjoying it when others knew that he was in charge. Not only that, he never took to liking Atená:ti, and often berated him for simple mistakes. Kó:r’s shift in attitude perplexed her.

“Well, well, well, Kó:r. This is the first time I have heard you had ‘positive’ contact with Atená:ti,” Ziio said in a mock chastising voice, “Why the change of heart?”

Kó:r chuckled, “I would not really consider it a change of heart, Kaniehtí:io. Honestly, I only helped him out because the sight of him struggling and failing at even the most simple tasks vexed me.” He turned to her, aggression slowly seeping into his tone, “Nonetheless, I thought you would have noticed sooner that I was giving him a hand during his hunting lessons, Kaniehtí:io. You seem to be our all-seeing eyes; after all, you are the daughter of the Clan Mother.”

Typical Kó:r, Ziio thought to herself. Though, she was confused as to why Kó:r brought up her lineage all of a sudden. After pondering on his reply, Ziio finally answered the native with her own passive-aggressiveness, “Keep in mind, I have been preoccupied with new ideas for our assault on General Braddock and his troops; therefore, I have little time to monitor all activities on our land. Though, it’s odd how you brought up my mother all of a sudden. Is there a reason for doing so, my friend?”

Kó:r took a long pause. Ziio could see that he was gripping his bow hard, a little too hard; it was as if the poor piece of wood was about to snap at any moment under the immense amount of pressure. His knuckles began to turn as white as the snow on the ground.

Ziio called, “Kó:r.”

No answer.

“Kó:r.”

Still, no answer.

She decided it would be best to just leave him to his own mind. The two kept walking and eventually halted at a wooded area near the Mohawk River. There were fresh tracks on the snow. Ziio concluded that she would first set up her snare trap near the berry bush, then she would free run into the trees to hunt bigger game.

As Ziio was getting her supplies ready to set up the snare, Kó:r’s voice seeped with disgust, “So I have heard you have been seeing an Englishman.”

Ziio stopped in her tracks. Her heart skipped a beat hearing the word “Englishman.” How in God’s name did Kó:r find out about Haytham? I told no soul. Only Ista knew. All of a sudden, Ziio felt extremely exposed as if she were a deer in an area with no trees or vegetation to mask her from oncoming predators. She unwittingly stopped what she was doing and began rubbing her arms.

Ziio did not even bother looking at him, “I have not a clue what you are saying.”

Kó:r scoffed, “Pfft, please. Don’t lie to me, Kaniehtí:io. You think yourself so discreet? I have my ways.”

Ziio was still in shock about Kó:r’s discovery of her relationship with Haytham. A dark idea in the back of her mind was telling her that there was foul play; yet, a more reasonable voice in her mind told her that Kó:r was most likely worried for her health and safety, considering the rising tensions between the natives and colonists. She decided to simply play it off and continued setting up her trap, “You are correct; I have been sharing my time with a man. However, we are not ‘seeing each other’ in the way you would think, Kó:r. We just happened to run into each other’s paths frequently and decided to make the best of it by organizing a plan to kill the Bulldog and render his troops useless. Remember, he garners the same sentiments for the general as us,” Kó:r was one of, if not her closest friend, but she absolutely despised how he was so rude at times.

Kó:r looked over his shoulder and managed to catch Ziio’s gaze at the right moment, “How thoughtful of you to not share these occurrences with me of the late. I have never met nor seen the man, but I’m already uneasy as for his motives. It seems like he is purposely ‘running into your path’ after all the things I have heard,” he kept walking.

Ziio was beginning to get annoyed with his words, but she did not want to start an argument. She reasoned “I know, and I can see where you’re coming from, but you need to understand that this man is a viable asset to us, Kó:r. I have already received an earful from the Clan Mother, but you must see that the majority of our tribe has agreed that he and his men will be the key to Braddock’s downfall,” she paused, “with Braddock gone, our people will finally be able to reclaim our freedom. We can finally rest.”

Suddenly, Kó:r turned around quickly, causing Ziio to bump into him. He gripped her shoulders and nearly shook her, “I think it is you that needs to understand; he’s English for crying out loud! When have the King’s people ever done anything remotely beneficial for us? I don’t care one bit what his motives are, all I know is that that devil is up to no good and will hurt our people, one way or another. Are you so naïve as to believe every little word coming out of his mouth?”

If Ziio was shocked before, she was petrified now. Fed up with rage, Ziio escaped his grasp. She shot back with equal venom, “Do not touch me! Drop the fact that the man is English for once and think with your head! Are you seriously so foolish as to jump to conclusions so quickly? He is of a different race, one that we’ve not had the most pleasant experiences with, yes, but he is not like any other. Does a person’s lineage determine their wills, Kó:r? What has gotten into you?”

Kó:r took a step forward, a grimace on his face, “What has gotten into me, Kaniehtí:io, is the fact that you are so quick to defend someone who you have just met not too many months ago. Is there anything else I should know about your little ‘relationship?’”

Any thoughts of Kó:r worrying for her health dissipated. Ziio was incredibly disappointed in her friend’s opinions of her alliance with Haytham. For the one that was complaining so often of the elders’ so-called lackluster leadership, he was quite hypocritical to be speaking down on someone who could provide support to the tribe as a whole.

Ziio didn’t reply to Kó:r’s comment and instead began covering her trap with leaves. After a few minutes of silence, Kó:r broke the tension, “You up for a little competition, my friend?”

Ziio looked at him silently. Kó:r continued, “First one to bring in more game wins. If you win, I’ll shut my mouth and we’ll put this discussion behind us. If I win, you tell me everything about the man.”

“Friends are not supposed to bet each other on information, Kó:r. However, I will tell you about everything, even if I win,” Ziio let out an exhale, “there seems to be too much secrecy going on, and I take fault in not disclosing this information to you.”

Kó:r seemed slightly more relaxed, “That is fine by me,” he smirked, “are you still up for the challenge, though?”

She was beginning to see the Kó:r that she always knew, “You know I’m never opposed to one, my friend.”

Haytham Kenway - 26 November 1754 - Kanatahséton Valley

Taking in his surroundings, Haytham realized he never had a true appreciation of nature and her vastness. Growing up in London, he was always surrounded by sophistication, industrialism, and civility. Rarely did he ever get to see any forests, let alone be in one. Thus, Haytham took the opportunity to enjoy what was given to him.

There wasn’t much flora because of the winter, but the beauty of the snow-topped trees made up for the loss. Haytham inhaled and the fresh scent of pine filled his nostrils. He pondered about his personal mission.

Take a deep breath. Don’t stress about it. I worry too much. It was true, he did worry too much at times. Haytham kept his head up and stayed vigilant as he rode up the dirt path. Then a simple thought crossed his mind: Maybe I can bring her to me. Haytham climbed down from his horse and started collecting nearby firewood. After a few minutes, a smoky fire appeared.

He removed his coat and began fanning the smoke so it would fly upward. Hopefully Ziio (if she was even in the forest) might come over and explore the area. Haytham left the fire going on for a few minutes before snuffing it out and leading his mare to a tree near the dirt path. He got off the beast and leashed her on the side of the path. Haytham then began his journey deeper into the forest, laying low as he knew that Ziio particularly prefered taking to the trees.

After traversing the terrain for a couple minutes, he finally spotted his prize. The wind was blowing Ziio’s long fur skin coat, causing it to fly almost like a flag at half-mast. A mischievous smile crept onto Haytham’s face, as he bent down and picked up a fist-sized glob of snow.

Ziio - 26 November 1754 - Kanatahséton Valley

Ziio had climbed to the top of a nearby oak tree. She was surveying the land as she caught a glimpse of a white-tail deer wandering aimlessly in search of berries. This is my lucky day, she thought to herself with a smile on her face. The little deer, with a medium-sized wound on the right side of its torso, was clueless as to what was going to happen in the next few seconds. Ziio took a deep breath and paused. What is that smell? Is that smoke? She turned around and saw a plume of smoke rise into the air. Someone is nearby. Are they hunting as well? At that note, Ziio quickly readied her bow and arrow. She needed to kill and claim the deer before any other hunters got to her prize. She held her breath as she stabilized the weapon, the tip of the arrow aimed a nick above the animal’s chest.

She pulled back the string of the bow. This was her favorite part: securing the kill. The exhilaration of releasing the weapon and knowing that her people would have food always sent a chill down Ziio’s spine. However, her thrill was short-lived. Before she could release the bow and claim her victory, an undeniable chill struck the back of her neck. Ziio gasped and swiftly turned around, only to see a face she did not expect to see: Haytham Kenway’s. Her mind was brought back into the current situation; she raised her left hand and felt the back of her neck, which was soaking wet and freezing. Before Ziio could say or do anything, however, she lost her footing and realized that she was going to fall.

“Ah!” Ziio yelped, falling from the tree. She could barely make out her surroundings as she descended to the forest floor, but Haytham’s smiling face soon turned to one of fear as he realized his error.

“Ziio!” Haytham called, frantically. It was as if the Sky Woman came from the heavens and saved her, though, as Ziio miraculously landed safely, albeit ungracefully, into a pile of snow at the foot of the oak tree. Now her entire body was freezing, as she was encapsulated in nature’s cushion. Ziio groaned as she stuck her head out of the snow mound. In front of her was that damn familiar smirk, donned by the Englishman himself. Right as she opened her mouth, readying to assault the man with her words, Haytham’s smirk transformed into the devil’s smile; he released the most rancorous laughter she had ever heard.

Tears were running down the so-called pompous Brit’s face, as he could barely hold himself together. Haytham tried to get his words out in between hiccups of laughter, “Ha! That-- was one of the damn funniest things I have seen in a long while! You should have seen the look on your face!”

As Haytham continued his little show, he, too, lost his footing. Ziio, content with the outcome, didn’t say a word as Haytham unknowingly backed into her snare trap. The man gasped as his right leg was entangled in the intricate wires, the rope of the snare latching onto the limb almost as if its life depended on it. Haytham’s true fall from grace occurred when he slipped and landed on his arse, the pressure causing a rush of snow from a leering tree branch right above his head to come cascading down, drenching him in cold.

Now it was Ziio’s turn to admire her work. She couldn’t even believe how loud she was laughing. It’s been a while since I’ve let myself go, she thought to herself, as both she and the Englishman continued their cacophony. Ziio wiggled her way out of the mound of snow.

Haytham, dusting the offending snow off of his now not-so-delicate hat, called to her, “I could certainly use a hand here, miss.”

Ziio made her way over to him and retrieved her blade from her furskin. While she was cutting the rope of the snare, she smirked at Haytham, “You came all this way… and for what, exactly?”

“So that I can see you,” Haytham replied. Ziio could have sworn that his face tinged a little pink when he said that.

After lending him a hand, Ziio retained her senses. Wait, Haytham just caused me to lose my target. She looked around and noticed that the deer was gone; but something more important jumped into her mind. If Kó:r finds out that Haytham is here…

“Ziio?” a voice called, bringing her out of her little reverie. Ziio’s mind was running in circles as she realized how terrible the outcomes would be if Kó:r were to see her with Haytham, especially right after the heated argument the two just had not twenty minutes ago. She glanced at Haytham furtively, lines crinkling on her forehead. However, Haytham’s calm demeanor gave her a sense of safety, that everything would be alright for the most part.

“Are you alright?” Haytham asked with concern laced throughout his handsome face. Ziio could get lost staring into his deep, grey eyes and beautiful, tan complexion.

Ziio answered him with a soft smile, “Yes, though, you did scare off the fawn that I was about to kill.”

Her response to his question caused the crimson on his cheeks to deepen, “Oh… I apologize, Ziio. I- I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

He’s so cute when he’s at a loss for words, Ziio thought to herself. Did I just call him “cute?” What has gotten into me? Ziio brushed it off, “Though it’ll make it more difficult for me to bring back anything to the village, I accept your apology and forgive you, Haytham. Don’t fret, I actually find it endearing that you came this far to see me.”

Haytham’s lips curved upwards into his trademark smirk. He pondered for a moment before saying, “It’s terribly cold out here. Perhaps we should ‘run into’ each other under more favorable circumstances. Say, maybe at a nearby tavern in New York?”

Is he asking me on a date? Now it was Ziio’s turn to blush. Why did she have this feeling in her stomach? She hid her embarrassment by clearing her throat, “A tavern, you say? Which tavern are you thinking of, Mr. Kenway? Though, I suggest that we keep a low profile if any of the Bulldog’s men are stationed nearby.”

Haytham considered Ziio’s suggestion, “Valid point. We should rendezvous at the Fighting Cocks Tavern a week from today, then. It’s far enough west from the river, away from Braddock’s camp.”

Ziio chuckled at the institute’s preposterous name, why on Earth would they name a bar after that?

Haytham noticed Ziio’s not-so-sly reaction to the tavern’s name and commented, “I didn’t know you had some cheek in you.”

“Well, you never really do know someone entirely, I guess,” she responded with a smirk. It was alarming how well the two of them were getting along. No one would have expected a relationship such as theirs to blossom: a Native American woman and a regal British immigrant. Ziio turned to Haytham with a soft look in her eyes, “I’ve never traveled far past the river before.”

“I guess you can say we are in a somewhat similar predicament. I mean, I’ve been in the colonies for less than a year, now.”

Ziio nodded; sometimes she forgot that he was just as much of a foreigner as she and her people were.

“Very well,” she said, “we’ll meet at noon from a week’s time.”

By now, Haytham’s hat was covered in snow. He removed the garment and tapped it against his leg, watching as all of the white cascaded off of the navy tricorn. He looked at Ziio, “Sounds like a plan.”

Just as she turned around to adjust her bow, she felt something on her shoulder. She glanced down furtively and saw a hand, Haytham’s to be exact. In shock, her eyes jolted to his as she jumped back. Haytham retracted his hand, seeming as if he crossed an unspoken boundary. The two looked at each other for what seemed like minutes until Haytham spoke softly, “Apologies. There was snow on your shoulder and I thought you might have been cold.”

Ziio was never one for physicality. She preferred when people kept their hands to themselves. Yet, Haytham’s simple touch created an odd ripple effect through her body, one that she rather enjoyed. However, Ziio ignored him, “You should leave. My hunting group is going to meet in half an hour. They would not take kindly to your being here.”

A look of hurt washed over his face. She hadn’t meant to offend the man, but the situation was not the best for the both of them at the moment. Ziio instead reached out to him and placed her hand on his right forearm, “We’ll see each other next week.”

To that, Haytham’s lips turned upward slightly, “That, we will. Goodbye, Ziio.” She returned his salutation with a smirk.

After Haytham took his departure, Ziio resumed her task at hand. Several minutes had passed as she heard the sound of a whistle coming from far behind the oak tree. It was time for the hunters to return to the village. Ziio and the four other men returned to their meeting point under an elm tree with a red handkerchief wrapped around one of its branches. The men shared the spoils of the day.

Akwarion showed the group several elk hides as well as cougar claws, “We were quite lucky this time. We managed to each kill one elk as well as smaller game. More importantly, however,” he ruffled Atená:ti’s hair, “this was the first time Atená:ti has had a confrontation with a true beast!”

The young boy piped up in excitement, his rabbit skin dangling from his belt, “Yeah! The cougar was terrifying, but the adrenaline rush during the fight felt amazing! If it weren’t for Akwarion and Kanátstet:si, who knows what would have happened.” The three hunters chuckled, while Kó:r stared off into the horizon.

Kanátstet:si asked, “What of you, Kaniehtí:io? What spoils do you and Kó:r bring?”

Before she could answer the boy’s question, Kó:r stated with a proud smirk, “Actually, Kaniehtí:io and I had a bit of a contest to see who would bring in more game,” he showed the group a part of deerskin and rabbit meat, “I managed to kill this one as well as two fat rabbits. And you, Kaniehtí:io?”

Ziio was miffed as she caught a closer look at Kó:r’s deerskin. The soft, chestnut texture of the deer’s fur was interrupted with a bloody gash, the exact same wound that she saw not even an hour ago. She pushed her annoyance aside, however, “My congratulations to you, Kó:r. It seems that you are victorious, as I’ve only managed to skin a raccoon and a plump beaver. And my congratulations to everyone else, especially you, Atená:ti.” The boy beamed with pride at Ziio’s compliment.

Akwarion agreed, “Our spoils are more than enough to keep the village sated through the winter.”

After Akwarion retrieved the red handkerchief, the group of five prepared for their journey back to the village. Ziio and Kó:r followed the group from behind as Akwarion was in the lead. Kó:r nudged Ziio’s shoulder. She gave him a nod, one of understanding, “When we return to the village, I’ll tell you everything that I know.”

“Thank you,” Kó:r replied in a hushed tone, so as to not garner the rest of the group’s attention, “I apologize for my behavior before. It was out of line for me to speak to you that way, my friend.”

Ziio whole-heartedly agreed with the man’s statement. She felt a wave of relief knowing that their relationship hadn’t been severed due to lies and deception.

“I accept your apology, Kó:r. I take fault as well. From now on, there shall be no secrecy between us.”

Kó:r gave her a firm nod, as the rest of the hunters walked back to the village in silence.

Chapter Text

Oiá:ner - 26 November 1754 - Kanatahséton Valley

Oiá:ner hobbled around the village in silence, ensuring all the families were safe in their longhouses and had all of the supplies needed for the winter. As the Clan Mother, she was the sole matriarchal leader of the Kanien’kehá:ka. It was her duty to see that to the community’s survival and prosperity throughout the year. During her rather dull routine checkup, her mind drifted to the hunting group of Akwarion, Kó:r, Atená:ti, Kanátstet:si, and her daughter Kaniehtí:io.

Oiá:ner always held Kaniehtí:io to the highest of standards. She knew that her daughter was practically in succession to the role of the Clan Mother once her time was up. Yet, in her eyes, Kaniehtí:io was still youthful ‒ a little too youthful. While Kaniehtí:io embodied all of the strengths of her mother, she lacked the one significant quality: objectivity. Kaniehtí:io’s voice was always the first to be heard during the Haudenosaunee’s political meetings, often concerning European settlement and military encroachment. Unfortunately, Oiá:ner thought, her susceptibility to idealism caused rifts between her and the other members of the Kanien’kehá:ka. As her mother, Oiá:ner worried about Kaniehtí:io getting into personal conflicts, and as the Clan Mother, Oiá:ner worried about Kaniehtí:io’s actions stirring up conflicts within the community.

However, the Clan Mother admired her daughter’s empathy and receptiveness. While Oiá:ner and the other leaders were quick to judge the actions of the French but to defend the British, Kaniehtí:io was one of the few people who were willing to take time to settle disputes with individuals and groups regardless of origin or creed. Her tongue, though having caused some disputes in and of itself, was her gift with domestic relations. Because of her daughter, the Kanien’kehá:ka people gained worthy allies with not only neighboring New England tribes, the Mingo, Lenape, and Shawnee, but also with European fur trappers, mail couriers, and nationwide immigrant neworks.

The Clan Mother returned to her family longhouse and sat in front of the community fire. She saw a few people clearing snow from the walkway to allow the hunting group easier access into the village. Oiá:ner allowed the peace of the forest to calm her senses. Her eyelids fluttered closed. After a few meditating moments of silence, with the occasional scraping of snow from the tribal leaders, Oiá:ner recalled past memories, specifically of the legend she told Kaniehtí:io eleven years prior.

Oiá:ner knew the day would come that Kaniehtí:io would find her destined one. What she didn’t know, however, was that her counterpart could potentially be a person of secrecy. From the very day her daughter told her about the mysterious Haytham Kenway, she was struck with apprehension. The man, though deemed with good intentions, radiated an aura of inconspicuity, of mistrust, of false pretense. It was not that Oiá:ner was ungrateful of his and his men’s aid, no. It was more of an underlying suspicion that she held about him as a person.

Yet, Oiá:ner knew she had to give the man a chance. She wanted to give him a chance. After all, there was no way of knowing who would be another’s soulmate, let alone her own daughter’s. That was something Oiá:ner often told Kaniehtí:io; it would be counterintuitive if she were to dismiss fate’s own philosophy.

Fear was an emotion that followed Oiá:ner throughout her life. She feared for her family during the Beaver Wars, when the Kanien’kehá:ka and the rest of the Five Nations led troops against the Algonquians and their French allies. She feared for her community, when news of the first French and German settlers arriving near the basin reached the village. Most of all, she feared for her daughter, whose fiery temperament landed her in the hands of British slavers not even half a year ago.

However, Oiá:ner forced herself to never let that fear control her life. Instead, she embraced it. She was empowered by it. For decades, she used the power of dread against itself and molded it into bravery. Oiá:ner’s life experience, through decades of peace and war, taught her that the only thing to fear was fear itself. This mentality kept her moving forward, if not for herself, then for her daughter and for her people. It was a way of thinking that she ingrained in Kaniehtí:io ever since she was a girl.

Oiá:ner believed in Kaniehtí:io’s potential as the future Clan Mother of the Kanien’kehá:ka. She knew her daughter held the same regards that she did. Ever since the death of Kaniehtí:io’s father during the French and Iroquois conflicts, Oiá:ner had trained her daughter in leadership, integrity, and survival.

“Never give up hope, Kaniehtí:io. For when you give up that remaining shred of hope, the fight is already lost. Stand up for your people… for me. I will always be the light to guide you forward, my Beautiful Snow.”

~

As Oiá:ner’s gaze was lost in the crackling, sunset-orange blaze, the crunching of several footsteps emerged nearby. She turned her head toward the noise. There in front of her were the four men and her daughter all lugging spoils behind their backs. A small smile crinkled on Oiá:ner’s face. The hunt had been successful. The village would not starve.

She spotted Atená:ti, Akwarion, and Kanátstet:si, lugging elk antlers and skins, while Kaniehtí:io and Kó:r each held an abundance of hides and raw meat. Oiá:ner and the village elders approached the hunters. She hobbled over to Kaniehtí:io, helping her carry the raccoon hide and flesh. Kaniehtí:io handed over the pellets with a sigh, “Thank you, Ista. It’s good to see you.”

“And you, child,” Oiá:ner greeted, “come, you must be freezing.” Kaniehtí:io nodded and followed her mother to the storage longhouse.

Ziio - 26 November 1754 - Kanatahséton Valley

Half an hour or so passed as Ziio and the others packed away the spoils of the day in the storage longhouse. She wiped the sweat off her brow. Ziio exited the longhouse and glanced at the landscape. The setting sun casted a beautiful pink and orange glow over the snow-tipped pines as the fire continued to crackle beside her. The bright golden embers jumped in unison trying to escape their confines, the little sparks contrasting with the stark darkness. As the sun continued its descent, the landscape slowly inched toward black. Finally, all remnants of lavenders, oranges, and pinks vanished, as the sky took on a familiar darkness, with the constant raining of pure white snow streaking the black canvas.

Ziio exhaled, her breath visible despite the darkness. She wrapped her furskin tighter around her shoulders to prevent the wind from piercing through her skin. Before she headed off to her family’s longhouse, she reminded herself to speak with Kó:r on the topic of Haytham.

Haytham. How the man still lingered in her mind. I must visit him soon since he has gone out of his way and traveled so many miles to pay me a visit. She allowed a small smile to grace her face at the thought of the Englishman.

Ziio decided to check the storage longhouse once more to see if her friend was still packing away the spoils of the day. As she rounded the corner, she spotted the man packing away the last of the antlers, fitting them snuggly into the pile of pelts.

“Kó:r,” Ziio called out, “when you are finished, meet me outside my longhouse.” Kó:r gave her a nod of affirmation as he continued his task.

~

After a few minutes, Ziio heard a familiar crunching sound slowly crescendoing towards her. In her peripheral vision, she saw the tall man approach her. Ziio, leaning against the longhouse, pushed herself away from the thatch stronghold as Kó:r arrived.

“Would you like to go someplace private to discuss these matters?” Kó:r asked.

She thought for a moment, before glancing behind him and pointing to the outer rim of the village.

“Let us have our conversation near the entrance of the village,” Ziio replied. She and Kó:r walked the short distance to their destination in silence, taking in the sounds of the nightlife.

Ziio sighed, “I’m assuming you have many questions. Feel free to ask me anything that concerns you, my friend.”

Kó:r cleared his throat, “How long have you been seeing Haytham Kenway for?”

“I first met him on the day when our hunting group was ambushed by the British convoy in the summer,” Ziio recalled the way Haytham looked at her, with the most curious eyes, “he was not a part of the troop that enslaved us; rather, he was against them. He and his men stole their uniforms and infiltrated the fort in order to free us.”

Kó:r’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline in response to the last sentence. He was surprised to learn of Haytham’s allegiance, especially given his shared culture with the men of the Crown. Kó:r grunted in affirmation and pressed for more information surrounding Haytham’s men.

“I am not too fond of his men; though, a few have caught my attention. One of them we know quite well, actually: Sir William Johnson. I often eavesdropped on Raké:ni whenever he spoke of the British with the war committee and Johnson’s name was a popular topic. Nearing the end of the conflict with the Algonquians and the French, Raké:ni and Ista met with Johnson in discussing potential alliances between our people and the British military to permanently rid themselves of the French.”

“Yes, I hear his name spoken by the war committee often to this day,” Kó:r said.

Ziio continued, “As for the others, I only briefly know two of them. They both work for the Royal Army under the Bulldog: Charles Lee and Jonathan Pitcairn. Lee doesn’t seem to be as important nor highly-ranked in terms of military leadership unlike Pitcairn, an appointed captain.” She saw Kó:r’s cheeks visibly reddening, “Trust me, my friend, I was concerned as well until Haytham informed me that both Pitcairn and Lee were recently discharged from the Bulldog’s command.”

“And for what reason?”

She sighed, “I’m not sure. All I know is that both of those men have sworn their allegiance to Kenway only.”

Kó:r still seemed visibly tense after hearing about some of the men’s past allegiances. Ziio reassured him, “Do not fret. Haytham has told me that his men despise Braddock as much as we do. They’ve received unfair treatment under his command for many years and wish to see him brought down.”

Kó:r relaxed slightly at the news. He did not trust them even if his life depended on it; however, their feelings toward the Bulldog served as viable reasons for their hopes to assist the community. After Ziio explained the logistical details of the plan to ambush Braddock, the two headed back to their longhouses.

As Ziio neared her shared home with Oia:ner, she felt a hand gently grab her forearm. Kó:r, with a stern expression, turned Ziio around to face him.

“Before we depart, Kaniehtí:io, I have one more inquiry. You are not seeing Haytham romantically, are you?”

The question was bound to come up sooner or later, but Ziio was not ready to answer it. She shuddered as she pulled her arm out of his grasp.

She responded with a huff, “As far as I’m alive: no. And we do not intend for that to happen, as our relationship is strictly business.”

Except, Ziio would be lying to herself if she truly meant it. Her feelings for the Englishman were still entangled. She didn’t know how to feel about him… yet. What she did know, however, was that the answer she gave Kó:r was false.

Kó:r seemed to release a breath that he was holding in, “That’s good to hear, my friend. We wouldn't want you fraternizing too deeply with a King’s man now, would we? That would only lead us all to trouble.”

She had no comment. Instead, Ziio decided to ignore Kó:r’s remark, “It’s getting late. We can talk more about this another time.”

“I agree. I’m quite tired from today’s hunt, and I’m sure you are as well,” Kó:r yawned, “good night, my friend.”

Ziio bade her dear friend a good evening as the two headed their separate ways.

Haytham Kenway - 3 December 1754 - Manhattan, New York

Haytham’s knuckles grazed the top of the red velvet roof of the carriage. The vehicle gradually slowed to a stop. After stepping out, he greeted the driver and bade the man farewell, watching as the rocky transport ricketed away on the dirt streets of New York. As he inhaled, his nostrils were assaulted by the mixed scents of pastries from the nearby bakery, cattle from the farmland, and piss from the side of the road. And I thought it would be different than Boston, Haytham thought with a grimace.

Nevertheless, he pushed aside his disappointing thoughts of the so-called “grandeur” of New York. He had more important tasks to complete today. Today was the day that he and Ziio were to meet to discuss further plans on the Braddock expedition. It had been a week since he had seen the woman and to his surprise, his mind felt out of haze. To Haytham, days seemed just ever so less entertaining without Ziio. There was no excitement, adventure, or proactiveness. Now, the man was never one to fall head-over-heels in love with anyone, no less someone he met only a few months ago; yet, Ziio seemed to be the unusual exception to his typical stoic, work-oriented self.

Haytham spent the next few minutes finding his way to the tavern – the Fighting Cocks, to be exact. Whoever came up with the name for such a place, he didn’t know. After spending a few minutes running into dead ends and pestering impatient bystanders, he finally found the alley leading to the surprisingly vibrant establishment. The proud sign of the tavern, a wooden plaque plated in faux-gold with a neat little pint of ale situated between two fighting roosters, laid comfortably a few meters above the doorway welcoming any and all guests in search of food, shelter, drink, information or a combination of all four.

Haytham opened the door and entered the stingy tavern. It was quite similar to the Green Dragon and the Wright, actually, even down to the soiled wooden countertops enduring years of alcoholic patrons. He honed his vision and relaxed his mind, searching through the sea of drunkards for Ziio. However, there was no sign of her. Haytham was usually a patient man (only when matters did not involve the Order... then he’d be a little more temperamental). Though, he was never one to shy away from a challenge, and this was one that he would be ready to face. He decided that the best course of action would be to order an ale and to listen in on his surroundings while waiting for Ziio. While sipping the devilish liquid, Haytham tuned into some nearby bystanders’ conversations.

“I heard that ol’ King Georgie’s hammerin’ down real hard on the merchants. He’s sick o’ his men turnin’ a blind eye to the so-called ‘illegal’ trading.”

“Agh, the lout’s gotta stick up his arse! Wot are them soldiers gonna do to us, eh? Not like they’re gonna gun us down on the spot after lettin’ us trade with the French and Spanish for years!”

“‘Cept the ol’ king don’t know shite ‘bout what his ‘lil lobsters are doin’ here in the colonies.’ He’s too busy sittin’ on his high horse back in London-town.”

“Yeah, you gotta watch yer tongue, though. When I was out dumpin’ the slops, I heard from a few redcoats that the tension between the British and the Frenchies is gettin’ real rough.”

“They’s lots more concerned ‘bout who’s tradin’ wit’ who now since the French can easily extract information and whereabouts of British convoys and military positions. My neighbor told me that British outposts don’t even accept French cheese!”

“Ya know, I’m more concerned about how we’s gonna be directly affected. I mean, will they be bringin’ this bloody conflict to our home towns or is they’s stickin’ to the savages’ lands? I got mouths to feed at home. I don’t have time to be pickin’ up arms and joinin’ a pointless, gob-filled war!”

Haytham sighed. More talk about the brewing war, as always. The people have been growing increasingly restless this past year in tandem with the stationed redcoats. The civilians have no idea if they will be drafted into direct conflict against King Louis XV’s forces, while the military personnel have no idea of their standing between the Natives and the French. This can be good, though, Haytham reasoned. This tension can distract the British militia and the colonists from the Precursor sites. While the citizens deal with the European conflict, the Templars can engage in further pursuits of the sites without interruption. That is, of course, once they rid of Edward Braddock.

The atmosphere of the Fighting Cocks drew Haytham into a drowsy state. His eyelids resisted the urge to fall as best as they could. They failed. Slowly, yet surely, he closed his eyes. “Rested his eyes” as he would have preferred, for fully closing would mean subduing to the elements and ignoring one’s surroundings. He slowly faded as the sounds of the jovial attendees blurred in the background. The sloshing of rum and gin, the Presto swing of the fiddle and piccolo players, the upbeat jig of the percussionists, and the creeping sense of drowsiness from the alcohol made it difficult for Haytham to maintain his senses. The smell of alcohol, though pungent, offered a sort of alluring presence over his mind.

Suddenly, his state of ambiance was broken. Haytham felt a hard tap on his right shoulder. It felt as if his heart jumped out of its cavity. In the span of a couple seconds, he turned around, drink still in hand. He was greeted by a familiar, beautiful face. One that he had longed to see. Ziio.

Unfortunately, the rum had a mind of its own, the amber liquid attacking its victim. Ziio’s smile was soon replaced by a grimace of shock as the alcohol splashed onto her furskin. Sure, there was the time when he ruined Jennifer’s cake for her sixteenth birthday thinking he could stealthily extract one more dollop of whipped cream. Or, when he accidentally knocked over his father’s prized novel collection in search of the late man’s finest blades. Heaven forbid the moment in his early adulthood when he ripped an unsuspecting woman’s skirt and understockings through her petticoat while on a reconnaissance mission for Braddock himself. Those events dawned compared to what had just happened. Spilling the devil’s drink onto the woman of his utmost respect. Classic, Haytham. Classic.

Haytham immediately slammed the tankard onto the table. He jolted out of his chair and pulled a handkerchief out of one of the pockets of his coat. Gods, why do I have to fuck up now? When she’s finally here? Ziio nonchalantly removed her furskin while Haytham lost his mind.

“Ziio!” he exclaimed as he was approaching her with the handkerchief, “My apologies! I- That was incredibly foolish of me.”

To his surprise, the woman chuckled and shook her head, “Fair goes our meeting, Haytham. I’m happy to see you, too.”

“Do you need any help with that?” he asked, standing there feeling quite like a fool.

Ziio again shook her head, “No. A simple wash will do,” she motioned toward Haytham’s handkerchief, “though, I don’t suppose I can borrow that to at least remove the stench?”

Haytham immediately handed her the white cloth, turning away from her to hide his flushed face. After a few seconds of scrubbing, Ziio handed the now amber-stained cloth back to its rightful owner.

Haytham stuffed the handkerchief in his right breast pocket and apologized to Ziio, “Apologies once again. I truly didn’t mean for that to happen.”

He felt an uncomfortable heat creeping up his face as Ziio chuckled at him. Haytham cleared his throat and steered the conversation towards the Braddock plans, “So, have you any news from your people about our plan yet?”

“I have, actually,” Ziio told the man while taking a seat next to him, “I will not lie: the Clan Mother was skeptical. It took a bit of convincing to get her to understand that you and your men are on our side.”

“I can only understand her warriness, Ziio. If I were her, I’d also be on my toes,” he replied.

Ziio hummed in agreement, “Even though many of us in the village are on board with striking down Braddock, a good number remain dubious of you, Haytham.”

She paused. Haytham noticed her eyebrow quirking up as she held her breath. He had been around her long enough to know that her facial expression signified her discomfort.

Before Haytham could change the topic to spare her the conversation, Ziio resumed, “My good friend Kó:r is one of them. I care for that man more than anyone would know, but his head… he is as stubborn as a bull!”

As Ziio spoke of her friend, Haytham felt a hot pang in his breastplate. It was an odd feeling, one that he had not felt in a long time.

Am I seriously feeling green over another man?

He casually sipped his rum while listening to Ziio ramble on about Kó:r, “I’ve known Kó:r ever since we were children. His father raised him to hate the British and the French, or any other European for that matter. I guess that hatred’s stuck with him ever since, even after the Algonquian wars.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s never encountered me before,” Haytham said into his tankard. While the man was busy swallowing another mouthful of that God-awful liquid, Ziio froze yet again. Her eyes darted to Haytham, who was still drinking.

As Haytham placed his tankard onto the wooden table, Ziio spoke, “Yes. Who knows how that would end. How about you, Haytham? Any news about the plans with your men?”

Haytham dabbed the side of his mouth with another handkerchief he pulled out of his left breast pocket. By now, the two have sunken into casual conversation, his hat and overcoat hanging on the back of his chair and her extra furskin laying on the table.

“Mostly celebration. I’ve given my men some time off to tend to their duties and to visit their families. They’ve worked hard this past year, and I intend to reward them when need be.”

“How kind of you.”

“I’m capable of such things.”

“Really?” Ziio smirked, “I’m surprised.”

Haytham chuckled, “What, you think me so cruel as to not give my men the downtime that they deserve?”

“Judging by your appearance: yes! Mr. Posh-Londoner!”

Haytham barked out a laugh, “Ha! You cheeky woman.”

“Now, now, Haytham. I’ve only judged you by your appearance, not your personality,” Ziio chided.

“Oh, and if you were to do that?”

“You are one of the most interesting people I’ve met in my life, Haytham.”

“Really? You must not be going out much.”

“If I were you, I’d take that as a compliment,” Ziio snorted at the man’s lighthearted comment, “but yes. You truly are. I’ve yet to come across an Englishman as quick-witted nor charming as you.”

The familiar heat was crawling up his neck again. Was it the rum?

Haytham stared at Ziio directly in her eyes and saw nothing. No needless judgment. No clouded lies. Just pure honesty. He didn’t know of anyone capable of that.

“I’d say the same about you, Ziio.”

“How so?”

“Well for one, you outran me the first time we met! It’s not every day you can say that a young, agile woman has outrun you.”

Ziio chuckled. The light of the nearby candle reflected off of her face creating an angelic glow around her skin.

"You’re unlike any woman I’ve met,” Haytham continued, “Strong. Fearless. Intelligent. All noble qualities.”

“I am honored, Mr. Kenway,” Ziio nodded in gratitude. Haytham swore he could see a familiar red dabbled on her cheeks.

~

Day turned into evening, which then turned into night, and the couple were still in the tavern. Eventually, the two decided to leave the stingy establishment to take a walk along the bustling streets of New York. Side by side, Ziio and Haytham strolled along the dirt road.

“The city certainly has its own charm,” Ziio said.

“I wish I could agree. But, being born and raised in a city much like this one often deprives one’s sense of grandeur,” Haytham replied.

Ziio smirked, “Is it really that bad in London?”

“‘Bad’ isn’t even the start of it,” Haytham sighed, “the place is filthier than a horse’s arse.”

“How lovely.”

Haytham responded to her sarcastic comment, “It wouldn’t be kind of me to force you to endure through my tales back home.”

“I am always up for a good story.”

Haytham recounted his past in Europe to Ziio, who listened with attentive ears. It felt rather odd hearing himself reveal such details about his life to what one could consider a stranger, a person of a different world. Nevertheless, Haytham found it relaxing. He took deep breaths and pauses when sensitive topics arose, such as the death of his father, kidnapping of his half-sister, and life in the Royal Army. He was grateful that Ziio took in the information silently, yearning to hear the next part. The slight movement of her eyebrows and twitch of her lips at the more sentimental parts of his life story evoked a sense of empathy. It was as if she truly understood the suffering he endured as a young man.

~

After an hour or so of delving into Haytham’s past, the couple found themselves back at the tavern. Haytham glanced through the window and witnessed a peculiar woman dancing a jig on one of the tables, beer and whatnot flying around her.

Ziio touched Haytham’s arm and said, “It’s getting late.”

“Yes, it is,” Haytham sighed, “would you like me to flag down a carriage for you in the morning? I can stay with you to ensure your safety.”

He swore that he saw that familiar red plastered on her cheeks again. She is so enchanting when she goes red. Ziio, however, did something that Haytham did not expect: she gently picked up his hand and gave it a light squeeze.

“Haytham, that is very kind and thoughtful of you. Thank you for worrying about me.”

He straightened his back at the woman’s answer. Haytham felt a sense of accomplishment flow through his body. Why do I feel like a young man again?

“Of course, Ziio. I wouldn’t want anything happening to you at this ungodly hour and here of all places. Let us go back to the tavern.”

She smiled warmly at the man and followed his lead. As the couple re-entered the establishment for the second time that day, Haytham could not help but feel a yearning.

“Ziio, I can’t help but ask: what is your life story?”

The woman paused in her footsteps. She looked at him with what he could only describe as the same sense of yearning and contemplation.

“One day, Haytham,” she swallowed, “we can arrange another meeting under better circumstances. I will write to you.”

“That would make me most happy, Ziio.”