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Father and son sat by the fire. The night was clear but frosty. They were in the middle of hunting for Church. Unfortunately, winter had arrived. It was early December, and snow had already fallen thickly in the forest on the Frontier. The frost wasn't very strong yet, but it was strong enough to be unpleasant. They were sitting quite close together on an old, rotten log.
Connor, basking in the glow of the fire, noticed something strange about his father. The grumpy Templar had often made mean remarks about Connor before or simply chatted him up about various things. Today, however, he was remarkably silent. "Maybe he's just tired," the young Assassin thought. But when Haytham pulled the whiskey from his traveling bag a moment later, Connor's eyebrows shot up.
"You don't look like someone who drinks," he stated.
"Because I avoid alcohol, but right now it's a special occasion," the older man said, and his voice was strangely melancholic.
"What is that occasion, if I can ask?"
Haytham didn't want to tell him the whole truth. He only replied that it his birthday tomorrow. For some people, that's enough to make them drink.
"Oh, , Happy birt..."
"No," the older man interrupted suddenly. Remembering his birthday had long been associated with pain.
"Why? Are you one of those people who gets sad when they are getting older?" Connor asked with a slight note of amusement in his voice, thinking that was the reason for his father's foul mood.
"No. The truth is much worse, but I'm too sober for such confessions," the Templar said quietly.
"I have a solution," the assassin said, drawing out his bottle of alcohol. "I think this will be enough for the two of us. Apparently, it's a very strong drink. The men from the Hunting Society gave it to me.’’
This time Haytham raised an eyebrow. "Then show me if it's so good" the elder simply replied. Today he only wants to get drunk and might be helpful in their relationship in some way.
Connor took out two wooden cups and filled both vessels completely.
40 minutes later, the assassin, with his tongue slightly tangled, asked his father if he would finally tell him what the anniversary was.
Haytham's face took on a slightly painful expression for a split second, but he was already feeling the effects of the alcohol and nodded his head. There was no way to tell him that when he was sober, but he was already drunk enough, and he has to let it out eventually. "When I was nine, I lived with my father, mother, and half-sister in a large manor house. They loved me dearly, and I had everything I wanted, maybe except friends. But one day, on the day before my 10th birthday, my entire almost perfect life fell apart. My father's property manager betrayed him to steal one important book. He ordered an attack on my house, and as a result, my father was killed, my sister was kidnapped and taken into the Sultan's captivity, and my mother abandoned me because I managed to save her during the raid by murdering one of the attackers. She never even looked at me again. I was given to the one who was behind it all, and he used me like a puppet. Of course, I wasn't aware of it for a long time, but finally, he paid for what he had done..."Haytham sighed softly and after this confession, something heavy had fallen from his heart.
Connor was silent for a moment, processing everything. His father's story was so sad that he sobered up a little. "What happened to your sister?" his son asked with compassion.
Another painful shadow crossed his father's face. "Jennifer was only freed after 22 years of captivity. All because of that damned Birch. He was pretending that he was looking for her for all those years and misleading my efforts. My sister finally was freed, but as a result of this , my best friend was horribly mutilated by Muslim monks, and in the aftermath of that, he took his own life" His voice visibly wavered at the last words , and Connor was shocked to see tears in his father's eyes.
"I'm sorry," the assassin said completely honest . Connor didn't know that his father could have such a tragic past, maybe even more than his own... He had at last his grandmother and friends in the village, and later Achilles, who would never betray him or manipulate him in such a way. He was sure of that. People from the Davenport Homestead community were very friendly, and for Connor it was like family. Unlike his father, who remained silent again and continued sipping his drink like he wanted to drink away his past. He seemed so lonly. Connor couldn't bear it any longer and placed his hand on Haytham's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. The older man flinched for a moment, but didn't pull away. Assassin didn't say anything more about his father's story, but that small gesture was enough to make the Templar feel at least a little better.
"Want some more?" The assassin waved the bottle in the air, changing the subject.
"Yes," the older man replied, his voice was already normal, though his cheeks were still wet.
They finished Connor's bottle in silence and went to bed.
The morning wasn't the easiest, but once they'd dealt with the hangover, Connor went off from camp for a bit.
"I'll be back soon,"
"Fine," Haytham said shortly, still in the bad mood.
The young assassin had come back in an hour, carrying something behind his back. His father was so busy packing up the camp that he only gave Connor a short look. Assassin finally stood behind Haytham's back and cleared his throat. Templar turned around and found his son, smiling slightly, cradling in his arms a necklace.
"Happy birthday, Raké:ni," Connor said, and gave his father a gift, which he immediately took."I know it's no big deal to white people."
"Thank you," his father quickly told him, his voice sounding moved again. The necklace contained, a string with a feather from a young eagle at the end, a fang, probably from a bear or wolf, which strangely was missing from Connor's pendant, and a bead resembling those Ziio wore... Haytham looked at the gift with reverence.
"I know the meaning of your name, father. The bead belongs to... my mother, and a tusk was..."
"It belonged to you," the Templar quietly finished for him
To any white man, this might be garbage, but not to him. He knew that kind of item means a lot to the Indians, especially when given as a gift to someone close to them. Connor, after giving him the tusk from his pendant, gave him a part of himself, a part of his soul, the Ziio’s bead, and the feather that symbolized himself. This necklace was like a lost family that could finally be reunited in that strange way.
"I had little time to give you something more worthy, but I remembered in time that there was an eagle's nest nearby.It wasn't easy, but I managed," the assassin replied, stroking his hand with the beak wound on it.
Haytham squeezed the gift with delicacy, then hung it on his neck.
"Thank you again, I really like it," the Templar said with complete sincerity, placing his hand on his son's shoulder and confirming his words with that act.
Then with his old voice he said: "Show me that hand before you get an infection! "
A necklace was tickling him gently, and a warmth that he hadn't remembered for a long time settled in his heart.