Chapter Text
30th of December, 1777
Dear Haytham,
My apologies for the late reply of this correspondence – at your insistence, I spent the year away from home. I managed to go as far as Conway (did you know that people born in Conway are nicknamed Jackdaws? I found that tidbit very amusing, and believe you will too) for half the year, and then up north to Edinburgh, but neglected to have my mail forwarded on. That was negligence on my part, and for that, I once again express my sincerest apologies.
Firstly, your concern with Connor is understandable, however upsetting it is. I cannot imagine what it must've been to witness, seeing your child on the hangman’s noose, and I am exceptionally glad you came to your senses to save him. You've previously expressed your disgust and weariness over your colleagues being so inferior to James; ergo, is it any surprise that such inferior men (although, of course, James was such an example of a man that almost all others may be fine on their own, but inferior compared to his memory) have caused such harm and havoc to your son? You had returned to the Colonies (and I shall continue to call them as such until such a time as Parliament finally realises that this civil war is not sustainable cost-wise after the conflict with France) and had been elected leader by the time that your colleagues reported their attempt to gain access to the Indian village, so I, again, question why you were not informed of this treachery? Why did they make that decision without you?
Before you returned to the Colonies, you had previously expressed your trust in these men, from their help in your first mission in the New World. In the two decades hence, how did this deteriorate? Are they directly disobeying your desire to avoid such a search? Or did you not explicitly forbid them from doing so, merely brushing off the idea of searching for precursor artefacts instead? Could you have inadvertently given them the semblance of permission? I know those ideas will be uncomfortable for you to hear, Haytham, but you must figure out such a thing, and you must tell Connor if you ever manage to have an actual conversation with the boy. Your relationship with his mother ended because you hid information from her; do not make the same mistake again.
Connor deserves to know what his family is, and, even if he rejects being a part of it, he will always be a part of mine. If you ever have a civil conversation with your son, tell him to write to me, as I would love to receive mail from literally anyone but you, and my favourite nephew is an excellent candidate.
(And no, this does not mean you can stop this correspondence. Sorry to disappoint.)
And towards your continued concern, yes, I have left the house frequently, even during my trips. No, I have not joined any Ladies’ Groups as I find the women in them shallow and with concerns that, after what I have been through, are too simple for me to even fake concern over, finding myself relating more to my housekeeper Mary than these ladies who are said to be of equal standing to I (but you know just how I feel about such a statement, Haytham). Regardless, I have found items to keep myself occupied with, and you need to worry less, baby brother, for I am absolutely fine. I'm still working on finishing Mother's work by restoring the house, and I'm finding I quite enjoy it, balancing accounts and intimidating the trade masters who underestimate me. Mary, who has been keeping her own affairs for some time now, has helped me greatly. I even managed to uncover some of the writing Father put on the walls, the ones only we could see. It always felt like an innocent little secret from Mother and the staff, but I wonder if they were a test, to see if you could see as he could?
Send me coffee.
Blwyddyn Newydd dda,
Your sister,
Jennifer Scott
Post Scriptum: If the result of your investigation does lead you to feel at all responsible for either the horrific abuse upon your son or the death of his mother, do not hide this fact. You must present this conclusion as the truth, own up to your mistake, and be aware that your son may never forgive you for it, unintentional as it may have been. I truly am sorry, Haytham, I really hope you manage to sort this out, but he is entitled to his own feelings on the matter, which have over fifteen years of hurt behind them.
'Was Mother the only woman you ever loved?' Ratonhnhaké:ton wasn't even sure why he was asking his father about his other romantic partners. Did he want some kind of loyalty from his father (even if Istá was the one to break things off)? Did he want to know if Raké:ni had remarried, or had had children he had actually wanted?
'She was. Romantically, at least.' Ratonhnhaké:ton scoffed. 'Oh, don't look at me like that, Connor, it's the truth. And I'm not implying that I left a trail of broken hearts behind me, your mother was the only woman I was ever involved with, despite what Benjamin Franklin would like to imply.'
There was plenty of room on the Aquila for Ratonhnhaké:ton and his father to never cross paths. Alas, Haytham Kenway was nothing if not consistently annoying, and so placed himself on the bridge of the ship at every conceivable opportunity.
Not that he was any good at being here. Ratonhnhaké:ton still hadn't forgiven him for ramming his beloved Aquila into the schooner to get to Church faster.
The conversation petered off, and Ratonhnhaké:ton was left uncomfortable once again. So he was left finding another avenue of conversation (Faulkner having retired earlier that night, cruelly abandoning him alone with his father), but was given an out by Haytham himself.
'Did Achilles ever tell you about your grandfather?' Grandfather? Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't know anything about his father's childhood, or what relevance Achilles would see in telling him.
'No, he has never mentioned him. At least, not in the context of him being my grandfather. Why? I was not aware Grandfather was from the colonies.'
'Oh, he's not. He's from Wales, a country in the British Isles. Their name for it is Cymru. I'm not sure if Achilles ever met Father, but he did know Adéwalé, who was Father's… first mate? Quartermaster? I'm not sure of the exact term.' He let out a short, mirthless laugh. 'Father tried to tell me all these stories as a child, of him captaining the Jackdaw, and I don't think I actually learnt a single thing about ships from them. I just enjoyed his embellishments, and Jenny – your modryb – no, wait, aunt – Jennifer – whispering to me what he was lying about.'
Ratonhnhaké:ton had never heard his father say so much before. He had an aunt, and his grandfather had been some kind of captain. His father was looking over the horizon, but he still saw no lie in his eyes. Istá was an only child, and he had never been as close to his grandmother as he would've liked, as she had been so busy with her duties as the Iakoiá:ner of Kanatahséton, so he immediately felt a spark of intrigue in his aunt. He had never heard anything about his father's family, although he had never searched out such information purposely. Is she still alive? Does his Aunt Jennifer know about him? Does she have feelings about him? Is she a Templar, just like Raké:ni? Does she want Raké:ni to kill him, just like the other Templars do?
'I think I have heard the name Jackdaw before, from Master Faulker and Achilles, actually. I do not remember the captain's name, though, was that my grandfather?' Haytham turned to look at him.
'You're serious? He never mentioned it? I assumed he would've, to make me look bad.'
Ratonhnhaké:ton was beginning to grow frustrated. 'Mention what, Father. Stop speaking in theoreticals,' – he was almost positive this wasn't the correct English word, but he didn't particularly care – 'and tell me what it is you mean.'
'Your grandfather – Captain Edward James Kenway. He was a pirate, back when the Caribbean Sea was more unregulated and crime-ridden than it is now. He left Abertawe to get money for his first wife, Caroline – Jenny’s mother, although he didn't know she was pregnant when he left – but soon after he started, he became an Assassin.' He snapped his head round to look at his father.
'An Assassin? Like, of the Brotherhood? Or do you mean of those who kill kings?'
'Like the Brotherhood of Assassins. Like you are, Connor.' His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was trying to gaze at a point beyond the horizon. 'Like I should've been, I imagine, if things had turned out differently.'
Raké:ni. An Assassin. It went against everything he knew of his father, his group of Templar lackeys that Ratonhnhaké:ton had been systematically removing.
'Why are you a Templar if Grandfather was an Assassin?' He knew his father was leading him onto this line of questioning, clearly wanting to tell a story, but Ratonhnhaké:ton couldn't find it within himself to care. He was genuinely curious about his family history, which was a new concept. Previously, he actively avoided any information that may have endeared his father to him, but ever since working with Haytham, a creeping curiosity began to enter his mind. His father was… an enigma. For as much as he preached Templar ideology any chance he got, he often quoted or referenced old Assassin ideologies in the same breath – Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad, Ezio and Claudia Auditore da Firenze, Aguilar de Nerha, Shao Jun – the ones whose stories Achilles taught to Ratonhnhaké:ton as a younger man, cited as a shining example against the continued onslaught of the Templar Order.
Yet here was the Grand Master of the Colonial Rite, agreeing with the actions of these Assassins. Haytham described it as a difference between the pursuit of peace versus the pursuit of freedom, but even if this view was a valid understanding of the change in goal of the Brotherhood, Ratonhnhaké:ton doubted that any other Templars would see it in the same light, citing goals that would be paramount to control or the continued expansion of slavery, but leaving the victims without their mental facilities. The Templars and the Assassins may both have wished for peace, but their journeys there were polar opposites.
Ratonhnhaké:ton's crusade against the Templars was not borne of a hatred of his father or his blood, but against the extremis potential the artefacts would have on the populace, and the extreme control the Templars could have on the lives of other people (Charles Lee as Commander in Chief was still a frightening reality that Ratonhnhaké:ton was glad had not come to pass).
But at the same time… he believed there was a future of cooperation for them both.
'– was kidnapped. Two nights before my tenth birthday.’ So caught up in his thoughts, Ratonhnhaké:ton missed the start of his father’s reply. 'Well– not exactly. Father had a…colleague. His name was Reginald Birch, and Father introduced him as our property manager. He was expected to marry Jenny – much to her disgust, she never trusted Reginald – and had been training me, along with Father. Jenny never got trained, but she was somewhat aware of the struggles between our Orders and knew what Father was. I didn't, at the time. I didn't know anything, and I don't know if my mother did. But Reginald was the Grand Master of the British Rite and attacked one night. Father was felled, Jenny was kidnapped, and Mother… Your grandmother saw me as a monster from then on out, as I killed a man to defend her. She didn't speak to me again for as long as she lived.'
Ratonhnhaké:ton had been eleven years old when he had first taken the life of an animal by direct means, as opposed to baiting and trapping it or shooting it from afar. It was far from the easiest thing he’d ever done (he had smiled proudly when lakoiá:ner praised him in front of the people of Kanatahséton, but in private, he almost broke down), and now he imagined himself at ten years old, taking a life to save Istá. He would, of course, but he could understand the harrowing experience it would've caused. And if Istá had seen him as a monster?
'And then Birch took you? Raised you?'
'Correct. Under the guise of finding Jenny, but he obviously knew where to look and made me miss her. He raised me to be a Templar, and while I do not regret the actions I've taken as a Templar, make no mistake, I do wish it had been under better circumstances. With my family alive, preferably.'
His heart sank, bemoaning the loss of a person whom he had only just heard of. 'She is dead?'
'No.’ His voice was firm and left no room for misinterpretation. He could tell his father was pushing down memory and feeling. ‘I never stopped looking for her. In fact, it's the main reason why I wasn't here when you were born. In the colonies, I mean. Soon after your mother ended our relationship, my… my very dear friend Jim Holden sent me a message that we found her, and I dropped everything – attempts to reconcile with your mother, Templar business, which wasn't as much as I had now, as I was not yet the Grand Master, we actually didn't have one when I arrived – to go to Damascus, in the Ottoman Empire. I won't bore you with the story, you'll find it out…eventually.’ He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Ratonhnhaké:ton knew there was more to this, but for now, at least, he was willing to let him continue. 'But we rescued Jenny, and I found out about Birch's actions.' He took a deep breath. 'Connor, I'm going to tell you this, and I know you're not exactly in any contact with any other Templars – although I certainly don't want any Assassins finding out about this – but I'm putting my trust in you to keep this to yourself, and if you ever meet her, Modryb Jenny.' Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded his understanding, more curious about what his father would tell him. 'We immediately left for France to confront and kill Birch. Does killing a fellow Grand Master count as treason? Absolutely. But at the time, and still now, it didn't matter. He sold my sister into slavery. He killed my father. He deserved to die. And die he did, by the hand of whom he had hurt the most: Jenny.'
Ratonhnhaké:ton waited a moment for his father to continue, but it seemed he was either finished or was collecting his thoughts.
'Why are you telling me this? Why should I believe you?'
'Because it’s your family history. Even if you don't use the name Kenway, you are still part of this family, and you still deserve to know.’ The way he said it was… odd. Almost as though he was recalling something said to him, as opposed to his own words. ‘I went too long in my life not knowing about my family history, and I didn't want the same for you. As for whether this is the truth, Jenny can confirm it – in fact, telling you more about our family was her idea, originally, so you can blame this whole conversation on her – and I can give you her address in London so you can write to her. She knows about you, and she said something along the lines of “I'd welcome a letter by literally anyone but you, Haytham, and your son is leagues better than you could ever be”. You'll love her, she's fierce and determined, just like you. Achilles might have stories about your grandfather.’ He sighed. 'I know there's a lot I can't share with you because I've taken an oath, but if I can tell the truth, I will. Lying has cost our family far too much.'
Ratonhnhaké:ton leant against the spoke of the wheel. His aunt knew about him. And was apparently open to the idea of him writing to her. He wasn't sure how attitudes in the British Isles were to the idea of having children with the natives, but this Jennifer either didn't know that her brother had fallen in love with a Kanien'kehá:ka woman and was in for a nasty shock, or she does know, and doesn't care.
‘I would like her address. Thank you.' There was truly no harm in it, after all.