I preface this by letting you know I have not read anything to do with Forsaken, I've played up to Rogue but not Unity or done much of the extra features. That said, enjoy~

"'Ay-there, 'Ay-tham!"

A young, neatly dressed boy pushed his nose farther into his book, trying to avoid eye contact with Edward. He had thought himself safe in the confines of the study, the one his father never used but furbished nicely. Alas, no place was safe when the man had a bottle of rum boosting his churlishness.

"Yes, father?" said Haytham.

Edward careened around the desk, grinning, the familiar smell of drink wreathing him. "'Ey, now, what're you reading there, my studiousss-son?"

Haytham looked up, interest sparkling in his youthful visage. "Oh, the death of King James I. He was killed in a failed coup, his son James II survived to continue his legacy of selective law and order tactfully applied to rule as king of the Scots."

With each word Haytham uttered Edward's features seemed to melt. He sucked in his cheeks and adopted a glazed-over stare. "Death of a king, eh? You know what they say, 'Aytham, you know what they say about that: old kings never die, they just get throne out." He clapped a hand to his breast, howling with laughter. "Throne out, son, throne out!"

Haytham pursed his lips, sinking in his chair. "The assassins were not able to disturb his reign of order, father, he was what is called a Templar."

"Ooohh," Edward wiggled his fingers, rolling his eyes. "Templars, them lot."

Smiling, Haytham perked up. "Yes, they strive for peace by organizing structures for society to abide by and be guided under, all united!"

Edward swigged from his bottle, chuckling. "Aye, all that control and power, eh?"

Haytham slid the book back into place among the others on the desk. "Brilliance! I am sure I will be one, father."

Still laughing at his own joke, Edward wiped a tear from his eye. "Hah? You will be a one? Why not a two or a three?"

On and on like any other day, the jokes would wash over anything young Haytham had to say. Irritation boiled within him, childishly. If the old man would just listen and take things seriously...

"Father!" Haytham whined, uncharacteristic for the thirteen-year-old. "I want to be a Templar."

"Hahaha! Haha, ha... Heh... Huh..." The jolly mirth drained from Edward. Haytham watched interestedly as the man's face screwed up in the most perplexed expression of thought he had ever seen. "Haytham."

"Yes?"

"Daddy needs to take a nap for about an hour." The strange seriousness in Edward's voice intrigued Haytham. "You... be a good lad and wake your daddy up then."

Pouting, Haytham agreed, pulling out his book once more and returning to its text. Edward slowly, carefully, staggered out of the room, each step creaking heavily on the floorboards. Haytham mentally shrugged and waited until the appointed time. The pages of the books were dry and smooth to his fingertips. He diligently followed each line with his eyes, never missing a character or skipping about. A bird trilled by the windowsill, a beautiful sight on most other days to most other people, except for Haytham, busily rereading. The bird eventually flitted away, bothered by the brightness of the room, how Haytham preferred it almost blindingly well-lit. Flicking his eyes to the ornate clock on the ochre wall, he rose and tip-toed to the lounge where he heard his father snore. Obediently, he tapped the man's shoulder. Past his messy blonde hair, Edward looked up at Haytham with renewed affection. "Ah! Haytham!"

"Father, are you ill? You became quiet and asked me to wake you later."

Edward sat up, beckoning for his son to come around the sofa. Speaking with a hushed tone and a faint, woozy smile, Edward said, "What was it you said earlier?"

Blinking, Haytham recalled it. "I want to be a Templar."

Quicker than the boy could register, his father yanked him over his knee. Haytham yelped in surprise as his father unleashed an onslaught on his backside. Crying, he wailed, "Why, daddy, I didn't do anything!"

An eternity later, Edward hauled Haytham upright. A line of snot ran down the boy's face, dampened with tears. Edward held no malice for his son, but spoke sternly, "I promised myself I'd never be a man to punish his children drunk, Haytham. Now you never, ever, mention Templars in this family again or so help me..."

Decades later.

Connor trudged alongside his father reluctantly. The two walked quietly toward the homestead, uncomfortable in their newfound relationship. Connor had only known Haytham personally for less than a few months, and had since done all he could to learn about the man and his family. Something deeply interested Connor in knowing how his father had come to be a Templar of all things, or even love his mother for that matter. The man was reserved, stoic, bastardly, and uncaring for human life. How Connor was related to him, he had not the faintest idea. "So..." he began.

"Spit it out," Haytham ordered.

Kicking at a snowball, Connor shrugged. "I discovered I have a grandfather as well."

A monstrous sigh loosed from Haytham. "And?" he degradingly prompted. "What do you need to know about him? Essentially he was a good man with a fool's heart and a beer gut-"

Gesturing toward the homestead, Connor smiled. "I don't need you to tell me, I already met him and brought him here. I let him know you wanted me to be a Templar..."

"What?" Haytham froze in terror, yards from the doorstep. A familiar figure, aged and still robust, filled the doorway.

Edward raised a hand, attached to that old, same strong swinging arm as before, and bellowed a statement Haytham doubted anyone had heard the man say honestly in his entire life: "Haytham, I'm sober!"

Run, Haytham! HERE COMES THE SLAP!

For those of you who didn't get the joke: you need about an hour of sleep to burn one ounce of alcohol. So that's why Eddie needed about an hour of sleep, though in all honesty probably still had it in his system. He just wasn't drunk at the time of tanning Haytham's hide; still had it in his system (let's face it, he's obnoxious on the fumes of alcohol). In the end he's completely sober and willing to slap the shit out of Haytham. Haytham might get away... if he knew his father can climb trees and he can't.