A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. With the holidays, work's been hectic. But I must continue to thank you all for your amazing reviews and support! Nothing warms my heart more. I've been getting a lot of requests for a chapter about Ziio. And that sounded freakin' cute. Though, I made this chapter sort of bittersweet, so you'll have to forgive me for the lack of humor.

I promise it's still decent though, haha.

Ziio

The two were both currently involved in a mission of sorts. Somehow, by some chance, they were both going after the same guy. Most likely not for the same reasons, and certainly not disclosing any of that information to each other anyway, both Connor and Haytham were currently stalking silently through the forest, Connor using the trees as cover while Haytham traversed from bush to bush.

"You know," the assassin commented idly, watching his father sneak around below him, "I could still teach you how to climb trees. It would be much more efficient than what you are doing."

"Perhaps," Haytham replied to his son, a bit of bite in his tone, "But now really isn't the time, is it? We do have a mission to do and haven't really the time to linger about learning random skills."

Connor merely rolled his eyes at his father's words as he continued his trek through the trees. He knew, deep down, his father really wasn't as angry as he was coming across. It was most likely due to the initial embarrassment Haytham had to face of not being able to do everything his son could do and be better at that. But the Templar also appeared to be considerably focused. He hadn't had the pleasure of assisting his father on a mission before, since they would usually split up, so he wasn't sure exactly how his father went about things.

"Eh, this goddamn mountain!" Haytham grunted, scaling a particularly rocky, unsteady part of the hillside.

Or he could just be angry.

The conversation went silent once again as the two continued up the mountain. It was not the tallest spot in the area, but it was perfect for their needs. Supposedly, if the two men's information was correct, their target was supposed to pass in a convoy directly on a road under the mountain's side sometime around midnight. The sun hadn't yet begun to sink from the sky, but they weren't positively sure on the time frame. They had questioned many men previous to making their trip, but the only concrete answer they could get was that the convoy would pass by that night. Midnight happened to be mentioned only by a few.

Upon reaching the top, Haytham took a long breath as he sat down on a large rock. It was at that same instant that Connor hopped out of the tree to join his father in waiting.

"You're quite good at that," Haytham remarked, his tone both slightly out of breath but impressed none the less, "How did you learn to climb so well?"

Connor's facial expression was stern as he looked out over the expanse, "From my mother."

"Ah," was the single word uttered by the older man as he, too, turned his gaze from his son and looked out over the forest. The mood wasn't necessarily ruined, but there was a definite strain hanging in the air between the two. It was known that Haytham hadn't ordered that Connor's village be burned down, but nevertheless, he wasn't there for either Connor or Ziio. Not out of malice, of course. He had duties, obligations … all of these sounded hallow, however.

"She was … quite the climber," Haytham tried weakly to break the silence, his voice almost catching in his throat.

"Yes, she was very good," Connor agreed, still not breaking his gaze with the sky.

"I do remember once time," the Templar began with a tiny chuckle, a genuine smile forming on his lips, "I was trying to catch your mother. Only to ask some questions, of course, and she was jumping from tree to snow packed tree. My god, I must've chased that woman for at least a mile. She then proceeded to watch me get attacked by some wolves, if my memory serves me."

"Ha, that sounds rather stalkerish," Connor smiled, a bit of mocking in his tone, "I suppose she had to save you from the wolves, too?"

"Well, I'm not so incapable," Haytham frowned, sitting now more casually on the rock, "This hidden blade isn't just for show, you know."

"Well, I am impressed," the assassin nodded his head, "I was going to say that the whole situation must have been extremely awkward for you."

"Oh, it was," the older man admitted, "I barely knew your mother, and my wolf hunting skills were a bit lackluster, to say the least. Still, I would never change that day for the world."

Connor looked over at the Templar, noticing that his father's tone had gone from cheery to, admittedly, a bit sad. Haytham didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, eyes not scanning the expanse. He just seemed to be … looking, but not seeing. As if his eyes were open, but he was not truly there.

"She was a good woman," Haytham continued, "She helped me in her own ways, but she was very cunning, strong, independent. Ha, she had a bit of a rough charm that I found endearing. But, my god, when you looked into her eyes … she was full of nothing but spirit and resolve."

"It sounds like you really loved her," Connor commented, all attention now directed at his father.

Haytham was silent for a moment, once again looking at everything and nothing at the same time, and a tiny smile played at his lips when he finally spoke, " … I really did."

There was a bit of anger and happiness and confusion that laced the assassin's emotions as he took in how blunt his father was being. This man, the Templar, his father who had left his mother on her own, who had left her to raise Connor by herself, who didn't come to help when she was being burned alive. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to start yelling out truths like he usually would. This same man who had left him and his mother, who had seemed to want nothing to do with him, was being so openly honest and sincere … it was hard for Connor to be upset.

The younger man couldn't even utter a sentence. He didn't know if what would come out would be a desperate plea for answers, he didn't know if it would result in another heated argument. He wanted to know more, but he was almost scared to know the truth.

"You seem conflicted," the rich British accent broke the silence, Haytham's original tone of eloquence and slight smugness returning as it did, "Surely you're angry with me. I'm surprised I haven't received an earful yet, truth be told."

"I want to be angry. And at the same time, I cannot be," Connor sighed, frustrated, "I just ..."

"Can't understand what happened and why?"

It was almost as if Haytham had taken his son's words right out of his mouth. The native man only nodded his head in agreement, gaze now fixed on his father.

Haytham sat back a little as he spoke, but his body seemed to stiffen ever so slightly. This was not something he thought he would ever have to deal with, much less have a heart to heart with his own flesh and blood about. The Templar sighed, bracing himself for what was to come, "I don't know how much your mother told you about me. Regardless, the first impression I made upon you obviously wasn't the most charming. Apologies for that, by the way. It's not that I didn't love you or your mother, and it would've been nice to watch us all grow as a family, but … I had obligations to the Order, and I couldn't just abandon them."

"I would think a simpler life, where you were not concerned with killing and betrayal, would be a much more important obligation," Connor interjected, his voice slightly bitter.

Haytham winced at the tone slightly, because yes, the boy was right. However, "Life isn't that simple, Connor. What you want and what you need to do are completely separate things. My life was immeasurably different from hers, from your tribes. And I couldn't settle down and live in the village as much as she couldn't come to the city and live with me."

"But why?" Connor pushed, voice now hinting at anger, "You both had feelings for each other, didn't you? If you truly cared for each other, I do not see how hard it would be to create some sort of life together, to stay together; for her, for ..."

The younger man's words immediately halted in his throat. He dare not say what he almost said, even though he would occasionally think it. More so when he was younger, though. He was hoping his father didn't pick up on what Connor was about to say.

"Son," Haytham's voice was soft when he spoke, sad, "It was never malicious or ill intentioned. I never wanted to hurt you, never really wanted you to know the kind of life I lead, I suppose."

"Yes, well, that did not work out so well, did it?" the assassin snapped at his father, mostly unintentionally. His feelings were, once again, boiling to the surface. However, there was really nowhere for either of them to retreat to as they sat on the mountain's ledge, sun slowly sinking into the distance, sky now being painted with radiant oranges, pinks, and purples.

"Really? Arguing about this again?" Haytham retorted back in return, voice rising, "I am sorry, Connor, I truly am. I know this isn't the ideal life, hell, who could really argue that even such a thing exists? But I cannot change the past; I can wish all I like, can pray until my hands are sore, I can hope and feel guilty about it every night, losing sleep, mind never truly at ease … all over something I cannot fix!"

"But you could have rectified your mistakes! You could have made amends!"

"And what good what that have done, hm? You were already so angry with me when you first laid your eyes on me, that anything I could have said or done would never have been enough!"

"It never hurts to admit when you are wrong! Though, excuse me, I suppose you are above apologizing!"

"I am sorry, Connor! I am sorry that your village burned down, that you had to live your life without a father, that I am such a fuck up, but even if I say all of that and mean it, which god damn me if I don't, none of that is going to bring your mother back!"

The two men were currently standing having abandoned their positions on the rock, Connor's hands curled tightly in Haytham's petticoat, knuckles turning white the more he clenched. Eyes locked fiercely, faces only inches apart, so that their breath easily swept through the other man's hair. But when the last of the Templar's statement had left his lips, the younger man went limp. Fingers loosened their grip and legs gave way as Connor slumped back to the dry earth below.

He gazed at his hands, the same hands that had so many times been scratched and bloodied when he was first learning how to climb trees. The hands that had been covered by his mother's so many times as she cleaned and soothed and encouraged. The same hands that reached for his mother's body as she burned beneath the flaming rubble and debris.

And he then buried his face in those same hands.

Haytham said nothing as he looked down upon his son's hunched frame. He may have been crying, mourning, doing absolutely nothing, but the older man gave his son proper respect and silence. He, too, looked at his left hand, the hand that Ziio had so eagerly placed hers in while in the cave that day. Haytham remembered it was warm, comforting. He had never felt so sincerely comfortable and calm with any other woman, and what's more, any other person than with her.

Finally, he placed that same hand upon Connor's head, trying in his own way, to comfort his son.

Normally, this would have prompted Connor to immediately fling the offender over his shoulder and onto their back. Not only did he not have the mental strength to care at the moment, but he knew it was his father. And he knew he was being sincere.

It was at this moment that the younger man's last memory of his mother decided to replay in his head like a record. Of her face, obvious with anguish, but her words were strong, promising him that she would always be with him. And sitting here in the forest, with the father he thought he'd never meet, in the strange predicament that they were on opposing sides, in knowing that he would eventually have to kill him … even if those feelings were changing, Connor felt an odd sense of comfort. Because in that instant, both his father and mother were with him.

Just like a family.

"You're a good man, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The assassin looked up from his hands quickly, catching a glimpse of his father's smiling face; genuine, compassionate, and ever just so slightly sad.

"Well, looks like our convoy has arrived earlier than expected! Those few gentlemen must have been trying to throw us off, how very clever of them," Haytham chuckled deeply, "Shall we be off?"

The Templar took off swiftly down the mountain side, leaving Connor to look on, still slightly dazed from what his father had said. His name; his true name.

It felt like hands on his back as the wind picked up behind him, pushing the younger native man ever so slightly forward down the mountain. And, surely, Connor imagined it when he could hear his mother's voice whisper almost silently, proudly, in his ear, "Go, my son." But the smile on his face was real. The comfort and encouragement he felt in his heart was most certainly real as well.

Connor moved down the mountain quickly after his father. And for once since he was young, even with all the kindness Achilles had shown him and the people of the homestead had given him … he didn't feel so helplessly alone.

Chapter 4

End

A/N: Like I said, very little humor. Still, I enjoy writing touching sentiments like this from time to time, so I hope you enjoyed it as well. As always, I love hearing new ideas and insight, and reviews are epic and always make my day! Thank you so much for reading!