Dear Emily,

I am doubtful that this letter will reach you - or, if so, that it will be received in the manner of which it was intended. I shall not blame you for a moment if you decide simply to burn this upon receipt.

You will notice there is no insignia on the seal. This is quite deliberate, as I have discovered a potential means to communicate with you outside of the usual Order’s intelligence channels. With any luck, it shall not be intercepted by any members of the Order, nor those who we deem as enemies.

Now, to the purpose of my message, which [there are some hastily crossed out sentences and the page is slightly torn, uncharacteristically messy for the sender] is to wish you well, wherever you may be. As damnable as this entire sentiment is for my safety, I must admit that your welfare is never far from my mind. It is my lasting hope that, as you turn a year older, you continue find the strength within yourself to persevere on your chosen path. Please remember never to trust blindly.

Yours,

Haytham

(…😭😭😭*sobbING NOISES*)

✨EMILY’S BIRTHDAY!!✨

The letter reaches her somehow, and yet? It nearly took her four years to open it. Even without the aid of her gifted sight, she knew where this letter came from. Who wrote it. It’s as instinctual as the static in her hair when a thunderstorm is approaching. So now it rests on her fingertips, open with words she never thought she’d hear again... or rather, see. Her thumb traces along the folded crease as if she’s comforting him, even though he is not there. The realization sinks into her chest; the lump in her throat forming. Though the last couple sentences are chilling.

She could no longer remember the sound of his voice—that’s how long it’s been. So to read those words, the validation that it holds, feels so foreign. ‘It’s too good to be true. Someone is playing tricks on me.’ Emily thinks, but even if the insignia isn’t there, she knows his handwriting. Her father’s handwriting. 

Have the years passed this fast? Emily is older, wiser, less naïve than the young woman she was when she parted ways with him. She had time to reflect and think about her actions. The older she gets, the more she understands Haytham’s rage back then. Even now, as her hands tremble beneath the paper, it appears that he has not forsaken her. He still cares, in his own way.

Time flew, but the guilt remained. She bears the heavy weight of their fragmented relationship.

Tears flowed down her cheeks and onto the paper. Trembling hands carefully press the paper to her chest, holding it like a precious child of her own. 

@the-eagle-of-understanding sent: ❛  volumes   // NONVERBAL PROMPTS // accepting

  gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

It was a rather busy morning at Greenwich’s harbor. The port bustled with merchants and sailors, working on loading their cargo. For a sailor like him, it was a common sight. He hardly noticed the foul smell and loud noises anymore, but today he found the crowdedness of the harbor a bit too bothersome for his liking. 

Maybe that was because he was still nursing a headache from the night before, or maybe ( and that was most likely the reason ) because he would have rather preferred to embark on his ship on this new artifact-hunting mission. However, as much he would rather have the familial helm of the Morrigan under his grip, he was aware that this new task required discretion first and foremost, and embarking on a merchant ship seemed to be the best idea for the task in hand. 

He didn’t know how long it would take him to find the artifact. It could as well take his whole life as far he was aware, but when it came to protecting innocents, Shay would go far and wide.

He’d already bid his farewell to his friends, sharing a pint with each of them, not knowing when he would have the chance to do so again. Gist had promised that he would look after the Morrigan in his absence, and that made him feel relieved somehow, knowing that she wouldn’t just be left at Fort Arsenal gathering dust ( though Shay made him solemnly swear that if something happened to her, he would have to offer up drinks for the rest of his life ) The last person he had yet to bid his farewell to was Haytham, and he was currently escorting him to the docks.

Maybe that wasn’t really the best place to do so. There were so many things Shay wanted to tell him, yet too many prying eyes and ears, so all he could do was hold out his hand to him, a bit disappointed for having to opt for a simple handshake instead. However, the fond look that enlights the Grand master’s eyes dissolves his frown and turns it into a soft smile, and with this Shay realizes that he might still have time. 

He holds his hand a bit longer than necessary, then throws a glance behind him at the sight of his ship. Shay drops his hand, collects himself, and gives him a firm nod. The warm smile never leaves his lips.

The plan to infiltrate Fort George had been going relatively smooth. Until, of course, one of the cannonballs from the admiral’s ship hit WAY too close to the Assassin’s footing. The blast had him flying to the ground, and he was not an easy foe to knock down. It was so sudden and unexpected, he became disorientated -- the world around him swayed side to side in slow motion. His vision blurred into a vignette of crimson red; it was probably the BLOOD dripping down from his forehead. There was an endless ringing in his ears, paired with his pounding heartbeat and the muffled voices of nearby soldiers. 

Yet, despite how much pain he was in, Connor picked himself up from the ground and headed carefully through the alleyway. ‘ I need to... get to the Fort... ’ he muttered. He repeated these words to himself, like a mantra to get through these crucial minutes of disarray. All the while, he was careful not to get spotted from the soldiers scrambling around. He soon found that sticking to the shadows proved to be more tedious than he let on.

MIRACULOUSLY, even as he entered the fort, he did not get spotted ( save for a few stealth assassinations ). He was in no condition to fight, and yet he continued onward. His PRIDE grew like a wildfire -- stretching to every inch and every crevice of his body and being. It was too late to turn back now, and he intended on ending it HERE. 

As more cannonballs decimated the fort, and all the guards left the area, Connor emerged behind a stack of crates and barrels. ‘ I must not let Lee get away. ’ -- these words became his new mantra. His vision has not gotten any better, nor did the rest of his senses. But he searched anyway.

@the-eagle-of-understanding

The assassin was well on his way toward a small, minuscule little settlement. This settlement was not exactly a close distance, Liam knew it would take a bit of time to get there. The documents (maps) the Irishman had to deliver remained inside of his coat. As soon as he made contact, he knew he was to hand off the items to the informant. 

Even though he felt like he was getting closer to his destination, another matter needed to be dealt with -- quickly. He strayed from the normal path, mentally noting that he was being followed. While he was being followed, he was not sure by whom. Liam would wait until he was a safe distance away from the path he was on before speaking to whomever was following him. At one point, he stopped.