Templar AU - for Mako

[lifescratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton -- or Edward, as his European name was, so named after his long-departed grandfather -- lead a dual life. He had lived a peaceful childhood in the village, playing and exploring and learning as any child did. But when he turned ten, his father had taken over raising him, and it was from that point he taught him everything he knew. Of the Order, their ideals, how to think, how to fight, how to navigate in the world of the colonists and to understand it as they did. Edward had not wanted to be parted from his village, from his mother, but from all that Haytham taught him, it soon became apparent that the Templars had the means to protect their home more effectively than he or his mother ever could alone. The colonists were ever more hungry for land, and the power and influence of the Order could quell that, seize power, fight back.

It was a philosophy of absolute control, with no margin for uncertainty or disappointment. It appealed to Edward, although more often than not his father treated him with a certain cold distance, sending him away to instead work and learn from William Johnson. Johnson was liked and trusted by the Kanien'kehá:ka. Edward, now seventeen, had grown to respect the man, but towards the end of his instruction, he had begun to insist more and more that Edward would need to adopt Christianity, if he wished to truly become a full-fledged Templar. The result was an explosive argument between the two.

After that, Edward took his belongings and left the Mohawk Valley, making back for his father's estate in Virginia alone. Of course, when he arrived, his father was nowhere to be found, away on business elsewhere in the colonies.

Always away on business. Only there to instruct him, to give him guidance. And yet the fatherly gestures Haytham sometimes displayed -- those made Edward stay. Those, and the promise he would have the power to protect his people.

The days trickled by. He wrote to his father, to no reply as of yet. He read. He studied. He helped on the plantation and he practised his swordplay. But he was becoming restless, and one morning, when he was poring over a news article (some nonsense about a Tea Act causing unrest in the colonies), a servant barged into the room, breathless.

"Many apologies for interrupting you, Master Kenway, but there's a woman approaching the estate on horseback."

Edward looked up, eyes flashing impatiently. "Well? Who is it?"

"I don't know, sir, but I think it might be your mother."

What was she doing here? Already in a foul mood, he rose, abandoning the paper to go to meet her. He couldn't imagine why she would come all this way to see him, but he didn't doubt it would end badly.

Comments

[nottheproblem]

There was undoubtedly a degree of bitterness that stayed in Ziio's heart. The son she birthed and sired for the refined Haytham Kenway was the very same son nearly stripped from her. True, that he could provide a life for Ratonhnhaké:ton that she couldn't. Comfort, luxury, and convenience. Her life had only ever been one of hardship and to a certain degree, Ziio would have preferred the better life for him, but not at the cost of the values of their people. She had a number of reservations about allowing her first and only child under the proverbial wings of Templars.

Achilles had warned her, had chided her nearly, and it was something she never forgot any time she'd had the privilege to work arm-in-arm with the Brotherhood. The very word itself, Templar, left a taste so foul that Ziio found much of her idle thoughts along regret and remorse for having let her son go.

I should have fought harder for him, she told herself often, as if a reminder of what she truly wanted for him and for them.

A family? The romantic notion wasn't lost on her. If she could have obtained it, reached out and grabbed it, she would have without a moment's hesitance. Yet she and Haytham were both born of stubborn heads, like elks battling with their horns for dominance. It left only a great deal of tension between them and inevitably a poor lifestyle for their son- something else that consistently displeased her. Despite that, however, she took to routine check ups, even if it meant not coming in person, and simply watching from shadows or bartering the assistance of outsiders, hidden eyes that did her work when she couldn't.

One day, she'd take him back and push out those Templar ideals that she worried would control him the way they did his father. For Edward to be obsessed with his work was not something she had the desire to see. He was just a boy, only a boy, and he should have been granted the right to an adolescence. And if Haytham would not entitle him to it, then she would have to find a way to, even if she didn't know how just yet.

That lifestyle didn't suit her and any approach she ever made, like the one to see him, made that apparent. She only ever looked as she did with the forest, one with it, and saturated with earthy fragrance and the strength of will that she could only get from survival and adaptability. And though she wore confidence, her insides could only hope that he wouldn't hate so much to see her, even if only briefly.

[lifescratched]

Edward grabbed his sword on the way out, and took his finest horse to ride out to meet her. Both were unnecessary accessories, but if there was one thing Haytham had drilled into him, it was that appearances and poise meant everything. Making an impact on others was important if you wished to influence them, gain their respect, mould and shape their opinions.

He didn't break pace until he spied what was undoubtedly his mother approaching on the path through the plantations and up to the manor. He always wondered how unfamiliar he must look to her in his colonial garb, waistcoats and lace ruffs and brass-buttoned overcoats, and a tricorn hat gifted to him from his father. If Edward was aware of just how intensely Haytham wished to fashion his son in his own image, he said little about it.

Once he was close enough he slowed his horse to a halt, his jaw tightening as he regarded her. "Mother." The word was flat, a blank statement of fact, but his eyes told a different story, hurt and frustration behind them. Why was she here? What did she want?

"If it is Father you wish to speak with, he is not here right now."

[nottheproblem]

A spitting image of his father, from head to toe. Except at least Haytham occasionally smiled when they crossed paths. It was hard and hurtful to be greeted in such a way, and she was sure she understood why she was to a degree. Didn't she want him? Wasn't he important to her? And if he was, why wasn't she a more central part of his life? She had tried not to pry too much into his thoughts, but there was no denying the curiosity that was there.

Reins of her horse in hand, her pacing slowed when he approached her. She didn't miss the sword or how he seemed to sit so prim and proper. Did he think himself above her? She couldn't believe that. She didn't want to, and she hoped he didn't. But she didn't dare say it, at least not until his respect (or lack thereof) was truly called into question.

"I am not here to see your father," she replied to him directly. "I came to see you. Do you think I think of you not at all?" Her eyebrows knit together and she shook her head, as if she couldn't understand where he'd get such an idea. Except actions. She could not fault him for his father's questionable motives. He was only doing what he was taught.

[lifescratched]

Any airs he might have had to being impassive towards her were quickly torn down by that accusation, and he scowled and looked away. You barely write. You visit even less. That was what he wanted to say, but was it worth giving up the upper hand to her, letting her know that he'd missed her?

"We'll speak inside," he said, wheeling his horse around and leading the way back to the manor, hands tightening on the reins as he wondered how to deal with this unexpected visit. Part of him thought he should send a messenger to alert Haytham straight away that she was here, but what was the use? He still had no response from his last letter. He might even be angry with him about the argument with Sir William. So he rode on, and, as they approached the manor, barked out orders to the waiting servants to prepare sleeping quarters for his mother and a stable for her horse.

He was angry. An emotion he'd become well-acquainted with as of late. But who or what he was angry at now, he wasn't wholly sure.

[nottheproblem]

She deserved that, Ziio supposed, and his initial response didn't go unnoticed. But she didn't press on it just yet. Not so out in the open. If he was going to get angry with her, which wouldn't have been entirely unjustified, she would have preferred it when it was only the two of them. And she couldn't imagine he'd like to display his hostility so transparently where others could witness it.

Was his composure more like hers or his father's? Ziio was almost always collected. Almost. But there was an invisible line that she never solidly defined and when it crossed, she could have been that which the colonists frequently thought of the natives- a savage. Edward's protection was one of those things she couldn't negotiate on. She would have fought tooth and nail for his protection, and would have done so like a wolf after her pups.

"Of course," she consented as she followed after on horseback, not nearly as 'gallant' as he, but nowhere near in the haste she had been to see him. For even if he was not happy to see her, she was very happy to see him.

[lifescratched]

When they reached the manor, he dismounted and the horses were lead off, and as he headed inside, his hat and sword were passed to a servant, proving that yes, it was nothing if not all for show. First impressions matter, after all.

Haytham's manor was nothing too grand or opulent -- he spent so much time travelling that it was barely necessary. Nonetheless it was an adequately handsome structure, Edward supposed, but perhaps that was some of the leftover childish awe he'd first had at being brought to a building made of stone, bigger than any of the longhouses, filled with things he'd never seen before. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

He paused in the hall, and turned to address her again, stiffly: "How long will you be staying for?"

[nottheproblem]

She had nothing to give to his servants and admittedly, even felt a little uncomfortable with them. Nothing against the idea of them, but why have them if she could do things herself? Where did her son's values remain, anyway? From how he acted, it was almost as if he didn't have them. But actions could be deceiving and she wasn't foolish enough not to believe it.

Ziio trailed after him, though her pace was a bit slower and not half as rigid as Edward's. There wasn't necessarily always something new to look at, but she so infrequently visited that it might as well have been an entirely new and different world. It didn't stop her from looking, though, or being slightly curious about it. It wasn't her life, after all, and it was a lie to say it wasn't the slightest bit intriguing.

He garnered her attention immediately and when she looked back to him, she paused abruptly. "A day or two. More perhaps, unless the thought of that bothers you. It is no short trip here. I could some days to recover before I make the journey again."

[lifescratched]

"It does not bother me," he said, terse, and there was at least some truth to that. It wasn't her length of stay that bothered him so much as the purpose of it. He knew his mother did not agree with his father, that they quarreled often. And that she had come here when Haytham's back was turned to speak with him... What was the purpose in her coming, besides just to see her son? Surely she had another reason.

"How is everyone in the village?"

[nottheproblem]

He said it, but she wasn't particularly convinced. And she could have pinpointed that about him if she'd wanted to. She'd thought to. Was tempted to. Somehow refrained, for one reason or another. How to even begin that conversation? If she'd spent more time with him, it would have been easier. But as it stood, Haytham probably had more time with him and who knew how much he influenced Edward's upbringing, especially with Ziio out of the picture.

"They are as they ever have been," she reassured him. "They're well. They ask me of you often. You should visit them, and me from time to time. Otherwise they'll worry." Otherwise she'd worry, which she already did, but she tried not to let that expose too much of itself in her tone.

"How is your father? It appears he's not here."

[lifescratched]

"I will visit soon enough," he said, although he didn't elaborate any further. If Johnson's plan was to come to fruition, it would need the approval of the Clan Mother and the sachems. Edward would be the go-between, the envoy in place of Sir William -- of Warraghiyagey, as the man was known as by their people.

Ziio, on the other hand, would take more convincing than most. So he would wait.

"Father is fine. Busy." As ever. And, as ever, finding more time for Charles Lee, his preferred right-hand man, than to his own son. If Edward sounded bitter, it was because he was. "I suspect he will return here once he has finished his business."

[nottheproblem]

"As he ever is," Ziio spoke up without missing a beat, knowing well enough Haytham probably had his own agenda that his son hardly fit into.

And part of her wondered if she should inquire as to the Templar business, but she knew better than to put her son in that position. Did he have any allegiances to his father? Whether he did or didn't seemed less the issue and more that she didn't want to set him specifically between them.

But she found her eyebrows knitting together with some consideration, "You say you will come in short time. Of your own accord?" Because she had thought more or less he kept his distance by his own choice, so that he would come voluntarily puzzled her. Or perhaps she had misread the situation from the beginning.