The Right Side

William Johnson

When the door to the tavern opened, a smile adorned the face of the Grand Master. Turning to see a head of blonde hair enter, it quickly faded. The scar on her cheek at only gotten worse, blood dripping down her face and neck. In her hand is a bloodied cloth, causing her hands to go red as well. Though she told Connor it was alright, she definitely didn't feel alright.

Moving from Charles, Haytham quickly made it to the woman's side.

"What happened?" He demanded, wiping blood from her as best he could.

"A native, he followed me. I tried to lose him but... he got the letter. I don't know why he'd want it but-"

"I knew I should've killed the roach when I saw him," Charles growled. "I know who did this to you. And I'll have his head for it."

"What on earth are you talking about? Come to the back, I'll get you cleaned up." As he lead Clarke to the back, Charles began speaking.

"Long before we got Clarke, I ran into a native. He was young and reckless, trying to scare us soldiers off. We were doing our job and now I can only imagine he wants revenge."

Doing their job? Clarke knew Connor has a grudge against Charles, though didn't know why. It was starting to make sense.

"It doesn't matter now," Haytham shook his head. "All that matters is that Johnson know. Charles, go to his house and tell him the news. I'm taking Clarke back home, that way I'll be able to do more than clean the wound."

Clarke hissed in pain when she felt a wet wash cloth press to her skin, but didn't say anything. Her blue eyes followed Charles, before letting out a sigh.

"Haytham, I-"

"Don't apologize," he cuts her off. "I understand you must be confused. Just... allow me to explain another time, yes? Let's get you home."

The blonde nods, accepting the hand that was extended to her before following the Grand Master.

~~~~~~~~~~

It's been some time since Clarke and Connor saw eachother, and since then Haytham has been more on guard than usual. Around the girl, that is. For the first time in six months, she was allowed away from him. She had gone with William Johnson to speak with the natives, making sure everything went well and he wasn't abusing his power. Of course, he was.

The natives had guns to their heads, forced to kneel in front of the balding man. Clarke stood off to the side, a scar running from her cheek bone to her top lip. It wasn't too big, but she wasn't happy about it. It cracked her porcelain frame.

"Please, brothers," comes Johnson. "We can surely figure this out."

"We are not your brothers," snaps their leader, or who Clarke believed to be their leader.

"Do we not seek the same thing? Peace, prosperity, fertile land."

"You seek land, true enough. Land that is not yours, nor any person's."

"I only wish to keep you safe! There are those that would betray and manipulate you. Or worse yet - take the land by force."

"William," Clarke says, drawing every man's attention. People gave not been accustomed to a woman on the battlefield or giving orders, but Haytham gave strict directions to listen. "They will not even contemplate agreeing if we have guns to their heads. We should talk like civilized people. Without violence."

"I would listen to the woman," says a native. "She is wise to think as such."

"Peace! Peace! Have I not always been an advocate?" The white man raises his voice. "Have I not always sought to protect you from harm?"

"If you wish to protect them, give them muskets. Horses, weapons! Items to survive and defend themselves!"

"War is not the answer."

"We remember Stanwix," a native stands against Johnson, looking angry. "We remembered you moved the borders. Even today your men dig up the land, showing no regard for those who live apon it. Your words are honeyed, but false. We are not here to negotiate. Nor sell. We are here to tell you and yours to leave these lands."

"So be it," Johnson decides. "I offered you an olive branch and you've knocked it from my hands."

"William," rings the blonde's voice. "We should get going if we want to get home before supper. They already said no, leave them be."

"Nonsense. Has Haytham taught you nothing? You will answer better," he raises his hand, signaling his men to aim their guns and swords.

"Now you're threatening them?!"

"Yes."

Before Clarke can continue, a figure drops onto Johnson's body, causing the man to land on his back. It's Connor. And his hidden blade it through the other man's throat.

Clarke's eyes widen, hands covering her mouth. The two of them make eye contact, and the native freezes. His eyes are wide, too. He hadn't planned on her being here. She shouldn't be here. She should be with his father.

Without saying a word, Connor sprinted away from her and the other soldiers. He left her behind as he made his way to safety. He woukd go back and tell Achilles, no doubt be scolded as well.

Clarke had turned to Johnson, hands pressing tightly to the side of his throat. Blood was gushing from the wound, and she couldn't stop it. She didn't know how.

The man was attempting to say something, but with his blood loss it was sloppy.

"Stop!" She said harshly, feeling tears rush to her eyes and pour over. "Stop talking, you'll make it worse!"

Though despite her telling him no, he found a way to speak before he left forever. "Ratonhnaké:ton." She knew automatically that that was Connor, and he had reminded her what his true name was.

"I... yes," she nodded, nearly choking on her tears. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop him."

"He... is going for Haytham. Please don't.... fall..."

Clarke knew he wasn't going to finish his sentence. But she wasn't going to fall for anything. She told Connor she wouldn't let him kill her people. And she meant it.