The Right Side

The Gallows

"Mr. Kenway! Mr. Kenway!" 

Turning away from Charles Lee - whom he was bickering with at the time - the Grand Master sees a messenger running towards them. They had been standing outside of the Templar mansion, their yelling scaring the birds from their trees.

"What is it?" Haytham demands, now facing the smaller man. "Have you found Clarke?"

"Yes sir! She's on her way to the Gallows to be hung for murder! You must come quick, it's urgent!"

The man takes no time moving to his horse, cold eyes glaring at his right hand man. "You are to ready the house for Clarke. When she gets back, her bed must be made and a warm bath drawn. Do you understand me?"

"Of course," he nods. "Please tell her that I'm terribly-"

"You tell her yourself, if she's willing to speak with you." With that, he turns and speeds off into town. Whenever someone was sentenced to be hung, they were moved to Boston. New York didn't have the proper equipment to hang anyone, nor did they have the crowd. The government was sick, they wanted to have an audience when someone died. Almost everyone lived in Boston. The richer people, anyway. 

Haytham arrives in Boston rather quickly, ditching his horse so he wouldn't cause any unwanted attention. While he's in a hurry, he must be careful about how he's to save Clarke from being hung. He follows the crowd, knowing that the Gallows is really just in the middle of town. The merchants have moved their stalls and wagons, people forming a thick circle around a wooden platform. There's a stool underneath a noose, hanging from a wooden beam that came from the stage. It was disgusting that so many people enjoyed watching these things, but the man can't remember the last time a woman was hung. It through him off that she of all people would be sentenced to death, but he would ask her later. There is no time to dwell on such things at a time like this.

Moving towards the crowd, he notices a familiar native making his way towards the front as well. A frown forms on the Grand Master's face, turning to head for is son.

"What are you doing here?" He demands. "You're the one that killed one of her teammates, why would you care after what she's yelled at you?" Charles told him the whole story. Haytham couldn't believe that Clarke would go with him, either. After how broken she was when he killed William.

"Why would you care after what the Templars have done to her and her family?"

"Excuse me?"

"It doesn't matter. It's my fault she's here, I let her hunt down Hickey. I just came to make sure she doesn't die."

"For once, you and I agree," he looks up at the stage. "She isn't up there yet, we have time to form a plan. You wouldn't have any in mind, would you?"

"Not exactly," Connor admits. "You could form a distraction while I go and cut her down. I can bring her back to Achilles and make sure she's alright."

"Or you could make the distraction," his father countered. "I'm taking her back to my mansion, where Charles will leave her be. He knows what he did is wrong, he never should have hit her."

"He shouldn't have done many things."

The two go silent, an awkward silence settling over them as the whispers of the citizens flood their ears. There is talk of who it may be, and what they've done to deserve this. Of course, most of them were wrong. 

Everyone goes silent when Washington walks onto the small stage, two guards leading forward a small figure with a bag over her head. Haytham and Connor already know who it is, the small frame and blonde hair gives it away.

They position her so she's standing behind the stool, not allowing her to step up yet. They always say a small speech about who they're going to murder in front of everyone.

"You have all come today to see who might be sentenced to  death," Washington says. "This person has committed the worst crime imaginable. Murder. We are not a violent country, we only kill to protect those we love. Not because we have a grudge against someone or because we don't like them." He waves his hand, causing a guard to pull the bag off of Clarke's head. When Haytham sees her face, his heart breaks. Her eyes are puffy and red, and there's a visible scar from when she and Connor got into a fight a while ago. She looks terrified more than anything, and ashamed of herself.

There are gasps from a few of the people when they realize it's a woman. Of course, they're the people who aren't bright enough to  realize it the moment she walked on stage.

"We hold everyone accountable for the things they've done," Washington says once more. "Step her up."

Clarke visibly struggles against the two men, who end up lifting her onto the stool. One of them brings the noose close, wrapping it around her neck with the knot in the back of her head. She's started shaking, struggling to get out of the ropes that tie her hands behind her back. Tears begin to fall from her eyes again, though she remains silent. Not even a whimper escapes her lips.

Connor is already pushing through the crowd, his father on his tail. He's going to fire at the guards and hold Washington hostage. He won't kill anyone unless he has to, since the more people that are alive and focused on him, the better.

"Any last words?" Washington asks the blonde, who swallows hard. Before she talks, her blue eyes lock with Haytham's. Her expression goes from bad to worse, the only thought going through her head is that he's going to watch her die. The man she cares about more than anyone, is going to watch her hang.

"May the Father of Understanding guide you," she mutters, making Haytham's eyes widen. With that, the stool is kicked out from under her. Just as it is, one of the guards fall to the ground with an arrow sticking out of his right leg.

Taking this as the signal to get Clarke, the Grand Master runs to the front of the stage, lifting himself up before running towards the blonde. His blade comes out, quickly cutting the rope around her neck and catching her in his arms. She begins coughing, leaning heavily against as she attempts to catch her breath.

Shifting the girl so that she's in his arms bridal style, Haytham takes off back to the closest horse. Eyes glancing back at his son, he can see him being arrested for attempted murder. It was either help Clarke or his son, and he had to go who was more important to him.

"It's alright," he says to Clarke gently, lifting them up onto a horse. "I've got you. You're safe."