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Connor had known that a confrontation with his father was unavoidable for years now; still, he felt so utterly unprepared when it became a reality.
He would like to say that it was solely because he worried if he can win this fight - he had seen the man in combat, and would consider him one of the better swordsmen he ever faced. Now, he observed Haytham's movements carefully as they circled each other, swords drawn. Although his age took a toll on his speed and reflexes, behind him stood years upon years of experience that Connor himself still missed. On top of it all, Connor was already wounded from entering the fort in cannon fire, much as he tried to ignore this fact for now. Yes, losing this fight was a very real possibility, but not the sole cause of his anxiety.
He did not want to kill Haytham. He admitted it to himself long ago, while their truce still held them together, and he had to accept that despite everything, this has not changed. He felt a duty to do it, but in spite of all the facts he hoped to avoid it.
He disliked killing people in general, of course - but it was hardly only that. The man he was facing was no longer a stranger, or simply an evil Templar lurking in the shadows, plotting against him. They have worked together, became allies of some sort. He would not say that they knew each other… but it began to feel like they could.
So, when Haytham refused to give up, Connor muted this part of him mind. He was fighting for his life, and for the first time he could not fight with his head. Instead, he let his rage control him. He took his anger for what happened to his mother, to his village, to his people, and put it into each swing of his sword. He took his anger at his father - for lying to him, for everything he had done, for not being a normal parent but a damned Templar, the Grandmaster at that, and one that was now trying to kill his son - and he used this bitterness to drown out any hesitations he might have had. He fought without thinking, with rage and his own blood clouding his vision.
As their swords clashed, he was ruthless. Haytham made it clear that he has no intentions of giving up, so he aimed to kill. He could not allow any doubt to stop him.
Still, he could hardly even scratch his opponent. In a duel, they were equals - each move was blocked or avoided as they danced around each other. They have seen each other in battle, observed each other's fighting style with great scrutiny, and when it came to this point neither of them seemed able to surprise the other.
After a few minutes of clashing and circling around Connor noticed his vision going hazy. He shook his head slightly without taking his eyes off his opponent. He could not keep up at this pace - this duel would have been a challenge at any time, but having entered the battle already hurt? He had no time to examine the injuries he suffered as he stormed the fort and the adrenaline rush dulled the pain, but now he was beginning to feel the effects of the blood loss. He had to finish it quickly. Soon he will no longer stand a chance.
He lurched forward - and immediately realised what a horrible mistake he made. His wounds have slowed him. He barely missed Haytham as the older man jumped to the side. For a fragment of a second, his side was exposed. He inhaled sharply, preparing to feel the blade piercing his torso.
Nothing happened.
The next second he was back in the defensive stance. Not stabbed and bleeding out. Only standing there as if his slip up had not happened, observing his opponent with confusion.
He could not read anything from Haytham's face. There was an opening a moment ago and he had every opportunity and skill to easily use it, of that he was sure. Yet… he didn't.
Puzzled, Connor slightly lowered his sword slightly.
Immediately, Haytham lunged forward.
Connor, with his guard down, got disarmed within seconds. He jumped to defend himself with his bare hands.
The anger that drove him popped like a bubble. What was going on, exactly? He was not so sure anymore. They were fighting to the death, were they not? His father could have killed, or at least seriously wounded him, yet he made no attempt to.
The tip of the sword scratched his arm. Haytham was giving him no time to think. He quickly stepped aside to avoid the next slash. He realised that he was becoming too unfocused.
But… looking back at their fight, how did Connor not suffer any major injuries yet? He was already hurt, and it slowed him down more than he realised, he was becoming dizzy - it all played to Haytham's advantage. Still, Connor suffered no more than minor scratches.
Doubt crept into his mind.
He supposed that this was the reason why he became so distracted.
He managed to grab Haytham's wrist and twist it, making him drop his sword. He did not seed dismayed by it at all, jumping right back into attack.
Connor noticed Haytham's movement a moment too late. Before he could avoid it, he fell onto his back.
Cold fingers wrapped around his throat and he gasped for air.
With a ting of panic, he moved his hands. They were still free, he realised. He could still use his hidden blades. He flicked his wrist, and the mechanism strapped to it gave out a quiet clink.
While doing that, he did not move his eyes away from the older man's face.
He noticed - a quick glance thrown towards the source of the sound, the twitch of his lips, the slight loosening of the fingers around his neck - and with that, he was certain. Haytham was not forgetting the hidden blades, the same weapon that he carried as well. His father was not attempting to kill him - he was trying to get himself killed.
At this moment Connor decided that he would take no part in this game.
He clenched his hand into a fist, sheathing the blade. Collecting all the strength he had left, he threw it up.
His fist struck Haytham's skull, throwing him back. Free of his grasp, Connor breathed in desperately, springing up. He immediately fell back to his knees as his head spinned.
He looked at the man laying next to him - he had apparently lost consciousness. It was over - for now.
A sudden rumble of a cannonball hitting a nearby wall made him jerk up. He had to get out of here, fast. Shakily, he pulled himself on his feet. His entire body ached.
He looked at the unmoving body next to him for a while. With a groan, he bent over to pick his father off the ground.
Achilles would kill him if he saw that.