Family time with the Kenways.
Summary: Haytham and his wife practice their swordsmanship skills while their daughter plays with her toys. They discuss the future of their family.
(Y/d/n)= you’re daughters name
Warnings: Fluff mostly. No warnings. But all my work is +18 plus.
A/N: I wish we could get more Haytham so for now till Ubisoft hears my pleas, enjoy this piece ❤️
The crisp Virginia air hung heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth as Haytham Kenway, a figure of imposing stature and refined grace, parried (y/n)'s thrust with a resounding clang. His custom-tailored blue coat, impeccable even in the heat of mock battle, swirled around his long legs as he moved, the sunlight glinting off the silver Templar ring on his finger. (Y/n), a formidable woman in her own right, met his attack with a snarl, her own rapier a blur of motion.
Off to the side, their daughter, (y/d/n), sat cross-legged on a woven rug, oblivious to the dangerous display before her. Dolls lay scattered around her, evidence of a game momentarily forgotten as she watched her parents clash. The maids, though, were far from oblivious. They hovered near the edges of the lawn, their faces etched with a mixture of apprehension and disapproval.
The clanging of steel, the grunts of exertion, and the near misses were enough to send shivers down their spines. They knew better than to interrupt the Keyway’s.… unconventional displays of marital affection.
These were not polite parlour games; this was honed combat practice, a reminder of the dangerous world their employers inhabited, a world they glimpsed but never fully understood. The proximity of the flashing blades to anything breakable, or worse, to themselves, had them on edge. One handmaiden nearly dropped a tray of lemonade when Rhea’s rapier whizzed past, narrowly missing a rose bush.
“Perhaps, Madam, Kenway” she ventured hesitantly, “You might wish to move further from the house?”
(Y/N), without breaking her stride, retorted, “Nonsense, Agnes. Where’s the thrill in that?”
Haytham chuckled, parrying another of Rhea’s strikes. “Indeed, Agnes, you wound my wife’s dramatic sensibilities. Besides, a little danger keeps things interesting, wouldn’t you say, my dear?”
“Intensely, husband dearest” (Y/N) agreed, her breath coming in short gasps, but her eyes still bright with exhilaration. She feigned a lunge, then spun, attempting to catch him off guard with a quick backhand.
Haytham, however, anticipated the move. He side-stepped with practiced ease, his heavier blade connecting with hers with a resounding clang that sent vibrations up both their arms. He pressed his advantage, his greater strength and experience beginning to show. He could feel her tiring, just slightly, the almost imperceptible hesitation in her footwork, the fractional delay in her parries.
“Faster, (Y/N),” Haytham’s deep voice rumbled, laced with a hint of amusement. He feigned a lazy parry, letting her blade graze his sleeve, “Are you going to let me fall asleep out here?”
(Y/N)’s lips curled into a challenging smirk, “Hardly, husband. I was merely assessing your decrepit reflexes.” She lunged forward, her rapier a silver viper striking, aiming for a gap in his guard.
Haytham, though he appeared relaxed, was anything but. His movements were economical, precise, every block and counter a calculated move born of years of experience and brutal training. He allowed her to press him, enjoying the thrill of her aggression, the spark of her defiance. He knew his (Y/N) craved these moments, these tests of skill and will. In a world of clandestine meetings and hidden agendas, this was a rare space of honest confrontation, a raw expression of their shared, dangerous lives.
“You’re distracted,” he observed, his voice deceptively calm as he deflected her attack with a clang that vibrated through the air. “Thinking of the ball next week?”
“As if,” she scoffed, her breath coming in sharper bursts now. “I’m thinking about how to finally unseat you, Grand Master. Though I suspect you’ve glued yourself to that position quite firmly.” She sent a flirtatious smile back.
“It requires more than just a sharp blade, my dear (Y/N),” Haytham parried again, forcing her back a step.
“It requires strategy, foresight, and a certain… ruthlessness.” He deliberately emphasized the last word, watching her reaction.
Her eyes flashed. “Qualities I possess in abundance, I assure you.”
She feinted left, then right, attempting to catch him off guard. But Haytham was a master of deception himself. He saw through her feints as if they were transparent.
Their dance continued, a whirlwind of steel under the watchful eye of the sun. (y/d/n) continued to babble to her bear, her laughter a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere. The maids shifted nervously, their hands twisting in their aprons. One of them, a young girl named Eliza, nearly jumped when a stray spray of dirt kicked up by Haytham's foot landed near her hem.
Haytham's gaze flickered towards (y/d/n) for a split second. The sight of her, safe and content, fueled his resolve to protect everything he held dear. He returned his attention to his wife, his pale blue eyes, usually cold and calculating, now held a spark of playful amusement. He also couldn’t help but feel the attraction for his wife as she challenged him.
The maids still flitted around the periphery of the makeshift training arena, their faces etched with anxiety hoping that this would end soon. The Kenway estate was grand, a symbol of Haytham's power and influence in the New World, but the sight of it’s master and mistress engaged in such ferocious combat unsettled them.
The swords seemed to sing a dangerous song, the air growing tense with each riposte and parry. More than once, the maids had to duck and shuffle to avoid the swords.
"You're getting sloppy, my dear," Haytham drawled, his voice a low rumble that carried over the clash of steel. He deliberately let (y/n)'s blade come too close, a controlled risk designed to provoke her.
(Y/n)'s eyes narrowed. "I'm merely warming up, Haytham darling. Don't let your ego get ahead of your skill." She lunged, her rapier aimed at his chest, but Haytham easily sidestepped the attack, his own blade deflecting hers with practiced ease.
"Ego is a useful tool, (y/n), when wielded with precision." He disengaged, circling her, his movements like a wild predator stalking his prey. "But precision requires discipline, and discipline requires acknowledging one's limitations."
He knew he was baiting her. He was a master swordsman, honed by years of training and experience. (Y/n) was beyond skilled, but she was no match for her skilled husband. He always held back, subtly, letting her believe she stood a chance, feeding her firey competitive spirit.
His wife, however, refused to back down. She pressed her attack, a flurry of strikes that kept Haytham on his toes. She was fast, agile, and unforgiving. It was this ferocity he loved about her, this unwavering spirit that burned bright beneath her regal facade. It drew him to her.
With a final, decisive move, Haytham disarmed her. His rapier snaked around hers, locking it in place, and with a swift twist, he sent it clattering to the ground. He stood over her, his chest heaving slightly, his gaze locked on hers.
(Y/d/n), seeing her mother's defeat, let out a squeal of delight. "Papa won! Papa won!" She clapped her hands, her small face radiant with joy. "Again, Papa! Again!"
The maids, letting out a collective sigh of relief, hurried to retrieve (y/n)'s fallen weapon before the child could.
(Y/n), lying on her back in the grass, looked up at Haytham, her eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and affection. The fight had flushed her cheeks, and her hair had come loose from its elegant coil.
Haytham sheathed his broadsword, the heavy steel sliding smoothly into its scabbard. He looked to (Y/n), a genuine (not to mention handsome) smile softening his usually stern features.
“You fought well, my dear. As always.” He knew it was an understatement. His wife was a skilled fighter, but today he had not held back his win. Not wanting to bruise her pride he let her win sometimes, but ensuring he remained the victor majority of the time. He wouldn't admit that to her, of course.
"You let me win sometimes, you know," she said, her voice laced with a hint of knowing humour and accusation.
"Do I? I must be losing my edge." He offered her a large hand, pulling her to her feet.
As she stood with the help of her husband , (y/n) gaze traveled over his broad chest, down to his muscled thighs. The sweat sticking his shirt to his skin made her feel some type of way. "Hmm, I doubt that." She brushed a stray blade of grass from his coat. "Perhaps you simply enjoy the view from above."
Haytham leaned down, his breath warm against her ear as he pulled her into him, "Indeed," he whispered, "the view is quite… captivating." He tilted his head and kissed her long and passionately. Her heart began to race.
As they broke apart (Y/n)‘s gaze lingering on the way his muscles flexed beneath his linen shirt, the way the autumn sunlight caught the edges of his dark hair.
There was something undeniably captivating about Haytham in combat, this raw display of power and control. It ignited a familiar fire within her, a primal attraction that even years of marriage had not diminished.
“Stop changing the subject Haytham. You are always going easy on me. We both know this.” she accused, though there was no real anger in her voice, only a playful challenge.
Haytham raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Do I? Perhaps you’re simply improving at such a rapid pace that my usual efforts appear… lessened.”
She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that always warmed him. “Oh, you silver-tongued devil.” She stepped closer, the playful banter giving way to a more serious tone. “But you’re right. I need to be faster, stronger. The Order… our enemies… they are not so forgiving in their ‘sparring sessions’.”
Haytham’s expression turned serious. He took her hand, his large fingers engulfing hers. “Precisely. You take unnecessary risks, Rhea. You are… audacious.” He squeezed her hand gently and placed a kiss on her lips, “And while I admire your spirit, you must be more cautious.”
Breaking the kiss, Haytham’s face turned serious. "This wasn't just a game my love. Your enemies won't be as… accommodating as your husband."
(Y/n) pulled her hand away, a hint of defiance flickering back into her eyes.
“Cautious? You keep me locked away in this estate, Haytham. You hardly let me breathe, let alone participate in any truly ‘dangerous’ missions.”
“That is hardly fair, my love ,” Haytham countered, his voice firm but soft. “And you know perfectly well why. We have a daughter, (Y/n). (Y/d/n) needs her mother. I need my wife. The Order, our work, it demands sacrifice, yes. But it does not demand we abandon our responsibilities to our family.” He glanced towards his daughter who was now attempting to dress her bear in a miniature bonnet.
(Y/n) followed his gaze, her expression softening. She watched their daughter for a moment, a wave of material tenderness washing over her features.
“I know,” she murmured, almost reluctantly.
“But sometimes… sometimes I feel… stifled. Like I’m meant for more than just… balls and tea parties.”
Haytham stepped closer to her, cupping her face in his hands. "You contribute more than you know," he said reminded gently. "You are the rock upon which this family is built. You give me strength, my dear. And you give our daughter a mother she can be proud of."
He looked into her eyes, his own a deep, unwavering blue. “You are meant for more, (Y/n). You are vital to the Order, to our plans. And you are vital to me, and to our daughter.”
He lowered his voice, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, “"Besides," he murmured, his eyes twinkling, "Perhaps it's time we considered expanding our family. (Y/d/n) could use a sibling."
(Y/n)’s breath hitched. She looked up at him, surprised and intrigued. The idea, though unexpected, resonated with a deep, hidden desire. She had always envisioned a larger family, more children to fill the echoing halls of the estate with laughter and life. And the thought of creating another child with Haytham, this powerful, complex, brute of a man… it was undeniably appealing. Haytham chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through her very being. The maids avoided eye contact, acutely aware of the palpable tension that crackled between the couple. He lowered his head, placing a soft kisses on her neck.
(Y/n)'s eyes widened, a flush creeping up her neck. "Haytham!" she gasped, but a playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
He chuckled, pulling her close, "What? Don't you think I'd make a good father again my dear wife? Or perhaps you think you’re no longer up to the task?" Smirking he captured her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, silencing her protest. The heat between them flared, a tangible force that pushed aside any lingering anxieties or disagreements. (Y/d/n), oblivious to the adult conversation, continued to play with her toys, her innocent laughter echoing through the air. The maids, their faces still strained, discreetly began to pack away the training equipment, grateful that the day's daily Kenway drama was over.
As Haytham and (y/n) remained locked in their embrace, lost in their own private world, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the Kenway estate. The air grew cooler, and the scent of pine became more intense. But within the circle of their love, a warmth lingered, a promise of shared passion and enduring devotion.
Haytham pulled back slightly, his blue eyes filled with affection. "I love you, (y/n)," he whispered.
(Y/n) leaned into him, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "And I love you, Haytham," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. "Even when you're being insufferable."
He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the Virginia countryside. He knew their life was fraught with danger, that the Templar Order demanded sacrifice and commitment. But in the arms of his wife, surrounded by the love of his daughter, he found a haven, a sanctuary from the chaos of the world. And he would protect it, with every breath he took, with every ounce of his strength. The Kenway legacy would continue, forged in steel, bound by love, and forever etched in the annals of history.
