Extract from the Journal of Arno Victor Dorian

10th September 1795

It's since been almost a year since I have took up residence in the house which my dear departed love, Élise de la Serre, called "home", rather it was a drop, a safe-house of sorts. Where the remnants of old friends as well as new that had made up her new "family", which she left, stayed.

I've since enjoyed the company of her former protector, Mr Weatherthall, whom has since been able to acquire the services of a maverick doctor, who fitted him with a wooden leg, and though he still needs a cane to walk, he was a "normal ageing man" once more. His excessive limp disguised conveniently by his years.

Mr Weathethall and I have taken to light dueling and sparring matches that, he said, helped him keep the remnants of his long rusted down skills from completely disintegrating.

Though technically disabled, Mr Weatherthall, true to form, in his English humour and charm that Élise had so warmly recounted (which I myself found to be true), retorted to any sympathies strangers would have had by saying "Better a limping tortoise than a sitting duck," and he certainly wasn't.

Whatever skills he may've lost, however, either due to disability, age, drink, or perhaps all those things put together, he certainly knew how to make what he had left count, so much so, that once he even managed an expert strike with his cutlass that in my attempt to avoid, made me stagger, just a hair, which given his condition was most impressive.

It's no wonder, I thought, that he was able to train her so well, that despite my catching up as she described me in her journal, I realized, I never truly surpassed Élise, (in life), as a swordsman. But for all his regained confidence and aptitude in combat, I do believe, the old man was just happy that he was able to walk on flat ground without being man handled as was often the case when he was on crutches.

I actually spent most my time with the old Templar when I was around the Maison Royale, the place that in Élise's letters to me she had called Palais de la Misere, and we, Mr Weatherthall and I, whom I had taken to calling Freddie (when he allowed it), became "friends", somewhat, coming together on the fact that we were the few remaining men alive whom were closest to Élise.

Who knew her secrets, both of her life as a Templar, and the personal Élise, the young girl as well as the adult woman we both knew and loved. I knew he loved her, Mr Weathethall. I didn't need Élise's writings to tell me that. Although we loved her in much different ways, to me, she was a lost lover to whom I was "betrothed".

To him, as he told me, a daughter figure, the offspring of Julie de la Serre, the woman he himself held a flame. As we ended the day's session, we sat down, my on a nearby stool, and Mr Weathethall, on what's left of a tree that was recently fell by Jacques husband to Hélène, Élise's former lady's maid.

Freddie noticed me musing on my thoughts and asked me what I was thinking. I hesitated, but then replied that I had learnt a lot about Élise from her journals, her life and those around her, including he himself. He retorted again "poppycock, there's more to me than meets your bloody eye, Arno, or hers for that matter." "Typical Englishman." I thought.

He stopped and played with his beard, then continued, "But yes she was perceptive." Giving me a half smile. "But don't give me all this awkward stalling bullocks, tell me what's really concerning you?"

I confided to him the last letters Élise had meant for me, how she fully expected me to "unite" the Assassins and the Templars, in an effort for lasting peace. Giving me a skeptic look, he replied to me on how I seemed to share in Élise's ideals, but told me that he himself did not believe it would happen.

Being a Templar himself, though since been excommunicated by the English Rite, for aiding an abetting in the "murder" of one May Carol, as well as protecting a Templar "traitor", Freddie, told me of his distrust in the Assassins and that his "comfort" with me, is only due to my close bond with whom he had considered the true Grand Master of the French Rite, Élise.

I myself, was slightly irritated, I may have been thrown out by the Broterhood myself, but I didn't need an old Templar, friend or not, preaching the Templar ways to me. I was reminded on Haytham Kenway then, through his sister's letters that now belonged to me. My facial reaction was clear enough I suppose, that he stopped and changed direction.

"What do you intend to do then, Arno?", Mr Weathethall asked knowing full well the answer.

"I plan to fulfill her requests in the letters, and make peace, and if possible, perhaps even unite us, the Templars and Assassins. I share her views, too much blood's been spilt, too little progress, if any."

To be continued…