A/N: Never thought I would write an Assassin's Creed story, let alone from a Templar's viewpoint. What can I say? Haytham Kenway is a brilliant protagonist/antagonist, but even after reading Forsaken, I still can't quite wrap my head around that character. Naturally, I decided to write a story from his point of view.
Disclaimer: The characters and settings of Assassin's Creed III and Assassin's Creed: Forsaken belong to Ubisoft and Oliver Bowden.
Last Stand
"We have an opportunity here. Together we can break the cycle and end this ancient war. I know it."
Connor's voice holds such a strong conviction that once again I find myself struck by his idealism - identical to my own many years ago - and his naivety.
"I know it," he repeats.
Even now, it seems, he is desperate for me to see what he does - that the Assassins and the Templars can be united, that together we can do more than we can accomplish alone, that our problems and conflicts can be solved and all it takes is for me to believe.
I don't.
And the truth is - neither does he.
It has been three years since I last saw him, but he is still very much the same boy who went on the hunt for Church with me, who proclaimed freedom was peace on a rooftop with unweaving conviction. He still believes in that nonsense, I can tell. Isn't it ridiculous then, that he now thinks we can forge an alliance?
No, despite what he keeps saying - both to me and to himself, it appears - he is not seeking an alliance. What he wants is for me to see the world as he does - as the Assassins do. I have done the same during the short time we spent together; I have tried to show him the errors of his way. But while I might have made him think, I might have even shaken his faith in Washington, he has stayed true to his cause. No matter what, he will not turn.
Nor will I.
"No, you want to know it. You want it to be true." I wrap the bandage around around my wounded wrist and tie it in place with my teeth, then pull out my sword. "Part of me once did as well, but it is an impossible dream."
Connor shakes his head, though his body is already reacting to my movement. His knees bend and his fingers flex as he readies his blade.
"We are in blood, you and I," he urges. "Please..."
If anything, our respective allegiances have only served to prove that blood means little in this eternal conflict. Still, either because of Connor's words or the fact that this might well be my final moment, I find myself thinking of my own father and all he has taught me. I remember the long hours we spent in the training room, trading blows. I remember the way he pushed me to challenge what I had been told and think differently. I remember how he viewed the world - a view that I once shared, where nothing was true and everything was permitted. I remember, but I no longer believe.
The change - no, the realization came slowly, starting on the day I lost my father, and with him, my purpose in life. Plunged into chaos and driven by revenge, it was only natural that I found the Templars' take on the idea of 'truths' more compelling than my father's ambiguous one. In this regard, Reginald's scheme had worked perfectly. Even after realizing what he had done years later, my ideal did not change.
After all, what I saw with my own eyes was no lie, nor was the series of subjugations that filled every page of our history. The mindless wars. The poverty and oppression. The countless lives that were wasted because of the greed of others.
Are these, too, permitted?
No. I believe in order. I believe our kind is cruel and selfish in nature. I believe there will never be peace without interference.
And so I kill, like I would have had my father lived, only for a different cause. It is hard to imagine now, but I know with certainty that had the attack on my family never happened, I would have walked the path I had been prepared for since birth and believed in what I now see as nonsense. Ironic, really, seeing as the Assassins believe in the freedom to choose. Connor, no doubt, would have a completely different interpretation to this apparent hypocrisy.
Once again I wonder how he would have turned out had I known about him earlier. Would I have raised him to be a killer? Would I have wanted him to get involved in this ancient war at all? Either way, here he is, his hands stained with blood like mine. And for men like us, there is no middle ground. One does not kill for half-hearted conviction, after all. This is a fight not only between ourselves, but also our ideals.
The bombardment continues. Each crash of cannon fire seems louder and nearer than the last. The walls shake and the light of the torches flickers. My Templar ring glitters under the unsteady light, reminding me of my duty to the Order and steeling my resolve to do what I must.
"No, son. We are enemies. And one of us must die."
The path I walk now may be the result of lies and treachery, but my ideal is my own. I may have doubts on a number of decisions I have made as the Grand Master, but even in the darkest of times, I have never strayed far from what I believe in. And if I have to kill my own son for it, then that is what I will do, or die trying.
There is no room for sentiment in a battle between two opposing causes like ours.
I am sure he understands.