My hands were around his throat, I had no choice. I had enjoyed my time with him, though like with his mother it was far too short. I should have gone back, should have never left. Maybe if I hadn't we would have been different, I could have the strength to tell my son I love him, I could have protected Ziio from death.
Not far from here my journal sat, waiting for him to pick it up and see the truth. At that point he may do what he will, though I never thought of children before if I were ever to want one I'd want them to be him. I keep my hands around his throat, putting just enough pressure to get his instincts going. I have no choice but to kill him but I refuse to. He's my son, though I have failed him time and time again I won't leave him, defiantly not now.
Soon I feel it, the sharp force of the blade in my neck. Good job, son. I let him go immediately, holding onto my neck to staunch the flow, I'm as good as dead but I don't mind. Hopefully, maybe, in my death he can forgive me; he said he was all out of forgiveness but maybe now he will find a bit more to spare me. Though I know that I want to ask this of him, I can't find it in myself to, I've been betrayed too many times so even now I can't do it.
Looking at him I think I see a bit of pain in his eyes, not much and his face is set in grim determination, he really did resemble me.
"If you expect me to caress your cheek and tell you I was wrong your surly mistaken!" I growl out, going down in flames like a Spartan. The truth is, I do not believe I'm wrong, once I hoped to unite the Templars and Assassins, to bring an end to this petty fighting and work together towards peace, that is the dreams of a naive man, same as one who would wish to have a family.
What Connor didn't know, what no one would know, is the picture I drew of Ziio that is in my breast pocket over my heart, I was never an artist but it was the best I could do, along with it I had started trying to draw Connor, though he almost never took down his hood. No one would ever know that, it would be best, he'd feel no guilt for killing me if he think I don't care, yet I do; so very much. I wish I was stronger so I could tell him the truth.
"In a way I am proud of you, you've shown determination, strength, courage, all admirable qualities." I whisper and what I am truly saying is I'm proud of you son, I'm sorry I wasn't there, I love you. Instead I simply say "I should have killed you when I had the chance." It is better this way, I've never been one to be able to show emotion, I get that from my father, and it seems Connor has gotten it from me. However one thing my father did was always tell me the truth, which I have passed on to Connor, so that he may do with it what he may.
Everything is feeling cold, like the snow when I first saw his mother, panting and out of breath, and I wish I was more idealistic because then I might actually imagine her and my father calling for me to someplace where I can ask for forgiveness and possibly find happiness and wait, hopefully for a long time, before Connor comes to join us. Instead I know that I will probably feel nothing, I will cease to exist, and even if what I wish would be true would happen what would either want with me? What would even my own sister want with me?
Okay, I used to hate Haytham, however I kind of like him, well my heart broke at his story anyway, so I decided to give him a dear departing. I did his last words by memory so they might not be exact, I was right in the thoughts of Haytham so I couldn't' pull away to look it up or I'd defiantly lose it, I'm still discovering the tone I need to get for Assassin's Creed but I think I might be getting a bit of a hang for it.
I was hoping for a nicer ending, but Haytham wouldn't have any of it.