Mer Girl

I ran to the forest, I ran to the trees

I ran and I ran, I was looking for me

I ran to the lakes and up to the hill

I ran and I ran, I'm looking there still

And I smelled her burning flesh

Her rotting bones

Her decay

I ran and I ran

I'm still running away

-"Mer Girl" by Madonna

I once thought that death would be the ultimate escape from this earth. I prayed in silence for death to come as the flames peeled away my skin like ripe fruit. I watched my only son weep for me, moaning in despair. "Ista! Istaaa!"He in turn watched me waste away until a man of my tribe pulled him away. It was then that I prayed harder for death to retrieve me. I never wished to see my son in such agony.

I have honored my promise to him. I have remained by his side, even in this spiritual form, as he grew from a small boy with the temperament of a doe to a strong man with a heavy burden weighing him down to the earth, each day the sun rose.

He never did sleep from what I can remember. As a man, he still does not sleep. Each night, I would fight the merciless rules of the afterlife to hold my son on the physical plane. I could not touch him. He could not feel my hand upon his cheek, begging for him to find peace in slumber.

I cursed the spirits. I cursed them all as I stood by watching Ratonhnhaké:ton fight for freedom. Each slash of a metal tongue, each swelling bruise, each tear drop...I felt inside of me, ten-fold.

"Why must you do this to yourself?!" I would scream. Of course, he heard no such thing.

I ran through the forests, no longer able to contain my fury. I was helpless in this plane. I fought my entire life to never, ever experience such a thing. And yet, here I am, as if the spirits had been contemplating on this cosmic joke for years. I could hear the voices of my ancestors telling me to calm myself, to have patience.

I ran from them. I ran from them all, just as I did in life.

What was more painful than seeing my son, my innocent boy, watch me burn alive was when I witnessed his own father turn him away. I screamed at that damn old fool. He could not hear me, but I didn't care! I demanded a change! He did not hear me even when I was alive.

"He is your child, you barbaric fool! Stop this!" I would seethe, waving my hands about.

The men would quarrel, playing with their sharpened blades like silly toys. Haytham met his fate in the hands of his son...our son.

No one knows that my son had wept sometime after the killing. A grown, strong man, crying over the loss of a father figure; it is not such a taboo as one may think. He never did wish for people to see his tears. He hated to be seen in his vulnerability, in fear of being taken advantage of.

He was just like me.

He seemed to seek out the tree tops to release his pain.

And so I ran through the forest with him, never ceasing to lose pace with his long legs. You know, a part of me wished for just a moment to once more feel the ground beneath my feet, to smell the pine of the trees. My wish was never granted. Following him to the tree tops, I would find myself beside him. He would nurse his ever breaking heart with a just a small tear and a scowl tugging at his chapped lips. I would whisper to him, "I am here. I never left you. Do not cry, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Did he hear me? No. However, a mother never stops trying, even in death.

I would always run, both physically and emotionally, when the world was cruel to the ones I loved most. I must confess to you: I only ever loved one person, who was a gift to me; a gift made of bones and flesh. The ironic thing about this gift was that he mirrored me so much. Even if his father was cold, he was part of the reason why I was given a beautiful, bull-headed son. He is a piece of me, and it is that piece of my being that I struggled with in life.

And yet, when I see my son mimic those same characteristics that I struggled with, I come to a place of forgiveness for myself. I learned to love myself, flaws and all, through my son's stubborn, morose ways.

The naïveté? I don't know whom he had inherited this from. Certainly not I! I liken the possibility that my ancestors gave him the heart of a child: able to see the beauty of humanity and the possibilities for peace, even if it may seem utterly impossible. This trait hurt him, trusting men who later betrayed him or ended up dying in his arms.

However, he did not die from heartbreak. He continued to fight for a purpose.

Now, in what I no longer understand as time, I watch my son grieve over the loss of our village. I fall to my knees alongside him. In anger, he shatters what appears to be a mystical orb. He was relieved of his mission, yet here he was, over-used and empty like a forgotten deer carcass. The innards were carved out, put to temporary use, only to be left abandoned to rot in the fields. As his knees dig into the earth as a broken man, I attempt to hold him, whispering my love for him endlessly.

"Mother," he weeps, his voice hushed and uneven in tone. "W-why?"

He begged for answers. Sadly, I was not a wise spirit. I simply had no answers to give. My heart shattered as I wept with my child.

"I can still smell your skin burning," he mumbled, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his coat.

Does...Does he feel my presence?

I run through the forests, once again ignoring the calls of my ancestors. I cursed the spirits..the earth..the skies..the man I once loved for leaving me in this helpless state! He has done what was asked of him; now grant him peace! For once, I experience the disintegration of my anger. This was not my battle to fight. It was Ratonhnhaké:ton's battle. This is his life, not my own. Humility invades my spiritual form, and I perform the one act that a mother dreads the moment she gives birth to a child: to leave them be in order to learn.

I await the day Ratonhnhaké:ton and I reunite. He is my true partner in this universe, simply because he is a part of me. Until then, I will run through the forests, exorcising myself of all the anger and self-hatred locked away in my heart.

My son...

If you feel my presence in the tress, in the winds, in the earth...

Tell me to stop running.

~Please review ~ Open to constructive criticism and helpful methods to improve my writing. Thanks!

Author's Note: Hello! This is my first one-shot for the Assassin's Creed fandom. I have been working on a Connor (Ratonhnhake:ton) story to eventually post, but I wanted to "get my feet wet" first by posting a one-shot. The song that inspired this Ziio one-shot is actually a personal favorite of mine (it's my screen name), and it never ceases to make me cry like a newborn. I immediately thought of Ziio, and wondered how she would react in the afterlife watching her son grow and fight.

Hope you enjoyed! I have certainly found some lovely fics to read in this section, and I look forward to chatting with you. :)

~Take care