Author Note: I was re-reading the ASOIAF books and was thinking about how messed up their world would be if they had Templars and Assassins fighting their own wars there too. Also considering how I'd like it a lot if there was a situation in history that neither group had a hand in, just for the complete: WTF that would happen on both sides. I figured that the ASOIAF universe would give them plenty of those. Especially Joffrey, he gave EVERYBODY that feeling of sheer "OMGWTF just happened?!".
Now I'm just hoping that someone else with a better head for both ASOIAF and Assassin's Creed character voices comes along and writes an awesome fic for a universe like this.
Should also be noted that I have not watched the 'Game of Thrones' TV series. I read the books a long time before that came out and I like the images of the characters I have in my head...also rage-quitted the moment I saw that most of the Starks were not red-heads.
This is intended to be a couple of one-shots, one for each Ancestor and their different regions of the world but if I get more ideas, it may turn into an AU like thingamajig.
To be entirely honest they had seen this chaos coming. Altair Ibn-la-Ahad, Grandmaster of the Assassin Brotherhood puts a hand to his brow and sighs as he reads the wrinkled, well-travelled letter in front of him.
Things had been much simpler when he was only in charge of his (relatively) small corner of the world. He had his hands full with both Slaver's Bay and the Valyrian Peninsula and whatever madness their people and the Templars decided to throw at them.
As happy as he is that the Brotherhood has spread and flourished and the people of his cities being allowed to live in relative peace for the past twenty something-odd years, it does nothing to change the facts. The whole world has been set aflame and the Assassins have failed to stop it.
It is not his fault, but he takes the war and anarchy in far off Westeros as personally and as hard as if it is a personal failure. As great of a personal failure of his as that fateful mission at the Temple.
If it is any consolation at all, the letter on his desk tells him sardonically, the Templars had nothing to do with this disaster at all and are as equally frustrated, flummoxed and unhappy with it as they are.
Altair sighs as he places the letter down and moves away from his desk to stare out towards the bustling marketplace and think. He cannot blame the Westeros Assassins - for they have only far too recently begun to recover from their tragedy.
Few in number and based far away from the Templar stronghold that is King's Landing, Achilles has his hands full with his novice - Malik has repeatedly said that he does not care that the boy wears the robes or can wield the blades, the child is a novice - and the rapidly growing nightmare that is the North and Agaté and his apprentice are trapped in Dorne and trying to keep the Templars at bay.
He cannot even blame the Templars for this madness either - the blame for this goes back and back and back to the grudges between houses and their fathers and their mothers. Though it seems easy enough to place the spark for this disaster at young King Joffrey's feet.
Altair sighs. He is not a young man any more - has not been a young man since even before Robert's Rebellion in Westeros - and as much as he would love to hop on a boat, cross the Narrow Sea and fix this nightmare, he cannot. Not with the Targaryen and her dragons on the march.
The Assassins are probably some of the very few that were decidedly unsurprised when dragons had suddenly stopped being extinct. In fact, the Assassins - and Altair personally - had gone to great lengths to find those rocks and ensure that those eggs made their way into the right hands.
The Grandmaster had seen it a long time ago. The Targaryens were said to bring only fire and blood and leave ashes in their wake - and while normally the Assassins would not stand for that type of devastation, Danaerys seemed to thankfully take more after her brother Rhaegar than her father - at least as far as they had seen - and there were greater things at stake.
The Starks of Winterfell had the words, something he had seen oft repeated in not only his own experience but also the letters from Achilles, Ezio and even Shao Jun had all found, repeated across the world in an ominous mantra.
Winter is Coming.
And while Altair could not say that he had ever truly experienced winter, living in the hot and arid fortress of Masyaf, he had seen what was approaching.
The Apple had shown him what was coming - had shown them all a great many things. The spherical relics that were older than maybe even the Doom of Valyria, stronger than Valyrian steel and possessed of mystical powers - only Altair and Ezio had proven to be immune to their mind-altering effects and both Mentors had seen similar things upon contact with the artifacts.
Winter is Coming. Wights, the Others, fire and obsidian, the Doom of Valyria and hundreds of thousands of things that neither man could understand.
They understood the key points. When the War in the North truly began, they would need to be ready for it, that and for Desmond the Prophet- whoever he was.
"Father," a voice at his shoulder speaks, and Altair nods, turning away from the window to look at his eldest son and his brother in all but blood, who is seething in anger and frustration, scowling even more than usual.
"Brother, if you do not stop frowning so much, your face will get stuck that way," Altair says lightly, a smirk twitching about his scarred lips. He is rewarded with a disparaging look - really is that the best you can come up with? - before the lecture begins again.
"This is madness Altair," Malik repeats for what must be the hundredth time. "The dragon queen will not agree to this!" he declares emphatically slamming the document Altair had drafted upon the desk.
"We have discussed this matter a thousand times Malik. My answer remains the same. I will not allow Masyaf to come under attack, not again," Altair is firm on that matter.
Never again. He had put the entire Brotherhood in peril in his foolishness and pride and he had seen his home under attack and he would not permit the Targaryen, in her ignorance to harm it. Not that she could conquer the Essosian Assassins' stronghold, even with her dragons.
"And mine has not changed either!" Malik snarls back at him. "It is foolishness to believe that the Targaryen will accept the truth."
"Nothing is true, brother," Altair says as he heads for the door, pulling his hood up and over his grey hair. "And it is not her acceptance I seek, but her understanding. If it bothers you so much, come with me." He says pausing at the door of his office.
"And let the novices run roughshod over Masyaf?" the one-armed man says blandly, though Altair knows his brother well enough that he knows that the King of Swords is considering it, though he has not been fully convinced yet.
"Yusuf can manage their training without us." Altair shrugs.
"Masyaf will be nothing but a smoking crater if we leave that one in charge." his oldest friend says, thoroughly unimpressed by Altair's decision making skills. Darim also has a skeptical look on his face.
"Masyaf has run herself well in our absence before Malik, it is only for a few weeks at most, and Sef can ensure we have a home to return to when this mission is complete. You have oft said that neither I nor Maria have a head for diplomacy." Altair says lightly, and he sees the way Malik's scowl turns almost fond, as he throws his hand up in the air.
"Fine! Someone needs to keep you novices in line!"
- 3 years later-
It comes as a bit of a surprise when just as she believed that all audiences were over, an odd looking group of travelers came marching into the mostly empty throne room. Dressed in white and grey robes, though one wears a dark coat atop his robes they looked like a small group of hooded scholars, except by the way Ser Barristan puts his hand to his sword, she knows that scholars or not, these four are not what they seem. Most obviously seen by the one with the pinned up sleeve. How, exactly does a scholar lose an arm?
"Safety and peace, khaleesi." the leader of the scholars says in a lightly accented Valyrian as he removes his hood to reveal a rather handsome older man with a full head of grey hair and bright, sharp golden brown eyes. A distinct and sharp scar runs across his lips and she knows for sure that these are no scholars.
"An odd greeting," she says, noting that none of them have bowed before her, nor how thoroughly they ignore the dragons at her side, focusing entirely on her and her alone. "But a good one. Who are you and what is that you would ask of the blood of the dragon?"
"I would congratulate you khaleesi," the man says, a hint of a smirk playing at his scarred mouth. "You have managed to accomplish what we could not in hundreds of years," he says, and there is a slight gasp that comes from some of the Meereen in her court all have looks of awe and horror on their faces.
"Assassins!" is the shout that grows around them, and many of her men draw their swords.
"Please," the smallest assassin says with a huff, and Dany is surprised to discover a woman amongst their number. "If we had wanted any of you dead, you would not be breathing," her Valyrian with a distinct Westerosi accent to it.
"Assassins?" Dany asks the Assassin curiously. He intends her no harm, that much is evident in how he has shown her his face and his utterly non-threatening stance. Though one of his companions seems on edge at all the blades being pointed their way.
"A Brotherhood, khaleesi," Skahaz informs her. "Of thieves, whores and murderers."
"A group, who fights on behalf of those who cannot fight themselves, usually by assassinating those they deem tyrants," Ser Barristan says, his grip on his sword not loosening in the slightest. So while that was a commendable goal, they were still a danger to her.
Dany turns to the unhooded man whose expression has become completely unreadable.
"And who are you, Assassin?"
"Contrary to what the Meereen might tell you, we fight for peace in all things. For men and women of any and all walks of life to have free will. For the people of the world to have the ability to make choices and mistakes, for the growth of mankind in the hopes of a better future." The man says firmly. "We are particularly despised here, as we have a particular hatred for slavery of any kind. As for my name, I am Altair Ibn-la-Ahad." the man says with a slight inclination of his head.
She supposes that is as close to a bow she is going to get from these Assassins.
"And why have you come here, if not to kill me, then why come before me at all?"
"Our visit has many purposes. In truth we would have liked to contact you much, much earlier," Altair lets a wry grin appear on his face. "But you are a very busy woman khaleesi and our enemies do not rest. First we would offer our congratulations and gratitude in freeing the people of Meereen. Second we came to warn you. You have far more than just Harpy sons to deal with. Our enemies will stop at nothing to keep you and your dragons from reaching Westeros."
"And what interest have you Assassins in seeing that I reclaim what is rightfully mine?" she asks, wary of the sudden flash of something dark and terrifying in the Assassin's face as he speaks.
"The Assassins have no interest in who sits upon the Iron Throne so long as they do not make it our concern." Altair says evenly. "The third reason we came before you was to remove the traitors in your midst. Our fourth reason, was to discuss terms."
"Terms?" Danaerys repeats, to which the Assassin nods once. "Of what, exactly?"
"Of your surrender."
It ends up going much better than he would have thought after the initial outrage and angry outbursts that erupted after Altair's tactless and blunt delivery. It is only through Darim's timely intervention, Malik's quick thinking and a strategic death that not only saves the lives of thousands, but shows everyone that even an old Assassin missing an arm is no less deadly, that they manage to obtain a semi-private audience with the Targaryen Queen with a few of her Unsullied and her Lord Commander of her Queensguard, who continues to watch them with a wary eye.
It cannot be helped that Barristan does not fully trust them - he remembers the Assassins and their repeated attempts upon the Mad King's life. Though in all honesty, the Templars had wanted Aerys dead as well, but their desire to destroy the Assassins of Westeros had been greater.
Selmy also remembers how Altair and his family had helped him locate his Queen and assisted in saving her life.
Their actions could be confusing, Malik acknowledges, so long as one did not expand their minds to look at the larger picture and shape of things.
The Assassins have no allegiance to any one group. Their allegiance is to the Creed and to those who did not have the strength, abilities, resources or knowledge to speak out against those who abused their power, Altair explains to the Targaryen Queen.
The people of Meereen, Qarth, and the Seven Kingdoms do not care who rules them, only that they be able to live their lives without fear and shackles.
Malik lets Altair speak of the Creed and the vision he has for the world, the Grandmaster is surprisingly eloquent and charismatic when he speaks of his dream, and it is up to Malik to try and convince the Dragon Queen to agree to the madness Altair has written up.
He throws a glare the Grandmaster's way as the Queen and her Knight frown at the document placed in front of them and shudders. He has read the dire reports coming in from Achilles and Connor in Westeros. Winter is Coming. They can only hope that they will be ready.
Just as a quick reference regarding ages:
Altair, Maria and Malik - mid-60s
Ezio, Haytham - late 40s
Connor - 17-20 (there is a 3 year time gap)
What is it that Altair has written that is considered madness? I have no idea. Really. I don't. Haven't thought that part through yet. Really there is a lot I have not thought about.
Anyway, next up is Ezio and the Free Cities.