A collection of one-shots based on Shay's transformation from Achilles's point-of-view. I was originally planning to put this in an upcoming fanfiction, Fallen Eagle, but decided it could stand alone and to make it sorta like a prequel. I really couldn't get these ideas out of my head and refused to let them go to waste. This will mostly be based on Rogue's timeline plus a few extra. Rogue scenes will changed slightly so keep it fresh and so it can tie into my other fanfictions. Nothing major, I promise. If you enjoy this, I recommend checking my profile.

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or Ubisoft

Warnings: swearing, mild violence, situations of angst, suicidal thoughts

Achilles pitied the boy in front of him. His dark hair and eyes were dull, looking lifeless. His eyes looked even darker with the shadowed bags underneath them. The boy himself was gaunt-thin, barely any muscle to protect his fragile bones. Achilles could see a couple if he peered carefully enough. Result of neglect of a proper diet.

This was the recruit Liam promised him? It looked like Achilles could defeat him with a finger, as weak-looking as he was. And the somber aura of depression surrounding the young man told he may not even want change. That was only half the problem. What was he? Eighteen? However… Liam was Achilles's best student, who always spoke soundly and honestly. If the man said this boy owned great potential, then Achilles would take his word.

"So, I understand it you do not have a family," Achilles started. He knew the blunt statement sounded cruel, but if he was going to recruit this boy into his Order, then he needed to know everything.

As he expected, the recruit mildly flinched at the comment. However after a moment's hesitation, the boy said slowly, voice as hollow as his body, "Y-yes, sir. My… my mother died in childbirth. My father was a merchant, so he was out at sea quite often. I was raised by my aunt, but she died of sickness. I went to sail with my father, but his ship was struck by a storm almost a year ago."

So one tragedy after another. Explained a little for the boy's depression. But he would need to learn life is full of tragedies if he was to serve properly. Achilles continued on.

"Liam tells me you're a fighter."

The boy nodded. "My father taught me swordplay and how to shoot during our travels. I even took a few lessons when I was a lad from my neighbor." Suddenly he finally gave a small grin, which looked almost sheepish. "And I've had quite a number of brawls myself."

Achilles cocked an eyebrow. "With whom?"

"Mostly some thugs on the street. With an authority, every once in a while."

A troublemaker. Great. The Order had enough fights and enough trouble avoiding the authorities. He didn't have room for a rabble-rouser. However, Achilles underestimated the boy as he was analyzing the old man himself. The recruit played off his expression that he said something wrong and quickly tried to correct his mistake.

"It's not what you think," he quickly spoke up. "My family was poor and my aunt was already sickly. We lived in a rough part of town. I was just defending myself."

His tone sounded sincere, and Achilles felt somewhat relieved to hear he came from humble beginnings. If the boy was rich and stirred trouble, then he was certainly a lost cause. Considering that was not the case… And besides, the boy was not the first and would certainly not be the last recruit to be picked off the streets. Once again Achilles went on.

"You said your father was a merchant. So you have sailed?"

Another nod. "Yes, sir. Quite all over the world, in fact. I even spent most of my days when I was younger helping sailors at the docks. The pay was sometimes good."

"Where did you sail?"

The recruit narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment and counted his fingers to keep track. "I've been to many islands in the Caribbean. Port-au-Prince and Havana, mostly. Erm, there's Portugal, France, Spain… Africa a couple times…"

Finally Achilles chuckled. "So you're quite the traveler…" he chuckled, amused as the boy continued to think.

The recruit snapped out of it to nod humbly again. Meanwhile, Achilles mentally smirked. Better. The Order needed someone with adequate knowledge of the world. And he did look like a sailor. Aside his gauntness, Achilles could see the well-toned muscles created from years of labor. His hands were well-calloused as well. Another question.

"As many places have you visited, can you speak any other languages?"

Now the recruit frowned. "Um, not much, honestly. I know a few phrases of Irish from my father, who was born in Ireland, but I don't think they're all that helpful… I don't know any Spanish or Portuguese, but I know some French."

"Such as?"

The boy looked up in thought before muttering a phrase in French. Achilles couldn't stop the cackle that escaped when he translated that the recruit had said he spoke "shitty French." The recruit smiled with a flash of teeth, seeming relieved he successfully brought humor into the tense conversation. But the lightness disappeared very quickly. Achilles became solemn again as he reviewed what he had been told.

The recruit was rough around the edges, but he could be polished with some work. He certainly seemed like a sturdy rock, like Liam had promised. A small smile crawled onto Achilles's face. Yes, he seemed promising enough. But there was one more thing to prove…

Achilles slowly stood up, successfully making a show. He rounded his chair in careful, powerful strides, cautiously making his way to a dresser in the corner of the room. He could feel the boy's curious gaze following him, watching him carefully. Achilles spoke to distract him.

"You seem quite an interesting individual," the man commented. "Certainly more diverse than others that I have seen. I see why Liam spoke highly of you."

Even though Achilles wasn't looking at the recruit, he could sense his face lighting up at the mention of his friend.

"Aye, we've known each other for as long as we can remember," the boy piped. "He saved my arse a few times."

"Ah," Achilles drawled, settling by the desk. A bowl of apples rested motionlessly on its top, ripe for picking. The man plucked one up and rolled it in his palm, observing it like he was at the market. "But… can you save your own arse?"

Without warning, in an inhumane, cat-like motion, Achilles spun around, pitching the apple directly at the recruit in deadly accuracy. In a blink of an eye, the fruit landed in the boy's palm, successfully intercepted from hitting the recruit in the face. Achilles smiled again, but it was from his own thoughts more than the boy's priceless face of confusion. The Mentor straightened.

"You will make a fine addition indeed. Welcome to the Assassin Brotherhood, Shay Cormac."

Achilles jolted awake with a gasp. Disorientation clouded his senses for a moment, having a stab of panic strike him. It immediately disappeared when the retired Assassin recognized he was in his chair in the study. The old man sighed. He fell asleep again. That's all he did lately. Sleep and tend to the horses. A trip to town or the frontier in order to get supplies every once in a while. There was nothing else to do.

Achilles groaned as he shifted the chair in order to stand. Now a habit, the old Mentor snatched his cane and pushed on it to rise to his feet. As he began to walk (or limp, rather) around the desk, he still felt that dull pain in his leg. Damn Kenway.

The old man trudged to the kitchen. Sometimes he still felt like he could peer around a corner to see a Master Assassin lounging in his home… or Abigail or Connor at peace. But no. The Homestead was empty. Always empty. It has been so for six years. Six years since…

Even now Achilles felt the stab of pain when he thought of it. Six years since the Brotherhood was destroyed. When Shay had destroyed it. After he betrayed his Brothers. Achilles trembled. His student… His favorite student… The Mentor had such hopes for him. He could easily see the boy becoming a Master Assassin. And in order respect Liam's wish of solitude, Achilles even considered making his apprentice his successor. But the world was not so forgiving.

Shay betrayed him, and it was the Brotherhood that paid the price. When Achilles thought of it, a multitude of emotions welled in his chest. Anger, sorrow, regret, shame. Numerous others that could not be named. Achilles closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. If he had listened to his apprentice and not acted so harshly… Maybe…

Achilles shook his head. No. How was he supposed to know the consequences of his actions?! And Shay had questioned the Brotherhood. Broke the Tenets. He had to be punished. How would Achilles know if the child's faith would waver again? He was protecting his Order! The pain returned. Only when he did, he doomed the Brotherhood as well. Shay was right.

Achilles gave a heavy sigh. This was not the first time he dreamed of his misfortunes, nor did he doubt it would be the last. That's all he did these days. Blame the world for his misery.

Suddenly a harsh knock from the door ripped him from his thoughts. Achilles actually started from the noise, not expecting it. He turned slowly towards it, first glancing over his shoulder with a hooked eyebrow before moving his body. Who in the world was that? It was not like Achilles got visitors…

The Mentor's gut twisted when he realized that he did. Either brigands from the frontier hoping to gain a profit on a large, unguarded manor or Templars "checking up" on him. Sometimes Faulkner, during his drunken fits or begging for supplies. Achilles sighed. Considering he lost the miscreants outside the valley and he saw a Templar spy on the edge of his property only a few days ago, the ex-Assassin assumed it was the latter. The impatient, hard pounding only supported his hypothesis.

Curses rolling off Achilles's tongue as he hobbled towards the door, which continued to bang. Officially annoyed, the old man ripped the door open. However, he still kept halfway-shut, just in case he needed to slam it in a hurry.

It was not what he was expecting. It was not Faulkner, nor was it a Templar.

It was a native.

He was possibly in his teens at most, being short and slender with a flawless face. However Achilles could already see his rippling muscles and broad shoulders. Wait. Already the Mentor could see. The native boy had the dark skin and hair of his people, but his dark brown eyes and stern expression burned with familiarity. Ziio? No. Achilles hadn't seen her since…

…Since he agreed to keep her secret.

The boy was Haytham Kenway's son.

His name was Ra… Ra-something. Achilles wasn't even going to try to pronounce it. He had spent great effort to befriend the local native tribes and even tried to learn their language, but always butchered it. He eventually gave up.

But yes, the boy was in fact Ziio and Haytham's child.

He asked to be trained. Immediately that unforgiving stab of pain in Achilles's chest returned, followed by a rush of anger. He did not hesitate to refuse the boy. Did he not see?! Did it look like the old man had any desire to busy with such affairs? Over a fairy tale?!

No. Not after Shay. Never again. Achilles had placed all his dreams and hopes and trust in Shay, only for the bastard to rip it all away. The Mentor may have respected his student's decision somewhere in his heart, but he did not forgive him. Then what about all the others he had trained in the Brotherhood? Liam. Hope. Dozens more. All of them were dead because of his teachings. And the one he saw as a second son had betrayed him. He lost faith in apprenticeship. He would not allow it to happen again. To have another failure.

But just like his parents, the boy was stubborn. Very stubborn . Eventually Achilles had to admit he was impressed. Especially when the native held his own against a band of trespassers and confessed he had been sent by Those Who Came Before. And already he reminded the old man of Shay… No. He couldn't think like that. This boy was nothing like his others students.

Achilles named him Connor, after his real son. Because that's what he seemed like. A stubborn son. Already Achilles could see that pouty chin and the serious look when he thought—just like his Connor.

The native wanted to redeem and save his people, as well as revive the Brotherhood. It was not going to be easy. But maybe… Achilles could have hope.

Have hope that Connor was not Shay.