A/N: I do not own the song The Unforgiven I, that belongs to Metallica. I do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters. I am merely a huge fan of both and was heavily inspired to write this after reading Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb (which, guess what? I also don't own!) Any mistakes made are my own.

EDIT: I've removed the lyrics due to copyright. If you don't know them, search them up and look over them. You could also listen to the song too.

Enjoy.

Unforgiven Assassin

Blood.

The young Templar-in-training tasted blood. He felt it run down his face and over his busted lip, the metallic tang overtaking his tastebuds as he fell to the floor. The warm sand prickled his skin and he squeezed his eyes shut upon impact with the ground.

"Have we taught you nothing!?" The voice of his attacker asked, looming over him like a giant.

The boy was silent and was kicked, hard, in the stomach.

"You wanted this, to be like us." Another kick. "Father was so displeased." This time his attacker bent down to pick the boy up by his shirt. "Pray that the council do not hear of it." He set him roughly on his feet and crossed his arms, eyeing the boy up and down in disgust. "If I hear you defending any bastard assassin again, dear brother, then these visits will be more frequent. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded, his attacker promptly turned his back, briskly walking away and muttering curse words under his breath. The boy placed a palm on his forehead, wincing at the pain. He stood in the silence of the night, the blood from his freshly inflicted wound trailing down his hands, dripping softly onto the floor.

He hadn't expected this sort of punishment. New to the Knights Templar, still not fully initiated, yet treated as a veteran, as if he should know exactly what to do at every precise moment. He knew there were punishments and gave his thanks to God that what had just happened to him was not as severe as some he had seen previously with his young eyes, full of wonder and fear. His brother, ten years his senior, had been initiated into the order at seventeen, the same age as the young boy who now stood silently licking his wounds like a dog. He wished he had the warm embrace and comforting words of a mother to heal him; but his beloved mother was not there, taken unjustly before her time.

The boy coughed. He knew that it was his father who had sent his brother to punish him. An important figure of the Knights Templar, his father was a strong man whose words brought comfort to the ears of Acre. Captain of the Guard, he was well-respected by his peers and feared by everyone else.

Almost everyone else.

The Assassin's feared him not. But then again, the young boy thought as he limped towards his home, the Assassin's did not fear much. They stood before Death and laughed in its face, willingly jumping into its icy embrace. They reacted not if injured in battle, merely dealing even worse pain upon the ones who managed to strike them. While there was a rumour that Assassin's feared water, it was proved false when a large number of them infiltrated a well-guarded Templar fort by swimming to it and surprising the guards, who were swiftly killed.

The boy hated the Assassins.

But he was being punished for his respect of them.

He hadn't meant to lie to his father, brother or his fellow Templars-in-arms but it just so happened he had. Walking through the streets of Acre's poor district, he had witnessed first-hand the disease that plagued the people. No matter how many times he turned through the streets of the district, it never failed to shock him that it was possible for people to live in such misery. The derelict buildings could not house anyone as they were falling apart and food was always scarce. Coming from a wealthy family, the boy donned a large, brown cloak when walking visiting the poor district to fit in amongst them, giving money to the beggars and baskets of fruits to starving children. Had his father discovered his ventures he would be in trouble, so he kept them secret.

That day, the boy had been walking along a pathway where he noticed an elderly man surrounded by guards who, he recognised, were his father's men. They had their blades drawn, the man shrivelling under their deadly gaze. It was not the first time the boy had witnessed such a spectacle but the last time he had seen this, he was not a Templar (or Templar-to-be) like the majority of his father's guard. He walked to the men and shouted for their attention. They knew him to be a new recruit and the son of their Captain.

"What ho?" One asked, facing him.

"May you perhaps leave this man to continue his daily activities?" He replied politely, only to receive laughter.

"What spirit! You see boy, he has done wrong by us and shall be punished accordingly."

"And what is his crime?"

A toothy grin. "Walking in our path."

The Templar-in-training was shocked and reeled back from the howl of laughter. The guards turned back to the elderly man who was sinking to the floor, begging for his life. Stunned in confusion, the boy watched as they prepared to strike him.

A flash of white stopped them.

It was like a flash of lightning that lit up the sky for a moment before retreating into the clouds. One by one, the guards fell dead onto the muddy and uneven path as the man, the Assassin, ended their lives with the blade hidden in the folds of his clothing.

The boy watched, wide eyed and speechless. The elderly man thanked him, mumbling about not leaving his house anytime soon and fled the scene, as had many of the bystanders. The boy was deaf to the world around him as he met the eyes of the man. Cold, uncaring and filled with purpose.

The holler of guards rushing to inspect the situation snapped the boy back to life. With a smirk, the Assassin lifted a finger to his lip and slipped away, grabbing hold onto the side of a building and swiftly working his way to the roof, disappearing from sight.

"What happened!?" It was the boy's father, accompanied by guards. His eyes filled with anger upon sighting his youngest son amongst the dead soldiers on the ground. "What happened!?" He repeated.

The boy was flustered and could not utter a single word. His father grabbed him by the front of his cloak. "Where is he?" He hissed venomously. "Where is that bastard?"

The boy shook his head. "I… He… Gone." He managed to stutter.

"You must've seen something boy, out with it." His father was seething in fury.

"I-I only saw an act of kindness by a stranger…"

"You foolish boy!"

"I-"

"He's on the rooftop!" A guard interrupted as the boy was about to explain himself further, pointing towards the white blur.
The boy was pushed onto the ground. "We will discuss this later." His father spat. He turned to a guard. "See him home."

With that the boy was lifted and escorted back to the rich district of Acre where that night, his brother would make sure he remember the mistake of defending an Assassin.

He was taught to do the right thing.

He wasn't told the right thing was selective.

A few months after the incident in the poor district, the boy had found he had a change of heart the further he was drawn through the folds of the Knights Templar. Yes, they had strong values of justice but they were only towards those who followed their beliefs. Anyone else, be they rich or poor, were deemed unworthy scum and treated us such while the Assassins, who were making life better for the citizens, were hunted down regardless of what their business was in Acre.

The boy knew to be careful whenever he left his home. He would finish the lessons his father had set for him and practise fighting in the courtyard with his brother, playing the part of the willing and loyal son on the outside, assuring them that he had not ventured to the other districts without permission first. He only stole away at in the dead of night, donning a hooded cloak much like the Assassin he had seen, except his was a dusty brown not a dirty white. With every passing day, the boy was conflicted at heart. Word had reached from Damascus and Jerusalem about the tyrant leaders killed by Assassins and how citizens now lived without hunger or fear. Surely, if such an organisation had made life for humble citizens better, were the Assassins really so terrible? Why were they to be killed on sight? Why were they to be tortured if captured?

The boy couldn't understand this and no matter how many nights he tossed and turned as the days of his official Templar initiation drew closer. He had begun to dread the ceremony, his stomach queasy at the thought of following an Order that he believed was wrong. He thought of his brother, the killer and arrogant man he had become after he became a Templar. Did the boy really want to be like that? A mindless drone that followed the orders of people who had not the minds of the people in their hearts?

He hated it.

He hated the Knights Templar. He hated the killing of innocents. He hated being forced into doing things that were against his moral judgement.

He hated how his father and brother watched on as time and time again, the boy was punished physically and mentally by members attempting to beat the emotions out of him, to make him like them. To make him a puppet that they could use for whatever disgusting purpose.

To make sure he remembered which side he was on.

"For your own good." They assured him.

The boy suffered in silence, the gears of his mind turning with each passing day. Being a Templar was not for him. It was not the life he wanted.

He hated it.

It was a cold day when the boy decided he had had enough of the Knights Templar. A year had passed since his initiation. He tried, he really tried but he was deemed a failure as a Templar and a son. He was used to his father's condescending eyes, the disappointment that the boy had failed to change into pride. His brother too, sneered and laughed at him. Fellow Templars were losing their patience and faith; he could not learn their ways because he could not accept them, and therefore could never be a true Templar. Hope was lost on the boy but his peers clung to him and the talent that would grow with him still; they were determined to change him into a person he could never be, no matter the cost.

But the boy couldn't share their thoughts.

He left. No apology or explanation to his father or brother. He had done nothing wrong. He was doing what he believed was right.

"God, give me guidance. Mother, give me strength." He muttered under his breath, climbing out of the window of his room and scaling down the wall, landing firmly on his feet. He had spent days watching the Assassins so swiftly scaling buildings and jumping through the air and practised their ways as best he could, sometimes with undesirable results, like an injured limb or pride. But practise he did, as much as he could, as secretly as he could.

One particular Assassin knew. He knew the Templar boy watched him and he would, in turn, watch the boy. He was intrigued; the boy had followed him for so long yet would never approach or attack him. In fact, he looked at the Assassin in awe, eyes shining as he saw the man leap effortlessly from a ledge or saved a citizen from a beating. The Assassin did not believe the boy who followed him was a spy; he was too young, still being taught the ways of the Knights Templar. He had not yet mastered his skills.

So the Assassin knew that soon the boy would seek him out, although for what reason he did not know. He waited on a tower, an eagle resting on the ledge in front of him. The Assassin saw the brown blur land, quite loudly, on the ground after climbing down a building. He was far from his home, halfway towards the entrance of the city. The boy had a small knapsack and was looking around, much like a lost puppy. What was he searching for, the Assassin wondered?

The Assassin stood from the ledge, the eagle stirring at the movement. It spread its wings proudly and lifted itself into the sky, circling the tower, waiting for the Assassin to leave so it could perch on the ledge in peace. The man walked towards the end and looked down at the haystack strategically placed below him.

Fearlessly, he jumped.

The boy heard the sound and froze, not knowing what to expect. When he recognised the hood of the figure he followed around constantly appear after jumping out of a haystack, he relaxed. The Assassin approached him and the boy felt fear and anticipation fill him. They were silent for a while before the boy spoke.

"Can you help me?" He asked, as confidently as he could.

"It depends on what you seek." The Assassin replied, a hand resting on the sword on his belt.

The boy lifted his arms in non-violence. "I only wish to be like you." He replied.

The Assassin had not known what the boy wanted, but this was unexpected. His hand tightened on the hilt of the sword and he studied the honey-brown eyes of the boy, searching for any sign of betrayal or danger. What met him were wide orbs that thirsted for knowledge of the Assassins way, a hunger that hoped to be accepted. The man tilted his head.

"Even if I take you with me, young one, how can I trust you?" He asked slowly.

After hesitating, the boy spoke. "That is your decision to make." He replied softly.

The Assassin loosened his hand but still held onto the hilt of his sword. In the tasks his mentor Al Mualim had sent him to complete, the Assassin had learned to free himself from selfishness, arrogance and ignorance. He had learned to take a step back further into the shadows, silent as a mouse, observing his surroundings and drinking in every detail; the whisper between two strangers, the sleight of hand from one person to another, to understand that not everything is as it seems. Perhaps this boy too, was not all he seemed to be. While he studied the way of the Knights Templar, he seemed to abhor it. He wasn't a threat or an enemy.

The boy was merely a misguided soul.

"What is your name?" The Assassin asked.

"I denounce my name." The boy replied swiftly. The Assassin raised his eyebrows in amusement. "I cannot call myself by a name associated with the people and Order I left. To them, my actions are unforgiven and they will dub me as so." He added.

The Assassin's lip curled into a smile, shaded by his hood and the darkness of the night sky. He would take the boy back to Maysaf, the home of the Assassins' Order, as a hopeful recruit. It would be difficult for the boy to assimilate and the Assassin himself would most likely be on the receiving end of trouble and gossip.

But a part of him believed that the boy could be trusted. He saw it in his innocent and determined eyes.

The boy looked hopeful yet tense, hands balled into tight fists at his sides. He flinched when he saw the Assassin grip his sword and for moment, thought that he was going to be killed on the spot.

But the Assassin released the blade, instead crossing his arms in front of him. The boy let out a breath.

"I am Altair." The Assassin said. "Are you willing to strip yourself clean of the Templars, and fight instead for the Assassin's Order? To go by a new name?"

The boy nodded, his heart racing with excitement.

Altair smirked.

"Then come with me."

Never free.
Never me.
So I dub thee unforgiven.