*Author note: This is my first Fanfiction, and I feel the need to state: The Assassin Creed universe does not belong to me, and the Character's belong to the Ubisoft developers.
I am a fairly new fan to AC, but I try to stay as true to the games as possible within my own piece of fiction. Please let me know if there is anything I could to improve the story such as: typos, historic flaws, etc. I will be posting a new chapters on my break days, most likely late eastern time. Please, enjoy.
July 1785, Connor is age 29.
A calming breeze spiraled up through the brush; it carried the soft beginning scents of Autumn. The sun in the distance, slowly descending behind the tree line. Connor took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and gathered all the sounds around him: the air past his face, rustling brush, and a light trickling from a small creek. The lids of his eyes lifted, and they reviled the beauty before him.
Connor found himself at the edge of a meadow, which displayed every color of orange, and was encapsulated by a dense line of trees. It was at one of these trees Connor chose to rest against. He lightly raised his hand and dragged it across the top of the grass next to him. Out here he was not obligated to think, or worry. He was free for a moment's time. As his gaze fell onto the setting sun, he noticed something that on any other day might have confused or startled him. However, today the sudden emergence of dancing clear-cut symbols against the sky, were, completely normal. The symbols moved as if they belonged to the sea, and were made of a simple series of vertical lines and dots. These were then followed by an instrumental tune, which unlike the symbols, was complex. The tune could be described as enchanting, and it was unlike anything Connor had ever heard.
The symbols floated closer, and he reached out his hand with the unrealistic intention of touching them. Connor gasped, a burst of light came from the object before him, then just like that—they were gone. The music that had followed them faded, leaving only an echo behind.
Connor opened his eyes, he had been in bed, a small glow from the still burning embers illuminated from the fireplace. It was still dark outside, and no birds had yet awoken. He sat up, rubbing his head, "Strange," he whispered to himself, but still thankful it wasn't a dream involving Templars, or individuals meeting their demise. What was that music?He tired humming it to himself, remembering it just as of it was playing before him. Satisfied he had not lost the tune, he settled back down and soon fell comfortably asleep.
The sun rise finally reached the window causing a warm feeling to run across Connor's face. This allowed for a pleasant wake-up. He sighed, feeling well rested even with a mid-sleep disturbance. Sitting up, he stretched, and scratched his shoulder. His groggy silent mind started to flood thoughts of tasks he had to complete that morning. First however, he wanted to run, and it would be a good opportunity for his trainees to warm-up before combat theory drills later that morning.
Opening the wardrobe he saw his reflection in a long mirror attached to its door. His face showed a light sheen of sweat from sleep as did his shirtless torso. Connor took a moment to look over the face in front of him. His features did not belong to him; his father stared through the glass before him. Haytham Kenway's last words echoed, leaving him with mixed feelings of guilt, hatred, and above all disappointment. He was still unsure whether his father's sentiment should put him at peace or enrage him. You were proud of me.His gaze dropped to his well built abdomen, and this brought him out of the depressing mood he had slipped into. Even though he would never openly admire himself; the sight of his form made Connor smirk with pride. He reached out and grabbed a set of assassin robes, shut the door, and begun to suit up.
A knock came from the other side of the room, and without a reply a young woman came into view. Shutting the heavy wooden door behind her. Knowing who it was, Connor groaned with a large amount of annoyance. It annoyed Connor even more that he was still attracted to her. She was young, had high-cheek bones, large green eyes, and lovely blonde curls that never seemed to be out of control. Her body was slender, but her slenderness did not to carry over to her bust or rear.
"Connor?" She asked, this had become an everyday occurrence since the girl had arrived, and it was beginning to get on his nerves. He didn't mind being around people, but his morning routine was now interrupted.
"Ye…," he attempted to reply, but she cut him off.
"I meant to say "mentor", sorry," She rushed to say, tripping over her words.
"Yes Isabel?" He replied in a loud flat tone.
"Is there anything I can do for you this morning?" Connor then noticed that she was not necessarily addressing him, but instead, the shirtless part of him. She corrected her sight with a blush when he begun to address her.
"Go wake the other trainees, we are going for a run."
Her red face got even redder at his stern voice. Isabel hesitated then asked, "Shall I wake the others?"
"No, leave them be." She nodded, knowing their conversation was over. Isabel left the room in disappointment, leaving Connor aware that is was going to be another long day.
Later that morning…
Rhythmic steps hit the surface of the ground; a low chorus of heavy breathing filled the air. Each mouth casted a small cloud of steam as they exhaled. Their Mentor led the squad-sized formation on a pounded path that wrapped around Devenport's bay. There were early indications that it was going to be a humid day, one of these being an ample amount of fog hovering over the water. The fog only allowed a glimpse of the massive vessel at port, and as the sun rose higher a clearer view of the ship's outline could be seen.
"This way, we've almost reached the end!" Connor turned to jog backwards as he addressed his trainees, also checking to make sure that they had all made it. Togquos, and Daniel were in the middle of their own competition for first place. Michael followed closely behind, however, seemed to be taking his time and hadn't broken a sweat. Eli right beside Michael, and Nathaniel appearing as though he was near death behind them. Edith coached Nathaniel, and Gillian kept the same pace and step behind Edith. With everyone in sight, Connor turned forward again and sped up. However this only lasted for a minute as he realized not everyone was accounted for. Connor immediately slowed his pace in order to speak with Daniel, "End at the cliff, I have to retrieve Isabel." Daniel nodded in understanding, then extended his stride forcing the formation to keep up.
Following the path, Connor swore under his breath. Isabel was making herself out to be more trouble than she was worth. This was the third time she had fallen out of training. Connor was beginning to suspect that she had little desire to become an assassin, and that she might have come to Devenport for the wrong reasons.
"Are you now refusing to train?" he yelled out to her, as Isabel came into Connor's view. She was walking, no, she was shuffling her feet down the path without purpose. Her head daggled towards the ground like a reluctant teenager, and her all over attitude was one of irritation as her eyes met Connor's.
"Why are you so distant?" Isabel replied, throwing her hands up.
This question threw Connor off guard and at first he no idea what she was referring to, "Because you fell out and made no effort to re-join the group. Distance happens when you slow your stride."
Isabel rolled her eyes, now gaining speed as she stepped towards him, "You know that was not what I meant."
A sense of confusion radiated of Connor, his thoughts engrossed in the task at hand. Which was—training.
"How could you bring me here? Perhaps I misread your intentions for me," Isabel blurted.
The great revelation appeared on Connor's face as he silently swallowed. He had hoped that Isabel would look past their history, and integrate into this life style.
"I don't understand the purpose," she raised her arm, pointing at Connor accusingly, "I have played your game, I have called you mentor, and I have tried to keep my distance!" A single tear crept down the side of her face, reflecting the redness it had acquired.
The guilt pierced Connor's heart. He hadn't meant for her to hurt, but on the other hand he had no idea she thought this way. When he had first offered to train her, he was under the impression that he explained the terms completely, "I brought you here because I believed you would become an Assassin, or at least make something of yourself."
She shook her head, "One man, Connor, a moment of strength. How did that qualify me for this? Please, you must see that I am weak, and dull. This isn't what I wanted for my life."
"Why did you agree? You must have known before, when I explained," Connor turned his head in anger, "I told you," saying this more to himself than to Isabel.
"At the time, I thought I could." Isabel stood closer, and reached out her hand to touch his cheek. She pleaded with him, "Please do not make me leave like a thief in the night."
Calming his voice, "I am not going to make you leave."
She smiled softly, her eyes glinting from the remaining tears. Isabel threw herself into an embrace, claiming Connor. He had tolerated the mild touch of his face, but was completely victimized by the hug. His arms laid straight, he did not attempt to remove her. Isabel could feel the moistness of his shirt caused by the run; she reminisced as his sweet scent filled her nostrils. Connor let out an ounce of air, hoping it would soon be over. Again without warning, she made her next move; her lips were now pressed into Connors. He closed his eyes, losing himself for a brief moment. Isabel expected this moment to be one of great passion, like similar moments they had shared before. However, Connor retreated, stepping aside. His arms raised defensively, "No."
Isabel sank into anguish as her eyes welled with tears. Between gasps of air and sobs she managed to articulate a few words, "…what is so different now?"
Connor, his enraged state returning, dared himself not to yell. How could he have allowed this to happen? This situation would only spark trouble within the stronghold. Achilles had entrusted him to rebuild, how could he do this, if he couldn't control one woman? Morale was everything at this point, they were too few in number. This is all my doing,"I should have never taken advantage of your situation."
"I didn't see it that way. I thought you wanted me."
"So did that other man. I am no better than he." Regaining his emotions, Connor waved off anything Isabel was going to say, "if you can no longer train, you may have a place in the kitchen. Now, I must go." With that said, he sprinted away to rejoin the group.
Isabel fell to the ground, her heart shattered in defeat. Then as if there was some sort of hope she thought: he didn't send me away… he still wants me here. She could feel a smile as her heart felt as if it could be repaired. However, there was something off about this smile, and if witnessed could have sent chills into any individual.