Shiver

The Great Wicked

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Assassin's Creed nor any characters, they are intellectually property of Ubisoft. I make no money in this, I write for enjoyment.

What harm could a simple question pose? The answer was absolutely nothing, it didn't mean anything, a question was just a question. As the silence fell over the two of them atop of the building looking out at the water, he asked. "What is it that the Templars truly seek?" He felt bashful for even asking, like he was somehow betraying Achilles and the Order. Haytham turned to face his son and perhaps there was a look of hope etched on his worn and tired face.

"Order. Purpose. Direction. No more than that. It's your lot that means to confound with this nonsense talk of freedom." He took a step forward to open the discussion, hoping that Connor would ask another question, that he may step just a little closer to his father. "Time was, the Assassins professed a far more sensible goal, that of peace." It was a well rehearsed speech, one that he was sure Haytham had used a hundred times.

"Freedom IS peace." Connor replied defiantly, disliking the way his father spoke to him as though he were a small child and the vast complexities of such a conversation were to much for one as young as him.

"Oh, no. It's an invitation to chaos. Only look at this little revolution your friends have started." He gestured to the city streets below them although there was no conflict they could hear the words of the local populace. There was talk of the rising death toll, people being hanged as traitors, England's power, the possible French troops that were supposed to be en route. Haytham was right about it being chaos, but Connor was smart enough to know that nothing worth achieving is ever done easily or peacefully. "I have stood before the Continental Congress and listened to them stamp and shout. All in the name of liberty." He nearly chuckled and there was a sarcastic smirk on his face. "But it is just noise." He turned once more to face the horizon.

"And this is why you favor Lee?"

The air of surprise in Connors voice offended Haytham greatly, "He understands the needs of this would-be nation far better then the jobbernoles who profess to represent it." What was a jobbernole?

While it may have looked as though Connor was contemplating Haythams words in truth he was turning the word 'jobbernole' over in his head trying to dissect it and makes sense of it. After a moment of silence Connor found his was back to the conversation and a quick remark that gave no evidence of his lack of listening or thought. "It seems your tongue has tasted sour grapes. The people have made their choice- and it was Washington!"

"The people chose nothing. It was done by a group of privileged cowards seeking only to enrich themselves. They convened in private and made a decision that would benefit THEM. Oh, they may have dressed it up with pretty words, but that does not make it true." Haythams voice absolutely seethed in frustration, part of him wanting to win the verbal boxing match, the other part knowing that the harder he tried to convince his son that his cause was in the right, the more he knew he pushed him away. "The only difference, Connor- the ONLY difference between myself and those you aid- is that I do not feign affection." The short conversation had exhausted both men, each convinced of their cause, the topic was exhausted and silence fell over the two of them once more.

Connor was especially grateful for his deep cowl at the moment, if not for the hood his father might have very well seen the look on his face, the look of raging inner conflict. He felt like a pawn at times, being strategically and systematically dragged from square to square by nameless, faceless players. At times what he did made no real sense to him, he questioned himself, was he truly doing what was right? Had the Assassin order changed as much as his father alleged? He really didn't know.

OOO

Of course Chenoa felt a bit guilty about her farewell to Sarah, but it had to be done. Things weren't about to get any easier, the camp was no longer safe for her, of that much she was certain. Leaving had been difficult she had known those people for months, treated their wounds, mended their spirits but fear could turn good hearts as black as a moonless night. Sure enough, no one had known of her departure and by the time the first rays broke over the snowy ground Chenoa was many miles from the camp, no one would be able to pick up her trail. Each step saddened her a little bit more but she knew that it was not only for the best but that it had to have been done, she wished she could have said that it was for the good of the many but in truth Chenoa was mostly concerned about self-preservation.

She'd been traveling for six days now, mostly by the cover of night, should she happen to come across a settlement of some sorts or military, not wanting to be seen. Staying off of most of the main roads, traveling her own path, not terribly concerned with where they lead her because she knew that at time it was the journey, not the destination that mattered. The only comfort she drew was that once more she was under the sky and the stars shimmered and danced for her while the soft light of the moon smiled upon her. She could feel the spirits whisper in her ears, urging her on, speaking to her. As she listened and walked a soft fog began to roll in, clinging to the ground cloaking her in its protective mist, it was a fine night for an escape, or an ambush.

It was when thoughts like those came to her that her second nature to examine her surroundings very carefully kicked in, as if instinct. Searching for what was available to her and what could do her harm, ever vigilant, ever searching. The vast unknown spread out before her brought back memories shrouded in mystery. Strange conversations in the middle of the night by lamplight, faces that she often saw only once and then never again.

Mentioning of the dead.

At first the would usher her out of the room or off to bed as such conversations weren't for the ears of such a little one. She often threw tantrums and begged to be allowed to stay up just a little bit longer, she wanted to know. Not long after that fell a ill-fated birthday. One that she never forgot. As her father hung the lamp outside of their home she readied to go to bed but found herself told by her parents to remain and listen but to never repeat. Always listen, never repeat.

"She's growing up, she needs to know who we are and where we've come from. We've cuddled her long enough, it is time that she begin."

The memory hadn't dimmed or faded in her mind, it was as fresh as the night it took place, the night a stranger in cloak came to her home. They talked about many things that night that she did not understand. They mentioned many names and places that she was unfamiliar with, and it was always with a questioning glance in her direction, as though they were gauging the quiet little girls reaction. She bore the night and the unusual meeting with a quiet grace and very mature dignity, never once did she speak out or ask 'why'? With an approving nod from those present and a reassuring smile from her father, she felt a sense of calm but it wasn't until the lamp had been snuffed out and the doors securely locked that she felt a sigh of relief. Beyond that night, whatever else was said, she bore it the same in silence and sure enough she never broke her promise to her parents, always listen, never repeat.

She never spoke as to the goings on her home after the sun set because she knew that once the lantern was lit the world became a little darker of a place, and if she was afraid she never let it show. The light from the lantern whether symbolic or practical seemed to drive the darkness and the demons away and she felt safe. With her parents and the faces that she understood to trust sitting with her, protecting her and bringing her into a strange new world.

"Do you understand why we speak of these things?" Her mother asked her once the visitors had gone, the first night she shook her head, afraid of the answer.

"Constance," Her fathers voice now "You are part of two great heritage's, two great people, it is bigger then anything you could possibly know." He knelt down and took his daughters little hands into his own "Do you know who we are?" She raised her eyebrow in curiosity "Who our people are?"

Many nights since that night whenever sleep found Chenoa she was burdened with a knowledge that few people had. Was it a blessing or a curse? Many years since while she looked into the embers of a dying fire or the sky above her she pondered these things, knowing that no one would answer her.

In the silence that always accompanied these thoughts she would strain her ears to listen for anything, whispers of the departed, their voices to guide her. In truth, there was nothing, just the endless procession of days, months, years. Sadly, the final lesson her parents taught her was that in the end you are alone and you can only rely on yourself. Everyone else just fads into the night.

OOO

One by one, I'm knocking them out. I hope everyone loves the re-vamped story. Let me know!