The Third Life: Redemption
Wow…we just blew the 1400 mark completely out of the water. Thanks.
Also, been doing this four years now and it's the same old, same old: I don't know if there's anything wrong with what's happening with my stories unless you guys weigh in and say something. That being said, due to the majority consensus, this will be the last chapter of the Third Life.
It also works out because I'm board with it myself. Here's to psychological trauma and demonic possession!
Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or AC
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Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity.
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January 26, 1778
"Tell me something," Connor said to his father as they stood atop a church in New York. "You could have killed me when we first met. What stayed your hand?"
"Curiosity," Haytham said shortly. "Any other questions?"
Seeing that there was no better time and no better person to ask, Connor did so. "What is it that the Templars truly seek?"
Haytham turned to look at his son. "Order. Purpose. Direction. No more than that. It's your lot that means to confound with this nonsense talk of freedom." He approached. "Time was, the Assassins pursued a far more sensible goal: that of peace."
Connor had spent too much time away from Jake by this point, and the lack of meaningful conversations with the man had dulled the Native's wit when it came to the ideology and philosophy of the Templars, and so his counter to his father's claim was rather lacking in merit.
"Freedom is peace."
Haytham turned back to his son. "Oh no. It's an invitation to chaos. Merely look at this little revolution your friends have started." He gestured to the world at large. "I have stood before the Continental Congress and listened to them stamp and shout all in the name of liberty…But it's just noise."
"And this is why you favor Lee?" Connor asked.
"He understands the needs of this would-be nation far better than the jobbernowls who profess to represent it," Haytham bit back.
"It seems your tongue has tasted sour grapes," Connor retorted with a scoff. "They people have made their choice—and it was Washington."
Haytham hung his head in disappointment at his son's shortsightedness, and when he raised it to next speak, his voice was low and his eyes hard.
"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 dressed it up with pretty words, but that does not make it true."
Haytham took a breath. "The only difference, Connor—the only difference between myself and those you aid, is that I do not feign affection!"
Connor's face contorted under his hood as his brain failed to make up an effective response, but he didn't have to, for the sound of slow clapping was suddenly heard. Father and son both looked up, the former paling and the latter instantly perking up.
"Bravo," Jake said, jumping down from the bell tower of the church. "Bravo, Haytham, well said. Perhaps if you went into politics yourself and were a Templar on the side, this fledgling nation would have a higher chance at success."
"Jake!" Connor greeted, elated and relieved.
"Connor, you disappoint me. I thought I taught you better than that."
The Assassin's face fell, and when he tried to explain himself, Jake merely held up his hand and walked past the young man.
"Captain Swallow," Haytham said tersely.
"Grand Master Haytham Kenway," Jake said. "Don't worry, Shay's still kicking, at least, when I left France he still was. Something might've happened by now. You never know in the world we live in. Cute grandkid he's got, though. She's going to go far."
"Yes, Cheyenne has indeed displayed impressive skill for a child her age, unlike this one."
"Hey!"
"Can it!" Jake said, shutting Connor up with two syllables. "Your combat ability cannot be overstated, but you're lacking in words. Good thing I'm back to help with that. As for you…"
Haytham swallowed as Jake glowered at him from eyes four inches higher in the air.
"Your words are strong yet wasted. The Continental Congress is comprised of men. Flawed, sinful men that do what all men do, and that is act in what they consider to be their best interest. Right now, their best interest is to win this war so they don't get strung up by their toes and fed alive to animals. After the war, then we can start worrying. That's when the vendettas and the personal wants will start to show forth and the Founding Fathers' collective patriotism will start to be on the rapid decline, and three generations down the line you can forget about it. We'll be neck deep in the political bullshit as the elected pursue their own things instead of focusing on their jobs as servants of the people."
"All the more reason for the Templars-"
"The Templars and the Assassins can both go fuck themselves with their creeds," Jake's eyes burned like fire. "I've watched from outside as the both of you have brought forth war, trouble, and turmoil left, right, up and down because for some reason you can't set aside the difference and come the startling realization that if you both worked together and pooled your resources, you'd easily find a happy medium that's serve to push this world in what would be largely considered the right direction, but no~. Instead, let's slaughter each other in droves simply because we don't like how the other person thinks. Honestly, the both of you think yourselves above and beyond the constrictions of normal men. You think you've transcended to a higher plane among mortals and that you have some grand understanding of the human race, when in reality…"
Jake took a breath. "When in reality you're both no different than rats fighting over a bite of cheese. Connor, I'll be at Valley Forge, teaching Washington what I can. Haytham, whether you like it or not, this boy here is your son, and where you are more than entitled to whipping his ass both with mouth and blade, I will not tolerate disrespect or antagonism. Am I clear, Edwardson?"
Haytham's jaw squared just a little. "Crystal, Captain Swallow."
"Good," Jake nodded. "Good evening then, gentlemen."
It was ten minutes later, walking down the street by himself, that the relatively quiet night of New York was shattered by an exploding building back down where Haytham and Connor were. Jake rolled his eyes.
"My point exactly."
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Valley Forge in the winter was incredibly cold, with snow, harsh winds, and frostbite all over the place. Amidst all the shivering, Jake had been okay. He was being reminded of the North Atlantic. Now that was some cold.
It wasn't even a week before Connor came to Valley Forge, just like an excited child eager to tell his dad all about his fieldtrip.
"I solved all of the Pegleg puzzles," the Assassin said.
"Did you now? Where'd they lead to?"
"Oak Island. There, I found this." Connor brandished his hand, showing the ring on his finger. "I do not know how it works, but it repels metal objects. Most of the time."
"Magnetism," Jake explained. "Franklin can tell you more if you want to pick his brain, but basically metal objects give off an energy field, and those energy fields don't like each other very much, so they push against each other."
"I see. I…I met someone."
Jake cocked a brow. "Oh? So did I. Say hello to Jerry." The pirate clapped a nearby frozen corpse on the shoulder, and the impact had enough to force that the neck broke like glass and the head went rolling into the snow. "He's not much of a talker."
"I met a live person," Connor elaborated.
"A woman?"
"Yes."
"Assassin?"
"Yes," Connor said, getting a little upbeat, thinking he and Jake were on the same wavelength.
"Forget her."
Connor instantly fell. "Why?"
"There's only one Assassin that I know of that managed to juggle the family and the Assassin life, and that's Virgil Cavaliere. Everyone else that tried failed abysmally. The track record doesn't look too good for you. My advice, since you're already in this life, see it through to the end of the Templars here, retire, and then try for a family."
At how downtrodden Connor looked at that, Jake softened up just a bit.
"What's her name?"
"Aveline de Grandpré. Louisianan Brotherhood."
"Oh~, Creole girl, eh? She pretty?"
"Beautiful."
"Then go for her," Jake said. "This life does indeed suck. If you've got an opportunity for some happiness, take it."
"I will," Connor said.
"How'd the rest of your night with Haytham go?"
"Well, all things considered."
"Yes, you blew up a brewery."
"An abandoned brewery," Connor corrected. "We've been tracking down Benjamin Church, a traitor to the Templars and the Patriots. The Brewery was a trap and we sprung it."
"Church? Ha! Knew it. Did you kill him?"
"No, Church wasn't there. My father and I are going to resume our search later."
"Define later."
"March."
"Oh, we've got a month, then."
"A month for what?"
"Teaching you how to use that mouth of yours as effectively as that tomahawk."
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Winter was approaching its end, and thanks to the French, the Patriots were now armed, trained, and ready to go back to war. However, Washington had been receiving reports throughout the months of the native tribes siding with the British due to promises of land and freedom. As for what to do in light of these reports, Washington decided to exercise some wisdom by seeking the advice of one more wise than he.
"Hmm," Jake rubbed his chin in thought. "Yes, that is something of a problem, isn't it? And how to go about it…"
"I suppose one option is to indiscriminately target all of the villages," George commented.
"Yes, that is indeed an option. It'll also severely piss off Connor, who currently fully supports you, and that's a man whose bad side you want to stay off of at all costs. And beyond just him, when this war is won and you have your country, now you've got neighbors to live with, and you really don't want a bunch of highly trained hunters out for your blood."
"Agreed."
George shuttered when the memory of the one time he had met the handmaidens of his moon goddess ran through his mind.
"How much of a businessman are you, George?"
"Not much of one," the commander admitted. "That was more of my brother's area, God rest his soul."
"Yes, Lawrence. Good man. May he rest in peace."
Truth be told, Jake was truly worried about all of the people he knew and loved. With their knowledge of the Precursors and their Pieces of Eden, the Assassins and Templars typically put no kind of stock or faith into any religion. Sure, it was proven to Jake the existence of the Underworld and the Duat, so pagan afterlives were a thing, but for how long, though?
The Book of Revelations foretold that all the dead in Hades and the sea would be given up and be judged according to their earthly actions; if the Egyptian and Greco-Roman myths were true—and Jake had not forgotten Ancient Greece, and his battles with the Minotaur, Cyclops, and Medusa—then it stood to reason that all such myths were true, including the scriptures, which made Jake theorize that the pagan afterlives, for those not of God, were but mere waiting areas, and when the time came, those therein were not going to be very happy with what came next.
As for those therein, Jake's heart got to beating when he thought of Mary, Edward, Adéwalé, Connor, Achilles, George here next to him, and to a lesser extent, Haytham, Shay, and even the baby, Cheyenne. He also worried about himself to a degree, but unbeknownst to him he was a lucky man.
The thought of all those people—good people that had done good things—spending an eternity in the Lake of Fire just for not believing Jesus Christ was the Messiah was a though that soured Jake's opinions on Christianity, but now was not the time for that contingent.
He had already spent too much time dwelling on religion and myth when the leader of the most daring army of the age had come to him for advice.
"The British have the allegiance of the natives based on promises of land and freedom," Jake started, "and the natives are men, just like you and I, who are leaders of families, and they are doing what they think is best for their people."
"Best for their people…" the commander trailed off, his eyes glinting as he thought of plans and strategies. "I see now. If they can be convinced that the Patriots are better suited for their needs, they'll turn from the British, and then it's up to us to deliver on our promises to them."
"George, there's hope for you and this nation yet. Now, if that doesn't work, what's the backup plan?"
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Well, apparently the backup plan was to go and attack the villages that had gone to the British and wouldn't come over to the Patriots, which, when put that way, didn't sound so terrible, and in a way, it wasn't. Your know, you had present factions that were going to actively wage war against you without compromise, it would've been incredibly dumb to let that just happen, so perhaps George could've been forgiven for his chosen tactic of going after the savages.
However, not ever by Connor, since one of the villages on the list was his own Kanye-something or other.
"It was another time," George said solemnly in the face of Haytham's verbal attack. "The Seven Years' War."
Haytham turned to Connor. "And so now you see what happens when this great man comes under duress. He makes excuses, displaces blame. Does a great-"
"Boy, if you don't shut your fucking gob right now, I'll stick my sword so far down your throat your asshole will be choking on it."
Connor, Haytham, and George turned at the arrival of Jake Swallow, tall and muscular as ever, still clad in his black coat, all of his pistols polished and gleaming. He also didn't have a sword on him, which left the three men very confused as to what Jake was talking about.
"Jesus, Haytham, do you own any other outfits besides that one, or do you just wash it often enough to use it for every important occasion?"
"Um…"
"Don't answer that. At this point, anything out of your mouth will be such utter bullshit it'll stink up the air." Jake turned to Connor, eyes hard. "I have told you time and time again that your people are fucked as far as the immediate future goes, and this is war, boy. Your people have chosen to ally with the Loyalists, which makes them enemies that threaten Patriot lives. Now, you can give the commander here some shit for making a military decision during a time of military crisis, or you can get your ass on that horse and go save lives. Your choice."
Connor scowled at Washington and Haytham. "We will yet have words about this."
The Assassin rode away in a full, desperate gallop.
Jake slowly turned around to look at Haytham, who made great efforts to look at anywhere besides the pirate. Then Jake slowly turned to look at Washington, who stared at the ground, before he cleared his throat and straightened his back, looking Jake in the eye, making it clear that he was ready to accept the consequences of his actions.
Like a man.
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The Battle of Monmouth happened, Lee was relieved of command for his attempt at weakening the Patriot forces just before the battle, and Connor and Jake commanded a pair of cannons to use against the British forces, who thought that the best tactic for going up against a pair of dug-in batteries was to march in convenient little clumps of bodies.
Long story short there was a humongous mess all over the battlefield and Connor didn't like George Washington anymore.
That didn't stop him from heeding a call two years down the road concerning West Point.
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Connor approached Washington in northern New York. "How dare you call upon me after Monmouth."
After explaining the situation, Connor agreed and took his leave for the fort. When Washington was alone, Jake appeared.
"I get that he's angry, but you've also got to assert yourself. You can snap his spine like a stick."
"I can snap your spine like a stick, old friend." Washington looked up and gasped at all the liver spots on his face.
"Yes, I am, in fact, 80 years old, coming upon my 81st in a few months."
And he was starting to look it, too. The wrinkles more pronounced on his face, his hands bonier, his coat fitting a little looser, his eyes heavy and tired. The feather in his hat was drooping, far less lively than what it had been in years past.
"How…how much longer do you think you have?" George asked.
"Long enough."
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Jake participated in the Battle of West Point, though battle was a bit of an exaggeration. Just a number of Redcoats breaching the gates periodically, nothing Connor couldn't handle on his own. He had some Patriot help, of course, and Jake was providing cover fire as needed.
But, his aim, once on a level that could be considered supernatural, was off. His hands shook as he held the guns, and reloading was such a pain in the ass that he just gave up on the process entirely. Jake was starting to suffer from the condition that would later be known as Parkinson's.
Still, living to eight decades and only just now starting to feel the effects was something to be remembered.
He also killed Benedict Arnold before he got the Vulture, something to make note of.
Nearly a full year later was when everything finally ended.
The Battle of the Chesapeake happened, with Connor and the French routing the British armada, which would lead to the Patriot victory at the Siege of Yorktown in 1781, which would effectively end the American Revolution. However, before that happened, Connor enlisted the aid of the French in an attack on Fort George so that he could infiltrate and finally end Charles Lee. Instead of Lee, Connor found Haytham, and they were now at total odds.
They fought and exchanged mighty words on men, on the Revolution, both of them beating and bashing the other, and perhaps they both would've died, father and son broken by the other's hands, if not for a musket ball that went whizzing past their noses when they were deadlocked.
They both turned to see Jake Swallow, now clad in the redingote he used to where during his pirating days, before he fell. In his hands were his old pistol swords, one of them pointed and smoking.
And shaking in Jake's grasp.
"That's enough, boys."
"This does not concern you, Jake!" Connor howled.
"It does. Edward was my friend, and I will not stand by and watch his bloodline taint itself with intracide. Connor, get out of here and go after Lee. He's more important, is he not?"
With a scowl, the Assassin disengaged from Haytham and hobbled away, bleeding from the shrapnel wound of a cannonball.
"Fine then," the Templar stated, bleeding from his own wounds. "I'll kill you, and then Connor."
"No, boy. You won't."
And Jake marched forward, eyes hard and steps long, powerful, and measured. Haytham readied himself, mentally gearing up for the fight of his life. Old or not, Jake was crafty and resourceful, unpredictable and wild.
To open things up, Haytham went for a stab, prepared for Jake to flick his wrist in a parry, and then he would counter with a swing, there would be another parry, and then Haytham would for a flourish, also drawing his pistol during the movement, that way, whatever Jake's next move was, it wouldn't matter. But for all that planning, it didn't matter.
Jake opened himself up and completely tanked Haytham's stab, letting the cold steel go right through him with a crunch. The Templar was so shocked by the fact that just happened, that he offered no defense when Jake dropped his sword, flicked his own Hidden Blade into place, and punctured his throat.
The world faded away into that special realm where those important enough could share their final words.
Haytham grunted and fell to his knee, applying pressure the profusely bleeding wound in his neck, but he knew it was futile. Jake had struck true, and there was only minutes left before he passed on.
Haytham didn't know what to say.
"Edward would be proud of you," Jake said.
Haytham looked up with a blink.
"He learned what freedom was, and he taught you this lesson. With the gift you had, you did not squander it. You chose your own path and forged your own future, rising to the rank of Grand Master."
"Freedom is a curse."
"No," Jake shook his head. "Freedom is a responsibility. That's the real difference to the Assassins and Templars. The Assassins would shoulder it, and the Templars would shirk it."
"…it doesn't matter now, this philosophy business."
"You're right, it doesn't. What matters now is you, son. What are your last words for Connor?"
Haytham didn't have to think hard on it. "Tell him I'm proud of him. He's shown great conviction, courage, and strength…"
He trailed off, his mind starting to wander.
"Curious about what's going to happen next, aren't you? Wondering where you're going to go, where Edward is, and if you're going to see him."
"I won't have to ponder long," the Templar said. "Give Jennifer my regards, will you?"
Jake nodded. "Goodbye, Haytham Kenway. May you find peace."
The light in Edward's son's eyes dimmed before fading out completely. He slumped forward, but Jake caught him and gently set him down.
The Memory Corridor vanished, and they were back in Fort George. The shelling was over, but the ringing bells and screaming people shattered what should've been a peaceful end to the great man at Jake's feet. As it was, the old pirate pulled the sword from his chest with a groan, dropping to his knees as vertigo, nausea, and fatigue came for him at once.
Taking several deep breaths to get his body back in homeostasis, Jake got back to his feet, only slightly bothered by the fact that the sword wound was taking longer than usual to heal, and left the fort, getting into a carriage that was prepaid for and was taken to the Homestead.
There, Jake wrote a letter to Jennifer Scott, Haytham's elder half-sister, a letter to George Washington, letters to others among the Founding Fathers, and a letter to Connor, though that one was unneeded.
The Assassin arrived, and Jake was able to deliver Haytham's final words, along with his own.
"You've done well, son. You've made me and many others proud. Go find that Aveline girl again. Find some happiness. And above all else: be free."
"I-I…" Connor looked away as he choked, his eyes stinging. "I will, Captain Swallow."
"Good," Jake exhaled. "Good….for Freedom…"
"For F-Freedom."
"For Glory…"
"For Glory."
"In the name…in the name of Honor."
"H-Honor…"
"Remember…remember these things, mates…for they are the reasons…why we…why we…why we sail~…"
Connor could not hold back his tears as the mentor that he loved as a father left this world.
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At 81 years old, Jake Swallow passed away from age and injuries suffered in battle. Through his and Kassandra's son, Elpedios, the ancestor of Amunet the Hidden One, he is survived by the Assassin Brotherhood.
When Connor brought Jake's letter to Washington, the Commander in Chief wept, and dedicated his victory in the Revolution to Jake Swallow, and would go on to be the first president of the United States of America, leading best he could with wisdom.
Through the efforts of several great men, Jake Swallow is remembered as a born and freed slave who went on to serve as a vigilante about the West Indies aboard the legendary galleon, the Running Frenchman, raiding plantations and sinking British and Spanish ships. His attack on Kingston is expunged from history, and from the 1750s onward, in which Jake established his connections, he is remembered as a hero, awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously.
The Assassin Brotherhood awarded Jake full honors and burial rites for his actions during the American Revolution, and the Founding Fathers erected a statue in his honor after the war. Currently, it stands in front of the State House in Philadelphia, with an epithet on the plaque, honoring Jake for his role as a mentor to so many.
"The Grandfather of the United States of America."
With his connection to George Washington, son of Athena, John Paul Jones, son of Poseidon, and his hand in the death of William Davis, son of Neptune, Jake is only sparingly remembered by Camps Half-Blood and New Rome, due to poor planning on my part.
Due to his passing, the remainder of Jake's soul moved on to finally occupy the body of Cheyenne Cormac, effectively bringing her to life on September 18, her birthday, and the day of Jake's passing. In a further twist of fate, that was also the day in which she and her grandfather, Shay, were ambushed by Assassins, resulting in the latter's death, and the former's pressing into Assassin service as penance for Shay's crimes against the Brotherhood.
As for the part of the soul that was Jake Swallow, he found himself tracing the footsteps of Faris and Virgil.
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Jake stared at the golden gates sitting on a bed of clouds, a man in a robe standing before him.
"Oh no," the pirate said.
He was young again, looking the same as he did before his trip through time.
"If this is—then that means—and they didn't—which means they're…" Jake looked down at his feet, his heart thundering in his chest as he thought of all the aforementioned loved ones higher up in the chapter, and where they currently were given the revelation about the afterlife.
Jake looked back at the robed man, mouth open and eyes blank with shock and numbness. And then fire came to life and stormed up to the man, and throttled him.
"I don't give a flying fuck as to who you are or what the Bible says! Either you bring them up here, or you send me down. I don't care which."
"Peace, Jake," the man said, and Jake did indeed suddenly feel calm and at ease. "All is not yet done. There is still much for you to do."
"Like what?"
"You'll see," the man winked.
"What if I don't want to?"
"Too bad."
"What about that free will thing?"
"Oh, you still got it. This is just a very, very special and unique moment for you. Well, I say unique, but you've done it twice, and you've got it three more times."
"…come again?"
"You'll know soon enough," the man smiled, but then he turned gravely serious. "I am truly sorry for what you are about to experience, but I want you to know that I love you, and I am there for you. And so is your girlfriend…and your daughters."
"My daughters?" Jake blinked.
The man smiled, his eyes twinkling.
That twinkle got brighter, brighter, and brighter still, until Jake couldn't see anything besides blinding light, and then he didn't even know that anymore.
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Previously, in the modern day:
Percy and Lou Ellen returned from Rapid City, South Dakota, where they trained the modern-day Assassins up to snuff, after witnessing a dream that belayed the information that Camp Half-Blood was in trouble. There, they found the magical borders failing, and a quest was issued by the Oracle that demanded the return of the Golden Fleece by the weeks' end. Percy took Annabeth with him, charging the protection of the camp to Lou Ellen. After a conversation with Hermes on the beach, with the delivery of three duffle bags and a bottle of multipurpose vitamins, Percy and Annabeth were off on the quest, and their first stop was the nearby Princess Andromeda, where Percy learned of Luke's defection. After escaping the ship on a lifeboat, Percy and Annabeth engaged in a brief argument about her family life, to which she pulled the mother card, unintentionally triggering Percy as he recalled his first mother, Maud, dying in childbirth, his second mother, Aquila, being murdered by the Followers of Romulus, and thus far his third mother, Sally, being ripped in half right in front of him, and his mental state didn't recover. Entering the Sea of Monsters with this mental unfitness, Percy was unable to successfully juggle between Scylla, Charybdis, protecting Annabeth, and driving the boat they were in, and everything exploded.
Now, we return to the present…
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In the next chapter. HAHAHA!
Seriously though, this was about the end of Jake's story, and I didn't want to ruin the impact by ending with Circe's Island and immediately going into the back half of the Sea of Monsters. I want you all to have these thoughts on your minds for the next chapters:
Jake's love for Mary, Edward, Connor, Adéwalé, and the others, like George and Sam Adams.
His trip to the past, involving the battles with the creatures, and his relationship with Kassandra, and all the emotions to it.
His return to 1721, and the emotional whirlwind he experienced from that.
The loss of his ship and crew, primarily the relations with the crew and Mr. Biggs being an Egyptian Magician
All the mini adventures he had during the offscreen interregnum, and all the people he came to know during it.
The counsel he provided for all the mentioned people, and all the philosophical advice he gave.
His time as a slave, and how it was intentionally never revealed who his parents or master were.
His patriotism, the strongest example being found during the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
And finally, and most chiefly, how all those memories and experiences and emotional tie-ins are going to be dumped into Percy's head practically all at once.
There's also a demon in there to think of, and how Circe, a daughter of Hecate, was pressed into service by Lou Ellen, her much, much younger sister, to use her magic to look for Percy, who's now on her island, in her resort, out cold in a bed.
Not gonna lie, for some reason, I was tearing up writing the final memoirs of Jake's life, and if that was happening, then I'm really curious as to how I'm going to hold up with Cheyenne's coming death.
To close, the Third Life took way longer than I was expecting it too, but it's over now, and it's time to look to the future while reflecting on the past. Ahead of us is more religious strife, digging deeper into what the robed man said to Jake about his "daughters," the end of the Sea of Monsters, and then the Prelude to the Fourth Life.
Oh, it is going to be glorious.
Fav, Follow, and Review please!
P.S. after that monumental 50+ landslide last chapter, let's not close the Third Life with like, ten.