note: A big thanks to nerdman3000 for the awesome AC3 logo with the french fleur-de-lis ;)
Paris - Summer 1785
The weeks passed without much incident following his brief encounter with the Brotherhood. He had been receiving regular letters from Lafayette, detailing how he had buried himself in the workings of the court at Versailles, telling Connor that he would see him again as soon as he was ready. He also filled Connor in on what he was planning to do. The King, it was rumored, was ready to call the first Parliament in over two hundred years, where representatives across the nation would convene.
This was an irresistible opportunity and Lafayette's plan was to build up his own political caucus and gather those who supported reform for the people on his side. Connor's role, he continued on, would crucial and he would fill him in when he returned in the coming weeks. This in itself, was enough to dispel any doubts Connor had in his friend being a Templar, surely Templars do not care for the plight of the ordinary people?
With that settled, his thoughts weighed on other matters...
On the other hand, he had heard nothing more from Arnaud and his fellow brothers of the order, but even so, Connor had the feeling that they were being watched at Lafayette's estate, even if he couldn't see them, but as long as they were not hostile, he didn't let it bother him. In time, they would see reason, he believed.
In the meantime, Connor explored, watching from the rooftops above as he witnessed the struggles of the citizens. For all its splendour and majesty, Paris was filled with its share of poverty as well, and there were many instances where he saw crowds of starving families and orphans throwing themselves at the gates of government buildings, pleading for scraps to eat, or even to protest and demonstrate, but the doors stayed locked, their pleas and shouts falling on the deaf ears of armed guards.
Some of these confrontations escalated into riots, which were quickly stamped out by French troops. But the situation became so bad, that Lafayette temporarily sent his family away to their Chateau in the countryside until the upheaval blew over.
It seemed all too similar to Boston, and Connor hoped he would be able to make a difference soon.
When he wasn't exploring, he was devoting his time to assisting Benjamin Franklin with his experiments. In his short acquaintance with him, he found the old man to be quite enjoyable company, and Franklin seemed to derive enjoyment in sharing his founts of wisdom with the young Mohawk in almost every category of academia or everyday advice. Connor found himself grinning when the good doctor once explained concisely the eight reasons why it was more advantageous to go for older women as opposed to the younger ones.
Today however, the experiments took a more interesting turn.
The wind howled wildly, swaying the contraption from side to side as Connor struggled to keep the ropes tethered together, at the same time, he was holding a flame to the center, which was just as vital.
Being at least several hundred feet off the ground and all.
"Excellent Connor, keep her steady!" Franklin yelled from the balcony, taking measurements with a variety of instruments and making notes in a ledger while the young Mohawk struggled with the ropes above. "How's is the view up there?"
"A little windy, Doctor Franklin, but she'll manage!" Connor yelled with a small smirk on his face. He had learned long ago to refer to any type of vehicle, whether it be a cart or a ship, as a 'she'. He felt nervous at first trying this out, remembering his own rotten luck with an old flying machine design back home, but when the good doctor assured him that there would be no jumping off of cliffs or rooftops involved, Connor decided he had nothing to lose in trying.
And what a marvel it was. He thought. On the ground, he saw a virtual sea of humanity in the streets as Parisians gathered to watch the flight of the famous balloon that Doctor Franklin was raising.
It was an interesting invention. A giant, circular craft that seemed to defy gravity itself. It was beautifully decorated, with the facings of the French Flag, the Fleur-de-lis, gold silk lining, as well as the face of the French King, whom Connor had learned was called King Louis XVI.
This 'hot air balloon', as Franklin called it, also allowed Connor to get a great view of the outlying districts and the rest of the city during the day time, which he quietly transposed over what he remembered that night at the Notre Dame. It was a useful invention, in that sense.
"I think that is enough for one day Connor!" Franklin yelled, "You can bring her down now!"
Connor nodded, remembering the instructions that Franklin told him, he slowly put out the flames in the center of the craft, lowering the amount of hot air into the balloon, which began a soft descent. It didn't take long before the majestic skyline of Paris vanished, giving way to the modest and small back yard of Lafayette's apartment.
It was an amazing experience, although he was glad to have his feet back on solid ground.
"What did you think?" Franklin smiled genially as he stepped down to the balloon. "You should count yourself very lucky Connor, you may be only the fourth person to be on one of these."
"It was amazing..." Connor said with awe. "And you invented this?"
"I simply financed it, the credit goes to the Mongolfier brothers." He smiled.
Franklin indeed, was much taken in by the whole experiment and concept.
"Can you imagine Connor, to be able to see everything around you for miles around without even stepping foot outside your back yard? Or being able to fly from one destination or another? Why, this could revolutionize human transportation." The good doctor said proudly as he took off his spectacles and began wiping them.
"I would like to see that." Connor said, genuinely curious what that would look like, a sky full of these big, unwieldy contraptions.
"They say such a balloon has no practical uses," Franklin said gruffly, disliking the skepticism of some of his peers. "but the same can be said for a newborn baby, what use is that?" He smiled ironically.
Connor nodded in agreement. In that, at least, they were similar. He preferred to open his own mind to the ideas of the world, instead of being stuck in the trappings of the past.
"You are as wise as they say Doctor." The young man said with admiration. "Perhaps you can invent some more tools for my people when you return to America."
"Please... there's nothing special in what I do." Franklin said modestly. "Simply find a need in this world, and create something to fill it it. Anyone can do it! For instance...What if we put this refuse inside a receptacle? My god sir, you've just invented sanitation!" He crooned in jest, to which Connor laughed.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a musket shot sounded, cracking the air like a whip.
Both men fell silent, staring at the direction of the sound.
"What do you suppose that was?" Franklin muttered.
"I don't know." Connor said, hardening his gaze, "But I intend to find out."
Before Franklin could say anything more, Connor had already bolted across the yard, jumping gracefully over the fence, and into the streets beyond.
The streets ahead of him were thronged with a sea of people, and Connor decided that was less conspicuous if he moved across the rooftops. Quickly grappling onto a second floor balcony as he ran, he pulled himself up and proceeded to climb to the roof.
The rooftops of this area of Paris were tiled, from the grander and more impressive houses, and he negotiated the winding streets and rooftops with ease until he finally came to the source of the trouble.
"Disperse you scoundrels!" An authoritative voice came from the officer in question, holding a pistol in the air. The gathering mob surrounded the band of soldiers warily, anger written on their faces, but they were obviously kept in check by the soldier's muskets.
On the ground immediately in front of the officer, was a Frenchwoman, her hand held against her bloody cheek. She didn't wear the dress of a Parisian woman, instead, she wore a heavy cloak.
From his vantage point above, Connor observed the rest of the scene. Counting the officer, there was a platoon of French Regulars, at least nine of them. They seemed different from the white coated troops he had seen earlier, sporting instead a dark blue uniform. The men seemed to be rummaging through a printing press office, throwing out pamphlets and shattering the doors and windows in the hopes of finding something.
"Where is it?!" The officer said angrily towards the girl, lifting her up by the wrist and whipping the stock of his pistol across her face.
The girl's face was bruised and bloody, but she was defiant, not saying a word.
"Very well then..." The officer said, cocking the pistol and aiming it at the girl's face. "Let it be known that this is the fate of those who betray their-!"
Before the officer even had a chance to finish, a rope dart shot from the roof tops, wrapping itself around the officer's neck and digging into his throat. The man's eyes barely had time to widen in comprehension before he suddenly jerked upwards, disappearing in a flash and dropping his pistol and sword.
All eyes turned above, and the soldiers cordoning off the crowd watched with amazement as their officer's lifeless body dangled from one of the street signs of a nearby fourth story building.
With all eyes focused on the officer, no one had noticed a man in a white hooded uniform jacket emerge from the crowd, walking behind one of the soldiers as he gazed upwards. The soldier suddenly felt a hand come over his mouth as a stranger wrapped his arm around his face from behind, but before he could speak or even shout, a hidden blade from his assailant's other arm stabbed just under his armpit with blinding speed, piercing the arteries of his heart and snuffing out his life.
Before the man even collapsed on his feet, Connor grabbed the soldier's musket, walking steadily as he aimed it at another soldier.
"We're under attack!" A corporal pointed at Connor, but before the other French regulars could react, Connor pulled the trigger. The musket lashed out a tongue of flame, slamming into his shoulders as the corporal's head flew backward in a spray of blood.
The French soldiers were alert to the danger now and they rushed Connor, but he had already closed the distance with three lightning fast strides. He chucked the musket like a spear, taking one of the Frenchmen in the chest with the bayonet blade, then he crossed his arms as he ran, pulling his tomahawk out with one hand, and a sword from his sheath with the other, to counter the two regulars that were closest to him.
He blocked the first assailant with his tomahawk, and the sound of steel ringing on steel filled the air. Noticing that the man had overstretched his lunge, Connor pulled his weapon back, punching the man in the neck as the man fell forward, off balance. He then turned, feeling his sword arm twitch as his other opponent made contact, but not before he sliced his first opponent's throat with the blade of his tomahawk, the man almost spun as he was flipped onto the ground, dead.
The second opponent shouted a challenge as he drew back, aiming to skewer Connor where he stood. But his ears caught onto something else in the background, another french corporal shouting orders.
"En Joue!"
He turned his head quickly, and saw that the other four French soldiers had lined up professionally, training their muskets at him.
Training and instinct took hold as he quickly used the Tomahawk to latch onto the musket of the soldier he was facing, pulling the man forward while he sidestepped behind him, his sword arm wrapping itself neatly around his throat as he spun the soldier around, facing the firing squad.
"Tirez!" The corporal yelled, realizing too late that the man had used their comrade as a human shield.
The four muskets belched smoke, and Connor felt the satisfying slap of musket balls on the flesh of the man in front of him, now was his chance. Dropping the dead man, he sheathed his sword and tomahawk and rushed through the smoke. As he emerged through the fog of gunpowder, Connor jumped off a nearby stack of crates in the street, catching the reloading soldiers by surprise from above. He thrust the palms of his hands into the faces of two of the men in the center of the line and slammed them into the cobble stone streets below. A slight jerk of his fingers was all it took to stab their throats with his hidden blades.
Within that split second, Connor instinctively rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the bayonet thrust of the soldier beside him, and without looking, he unsheathed his tomahawk, and buried it into the small of the man's back. The French soldier screamed, falling to his knees and Connor wasted no time dispatching him.
As he stood up, the last French regular, watching with disbelief as he saw eight of his comrades killed within the span of less than a minute, did the only thing a sensible man would do.
He dropped his musket, turned tail, and ran, to the delight and jeers of the crowd, who started cheering on Connor.
The Mohawk however, took no pleasure in the kills and no notice of the crowd. He quietly sheathed his weapons, walking towards the young lady who lay on the street, her eyes completely shocked at what had just transpired.
"Are you alright?" Connor asked with concern as he knelt down to face the girl. She had faced down a platoon of French regulars by herself, that alone was admirable.
"Yes...Monsieur. You have my thanks." She said meekly, trying to pick herself up, but still somewhat dazed.
Connor, ever the gentlemen, took her by the arm and propped her up. She was young, a teenager by the looks of it. Although her face was bruised from the stock of the man's musket, she held back her tears bravely.
"Is this sort of thing common around here?"
The girl raised her eyebrows a bit at that remark. This one was obviously fresh off the boat, as they say.
"Oui. Sadly more than ever. Especially with the food shortages and the taxes. The people starve in the streets and the nobles do nothing but spit at them. The King thinks he can bully us with his soldiers but he is sorely mistaken."
Connor nodded in sympathy. "Especially if they are all as brave as you. What is your name madame?"
The girl seemed cautious at first, but then she saw the symbol on his hood, recognition lighting up on her face.
"Charlotte..." She murmured.
"Well, let's get that wound treated then Charlotte. My lodgings are nearby, and I have a friend who can help you." He said earnestly.
"Non, I cannot." She shook her head sharply. "I am due to deliver some pamphlets to a my brothers. I cannot fail."
"You are in no condition to go anywhere right now." Connor noted. "If these are important, I will help you deliver these pamphlets Charlotte. You can trust me."
She gritted her teeth, knowing he was right about her condition. As for trusting him. He seemed honest enough, but the symbol told her all she needed to know. She relented, producing a parcel beneath her cloak that she had hidden from the guards.
"Very well monsieur." Charlotte said softly, handing the parcel to him. "You have my thanks."
"The packages can wait." Connor insisted, "Come, I'll take you somewhere safe to have those wounds treated."
Before he set off, Connor had carried Charlotte back to Lafayette's apartment, where Doctor Franklin didn't seem to mind at all at having to look after the rather charming young lady while Connor ran his errands.
The addresses on Charlotte's pamphlets contained the locations of several cafe houses around Paris, three to be precise. It did not take Connor long before he covered the ground to each one, jumping from rooftop to rooftop before landing near the doorways of each location. At first, the men accepting the packages looked upon him with suspicion, but as soon as they saw the symbols of the assassin order on his hooded jacket, they let him pass.
"Liberté, is upon us soon, my brother." One man whispered mysteriously as he accepted the first parcel, then closed the door.
The second cafe, located near a cheap and grimy hotel near the Invalides, offered a different message.
"égalité, for all to come, my brother." The man nodded solemnly as he took the pamphlets, closing the door with barely a whisper.
The final and last stop was near the Notre Dame, at a small coffee shop beside a subscription library, and the last man who took it also gave him a different message, but it was a familiar face all the same.
"And Fraternité...Brotherhood between the peoples and nations of the world, my brother." Arnaud opened the door with a grin. "Welcome Connor! To be honest, I expected you here sooner."
"Arnaud." Connor greeted him, somewhat cautiously. "What is the meaning of this?"
The Frenchman smiled, quickly inviting Connor into the coffee shop where it was safer to talk. Around them were dozens of people, both young and old, chatting and conversing pleasantly. This, it seemed, was a perfect spot to meet in secret.
"Surely you have heard of this? Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood. This is the song of our people, and of our order. It represents everything we strive for and everything that France is deprived of right now."
"Then Charlotte...is an assassin?" Connor inquired.
"A novice." Arnaud admitted, then frowned as he recalled how she had fallen so easily into the Royalist trap, and he would have intervened had it not been for Connor's timely arrival.
"But she is one of the Brotherhood all the same. My men have already picked her up from your friend's place. You have my thanks by the way."
The Frenchman sat at a nearby table, where he ordered several beers for himself and Connor.
"A toast again, to your successes, and for helping us this day." Arnaud said cordially, downing his own mug while Connor again, took a modest sip.
"For my brothers, I can do no less." Connor replied, easing the tension off his shoulders around the man he was slowly coming to see as a fellow of his order.
"To be honest, we thought it would take you longer before you came running into our arms." He joked. "But seeing as your friend Lafayette is occupied at the moment, why not work with us to free this city? Citizen Schaefer is most pleased with your efforts today. Whilst he does not trust you enough yet for a full meeting, you are nonetheless, considered one of our allies, if not an honorary member of the French Brotherhood."
"What exactly are you planning?" Connor asked,
"Why Connor, it's literally written in the very papers you delivered!" Arnaud smacked the pamphlet for emphasis, before opening it and showing it to Connor. The title of the document was 'A New Order'.
"France is sick mon ami. As you have seen from the evidence outside." The Frenchman began gloomily. "We are being crushed by a corrupt and Templar-infested government that is giving every advantage to those in power, while squeezing the very last franc from the purses of the poor, and the very last scrap of bread from their mouths."
"It is the same story not just here, but across the continent. The King and his nobles, along with the church, control everything, and they refuse to relinquish their power and privileges to help the common man, even as the majority cry out for a reprieve, for someone to put an end to the suffering." Arnaud's voice was laced with venom at the last comment.
"That is why I am here to help." Connor insisted.
"I believe you my friend." Arnaud smiled. "Which is why we're getting drunk at this table right now!"
"That includes my friend Lafayette too, he can be a great ally to your cause." Connor pressed, remembering his own friend's plans for helping the citizens. If anyone could use the support of the order, it was Lafayette.
Arnaud almost spat at the name. "Another nobleman who treats those beneath him little better than animals."
Having had enough, Connor stood up.
"I will not sit here and listen to you accuse my friend of treachery. Lafayette braved British ships and capture to fight for my people. Slander him again, and you will answer to me." He said darkly, staring intently at Arnaud.
After what seemed like an eternity, Arnaud relented with a sigh.
"Fine Connor! It goes against my better judgement but I will trust your instincts towards that man, for now. As you say, we won't just tolerate him, we will... work together." He said rather uneasily, not used to the concept of working with the nobility.
"Of course, after all, are you not all in this together?" Connor reaffirmed.
"You make a valid point. Very well, we will trust Lafayette to convince those who would listen. While we... " Arnaud ran his finger across his neck with a smirk. "will slit the throats of those who don't."
Connor nodded, settling back down into the chair and reading over the pamphlet again.
"There's another thing. Your men, and yourself said several messages to me as I dropped off the packages. Are they also part of this secret plan you have?"
"Ah...you mean Liberté, égalité, Fraternité." Arnaud whispered the three words, almost reverently. "No. This is not a secret. Far from it. We want everyone to hear them. These are the watchwords that will free our fellow brothers and sisters; that will provide the foundations upon which we will build a new nation, one unshackled by the chains of the Templars."
He spoke intensely, the passion once again returning to his voice.
"They are powerful ideas Brother, ideas that one can live by. And if need be, are worth dying for."
Versailles, later that night
The hallowed halls of the Palace echoed loudly with footsteps as the officials went about their kings business. The Royal Guards, resplendent in their uniforms, held their muskets in salute as more of the king's representatives passed. Amidst the sea of nobility and courtiers, a conversation between three men went unnoticed.
"The Grand Master is not pleased with our progress gentlemen." The first Frenchman stated flatly to the two older Frenchmen accompanying him. One was an older man in his mid fifties, he was well built, and resplendent in the uniform of a French Colonel. While the other was slightly younger, his mid forties, but slightly plumper, and adorned in the finery of a French nobleman.
Although both of the men were older than the first Frenchman, and technically outranked him, they walked in fear of him, for he held the true rank that counted: the one within the Order. He was the Grand Master's right hand man, known only to them as, "Le Saint".
"The riots and the insurrectionists are gaining too much ground." Le Saint said harshly, "and your men have failed to stem the tide of anti-government pamphlets."
"I have doubled the patrols as we speak, your eminence." The Colonel said firmly.
"That is not enough!" Le Saint replied. "We must stamp out the source of this propaganda."
The Colonel fell silent at the outburst, hanging his head low.
"It would be easier," The nobleman mused. "If we had the funds and resources to gather allies."
Le Saint cursed lightly, knowing that it was a problem the Templar Order had never encountered up until now. A lack of funds. Funds that would have procured the soldiers, the politicians and the nobles that would keep the French monarchy in power and the people in check.
The Colonel spat as the group passed out of the hallways, and into the gardens.
"Damn that Haytham! He is the reason our control over the country is slipping. If it weren't for him and his 'dream' of building a Templar Republic in America, we wouldn't have beggared the French treasury supporting his American Revolution!" The Templar Colonel said venomously.
Le Saint sighed in annoyance, for much of what he had said was true, but their brothers in Britain would provide for the shortfall, he figured. After all, nationality mattered little when it came to the Order.
"Haytham was a former Grand Master of the Order..." Le Saint began softly, his voice low and grave.
"And more than that, he was our fellow brother in arms, even if he was English. You will not speak ill of him again, or of the dead already passed. Is that understood?" The words were laced with venom, and both Frenchmen knew better than to speak up about it again.
"We will redouble our efforts gentlemen and look forward. Nothing has changed. We have been the éminence grise behind the throne for centuries and we will continue to remain so." Le Saint added. confidently.
"Still, we are left with Haytham's ghost." The nobleman remarked, if the rumors about this assassin were to be believed.
"Oui, it seems we have a new viper in our nest." The Colonel added. "I've lost a platoon to this assassin already this morning."
Le Saint eyed the old soldier. "Then do what we do with any viper, snuff him out, and kill him." he said impatiently.
"My men are already working on it." The Colonel reassured him.
"Good, and you monsieur," Le Saint turned to the nobleman. "Your duty is the same as ever. Redouble your guards on the vault, do not let anyone, outside of us, in. Is that understood?"
"Yes, your eminence." The nobleman replied.
Le Saint nodded, satisfied. "I have pressing matters in Brest to attend to and will leave in the morning, I trust you gentlemen will keep things in order while I am gone, until then, your immediate superior is the Count. Understood?"
Both the Colonel and the Nobleman nodded.
"Good. Until we meet again. May the Father of Understanding guide us." Le Saint uttered with reverence the time honored phrase of the Templars that stretched for several millennia.
Both men bowed. "May the Father of Understanding guide us."
Le Saint nodded quietly, withdrawing into the shadows of the garden as he left the two men behind. It dug into his core to play his fellow brothers like this, but with the Grand Master, he only owed his obedience. There were some in the Order who thought preserving the French Monarchy was the number one concern, but these men had long forgotten what it meant to be a Templar. They were too used to the comforts and pleasures of ruling, and failed to see the truth.
Whether or not the monarchy survived was moot to him, so long as the Order prevailed. Countries and cities, he found, can change hands just as easily as money. All that was needed was to make sure it was Templar hands who held the reins.
Animus Database Entry : Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings - French Guard (Gardes Françaises)
The French Guard, or Gardes Française (God save me from typing anything more in French...) were the elite guard of the King's army. They were different from the white-coated regular infantry of the King's army, wearing instead the King's Blue (doesn't have quite the same ring as a good redcoat!). The guard consisted of six grenadier and 24 fusilier companies divided into six battalions, for a total of 3,600 hundred men. Grenadier guardsmen sported the high fur hats of their class, while the fusilier companies wore the standard tricorn of the French infantry. Admittance into the guard was considered an honor, and the colonel of the guards usually held the rank of Marshal of France, while captains in these companies usually were ranked as colonels in regular infantry.
Such was the prestige of this guard that in times of war, the Guard had the privilege of choosing their own battle positions, usually in the center of the first line of infantry (And probably dibs at the front when retreating! You know...being French and all). The guard too, was responsible for guarding the royal Palace of Versailles, along with the Swiss Guard. In addition, the French Guards had responsibility for maintaining public order in Paris, in support of the various police forces of the capital.
Like other soldiers of the era, the guards were drilled extensively in the use of the musket, to the point until they could load and fire their muskets with their eyes closed. A well-trained infantryman could average around three shots per minute from his musket, whereas a sub-par (i.e French) soldier could accomplish perhaps two. Officers of course, were armed flintlock pistols and sabers, although it was not unknown for light infantry officers to carry their own musket or rifles.
Wow! Thanks everyone for the support and reviews! Ive never written this much in so little time, but then again, I've never gotten reviews like this before! so i'll do my best to please! I'm glad you're all enjoying reading this as much as i am writing it :)
iBayne : Thank you! Thank you! :) yes, i'm actually hoping Ubisoft does something with Connor in Europe, everything about this setting just 'clicks' for an AC storyline.
I'm glad as well, that you enjoy the dialogue, I find it the hardest part to write. Shaun's entries in the animus are one of my favourite parts of the game :) I'm glad i'm at least able to almost get it down haha
TheScoutAssassin :Thanks! I'll write as much as I can, time permitting :) I do intend to cover as much of the revolution's events as I can, so yes, it includes more on that. As for Lafayette and the Templars...well...we'll see :)
Nerdman3000 : Thanks so much for the graphic and the review :) Marie Antoinette being a templar? hmmm we'll see soon enough ;)
will zona : I believe you are referring to Stephane no? I don't remember Lafayette being initiated into the Order, but since i did a speed run through the game i could just as easily have missed it =/
I did check out the wikia, thank you :) it helped with my entry for shaun !
the writer 1713 : Thanks! Glad you liked it :) AC3 didn't have quite as many humorous parts as AC2, so i'm hoping to add a bit to that here.
BananaJimJams: Thank you very much! :D hope you enjoyed this chapter.
NinjaxSketcheartx: Wow...first off, thanks very much for that indepth review! Glad you like the descriptions! I figure i have no choice since Ubisoft does such a great job of detailing each location in their games, it's a way to do that justice i figured.
I would say it is a stretch yes, but Ezio was able to pick up French so easily and apparently turkish in revelations ;) although Connor's not quite the player Ezio is, i'll say its a combination of Ziio and Achilles years of tutelage (which were conveniently left out of our gameplay :()
Glad you like Arnaud! You'll see more from him. and Lafayette soon enough!
teno-hikari : Thanks, glad youre enjoying this, and flattered you think i'm good enough to be an author haha :) I forgot all about Norris, but great point as well with Stephane! So glad that this is at least plausible :) Glad you liked Arnaud, get used to seeing him, I'm enjoying writing his character haha.