Several weeks later...

To Connor's surprise, this time, the Parisan Brotherhood had been true to their word. In the days that passed, several anonymous messages and 'packages' had shown up at the doorstep of the Hotel De La Fayette. First, it had been a paperboy delivering snippets within a newspaper, next, it would be a courier delivering letters from America for Ambassador Jefferson. From the messages Connor had received, he was able to piece together the address of a coffee shop across Notre Dame as the meeting place; one of the same shops where he had delivered Charlotte's packages. Having heard what Lafayette offered, Connor was more than anxious to hear what this Schaefer had in mind.

Deciding it was easier to stay hidden within the crowds, Connor slipped into the streets, keeping a wary eye on patrols of French regulars and the Elite guards. Stepping behind a young couple and an old man, he walked calmly in the press of humanity, so that to the casual, untrained eye, he was invisible. It was a skill he spent most of his life perfecting, and even he couldn't help but scrutinize everything around him for signs of danger, whether it was a group of orphans playing ball near a street corner, or a mysterious man in a coat standing by an alleyway. No detail was too small to take in.

It was working perfectly fine up until he rounded a street corner after crossing a bridge over the Seine. There was a commotion on one of the side streets, where a crowd was shouting and screaming. Some ran away, while others crowded around the scuffle, throwing rocks and insults at what Connor presumed to be French soldiers. It was a common sight in Paris, where starving citizens would take to the streets against the King's soldiers. He had seen several of these during his time here, and they often degenerated into chaotic street fights.

Better to avoid them then, and find another way. Walking an extra few minutes was preferable to fighting his way through a protest, especially if it broke out into a riot.

Just as he was about to turn however, a gunshot cracked through the air, and the crowd quickly threw into a panic as people turned and ran. One short man in a heavy coat physically bumped into Connor, but he took notice as he turned and quickly ran towards the scene, pushing aside the fleeing civilians. It was one thing bully and oppress the people, but shooting them in the street like animals was something he couldn't, wouldn't tolerate.

As the crowd dispersed and parted, Connor saw with surprise the bodies of two French Regulars lying dead on the ground, blood pooling around their necks. Whoever this person was, they were quite deadly in a fight. Already he saw the Frenchman, who was locked in combat with another French Regular, sword in hand. At that moment, Connor craned his head to the intersection, where an officer was shouting orders. At least another platoon had heard the noise, and was already rushing to the scene, more soldiers that would easily overwhelm the man. unless...

Connor's eye quickly darted to a nearby inn, where a group of horses were feeding at a trough.

Without thinking, he ran towards the mounts, and the animal whinnied in protest as he took the reins, guiding the mare towards the melee. The owner of the horse shouted a protest, but his screams were quickly swept away by the crowd.

Ignoring the man, Connor kicked the mare straight at the platoon of oncoming French regulars, covering the civilian as he fought. The Frenchman had just finished cutting down one of the regulars he was fighting with, and just as he was about to engage another, he saw the platoon of soldiers. He used the horse as a battering ram, crashing into the first three French regulars who were running to their comrades' aid. The animal cried in panic, kicking about and crushing the bones of the three regulars it rammed into, leaving them on the ground in a crumbled and groaning heap. At that same moment, before the impact, Connor had kicked his feet off the stirrups, jumping off his mount and landing next to the Frenchman, Tomahawk in hand and ready to fight.

"Connor!" Arnaud exclaimed happily as he reocgnized him. "I was wondering when you'd come and meet my new friends!". The Frenchman said it nonchalantly, as though it was like he was inviting him to a game of tennis or bowling with the French Regulars. (perhaps more absurdedly, he said this even as his hand was holding a sword that was presently buried into the breast of a dying French regular.)

"What are you doing here?" Connor grunted as he parried a blow from another white coated soldier with his Tomahawk, kicking the man between the legs and burying his hidden blade in his face as he keeled forward.

"I was intercepting a Templar messenger, but came across these Fils de pute" (sons of bitches). Arnaud spat, having finished another French soldier, moved on to fight the remaining soldiers.

Connor decided the conversation had to wait, and he parried another bayonet thrust from a regular, pulling his musket (and soldier) towards him, he used his other arm to bury the Tomahawk in his neck.

"Where is he?" Connor shouted above the melee.

"Fled, in your direction actually. He was wearing a thick coat."

Connor swore as he instantly recalled the memory, the short man in the coat who had bumped into him during the chaos. His epiphany was quickly ended as bullets slapped on the streets, more gunshots erupting from the French soldiers that now appeared on the scene, these ones in Blue coats. French Guard units.

"We can't fight them all." Connor concluded, pulling Arnaud behind a set of crates which soon splintered as more regulars shot at the two assassins.

"What do you propose?" The Frenchman asked, taking a pistol off one of the corpses and firing it at their attackers.

Connor smiled, producing a small tennis ball sized metal orb in his hand. "A distraction."

"Wait, wha-" Arnaud widened his eyes, but his words were cut off by a bang and a flash, and soon the entire street became covered in a cloud of smoke. Connor heard the confused cries and shouts of the French soldiers as they were blinded by the gas bomb.

"Come on, let's go." Connor grabbed Arnaud by the shoulder, leaving the coughing and disoriented French regulars in their confusion.

"That was quite the trick mon ami" Arnaud said, impressed, even as the pair were vaulting over the rooftops of downtown Paris. Connor had long memorized the patterns of the buildings and already made an educated guess of where their prey had gone. "Thank you, I owe you my life."

"Nonsense, you would have done the same for me." Connor replied, focused in his work.

"Maybe not before today," Arnaud joked sarcastically, "But I will now!

Connor ignored Arnaud, instead, he focused his eyes at the crowd below them, taking great care to recall as much as he could about the details of the man who had bumped into him, his coat...his demeanour...his stride. No matter how professional a man was, he always left his mark in a crowd.

"I see him." Connor quickly cut Arnaud off, pointing at their target. As he did so, the pair stopped on the rooftop above the small man as he turned around, gasping and heaving, seeing if he was being pursued. He was so exhausted, he didn't even bother looking at the rooftops for his hunters.

"And I got him." Arnaud quickly unsheathed his hidden blade, and before Connor could stop him, he was already jumping off the rooftop, landing on the neck of the small man and driving the blade into his shoulder.

The crowd screamed as they witnessed the murder, spreading in all directions and dispersing even as Connor joined his fellow assassin in the streets. Connor did not like the fact that Arnaud was so quick to jump the gun, preferring to tail the courier to see his intended destination, but what's done was done, all that he could do now was end the man's suffering cleanly.

The messenger, wounded and lying on the ground, gasped in pain as Connor stepped above him.

"Where were you delivering this?" Connor asked, deciding there was no harm in it.

The messenger simply spat, his face a mask of anger and defiance.

"Va te faire foutre, trouduc. (Fuck off asshole) Like I will reveal anything to the likes of you! You and your kind will soon be wiped out, we'll see to-"

He stopped talking because Arnaud stabbed him in the heart. The small man tried to blurt out more, but soon the words simply became blood in his mouth. His eyes soon became a blank, milky white, and his breathing stilled.

"Bastard." Arnaud kicked the corpse once more for good measure.

"That's not our way." Connor was quick to chastise his brother. "Show respect."

"After what these bastards did to our order...to my family. He should be lucky to have kept any limbs." Arnaud spat. "Do you think they would treat us any different!?"

"No, that is why we must not become like them." The Mohawk explained.

Connor then leaned down, closing the eyes of the messenger. "Wakan Tankan Nici Un." (May the great spirit walk with you)

"On the bright side." Arnaud said as he rummaged through the man's pockets, producing a slip of paper with writing on it. "We found what he was carrying."

Connor took a look at the paper, but instead of any writing, it only contained a scribble of numbers that made no sense to him.

6375817480

687572648068658261817280

80686561767672656375736579

657980618065793

666180686578

"What could it possibly mean?" Connor asked.

Arnaud shrugged, as though he could care less. "Hell if I know, the Templars have been skilled in hiding their intentions from us with their blasted codes." He sighed, pocketing it. "Maybe our brothers can find someone who can translate it."

Connor nodded thoughtfully, still wondering what was so important in the contents of the message that the French Templars had this man guarded so heavily.

"But this is a mystery for another day, I presume you are here to meet Schaefer?"

"Yes." Connor replied gruffly, with an impatience that he had been bottling up for so many months since he got to France. "I think it's time I find out what it is you exactly intend to do with your revolution."

The streets resembled a war zone, with blood soaking the ground and bullet holes scarring the buildings. Even as the smoke lifted, it was clear the French Guards had lost a lot in the fight. Six dead, and at least four more lying critically injured. The Templar Colonel spat in disgust, knowing that his prey had gotten away.

"Get these men a proper burial, and cordon off this block! They are here somewhere!"

The courier was missing, which was bad. Only a few select men were trusted to communicate between the Templar leaders. They were educated, well travelled and recruited for their specific skills. A loss of one of these couriers was crippling to their logistics.

To make matters worse, the assassin had gotten away with the message intended for their Order. It was coded, and thus impossible for them to crack unless they knew the Templar codes, but it still represented a delay, and this assassin had already done so much damage in intercepting the courier. Now, Le Saint would have to request additional orders for them which meant more delays. More time wasted.

To hell with the Count's orders. The Colonel thought. He would see this assassin dead even if it was the last thing he would do.

It did not take long before Arnaud brought Connor to the familiar coffee shop where they had met so many months ago. After bypassing the city patrols and the French guards of course. Once the pair were satisfied that the search for them had died off, they slipped into the shop with barely anyone noticing them. The shopkeeper, a kindly old man with spectacles, smiled warmly as he recognized Arnaud.

"Come my friends, the meeting is about to begin."

Inside, a meeting indeed seemed to be already taking place, for it was filled with a crowd of Parisans. Men and women from all walks of life, intellectuals, farmers, bankers, and tradesmen, all of them paying attention to a man speaking fiercely at a podium, who had the entire audience captured in the passion of his speech.

"I'm presuming that is Citizen Schaefer?" Connor guessed, considering how the crowd seemed to be viewing him as a leader.

The old shopkeeper chuckled at the remark. "Non Citizen, that is not Schaefer. He is far too careful to have himself exposed to the secret police by speaking in public. He is a revolutionist, behind the scenes working out of the public eye for now, until the right time.

"There's an army officer here." Connor whispered carefully, eyeing a Regular soldier in a uniform sitting at one of the tables, listening intently to the speech. He knew that the French Templars had informants scattered throughout the city, it seemed odd that they would send a man in the full uniform of a lieutenant, but he was right there. Almost unsheathing his blade, he whispered. "Would he be trouble?"

"Oh him?" The shopkeeper chuckled softly. "He's barely a boy. No spy at all. Besides, I've seen him here too often to consider him an agent of the crown. All he does in his free time is read radical texts and pamphlets."

"Besides," Arnaud continued, "Our men have been following his activities for a few days, he seems harmless enough, and genuine in his interest."

The Frenchman continued. "You taught me, with your friend Lafayette, that nobles would have cause to save our people from their plight. Well, the case is even more so for the soldiers. They are the ones holding the bayonet, who are ordered to do the killings. While some, like the Templar guards, are truly dogs deserving of death, some are not unlike us, working day to day for a scrap of bread. The more of them we can convert to our side, the better."

Nodding quietly, Connor was led down to the basement floor, where a round table and chairs waited.

Connor sat down quietly, unconsciously keeping an eye on the nearest exit. He didn't quite fully trust this Schaefer for being so secretive with one of his fellow brothers, and he wanted a way out in case things went sour.

Sitting opposite of Connor, was a man wearing a powdered wig and fine suit. The dim light of the candles in the room was enough to obscure most of the features on his face, but even in the dim light, Connor saw the intelligent and intense expression on the man's eyes. Arnaud himself, was whispering with the man, showing him the coded message they found earlier, before being waved aside.

"It is nice to finally meet you," Schaefer said firmly with a smile. "Ratonhnhaké:ton, or do you prefer the name Achilles gave you? Connor?"

If Connor was surprised that the man knew his name (or even how to pronounce it) he hid it with a scowl. For a meeting between fellow brothers of the Assassin order, it carried a strangely tense feeling. One he did not like.

"How do you know my other name?" Connor asked, genuinely curious.

"I am a Mentor of the Brotherhood, it is my job to know these things." Schaefer replied flatly, leaning forward on the table. "Besides, it is better to keep friends close, and potential enemies even closer."

At that last statement, Connor slightly tensed up. Arnaud and the shopkeeper too, seemed intimidated by the man's intensity, but it was more of reverence than fear.

"You don't trust us," Schaeffer stated, as if reading Connor's mind. "Which is a perfectly normal reaction. Just as we are wary of you. A man with Templar blood in his veins is liable to be torn between two worlds."

"If you were referring to my father," Connor hissed. "He was born an assassin." He found it odd that he was now suddenly jumping to defend his father, but he didn't let it show.

"Yet in the end, he was corrupted by Templar ideals." Schaefer insisted, gauging the tension in Connor as he spoke.

But then, he smiled. "But your recent actions in America and your good work here has convinced me of your sincerity in our cause, that is why we are meeting now."

"What is it you are planning?" Connor asked.

Schaefer nodded. "Very well Connor, you deserve an explanation. Have you ever heard of the pieces of Eden?"

Connor's eyes flickered at the phrase. He had remembered a crystal orb used by the spirits to communicate with him, as well as the key he had taken from Charles Lee. "Briefly."

"They are wonders Connor. But they are also weapons. Used to forge men's minds and control their desires and whims. The Ones Who Came Before Us. The Precursors. Used it to enslave mankind. And when they passed from this world, these weapons fell into the hands of the Templars. Human history as you know it, has been shaped by them. The Templars have used these Pieces to create and destroy empires and civilizations, shaping our society how they see fit. You, my friend, have been on the wrong end of that, if I recall correctly."

Connor slowly gripped his fists as he recalled how his own village was burned down. The screams of his friends and his mother...

"Our plan, is to put an end to it." Schaefer said firmly. "We start with France, the center of Templar power in Europe. We have reason to believe that the Templars are using a piece of Eden to control the country. We intend to take it from them, overthrow the king, and install our own system of government, a democracy like America's. By destroying the ancien regime that the Templars have built so carefully over the centuries. We will show the people of Europe, and the world the truth: that Kings are not to be feared, and that rule by the people is permitted. Neigh, inevitable. We will share our creed with the rest of the world, and together, forge a future free of the Templars. One where we can control our own destiny!"

"And we, the Paris Brotherhood, need you." Arnaud replied, placing an hand on Connor's shoulder.

Schaefer nodded. "It is something the Assassin's have never attempted before in their history. And the early years will be the most dangerous and turbelent ones. Our people have been under the heel of the aristocrats for centuries, they will not know what to do with their newfound freedom. There are those who have grown so attached, so dependent on the old order, they would seek to drag down others with their cynicism and self-interest. Until they can be brought into the light, we will need leaders, and people to fight. People who can make the necessary sacrifices to achieve our aims. Just as you have done so admirably in America."

"And my friend, Lafayette?" Connor inquired. "He is fighting for the same thing you are fighting, but in a different way. Perhaps you can work together to achieve your aims."

Schaefer shook his head. "Your friend, I know all about him. Arnaud has told me as such from your dealings with him. He is a good man, with noble intentions, but he does not go far enough. He seeks to bandage the wound, we intend to root out the sickness at its roots. Your friend can be a valuable ally, and a member of the new order, but I'm afraid he would not consent."

"Besides," Schaefer explained. "Your friend is already associated with the Templars."

"He is not a Templar!" Connor replied, indignant.

"Of course! I never said he was." The mentor laughed. "But it serves to throw our enemies off balance by making them think we believe it so. Besides, we already know the name of the top Templar in Paris. He is known as the Count. You met him yourself a few nights ago."

"The Count of Vergennes," Schaefer said flatly. "is the leader of the Paris branch. Along with several more accomplices, one of which is the Colonel of the French Guards.

Connor sighed, that would explain the French guards, and the cryptic way Vergennes talked to him. But the man, even if he knew he was an assassin, seemed to desire a truce, and more importantly, let Connor walk in and out of his fortress unharmed.

"You don't believe me." Schaefer sensed.

"No," Connor replied. "I believe you. I've had my own suspicions about Vergennes. What I don't believe is that we have to kill him to achieve our aims. He spoke to me as though he wanted to work with the Brotherhood to help the people."

"The People?" Schaefer scoffed. "Listen to yourself Connor. The Templars view the people as simply a means to an end. No more than raw material to fuel their grand ambitions for control. You yourself should know this!"

"I trust my friend's judgement." Connor said defiantly. "Lafayette would never agree to this."

"Then I'm afraid you've misjudged your friend, or at least, put too much faith in his judgment." Schaefer said softly. "There is still time to decide before the opening act, so I will leave you be for now, but whether or not your friend's heart is in the right place or not, has damned well nothing to do with what the Templars are planning. I hope you will come to your senses sooner rather than later."

At that moment, Schaefer gestured to Arnaud, who produced the coded message in his hand and gave it to Connor.

"This paper was meant for your Count." Schaefer said wearily, as though he did not want to devote any more energy in convincing Connor. "I do not have the resources to break its code, but maybe you can. Once you find out the message, let me know, and then we'll see who was right or not."

At that, Schaefer simply got up from his chair, and left.

Arnaud apologized to Connor as they exited the shop, and began walking back towards the Hotel De La Fayette, taking care to have his brothers and sisters of the order cover their approach along the way.

"I am sorry if our mentor was a little harsh Connor." Arnaud explained. "But what he speaks rings true. The Templars can talk as many flowery phrases as they want, but in the end they are all the same."

I once worked with a Templar...my father. I had hopes we could reconcile. Years ago, Connor would have been horrified at such a thought. But he had already read parts of his father's journal that was recovered from his estate, and he found that knowing that much more of his father's youth, struggles and uncertainties** had softened his opinion of him over the years. Instead of a murderous Templar with no remorse, he began to view him as a flawed man. A human being. Perhaps...even a father.

"No. Not all of them." He replied fiercely.

As Connor entered the apartments where he had been staying, Ambassador Jefferson was there to greet him, with Benjamin Franklin having left a few weeks earlier. Although he missed the old man, he found that he respected Jefferson's intelligence and ideals, even if he seemed less sociable than the wily Doctor.

"Connor," Jefferson smiled as he greeted him. "You have some more letters from the homestead."

"Thanks Ambassador." The Mohawk smiled as he took the bundle of packages. He had already corresponded with his friends at the Homestead, exchanging stories with them of his adventures in Paris. Myriam was pregnant, and expecting a child soon. While Hunter was already speaking his first words. Father Timothy meanwhile, kept Connor up to date on the latest happenings of the area. More settlers were coming into the valley, growing the community and increasing its strength day by day. The estate was being kept in order as promised, and he made sure to tend to Achilles' gravesite every now and then. The thought brought a rare smile to his face. He missed them dearly. He realized.

In addition to that, there were practical gifts. Clipper Wilkinson had somehow managed to ship over a Virginian rifle to Connor, wrapped in a brown cloth, while Myriam attached a rope dart with the package that came with her letter. Even three thousand miles away, his friends sought to do their part in helping him.

As he tucked away the packages, and prepared to settle down to a night's rest, Jefferson had one last package to offer.

"This came along with the letters. Dated some time ago." Jefferson said curiosly as he held out a thick book with leather bindings. "Judging from the stamps, it seems to have made its way around the world the last few years before coming to you. It seemed different from the rest too, a codex of sorts. Maybe it would mean something to you?"

Connor took the book with curiosity, he didn't recall Father Timothy saying he'd send over a bible. But upon seeing the first page, Connor nearly dropped the book out of surprise.

It was in code. The same code he had found on the Parisan messenger.

806865736573756978797566HAYT HAM716574836185

80757385797574637574747578

74758068697467697980788165

6582657885806869746769797665 78736980806564

Although the rest of it was jumbled garbage, code he did not understand, all Connor needed to read was the name in the first line of the title. 'Haytham'

"This...this belonged to my father." Connor said, trembling with an emotion that he did not quite understand.

"What does it say?" Jefferson asked curiously, putting on his reading spectacles as he took a closer look at the book.

"I don't know...but my father's name is on it. It's in a secret code."

"Hmmm...interesting. Let me take a look. I'm familiar with secret codes myself, with my time in the revolution and all***, maybe I can help." Jefferson studied the book with intent, utterly intrigued by the code. "What did you say your father's last name was."

"Kenway."

A few moments passed as Jefferson ran his eyes along the numbered lines of code. Then, suddenly, a smile appeared on Jefferson's face. "Ah...so that's it!"

Connor blinked in confusion.

"I've figured it out my young man. The code that is." Jefferson explained, proud of his accomplishment.

"But how..." Connor burrowed his eyebrows in confusion as he stared blankly at the paper.

"Your father must have been a secretive man," Jefferson mused, "But he was was kind enough to already provide us with the key. His name."

"What does it say?" Connor asked, his curiosity burning.

"I'll leave that to you to find out." Jefferson explained. "It's not my business to know what goes on between a father and his son. Of course, I'll provide you with the key first, so that you can decode it yourself. It'll only take me a few moments to create it." He said happily, taking a sheaf of paper from his desk and setting to work. "Lets see...if Haytham Kenway was his name, then the K must be...so that means the A is..."

As Jefferson continued his work, it was evident to Connor that there was more to his father's journals than he thought. More importantly, Connor's mind lit up with a startling revelation... Did his father purposely give him the code to the Templars?

And if so.. why?

**I highly recommend reading Assassin's Creed III : Forsaken for more details on Haytham's past :D

***Fun fact: Jefferson was quite the cryptologist back in his day, he started creating codes when he was just 21 years old. In fact, he even invented a cipher system that was similar to the one used by the US army during WW2 (which had to invent it from scratch because they didn't know about Jefferson's!). So he was literally over a hundred years ahead of his time. If there was ever a game set during the French Revolution, I think Jefferson's role as America's ambassador in paris can be quite useful for any plot with AC :)

To those with crazy code breaking skills who have solved the coded messages - i ask that you refrain from spoiling plz! :)

Thanks everyone for the reviews/faves/follows/reads!

Eastcoastcaptain: Thank you! I actually do plan on having some segments with updates on the homesteaders, but as we get closer to the revolution, it'll stay more grounded in Europe.

NinjaxSketcheartx: Thanks for the review! Yes, Connor does appear to me to be one of the more Naive ancestors, which makes for hilarious situations! Tense is exactly what this period of French history is, with its shadow conspiracies and intrigues. Let's just say it won't be dying down anytime soon :D. Thanks for catching my spelling mistake! I try to avoid these but evidently i miss a few. My main problem with Aveline is that i can't write her since i haven't played liberation, that may change if i ever do play it :D

Nerdman3000 : Thanks nerdman, i aim to please ;) we'll see more of the royals later on

Will zona: Thanks :D Will they hook up? We'll seeeeee :)

Guest: THanks for the review! I actually subscribe to the theory that Miles is still alive...oh well, guess we'll find out in AC4