Chapter Five;

Secrets

"The liberty to live for self alone becomes in time a weary bondage." Florence L Barclay, The Rosary

Acknowledging the truth of the Assassin's words was painful, but only a fool would have denied he was right. She knew his words held truth – perhaps she had known it before he even had spoken them, but had hidden such thoughts deep within.

It was easier to seduce, to steal, murder and coerce when one believes they are doing it for a noble reason. Indeed, it was true of all conflicts. All sides throughout history claimed to have God on their side, claimed that their enemies were nothing but demons – malicious savages who wanted nothing but blood.

Yet if all believed their cause was righteous, did that mean no one's was? If each side believed the other to be faceless demons, did that mean that all were? Or instead, perhaps people just lost sight of the fact that their enemies were people, too. They loved and lived, worked for what they had. Even Cora could not deny that those she hated were loved, too. Oliver, Robert, the Assassin... Even they had suckled at their mother's breast, had laughed and played as a child, carefree, all the promises of the future before them.

Confusion twisted her heart, threatening to tear it right in half. These thoughts were so contrary to what she had been taught to believe, and she had no idea where they were coming from.

But then... Of course she knew. They had always been within her and would always be, despite how many layers of hatred had been laid upon them.

You must always remember this, a iníon dhílis. Even your enemy believes himself to be the hero.

Her father's gentle words echoed through her, leaving a path of emotional disarray in their wake. It had been so long since she had been so unsure of herself and of her goals. Perhaps only now, free of Oliver's grasp, she was able to think of more than just her survival. For so long, her only focus was to do what she had to in order to survive. Now, with the opportunity to explore the complexity of the issue, all she felt was an unforgiving confusion.

Sighing, she peeled herself off of the cot, snatching her sketches from the floor, where they had been thrown as she kicked the table. The pages were rough under her fingers as she flipped through them, doing her best not to let her fingers run over the drawings.

She longed to have her book with her... It had been a long time since she had looked at those early drawings. The last time she had flipped through those first pages, she had laughed at how terrible they seemed compared to the drawings that her practiced hands had produced in the past few days. Still, though, they weren't bad by any stretch, and Cora had found herself studying them longer than she intended, millions of nameless emotions swirling within her. That night, she had even turned Henry away, too consumed in her feelings to spend time with him.

There were dozens of half drawn pictures of her mother. Despite all her efforts, she could never produce a good enough likeness. The years had dulled her memory, and if she couldn't remember four years after her death when those drawings were made, she surely wouldn't remember now, nearly ten years later.

Pausing, she closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as if the action would bring her memories back easier. Memories of her mother surfaced, but her face was a blur. Cora could feel the warm, nurturing, and lighthearted energy her mother gave off, could see her long strawberry blonde hair, but the face... It was impossible to recall.

When she started sketching, she had been able to recall an eye, or the nose, the beauty mark on her cheek or the curve of her lips, but never all together. There were pages upon pages of failed attempts, so many that it almost began to frustrate her just looking at them. Her father, though, had been easier to recall, his face still fresh as she had drawn him. Here, he was smiling his broad joking grin, and it was almost as if Cora could hear his boisterous laugh. A wave of loneliness rushed through her and she turned the page, taking a deep breath to keep the feelings at bay.

There were many others – the cottage she had grown up in, occasionally her siblings if she could remember their faces. Hannah and Jane were frequent subjects, gracing almost every page as she drew them smiling, crying, thinking, sleeping... The human face was capable of such a range of emotion that Cora never tired of drawing it. About when the sketches of Hannah abruptly stopped, there were the first few drawings of Jane, belly swollen with child. The maternal form had entranced Cora, and Jane frequently was irritated by the fact that Cora almost always had her face buried in her sketch book, eyes flitting between paper and subject.

When the baby came, Cora marveled over him, drawing every detail – the tiny fingernails, the tuft of hair on his head. There were pages of the child, before he disappeared entirely, along with his mother. Then, Henry took over the sketch book. She had almost forgotten how handsome his face really was, Cora felt a tug in her stomach as she wondered what he was doing. There were pages of him, often shirtless, nearly always smiling.

Sighing, she tossed the drawings she had made aside, setting them back on the table before crossing her arms, wishing she could again look through those first drawings.

The Assassin's words aggressively wedged their way back into her mind and she closed her eyes, trying to make sense of all the conflicting feelings. War was erupting within her, and it was difficult to balance her hatred of the man while still acknowledging that his words held truth. Perhaps she could talk to the old man...

No, she couldn't. Why would he listen to her, anyway? Wasn't she his enemy? He was supposed to hate her, to be glad she was experiencing such internal turmoil.

But then again, the old man had been kind to her, in a way. Maybe he would listen... He seemed wise – perhaps he could help.

She felt like a fool as she exited the room, seeking out some old man for advice. What was she even doing? She hadn't spoken to anyone like this in years. Still, though, her legs carried her down the stairs, into his room where he lay on the bed.

His form was still and she leaned against the doorframe, drumming her fingers on her arm as she tried to decide what to do. Part of her was glad he was asleep, as she was already feeling awkward and she hadn't even spoken a word. Eventually, she figured he wouldn't enjoy being woken again, and she turned to go.

"What is it?" His voice was sharp as he felt for his cane, using it to pry himself from the bed.

"I apologize," she muttered, surprised he had been awake. "I did not know you were awake."

"It was impossible to sleep with all that cursed yelling."

Cora wanted to blame the Assassin, to tell the old man that it was his fault for starting the argument in the first place, but she had a strong feeling he wouldn't appreciate it.

"Sorry. I suppose I'll just..." As she backed away, she wasn't sure that this was such a good idea.

The old man sighed, eyes softening.

"I'm awake already, you might as well say whatever you came to say."

"I am not sure what I came to say," she said in a small voice.

He sighed again, motioning for her to take a seat in a chair. Complying wordlessly, she dropped into the cushion, leaning on the table with a silent sigh.

Muttering, the old man rummaged around in the drawers. Cora craned her neck as she tried to see what he was doing, but didn't see what he had pulled out until he turned and was walking back.

As he took the seat across from her, he dropped a bundle of folded parchments in front of her. Confused, she glanced back up at him, unsure of what to make of it. He could see the confusion written all over her face, and for a moment he wondered if he should really be telling her this.

Yes. She needed to know.

"You seem to be in a different mood," he commented, trying to ease her into the conversation.

"I have been thinking."

"Ah. That can be a very dangerous pastime," he said, smiling sympathetically.

Cora let out a breath of air in a small chuckle, one side of her lips twitching into a smile.

"Indeed."

Achilles was silent, looking at her in careful observation and making her feel as if she should say something.

"I was considering his words, and I found them to be true. Yet the realization did nothing to clarify what happened to me. Instead, I feel only confusion. The Templars did control me, use me. I do not have any idea why I denied it. Perhaps I lied to myself, told myself that I wanted to do those things in order to stay sane. Perhaps not. I see that the Templars may not be in the right, but the Assassins killed my family. I have seen the horrors committed by your Order. And therefore I am horribly conflicted."

Achilles sighed. He didn't want to tell her, but knew he had to. "What if I told you that the Templars lied to you?"

Stung, she sat back, brows furrowing. How could that be? She saw those men burst in, saw them shoot her father. Besides, what would this old man know of her family?

"I do not see how you would know."

Achilles sighed again as he leaned in, resting his arms on the table.

"I knew your parents."

Her eyes flew open as she stood, the legs of the scraping the wood floor harshly. Words formed, but never got past her lips, leaving her mouth opening and closing like someone trying to chew with their mouth open.

Raising a hand, Achilles gestured for her to sit, and she dropped into the chair as if her legs had been swept from under her.

"It was over twenty years ago," he began. "Your mother was with child, and the first snow had come early. They were trying to visit your aunt and her husband, but had lost their way. Your father came to my door, begging me to give him and his wife a place to stay for the night. I don't know what made me agree, but I did. At the time, the Templars were nearing the height of their power and had begun to eradicate the Assassins from the colonies. All associated with us were targets, and that was among the reasons I was reluctant to give aid. They stayed longer than expected, as your mother fell slightly ill, and your father became quite interested in the Assassin cause. Eventually they left, but I received a letter a few months later from your parents, thanking me for my kindness and informing me of the birth of a healthy son."

Achilles paused, unsure how much he should tell her and how much she should find out on her own. Pushing the bundle towards her, he said in a low voice, "These are the letters we exchanged from then until his death."

As the old man had spoken, a cold hand had gripped her heart, squeezing harder with each word. Her hand shook as she reached out for them.

If she had been overwhelmed before, she was completely broken now.

"I will leave you to it," he muttered, pulling himself out of the chair. The situation was much more uncomfortable than he had thought it would be, and he wondered if he had made the right decision.

Her fingers shook so violently that she couldn't slide the string off of the bundle of letters. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to calm herself, but nothing could stop her heart from beating so furiously, as if at any moment it would be too overwhelmed and stop all together.

She swallowed as she unfolded the first letter. The handwriting was undoubtedly her father's – she recognized it despite the many years it had been.

Part of her didn't want to read it, didn't want to see the words on the series of letters that showed his path to death. Yet she felt as if she owed it to him, to her parents – that perhaps they would show her the path she was meant to take. If the Assassin was right, if his Brotherhood wasn't the one who killed them...

If he was right, she would not rest until every Templar was nothing but dust in the wind.

April 15, 1757

Achilles,

It is my hope that this letter finds you in good health. Both Máire and I think of you often, and pray that God will sustain you and your friends. It is with great pleasure that I write you to tell you that my wife has been safely delivered of a son. We have named him Riordan, after Máire's dear grandfather. Fatherhood is a great gift, one that I often wonder what I did to deserve. I never knew there could be a love so strong as that of the love for one's children.

I do hope that you will inform me of any happenings with your friends. I wish to help in any way that I can. Until the time we speak again,

Eamon Reilly

As Cora picked up the next one, she stopped, unsure if she could keep going. It was painful how much she missed her family, and reading her father's words seemed to wedge that knife into her very soul. Yet despite the sadness that threatened to consume her, no tears came to her eyes.

She had to keep reading. For her father, for her brother and sisters. For her aunt. For the life she could have had. Most of the letters were simply how life was going, but occasionally her father would mention the Brotherhood – albeit never by name. Her father wrote often about the children and wrote lengthy responses to whatever the old man had said in his letter. She was beginning to wonder why Achilles had left her with such casual letters until she found one dated a year and a few months after her own birth.

June 2, 1763

Achilles,

I write to you urgently.

It was perhaps a week and a few days ago, when I was walking home and saw a group of men interrogating my neighbor. It was a large group, perhaps ten, and they seemed to be questioning each passerby they could find. I strained to make out the questions, but did not want to become suspicious and therefore did not interfere. However, a few men retreated to their horses to fetch some item, and I overheard them. They seem to be planning something big, and I fear it does not bode well for you or your Order. I regret that I do not have much more information for you, but I beg you to prepare.

From the next few letters, Cora gathered that the Brotherhood had been almost destroyed. She already knew that the Templars had decimated the Assassins around that time, but the suggestion that her father had seen it all coming was oddly unsettling. The letters kept on, turning more and more ominous as she read. Cora had to held back tears as he told the old man of the loss of his wife and infant son. She had known he was sad, obviously, but the vast extent of his pain was something he had hidden well. If it were not for my children, I would have no will to keep on, he had written. Oh, how she missed him...

Suddenly, one of the letters alluded to a Templar leader that lived close to them, and the murder of an Assassin who had escaped the original attacks. Her father had obviously taken a keen interest in the struggle between the two groups, being that it had entered so close to his own home.

Even so, she hadn't expected what she read next.

April 8, 1776

As you know, I have been looking into the murder of David Collins. It took a while, but I eventually gained the courage to speak to his wife. It took a while, but I eventually convinced her to speak with me. She has reason to believe that he was betrayed by his employer. When I asked his employer's name, I was wounded in almost every way possible, for the name she spoke was that of my dear sister's husband. To think that all this time, the very one who has caused so much destruction was so close to me... It pains me.

I confronted him the next time I visited my sister. I had already spoken to her about the matter, asking her to leave him and come live with me and the children. She seemed conflicted and promised to think about it, begging me not to speak to her husband until she had a better grasp on the situation. Unfortunately, my resolve was not as strong as she had hoped. When I confronted him, he made no effort to deny anything. Instead, he owned up to it as if claiming a great honor. He made a long speech about the merits of the Templars. It was sickening to my ears, and we argued. For reasons I will never understand, my sister stayed with him.

Ever since, I have noticed more and more odd happenings. I feel as if I am being watched, as if some great doom waits just beyond my sight. What can I do now? I have spent so long trying to secure justice for my friend, yet all I have to show for it is anger and harsh words. How can I hope to stop my brother in law? How can I protect my family if I cannot end the threat Robert poses to this town? I fear the Templars will come for me.

I fear for my life.

Cora had to stop reading. She knew what happened next...

Sitting back, she let the letter fall from her hand and float down to the table, resting there, her father's words staring back at her unforgivingly.

So it had all been a lie. The Assassins had not killed her father, that much was obvious. Instead, it had been the Templars... And they had known, had fed her lies to control her and use her rage and pain for their own benefits. Waves of hot anger rolled through her body as she quickly gathered the letters and made her way up the stairs. She needed to be completely alone.

Discarding the bundle of parchment on the small table next to her sketch book, she continued to the porch, leaning on the railing, hanging her head as she fought the overwhelming emotions that were threatening to destroy her.

The Assassin had been right, damn him.

Cora had always known that Oliver and all the others did not really care about her or her family, but the fact that they had used her grief-stricken, revenge seeking state to accomplish evil deeds made her shudder. She had done unspeakable things in the name of her family. She had hunted any Assassins that had managed to escape, had taken them from their families in hopes that she was perhaps taking the life of the men who had ruined hers.

She thought she was providing justice. She thought she was avenging her father and her siblings and so many others, taking revenge on those monsters who destroyed lives. Instead, she had been the monster. She had been the one that had taken the life of someone's father, son, husband, brother... No doubt somewhere, there was a little girl like her who dreamed of ending Cora's life. Some little girl who's heart had been broken and hardened like Cora's had been. Some child that would grow up dreaming of nothing but revenge, all because of her...

Laughing bitterly, she tried to keep her lip from quivering as she realized that all along, she had been working for the bastards that had destroyed her. The Assassin was right - hey had twisted her heart with lies and false hatred, had turned her into a cold hearted killer – the killer of those that her father had tried to help.

The guilt was unbearable. The things she had done... Not only had they been in vain, but they were wrong. In trying to get her revenge, she had lost sight of the valor and compassion her father always wanted her to have.

Overwhelmed with rage and renewed grief, she cried out, dropping her head into her hands.

What was she supposed to do now? So many years of her life had been devoted to handing out death sentences, playing right into the hands of the men who were the real reason for her pain.

It was sickening.

Anger was a constant part of Cora's life. How could it not be? Anger at the men who killed her father in front of her, anger at her uncle for selling her out, for doing God knows what with her aunt and sister. Anger at Oliver, anger at the Assassins, especially the native... So much anger had consumed her, yet never before had she felt this much rage. Oliver, Haytham and Lee and all the others... They had twisted her innocence and grief into something ugly. They had taken her pain and turned it into the need for blood. They had used her, in the worst ways possible. The rapes, the abuse, the torture, all she had been forced to do... That was bad enough. But this? The fact that they had twisted her mind to believe she was helping people, when really she was aiding the men who had taken her father's life? It was sick.

Standing up, she took a deep breath and gazed coldly out into the trees. That familiar coldness entered her heart, the feeling she often got when she was sent on a mission, that determined, focused, unforgiving feeling. Nothing would stand in her way. Oliver would pay. All of the Templars would pay.

But still, she wasn't necessarily keen on supporting the Assassins, either. They were no less guilty. They still committed atrocities, still did terrible things of their own.

However, Cora realized that sometimes in order to destroy a great monster, one must side with a smaller one – the lesser of two evils.

Determined, she took a deep breath and straightened her clothes, the unforgiving feeling within her a familiar comfort. As she descended the stairs, she began her last mission.

Connor rode from the manor quickly, heart beating furiously as he clutched the reins, the leather smooth beneath his hands. He had been riding hard, seething over his argument with that foolish woman, wallowing in his anger and frustration. Never in his life had one person gotten under his skin so easily, save perhaps Charles Lee.

She was a fool – an ignorant, savage fool, letting her mind be so easily corrupted. If only he could make her see! If he could make her realize how the Templars had used her, perhaps they could work together. She seemed clever and obviously wielded her weapons well enough – no doubt she would be a useful asset to their cause.

But people like her would never understand. Connor had begun to learn that himself. Though he still held hope that he could make his father see the truth, that flame of hope had been dimming more and more each time they met. In many ways, the woman was just like his father. Stubborn people they were, people who would never see that their ways were wrong.

Sighing, he slowed his horse, patting the animal's strong neck.

It had been almost two years since he had last seen his father. Two years since the death of Kanen'tó:kon. He had visited the village not long after, to tell Oiá:ner what had happened. He hadn't been able to tell her how he had died, staying uncomfortably quiet as she expressed her fear, and admitted that she wondered if they should relocate the village. He had insisted that they stay, but it was her decision to make, not his.

It was times like this, when he was alone and angry, that made him miss them most. Kanen'tó:kon had been like a brother to him... Still Connor had nightmares about his death, still he spent nights laying awake and wishing things could have been different. If there was one thing he regretted in his life, it was that he had been the one to take his friend's life.

Even more often, he wondered what his mother would say if she were here. He imagined the encouragement she would give, the strength she would model. Yet other times, he wondered if she would even support him in what he was doing... He hoped she would be proud, but of late, he could not be sure.

And Oiá:ner... The only family he had left. What did she truly think of him? Never had she been one to hold her opinions back, yet Connor still found himself suspicious that her doubts were far more vast than she let on.

Still, the old woman's presence and wisdom often comforted him when he was able to visit. She always expressed concern for him, a type of concern that he wasn't used to having – not for his physical well being or if he had completed his mission, but concern for his mind and heart.

"You are returned to us! But not for long, I think," she had said once, when he had visited.

"My work is not yet done."

"I wonder will it ever be? The symbol that you sought and found... It is a mark of courage and honor, yes. But it promises pain and loss as well."

How true she had been... Yet he though he had experienced much loss then, it paled in comparison to the emptiness he felt now.

"I will bear such things gladly – if it means you are all kept safe," he had said.

"You must not forget to look after yourself from time to time."

"When this is finished. When all are free. Then I will rest."

"I hope that day comes soon."

"As do I."

Now, though, Connor wasn't sure if he saw the end would ever truly come.

Sighing, he turned the horse around. Dwelling on such things wouldn't help his situation. What he really needed was to talk to Achilles. As grumpy and hard as the old man might be, he often knew the right things to say.

When he finally got back to the manor, he walked through the door quickly, calling out to the old man as he strode into the room where he knew he would probably be sitting in his chair snoozing. Instead, as he rounded the corner he saw the old man standing, seeming to be in conversation with her.

The woman stood with her back to Connor, the long waves of her hair tumbling down her back. Connor scrunched his features, opening his mouth to request that he speak with Achilles alone. Talking to her was the last thing he wanted to do.

Achilles seemed to understand his reaction and held up his hand as if to ask him for patience. When the woman turned, Connor was struck by the wild look in her dark eyes. Gone was the uncertainty and vulnerability he had seen in the past few days. Now there was nothing but a fierce, wild determination. The look was so unrestrained and crazed that he was almost unsettled.

"Cora has something to share with us," Achilles muttered, speaking loudly to interrupt the now prolonged stare between the two. Looking away, Connor finally regained control of himself and went to stand next to Achilles, crossing his arms as he prepared to listen to the newest set of nonsense that was sure to come out of her lips.

Cora raised her chin, giving the Assassin a harsh, cold stare. He stared right back into her eyes, his stare radiating just as much malice and anger as hers did. The woman was bold, he had to give her that. A steadfast, resilient aura seemed to emanate from her skin, reaching out and enveloping him. Something had changed in her, of that much he was sure.

When Cora decided that the Assassin had gotten the message, she looked back at Achilles and softened her eyes, trying to restrain herself from taking a deep breath. She couldn't seem vulnerable, not now. Not ever. War and revenge were not the business of a soft hearted person ruled by their whims of emotion. Emotions and petty feelings would only distract her, would only get in her way and lead her to her doom. No... Emotions had to be buried for now, until she had spilled the blood of her enemies. Only then would she allow herself to feel.

"I have thought long and hard about what you have revealed to me," she began.

Confusion instantly crossed the Assassin's face, and Cora glanced at him, causing Achilles to explain the situation briefly.

"What?" His voice echoed through the room as he reacted. "How long did you know this and not tell me?"

"I only suspected," he said, his level voice a stark contrast to the Assassin's irritation. "She herself confirmed it when she told me briefly of her story."

"How did you know," Cora asked, tilting her head to the side slightly and furrowing her brows.

"I simply had a hunch." He paused, as if he was unsure if he should elaborate. "And you look just like your father," he said, his voice softer.

Her resolve softened momentarily, and she seemed to sag as Connor noticed the flash of sadness in her eyes. He cursed himself silently as he felt his irritation waver at the pain in her face. As sad as it seemed, though, it was gone in an instant. Soon she raised her chin again, throwing her shoulders back as she spoke.

"I have come to the conclusion that the Assassins were not responsible for my father's death." As she delivered the words through gritted teeth, she refused to look at the Assassin and give him the satisfaction. "I wish to avenge my father, my family... I want revenge for all they have done to me. If you will have me, I wish to aid you in any was I can in destroying the Templars."

"Why the change of heart?" Cora narrowed her eyes at the question.

"It was simply a change of mind. My heart still lies in the same place, Assassin. I do not agree with what your Order either, but we will be more productive if we work together. I wish to see Lee dead for his crimes against my family, and I wish revenge on the man who held me captive. If you do not wish for my aid, I will leave and accomplish these things on my own."

Connor opened his mouth to voice his angry rebuttal, but Achilles shushed him, rebuking them both. "Can neither of you keep your heads long enough to have a simple conversation?" He sighed, annoyed with them both. The things he had to put up with... Turning to Cora, he tried to ignore the icy looks passing between her and Connor. "If you promise to follow our ways during your time with us, I think it would be a wise move. You no doubt know some of the ways of the Templars and will be an asset, especially where strategy is concerned. What are your thoughts, Connor?"

What were his thoughts?! Well... He had many concerning this woman, and none of them were very nice. Still though, he would be remiss to ignore the opportunity that she would bring to their mission.

"Very well," he said gruffly, crossing his arms.

"If you are going to do this, I insist that you have extra training," Achilles said. "Connor, you will oversee this task."

"What!" Two voices called out in synchronization, their distaste for the suggestion too much to keep quiet.

"If you are to work together, you must at least tolerate each other," the old man said. "It will be good for you. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to finish my nap."

The old man pushed them both aside with his cane and walked out, leaving the two alone.

They stared at each other for a moment before groaning and walking their separate ways. Doors slammed, but voices were not raised, and Achilles chuckled to himself as he sat on the bed. Oh, what it was like to be young and so brash, so easily moved by emotion.

The two were more alike than they would want to believe. It was comical, the way each hated the other even though they seemed to be reflections of each other. Sighing, Achilles closed his eyes and hoped their tempers would calm down soon... He could use some peace and quiet.

A/N:

a iníon dhílis - my sweet/beloved daughter.

The conversation with Oiá:ner does not belong to me - all credit to the makers of Assassin's Creed.

Thank you to all who reviewed! Hearing any thoughts at all really helps give insight to what the reader is thinking when you read, and that is huge motivation for me. It also really helps me with my writing, so please continue to leave reviews!

ChinaDollMaiden - Will do! Hope I didn't make you wait too long!

Assassin27 - I'm so glad you like it! That means a lot! I have no plans to quit this story, so no worries! :) I even have it all planned out.

I am starting college soon, so updates may become a little bit fewer and farther between, but I promise you I will be writing this story until it's over, so please don't give up on it if I haven't updated in a while! :) I'm planning on working on it as much as possible but I also have another fiction that I have to split my time between, and the first few weeks of college might be slightly unproductive as I adjust and figure out time management.