Short AC oneshot of how Connor truly feels as he fights his father, why did he have to die?
I coughed and spluttered annoyedly, the dust now floating in the air, having caught slightly in my throat, the blast having blown both us back from where we stood, and making me land in a painful heap.
I pulled myself painfully upright, the floating dust still settling around us, and, by squinting, I saw ahead of me the slouched figure of Haytham. My father. He'd been blown to the other side, and now lay there on the other side of the hole that had been blown into the wall by the cannonball.
Another cannon was fired, and I quickly stooped beside father, who shifted slightly in order to get a better look at me. His hand crept towards his fallen sword, but I quickly kicked it aside and leaned towards him.
"Surrender, and I will spare you." Would I? Would I really spare him after what he had done, how he had not been there, how he sat by as his men, specifically Charles Lee, came to my village, and beat me unconscious? But at the same time, could I kill him? My own father? Mother had told me so much when I was a child, when I first began to ask about my father, the father I had never met, and wasn't it wrong to kill your parents? But then, isn't it wrong to kill anyway, yet how many have fallen at my blade?
He smiled at me. I had to admire that in him, no matter what the situation, he always found it in him to smile. "Brave words from a man about to die." I couldn't help but notice how old he looked… withered. Was he truly the man people had told me of? The great Templar, grand master, who had done so much, who none could best through wit or strength, unbeatable. Yet now, all I saw was an old man who had fallen from a great height, slouched and injured at my feet.
"You fare no better." I replied.
"Ah, but I am not alone." What? I turned to face the entrance to the passageway as two guards came rushing in, muskets raised, and ready to fire.
Looking back to my father I saw him pull himself up holding up a weakened hand, the only thing stopping the guards from ending my life. Why? Did he wish to prolong my death so as to tell me how I was wrong? Or perhaps once again offer me a place within his ranks, though surely he must know by now that my place is with the assassins, and I would not leave, didn't he?
He braced himself against the wall, coughing and spluttering as he did so, the dust having obviously caused him to choke slightly as well. "Even when your kind appears to triumph, still we rise again, do you know why?" Do I know why? No… I suppose I don't, and it annoyed me. My kind, assassins, we believed in so much, freedom, peace. The Templars sought to control, yet nothing I have done has truly stopped them; the Boston tea party for one, not even the killing off of the other men has truly ceased their reign to end. I shook my head at him.
"It is because the order is born of realisation. We require no creed. No indoctrination by desperate old men. All we need is that the world be as it is. This is why the Templars can never be destroyed."
No… I suppose they never can be destroyed.
There was the crackle of gunfire behind me and I span around to see the men drop to the floor, their muskets falling loosely from their grip, taken out by sniper fire from the other side of the wall.
In the next moment I had rushed forward and, before he could even react to my movement, knocked Haytham back to the stone and stood over him once more, my hidden blade already out, the hand to which is was attached pulled back, ready to strike.
For a moment, a singular, tiny moment, I paused. Could I kill him? He had found it in himself to love my mother; perhaps he would have loved me… if he'd known me.
He looked to me for a fleeting second with... what? Pity in his eyes? Then with a great rush and a sound that I later realised was my own sob, I plunged my blade into in his heart.
His body jerked slightly as it accepted the blade, and he let out a strangled cough. And then his body relaxed, and as I withdrew it, and he again smiled at me.
"Don't think I have any intention of caressing your cheek and saying I was wrong" he said softly as I watched life ebb out of him. "I will not weep and wonder what might have been. I'm sure you understand' and I did understand. I was kneeling now, and reached to hold him, grasp some part of him. What did I feel? The answer: nothing, numbness. A part of me seemed to have left me, as though half of who I was had simply been taken from me, though in a way, I suppose it was, people always say you are two halves of a hole, the two halves being your parents, and my parents are gone. "Still," he said as his eyelids fluttered almost sleepily, and his face paled from the lack of blood. "I'm proud of you in a way, you have shown conviction. Strength. Courage." A sense of pride rose up within me, the knowledge that my father was proud of me truly made me seem to glow inside. "These are noble traits."
And then, with a sardonic smile he said, "I should have killed you sooner." And then he died. I smiled weakly at his last words, but still, I would not cry.
I looked for the amulet mother had told me about, the amulet that had brought them together, but it was gone. Lee must have it.
Then, I paused. Whilst looking for the amulet I'd seen something, strapped to my father's belt. A book, a simple, leather-bound book. His journal. I took it, closed my father's eyes, stood, and walked away.
Now the tears fell, I couldn't have let him see me cry, even in death. Achilles had taught me, told me that I needed to kill these men, kill Haytham, yet it brought me no happiness. With the others I had felt a sense of righteousness, victory, knowing that I had spared so many more that would have suffered at their hands. But with Haytham? I felt no victory, I felt nothing. I'd hoped we could unite with the Templars, lead maybe, although the thought was childish of me, as father and son, give the people their freedom, and bring peace. But no, that could never be, just as Achilles had told me, those who tried before had failed, and should I try, I would fail too.
A part of me, had truly left me, and I could never get it back.
I read the journal not long afterwards, and it told me so many things, explaining the entirety of his life from when he was a mere child. His father was an assassin it said, yet a 'friend' had ordered his assassination, tricked Haytham into false friendship, and raised him through that of the Templar order. What would have happened if he had become an assassin? If his father, my grandfather, had started to train him, educate him on the ways of the assassins, the ways of our creed?
Perhaps he'd never have met my mother, never have made me, or perhaps he would have done, would have followed the Templars here and worked alongside the natives to free the land from the tyranny that was coming upon it, and then he would have been there, would have raised me, I'd have known him.
There is still a feeling of emptiness inside of me, even now as I sit holding the amulet of my mother, and the one I took from Charles lee, which my father kept by his side for so long… I know there is still much I should do, much I must do, the templars are not defeated... yet even now I remember him telling me that they can't be defeated, perhaps he is right... for surely there must be balance in the world? The assassins must have an enemy, a great enemy... but I cannot do my duty now.
I will never again be whole, I will never again, see my father… why did he have to die?
Okay that's it, whoever's read Forsaken will no doubt see similarities but I love assassins creed so much and I adore Haytham (cried when he died both in the book and the game) and I couldn't just not write a story about it. I will be doing more AC fanfics in the future though my next one will be the alternate ending of 'Trained To Win' (hunger games fanfic) in case anyone who read that is reading this :)