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New York, Winter of 1777
Eleanor was being watched.
It happened when she would be running errands in town. Sometimes it was brief, hardly enough time for her to notice, but other times she would feel the eyes on her, watching as she milled about. She could not see the perpetrator, even with her Assassin training, she knew what it felt like to have eyes on her, following her every move. It wasn’t just confined to the city, she found footprints on the edge of her property this morning, giving her more claim that it wasn’t just in her head. It was unnerving, particularly because she didn’t know who would be spying on her.
This wasn’t the first time she had been watched. When she had gone to the city back when Morgan was still a little girl, she was followed by some unknown, lower-tier Templar to make sure that she was safe. She suspected that they would report back to Mister Kenway if something strange had happened, but nothing ever happened. Those who knew of her former allegiance were either dead or powerless, the worst thing that would happen was a hike in prices at the general store.
But this wasn’t one of those times. Templar resources were stretched very thin as of late due to the war and the Assassins, who had claimed several victories over the Templars in the fight over the colonies. They didn’t have the time to follow her around anymore, so who was responsible?
Shay was on an errand to Boston to deliver supplies, due back any day. She hadn’t felt the need to tell him before he left, not thinking anything of it, but now she regretted not telling him. The last thing that he needed was something to happen to them. Eleanor had the confidence that she could defend herself if needed, she feared for her children, who would often play unaccompanied on the property.
Luckily, all three of the kids were at the neighbors for their lessons during the day. They wouldn’t be back until dark, which came earlier and earlier in the wintertime. If she was lucky, they would be too tired to want to play outside. Even indoors and out of sight, the feeling of helplessness kept her up in the night, afraid of the owner of the eyes growing tired of watching and take action.
But today, she had enough.
For the first time since Morgan was born, Eleanor strapped her hidden blades on, their familiar weight greeting her like an old friend. She even threw on trousers and a dark leather coat Shay had gotten for her for their first Christmas tailored just for her, even fashioned with a hood. She pulled the fabric over her head, sighing at the familiar darkness. Looking in the mirror, Eleanor was transported back to Davenport Mannor, seeing that 20-year-old girl who just wanted to please her mentors and make the world a better place, no matter the personal cost.
Eleanor shook her head and pushed the hood back down. That life was far behind her, no matter the state of the war now. She was far too old anyways to be free-running and completing missions as she did back in her youth. She didn’t know how Shay still could climb without throwing out his back, albite he was much slower than when he was in his prime. But even if she wasn't an Assassin anymore, perhaps her getup would either scare the intruder off or invite them in, whether for a talk or a fight.
Stepping out onto the hard earth, still frozen over from the last freeze. There were not many places to hide and keep watch, but if the person was anywhere, it would be the forest bordering on the edge of their property. Setting her jaw, she walked forwards towards the tree line. Eleanor kept an eye out on the trees, particularly paying attention to the higher branches that were hard to climb. Most people would never bother to look up, but she knew better.
It was eerily quiet, not even the sounds of animals living in the forest broke the silence, which meant that she was not alone. Despite her knowledge, she could not see anyone scurrying up or around the branches. Either they weren’t up in the trees and she was crazy, or they were too good at moving without so much as shaking the branches.
She came to a stop right at the edge, wait for a moment before she pulled a long wooden tube out of her pocket, holding it up to her lips and blowing a short two-toned whistle.
There were several ways to spot an Assassin out in the world. There was seeing a hooded figure running around on rooftops and catching a blur of something out of the corner of her eye, many times she found herself looking at haystacks to see if it had been disturbed recently. But the one way that every Assassin was taught to see if there were others nearby was a whistle like the one she held, as not every person could whistle on command. It was given as part of the initiation alongside the hidden blades. Even while it sounded odd, the Mentors assured that it would come in handy at least once in their careers. Each guild had its tones and meanings, part of their training was to memorize each one. She still remembered Achilles’ version from all those years ago.
Eleanor waited.
And waited.
Her toes tingled and her nose turned numb, but she still waited.
The quiet was deafening.
Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of nothing, the woods came to life again, but only with the sounds of animals. Eleanor sighed as she turned away, shaking her head at her foolishness. She was a fool for believing that they would want to talk to her. She was married to the enemy, she was more of a target than an ally these days. Maybe she was paranoid too. Maybe she had created this distraction as a way to feel less alone in the world.
But then there was a two-tone response, and when Eleanor turned around, she was face to face with an Assassin.
The young man was tall, even though Eleanor was above average for women, this man was at least half a foot taller than her. He was armed to the teeth, a sword and tomahawk at his hips, and a bow and quiver strapped to his back. He wore almost the same robes as hers, a stark white compared to her dark robes, but there were small embellishes to it, beads and woven bands. He didn’t wear the typical boots that Assassins wore, some form of animal hide that wrapped around his legs. Even with the shadow of his hood and the leather gloves, she could tell that he wasn’t the typical man that the Assassins had recruited in the past. Had he approached any other person, they would have been intimidated or even fearful, but Eleanor could see right through him, staring him down.
“Why are you watching my family?”
The boy didn’t answer, looking her up and down. How old was he?
“I don’t know why you’re here or who sent you, but you’re lucky that I was the one who noticed you. Had it been my husband, we would not be having a conversation. I’m not here to threaten or to fight, but I will if that is your aim.” He still was quiet. It was irritating at this point, did he want to talk her the whole time?
“Would you care for some tea? I wouldn’t want to stalk people while freezing my ass off.” Not even that got a response out of him. Eleanor took a couple of steps back from him. “Fine. Come inside when you’re ready to chat. My door will be open for most of the afternoon, but once my kids are home, you will not be invited back.”
She knew that she shouldn't turn her back on him. Rule one was to never give your enemy an easy advantage, but something in her gut told her he wasn't here for a fight. The Assassin could have easily taken her out a dozen ways before today without her even knowing, but he chose not to. Which means he wanted something from her. She made it nearly five yards when he finally spoke aloud.
“Are you Eleanor James?”
Finally! She couldn't help but smile as she looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze.
“I go by Eleanor Cormac these days, but yes. I was her.”
That must have been all the invitation that he needed, because when she started walking, she heard his footsteps crunch against the frosty grass, following after her with distance in case he needed room to get away.
Quiet but eager, she could work with that.
She stamped the mud off her boots and walked inside, immediately going to the kitchen to prep the tea. It wasn’t often that she had guests, but thankfully due to the erratic schedule of her husband and his associates, she was ready to host at the drop of a hat. The stranger lingered by the doorway, absentmindedly adjusting his bow.
“Weapons by the fireplace, please.” She spoke aloud as she moved around the kitchen, hyper-aware of his presence. “The same rule goes for all of my guest. Hidden blades are allowed if it makes you feel more comfortable.” She brandished hers as a show of both understanding and a veiled threat.
The young man nodded his head and eased his weapons off and stacking them neatly by the mantle with a small clatter. All of his stuff was within lunging distance if things did go south, which probably helped. At least he was polite, she mused as she set the kettle on the hook over the hearth. Ever the ready hostess, she grabbed a tin of cookies from the pantry and set them on a tray, placing the food in the middle of the table as a buffer. “Sit, please.” She gestured to the seat at their dining room table. He took it with no protest.
“What’s your name?” He knew her name (and probably more), it was only fair. Plus, she'd like to know the name of her killer if it came down to it.
“Connor.”
She faltered in her stride, quickly adjusting herself before he could notice. Could it have been a coincidence that he had the same name as Achilles’ son or had he been given the name? She knew the original Connor from back before she left for France, although he wasn't really around the Assassins, she would make faces at him at the dinner table, or act silly when she would see that he was watching from the manor window, (if no one else could saw her). He died when he was young, along with Achilles' wife. He was a good kid.
“That’s a good name.” She left it at that, some sort of emotion catching in the back of her throat. If Connor noticed, he didn’t comment.
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Eleanor sat at the table, keeping a good distance from the man. “Why have you been watching my family and me?”
“It was of no ill intent, to you or your family,” Connor spoke softly but firmly, placing his large folded hands in his lap.
“But there was some intent?” She questioned.
“To gain insight.”
“As to what? Farm life? I’m sure that my life has been riveting to watch over the past few days.” She said dryly.
“I was unsure of whether I should speak with you or not. I had been advised to approach with caution.”
“Caution?” Eleanor’s eyebrows shot up once she understood. “Ah. I see you thought my allegiance was to them.” Even after all of these years, even with her husband being their number one soldier, after hosting and biting her tongue as they made a mockery of her livelihood, she still saw the Templars as the enemy. That was ingrained into her system, something that not even time could wash away.
“Not allegiance, no. From what I can tell, you did not ask for this.” Connor corrected himself.
“You wonder why I chose this life then?”
“It is not often to see an Assassin..." He paused for a moment before finishing quietly, "Retired.” Heaven knows if he made a comment about her age, she might have whacked him over the head.
“No, in fact, I thought I was the only one until recently.” Eleanor sighed. “Does Achilles know that I am alive?”
“He has a suspicion, but no, he does not know for sure.”
“Is that part of your role? To see if I’m still willing to communicate with him?”
“He does not know I am here. I have been in New York for several weeks now trying to liberate the districts from the Templar’s hold. I recognized you were from this.” He held his hand up, slowly reaching inside of his robes to pull out a folded parchment. He held it out by the tips of his fingers for her to take.
It was old, creased and wrinkled with time. Eleanor slowly undid the paper, an airy chuckle leaving her. It was a drawing, hardly more than a sketch on a bit of paper, but it was a candid of her reading a book, a normal sight at the Homestead. Achilles had captured her quite well, the upturn of her nose, the weird freckle under her right eye, the split lip from a rough training session earlier that week. This was just before her voyage on Le Gerfaut.
“I remember him drawing this. We always said that if he wasn’t an Assassin, that he’d make a hell of an artist.” Eleanor said softly. “This was the end of 1759, everything seemed to be falling apart faster than we could try to do damage control. Despite all of the horror and death happening around us, Achilles insisted that we spend Christmas Eve in. No chores, no work. Just some peace for one night. It felt selfish, with all of our brothers working and fighting around the clock. He said that he’d give me a full portrait one day.”
“I found a handful of portraits several years back hidden in my closet. Were they also Assassins?”
“They were the Master Assassins. Only those with the highest rank got a portrait.” Eleanor chuckled, standing as a whistling filled the air.
“Who were they?”
This made Eleanor pause. “Achilles didn’t tell you?”
“No, any time I ask about the past, he becomes quiet and short-tempered. He claims that his leg pain flairs up and needs to go lay down.”
“Is that part of the reason you sought me out?” Eleanor set up the teacups and the bags of leaves.
“Yes.” She could see him sit up more in his chair. “I know the history of the Assassins of old, but I still do not understand how the Templars took hold over the colonies. Anyone that could tell me will not, and there are few survivors to the massacre.”
“Are you completely certain?” She made eye contact with him, trying to gauge him and what he stood for. Had the little information that she had overheard been correct, Achilles was setting up for him to be the next Mentor, this young man was the future of the colonies, one way or another. The last thing she needed was him becoming angry.
“I am.” He set his shoulders and unfolded his hands. His eyes were dark, so unlike his father’s. There was an honest earnestness to him, some might call it naivety or foolishness, but Eleanor didn’t. Perhaps that made her the fool.
“Alright, but I must warn you, the past 30 years are not quite the grandeur of the past Brotherhoods. There are dishonesty and betrayal and a complete abandonment of the Creed, but if you do not know our story, then you run the risk of making the same mistakes we did.” She gestured to the tea kettle between them. “I’d take a drink if I were you, it’s going to be quite the story.” She waited until he had settled with a cup of tea, it wasn’t quite as strong as the ones in the general store, but with the taxes and war, good tea was hard to come by. He folded his hands in front of him and looked to her.
“To start, a little about myself, because I'm sure Achilles never told you about me. I was born in France, but I’ve only known life in the Colonies. My parents and brother died before I was 13 and I lived a long time out on the streets. I was picked up by an Assassin named Liam, he was one of the Master Assassins. Probably the most detailed portrait that you saw. He was Achilles' favorite. I trained for almost nine years before I was awarded the Master Assassin rank I was one of the youngest to be given that role. In 1754, I was sent to France to seek out the other Brotherhoods for support and to look for Precursor sites. You know about them, right?”
Connor nodded solemnly.
“Wonderful, because I don’t know jack shit about them, it wasn’t my forte.” She chuckled and took a drink.
“Of course, all the trouble didn’t begin until I left. We had recovered two ancient artifacts- a Manuscript and a Box, from the Templars to help us find these sites of power. It was said they held artifacts that could win wars. An assassin by the name of Shay was sent to Lisbon to find one of these Precursor sites, but the artifact disintegrated in his hands and caused an earthquake. Thousands died and thousands more injured, all because of the damned booby-trap.”
Connor’s eyebrows shot up but stayed quiet.
“When Shay returned, he approached Achilles, demanding retribution for what had happened. Achilles blamed him for being careless, he blamed Achilles for sending him in, but in the end, he was forced from the Homestead. So Shay took the Manuscript, because they couldn’t open the Precursor Box without it, and fled. He was shot and fell from the cliff. It was some miracle that he survived the fall.”
“Shay was picked up by a man named Cornel George Monro, he helped him find some sense of purpose and drew him back from the edge. But what Shay didn’t know was that this man was a Templar.”
“He knew of his previous allegiance?”
“Absolutely. He knew that he was the enemy, but still fought to help him, even at the cost of his own life.”
“Was he killed by the Assassins?”
“Liam saw to it personally. By this point, the Assassins had dens all over the city, but they were run by the gangs and vagabonds of the city, they were ruthless and held no regard for the Creed, they sullied our name and we allowed it.” Eleanor paused to regain her temper, taking a long sip of tea. “I wish I could say I was innocent in this, that this happened without my knowledge, but I helped to fund the gangs and I assassinated many of their allies over in Europe.”
“What happened next?”
“Taking back the Manuscript was the last victory that the Assassins had for a very long time. Probably until the stunt you pulled in Boston with the tea a few years back. Nice touch by the way of going for their financials.” She nodded at him. “After the death of his mentor, Shay became a full-fledged Templar, hunting down those with information about the manuscript. He killed three Master Assassins. Kesegowase, Hope, and eventually the captain of my ship Chevalier. It was around that point that Achilles became petrified, sending the box as far as he could get it using my contacts in France and Spain. I was scared because I thought my best friend was going to kill me, but then the most amazing thing happened.”
“Shay saved me, well, more like I saved him then he saved me. Chevalier thought he could use me as bait to draw him out, but at the cost of nearly one hundred men, sailors who didn’t know of our fight, all to finish some petty duel with Shay. He nearly got him too, but I went and messed that up.”
Connor was silent, but not in a bad way, so she continued.
“So, the time after that is fuzzy for me, but I’m told that Shay and the Grandmaster confronted Achilles and Liam at the last Precursor site. Achilles saw reason at the last second, but Liam was furious at the betrayal. They fought, and Liam met his end in the Arctic. Achilles was spared but shot through the leg by the Grandmaster, which is probably why his leg hurts when you ask him about it. He was forced into exile, just him alone in his house, to never restart the Assassins, lest he loses everything again.”
Eleanor sighed and finished her tea. There was so much unsaid. So many questions if the look on his face was anything to go by.
“What happened to Shay?”
“Well, after he nursed me back to health, he proposed to me as a way to help me hide. We’ve been married since. He was tasked by the Templars to find the Precursor Box, something he is still looking for now.” Part of Eleanor wanted to tell him that he was just meters from the said powerful artifact, but no one knew of the hiding place for it, they would clearly blame her if it went missing. Even if it were a way to get back at Mister Kenway, she refused to betray Shay.
“You married the same man who killed your brothers?” His face was blank, but Eleanor could see the confusion
“Yeah, I did.” She shrugged. “It does sound banal after the story I just told, but Shay was my best friend, he still is. He did what he did because he wanted to help people. I will never understand why he continues to side with the Templars, but he didn’t have a lot of options. I’m sure if the roles were reversed, he would choose the same path.”
“Achilles gave me a list of men to hunt down, Templars in charge in New York, but his name is not on the list.”
“Perhaps the old man wanted to show the same mercy that was given to him. Otherwise, that stumps me.”
Connor was quiet for a little bit, stewing in the new-found knowledge. Eleanor took the time to clean up their dishes.
“What if his name had been on my list?” Connor asked, turning in his chair to face her. “Would you have let me into your home?”
“No.” She said firmly. “Templar or Assassin. It’s all equal to me now. I want to believe the best in you, that what you’re doing is different than my brothers and sisters, but had you so much as breathed wrong the direction of my family, I will show you exactly how I earned my title so young.”
To his credit, he didn’t look too dubious at her statement. Sure, she had grown in her age and her skills were very rusty, but their kind of training didn’t go away. She may look like a loving mother and doting wife, which she was, but underneath it all, she was a fighter. She would move heaven and hell for her family.
“I would never threaten your family, especially not your children. They are innocent.”
“Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent.” She muttered with a chuckle.
“What is funny?”
“Just by saying that, you’ve proven to me that you are not your predecessors. Never lose sight of the Creed, no matter how much you end up losing.”
Eleanor looked up at the clock on the mantel and swore.
“I said you could stay until my children came home, they should be here any minute.”
Thankfully he seemed to run out of questions, silently standing up when prompted. He slid each weapon into place methodically, checking that they were still in working condition with each motion. Eleanor finished cleaning the kitchen. Connor stood in the doorway, teetering on the edge of leaving, but his eyes were distant, lost in thought that he seemed unsure of whether or not to ask.
“Yes?” She prompted him with a wave of her hand.
“Do you think there can be peace with the Templars?”
Eleanor tried to hold back her smile, but he looked so young when he said that, it was refreshing to see the cautious optimism in him.
“Right now, there are Colonists who are co-habituating with those they do not agree with, families disagreeing on loyalty versus freedom. Yet they still manage to fight for each other. There have been stretches of peace between the Templars and Assassins, and no matter how I feel about your father, if you want to try to forge peace, it never hurts to try.”
His eyes widened. It didn't take much for her to put the pieces together. Even if she hadn't read the letter from Mister Kenway about his Assassin son, she could see the similarities from under the hood. If she had a dollar for every time she wanted to break his nose, she'd be richer than any of their organizations, and unfortunately, his son got the same genetics.
“If you ever see Mister Kenway and he isn't trying to kill you, ask how he got that scar on his right cheek. He’ll probably roll his eyes and ignore your question. But remember that you must do what you think is right, even if it goes against what people are telling you.”
A faint string of laughter broke the silence. Eleanor turned to see her door open, her two kids clamoring in over the threshold, barely acknowledging her before stomping upstairs, hopefully, to start on their homework before they were allowed to play.
Eleanor turned back to an empty doorway, cold wind whipping her hair out of her face. There wasn’t even as much as a footprint to distinguish the Assassin’s presence.