Threads Beneath the Surface

Yeah, so this has zero canonical backing, but does anyone else think Suyin is at least a little ethically non-monogamous? I mean, the seeds are all there: worldly, well-traveled, free-spirited, raised in the liberal arts, totally fine with nontraditional family structures, big on egalitarian values, etc.

And I don’t see her as a cheater at all. Quite the opposite. She seems like the type who’d be brutally transparent with Baatar about her needs and her attractions - the type to sit him down and draft actual agreements because she cares about his trust that much. Not out of guilt or secrecy, but because she values clarity, honesty, and the integrity of what they’ve built together.

He’s her anchor. Her stability. The person she returns to when the world gets too chaotic or her own emotional intensity threatens to untether her. And honestly? I can buy they’d even vet potential partners together - not in a salacious way, but in a protective, grounded, almost ritualistic way.

A “Does this person respect our boundaries? Do they understand what we are to each other? Can they handle Suyin’s intensity without trying to claim her or pull her away?” kind of way.

It’s such a small moment in a scene, but it speaks volumes about Connor’s entire character arc and his relationship to the Creed. When he tells Aveline, “I trust my own hands,” it’s not just a defiant statement. It’s practically an abridged, lived expression of “nothing is true; everything is permitted.”

This line comes from a man who, throughout his story, has constantly stood at the crossroads between ideology and personal conviction. Unlike many Assassins before him, Connor never fully surrendered himself to the Brotherhood’s doctrine or authority. In fact, what makes him such a powerful embodiment of the Creed is precisely that he lives it rather than parroting it. ⇩ Sequence 5: A Boorish Man (transcript)

Achilles: "Don't think you can just come in here, throw those on, and call yourself an Assassin." Ratonhnhaké:ton: "I... did not... I would never presume..."

Early in his journey, he approaches his targets in ways that break the Brotherhood’s usual patterns. He doesn’t immediately kill William Johnson or Thomas Hickey. He seeks alternate means, showing mercy and hoping for another path. Even after Johnson’s death, he expresses regret, not triumph. ⇩ Sequence 7: The Midnight Ride (transcript)

Connor: "I thought it might bring clarity. Or instill a sense of accomplishment. But all I feel is regret." Achilles: "Hold fast to that. Such sacrifices must never come lightly." Connor: "I had to do it. Not only for my people, but for all the others Johnson would have harmed." Achilles: "It's a start. But to truly be free of Templar influence, all of them must be dealt with in turn. Even your father." Connor: "I know." Achilles: "You speak the words, but do you believe them?"

He chastises Israel Putnam for disrespecting Hickey’s corpse, a man who had tried to kill him. These aren’t the actions of a man who simply follows orders or sees the world in binaries. They’re the actions of someone who has internalized “nothing is true”, the understanding that no cause, no institution, no person is infallible. And then there’s his relationship with Achilles. Achilles is the mentor figure, the one who should represent the guiding hand of the Brotherhood. But Connor challenges him constantly, not out of arrogance, but because he understands the limitations of doctrine when reality refuses to conform to it. An example of this is when he considers telling Washington about the AVT war because he refuses to be a pawn in a shadow conflict when transparency might save lives. ⇩ Sequence 9: Missing Supplies (transcript)

Connor: "Winter approaches. The air is still and sharp with grim expectation. The others sense it too, and go about their work with uncommon urgency. I would like to help them, but more pressing matters now demand my attention. The Templars have targeted George Washington directly -- and will not rest until he is dead. I had hoped to shield him from this knowledge, but Thomas Hickey ended any hope I had of staying silent. And so I have resolved to share everything I know -- of the Templars and their plots, of who I really am. Achilles finds fault in this, and we argue every day. But there is simply too much now at stake to maintain restraint."

He aligns with Haytham, his own father and a Templar, not because he’s naïve or conflicted, but because he recognizes that truth isn’t owned by any one faction.

“I trust my own hands” isn’t just Connor being stubborn. It’s the culmination of these choices, a declaration that even the people and institutions you serve can be wrong. And when they are, you have to be the one to act. In that moment, he isn’t rejecting the Creed; he’s embodying its core paradox. Freedom and responsibility are two sides of the same coin.

Connor already understood the first part of the Assassin doctrine, “nothing is true.” His entire upbringing and journey were shaped by watching alliances fracture, power be abused, and noble causes be twisted. But his arc is about learning the second part, “everything is permitted.” That doesn’t mean chaos or selfishness. It means learning to act with discernment, with the weight of consequences in mind. It means realizing that sometimes, the Creed lives through the individual, not the institution.

This is why that single line to Aveline carries so much gravity. It’s subtle, almost throwaway on the surface. But beneath it is Connor’s entire philosophy laid bare, his disillusionment, his moral clarity, and his unwavering agency. In a way, it’s the moment that crystallizes Connor as the truest believer and ultimate skeptic of the Creed at the same time. He doesn’t just follow it; he is it. ⇩ Sequence 12: Laid to Rest (transcript)

Connor: "My father is dead. Charles Lee now leads the Templar Order in his place. I see now why ours is an eternal war. For each piece taken from the board, another is placed upon it. Back and forth we go. Across the world. Across the ages. Some days, mine feels an impossible task, but I cannot afford to be consumed with doubt. The people need me. Now, more than ever. I must stop the Templars. I will kill Charles Lee."

And when we place this philosophy against the larger canvas of the American Revolution, the weight of this moment becomes even clearer. The world Connor moves through is one defined by institutions vying for power. Empires, orders, armies, and secret societies all convince themselves of their own righteousness.

Yet Connor’s own people are being crushed in the margins of these grand narratives. He sees firsthand how both the Assassins and Templars, the Patriots and the Crown, speak in ideals but act in self-interest. This historical backdrop isn’t just a setting; it’s what makes Connor’s individualism radical. When he says, “I trust my own hands,” he’s rejecting the idea that liberation or justice can ever truly be delivered from the top down. He places faith not in empires, movements, or creeds, but in personal action and accountability. In a time when everyone else is picking sides, Connor chooses the uncomfortable, lonely path of deciding for himself.

This is why Connor is such a singular figure in the series. He’s not a zealot, nor a cynic. He stands apart, both shaped by and defiant of the systems around him. That quiet line to Aveline is more than just dialogue. It’s the axis on which his entire philosophy and the themes of his story turn. In a world of collapsing empires and warring ideologies, Connor embodies the creed’s truest form: not as a banner to rally behind, but as a weight that one must carry alone.

Yet Connor’s significance doesn’t end with his own path. His presence, his example, catalyzes change in the hearts of others. As discussed in the analysis of Otso Berg, Shay’s betrayal, and the Reflections comic, Connor’s story and memory continue to shape, challenge, and sometimes redeem the humanity of those who come after him. After the Kenway saga, Otso Berg becomes radicalized by Shay’s cynicism, convinced that the world is defined only by power and control. Yet over time, it’s Connor’s example that lingers. Not out of allegiance to the Assassins, but because of Connor’s unwavering faith in people. His actions remind Otso that humanity isn’t confined to factions or banners, and that goodness can exist even across enemy lines. Through Connor, Otso begins to see beyond hatred, to recognize the humanity in those he once sought only to destroy.

Aveline, too, stands as a parallel. In my previous post, I spoke of how Liberation explores faith, disillusionment, and how Aveline must fight not just external oppression but internal corruption within her order. Connor’s influence shapes how she understands the Creed-not merely as a rigid system, but as a living, questioning, imperfect path toward freedom. He helps reinforce the notion that the Creed is not above critique, but should be held accountable by individual conscience.

And then there’s Desmond, who lives Connor’s memories and carries those lessons forward. Even centuries removed, Connor’s hope, moral integrity, and capacity to see beyond dogma resonate with Desmond. His story insists: in the darkest moments, what sustains us is not blind faith in institutions but the belief that human beings can do better and the power that a single person’s influence can have across generations.

After about thirteen years of discussing and psycho-analyzing this game’s characters and themes, it still blows my mind how often Connor’s relationship with Charles Lee gets reduced to something shallow or surface-level within the community.

"You are nothing. A speck of dust. You and all your ilk. Living in the dirt like animals, oblivious to the true ways of the world." ~ Charles Lee to a young Ratonhnhaké:ton. [Shoutout to @megeditz for the gifs!] First, seriously ask: "Why does Connor hate Charles Lee so much?"

I think a bulk of this question gets lost in translation because people flatten the narrative into simple revenge. But Lee isn’t actually “the guy who burned Connor’s village” or “the man who killed his mother.” Those are misconceptions Connor carries at first, catalysts that drive his anger, but they’re not the root of his hatred. To him, Charles Lee embodies far more: he’s the living contradiction Connor spends the whole game trying to understand, confront, and overcome.

As a man, Lee exemplifies the manipulative, two-faced nature of the elite in his time -- the polished gentleman who masks ambition and ruthlessness behind civility. Through Haytham’s eyes, he first appears noble, sophisticated, and controlled, yet even then, he quickly reveals his disregard for boundaries and decorum: forcibly shaking Haytham’s hand upon their first meeting, storming Benjamin Church’s door while Haytham waits politely, or ignoring a warning from Haytham not to scare Ziio, a Native woman. Each action exposes the gap between his “gentlemanly” façade and the ruthless pragmatism beneath. Connor encounters echoes of this same behavior and rhetoric from supposed allies such as Samuel Adams, George Washington, and Paul Revere, but none embody the hypocrisy, charm, and moral flexibility of Lee. He’s the ultimate demonstration of how power in the colonies often came packaged with duplicity, manipulation, and self-interest.

As an Assassin, Lee embodies both a foil and a dark mirror to Connor. The Brotherhood teaches Connor to fight for freedom and justice, but Lee demonstrates how fragile those ideals become when pursued without reflection. He is equally driven and resolute in his own beliefs, yet unlike Connor, he lacks introspection and becomes consumed by fanaticism. Throughout Connor’s journey, he grapples with the demands of the Assassin’s Creed and navigates the diverse intentions and motivations of those around him, questioning and seeking to understand the world, while Lee remains single-minded, rigid, and unyielding in his worldview.

As a Native American, Lee embodies the colonial power that erases and exploits Connor’s people. He is the smooth face of a system that sees the Mohawk as expendable obstacles to “progress.” Lee doesn’t just harm Connor personally — he represents an entire worldview that diminishes and endangers his very identity.

And it goes further. In Haytham's absence, Lee serves as the interim Templar Grandmaster -- which means the atrocities committed by William Johnson, John Pitcairn, and Thomas Hickey fall directly under his leadership. The imminent threat to Connor’s people and their land through Johnson’s schemes. The sacking, displacement, and terror inflicted by Pitcairn in Lexington and Concord were designed to crush dissent and capture revolutionary leaders. The counterfeit racket, the crime underworld of New York, and the assassination plot against Washington that was orchestrated by Hickey. Every drop of innocent blood spilled in those efforts traces back to Lee’s authority.

Then, finally, there’s the personal cost. Lee is also the wedge between Connor and Haytham, poisoning the fragile possibility of father and son finding reconciliation. With Lee at Haytham’s side, Connor and his father can never truly bridge their rift or chart a meaningful path together.

Can we finally retire this tired take that “Connor doesn’t have charisma”? He absolutely does. The problem is that audiences keep measuring him against a very narrow, Eurocentric idea of charisma: one that always defaults to cocky rogues, witty banter, and action hero-style suave.

And because Connor doesn’t perform charm in that way, people dismiss him as “bland.” But charisma isn’t just about being a smooth talker. Connor’s charisma is quieter, more grounded. When he speaks, people listen because he actually means it. His sincerity draws people in because he’s not putting on an act or trying to manipulate anyone. And the respect he commands doesn’t come from bravado -- it comes from the steadiness and conviction with which he carries himself.

That’s also charisma. Just not the kind most gamers have been trained to recognize. And honestly, the fact that so many write him off says less about Connor as a character and more about how narrow our collective lens for “charisma” has been.

I had video games like Deus Ex whispering in my ear about how corporations, governments, and shadowy elites will absolutely sell you a story while pulling the strings behind your back. Assassin’s Creed dropping anti-authoritarian history lessons between parkour runs, reminding me that freedom and truth don’t survive without people willing to fight for them. And in between, there were secular creators and channels hammering home the basics of real critical thinking -- not just about religion, but about any institution or ideology that demands unearned trust.

All of them carried the same core message: don’t drink the Kool-Aid, and especially don’t let the guy selling it build the machine that decides what flavor you get.

They weren’t perfect, but they were consistent in one thing: authority, whether it wears a suit, a robe, or a smiley tech startup hoodie, should earn your trust, and even then, you keep one eye open. They warned about the overreach of capitalism. They warned about the dangers of AI being controlled by people whose only gods are power and profit. They reminded us that “progress” without ethics is just a prettier form of exploitation.

And I can’t help but think: if more young people grew up with that as their cultural foundation and actually paid attention to the anti-capitalist, anti-authoritarian, “don’t trust everything you see” messages instead of just thinking the cool part was the hidden blade maybe we wouldn’t be in quite the mess we are in right now in the US.