Assassin’s Creed Imagines

Connor couldn’t help himself and chuckled at the thought. In his head it made sense, whatever unknown forces were reigning on this cruel, unforgiving place decided to finally punish his bravado- Calling the plan he devised risky was a gross understatement. Thinking he could execute it and leave the fort unscathed was a naive fantasy, just like the thought that Haytham- his father would listen to him in the end, that just this one time peace could have been an option and his blade wouldn’t have to sink into another’s throat. The part that it was his own blood he was forced to kill didn’t make his thoughts any happier. Perhaps to protect himself, to delay his processing of such a scarring event a big part of Connor thought that what happened after the hit wasn’t real. In reality he was killed by the hit, locked away in some sort of eternal limbo where the events he wanted (needed) to happen would become reality but as a punishment for his hubris he was forced to witness his very being be contorted into something that stopped resembling him all together .

A figure was staring at him from the murky depths of a fishing pond, its dark eyes, drowned in uneven smudges of black paint were unfocused and devoid of any emotion. Pain had been the only companion in what Connor was sure would be his last journey, the constant that kept him anchored to reality and instilled doubt in the fact that maybe- just maybe what he was feeling was his personal purgatory. He wasn’t living in a limbo made to avenge all the lives he had taken, regardless of whether it was right or not of him to do it. Despite it being the only tangible feeling he could make out from the whirlwind of broken pieces his mind had become, the pain felt impossibly far and disconnected from his body, less than any other sensation but still dull enough to where reality itself was still hazy around the edges. The relentless pounding at the back of his head made his vision blurry, the image staring back at him from the tranquil waters didn’t become any more recognizable with the occasional ripple of the pond. Connor forced his eyes to focus, to try and stare back at the reflection. The only thing he received in return was a pair glimmering tears further clouding his vision, slowly slipping on his burning cheeks as the ache in his body grew.

Trough the static-like ringing that wouldn’t leave his ears Connor heard footsteps in quick succession, the only words he could make out from the panicked crowd were about someone killing Charles Lee; he didn’t even have to tell his body to slip away from the small fishing pond and sloppily stumble into a patch of tall, snow covered grass. He was conscious enough to muffle the pained groan that escaped his lips, despite his muscle memory having come to his rescue once again it had also driven some of the wooden splinters deeper into the gash on his flank. A searing pain flashed from his abdomen toward one of his muscular legs, it hurt more than before but he still couldn’t find it within himself to care. It threatened to give out; for the second time his body was betraying him and protesting, signaling to the assassin that he needed to rest or else the death he had been trying so hard to elude - just for a little longer, until his duty was complete - would claim with the same indifference he reserved to his pain, his feelings. He would return to the land unbeknownst to anyone just as he had fulfilled his purpose and avenged the dead, so close but oh so far away from home…

Home.

For Connor it was a weird feeling, bittersweet was the best way to describe it. When Washington’s troops set fire to his village it was as if his connection to home had been irreparably severed, not only was he separated by space but also time. It was never the same even if his people stood strong, that event acted as a catalyst for the miserable turn his life had taken. As he felt his body sinking into the ground, fevered skin meeting the comforting chill of freshly fallen snow, his mind suddenly remembered: the gentle touch of his mother’s hand carefully disappearing into a mess of inky hair, threading carefully as she showed Ratonhnhaké:ton how to braid his hair. He tried to focus on her face, only to find it as blurry as everything else around him. Everything started to spin in a kaleidoscopic haze: the ground was mixing with the vibrant shades of the beadwork his mother had set to the side to give her son her full attention. The distant sound of his friend’s voices calling for him to come out and join in whatever adventure they had planned, the smells of dishes he hadn’t tasted in so long… It was all mixing into an intangible fever dream as the assassin’s body was fighting it’s way out of the comforting reveries from a different time and place.

His body started moving anew, renewed energy coursing through his veins while his mind was still trapped between dream and reality, deep-rooted survival instincts took over and told him to run. The footsteps were now far away now and almost imperceptible against the tinnitus that plagued his ears, the search party sent to kill him had probably scattered; he couldn’t let go now, he was so close to the homestead that even with how shaken up he was the roads still felt familiar enough to regain some sense of orientation.

Connor had always known that the majority of people would consider him a ruthless criminal, his father’s last words about the Templars being ever resourceful still a grim reminder, yet there was one person who he knew would never be swayed by any amount of misinformation or propaganda about him. If he died right there, away from prying eyes, he was sure there would be one place and a person in particular who wouldn’t just mourn him and move on. Just imagining your reaction on finding his cold body buried under who knows how many layers of snow broke Connor in ways he thought weren’t possible anymore, the throbbing pain in his head got insistently stronger and the gash on his side ripped due to the sheer intensity of his running. He couldn’t- wouldn’t allow himself the selfishness of drowning into the comforting arms of death just yet. Letting go would propagate the sorrow and grief to the one he had sworn to protect the most, he knew that you always preferred actions to words and his loss would lead you down to the exact path that he had once embraced; you would take the remaining Templars down one by one to drown the grief, make sure nobody else had to suffer the death the man they loved just like you did, and then you’d find the same soul-crushing numbness he found at the end of the path.

The air felt stifling, as if Connor’s throat was being constantly constricted by a tight would string- The chase after Lee was maddening and littered with all the anger he tried to repress when his mother died, the moment when she made him promise that he would make it out alive was permanent seared in his memories. Inside that inflamed building he had inhaled who knows how much smoke and his lungs were giving out, but the path to your house was close, he knew it by heart so he pushed trough the pain, the cynical thoughts and the part of himself that desperately wanted to let it all go. It was his only chance of seeing the future he had relentlessly fought for, he needed to resist just a little longer.

Home also meant something else, a different voice now repeating his real name over and over. He could hear it clearly over the ringing in his ears, like a desperate mantra he wanted to focus on as the world around him grew dark. He smiled when he made out your features, a mix of horror and deep sorrow washing over your face when you saw the man you loved stumble towards you; Ratonhnhaké:ton knew that you would be angry at him for disappearing without a word, for not taking care of himself and coming back to you at the brink of death. You probably wouldn’t let out of your sight for at least a month while you were both battling with the psychological repercussions of him pulling such a stunt but he wouldn’t have it any other way if it meant he could forge ahead, even if it was just for another day.

He marries for love, you can’t convince me otherwise. He might not think he is in love but the man is always at work to make sure you’re safe, thinks constantly of you during what little free time he gets when he’s away and most importantly, doesn’t even dream of asking you anything in return. It’s one of the rare cases in his adult life where he doesn’t see a bond with a person as transactional.

When you’re involved he really has to work hard to conciliate his desire to be respectful of your independence and the need to protect you from any sort of harm; He mostly does so by using the scheming and manipulation skills he is used to rely on. Ideally you’ll never find out about what he is working on behind the scenes but that is wishful thinking because he fell for someone who sees beyond the lies. It will lead onto bitter fights and your trust broken, expect him to use the same techniques to worm his way back into your heart. His wit and charm work ridiculously well on you and at a certain point you’ll have to accept that willing or not you’ll have to take part in his schemes.

You come to the conclusion that he really can’t help himself when he feels like you’re in danger but you also see how he is willing to put his own life on the line to make sure that whatever you’re running from will not touch you. Wether that makes you fall even more head over heels or you consider it reckless, you have a chance to at least make him reveal (and maybe participate) in what has in mind if you’re persistent enough. With enough time and endless amounts of patience you’ll be able to get a peek into what he’s really thinking, what his fears are and you’ll notice that he will walk away from these conversations like a completely different person- Almost like a bit of the weight of the many responsibilities he has has been lifted from his shoulders.

It wouldn’t really matter to him if you’re a civilian or someone who is in the Templar’s ranks, although the dynamic would change a little bit due to him having to keep parts of his life secret. Both would potentially have their pros and cons but Haytham has never put that much thought into what he prefers.

If his S/O was a civilian it would mean that he would have to lead a double life, ideally forever. It doesn’t really evoke any sense of guilt in him at first, hiding his affiliation with the order feels more like a way to keep you safe than what it really is. You’re better off living your ordinary life while completely unaware of the fact that he is a Templar Grandmaster, he can keep you hidden away from people who could potentially exploit you or worse, hurt you to get to him. It might be a bit of a justification though, something that he tells himself to ignore biggest reason why he wouldn’t want to reveal his line of work to you: he is afraid of you leaving if you were to discover the truth.

When he’s with you he is a model husband though, every woman around you is green with envy because of his polished looks and magnetic personality, his care for you also really shows in the little gestures: Haytham looks at you so fondly whenever you link your arm with his during your evening stroll, if he spots anything suspicious along the road he is the type of person to let you walk on the safer side just to make sure. He also effortlessly helps you out of the carriage if you struggle with the height of the step, wether you suspect that there is more to him than what he lets on there is nobody you would feel safer around.

The only downside to having him as a husband when you’re a civilian is that he will be away from home for months at the time. His cover story is that he is a trader affiliated with the British so he spends a lot of time either at different big cities that work as trading hubs or on a ship crossing the Atlantic. He never introduces you to any of his coworkers for obvious reasons; You’ve always found it a bit odd as your friends will have to host dinners for their husbands and business partners but you appreciate not having this responsibility thrown on you. When he’s away for more than 3 months he writes to you often and might get a little needy if it takes you too long to answer, he never says it explicitly but you’ll notice that his words will feel sweeter as if to coax out your affections.

Unlike other men, he is supportive of you doing things that society doesn’t expect women to do: if you’re particularly fond of the arts he will proudly ask you to hang whatever painting you want in the halls of your home. If you’re talented at writing he will be the first to read your work, perhaps even use a few of his Templar connections to publish your work if you’d allow him to. He appreciates your independence and willingness to learn new things a lot, he leaves the management of the household and surrounding estate all in your hands. It is hard work when you’re not used it but it keeps you busy in a positive way. Haytham will occasionally give you some advice but mostly likes hearing you ramble about the new mill you were planning on building, any gossips about your employees or how the crops have been growing. (Also because he has to run his own background checks on whoever you intend to hire, it’s going to be almost impossible to make him drop this habit.)

He will bring home books about whatever subject interest you even if it might end up leading you closer to the truth about his actual identity. The fact that you’re as educated as he is is one of the things that made him fall for you in the first place, he understands your curiosity as someone who also thrives on it and can’t resist seeing you be mesmerized by whatever knowledge you’re seeking. Absolutely loves spoiling you in other ways as well, none of his gifts are extremely grandiose or eccentric as he still has to keep both of you from drawing too much attention but whatever he gets you is always high quality: gowns made from the finest silk, adorned by delicate embroideries and matching bonnets, thick fur coats to keep you warm during lonely winter nights and jewelry, so much of it… If there’s anything you want he will get his hands on it, even if not always in the most ethical ways.