"One day when all of this is over, I will invite you to Paris to stay with me and my family. She is the most beautiful city in all the world Connor; full of art and culture, women and wine. But she is sick on the inside, black and rotten...But here, here is something quite different. On the outside, the colonies are dirty and dangerous, unforgiving and uncivilized. But on the inside, they glow. That is why I'm here. To learn. I want to return home, able to touch France's black heart, and make it glow once more. "

- Marquis de Lafayette speaking to Connor

Assassin's Creed : Revolution

Fort Schuyler - New York Region - August 1784

Within the silence of the trees, a lone wolf cry pierced through wilderness like a pistol shot. Roosting birds exploded from the trees, raining down leaves and brush from the disturbed branches in panic. A deer, which he had been tailing from the tree top canopies for some time, looked up and began running from the direction of the sound, away from the carefully laid trap he had prepared hours before hand.

Cursing silently but not willing to let his prey get away, Ratonhnhaké:ton, or Connor as his friends called him, quickly moved from his safe perch dozens of feet above the ground. Free running past the branches and jumping from tree to tree with an ease that would have been familiar to many of his ancestors past. Each jump and swing was done gracefully, silently, as he had learned since he was old enough to walk.

Now, a fully grown man of twenty eight. He was garbed in a hooded white dress uniform jacket with blue lining, as well as a thin red sash fastened with an Assassin insignia, and brown boots with leggings that extended past his knees. In addition to that, he was also heavily armed, with his hidden wrist blades, tomahawk and cross straps that held three pistols a piece, the powder horns dropping over his shoulders. Having spent the last few days in the wild, he didn't want to take any chances running into danger, and whilst it no longer came from the Red Coats, there were still plenty of dangerous animals and poachers that could pose an issue.

The deer was fast, swerving left and right between the trunks of the great oaks and making way for a clearing, to better gauge the threat in the trees.

Connor however, was faster still, and before the deer cleared the last tree, he had already squatted on the branch of the tall tree, and just as the deer passed underneath him, he jumped. A lifetime of instinct and training took over and he unsheathed the hidden blade and dug it into the neck of the animal with barely a passing thought.

The deer collapsed onto the grass, it's arteries pierced and spilling out blood. It was a swift, painless end.

"Nia:wen." Connor said solemnly, respectfully thanking the animal for providing him with its bounty. He then unsheathed the hidden blade from his wrist and began skinning. When the deed was done, and the skins collected, he slowly made his way back to camp.

It was a fair summer's day, and after what seemed like an eternity of fighting, peace had finally found its way into the land of his people. For Connor, it was bittersweet at most. His own people, the Mohawk, had been forced to leave their ancestral homes, which were overrun by the very same colonists he had fought for. But in his dealings with many of them, he was convinced that they were a fair people, and like his own, valued freedom above all else. He was confident that in time, they would find a way to live together in harmony.

That was one of the reasons why he had decided to come to New York, to make sure his people had gotten their fair share of the spoils from the British. It came through a surprise invitation to the homestead from a man named Joseph Brant, who had heard much of Connor's exploits during the war. Brant was a Mohawk loyalist who had also been an associate of William Johnson.

The name stuck like bile in Connor's throat, but he long agreed to bury the hatchet with the past. Those men, his father among them, were long dead and gone from this world, leaving the colonies and his people to decide their own future.

As Connor entered the camp, a man called out a greeting to him. He was a tall man, with a big build that made him almost Connor's equal.

"Good hunting I see, Ratonhnhaké:ton." Brant greeted Connor in the Iroquois tongue.

"It is good to see you too, Thayendanegea." Connor addressed Brant by his Mohawk name.

In his brief meetings with Brant, Connor found that he liked him. He was an honest and noble man, who sincerely desired a peace between his people and his adopted peoples in colonies and the British. Although he fought on the Loyalist side, Connor did not believe him to be a Templar, instead, he was manipulated like so many of his friends and people. The man was a fellow of his tribe, and as he got to know him as a friend, he was silently glad he didn't have to fight him during the war.

In front of them, was a vast camp filled with hundreds of warriors from the six nations. The Mohawk, the Oneida, the Onondaga, the Cayuga, the Seneca, and the Tuscarora tribes, all gathered here to negotiate with the colonists, who called themselves the United States, to settle the land disputes that had come about from the revolution.

"How goes the progress of the talks?" Connor asked nonchalantly as he laid down the skins by his tent. They would fetch a fair price for Myriam back at the Homestead, which had already grown into a bustling community of almost a hundred people since the end of the war. Achilles would have been proud to see how far they had come, he thought to himself.

"Not good I'm afraid, your colonial brethren are most persistent in their claims on our lands." Brant said gruffly.

"They are my adopted people, as much as they are yours brother." Connor replied. "In time, I hope they can see that, and live together in peace."

Brant gave Connor an amused look. "I too, used to believe that. And I admire you for being a visionary, brother, but the reality unfortunately, is less flowery."

"That is why we are here. Is it not? To help build a better future?" He gave Brant a pat on the shoulder. "Come, my tribe awaits, we can share tales of our exploits by the fire tonight."

Brant smirked, "That at least, I can agree to, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The festivities lasted for the better part of the day, punctuated by the arrival of the American delegates. Blue coated Continental troops escorted them, and their muskets were a grim reminder that the proceedings was between former enemies.

Still, their presence was welcome in the valley, for they brought many gifts, foods and most importantly, several barrels of rum and bottles of wine. Connor did not partake, although he knew several of his brothers had prized what they would call the 'darling water'. Still, it was a start to have so many of the tribes together under the protection of American hospitality. Already, the people were starting the feast fires, while another group began dancing and chanting in celebration of the coming peace.

The colonist delegation seemed to fit in easy enough, although Connor did not recognize any faces. That was, until someone slapped him on the back rather abruptly.

"Connor!" A voice shouted in a heavily accented English. "It is great to see you again mon amis!"

Connor turned, and could not help smile as he came to whom he had not seen since the end of the war.

"Lafayette?" Connor blurted in surprise.

"That, or you can call me what the chiefs call me, "Kayeheanla". He smirked, easily settling into festivities. Instead of the blue coat of the Continental Army, Lafayette sported the white colored uniform of his native French Army.

"What are you doing here my friend?" Connor asked with genuine curiosity. Although he couldn't care less about the Continental army now, he still respected and liked the Frenchman who had risked everything he had to come across the Atlantic to join in their fight for freedom.

"The usual, speeches, drunken feasts, and dancing" He said cordially. "I was doing a tour of my adopted country, and I was asked to preside over these negotiations to show our good faith. Of course, free wine can also go a long way." He smiled.

"I am glad to see the people are honoring your contributions my friend." Connor said genuinely.

"Yes," Lafayette replied. "I have seen so much during my time here. I only wish that La Belle France could follow your people's example. It is extraordinary what you have accomplished here."

He raised an eye towards Connor.

"Have you ever reconsidered my offer Connor? It still stands. Your people are free, but mine still labor under injustice. Your help can go a long way to change that." He said sincerely.

Connor nodded quietly, he knew from Achilles and by extension, Haytham, of the state of Europe. Europe was firmly Templar territory, and the Brotherhood had not had a significant impact there for centuries. Such an offer was tempting in itself, even if it meant several years away from home. He always wondered what the world across the seas was like.

"Besides!" the Frenchman continued, oblivious to Connor's train of thought. "I would love to show you the sights of Paris and my home country. Who knows, we may even find you a nice French lady eh!"

Connor found himself flush at the last statement, true he had not really thought about settling down just yet, not when there was so much to be done. Also, his work was by nature dangerous, he couldn't think of raising a family.

"Anyway, how fare the negotiations with the colonists?" Connor decided to briskly change the subject.

After some thought, Lafayette responded. "I have no doubt the States will agree to the Iroquois terms of sovereignty in Western New York, so long as they have Lake Erie and the Ohio River. My king is also interested in a French-run fur trade in New York, in order to draw business away from the cursed British. Perhaps you can help us with that too eh?"

He gave the young man a friendly nudge.

"In any case Connor, I leave by the end of the year. If you wish to join me, you can meet me at New York. Here is my card." He handed it to Connor.

"I'll think on it, and I will let you know come winter." He promised.

Davensport Homestead - October 1784

"These skins are very beautiful Connor. Thank you." Myriam held them up with the analytical eye of an expert hunter, the kill was clean, and the hide undamaged. These would fetch a fair price on the market.

"You're welcome Myriam," Connor replied earnestly. "It is the least I can do, I didn't give you and Norris a proper wedding gift after all."

"Well, in that case, it is long overdue." She joked, then grabbed Connor's forearm as he turned to leave. "Would you care to stay for a drink? It's been a while since you've been here. We can catch up on old times."

Connor grinned, "I'd like that. But don't think it will give you an advantage in our game."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Myriam smirked. Ever since she came onto the homestead, she and Connor had been running up a tally of kills in the woods as a friendly competition of sorts, one that she was losing badly. Connor seemed to have a sixth sense, a third eye, when it came to finding and tracking animals in the woods.

Connor spent the evening revisiting the households of the homestead, to see how everyone was doing. He thanked Doctor Lyles for all the help and care he had shown him during the years, from stitching up knifes wounds to pulling out bullets. Ellen had fashioned him a new assassin's outfit, to replace the torn and worn down one he was wearing, which he accepted gratefully. The rest of the homestead welcomed him back with equal kindness, and he spent many a night drinking and feasting with them, recounting how they met and how they were building a new life for themselves on the homestead.

Although he no longer lived with his tribe, he couldn't help but feel a similar attachment to the people that lived here. Perhaps this was his new family after all.

The door to the church creaked open as Connor paid visit to another one of his close friends.

To everyone's surprise but his own, Connor found himself conferring with Father Timothy more and more as the seasons passed, not because he was interested in conversion, but with his clan mother moving on, as well as Achilles...he found Father Timothy to be the closest thing to an elder that he could seek guidance from, and whether they worshiped the spirits or this 'Christ' did not matter, the elderly still held wisdom of this world.

"It is good to see you again Father." Connor dipped his head respectfully as he entered.

"And you as well Connor." Father Timothy smiled genuinely, closing the bible he was reading and standing up to greet his friend.

Connor nodded gruffly, his face serious and heavy with thought.

"Is it a confession today then?" Timothy replied seriously. He had done a confessional with Connor once, when the young man revealed his guilt over having killed one of his closest friends. He was unable to provide the comfort the young man sought, but Connor was not the type to sit around and mope. Instead, he resolved to look forward, and find his own way to make amends.

"Just guidance." He said simply.

Father Timothy nodded with patience, gesturing at Connor to sit down. It was an odd sight, he thought, a young Mohawk covered with battle scars and weapons of war seeking refuge in a house of peace.

"I have a friend," Connor began. "Who wishes for me to journey to his land. To help him accomplish what we have done here, and bring freedom to his people."

"A very noble enterprise." Father Timothy replied thoughtfully, of all the people in the homestead he probably knew more of Connor's past than anyone else combined, and it amazed him. The young man trusted him though, and he honored it by keeping anything said between themselves only.

"When I began this journey many years ago." Connor said wistfully. "I was given a path to follow, the spirits showed me the way."

"And you see this as the same thing?" Timothy asked.

"I...I don't know. The spirits had spoken to me when I left my village, always watching me, guiding me. Now, I hear nothing. I feel nothing..."

Timothy nodded with sympathy, he too, had encountered many who felt that they've lost god's graces, even if Connor was referring to another spirit altogether.

"Some usually take it as if they are abandoned." Timothy said, finally. "But I tend to think of it as a sign of other things to come."

"A sign?"

"Guidance usually comes to those who need it, but I've known you for quite a while Connor. Maybe this...spirit, has decided that you have grown enough to make your own choice.

Connor nodded quietly, lost in contemplation. Words from the past echoing in a sea of thoughts.

"It will never be enough, you strive for that which does not exist...still you have a difference, and you will do so again."

"I can have what I seek...had it even...but you...you're hands will always be empty..."

"Can I still fight..." Connor mused softly. "Knowing that I will never see the fruits of my endeavors?"

"Would that stop a man from providing for his family even knowing that he may not live long enough to see his sons grow old? Sometimes Connor, we strive not because we choose to, but because we have to. It is our god-given duty."

"Yes, It is an obligation that I've been carrying for a while. To fight for the truth, always."

Father Timothy nodded. "And what is it you hold to be true?"

"That everyone should have a chance at freedom."

"The answer then, is yours to decide."

"I have responsibilities here." Connor said softly.

"Responsibilities passed on to you from Achilles, which I am sure we are more than capable of taking up in your stead." Timothy offered.

Connor nodded, hesitation still written on his face.

"It is not weakness to let go my son." Timothy continued, "Indeed, it is a sign of true strength. It's okay to trust others Connor, to share the burden that is too much for any one man to bear."

"It means I will be gone for a while."

Timothy smiled. "If, and I must stress, If that is what you decide, you will find us more than capable of managing the Homestead's affairs. We'll keep things in order until you return."

"I will have think deeply on this. Thank you father," Connor replied, standing up. "For your wisdom and guidance.""

"Always a pleasure Connor." Timothy smiled.

It was the last visit of the day that was the hardest for Connor, but the he put on a brave face as he climbed the hill leading up to the Mansion, and to the grave plots that sat behind the refurbished house. One of them was freshly dug, scarce a year ago, and that was where he made his stop.

"Hello old man..." Connor greeted the gravestone solemnly, kneeling down as he spoke. "I will be gone for a while. To support our brothers on the other side of the ocean, and to give hope to those who have never known it. I do not know if this is the right path, but you know that I've never been one to back away from a fight, especially if our enemies seek to rebuild their strength in the old world to come back and invade us."

He stood up, unsheathing a hatchet.

"I have left the homestead in good hands old man, they will do you proud. Just as I will strive to do. Farewell my brother...until we meet again."

As he passed the house, he eyed the post where he had made the first mark so many years ago, when William Johnson threatened to steal his peoples' lands away.

With great strength, he buried the hatchet into the wood once more. Then continued walking.

Like the war between the Templars and Assassins, his was a never ending fight, a never ending struggle.

And like always, he would rise to the challenge once more.

New York - December 1784

The bustling New York harbor was lively even in winter, merchants and farmers shuffled around the port market, selling their wares and securing their cargo against the blizzard winds with ropes and tarps. A forests of masts dominated the quiet New York skyline, as hundreds of ships of various sizes were at anchor, unloading their cargoes or being pulled ashore for cleaning and maintenance.

To Connor, the most familiar sight were the marching Continentals. Platoons of blue coated soldiers making their rounds and guarding the rooftops. Although he had fought mostly on the side of the colonists, there were instances were he had to cross them, and he watched the soldiers with a careful eye, as always.

He found Lafayette's ship at dock, the Nymph, as his letter had instructed. Carrying a sack of goods that had been given to him by his friends at the homestead as a final farewell gift. At this moment, it probably consisted of everything he owned.

At the harbor however, he was treated to a most curious sight, a gruff Frenchman sitting impatiently on a crate at the gangplank.

"Stephane." Connor grinned as he greeted him. The fiery Frenchman was one of his closest friends, and a worthy ally in the fight against the British.

"It should be you coming with me, I could use some work on my French after all."

"Bah!" Stephane spat. "I came to Quebec to get away from the connards (asses) in Paris, good luck getting me back there. Besides mon ami, I'm more useful to you here."

In that, Connor agreed.

"Stephane, you have been with me since the beginning. I leave the task of rebuilding the order in your hands. Carry on our work, look after our brothers and sisters, guide them, and see that this new land achieves the liberty it fought so hard for."

"I will not let you down Connor!" The Quebecois said confidently. "Mon Mentor."

"I know you will not." Connor extended his hand towards Stephane.

The frenchman grasped the hand firmly. "Nothing is true" He said fiercely with pride.

"And everything is permitted." Connor nodded. "May the spirits guide you as they have guided me, my brother."

The rest of the assassins gathered behind Stephane and watched solemnly as the man they had come to regard as a Mentor and friend boarded the ship.

"Connor! Welcome aboard." Lafayette gave his friend a pat on the shoulder, then led him on board. "The Nymph is not as swift as your Aquila, but she will bear us to France just as safely I assure you." Lafayette said jovially. "Now that you are here, we can depart."

Connor nodded, being a captain of his own ship, he was more than comfortable with his sea legs, he rested on the side of the ship as he stared out into the open sea, taking solace in its beauty.

A stray thought wandered in his mind, did his own father feel the same as he set sail across the waters? Not knowing whether he would return home or not...Regardless, he looked forward to the trip with much anticipation, even as the Nymph pulled out of New York harbor and towards the spraying seas of the east.

Towards the old World.

Europe.

Animus Database Entry - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings : The Treaty of Fort Stanwix 1784

The Treaty of Fort Stanwix was a treaty finalized on October 22, 1784, between the United States and Native Americans from the six nations of the Iroquois League. It was signed at Fort Stanwix, in present-day Rome, New York, and the first of several treaties between Native Americans and the United States after the American victory in the Revolutionary War. Since the status of Indian lands had been ignored in the Treaty of Paris, the treaty was intended to serve as a peace treaty between the Americans and the Iroquois, as well as for other Indian lands farther west, which the Iroquois had gained by conquest during the Beaver Wars of a century earlier. Ultimately, like everything in politics, it came to a dead end when the Six Nations claimed that the delegates they sent had no authority to give away land. At least they passed the time with rounds of drunken feasts, speeches and dancing. Now that's what I like to call productivity.

Animus Database Entry - Tactical Archive by Shaun Hastings : Joseph Brant

Joseph Brant, or Thayendanegea, was a Mohawk war chief, Loyalist, statesman. Brant saw limited action during the Seven Year's War and was with our friend Sir William Johnson in the expedition against Ft Niagara in 1759. In 1761 Johnson sent him to Moor's Indian and Charity School at Lebanon, Conn, where he stayed for 2 years. In 1765 Brant married an Oneida and settled at Canajoharie in the Mohawk Valley. For nearly a decade, he acted as an interpreter for Johnson and his successor in the British Indian Dept, Guy Johnson; aided missionaries in teaching Christianity to the Aboriginal people, and helped translate religious materials into Mohawk. With the outbreak of the American Revolution, Brant immediately rallied to the royal cause and visited England in 1775-76 with Guy Johnson.

On his return Brant fought throughout the war with an Aboriginal-Loyalist band. He was greatly admired as a soldier and was commissioned a captain by the British in 1780, but fought as a war chief. Beginning in 1783 and through the mid-1790s Brant worked to form a united confederation of Iroquois and western Aboriginal peoples in order to block American expansion westward. His dream ultimately was undermined by factionalist jealousies among the First Nations, by American opposition, and finally by British betrayal.

My first attempt at an AC fanfic at a semi-sequel to AC 3, please let me know your thoughts :) I don't own AC or any of the characters.