Hello Everyone,

This is my first published Fanfiction story, so please be nice if I do make some mistakes. I edited this + reviewed it to make sure it's the best it can be, but I will eagerly accept critique and tips on improvement! =^^=

I have chapters written already, so tell me if you like this one, and I will publish more :3

This story does contain AC3 ending spoilers so please read only if you have completed the game or don't really care and just want to read something ^^''

Disclaimer: Any Assassin's Creed character's used in this fanfic are not mine, they belong to Ubisoft. The images used for the cover are also not mine, I have just edited them and added text (and bright colors) to make it nice. So they are not mine.

Enjoy and thank you so much in advance for reading! . I apologise for the long intro above!

- AssassinSuzy :)

By a Templar's Side

'The course of true love never did run smooth' – William Shakespeare

I

Sunday 16th September 1781 – Afternoon

Annora was a timid girl. She preferred her secluded confinement in the comfort of her rose garden, where she could, despite the constant telling-off she received for it in her younger days, read and learn; her most enjoyed pastime. 'You're a woman for goodness sake! Get your nose out of those books and into the kitchen!'

She smirked under her breath, all that learning got her somewhere. At least she had a home of her own, not to mention the income she received for her artwork! Life was good, comfortable, if not too good at times. She directed her strong emerald eyes to the cottage that stood by the garden, her pale lips turned at the corners into a sad smile. She felt her hands intertwine awkwardly as she struggled to pull herself together. It still felt lonely, no matter how busy you were. Living on the outskirts of New York, you would see a soul pass by only every few days, and it felt so long since she actually visited her mother and sisters. She felt lonely, and the heavy burden of said loneliness felt the worst at moments like these. The cottage was a small and cosy stone house, decorated with the ever-growing moss and the damp air of deterioration that surrounded it ever since she came to live there. She hastily got up, brushing her summer dress down, and approached the doors. The sun was too much for her. The all too familiar kitchen revealed itself, shrouded with the nostalgic smell of chocolate muffins and the annoying sound of creaking wood beneath her feet. She closed the door quietly and decided to spend the rest of the burning afternoon re-reading one of the books in her vast collection. She proceeded to make some tea and took a quick glance in the mirror that was barely sitting straight on the wall. Her rusty locks bounced as she checked for the first visible signs of sunburn, and her expression turned from observant to wide-eyed in a matter of seconds when she saw the door creaking open. The sudden silence broke when she heard the heavy breathing of whoever was invading her home and the loud noise their boots were making against her weak floorboards.

"Who's there?", she asked nervously, "has anyone ever taught you how to knock?", she added when the figure set foot in her home. It took her a few seconds to register who has just entered the house and with what, or rather whom, thrown over his bulky shoulders.

"Charles? Charles Lee! Is that you?", she ran towards him and allowed him to take a seat on the armchair she quickly readied for him. He only half-smiled, hardly breathing. He dumped the body on a nearby lounge chair as carefully as he could and hastily took a seat on the dark leather armchair, taking a few seconds to calm himself.

"Ann, yes it's me", he gazed up at her with blood-shot eyes, "you have no idea how glad I am to see you". She stared at him for a moment and then looked over at what he brought in. Her eyes widened furthermore and she slapped her forehead, then started speed-walking around frantically, panicking and raising her hands up, rather annoyed.

"Who's that?", her voice hitched. "He's not dead is he?", before the dark-haired man could respond she came up with her own conclusions. "I know you're involved with that whole 'Templar' business, but, don't try to get me to take the blame for murdering-"

"It's not like that, listen to me". She gave him a hard stare, her eyes searching his own dark ones for an answer. She scanned his ivory face, his graying black hair and messy beard. He evidently aged since she saw him a few years ago. His expression was deadly serious.

"I know you didn't want to see me – after what had happened – but can we forget that for a moment?", he avoided her gaze but knew she wouldn't have the heart to decline. She simply nodded, her hands clenching into fists.

"This man," he pointed to the man lying on the lounge, directing her eyes to the figure once again, "he is my mentor from the order, and he made me promise to find him somewhere to recover if he ever found himself in a situation such as this", he took a breath. Her hands landed on her hips unhappily.

"And instead of an inn, I'm somehow the good Samaritan and my house has suddenly turned into a hospital?", her voice was stern but wavering, he knew exactly why she was acting like this, putting on her 'tough independent woman' disguise on. She was very bad at lying.

"I wouldn't have brought him here if I thought you couldn't help him, Ann", his sorrowful eyes met hers again. She brought one hand up to her temple, guilt already tying itself around her heart.

"I know, I just- I'm sorry, I'm not used to having people stay over, and moreover helping them medically, I don't know if I can do it", her eyes tore from his and glided over to the injured man. She approached him and turned him over. His breathing was slow and shallow, he wasn't conscious either. Compassion and reason battled each other in the recesses of her mind.

"Please, for as long as you can, he is a sought out man, I cannot let him die", Charles was gripped with fear for the first time in his life. "I cannot let his work go in vain", his voice was sharp and determined, persuasive.

"What about his wounds? They're very serious, I can't fix them up", she took a heavy breath, "he's dying Charles, and suffering", she paused as she noticed how distraught he was.

"I hired a doctor who's on his way", he gritted through his teeth. They gazed at each other for the longest time while the small woman thought everything through. Meddling in the Templar-Assassin war would get her nowhere, and there were many risks involved. But on the other hand, she wouldn't forgive herself if she let the man die, her conscience would never even let her forget how she didn't attempt to help him or the image of the man's peaceful and well contoured face, nearing his end by the hour. She suddenly let out a sigh and closed her eyes for a few seconds, making sure she was making the right decision.

"He can take the spare bed upstairs, you're lucky I have one", she smiled faintly at Charles, who's reaction more than surprised her. She found herself inside his firm and thankful embrace, lasting less than half of a minute and leaving her awfully flushed.

"I am in your debt Ann", he beamed as she regained her composure and after a minute or so followed him as he took the man upstairs and laid him down on the spare bed. The stone walls of the bedroom were covered with ivory paint and the floor matched the one downstairs. Annora's neatly made bed rested on the right with the spare bed opposite next to the window. Further on, a small wooden wardrobe stood right next to a dark ebony vanity table and a small cushioned chair. In the corner piles of materials were scattered around accompanied by a few clean canvases and sets of brushes. Charles looked around, the familiar room hasn't changed at all, however the walls were decorated with paintings which he has never seen before.

"I'll hold onto that promise", she smiled, grabbing the tiny chair from the vanity table and pulling it next to the bed, gently sitting on it. He gave her a warm grin, an expression only she could get out of his usually cruel and vicious character, as he crouched down beside her.

"It always smells of muffins in your house Ann", he said quietly, as if trying to change the subject, hint the past. What has been and how good life was. She was about to respond when he got up abruptly and for a mere second or two put his hand on her head and ran it through her soft hair.

"I must go, treat him as much as your skill allows you, I will be back in a week", with those words, Charles Lee stepped downstairs, shut the wooden doors behind him, and was gone as fast as he arrived, leaving Annora in dominating confusion, which would not leave her for the rest of the day.

After pacing around the room for more than five minutes, struggling to figure out exactly what is going on, Annora grabbed a jug, ceramic bowl and as much bandages and towels as she could find. Sweat slowly dripped down her neck as she poured some water into the jug from the tiny well in her garden. She hurried upstairs and filled the bowl with water, all in the matter of literally life-saving minutes.

"Okay, cleaning up wounds means first getting to them, meaning I will have to-", her eyebrows shot up and panic appeared in her once calm eyes, followed by a hot rush of blood to her cheeks. "Take his garments off", her voice died down as she stuttered. Her hands were now shaking and a stench of blood seeped through the room as she undid his tight and navy blue trench coat. Slowly pushing it to the sides, she now discovered the next step of her difficult journey. One by one she undid the buttons and hooks, filtering through layers of expensive waistcoats to finally see his white flannel shirt, soaked in the red liquid. Her hands were trembling by this stage, her face red covered with embarrassment, "if my mother saw me, she would get a heart attack", she muttered. Her fingers reached the top button and unhooked it carefully, then the next one. And the one after that, until slowly the sight of a trained and magnificent chest came into view, somehow causing the back of her mind to urge her to hurry up. When she finished she moved the sides of the shirt apart to revel in the long-awaited sight of the man's chest. "Ann, what on earth are you doing?", she cursed. She was never like this, the normal and timid Ann would never take delight in undoing a man's shirt and staring at it as if it was some sort of painting. "Oh but it is! A painting, a landscape full of ridges and hills", her hand nervously reached out to feel the said ridges. "So smooth, as if oil paints were delicately applied with as much care as was needed", her artistic side took over unexpectedly before she snapped herself back to reality.

"Pull yourself together young lady!", she could hear her mother's voice cursing at her in her own mind. As she dipped a clean cloth in the bowl of water she inspected the man's features – other than his chest – observing his peaceful comatose expression. His face was strong and slender, showing few if any signs of ageing and wrinkles. His eyelids were adorned with long eyelashes but nonetheless his face almost painted out his character, a serious and focused man, full of authority and power.

"A Templar huh'?", the young woman let out a sigh. Remembering Lee's desperate reaction to the man's circumstances she thoughtfully added, directing her words at the unconscious man, "Charles must have really respected you if he allowed himself to keep an actual promise", the time when he broke the promise made to her flew back into her mind and she scoffed. That sacred promise, said breaking of it destroyed the trust she had in him. Moreover remembering the consequences shattered her heart even more. But, that was long ago, too long to keep dwelling on it. Annora carefully took her time cleaning up the mortal wounds and, despite the heavy bleeding, she had to admit she did a pretty good job. She lifted the man up slightly with all the power she had and took his stained garments to the side, deciding on washing them later. She propped up the man's pillow and covered him with the cotton sheets before taking a final glance at him. A loud knock downstairs ripped her compassionate gaze from the half-dead man and she hurried down, the wooden stairs creaking beneath her feet like never before. She turned the handle and opened the door slightly to have a look at the finely dressed man who stood before her. An older gentleman with a large satchel by his side and a long, almost white, mustache. He greeted her rather seriously and in obvious haste.

"Miss Collet if I'm correct?"

"Yes, what's the matter?"

"I'm a doctor hired by Mr. Lee, I'm supposed to have a look at a gentleman who is under your care?"

"Ah! Yes please do come in!", she hurried the man inside and motioned for him to follow her upstairs into the small bedroom. He sat at the side of the bed and his expression faltered, sinking heavily.

"I will do what I can, as I can already see you have cleaned the wounds", he admitted and she nodded silently. He took out his various medical instruments and poured alcohol over the wound. She watched in pain as the blood and flesh sizzled. Half an hour passed by, then another half. The doctor turned to her, removing his gloves and packing his things, sighing heavily.

"I've done all that is in my power, cleaned and patched up the wounds, removed a bullet or two", she gasped, "bandage him up if you can Miss, but", he gave her an apologetic look before turning away. "I doubt he can survive the night with wounds as mortal as these. It would be a miracle if he made it by morning". She could not help but whimper silently at the grim news, it was sad to see someone die. Even if that someone was a complete stranger.

"Thank you Doctor", she ushered him downstairs and towards the door.

"You take care Miss", he smiled as he left, her expression breaking like glass. Then the thought of Charles' reaction caused her to whimper once again. She didn't want him to feel the pain of loss, loss of someone you care about, someone who has changed you, whether for the better or for the worse. She tiredly made her way upstairs again, taking the cup of cold tea she had made for herself hours before with her. She sat on the armchair by the bed and gazed sadly at the sleeping man for what seemed like forever.

"I doubt he can survive the night"

Despite her efforts, her eyes welled up and she rested her arms on the bed, burying her face in it, hoping to stop the tears, to stop weeping for a stranger, whose name she didn't even know. A few minutes passed and she bolted up, took the bandages and proceeded to cover the man's wounds.

"Might as well make what you can out of your last hours right?", she chuckled, but the laughter was cracking in despair. She sat back down and gazed out of the window at the setting sun and its beautiful horizon. She folded her arms on the bed once again, resting her cheek against them, watching the weak movement of the mans chest as it moved up and down with every breath he took.

"I was never this close to a man before, even Charles, he-", her voice cracked again. "Whatever you have done, you shouldn't have been killed, not like this at least", she admitted, despite knowing that he was a Templar. That he wasn't a good man.

"Please, I don't want to see another person die", she took a breath, "please". She watched the sun go down completely but she could not fall asleep, muttering 'please' over and over again, resting by his side and praying for a miracle. In the end her eyes, exhausted as much as she was, gave way and she fell into a deep and mournful sleep.

Hope you all enjoyed, please leave a favorite if you did, and a review if you would like more. It really helps! Thank you :)