“let’s let the stars watch let them stare let the wind eavesdrop i don’t care”
He tells you the fight is over but the war is lost, going
against everything you’ve heard but speaking with raw honesty betrayed by his
shaking voice and bloodied fingers. You help him wash, help him rest, card your
fingers through his hair and fall asleep with his head in your lap. You wake
briefly when he stirs and rises, manage to smile blearily at him when he drapes
a throw over your shoulders and leaves.
You find him on the cliff overlooking the lake, wearing a
loose shirt and breeches and barefoot, the sun casting him in gold rays but
unbothered by the early heat. He lets you lace your fingers in his, lets you
provide your silent comfort; he huffs when you lift his shirt to check his
wound, your fingertips peeling away bloodied bandages and fussing in the same
way you always do when he’s injured.
He looks on fondly, silently warring with his embarrassment.
Your touch calms and distracts and soothes and heals, as it always has, and he
marvels at the change in the person you’ve become; so fearful of him when you’d
arrived, so quick to refer to Achilles before acting upon anything. How
surprised he’d been to overhear your raised voice, even more so when you’d
turned that heated tone on him and warned him that if he did not sit right
down this instant and let you look at that wound so help you god.
You don’t even need to ask anymore - he knows better than
argue with you.
“It will be alright,” you whisper to him. He lets you pull
him into a hug, your arms wrapping around his middle and your cheek against his
heart. “I promise.”
Achilles hit him over the head with his walking stick once,
for missing an opportunity to be alone with you.
“I think the window sills could use a brightening up,” you’d
said cheerfully, a basket over one arm and a shawl wrapped around your
“If you think so,” Connor had replied, none the wiser.
Connor remains sure to this day that you’d meant nothing by
it, wandering lightly down the steps and into the trees without even a glance
over your shoulder, but Achilles had thought differently. The old man had
scoffed and huffed and muttered and whacked Connor over the head before
tottering away, grumbling about needing to find plant pots. Connor had taken
that job from him and you’d returned to new pots on the sills and on the dining
room table, newly filled with muck and ready for flowers.
Achilles would be proud of him now, he thinks, for the way
he pulls you closer and rests his chin on your hairline. Achilles was proud of
everything he did, regardless of the terrible consequences.
Connor helps you plant flowers on Achilles’ grave. When you
teach him about the bulbs and plantings, he pretends he doesn’t know it all
Connor has (at least?) 1 son and 2 daughters. Well, our “I trust my own hands” boy has grown into a wonderful father. :D
The girl, who appears in the preview, is named Io:nhiòte and is one of his daughters.
The description of Connor’s “sad and lonely death” in Abstergo Entertainment Employee Handbook is nothing but FAKE NEWS from Templars. Connor lives happily ever after. So “life is not a fairytale and there are no happy endings” seems to be wrong~
I’m quite happy that after like more than 4 years, there is finally some continuity of Connor’s story after AC3 and furthermore, it is a happy ending!
The others in the village - they thought this was something I wanted. Something I chose to do. But it never felt that way to me. No, it was not a choice. It was an obligation. Because if not me, then who?