Hello, everyone! This is the rewrite version of Fallen Eagle, a sequel to my earlier fanfiction, Crossed Eagle. Looking back over it, I found several errors and realized that I was not satisfied with it as a whole. Majority of the content will be the same, but chapters will be edited and even new scenes will be added.

This will be based on the events of Assassin's Creed III, so a lot of the scenes will be based on the franchise, but I will change it up so it's still entertaining.

I like to welcome back any readers and new ones are welcomed. To those who are new, I recommend you go back and read Crossed Eagle, but if not, read on.

Also, I have hectic schedule with school and other things. I will attempt to make weekly updates to a certain point, but there may be a chance I will fail to do so.

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed III or anything that has to do with Ubisoft

Warnings: language, explicit violence, situations of angst, racial slurs

The pounding of hooves on the hard ground filled the air.

Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent.

The wind howled as the trees danced wildly, their leaves flying away in swarms. Their arm-like branches reached out, like they were to snatch any who passed by.

Hide in plain sight.

The sun shined brilliantly overhead, radiating warmth and light poured through the forest canopy. Shadows danced across the ground, their darkness looking a strange contrast in the beautiful daylight.

Never compromise the Brotherhood.

Another set of hooves joined the first, this one accompanied by the frustrated shouts of a man. More were quickly to follow.

These are the tenets of the Creed.

The horse whinnied when a swift kick was delivered to his sides, but he continued to gallop.

Tenets I used to live by. But now…

The stallion whinnied in protest as his rider pulled the reins hard, causing the beast to rear. Selah spun her upper body around, holding out a flintlock. A flash of red appeared through the trees, several more quickly appearing.

Now I follow the Father of Understanding.

The Templar fired, sending the British soldier falling from his horse and crashing to the ground, shattering his skull on impact. Selah re-holstered her weapon and spun back around, spurring the gelding onwards. The shouts of the redcoat patrol echoed behind her, the hooves of their steeds almost deafening her sensitive hearing. The pounding of her racing heart didn't help. Sweat formed a thin layer on her skin, having her clothes stick to her body. The sticky wetness of blood on her neck still oozed from her wound.

The forest soared by in green streaks, shadow and light dancing across her vision. The distorted world was broken when suddenly the gelding crashed into a creek, throwing white water into the air and drenching the young woman. She kicked the horse to urge him back on land, but now the regulars were close. Selah had just spun her horse around a tree when the crack of a musket sounded, splintering the bark next to her ear.

The Templar galloped through the forest, never halting her near-lame steed for a moment. Branches and leaves slapped in her face, leaving bleeding scrapes and bruises. Selah paid no mind. She was too distracted with more pressing matters. The British soldiers remained hot on her heels, eager to capture their prey. But Selah had spent almost her entire life in the frontier. She knew it more than almost any man alive. Meanwhile the regulars had difficulty navigating through the trees, obviously not used to chasing fugitives through the wilderness.

It wasn't long before their cursing and roars faded behind her, swallowed up by the quiet of the forest. Replacing their shouts was the heavy respiration of the Templar's gelding, yellow crust on his lips and eyes glazed. He was well beyond his limits. Selah panted along with him and her heart was hammering against her ribs. Her long, black hair tickled her face and stuck to the accumulating blood on her neck. Selah still pushed on, but took pity on her animal by slowing him to a canter.

Now to—

A blast of a musket deafened the Templar's hearing. The horse let out a high-pitched scream as he crashed onto the ground. Instead of throwing his rider off, Selah was crushed underneath the beast's weight, the animal completely on top of the lower half of her body.

Disoriented, the woman moaned as she tried to pull herself from underneath her prison, but it was of no use. Suddenly the thunder of hooves reached her ears. The Templar looked up to see a British captain on his own horse, coming to a halt within the clearing. Aiming a loaded musket at her. The man gave a wicked sneer.

Panicked, Selah pulled to free herself from her prison, but her legs did not move. They were trapped. The woman fumbled for her second flintlock, only to realize with horror she wouldn't be fast enough.

A crack of gunfire echoed.

Selah instinctively shut her eyes, bracing for the musket to tear into her flesh. The Templar felt no pain.

Opening her eyes, she watched with a confused gaze as the soldier's face fell and his eyes glazed. He lowered his musket and simply sat on the saddle, unmoving. Finally gravity gained a hold on him, having the corpse slide off of the horse and crash onto the earth with a thud. Behind him, Selah saw her savior.

It was a man with a dark coat wrapped around his body, only exposing a crimson waistcoat underneath. The coat was adorned with Templar symbols. The man tied his dark hair back in a makeshift queue and his eyes were even darker than his outfit. A thin, pale scar cut across his right eye. His gaze was narrowed as he lowered his still-smoking flintlock.

Instead of showing her gratitude, Selah demanded, "Is it done?"

Shay Cormac's dark gaze was it all. No.

Suddenly a distant rumbling came, having a sense of horror fall over the woman. Finally gaining leverage and wiggling free from her confines, the Templar jumped to her feet. She ignored the soreness in her body. Selah raced to the treeline, only to be greeted with a sea of red.

A stampede of horses went down a hill, carrying an entire cavalry of British soldiers. They looked like that army of Satan, being led by the God of the Dead himself. He sped ahead on a beautiful silver stallion, his cool blue clothing contrasted greatly with his comrades'. His glistening silver hair contrasted greater with his shadowed, stern face-his dark eyes narrowed dangerously. He waved a flintlock in the air, even firing it to rally his troops.

Ahead of the army was the wood of the forest, but it was arranged in tall, well-placed structures. Longhouses made of pale branches stood in the soldiers' wake, surrounded by a tall barrier that would be shattered beneath the stampede. A native village.

"No!" Selah screamed.

The Templar lunged forward, only to be locked in place. Her hands claws at the foreign limbs around her waist. Suddenly the horrid scene before her was receding, causing her flails to become more frantic.

"No! Let me go, Shay!" Selah protested. The elder Templar ignored her, seeming oblivious to her painful strikes and ear-splitting screeches. "We need to stop them!"

"It's too late now," Shay retorted, "there's nothing we can do."

Selah continued her struggling protests as the Irishman half-dragged, half-carried her back into the shelter of the forest. Before the surrounding trees completely engulfed her, the former Assassin caught a glimpse at the God of the Dead once again.

He had drawn his sword and an even darker, wild look appeared in his eyes. His side still bled from when Selah had stabbed him, but he seemed to be oblivious. The Templar's wound still throbbed from when he had shot her in retribution for the assassination attempt.

Now he was to kill innocents.

Selah raised her voice to a deafening roar that seemed to echo across the valley.

"GODDAMN YOU, GEORGE WASHINGTON!"