AN: WARNING. This chapter contains violence, swearing, torture, death and animal abuse.

Yep, this is an intense chapter. You know what really grinds my gears sometimes about this fandom? They seem to not make the connection between the fact that an Assassin is a murderer. At least in my humble opinion, Connor, Dobby, Stephane etc are not good people. They are murderers and regardless of their motives, I could not condone their actions if I knew them personally. In saying that, it doesn't mean that they aren't interesting. Or that I don't like their personalities. But I don't think they're good people… if that makes sense!

The aim of the chapter is to reinforce that feeling of mine. That if you were a normal person, like Myriam or Norris, looking at the actions of Dobby or Stephane, you would be shocked, appalled and disgusted. These people are murderers and they live in a completely different world of morals than I do.

Therefore, I repeat, there is torture, violence and animal abuse in this chapter.

Now, to shout outs!

Madzilla1010: I dub thee, official best reviewer of this story. Arrived a bit later than some other ones but you've reviewed every chapter and been really, really, exceptionally kind. You're exactly what an author hopes to get when they get a reviewer. You're awesome.

Rachel: No romance for Connor, I'm afraid! He's a bit of a lone wolf!

Stuck In Oblivion: You love how I what? Tell me! Oh god, the suspense. What a cliffhanger of a review! I want to know what the rest of that sentence was going to say!

Sofia: It's an awesome compliment to be told that it's similar in style to the game. Thank you so much!

Cherry Chain: I know the feeling so bad! I used to have the same thing happen to me when I was in university. It's that torn feeling between wanting to pass, and wanting to read more fanfiction! You've give me a great idea though for upcoming, stand alone homestead chapters!

And to all the rest, you're praise is simply divine! I am overwhelmed by how kind you all are, especially because I nearly have an anxiety attack when I upload these chapters. I'll never be the kind of person to truly believe my work is as good as the reviews say. But thanks for sticking by me anyways and for being so kind!

And one last note, this is the final chapter in the mini-story arc.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ AC3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dobby lines up her rifle.

Her posture, as usual, is perfect. Her legs are just the right width apart. Her hands unshaking in their handle of the weapon. Her eyes, never blinking.

She takes a breath and her heart nearly ceases to beat.

She slowly curls her finger to pull the trigger.

The can flies off, somewhere into the forestry behind the inn. She lets go of the breath restrained in her chest, lowers the rifle and looks beside her.

Myriam is holding a pistol, the barrel smoking as she grins and lowers the gun.

"Good shot," says Deborah, genuinely.

Myriam cocks her eyebrow, before tucking the gun into her waistband and turning to face the rest of the group. After another wary glance at the woman, Dobby follow suits, although she instead slings her gun across her shoulders. Her fingers itch to use it, now that it's loaded and the adrenaline is running through her.

Stephane is chatting with Norris, their faces a mess of expressions, laughs and the occasional frown. They seem to talk with their hands, although their words flow like water from their mouths. It makes her smile to see them already so close, bonded by the nature of their segregation due to their accents.

The sun is hardly up.

The birds seem lethargic and even she has to fight back a yawn. She enjoyed her rest at the inn, she always slept well before a mission. However, she missed its comfort and the softness of her pillow. The air is chilly in the morning, despite the heat that comes at noon.

"So," she says to the group, and Norris and Stephane stop talking, "Are we ready?"

Three nods reply to her statement and she nods in return.

"You sure?" She asks, just to make sure.

"We're sure," says Norris, his eyes suddenly darker and heavier beneath his brow. Dobby is used to see the killing look come over the eyes of her guild-members but it seems oddly foreign and strange on the peasants face.

"Okay, then. Let's go. Don't tarry behind."

They head off in the direction of the mansion, their footsteps loud and hardly hidden as they head up the path. A lace curtain ruffles in a house as they pass and she watches it for a moment, wondering who was staring back at them.

The walk is short and not long enough by her accounts. She's fine with what she's about to do, after all, it's part of her job. But she doesn't want to scare the two villagers, to make them wonder just who Connor is friends with.

She thinks about Connor for a moment and disregards her previous thoughts. Whatever she did for his safety would be worth it.

"Okay," she says, as she rounds on Myriam and Norris. "You aren't coming in for this bit."

"What!" Says Myriam, with outrage on her face. "Why not? I have just as much right to confront him as you do."

"You do but you don't have the guts to do what I'm about to do."

"Yes I do. You have no idea of what I'm capable of."

"That doesn't matter. You're both staying here."

"No."

"I know the man up ahead," she admits, lying only slightly. She knows of him, not necessarily personally though. "He'll kill you. You're too important to Connor. And besides, this isn't even the important part, this is just gathering the information."

"I want to go up."

"Well, you can either act like a brat and through a tantrum or contribute effectively to a plan that might save Connor's life. Are you a hindrance or a helper?"

Myriam grumbles, her eyes angry and dark, "A helper."

"Good." She says, turning around, "Then stay here. Actually, no. Don't stay here. If you want to actually be of some help, go and fetch Dr Lyle."

"Why?" Says Myriam, warily.

"You'll see."

She walks off with Stephane, feel a slight sense of irritation come over her. This is why she liked being on her own. Less tantrum's.

The mansion door shudders under her heavy knock.

Footsteps resound inside.

She can imagine him, still waking up in the daylight, perhaps shaving in the upstairs bathroom. He probably has a silk housecoat on, with images of peacocks or Asian women trailing down its lapels. She imagines an early glass of whisky and the way he'd smooth out his moustache with an eerie precision, before smiling at his reflection in the mirror.

It's funny that he is in a satin housecoat when he opens the door.

As she expects, his face turns from expectation to disgust at the sight of them. She sees him quickly flick his eyes, a single glance taking in the sight of the guns, the concealed weapons and their hardened expressions. He's a Templar, she reflects. Through and through.

"What?" He says, moodily.

"I think you know," she says, wearily.

He steps back a pace but his expression doesn't change.

"Springing on me while I'm unarmed? How savage. In fact, it's just what I'd expect from anyone lead by that half breed mutt. I didn't think you'd guess who I was though, being as stupid as you both are."

"You sure you want to continue with that?" Says Stephane, his eyebrow arching dangerously high.

"I'll do whatever I want," he says. "And if you don't leave my porch right now, I'll make you regret it."

Two burly men step into view, obviously just having awaken as well. One is shirtless and has thick curls of hair on his chest and back. The other is slight, with various tattoos and scars on his abdomen.

They stand behind the peacock man, glowering.

Dobby trades a glance with Stephane and he bobs his head, as if saying, 'alright, we gave him a chance.'

She sighs.

She did give him a chance.

Within a few moments, Dobby has raised her musket and fired at Alistair's leg.

The reaction is loud and they're well prepared for the screams. She hopes that Myriam is watching and that's she's chewing on her earlier words. She wasn't cut out for this part of the plan, only the assassins are.

The appendage bursts at the close range shot and the blood splatters across their clothing. It bothers her because she quite liked her slacks and blood is a serious pain to get out.

The two men are slightly shocked by the action but they react quickly, charging at Dobby and Stephane like bulls. She ducks to the side of one and slams her fist into his ribs while he turns to follow her. He steps back a pace and lifts his arm to cradle the impact area, a movement she grins at. Jumping slightly, she raises her arm and slams the hidden blade into the top of his spine, lodging it just below his skull.

He seizes up and she withdraws the blade as he falls to his knees. His massive body shakes uncontrollably and he doesn't scream, although his mouth and eyes are wide with shock. He's dead by the time he hits the floor, although his body continues to shudder and twitch.

She looks over just in time to see Stephane break a chair over the other mans head. He falls to the ground as well and lays unmoving next to his colleague.

They breathe heavily, looking each other over with a glance for any wounds. Emerging unscathed from the fight, they round on the peacock man, who is on the floor.

"We gave you a chance," says Stephane, as they drag the man inside.

He's screaming and clawing at the ground, his eyes as white and wide as a panicked horse. There is blood on the walls, on the man and on them. It's quite a nice shade of red, just what she imagines the perfect rose to look like. Maybe a bit darker than a truly lovely rose but nice. His bloodied stump of a leg leaves a red trail on the floor as they drag him and they both grind their teeth in irritation from the screaming and carrying on. His shoe, with a decapitated foot, is in the corner of the hallway, flung there by the force of the shot. He still screams and carries on as they dump him on the floor and stand back.

Really, thinks Dobby to herself, it was only one leg.

Hardly enough for such a fuss.

"You just shot off my fucking leg!" Screams the man, his eyes still wide. Sweat is pouring off him and they both know that he's going into shock.

"I did," she admits.

She presses the mansion door shut and pulls up a fading wooden chair. Sitting on it, she cradles her rifle on her lap and watches him. Stephane, having previously broke the chairs counterpart over the burly man's head, stands behind her.

"You shot off my fucking leg!"

"We've established that already," she says.

He's gasping for breath and gripping onto the appendage for dear life. Dobby watches the pool of blood grow bigger and bigger. Now that it's spread across the floor, she quite likes the colour. It's a bit lighter than at first, a bit clearer.

"Now," she says, carefully, "you're going to die if I don't do anything about that leg. It's not a probably or a maybe. You will die if I choose to leave you here."

"You're fucking bartering with me? After you just shot off my fucking leg?"

"Well, yes. I am. I mean, really, what did you expect? You come into our territory, kidnapped our international leader and you expect us to just ask you politely for his whereabouts? It's almost like you've forgotten what we are. I kill for a living. So does Stephane. Shooting off your leg is quite mundane compared to things I've done before. Just look at your two men, they were nothing. We hardly lost our breath killing them."

"I'll kill you all," he says, rocking back and forth, his face tight from the pain.

"No, you won't. You're going to die," she pauses, for dramatic effect. "Of course, you don't have to."

"I'm fucking going to kill you. I'll cut you up, I'll hunt you down and slice you –"

"Yes, yes," says Stephane, "We get it. You're going to kill us. Okay, we know. Can we move on now?"

"I agree," says Stephane, "If you die before we come to an arrangement, I'll be very disappointed."

Alistair spits and it lands in his own blood. His face is pale and he's shivering and still rocking back and forth.

"Okay, so, here's the deal. You tell us where Connor is and I'll get you a Doctor."

"Fuck you both. I'll murder you and take your intestines and –"

"We get it. Okay. We really get it. Can we move on now? I'm trying to sort this out and you're being very uncooperative."

"I'll never tell you anything. I'll die before I say a word."

"With that attitude you will."

Alistair is ignoring them and tearing off parts of his shirt. He's wrapping the rags around his stump, whimpering as the blood soaks through within moments. He unwraps the rags and ties them just above the stump, cutting off circulation to the area.

"Without a Doctor, that isn't going to help. You need professional care, not some rags. I'll get you that help, if you tell us where Connor is."

He laughs, the sound hollow and filled with agony, "I've prepared for death all my life. You can't convince me by hanging that in front of me. You asked…" he takes a deep breath, before struggling through the pain, "whether I realised who you are. Well do you realise who I am? I'm a Templar and a bit of blood or the promise of death does nothing to phase me."

"We know," says Stephane. "But what about revenge."

The man stops rocking in place.

"Being dead won't make us pay for this. Being dead will only mean death. But life means time to find us. Life means time to make us pay."

The man grunts, "You would let me go, just to be hunted?"

"Yes. If you will tell us his location."

The man pauses, making eye contact with them. They can see the fury in his eyes, the demonic rage that is building within them. She knows that she might be tortured in the future, that she might die from his attempts at revenge. But it'd be worth it, to see Connor free.

"Fine," he struggles out with.

She nods, "Watch him Stephane."

"What the fuck am I going to do with one leg you idiot?" He says, through gritted teeth.

She shrugs, not really caring.

He's started to froth at the mouth a bit, a bad sign. Luckily, and she tries not to show just how lucky it is, a knock is at the door. Stephane moves to open it but she stops him, gently.

"I-I was going to yell out," says the Templar, shakily, "but I'm guess they're friends of yours. Hardly the…" he swallows, "help I need."

"They're friends… but they also have help with them. If you tell us Connor's location, you will survive."

"And if I don't?"

"You're dead. Why would you care?"

"Not a god fearing women, then." He laughs, and the sound jars her and she shifts her shoes back a bit, to save them from the blood that is starting to spread further and further. She wonders if he even has any more blood to give. She wonders if she's taken this too long, whether he will really survive.

"Fine then," he says, "He's to the North-West. Farther than where you hunt. There is a cabin in the woods. It looks small and run down but underneath is where you'll find him."

She smiles, "Good. I'm glad you cooperated. Although, I'll have to let you know, I'm going to personally kill anyone in that cabin who isn't on our side."

"Go ahead," says the man, "they're idiots. Mindless drones. We have hundreds of them just waiting for the chance to serve us. We say they're Templars and they bow to the ground for us. But they're just meatheads, nothing but wasted space."

She gets up from the chair and Stephane opens the door a bit, before turning back to her, waiting for her nod, and swinging it wider.

Dr Lyle, as planned, is standing next to Myriam and Norris, all of whom are staring in at them.

Their expressions instantly change as they take in the sight. Of the musket in her hand, the blood splattered walls and the shaking, pale, angry looking one-legged man that is lying on the ground. Not to mention the two dead bodies that are laying on the floor.

"What on earth happened here?" Says the Doctor, as he shuffles into the room, kneels next to Alistairs, opens his medical bag and starts to examine the wound.

"We had a disagreement," says Stephane, "Try to keep him alive. We're going."

"You can't just leave!"

"I think we can," says the man, staring down at Dr Lyle. The Doctor avoids eye contact, sweat forming on his brow as he gets to work.

Myriam, Norres and Dobby follow Stephane out into the sunlight. They breath deeply, trying to get the smell of iron and rust out from their nose and the sight of a mangled stump from their minds.

The two villagers are watching them.

She hardly cares.

They were going to find out sooner or later that they were better at hurting others than most people are. She doesn't take a huge amount of pride in what sometimes has to be done but she knows her job is needed. Death is sometimes the only punishment worthy of such evil men. She knows that the man inside, the one with the satin housecoat and the missing leg, will never stop trying to find them. But it gives her a certain amount of comfort. The stability of knowing that she'll always be an Assassin and never a Templar.

"Let's go," she says, breaking the intense staring of the other group. They still watch her wearily although they follow her around the back of the house to the horses that are snorting and pawing at the doors of their stalls. She notices their thinness, the way that their hair is patched and matted. They are sick and she knows that their ride might be the last that they ever do.

"The bastard didn't take care of the horses," says Myriam, with a wince as she looks at the animals.

"Not true," says Stephane, "they would be dead by now if that was true. They have been ill tended but they have been tended."

"Choose one," says Dobby, as she grabs her tack and saddle and starts to place it on a chestnut horse that snorts anxiously at the movement.

"But they won't last the ride," says Myriam. "We'll run them into the ground. They need food and water and good grazing."

"Then we'll run them into the ground. So choose your horse."

The woman gives her a disgusted look but Dobby just turns away and tightens the buckle a little bit. The saddle is loose enough that it's comfortable for the horse but tight enough that she won't fall off. Getting on the beast is difficult as it dances away from her, although not very far as it hits the side of its stall.

She tugs on the reigns and notices a shift in the animal as it turns once more into the domesticated animal that it is. She kicks it gently in the sides and it walks out, slowly into the sunlight.

The other animals follow, although their movements are slow and they seem heavy on their feet and tired. Myriam pats her horses neck and whispers to the animal, but Dobby does neither. She isn't going to get attached to the animal. Her goal is Connor and she's ridden plenty of horses to the ground before. She's had horses shot in the head while she's riding them, she's had them break a leg and fall to the ground. She's had animals that have simply died of fright as she's dodged incoming bullets.

It's all in a day's work really.

Kicking the animals into a light trot, she leads the group onto the path and into the sunlight. They thunder over the rough ground and she lets herself breath deeply for the fresh, country air.

Myriam and Norris don't ask where they are going as they seem to realise that she is in control. That it isn't her first adventure. She notices that Norris rides closely to Myriam, as if to protect her. The thought makes her laugh. Myriam would have a better chance at fighting them off than Norris ever would.

They ride for only a few minutes until the path ends.

Pulling at the reigns, she slows her horse into a walk and veers off the clear path and into the forest. For an hour or so, they walk slowly, listening carefully to the sounds of the forest. She hears howls and hoots and birds singing in the sunshine. She hears streams bubbling, leaves rustling and twigs snapping.

They move deeper into the wilderness, they day growing longer as they travel. She wonders, when the hours start to drag, whether it's the right direction.

The first clue she gets though, is a lookout.

The man is obviously part of the Templars. He's too observant, too cautious of their approach and too muscular for a normal villager. She wastes no time in making progress.

Lifting her rifle again, she shoots him. The shot, from long distance, strikes at his chest and the force of the bullets causes the man to fall back into the undergrowth, face up. Red blood litters the ground.

"Good shot," says Stephane as they continue to move and she notes the deafening silence from Norris and Myriam.

They are more watchful as they move through the forest and she keeps an eye on the mans tracks, following them as they wind a bit further up the hill and descend over the rise. As they crest the hill, the valley below unfurls beneath them, a picturesque scene of forestry and a single, solitary cabin.

Hopping off their mounts, they tie the horses to the nearby trees. Looking down into the valley, they can see a plume of smoke rise from the chimney of the cabin. Dobby is slightly surprised that they actually managed to find the place. The wilderness surrounding the Homestead was hardly easy to navigate.

"Okay," she says, turning to them. "This is the plan. We take to the trees, take down the guards as quietly as possible and get inside that cabin. Do whatever you need to, if it means getting closer. Leave your morals behind with the horses or don't get in our way."

They nod, although Norris looks concerned, "ah, well, I am not trying to be difficult. I wish that I was making this easy but the thing is, I can not climb trees as well as all of you."

"Hm," says Stephane, "One unit on the ground shouldn't be an issue."

"Okay. Then I'll follow."

"Good, let's go," Dobby says.

Jumping into the trees, they move higher and higher into the canopy. The air grows lighter and fresher as they move further up, until eventually, they are standing at the top and staring down at the valley.

Jumping to the next tree, they try to keep quiet. She hardly cares about the guards but she knows it's necessary to take them out.

When she spots another, standing under a thick branch, she quickly hops onto the branch and drops. The guard make a slight gasping sound but she's already broken his ribs and probably punctured his lungs. She leaves him gasping on the ground, foam bubbling at his mouth.

She hears another impact from further in the trees, but sees Myriam and Stephane run overhead. Norris is obviously contributing to their stealth.

Eventually, they are on the border of the tree line, overlooking the cabin.

Two guards pace out front, completely unaware of their presence. She hears a slight sound, hardly enough to bother the guards down below and turns to watch Myriam. The woman's bow is loaded and ready to go. She gives Dobby a look, as if asking if it's alright to kill them, before frowning, concentrating, and releasing the arrow.

It thuds into the chest of a guard, who hits the cabin wall with a dull sound. The other guard swears and draws out his musket. It's no use, though, because Stephane has already thrown his knife and it's landed precisely at the junction of neck to collarbone. They're both dead and the way is clear.

They crawl down from the trees, silently. The twigs crack under their feet and they keep low as they approach the cabin.

Halfway to the door, it creaks open, just a fraction and her eyes widen as a gun peers around the corner and points directly at Stephane.

She doesn't think, doesn't even consider the consequences. She simply barrels into him as it fires, pushing her colleague to the ground. She tries not to yell out at the pain, but the bullet has passed through her arm and it hurts like hell.

She lays on the ground for a second, before being pulled into the tree line and shelted behind a gnarled trunk.

"Fuck," she says, as she looks at the wound.

"Thank you," says Stephane, as he crouches in front of her. "Here, let me have a look."

"No, we don't have time. There are more inside. It won't take long for a reload."

"Don't worry, be calm. Norris is taking care of the situation."

"Norris?"

"Oui, he came prepared."

She's sweating furiously but she looks across at Norris who is fiddling with something in his hands. The next thing she sees is a flame, a precise throw and a few moments of silence.

The explosion splinters the wood of the front door and takes out half of the cabin. Rocks fly off into the woods and they shelter behind the tree trunks. There is a haze of dust in the air and then silence. No shouting, cursing or screaming. Just complete silence.

They peer around the tree trunks and she smiles at the sight of another guards decapitated body slung over a half-broken piece of timber. He's obviously dead and not the only one either. Another guard is lying further in the cabin, his body unmoving.

Coming out from their cover, with Dobby trying to focus less on the pain in her arm, they sneak through the rubble and into the cabin.

As they enter the cabin and the full sunlight of the day leaves their faces for the shade of the roof, a sprightly guard barrels up a set of thin, narrow stairs leading into the basement at the back. He's only a child, really. Too young to even have a beard. He looks fresh and innocent and quite unprepared for the shot that kills him.

She feels sorry for him. Just for a moment. He's the enemy, she has to remember. Even though his eyes speak of being homesick and his clothes were too big for his frame. Never mind that he probably only wanted an adventure, or to be respected by the adults around him. She brushes the thought aside, focusing in on the stairs.

They go down slowly, carefully.

She goes first, followed by Stephane, then Norris and then Myriam. Myriam is facing the other side of the cabin, her mind on the alert for an ambush or an extra guard stumbling on them.

She nearly cries in relief.

Tied to a post, looking like hell itself, is Connor.

He's very still, not struggling at all, and she can tell that he is listening. His posture is straight and his body tense, so he's not unconscious. She notices the copious amount of wounds on his body, some fresh, some not. She notices that not all of the wounds are bleeding and that some are simply great bruises, or gravel burn. He's skinny as well, the result of more than a few days of food being withheld.

She'd bet on her life that he attempted an escape.

"Connor?" Says Myriam, having followed them downstairs.

The man moves, although his face is covered by a burlap sack. "Myriam?"

"Connor!" She says, as she pulls out a knife and sprints over to him. Sawing at the ropes around his arms, his waist, his neck and his legs, she's breathing harshly and focusing intently. Dobby watches the woman for a moment, surprised by the vigour in her excitement to see Connor. She wonders how Norris feels about that.

"Who else is here?" He asks.

"I'm here," answers Dobby.

"And me," says Stephane.

"I also came," says Norris, standing beside them.

Although his expression is covered, she can imagine that he's smiling under the sack. That's he pleased to see them, if a bit annoyed at their late.

The ropes come undone, seemingly all at once, and he tears off the sack with a vigorous movement. His face, usually so calm and controlled, is covered with a brilliant, almost glowing smile. Dobby can do nothing but smile in return. It's infectious. They're all smiling, never mind that she just killed half a dozen people. Connor is alright and they're back to being a guild again.

He's fine and that's all that matters.

"Are you alright?" Asks Norris, as he looks over the man.

He's not, but predictable, he answers, "I'm fine." His smile falls after a moment, and Dobby misses the sight as it goes, "But we need to get out of here."

"We've got horses up on the hill."

"Good. I need food and water, as well."

"You'll have to wait until the homestead."

He nods, disappointedly. They follow him, as he heads for the stairs. Already, he's turned back into their leader. She can't help but fall into line behind him, to admire his grace and strength despite his wounds and exhaustion. She wants to know that she's glad he's alive, but she thinks he might already know that.

"So, what happened?" Said Stephane as they step through the rubble of the cabin and into the sunlight.

"I was kidnapped at midnight, while I was sleeping. I usually sleep lightly, but they walked without any noise. There was no way, by the time I woke up, that I could stop them. They took me by carriage here, and I've been here ever since."

"No escape attempts?"

"Only one."

"That's my boy," says Stephane, with a laugh.

"What are you two doing here?" He says, gesturing at Norris and Myriam.

"Oh, us?" Says Myriam, after a pause. "We're the only ones in the homestead that had guns. Or explosives. We just tagged along. I wanted to help you, if you were in trouble, so I made sure I was here."

Connor nods, but he shoots Dobby a look that is furious. It surprises her, the anger in it. It nearly makes her stop walking completely but she continues her pace, and swallows thickly.

A silence descends over the team. Myriam and Norris seem to realise that something is not quite right.

The horses still look like death and Stephane relinquishes his ride for her. Connor rides behind, while Stephane walks up front. The horses are in no condition to run, so they walk along slowly, with no real urgency in their pace. Her arm still throbs, uncomfortably and the swaying of the horse makes her grit her teeth. But she bears her wound proudly and takes herself away from the pain and into a world of her own privacy.

"Deborah?" Says Connor, behind them, after an hour or so of silent walking. He's one of the only people in her life that uses her full name.

She turns around and she can tell by his look that he wants her to walk beside his horse. She trades a glance with Stephane, before dropping back to his pace. He doesn't talk at first, instead, slows down his horse so that there is a gap between them and the rest of the group.

"Why are Myriam and Stephane here?"

She flushes, "They wanted to come."

"So you let them?"

"Yes. I didn't want to waste time arguing with them."

"They shouldn't be here," he says, with a furious tone.

"Why not? They had guns and explosives, more than I had."

"You're an Assassin, Deborah. You are more talented than all of those guards combined. It would have been hard, yes, for you to take them all out. But with patience and a plan, it could have been done. With Stephane, you had an even better chance. Myriam and Norris should not have come."

"Connor, we thought you were dead. We hardly stopped to think, we needed to find you."

He gives her glare that is so sharp, it nearly cuts her eyes. "Is that what you've learned, after all these years? That strategy, talent and planning is nothing? That impulse is everything? I trained you to be a step above the Templars, not to head into a situation with two civilians and no plan B."

"I'm sorry, Connor. I was just worried about you."

He softens slightly, "How will I explain this to them? They've seen now that I'm friends with trained killers. That'my business can lead to kidnapping. They know too much now. You should have been more careful."

She feel disappointed in herself. Disappointed in her actions and her carelessness. It had seemed so important to find him, so achingly important that she would have revealed the whole order if it made him safe.

Her heart, her fear for her leader, had ruled over her head.

She's silent as they walk and so is Connor. He stretches out the silence until she feels like it might break her. Snap her in twain.

"But I forgive you," says Connor.

She looks up, hopeful.

"I'm glad that I was rescued. So thank you."

She nods, still feel embarrassed.

"That urgency to save one of the guild is what will make us strong. I know that you haven't always gotten along with Stephane in the past but I want you to remember what he's done as well. He followed you, I know he did. The minute I took off my blindfold, I could see that you were leading him. Remember that loyalty of his."

She nods and looks up, at Stephane who is walking ahead. She feels doubly embarrassed by herself now. For so long, she had tried to avoid contact with the man. She had seen him as loud, abrasive and head-strong. And yet, despite her cold treatment of him, he had followed her without question. He had dragged her to safety when she had been shot and he had given up his horse for her, without even a second thought.

She felt something like affection spread in her and it ferocity surprised her. She wonders how it all would have gone if she hadn't taken him. Whether she would have been another nameless, looted body in the forest. Whether Connor would have even been alive.

She looks down at the passing ground, feeling dwarfed by the enormity of his loyalty and his trust.

"Do you think," she asked, hesitantly, "That I could do some missions with him in the future?"

Connor smiles, but it isn't as wide and beautiful as the smile in the cabin. It's small, secretive and knowing. "I'll make sure of it."

She nods, trying desperately to contain the blush that she knows is spreading along her cheeks.

Connor doesn't say anything but she can see the laughter in his eyes. It's written into every line of his body, despite its currently wearied look.

She rides beside him, feeling strange.

The feeling, she reflects, is something like happiness, with a good dash of belonging and a second helping of embarrassment. It twists in her gut dangerous and makes her feel, oddly enough, like smiling or laughing or being kind. It concerns her a bit to feel so deliriously happy, despite the trauma of the day.

She sighs and pats the mangy horses neck softly.

She feels like she belongs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AC3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Well, folks. That's all for the mini-series. I hope it ended well. I will do a follow up on the story but I'm unsure of whether it will be the next chapter. It might be an epilogue a few chapters down the way.

So what did you think? Let me know, as per usual!