Davenport Homestead, 1810 (Thirty years later)
Ratonhnhaké:ton
The sea is calm today, their blue green waves washing white as they slide up against the shore. A salty breeze dances in the air, whispering tales of strange creatures from lands afar. Overhead, trees of every height reach for the sky, their leaves rustling and singing in the gentle wind. No wonder Achilles chose this spot as a final resting place for his family. Perched upon a cliff overlooking the world, this place has so much beauty, so much life. Despair has no power here.
"Father, who are these people?"
Little Kahsennhaio:wi stares at the gravestones, each one hewn from smooth, dressed rock. The inscriptions upon them are simple, mere words that will never fully describe the people they once were. Abigail Davenport. Connor Davenport. Achilles Davenport: The old man on the hill.
And another, carved in neat, elegant strokes. Naomi O'Brien. The one who compromised.
I remember carrying her body through the devastation that was once Fort George, past the gasps and mutters of my crewmen and onto the Aquila. I remember digging her grave, a hole so deep I wondered if I should just climb into it and never crawl out again. There was no funeral. No sermon that spoke of her soul finding peace. No tear-streaked faces staring mournfully down at her coffin. Naomi O'Brien would not want the fanfare.
That's right. I hear her voice in my head. Too much crying at funerals, she laughs. I wish she would stay, but she never does. She comes and goes as she pleases, having her way as she always did. She came when I lay in the wreckage of the ship, agony shooting through my side, and all I wanted was to die then and there. Get up, she said. You have not come so far only to let Charles Lee live. And so I got up. I chased him all the way to a small tavern in the Frontier. And there, on a dark, freezing night, he gave me his beer, and I brought him his death. Now you won't be seeing him in your nightmares anymore, she smiled then.
She could not be more wrong.
She came again when I walked through my village—or rather, what was once my village before the land was stolen by those whom I considered allies. Allies. Even the thought of the word is bitter, wrenching my heart with disbelief and anguish in equal measure. Was it worth the cost? she asked, her voice telling me she already knows the answer. No. No, it wasn't.
"Father?"
Kahsennhaio:wi blinks at me, surprised by my silence. She is only five, but already she dons her mother's grace, her poise straight and calm. Her delicate fingers brush against the gravestones, a gesture of kindness for the ones who clearly meant so much to her father. But the proud set of her jaw is mine. Even now, she purses her lips, the only sign of her annoyance at being ignored.
"They were Assassins," I finally answer. The word piques Kahsennhaio:wi's interest, and she gazes at me expectantly. It's not difficult to see why. I rarely spoke of my life as an Assassin, partly because I did not want to, and partly because the words would not come. Thirty years of my life were given to the Brotherhood, fighting with my brothers and sisters for what was right, what we believed to be right. And sometimes, there was no right. As I walked through the deserted Kanatahséton, I finally understood what my father and Naomi had been trying to show me. The world is not painted in black and white. It is something I have always known, but never fully believed, until I learned the hard way. People are not divided into good and evil. We are all made up of both, and it is up to us to decide which part to act upon.
And that is what we Assassins tried to do, to act upon the good in us. Our methods were not always accepted. Oftentimes, they were frowned upon. Nonetheless, we persevered, and kept the Americas free from Templar influence for more than two decades now.
But I have since laid down my blade for two reasons. The first one being my body can no longer keep up with the fight, while the other gave birth to the beautiful child standing before me.
I like her, Naomi had said when I met my wife. Do you?
You know I do.
Do not make the mistake of thinking you have plenty of time. She did not say "again", but I hear it all the same. It was one of the most painful and costly lessons she taught me. And so I did not wait.
"That man, Achilles," I tell my daughter. "He taught me the ways of the Assassins. Abigail and Connor were his family. And Naomi—" There. The words would always get stuck in my throat right there. "She was...someone I did not deserve."
Kahsennhaio:wi stares at me with narrowed eyes. There is a hint of a smirk in her voice. "You loved her, didn't you?"
I force a weak smile. "What would you know about love?"
"I know enough." She crosses her slender arms. "What happened to her?"
Pain tightens my chest, and I bite down hard on my tongue to distract myself. "I failed her," I say around the metallic taste. My tone was harsher than I intended, but she takes it in stride, knowing not to push. She is as thoughtful as she is kind, one of the things I love best about my daughter. You would like her, I tell Naomi. She reminds me of you.
That can't be, she chuckles. She's definitely nicer than I was.
That is true.
She laughs again before her voice drops lower. You will make a good father.
Will I? For someone who killed his own?
Thoughts of my father used to invoke a mixture of strange emotions. Bitterness, regret, wonder. And anger. Mostly anger. Because he took Naomi's life instead of mine. Because he left me with a fate worse than death.
But after many long years, I have come to realize that my father was just like any other man. He, too, had good and evil within him. He chose to act upon the latter when he killed Naomi.
But it was his goodness that kept his blade from me.
Do not find someone to blame, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Just live, and live well.
That was the last thing she said to me—my name. And I know why. Remember yourself are the words woven in between. Remember who you are. And I have.
I intend to, I tell her. She says nothing in return, but I can feel her smile in approval.
"Would you like me to stay with you a little while longer, Father?"
"No," I say. The feather I brought flutters to the ground when I release it, resting over the place where Naomi lies. "Let us return home."
Kahsennhaio:wi jogs ahead of me with nimble steps, weaving her way through treetop just like I taught her. My daughter, my love, my future. I may fail to keep her from all harm, but best believe that I will die trying.
Kahsennhaio:wi. Or Naowi, for short.