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Description
June 8, 1845; Nashville, Tennessee

Aveza thanked the servant that allowed her to enter the room, and he closed the door behind her. Aveza stood there, alone aside from the old man sitting at the table in front of her. Andrew Jackson. A shell of his former self.

Aveza slowly walked up to him, and sat down in the chair opposite to him. Jackson slowly lifted his head up to look at her. He was old. He was tired. Aveza almost felt pity for him.

Almost.

But she remembered every terrible, terrible thing he did during his life. All the power he lorded as president, all the innocent lives he destroyed in arrogance. She remembered all this as she sat there, and their eyes met.

“So, Ms. Deryn,” said Jackson in his old, raspy voice.

“Mrs. Bellamy,” she corrected him.

Jackson just sort of leaned back and gave a passive wave. “Whatever,” he said. “Are you here to kill me like you did Mr. Harrison all those years ago?”

Aveza said nothing.

“Oh, don't give me that look,” said Jackson. “We know it was you. It was obviously your work.”

Aveza just passively shrugged. It was her work. She made sure to be the one to end Harrison’s life. Back on March 4, 1841, Harrison had given his inaugural speech as president of the United States. It was a cold, wet day, perfect cover for Aveza's plan. As he gave his speech (and by God did it go on forever!) Aveza wormed her way through the audience, staying hidden in plain sight. And then, when she was in just the right position, she used a blowpipe to shoot a tiny poison dart into his neck. She made sure to mix up the poison perfectly. She wanted him to die slowly, painfully. And so he did. At first, the poison showed little effect, but after a few weeks, Harrison fell horribly ill.

He was bedridden for days, getting worse and worse each day. No matter what his doctors did, they weren't able to save him. On April 4, he died in the White House, and all the doctors ever thought of it was that he died of pneumonia.

Aveza was there, of course. There was no way she'd miss the death of one of her greatest enemies. She spoke to him on his deathbed.

“You…” he said as she approached.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

“I guess I should've known… But I guess it doesn't matter now… My end is near.”

“You'll have to pardon me if I'm not overrun with tears.”

“All I ever wanted was order…”

“Order is rarely obtained by destroying entire groups of people.”

“They would've gotten in the way.”

“See, that's where you're wrong, Mr. Harrison. It is you who got in the way. You preached ideas of conquest, not tolerance. If you'd allowed the Natives and the less fortunate the same rights and privileges that you gave yourself, instead of restricting them, then I think you'd of seen much more improvement in your nation.”

“I just didn't want… to risk… losing order… I wish you to understand the true principles of the government. I wish them carried out. I ask nothing more.”

“Oh, I understand, Mr. Harrison. I understand that your government was and is full of corruption. And I realize that it's the responsibility of the Assassins, and the people, to get rid of it.”

Harrison looked up at her. The light all but disappeared from his eyes. He looked like he was about to say something further, but he didn't. His body went limp, and he died. Tecumseh was finally avenged. Aveza closed his eyes.

“Order through tyranny is not justified order,” she said. “Order through freedom is a goal that we must all strive for. Rest in peace.”

And after that, she stood from the bed, and had a servant escort her out.

And now she sat in the plantation home of Andrew Jackson, her last great enemy. The Templar grand master, now an old man on his last days, was finally within her blade’s reach.

“Tea?” he offered, though not very enthusiastically.

Aveza looked down at the tea in front of them. She poured some into a cup, and carefully tested it with all her senses to check for poisons before finally taking a sip.

“We both want the same thing, you know,” said Jackson as they drank. “Assassins and Templars. We both want peace, in all things.”

“Yes,” said Aveza. “But you Templars sacrifice everything just for order itself. Freedom, equality, brotherhood. You either destroy these things entirely or pervert them to suit your needs.”

“We are the safeguards of those qualities.”

“Really? Is that why my nation abolished slavery years ago, while your nation, the nation that thrives on claiming to be the pinnacle of freedom, still does nothing to end the practice and, if anything, enforces it?”

“Order is a complicated beast, Mrs. Bellamy.”

“Yes, but you’re looking at the puzzle upside-down and backwards.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

The two took another drink.

“How many lives did you ruin during your political career?” Aveza asked, still keeping her calm demeanor. “How many people were put into financial ruin just because you thought the bank would challenge your power?”

“It would've challenged my power. They were all out to get me. I couldn't let that happen. So things got rough in 1837. So what? My allies and I stayed in power, we stayed guardians of humanity, and that's all that matters.”

“The people are what matter, Mr. Jackson. Not you. Not your ego. The people.”

They drank again.

“And then there's the Natives,” continued Aveza. “All those people you and your men forced from their homes and banished westward.”

“We had to make room for our people.”

“There's enough room on this earth for everyone to share. The problems only spawn when you keep drawing imaginary lines and do not allow anyone to cross those lines.”

Jackson just looked at her. He gave another passive wave and took another drink.

Aveza said, “We will mop up the trail of tears that you've left in your wake, Mr. Jackson. I swear to you, we will. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even in the coming decades, but we will. There will come a day when all people will be free and equal in your nation. And the Assassins will lead the way.”

Andrew Jackson finished his tea, as did Aveza. They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at one another. They were both old, but Jackson was way older. Aveza could see it in his eyes. He was tired.

He leaned back a small bit in his chair. “Mrs. Bellamy,” he said tiredly. “Odds are, I don't have much time left on this earth, so if you intend to be the one who sends me into the next life, then I ask that you please just get it over with.”

Aveza just looked at him for a moment before settling on just simply saying, “Alright then.”

The two looked at each other. For a moment, neither said or did anything. But soon Aveza slowly leaned over and reached out to grab Jackson. She took him by the collar, and pulled him closer. They looked directly into each other's eyes. Jackson's eyes already looked dead. Aveza's still shined bright.

She looked at him, and she pulled back her arm. She thought of everything Jackson had done. She thought back to the atrocities he committed back during the War of 1812. She thought back to his power grab as a politician. She thought of how his arrogance and distrust nearly led to his own nation's complete economic collapse. She thought of all the innocent people whose lives were taken and destroyed because of his conquest. She thought of how his hypocrisy nearly brought his own people to their knees. All the memories of his evils brought tears to Aveza's eyes. And so she didn't hesitate. She clenched her fist, flicked out her hidden blade, gave one last glare into her enemy's eyes, and then rammed her blade into his heart.

Jackson winced in pain but didn't shout. Aveza pulled her blade out of his chest, and she let his corpse collapse onto the tabletop. She said nothing. There was nothing to say. She leaned over and reached into his coat pocket. From it, she pulled what she'd been after for years: the key to the Temple of the Angels. She stowed it away into her own pocket, and then she stood and left the room. The servant escorted her outside, and led her to her horse. She thanked him, and then kicked her horse to a trot.

She felt the key in her pocket. She knew exactly what to do with it, but first she had to get out of Nashville. She rode north through the city, watching the people bustle about as she went. Suddenly, on the edge of town, she stopped.

She looked over at a nearby platform that had been raised. People in suits had gathered all around it. On top of it stood a few people. One of them was an old white man in a fancy coat. The rest were black slaves, covered only by dirty rags, nasty scars, and heavy chains. The white man was pointing his cane at each slave, all of whom had faces of misery. He started shouting the traits and conditions of each one, as if they were common livestock. The crowd roared, offering different sums of money for each slave. It broke Aveza's heart.

She couldn't believe the Americans still allowed this awful, awful practice. She couldn't believe that they still had no problem treating their fellow humans like worthless cattle. She simply couldn't believe it.

She wanted so badly to help, but it would've been too risky. There were too many people, too many threats. She simply could do nothing but helplessly watch and hope that the future would get better. As she rode off away from the city, that's what she did: hope.

------------

June 10, 1845; Point Commerce, Indiana

“I need you to take this and guard it with your life, Priscilla,” Aveza said to the younger Assassin as she handed the Temple key to her.

Priscilla nodded and looked at Aveza with admiration.

“I will, mentor,” she said. “I promise you, I will guard it with my life. You can count on me.”

Aveza smiled at her friend. “I know I can,” she said. “You've never let me down before. I doubt you'll start doing so now.”

“Thank you, mentor.”

“You're welcome, Priscilla.”

“So what will you do now?”

Shrugged. “Oh, I don't quite know, truth be told. I should probably make my way to Indianapolis and check on ol’ Connor, tell him the good news that Jackson is dead.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid. How is he doing, by the way?”

Aveza gave a sort of shrug. “He's… carrying on,” she said. “The man's got a big heart… I just hope it'll be able to keep beating for a bit longer…”

“He's almost at that point, is he?”

Aveza sadly nodded. “Indeed. But it seems his last days will be peaceful and free of pain.”

“That's good to hear.”

“Yes…”

The two shared a moment of silence.

“So what about you?” Aveza eventually said to break the silence. “Any plans for the near future?”

Priscilla shrugged. “Oh, you know, I have my own problems around here to deal with. Whether it be Templars or-”

“Mama!”

Both Priscilla and Aveza turned to see a little baby waddling towards them. Well, towards Priscilla at least. Priscilla smiled at it.

“Mama. Mama,” the baby babbled. Priscilla reached down and picked it up. She bounced the baby gently in her arms. Aveza smiled brightly at the two.

“Aw,” she said. “Who's this cutie then?”

“This is the newest edition to the Spainhour family, James,” said Priscilla proudly. “He's my little bundle of joy.”

“You never told me you had a son.”

“Oh yeah. And I've got another baby on the way.”

“Oh really?”

Priscilla smiled and nodded. She looked down at James as she bounced him.

“He's a gift,” she said. “But I admit, he's quite a handful. Always getting into stuff he's not supposed to.” She tickled her baby, making him laugh. Aveza couldn't help but chuckle.

“I know how you feel,” she said. “My kids were the same way when they were little.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And my eldest just had a child of her own recently, so she's going through the same motions that you are.”

“Well, it's nice to know I'm not alone.”

Aveza laughed. “Yes,” she said. “I'd imagine it is.” Aveza looked down at the baby. She cooed at him, and he giggled. Aveza laughed.

“I'm sure he'll grow up to be a great Assassin one day,” she said. “Just like his parents.”

“Aw, thank you, mentor.”

“No problem, my friend. Now, I'm afraid I have to take my leave.”

“You sure you can't stay for a cup of tea?”

Aveza smiled and shook her head. “I can't, unfortunately,” she said. “But thank you, Priscilla.”

Priscilla walked with Aveza over to her horse. Aveza lugged herself onto the saddle and looked down at Priscilla and her baby.

“Say bye, James,” Priscilla cooed to her baby. She gently grabbed his hand and waved it at Aveza. The baby babbled in a way that didn't quite sound like “Bye bye,” but it was close enough. Aveza chuckled and waved back.

“Bye bye, little one,” she said sweetly. “And farewell, Priscilla. Until we meet again.”

“Same to you, mentor.”

Aveza smiled and kicked her horse into gear. Priscilla waved as Aveza rode off into the distance.

As she rode, Aveza smiled. She loved meeting children like that. They symbolized hope to her. They symbolized the idea that the next generation will do better than the last. They reminded her that a new day will always dawn, no matter how gloomy the night is. And so that's what she felt as she rode. She felt hopeful, she felt happy. She smiled.

This nation might be full of corruption, but that's why the Assassins were there, to stop the corruption. One day, they'd right all the wrongs that this country's leaders have wrought. One day, they'd free all the slaves and bring the Natives the justice they deserve. One day, they'd be able to make it so that this country is truly the free nation it could become. One day, they'd eventually make this country what it claims to be.

One day, they will finally make this place the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

Description
June 8, 1845; Nashville, Tennessee

Aveza thanked the servant that allowed her to enter the room, and he closed the door behind her. Aveza stood there, alone aside from the old man sitting at the table in front of her. Andrew Jackson. A shell of his former self.

Aveza slowly walked up to him, and sat down in the chair opposite to him. Jackson slowly lifted his head up to look at her. He was old. He was tired. Aveza almost felt pity for him.

Almost.

But she remembered every terrible, terrible thing he did during his life. All the power he lorded as president, all the innocent lives he destroyed in arrogance. She remembered all this as she sat there, and their eyes met.

“So, Ms. Deryn,” said Jackson in his old, raspy voice.

“Mrs. Bellamy,” she corrected him.

Jackson just sort of leaned back and gave a passive wave. “Whatever,” he said. “Are you here to kill me like you did Mr. Harrison all those years ago?”

Aveza said nothing.

“Oh, don't give me that look,” said Jackson. “We know it was you. It was obviously your work.”

Aveza just passively shrugged. It was her work. She made sure to be the one to end Harrison’s life. Back on March 4, 1841, Harrison had given his inaugural speech as president of the United States. It was a cold, wet day, perfect cover for Aveza's plan. As he gave his speech (and by God did it go on forever!) Aveza wormed her way through the audience, staying hidden in plain sight. And then, when she was in just the right position, she used a blowpipe to shoot a tiny poison dart into his neck. She made sure to mix up the poison perfectly. She wanted him to die slowly, painfully. And so he did. At first, the poison showed little effect, but after a few weeks, Harrison fell horribly ill.

He was bedridden for days, getting worse and worse each day. No matter what his doctors did, they weren't able to save him. On April 4, he died in the White House, and all the doctors ever thought of it was that he died of pneumonia.

Aveza was there, of course. There was no way she'd miss the death of one of her greatest enemies. She spoke to him on his deathbed.

“You…” he said as she approached.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

“I guess I should've known… But I guess it doesn't matter now… My end is near.”

“You'll have to pardon me if I'm not overrun with tears.”

“All I ever wanted was order…”

“Order is rarely obtained by destroying entire groups of people.”

“They would've gotten in the way.”

“See, that's where you're wrong, Mr. Harrison. It is you who got in the way. You preached ideas of conquest, not tolerance. If you'd allowed the Natives and the less fortunate the same rights and privileges that you gave yourself, instead of restricting them, then I think you'd of seen much more improvement in your nation.”

“I just didn't want… to risk… losing order… I wish you to understand the true principles of the government. I wish them carried out. I ask nothing more.”

“Oh, I understand, Mr. Harrison. I understand that your government was and is full of corruption. And I realize that it's the responsibility of the Assassins, and the people, to get rid of it.”

Harrison looked up at her. The light all but disappeared from his eyes. He looked like he was about to say something further, but he didn't. His body went limp, and he died. Tecumseh was finally avenged. Aveza closed his eyes.

“Order through tyranny is not justified order,” she said. “Order through freedom is a goal that we must all strive for. Rest in peace.”

And after that, she stood from the bed, and had a servant escort her out.

And now she sat in the plantation home of Andrew Jackson, her last great enemy. The Templar grand master, now an old man on his last days, was finally within her blade’s reach.

“Tea?” he offered, though not very enthusiastically.

Aveza looked down at the tea in front of them. She poured some into a cup, and carefully tested it with all her senses to check for poisons before finally taking a sip.

“We both want the same thing, you know,” said Jackson as they drank. “Assassins and Templars. We both want peace, in all things.”

“Yes,” said Aveza. “But you Templars sacrifice everything just for order itself. Freedom, equality, brotherhood. You either destroy these things entirely or pervert them to suit your needs.”

“We are the safeguards of those qualities.”

“Really? Is that why my nation abolished slavery years ago, while your nation, the nation that thrives on claiming to be the pinnacle of freedom, still does nothing to end the practice and, if anything, enforces it?”

“Order is a complicated beast, Mrs. Bellamy.”

“Yes, but you’re looking at the puzzle upside-down and backwards.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

The two took another drink.

“How many lives did you ruin during your political career?” Aveza asked, still keeping her calm demeanor. “How many people were put into financial ruin just because you thought the bank would challenge your power?”

“It would've challenged my power. They were all out to get me. I couldn't let that happen. So things got rough in 1837. So what? My allies and I stayed in power, we stayed guardians of humanity, and that's all that matters.”

“The people are what matter, Mr. Jackson. Not you. Not your ego. The people.”

They drank again.

“And then there's the Natives,” continued Aveza. “All those people you and your men forced from their homes and banished westward.”

“We had to make room for our people.”

“There's enough room on this earth for everyone to share. The problems only spawn when you keep drawing imaginary lines and do not allow anyone to cross those lines.”

Jackson just looked at her. He gave another passive wave and took another drink.

Aveza said, “We will mop up the trail of tears that you've left in your wake, Mr. Jackson. I swear to you, we will. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even in the coming decades, but we will. There will come a day when all people will be free and equal in your nation. And the Assassins will lead the way.”

Andrew Jackson finished his tea, as did Aveza. They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at one another. They were both old, but Jackson was way older. Aveza could see it in his eyes. He was tired.

He leaned back a small bit in his chair. “Mrs. Bellamy,” he said tiredly. “Odds are, I don't have much time left on this earth, so if you intend to be the one who sends me into the next life, then I ask that you please just get it over with.”

Aveza just looked at him for a moment before settling on just simply saying, “Alright then.”

The two looked at each other. For a moment, neither said or did anything. But soon Aveza slowly leaned over and reached out to grab Jackson. She took him by the collar, and pulled him closer. They looked directly into each other's eyes. Jackson's eyes already looked dead. Aveza's still shined bright.

She looked at him, and she pulled back her arm. She thought of everything Jackson had done. She thought back to the atrocities he committed back during the War of 1812. She thought back to his power grab as a politician. She thought of how his arrogance and distrust nearly led to his own nation's complete economic collapse. She thought of all the innocent people whose lives were taken and destroyed because of his conquest. She thought of how his hypocrisy nearly brought his own people to their knees. All the memories of his evils brought tears to Aveza's eyes. And so she didn't hesitate. She clenched her fist, flicked out her hidden blade, gave one last glare into her enemy's eyes, and then rammed her blade into his heart.

Jackson winced in pain but didn't shout. Aveza pulled her blade out of his chest, and she let his corpse collapse onto the tabletop. She said nothing. There was nothing to say. She leaned over and reached into his coat pocket. From it, she pulled what she'd been after for years: the key to the Temple of the Angels. She stowed it away into her own pocket, and then she stood and left the room. The servant escorted her outside, and led her to her horse. She thanked him, and then kicked her horse to a trot.

She felt the key in her pocket. She knew exactly what to do with it, but first she had to get out of Nashville. She rode north through the city, watching the people bustle about as she went. Suddenly, on the edge of town, she stopped.

She looked over at a nearby platform that had been raised. People in suits had gathered all around it. On top of it stood a few people. One of them was an old white man in a fancy coat. The rest were black slaves, covered only by dirty rags, nasty scars, and heavy chains. The white man was pointing his cane at each slave, all of whom had faces of misery. He started shouting the traits and conditions of each one, as if they were common livestock. The crowd roared, offering different sums of money for each slave. It broke Aveza's heart.

She couldn't believe the Americans still allowed this awful, awful practice. She couldn't believe that they still had no problem treating their fellow humans like worthless cattle. She simply couldn't believe it.

She wanted so badly to help, but it would've been too risky. There were too many people, too many threats. She simply could do nothing but helplessly watch and hope that the future would get better. As she rode off away from the city, that's what she did: hope.

------------

June 10, 1845; Point Commerce, Indiana

“I need you to take this and guard it with your life, Priscilla,” Aveza said to the younger Assassin as she handed the Temple key to her.

Priscilla nodded and looked at Aveza with admiration.

“I will, mentor,” she said. “I promise you, I will guard it with my life. You can count on me.”

Aveza smiled at her friend. “I know I can,” she said. “You've never let me down before. I doubt you'll start doing so now.”

“Thank you, mentor.”

“You're welcome, Priscilla.”

“So what will you do now?”

Shrugged. “Oh, I don't quite know, truth be told. I should probably make my way to Indianapolis and check on ol’ Connor, tell him the good news that Jackson is dead.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid. How is he doing, by the way?”

Aveza gave a sort of shrug. “He's… carrying on,” she said. “The man's got a big heart… I just hope it'll be able to keep beating for a bit longer…”

“He's almost at that point, is he?”

Aveza sadly nodded. “Indeed. But it seems his last days will be peaceful and free of pain.”

“That's good to hear.”

“Yes…”

The two shared a moment of silence.

“So what about you?” Aveza eventually said to break the silence. “Any plans for the near future?”

Priscilla shrugged. “Oh, you know, I have my own problems around here to deal with. Whether it be Templars or-”

“Mama!”

Both Priscilla and Aveza turned to see a little baby waddling towards them. Well, towards Priscilla at least. Priscilla smiled at it.

“Mama. Mama,” the baby babbled. Priscilla reached down and picked it up. She bounced the baby gently in her arms. Aveza smiled brightly at the two.

“Aw,” she said. “Who's this cutie then?”

“This is the newest edition to the Spainhour family, James,” said Priscilla proudly. “He's my little bundle of joy.”

“You never told me you had a son.”

“Oh yeah. And I've got another baby on the way.”

“Oh really?”

Priscilla smiled and nodded. She looked down at James as she bounced him.

“He's a gift,” she said. “But I admit, he's quite a handful. Always getting into stuff he's not supposed to.” She tickled her baby, making him laugh. Aveza couldn't help but chuckle.

“I know how you feel,” she said. “My kids were the same way when they were little.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And my eldest just had a child of her own recently, so she's going through the same motions that you are.”

“Well, it's nice to know I'm not alone.”

Aveza laughed. “Yes,” she said. “I'd imagine it is.” Aveza looked down at the baby. She cooed at him, and he giggled. Aveza laughed.

“I'm sure he'll grow up to be a great Assassin one day,” she said. “Just like his parents.”

“Aw, thank you, mentor.”

“No problem, my friend. Now, I'm afraid I have to take my leave.”

“You sure you can't stay for a cup of tea?”

Aveza smiled and shook her head. “I can't, unfortunately,” she said. “But thank you, Priscilla.”

Priscilla walked with Aveza over to her horse. Aveza lugged herself onto the saddle and looked down at Priscilla and her baby.

“Say bye, James,” Priscilla cooed to her baby. She gently grabbed his hand and waved it at Aveza. The baby babbled in a way that didn't quite sound like “Bye bye,” but it was close enough. Aveza chuckled and waved back.

“Bye bye, little one,” she said sweetly. “And farewell, Priscilla. Until we meet again.”

“Same to you, mentor.”

Aveza smiled and kicked her horse into gear. Priscilla waved as Aveza rode off into the distance.

As she rode, Aveza smiled. She loved meeting children like that. They symbolized hope to her. They symbolized the idea that the next generation will do better than the last. They reminded her that a new day will always dawn, no matter how gloomy the night is. And so that's what she felt as she rode. She felt hopeful, she felt happy. She smiled.

This nation might be full of corruption, but that's why the Assassins were there, to stop the corruption. One day, they'd right all the wrongs that this country's leaders have wrought. One day, they'd free all the slaves and bring the Natives the justice they deserve. One day, they'd be able to make it so that this country is truly the free nation it could become. One day, they'd eventually make this country what it claims to be.

One day, they will finally make this place the land of the free, and the home of the brave.