AC Syndicate: Isolated Files [OS]

Take Care of Her [Alternative]

(chapter picture by myself)

Tonight, as for several months, the small social gathering in Thomas Cameron's garden had a bitter taste. His life had been one of torment since the decline of the Templar Order in London. Indeed, despite his efforts and his plans, which were as brilliant as those of Taylor, his father, the organisation had once again failed against the Assassin's Brotherhood. And Victoria had left suddenly, leaving a farewell note, probably to ease her conscience.

For the blond, who lied to everyone about Victoria saying she had gone on a trip with her brother, it was a humiliation. He was sure that his parents, as well as Crawford Starrick, were turning over in their graves as he had surely disappointed them from the afterlife. Most of the Templars had fled the city, refusing to be killed by Jacob's blade, now alone to watch over London since his sister left for India with Henry Green.

As he watched the world smile and chat over a drink and some snacks, his butler came over to whisper something in his ear. His face changed from neutral to astonishment, falsely playful because he knew it... he felt it.

"Are you sure?" he asked, turning to his butler.

"Yes, sir. Shall I call the police?"

"No, I'm fine, Winston. Take care of the reception, please."

"As you wish, sir."

The butler bowed respectfully, head bowed, and stepped back before returning in a normal manner. Thomas drained his flute of champagne, still full. He grimaced before placing the empty glass back on the sideboard. He walked through the crowd, politely apologising for pushing them a bit. He also wished them a good evening.

Once inside the house, he sighed with relief. He could no longer bear to see this world now seeming far too shallow, empty, false. Life had no flavour since Victoria left, despite the suffering she had inflicted on him. He breathed in deeply, bulging his chest and expelled the air from his lungs, deflating his rib cage. He climbed the stairs almost painfully. Not because of age or health. Thomas was still young and fit. But he had a weight on his shoulders that he knew would be lifted tonight. He couldn't wait to get this life over with. Sometimes, some defeats have to be accepted.

He arrived in his office. He walked towards the window, with a slow and quiet step. He saw that there was still some alcohol in the carafe on the pedestal table beside the chair. He allowed himself to stop and help himself to some whisky, then walked back to the large window which let in the light of the lanterns in the garden. Although it seemed less attractive, he enjoyed seeing the carefree little world below. He heard some giggles, or voices raised a little more to be heard. It was indeed a good evening for the gentry, and he was glad that it was going so well for them. He drank his glass of whisky rather quickly and put it on the edge of his desk.

As soon as the transparent container was placed on the surface of the furniture, Thomas heard a rustling of clothes, and a noise that only leather could produce. Without turning around, his eyes still on the window, the blond felt a presence in the shadows behind him. He smirked; he knew the figure that had just arrived in the darkness.

"Good evening, Mister Frye. I wasn't expecting you."

He did not even bother to turn around to greet him. Unmasked, it was no longer useful for Jacob to remain in the shadows. He walked up to the desk, greeting Thomas warily. The Templar sensed it in his rival's voice. When he heard the gauntlet mechanism click into place, a chuckle briefly shook the Cameron heir's shoulders.

"Save your suspicion for those who still have something to lose", he suggested.

Jacob turned his head away slightly, his eyes — which he squinted — still focused on his enemy. He wasn't sure he understood what he meant. Thomas turned to his top-hatted guest and explained:

"You have won, Assassin. You have scared away the cowards, killed the brave ones, and taken what was dearest to my heart."

He walked around his office to approach the Frye twin remaining in London. He did not want to wait any longer. As he walked, he continued:

"I must confess that I am tired of it all. Of this rivalry, of this war, of all the losses... of the people we have loved, even if not mutually... I'm tired of fighting or resisting. So make it quick, Mister Frye, before I let my survival instinct get the better of me."

The Assassin understood what the Templar wanted. He seemed so sincere that he bent his elbow to raise his blade and bring the point of it to the throat of his interlocutor, who closed his eyes, waiting for his last hour to come. Jacob allowed himself to whisper in his ear:

"I want you to know that she asks for your forgiveness for all the evil she has done to you."

Thomas' throat tightened and a tear rolled down his cheek. After swallowing, he felt a cold, sharp object cut quickly through the flesh of his throat. He groaned in pain, his eyes wide open, staring into the Assassin's. The latter held the Templar's upper back and head and knelt down to slowly lay him down. Then he withdrew his blade, letting the blood flow slowly onto the carpet. He remained for the duration of his rival's agony.

"I... am envious of you, Frye... You had my wife's heart..."

"She loved you too, Thomas... not as much as you would have liked, but she didn't hate you. She would have liked it to end differently."

"Things are what they are... Even if it's hard to accept it..."

"Now that you are dying, you seem to accept it completely... Why is that?"

"Because I love her, Jacob. I don't mind dying with a tormented mind, even if it leads me to Hell. All I want is for her to have no regrets... to have no weight of guilt on her heart."

An intense and unknown pain made Thomas wince. He felt that his end was near, he didn't have much time left. He used the last of his strength to continue what he had to say for the rest of his life.

"Tell her that I forgive her everything, and that I loved her no matter what..."

Jacob was sorry for Thomas. He felt a pang of sadness as the Templar lay dying in his arms. He swallowed before answering:

"I'll tell her," he promised.

The dark-haired man had no time to answer. The blond head fell to the side, its gaze devoid of all life. He laid the body entirely on the ground and stayed at its side for a few moments. He looked at it before finally taking out his white handkerchief and staining it with the Templar's blood. He then put it in the inside pocket of his coat. Before standing up, he closed Thomas' eyes. He removed his hood to put on his top hat and then left the body of Victoria's husband.

Once outside and away from Thomas Cameron's home, Jacob sighed loudly as he looked up at the sky. He leaned forward, leaning on his thighs to take a deep breath and exhale the air he had ingested. He straightened up and ran his hands over his face and dropped his arms, which swayed. To be done with the London Templars was a relief to him. Even though he knew that the Order would keep a low profile in the future, he had to keep his eyes on London, undistracted by his love for Victoria and the child she was carrying.