Caroling in Lambeth: An Assassin's Creed Tale

So, this is definitely outside what I had originally intended this blog for, but since it's sort of just become a general place for me to post my thoughts, I figured it would work for sharing this Assassin's Creed fanfiction I wrote for the Mentor's Guild Creedmas 2018 Secret Santa project.

I've written a decent amount before, but have never dipped my toes much into fanfiction, outside of an Attila the Hun historical fiction "book" I wrote when I was eleven. The more things change, the more they apparently stay the same. So please forgive me if this breaks any tenets of fanfiction that I may be unaware of (and apologies in advance for my undoubtedly cringey attempts at Victorian British dialogue)!

This is the specific prompt I worked on for this piece: 

"A female Principal character (from any game) doing a good deed for something (like a holiday gifting)."

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Caroling in Lambeth

By Thomas Fitzler (cawatrooper9)

Evie Frye had never been so naïve as to think that the fall of Crawford Starrick would end all of London’s woes in one fell swoop, but she had hoped it would at least made the city a better place. And it had, to be sure- but the degree to which life had improved in this Great Wen since the ousting of the Templars in power was nowhere near what she had once fancied. The Bank of England had been stabilized, but most of the city still lived in utter squalor. The Blighters were defeated, but the Rooks themselves were beginning to run amok in the streets, uncontested by rival threats. Perhaps worst of all, even more Templars began to claw their way back into the city after what had almost seemed like the very moment Starrick’s regime had come to its bloody end. Though Evie still maintained the faith that she had always placed in the Assassins, there was no doubt that she was at least a bit disillusioned of the idea of any lasting peace.

 Evie feared that the work of an Assassin was never over.

The gamy aroma of roasting holiday turkeys imported from the Americas may have permeated the air of some of the more affluent parts of the city on this holiday night, but in Lambeth not even the broth-heavy poor’s stews could overpower the fulsome and acrid industrial fumes. At least, not up high on the rooftops, the sprawling hidden realm of London where few other than the eagles dwelt. There, the smoke and the snow helped conceal two figures on this hallowed night, each with quite a large pack slung over one shoulder.

“I still can’t believe you wore that,” Evie teased her husband. “Where did you even get those robes?”

Sir Henry Green winced. Standing in a festive bright red hooded robe lined in white fur tufts around the edges, he was certainly a strange sight to behold, even by the Brotherhood’s standards. The large burlap sack that he carried over his back completed the picture, in a way almost too perfect.

“Well, I made it. Just in case we were spotted by any of the children. I wanted them to think that maybe… you know.”

“That you were St. Nicholas?” Evie laughed. “That’s actually really sweet-”

Henry smiled. “Santa Claus now, I think they call-”

“-but you should’ve dressed in green with a wreath instead. Kids would probably be more excited to see a traditional Father Christmas, you know.”

This was hardly the first factory that Evie had broken into, but every time she entered one of these industrial complexes it broke her heart to see the children forced into labor. She considered the unjust treatment of the working class to be a major driving force behind her motivation as a member of the Brotherhood. After all, her first kill was of a disparaging mill owner- a moment where she still believed she had let her own passions get ahead of the mission, a “Jacob Flash” as she half-jokingly thought of it.

She loved working with Henry (even with his strange holiday-themed robes) but Evie did wish Jacob had accompanied her on this mission as well. Of course, he was busy working with the young members of the blossoming brotherhood in preparing for their upcoming trip to India, a huge looming project on the horizon for them all.

We’ve worked so hard to bring down the Templars here, and we’re not even done yet. But we’re moving halfway across the world now? Evie reasoned, I know it’s for the good of the Brotherhood, and I am looking forward to learning there, but this all feels so rushed. So unfinished.

As Henry and Evie began to make their descent toward one of the factory’s conveniently ajar windows, they heard holiday carolers in the distance down below- a rare sound in a grimy industrial district like Lambeth, though not totally unheard of.

“For lo! The Days are hastening on,

By prophets seen of old,

When with the ever-circling years

Shall come the time fortold.

When the new heaven and earth shall own

The Prince of Peace, their King,

And the whole world send back the song

Which now the angels sing.”

For some reason, the song sent chills down Evie’s spine. Even the ominous name of the carol, ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’ seemed more indicative of looming horror than cheer, and the lyrics about a "new earth" and "times fortold" sounded like the crazed muttered ambitions of a Templar.

She’d been having this feeling a lot lately. Fear, like the nonlethal tactics they’d soon learn from the Brotherhood in India. Fear, the sense of unease that she felt when she thought of how powerful and unchecked the Rooks had become, or when she saw the cruelty in the eyes of some of Jacob’s talented young recruits. Fear that, no matter how hard they try, the world will never be a place that she and Henry could ever know peace.

Fear, on this midnight clear.

“Here, love,” Henry said, helping Evie through the factory’s open window. “We’re going to be fine, we’ve been on far more dangerous missions than this, right?” Clearly, he sensed her unease, but not the source of it.

 As the carolers wassailed deep into the hazy gas lit city below, Evie slid into the cavernous dark room. Silently, the two intruders worked their way across the iron beams that latticed the upper levels of the building’s ceiling structure, their large burlap sacks making maneuverability a bit more difficult than normal. Evie had so many memories of stalking Blighter guards from these perches, but this night the factory appeared to be empty. All for the best, she assumed.

Once, and it seemed so long ago, Evie believed that the Brotherhood could liberate all the children of London from the toils of physical labor. She’d worked so hard to sneak them away from their overseers, but over time it became clear that many would have returned to work within the week. This revelation had been terribly disheartening to the Frye twins, but over time she had come to realize that these children generally had nowhere else better to go, even if that meant hazarding the dangers of a cotton mill that hardly paid them a wage at all. Even with the Templars thwarted, the system that London had been built upon was broken, and it would take a lot more to save these youths than simply releasing them into the streets over and over again. Not even the Assassins and the Rooks could responsibly take them all in. True, lasting change would hopefully come with the slow and progressive march of time, but today’s children would be lucky to see any meaningful advancements even once their own offspring was of age.

Things had gotten better, for sure. The hours that a child worked, once sometimes in excess of nineteen per day, were now mandated to be less than ten.  Various laws had been passed regarding the safety and inspection of equipment, and barristers were even reportedly working on legislation that could ensure that workers be paid proper wages, as many overseers tried to get away with paying their employees in nothing more than stale food and patchy clothing.

But still… what is "true" and and what "is" are not always the same. These were children, some as young as just four years old. No working conditions, not even pristine ones, would be appropriate. They deserved a childhood of playing, learning, and imagination.

One step at a time, Evie thought. We’re just here to make some faces smile come tomorrow.

Evie and Henry lowered themselves into one of the cotton bay areas. While the main factory floor would be the most obvious place to leave their surprises, it would be likely that the overseers would notice and confiscate all of the items. But in a more secluded room such as this, chances were much higher that the children could sneak away with their goods.

The two Assassins opened their burlap sacks and began to remove the objects inside- toy trains, jumping ropes, dolls, hoops and sticks, wooden soldiers, bags of marbles. Even a few oranges and nuts for the young ones to snack on. They worked quickly, and placed all of the items next to a pile of crates, so as to try and obscure them from view as much as possible from the possible interloping adult. When all was said and done, Henry left a note on top of the pile of goods.

 From: Santa Claus. Evie couldn’t help but smile.

“They’re going to be so happy,” Henry whispered, a hint of tear in his eyes. “I know that this doesn’t fix everything-“

“No,” Evie interrupted. “But it makes their Christmas special. We’re making a difference, and we’ll keep working. Here, Croyden, India- wherever we go, we’ve got to always keep working to make a difference.”

Henry approached Evie to embrace her.

“Saint Nick-lass?” a small voice called from the doorway. Evie’s blood froze.

Henry was apparently ready for this, though. As if on cue, he slowly turned toward the young boy and made a shushing gesture, then beckoned the child to them. Hmm, Evie thought amused, knowing Henry, he probably even wanted this to happen.

The boy looked to be about seven years old, covered in coal and dressed in a shabby coat and cap, not unlike the drab garb Jacob had preferred in some of his more rough and tumble days. Given that he had apparently been secretly lodging in the building, it was safe to assume he was an orphan.

“Actually, it’s Santa Claus,” Henry corrected the boy when he was closer. “But you can call me Saint Nicholas if you’d like,” he continued, when he saw the look of confusion on the boy’s face.

“Did you come for us?” asked the boy, with a genuine hint of surprise.

Henry, nearly on the verge of tears, managed to summon an answer. “Yes I did, little one. We brought you presents and treats, for you and all of your friends.”

“St. Nick-lass,” asked the boy, “who is that?” He pointed at Evie.

“Well, that my child is… umm, that is my elf.” Evie glared at him, and he was quick to correct. “I mean, not my elf. I don’t own her or anything. We’re partners.”

From the factory main floor there came a loud crashing noise. Evie and Henry made eye contact, alarmed. “Is there anyone else here with you?” Henry asked the child. The young boy only shrugged in response, but a flash of fear in his eyes told Evie all she needed to know.

Henry motioned wide-eyed at Evie, and wordlessly she saw his meaning as clear, a sense acquired more from their time together as a couple than from anything extraordinary in their bloodlines: if it comes to blows, this child cannot see “Santa Claus” in a fight.

“Let me go check on that,” Evie whispered.

“Hurry back, elf!” the child called back.




The Assassin stepped into the large open factory floor. A typical person might have trouble seeing in this darkness, but Evie’s eyes were far keener. Regardless, it was easy enough to spot the bobbing lantern making its ways down the floor aisles.

The boy may as well have been their own, Evie thought. If we ever decide to have a bigger family, we'll face far more than the typical fears parents have for their children. While a normal family has to worry about Scarlet Fever, we'll have to always watch out for the red Templar cross. Instead of whooping cough, an enemy blade will always threaten our throats. 

  Is this the life she and Henry would have to live? Constantly hiding and fighting, trying to cling to any hint of normalcy they could find? Was violence itself always needed to beget peace? Could they ever be truly content?

Evie drew closer to the bobbing light, not a moth to a flame but as predator to prey. Her blade extended flicked out from her wrist, an Assassin's routine she’d done thousands of times before, but this guard was special now. He wasn’t just some random obstacle in the crowd anymore. He was a symbol, in Evie’s mind, of a threat to her own standard of living. An embodiment of the impending hurdle in front of her chances at ever living a peaceful life.

Finally, she emerged face-to-face from the darkness in front of him, ready to see the hatred in this overseer’s eyes. The lifetime of denying orphans wages, overworking children on a daily basis, and likely a healthy dose of both physical and mental abuse to boot. She expected to see evil itself, the never ending threat under the guise of "order" that her Brotherhood had fought through so many centuries against. As far as she knew, these eyes may as well be pure black orbs, like a phantasmal creature of the night's. But instead, in them she saw only fear.

After all, shrouded in the dark with her blade extended at his neck, Evie Frye was quite clearly the scariest thing in this room.

“Please,” begged the man. “Take whatever ya want. Just let me return to my family for Christmas.” The overseer got to his knees and began to weep.

Why should I? Evie very nearly choked out through her righteous rage, but she already knew why. Because, despite this man’s undoubtedly horrendous crimes, more could come from his life than his death. Because he wasn’t the head of the snake that was London’s broken system, and another possibly crueler overseer would easily just take his place. Because it was the right thing to do.

She’d had a “Jacob Flash”, but the calmer, true Evie had prevailed. Instead of her brother, she decided to be specifically inspired by another one of her friends on this night.

“If I let you live, all I want is for you to make me some promises.”

“Anything, please!” plead the overseer.

“The children who work here, they will be treated well. No overworking them, no abusing them. If they must be here, for now, at the very least make this a safe and welcoming place for them.”

The man nodded.

“They’ll be getting some gifts tomorrow. It’s despicable enough that they have to be here on tomorrow’s holiday, but I think that will at least make their day more bearable. You must promise me that the children will receive those gifts, and that not a thing will be confiscated.”

The man nodded again. “I promise!”

“Finally, and I know this may cause some questions from your superiors, but I expect for you to supply the children with a hearty feast of Christmas goose.”

The man's eyebrows raised at this final request. “Feel like I’ve heard that one before. A bit on the nose, don’t ya think?”

“Probably, but an old friend of mine would appreciate it,” she responded, thinking fondly of the recently deceased Charles, a man whose wonder at the supernatural mysteries that Evie had seen could surely only be rivaled by his admiration for the altruistic aims of the Brotherhood. “Will you do it?”

“Yes!” the overseer responded, though this last request clearly frustrated him. “Don’t know how, but I’ll get it done, ya can be sure! Please, just let me live!”

“I will," she promised. "I’m feeling merciful on this holiday eve. But know this: we’re in every plume of smoke, behind every textile machine, on every street corner. And we expect you to honor your bargain.” Terrified, the man simply nodded.

Fear, Evie realized, was a pretty useful tool after all.

“Well my goodness, Father Christmas himself has arrived” Jacob said when the two Assassins returned to the Assassins' den.

“You have no idea,” Henry responded, still giddy from his experience with the child.

“Was your little humanitarian quest a success, then?”

“Moreso than we originally even planned, I think”, Evie answered her twin.

“Then it’s a happy Christmas, indeed.” He gestured to some glasses on the table before him, filled with mulled wine. “To London. And to us. May we always keep on trying,” Jacob toasted.

“To London, and to us,” responded the couple, smiling at each other.

As a child, Evie often asked her father to tell her stories about the Assassins. She was always fascinated by the mysterious tales of the First Civilization ruins and the Pieces of Eden, the wise mentors of old like Altair and Ezio Auditore, and even more recent heroes like the great pirate Edward Kenway. But nothing fascinated her more than the idea that, throughout all of time, the Assassins prevailed. They maybe never fully “won” the war, and at times like during the Seven Years War, they even saw some extremely dark days. But they never really “lost”, either. Challenge after challenge, the Assassins rose up and always saved the world. And as long as the Templars haven’t won either, in a way, couldn't the Assassins could count themselves momentarily victorious?

Evie loved the Brotherhood and its tenacity through time.  It represented a strength to her that was not brutish or cruel, but stalwart and noble. It was something to truly aspire to, and on this eve she felt like she had achieved some level of solidarity with that strength, a synchronization with it. The future still held so many unknowns, but she looked forward to them, rather than fearing the depths of what they had to offer. If Evie and Henry had a child, if they stayed in India, even if they ended up fighting in the Brotherhood for the rest of their lives, come what may, Evie felt that everything would be all right. On this holiday, at midnight clear, Lady Frye felt a sense of peace.