Just post stuff about Assassin's creed 3 ( Past assassin's creed games are welcomed as well) This is a letter I found on tumblr from Haytham to Ziio
Ziio
This is one letter, for once, that I have had trouble beginning. For years now this letter has been sitting upon my desk with nothing but your name scrawled upon the corner of the page. What I thought I might say to you then, twenty years ago, has long since passed my mind. Too many things have occurred since then that have demanded my attention, and I, perhaps, might have been afraid of how you might reply. Now, of course, it is too late. You are gone, and I sense that my time is close at end and perhaps by the hands of our son. The boy, now man that we brought into the world together. There had been a time in my life where I dreamed of fatherhood, and you took that away from me. Rather, I took that away from myself, in lying, and allowing you to slip through my fingers. You, who was so elusive, who could make inklings of the shyness I possessed as a young boy return, who for a time brought elation and joy to my life. I did not feel anything at the time but numbness. There was never the luxury of taking time to feel hurt or heartbroken. Perhaps I did feel it, to some extent. Perhaps, because there was never a woman in my life after you. I wonder about you, however. Your resolve was always so strong, your spirits and strength beyond that of common men. Did you ever feel it? Was there any regret in what you did? That we would never meet again?
There are many questions that run across my mind. Did you ever speak to Connor about me? Did you see me in him? What would you have told him of me, good or bad? Was he treated well, despite being my child? Did you ever think of what times we shared? Those nights where there seemed to be nothing more in the world besides you and I? Might you have missed me, as I missed you? Did you die with me on your mind? Did you die suffering? I will never know, now. You were, without a doubt, among the happiest times in my life. And I wish that things could have been different. That we could have stayed together and lived life in a different manner. I realize now that it could never had been so, but might it have lasted just a bit longer if I had chased after you, insisted until you had listened even if it had been the death of me? Might I have had a chance to be a father both in truth and in name?
There is regret still deeply instilled within me. A desire that will never be filled, because I already had my chance and it has long passed. I wonder if you understood my reasons for acting as I had, for doing what I had done, would there have been forgiveness? No, I don’t think so. Because you truly were, in every sense of the word, unreachable. You were one who was meant to be free, a fleeting figure in the distance, always within sight, but never within reach but for the briefest of moments. Still, those moments were precious. I dreamed of those times long after, I wanted your affection, sought after those nights by the fire and wanted desperately for togetherness. Yet any naivety left in me died when I learned of your death. Any hope that we might have been a family, any dreaming nullified. I understand all too well that it could not have been, and it will never be. Perhaps you might have understood, and as I ready the fire to dispose of this letter like the others, I wonder if this might be the only one to reach its destination.
Haytham
Ziio
This is one letter, for once, that I have had trouble beginning. For years now this letter has been sitting upon my desk with nothing but your name scrawled upon the corner of the page. What I thought I might say to you then, twenty years ago, has long since passed my mind. Too many things have occurred since then that have demanded my attention, and I, perhaps, might have been afraid of how you might reply. Now, of course, it is too late. You are gone, and I sense that my time is close at end and perhaps by the hands of our son. The boy, now man that we brought into the world together. There had been a time in my life where I dreamed of fatherhood, and you took that away from me. Rather, I took that away from myself, in lying, and allowing you to slip through my fingers. You, who was so elusive, who could make inklings of the shyness I possessed as a young boy return, who for a time brought elation and joy to my life. I did not feel anything at the time but numbness. There was never the luxury of taking time to feel hurt or heartbroken. Perhaps I did feel it, to some extent. Perhaps, because there was never a woman in my life after you. I wonder about you, however. Your resolve was always so strong, your spirits and strength beyond that of common men. Did you ever feel it? Was there any regret in what you did? That we would never meet again?
There are many questions that run across my mind. Did you ever speak to Connor about me? Did you see me in him? What would you have told him of me, good or bad? Was he treated well, despite being my child? Did you ever think of what times we shared? Those nights where there seemed to be nothing more in the world besides you and I? Might you have missed me, as I missed you? Did you die with me on your mind? Did you die suffering? I will never know, now. You were, without a doubt, among the happiest times in my life. And I wish that things could have been different. That we could have stayed together and lived life in a different manner. I realize now that it could never had been so, but might it have lasted just a bit longer if I had chased after you, insisted until you had listened even if it had been the death of me? Might I have had a chance to be a father both in truth and in name?
There is regret still deeply instilled within me. A desire that will never be filled, because I already had my chance and it has long passed. I wonder if you understood my reasons for acting as I had, for doing what I had done, would there have been forgiveness? No, I don’t think so. Because you truly were, in every sense of the word, unreachable. You were one who was meant to be free, a fleeting figure in the distance, always within sight, but never within reach but for the briefest of moments. Still, those moments were precious. I dreamed of those times long after, I wanted your affection, sought after those nights by the fire and wanted desperately for togetherness. Yet any naivety left in me died when I learned of your death. Any hope that we might have been a family, any dreaming nullified. I understand all too well that it could not have been, and it will never be. Perhaps you might have understood, and as I ready the fire to dispose of this letter like the others, I wonder if this might be the only one to reach its destination.
Haytham