Hello! I've had an idea for a fic with Altair for a while now after having played through Assassin's Creed Revelations, so I thought why not use the precious time I waste doing nothing productively and actually write it out? I never usually do stuff like this, and I don't really consider myself a good writer, but eh, I thought it'd be fun, so why the hell not?
So... with this being the first fic I've ever wrote, bear in mind I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
Enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of it's characters. Please do not sue me. I'm very broke.
The wind blew softly at her legs, almost as if it was urging her forward.
It was a beautiful night to die, she decided. The moon was full and bright, and she swore she could hear it's voice whisper to her. She opened her eyes then, and took in the view of the bustling city below. Bright and vibrant screens flashed advertisements obnoxiously, illuminating the streets below, while the soft glow of neon shop lights gave the city a splotch of color here and there. Every now and then, an occasional honk from an offended driver could be heard.
The city that never sleeps. New York City.
A place where dreams come true.
What a fucking joke.
A woman stood still and quiet on the ledge of her apartment balcony, taking a long and deep drag off a cigarette.
This was not the first time she stood here, cigarette in hand, mind set on a task that could only be accomplished once. It was not that she was afraid... No, it was not fear that had previously stopped her. It was... a sense of obligation perhaps?
A feeling of guilt?
She thought about all the previous attempts, and how they always ended with her lying on the bathroom floor in a drunken stupor, occasionally leaning over the toilet to vomit out the words that she could not find ways to express.
When was the last time she cried?
11 years old. Mom's funeral.
She absently fingered the silver pendant resting on her collarbone, her thumb dragging over the cool, smooth surface.
She thought about her job for a moment, and how sickeningly good at it she was.
A professional, a genius, a prodigy.
What an incredible waste it would be, if she were to go.
She smiled bitterly at the sheer irony of one that saves lives taking their own. She always loved irony. She always was a sarcastic and cynical bitch.
Dr. Weiss, an expert in diagnostics and various other medical fields. She was a medical genius at only 23, and yet here she was, about to jump off her apartment balcony. What an incredible waste.
She let out the smoke in a long and dramatic sigh, the gray wisps curling around her face and dissipating softly in the light of the moon. She stepped forward, her toes dangling off the edge of the concrete. She briefly thought of her boyfriend, William, who she knew was cheating on her. She honestly couldn't blame him. He was always complaining how it felt to him like she wasn't even trying to contribute to the relationship.
And he would be right.
"Are you even a human being? Do you even feel emotion?"
Yes... she doubted he would grieve much over her death. One more reason to get it over with quite frankly. She took one last puff off her cigarette before tossing it into the humming streets below.
"Hm." She mused out loud, "What an incredible waste indeed."
And with that, she willed herself to lean forward, and for the first, and seemingly last time in her life,
She flew.
Dr. Weiss awoke to the sound of distant chatter and to the intruding light of the sun turning the black of closed eyelids a bright red. She cringed at a sharp and searing pain in the back of her head.
So... this was hell then? It would explain the ungodly heat.
She opened her eyes fully to find herself lying unceremoniously in a cart of hay. How charming.
Wait a minute. What was a cart of hay doing in hell? There were certainly no flames or screams of the damned. She sat up, her back aching, and took in her surroundings. The buildings, somewhat boxy, looked as though they were made of stone and some other material she'd never seen implemented into a building before. She was doctor after all, not an architect.
Several people were walking around wearing strange clothes she'd only seen in the Middle East. They spoke to each other quickly in a tongue she had never heard before, but could somehow understand.
Just what the fuck is going on?
She exited the cart with more difficulty than should've been necessary and found herself wearing the clothes she wore when she jumped from her balcony, plus equipped with her work backpack. She fingered the rough material of the straps slung over her shoulders. How the hell did this get here? Where am I?
Am I truly dead?
She noticed with dread and slight annoyance that people were starting to stop and stare at her. She surely must've been quite the sight. A light-haired and pale woman wearing a flimsy white night gown, no shoes, and sporting hair that looked as if she'd just been fucked in a barn. She would've laughed at the situation if it weren't her that was currently dealing with said situation. She gathered she must've looked quite inviting based on the looks some of the passing men were giving her. She grimaced.
Fucking fantastic. Not only am I lost, confused, and supposed to fucking dead. But now I look like a whore to all these leering bastards. Some of whom had started advancing towards her. Highly unnerved, she started to run. Bare feet slapping against stone, people stared at her as she passed. She found herself increasing in pace as her nerves became more unsettled with every hasty step she took. She didn't know where she was running. She didn't really care. Maybe if she ran fast enough she would find herself in the streets of New York once more.
She wandered the streets for a while, attempting to converse with the locals. Though they tended to avoid her like the plague.
Must be the appearance.
At one point, with her throat sufficiently parched, she opted to beg a street merchant for some water, but immediately regretted that decision when he threw a rock at her and called her a dirty whore.
What a lovely little town.
After several hours of aimless wandering, she noted with misery that the sun was beginning to set and she still didn't know where she was or if she was even alive. She certainly felt alive, considering her aching back and the unrelenting pain that seared through the back of her head like the slow drag of a knife.
She heard several footsteps then, wild and loud, advancing towards her direction. Startled, she broke into a sprint, uncaring if the footsteps were even meant for her. Panic overtook her, adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she ran like she had never run before. She suddenly felt thankful for all of those morning jogs.
"Oh god." She breathed out, stopping in an alleyway after a while to catch her breath, her heart pounding wildly. "Oh god."
She heard a pained groan then to her right, and she snapped her head towards the source. There, slumped against the wall, was a man. He wore robes of pristine white, a sash of red, and a pointed hood concealing the features of his face completely. His head was leaning forward, drops of perspiration splashing onto the ground from his face while his breaths came out in short pants. She noticed a dark red stain completely soaking his entire left arm, which he clutched with a shaking hand.
Poisoned. She deduced from the potent smell. After slowing her heart rate, she approached him carefully, as not to alarm him. He visibly flinched when she came into view and she could feel his glare on her, scrutinizing her from beneath the shadow of his hood.
The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.
"Excuse me. I can help you. I'm a... healer." She spoke slowly and carefully, gesturing to his arm. What the fuck am I doing! I don't even know this guy! He could be a murdering psychopath for all I know!
There was a long, obnoxious period of silence while he just stared at her. Surely he thought she was mad, she must've looked like it, and she certainly felt like it considering the current situation. He said nothing, but made no move to run away or, God forbid, kill her. Her patience running thin, she took that as consent. He was in pretty bad shape after all and could use the help, even from a crazy foreigner.
She zipped open her backpack then, dumping out the contents. On the ground lay her cellphone and earbuds, a hair brush, several pouches of sorted herbs, rubbing alcohol, a first aid kit, her Glock 19, a Swiss army knife, a hard copy of The Great Gatsby, her lighter, and a pack of cigarettes. Definitely could go for one of these right about now. She retrieved one of the white cylinders.
The man watched her with pained curiosity as she put the white stick between her lips and produced a singular flame from the lighter with a click and a spark. She took a quick puff.
With her cigarette sufficiently lit, she began to work. She ripped open the sleeve of his shirt to find a nasty looking cut adorning his bicep. It was long, but not horribly deep. It was irritated though, severely so, most likely from the poison. The skin around the perimeter of the cut was angry and red, and pus seeped from within the crack of the cut. She sorted through her memory, attempting to pick out the correct poison and it's corresponding antidote based on the symptoms of the patient. He was sweating profusely, obviously in a great deal of pain hence the shortness of breath, and of course the shaking hands. She reached for his face to feel his forehead, ignoring his flinch as he attempted to retreat further into his hood. She frowned. So you don't want your face seen, hm? Suspicious. She held her hand flush against his forehead and cursed outwardly to find him burning with fever.
"Fuck." She could feel his eyes on her, cold and calculating.
She reviewed the symptoms in her head, and focused on the smell. It was potent, and invaded her nostrils angrily. Similar to nail polish remover. The poison clicked in her mind in that next instant. Satisfied on her diagnosis, she retrieved the rubbing alcohol and a select few herbs from her pouches.
"Hold this." She ordered, gesturing to his good arm with her cigarette. Reluctantly, her grabbed the tobacco stick with his index finger and thumb. He inspected the smoking cylinder with a shaking hand.
"Just don't touch the tip. It's hot." With that, she popped the herbs into her mouth and began to chew. Had she been any other woman, she probably would have blushed under his intense stare, but she was no ordinary woman.
Supposedly.
It had been quite a while since she had used herbal medicine on someone, what with all the fancy medical technology coming out that practically did the doctors' job for them. It was a practice that was hardly ever, if at all needed. But it had fascinated her enough to learn it nonetheless.
She grabbed a gauze square and tipped the rubbing alcohol upside down onto the fabric, then spat out the glob of herbs into her other free hand. "Brace yourself, this is going to hurt like a bitch." She laughed at the frown he gave her at her choice of words. She then began to cleanse the wound, and the man hissed loudly through tightly clenched teeth. She laughed again, "Told you."
Once the wound was cleaned to her satisfaction, she immediately smeared the glob of chewed plants into the crack of the wound, until it was completely covered. She ripped the bottom of her gown until she had a decently long strip of fabric, and wrapped the wound tightly. She retrieved a few of the same herbs and rolled them into a ball in between her palms. She handed the man the ball of herbs, opting to trade for her cigarette. She placed the stick in between her lips. "Chew this well, then swallow." He obeyed after inspecting it for a few moments, then chewed the plant ball before swallowing thickly. He visibly cringed at the taste and she couldn't help the smirk that crept up on her face.
The smile didn't last long. Perhaps this guy can answer some of my questions since I kinda sorta saved his life. Definitely worth asking. She took a long drag off her cigarette, taking care to blow the smoke away from his face.
"What is your name?" Said a voice beside her suddenly. It was rich, deep, and dare she say very sexy. She turned to look at him, catching the glint of his eyes from beneath the shadow.
"Dr. Pal- uh, I mean... um," For the first time since she could remember, she found herself stumbling on her words, unable to decide if she should tell this potentially dangerous stranger her last name. "...Ariana." She settled with, recomposing herself. Surely there's no harm sharing my first name.
"Ariana." He repeated. The name rolled off his tongue in an accent that would have given any other woman chills, but Ariana was no ordinary woman.
Or at least she liked to think as much.
"And you? What's yours?"
"..."
She waited patiently for a reply, only to be met with a soft snore.
She threw her hands up, fucking great! I save his god damn life and I get shit in return! She sighed deeply, unsure of what to do. Should she leave him here? Surely someone must be pursuing him if he got poisoned in such a violent way. She thought back to the angry footsteps she had heard earlier. No, her conscious would not allow it. She would stay, at least until he woke up and fucked off. She plopped down next to him, and took a drag off her quickly depleting cigarette. And I still don't know where I am or what's going on. She sighed again, and turned to look at the now sleeping man. Now having time to inspect him fully, she processed what she saw. As previously observed, he wore elegant robes of white with a pointed hood. A red sash was wrapped around the waist beneath a thick belt of leather armor which held several small knives in tiny grooves. Another set of the very same knives rested just above his right shoulder. A deadly looking sword hung from his hip, and his hands, no longer shaking, wore finger-less gloves that had what she assumed to be steel-tipped knuckles. She noted with sick curiosity that the ring finger on his left hand was wholly missing. Just who are you?
What are you?
She looked at the sword and knives unnervingly, something she mentally kicked herself for not noticing earlier. Why do you carry a fucking sword and knives? It's 2017!
But was it really? The thought exhausted her.
And is if on cue, she suddenly felt very tired.
She crushed her burning cigarette butt into the cold stone of the ground, and leaned her head back. She closed her eyes. Her vision going black. Falling asleep right now would be a very foolish decision. Don't be fucking foolish.
Correct. It would be bad to fall asleep here, in an alleyway, with a probably dangerous man who had a very handsome voice.
She honestly couldn't find the energy to care. Hell, she had just tried to commit suicide the night prior. Let him kill me. That is, if I'm even still alive.
And with that final thought she let the comfort of sleep take her.
"We're expecting a shipment tonight. Stay on constant alert. There has been word the Assassin is here in Jerusalem." The target whispered harshly to two lackeys. "If you see him, scream, yell, do what you must to give away his location."
"Sir."
Sharp, amber eyes watched.
He was perched atop a wooden beam, watching, waiting.
The target retreated back into the tavern, looking over his shoulder once more with unease. Altair scowled. Disgusting bastard. Your men will not save you from your inevitable demise.
The target was Nahman Kar, the presiding leader over a group of bandits who were as merciless as they were deadly. They were infamous for the gruesome, ritualistic torture they would subject to captured women and children. Because of their strong presence, the group was hired by Templars to instill fear into the general public, prompting compliance. Yes... Kar would die tonight.
Altair moved swiftly along the rooftops, dispatching archers with a throwing knife or a flash of the hidden blade. Standing on a rooftop opposite of the tavern, he launched himself across the gap with powerful legs. For a second, he was airborne, then caught the ledge of a window sill with strong fingers once he made impact with the building. He scanned the side of the building for an open window and, once found, scaled his way effortlessly up the wall towards it. Looking just over the edge of the sill, he spotted a man inside. He was completely alone and hunched over a table scattered with several papers. How lucky. It was the target.
He hoisted himself through the window without a sound, and cautiously approached the unsuspecting target. Activating his hidden blade with a snick, he purposely alerted Kar, who immediately spun around and launched himself at Altair in a flurry of sloppy attacks with a dagger. So he was was expecting me.
Altair dodged all of the attacks with practiced ease. Kar snarled, swiping at Altair like a madman. His movements were erratic and crazed, and somewhat difficult to read. Altair threw a punch at him then, and it connected hard and true with Kar's jaw, jerking his head violently to the right.
He spat out a glob of blood and phlegm."So the rat finally shows itself." Kar uttered in an unpleasant and gravelly voice. He grinned maniacally at Altair then, his teeth rotten and stained red with blood. Altair stood silent, his posture proud and menacing. He glared fiercely at the man from beneath his hood.
"What are you waiting for? Come on Assassin! Show me what you got!" Kar shouted, then charged, his body jerking mechanically.
Their blades clashed relentlessly, and after a long and meticulous fight, Kar started to show visible signs of fatigue, inwardly cursing the Assassin for his inhuman stamina.
Altair crouched low then, and swiped out the target's feet from under him, causing his body to collide with ground with a painful smack. With Kar stunned, and groaning with pain, Altair took the opportunity to pounce on him and thrust his hidden blade into the side of his neck. Blood gurgled in his throat, and he hacked and choked, clawing desperately at Altair's arms. His efforts were futile, however, and he went still.
Altair could not deny the slight feeling of pleasure at taking the life of this man.
"You deserve a death far worse than this one." He sneered at the motionless body of Nahman Kar.
He pulled out a single white feather, and swiped it across the gaping hole in the man's neck. He stowed it away in his belt, the feather now stained red with blood. He began to rise from his crouched position when Kar, miraculously still alive, lunged at the unaware Altair and pinned him to the ground. He hissed like a dog, blood spurting through the nooks in his tightly clenched teeth. Kar clenched the dagger with white knuckles above Altair's heart and pushed with all of the strength he had left. Altair grunted with effort, grabbing onto the madman's arms and pushing with equal strength, the muscles in his arms straining. Kar roared loudly in defiance, and in a seemingly last ditch effort to inflict some damage, he leaned all of his weight onto the dagger and successfully cut Altair's left arm. Altair hissed at the pain, then plunged his hidden blade into the target's skull.
Kar went still once more, his eyes glossing over. Now completely dead.
With arms slightly aching and his cut burning, he heaved Kar off him with gritted teeth. Altair inspected the cut. Allah above, it hurt like hell. But now was not the time meander as he then heard shouts and loud footsteps approaching the room. I will deal with it later, it is not that deep. And with that, he exited the window and scaled down the wall. He landed on the ground with a grunt.
"The Assassin!" A bandit hollered, his voice projecting loudly. "Get him!"
Altair cursed under his breath and broke into a sprint. He could hear them not too far behind him, and so, choose to take the rooftops. He was about to scale the nearest wall when a sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He slowed. ...What... what is this? His vision swirled and blurred, and the shouts of the men behind him sounded muffled and warped. He scowled.
The dagger was poisoned. I was too careless.
He stumbled down a nearby alleyway, pressing his body flush against the wall and into the darkness of the shadows. The men ran past in a fit of curses and screams. "Find the bastard!"
Altair let out the breath he'd been holding in, long and slow. He was sweating horribly and had the strongest urge to throw up. And as if on cue, with one violent contraction, the contents of his stomach emerged in the light of the moon, splattering on the ground. He heaved until only vivid yellow liquid was coming up.
Now with the bitter taste of bile in his mouth, stumbling, he made his way towards the bureau. I need... to get back...
Breathing was exceptionally difficult, and the pain in his arm was growing stronger and stronger. He gritted his teeth, his feet were starting to go numb.
Great.
He felt so... weak. So utterly spent.
Simply unable to walk anymore, his legs gave out and he slumped against the wall, sinking to the ground. So was this it then? Was this the spectacular end of the mighty Altair? He clutched his arm and closed his eyes, attempting to ease the vertigo that had him feeling as though he was spinning around in circles like a child. He groaned.
A pair of feet came into his line of sight soon after, and he didn't even try to hold back his flinch. How had he not sensed a presence? He tried on his best glare as he looked up at them, despite the circumstances. What he saw surprised him.
It was a woman, that much he could tell from her attire and the shape of her body.
Then came her voice, "Excuse me. I can help you. I'm a... healer." Her voice was silvery and soft, and under any other circumstance where he wasn't poisoned, he would have found it soothing.
He stared at her openly, scrutinizing. She wore a silken white dress that fluttered around her legs like shimmering waves, some kind of black sack on her back, and a silver chained necklace that hung elegantly from her slender neck. Her skin was pale, and seemed to glow slightly under the light of the moon. Her hair was a long golden blonde, but was horribly tangled and frizzed, with a few pieces of hay comically sticking out here and there. Her face was beautiful, with profound eyes of emerald and rosy lips set in an attractive pout. She looked like a ghost. Or an angel.
He figured he had died.
She hefted her sack over her shoulder then, and emptied the contents of the bag onto the ground. He recognized what appeared to be a book, some herbs in strange see-through pouches, and... a hair brush? The rest of the items were foreign to him. Just what kind of healer is this woman?
He watched as she held some kind of white stick up to her lips and produced a tiny flame from a strange small rectangle with a click and a spark. She held the flame just beneath the end of the stick, and smoke began to rise from it's edge. The burning edge of the stick glowed for a moment then, and she removed the stick from her lips to let out a long stream of foul-smelling smoke.
What is this sorcery? How is this woman producing smoke from her mouth?
She ripped open his sleeve to fully expose the wound then, and he let her. He didn't detect any malicious intent. Indeed, she was strange, but he certainly wasn't about to turn down free healing. After all, she couldn't poison him more. There really wasn't much to lose.
The woman sat there for a moment, her face scrunched in thought before she reached her hand toward him. He flinched again, and retreated further into the shadows, but ultimately allowed her to press her hand flat against his damp forehead. Her hand was cool.
It felt wonderful.
"Fuck." She cursed, retrieving her hand. His eyes snapped back to her and he stared. What kind of woman uses such unsavory language?
"Hold this."
She gestured to his good arm with her smoking white stick. He faltered for a moment. What if the stick was some kind of bomb?
Eh, caution be damned.
He grabbed the stick with shaking fingers and inspected it with genuine curiosity despite the pain. The stick was light, almost feather light, and a portion was an orange color as opposed to white.
By Allah he hadn't the foggiest idea what it was.
"Just don't touch the tip. It's hot." he redirected his stare back to her to find her chewing on what he assumed were the herbs.
What a strange woman...
His vision unfocused then, and he momentarily zoned out until the sound of her speaking garnered his attention.
"Brace yourself, this is going to hurt like a bitch."
He frowned at her strange and inappropriate dialect, and she laughed. The laugh was clear and light, and as much as he wish he didn't, he found it pleasant.
She pressed a soaked piece of fabric to the cut then, and he hissed at the sting, harshly clenching his teeth until they groaned.
She laughed that laugh again. "Told you." Her emerald eyes found his and she smiled. He'd never seen eyes of such a vibrant green. They fascinated him.
Stop that. Such thoughts are dangerous and irrelevant.
She rubbed and dabbed at the wound with steady, practiced hands. The sting immediately began to ease after she smeared her chewed mush on and around the cut. He watched closely as she ripped the bottom of her dress, producing a makeshift bandage, and wrapped a generous portion of his arm tightly but carefully. The pain continued to cease, albeit slowly. A bead of sweat dropped from the tip of his nose.
She held out a compact ball of herbs to him. "Chew this well, then swallow." He handed her back her smoking white stick and grasped the ball in between his fingers, scrutinizing it. It certainly didn't look menacing, and it seemed like this woman was genuinely trying to help him since the pain in his arm was now a dull ache as opposed to the searing, sharp pain he had felt earlier. Seeing no other option, he popped it into his mouth and began to chew.
It tasted abhorrent.
With difficulty, he swallowed the lump of chewed plant thickly, and cringed as it slid down his throat like a brick.
She lifted the burning stick to her lips again, the end glowing a bright orange for a generous amount of time before she blew out another thick stream of smoke. For the first time in very long time, Altair found himself mesmerized.
The words left his mouth before he could stop them, "What is your name?"
She turned to look at him, and replied. "Dr. Wei- uh, I mean... um," She paused, her eyes flickering with thought.
"...Ariana."
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
"Ariana." He repeated the name, testing it out. He liked the way it sounded on his tongue.
She said something then, but he didn't have time to catch what it was before darkness consumed him.
He fell asleep with the taste of herbs in his mouth and the smell of cigarettes in his nose.
