(A/N) Hello readers! I am very excited to present my first fanfic . . . ever (ta-da!). I absolutely love the storylines that Ubisoft has created for their assassin's creed characters (however, in altair's case it is more like the lack thereof), anyways, I was inspired to write this fanfic which will be set in the Holy Land during Altair's time. Now moving on to more technical issues, I have tried to do a lot of research on this time period, but there may be times that I might use my writer's privilege and change things for my own purpose, however, I would love any help on the matter of getting my facts straight. I love history, but I am nowhere near being an historian! Also, I try and proofread my work many times, but there may be times I miss . . . so I apologize beforehand if any have escaped my attention.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of Ubisoft's characters. I wish I did, but I don't. If I did, I would hide Altair in my room, and lick him once a day. =)

So without further ado, my first ever fanfic . . . please don't flame me!

Prologue

Acre, 1176

"Assassin!"

The shrill cries of panic pierced the silence of Acre like an arrow cutting into human flesh. It was surprising, quick, but painful. Guards patrolled the streets swiftly, carrying torches to illuminate the paths. Their eyes scanned for the telling white robes, a splash of red, and the heavy weapon arsenal that their enemies carried on their backs. The townspeople peeked out their doors and windows, caught between their desires to catch sight of the infamous white figures and their fear of death and injury from the same.

No one paid notice to the woman that had cried the alert.

She lay in the shadows, breath coming in small pants as she pressed her hands to the mortal wound in her midsection. The blood spilled through her fingers onto the faded colors of her skirt and shirt. It seemed to sparkle as the torches passed. It touched her senses. The feel of it in her hands, the smell of it filling her nose, and the taste of it as she bit her tongue in pain. It was everywhere.

He had condemned her to this slow, agonizing death hoping to bring her to her knees even in death. She wanted to laugh and proclaim into the heavy night air that she had won. Single-handily, she had destroyed his dreams of position and power by stealing their daughter away many weeks ago. Although it was his blade that had punctured her stomach, it was her instincts and intelligence that had hid their daughter away. She pictured her daughter sleeping peacefully—secure and safe—in the arms of her new guardian. She could not bring herself to call the woman her daughter's mother, because she relished the title, holding it close.

She wanted to hold on to the image of her precious daughter as she slipped away, but perhaps it was true what they said about death. A deathly blow could bring grown men to their knees wanting the sweet release death could deliver. Women could weep their tears wishing for the ignorant bliss that it could provide. Children could fall innocently into its welcoming arms. Yes, death could do all of those things, but it also brought the realization of one's own mortality. During the last minutes of life, a human reflects on the journey that brought them there. Closing her eyes, prayer on her lips, she let death steer her down the path to relive her memories before it took her deep into its dark arms.

Our Father, which art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name;

Jerusalem, 1168

Sabrina swore she could hold the air in her hands, tossing it back and forth like an apple. It was so hot. Kicking her legs around and huffing, she finally stilled in the middle of her bed. She could not handle the heat anymore. Casting a studious look at her latched windows, she leapt up from her bed to open them. Once the wooden shutters—the ones her father had requested be place on her window immediately—were open, she stuck her head out to take a breath of the cool, fresh air.

She wanted to groan at the warmth that even resided outside; however, the openness of her room seemed to help her own psyche and made it manageable to lie down once again. It was still hot, but there was a slight breeze—very slight—that was blowing in. Doing all she could do to relieve her frustration, she closed her eyes determined to get some sleep before the sun rose.

The market place could be browsed, the gardens tended, and social visits could be paid. Tomorrow had endless possibilities—what was that?

Sabrina shot up from her bed, and ran to the window. She had heard footsteps coming from somewhere close, yet the night was still and silent. Maybe it was a trick of her mind, she tried to convince herself, but as she was walking back to her bed, she heard it again.

Her head was sticking out her window instantaneously, trying to redeem herself in her own eyes, but once again, she saw or heard nothing. Giving up, she turned around again and let out a loud gasp at the heap of white robes that was pressed against the wall below her window.

A pair of golden eyes focused on her from beneath the shadows of a white hood.

thy kingdom come;

thy will be done,

Jerusalem, 1168

His strong, muscled arms encircled her as they lay in her bed. Sabrina trailed a fingertip across his chest, looking up into his dark eyes. It had been blissful, magical, and . . . lovely. She tucked her head in-between the crook of his neck, and smiled. They had shared their first night together, with only the small amount of moonlight shining through the cracked shutters. It had been mysterious and forbidden. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of all the words she was grasping and trying to use to describe what her first time had been like. Instead of trying to put into words what she was feeling, she would lie here in her lover's arms and simply enjoy what she was feeling . . . the beat of his heart, the smell of sweat and their lovemaking, and even the feel of his skin against hers. This was heaven, she was sure of it. He was her heaven.

She felt his lips touch her forehead, and felt desire course through her veins again. His fingers stood out among her pale skin, but he trailed it along her shoulder before rubbing a blonde curl in-between his fingertips. The Sabrina that had threatened him with heavy metal of a candlestick holder the night he had jumped in through her window, would have thought herself insane now for the actions she had committed tonight. However, she would not feel guilty for this. Never.

"I love you," she finally whispered into the night air.

"You barely know me," he replied after a few seconds, his voice tinged with something she could not identify. Cynicism? Disbelief? Anger?

Pulling back to look once more into the dark eyes—sometimes golden when he first arrived—she shook her head. "I know you enough to love you."

in earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

Somewhere near Damascus, 1169

Sabrina studied the glinting light that the sun was casting on her golden band. Her hand felt heavy and odd, but she vowed to herself that she would never remove the ring. It was a symbol of her promises to the man that rode beside her, but also a symbol of his love for her.

He loved her. She practically squeezed herself from the sheer delight of it. The handsome man that was but a few feet away from her was her husband. Mine, she thought, and snuck a glance at his harsh profile as he kept a protective eye on the horizon. He was constantly on the watch for a threat.

Looking back down at her white, smooth hands, she took a deep breath. There were still many miles to travel until they reached their destination, Masyaf. He had told her about his home that he shared with others. A large castle tucked into a hill. It was private and sacred, he said. She had wanted to complain at first about the lack of privacy if they were to live with others, but he had later explained that it was necessary to what he did.

Assassin. She whispered the word in her mind, feeling the wickedness and violence of it even though she had not said it aloud. He killed the evil doers in the world that threatened to corrupt the world of its goodness. He was not a Saracen soldier as she had previously imagined, but a man that stood apart from the foolish crusades that had brought her family to this land in the first place. He and his brothers, he had passionately lectured her, were the only ones that stood between evil men and the innocent.

She compared him to a knight, and she was his lady. He rode proudly into battle with his weapons nearby, and her love in his heart. It was all so romantic. Something her parents could never understand when she tried to tell them of their love and their wish to marry. Her mother had wept loudly as she pulled away from Sabrina's arms, calling her a whore. While her father had held his blade to her lover's neck, calling him a string of names, but when he moved to adjust his hold on the threatening blade, Sabrina's lover maneuvered the weapon from his hands. She had left with him listening to her mother's cries to return, while her father yelled of his disownment of his only daughter.

She could withstand it all for her romantic hero, her courtly knight. Returning her gaze to the bright landscape that rose before her, she felt her love for him grow within her heart. She would cherish every moment with him.

Yet, Sabrina did not realize that while knights rode into battle, their enemies riding toward them in traditional warfare. Her husband snuck among the rooftops, using the lack of traffic to hide his position until his victim fell to the ground with blood staining their neck. He would then flee among the same heights he used to infiltrate his victim's location to escape the pursing guards.

The guards and crusaders called them sneaky bastards, scared-shitless cowards, and even white devils who used the shadows to unfairly surprise their enemies. The assassins valued the important skills of secrecy, climbing building to utilize rooftops, and the art of fleeing to insure safe delivery of the blood red feather. In Sabrina's mind, they were not enemies, but rather they shared things in common. They were all good men who sought to protect the innocent.

It would later prove to be her undoing.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive them that trespass against us.

Masayf, 1171

Sabrina spread her hands over her growing stomach as she studied herself in the mirror. All of her clothing had to be let out to allow room for her extra weight, but she hardly noticed her aching fingers from all the stitching when she looked at the precious bump that expanded each day. She pictured a little blonde hair boy with charming green eyes like her own, before discarding the image, replacing it with a dark haired son with his father's changing eyes. Liking both images, she smiled at herself and was content at the thought of having either son to present her husband.

The door creaked as it opened, and she turned, closing her robe, to see her husband enter. His face as streaked with grime and sweat, and his shoulders hung low as he moved to undress for the night.

"How was it?" she asked him, moving to help him remove the blades on his back.

"Successful," he simply said, before turning his back to his wife.

She studied his back for a moment, before moving in front of him once more. "I have joyous news for you," she excitedly announced. He flicked his eyes up at her, away from untying his sash, and waited. Nervous, she opened her robe to reveal her stomach. "I am pregnant."

A slow smile spread across his face, and he closed the distance between them. He scooped her up in his arms, and she laughed as he spun her around in the air.

"Careful now! You'll make the baby dizzy!" she teased him, pushing back her blonde locks as she could not help but share the same infectious grin he displayed. She watched him fall to his knees, pressing his cheek against her belly. His hands rubbed her sides, and he looked up at her, saying how the baby was laughing also.

Confident that a baby would return the tender husband she had fell in love with, Sabrina caressed his dark hair, and enjoyed the return of laughter to her life once more.

And lead us not into temptation;

but deliver us from evil.

Maysayf, 1176

"Aliya, come back here!" she called out. Sabrina watched her daughter's dark curls stream behind her as she ran across the novice's training yard, which thankfully was empty at the moment. Her daughter was constantly looking for her father, curious at where her "Papa" went while she played with her "Mama" and the other few children that resided in the Syrian Assassin's home. "Young lady you will stop!"

The rambunctious child turned around with mischief sparkling in her green eyes. "Yes, Mama," she sweetly responded.

Sabrina trained a suspicious eye on her daughter, and kept it there as she walked to where her daughter impatiently waited. "And where do you think you are going?"

"Papa told me that I could come visit him today," Aliya told her, pointing to where he stood near the gates. He was working with a few novices, instructing them on the importance of not only protecting their home, but also the villagers below. She had heard the speech many times as she had come up from the marketplace. His white robes blended well among the others, but she easily picked him out from the crowd. She took Aliya's hand, and together they walked to wait until he had dismissed the young men.

Once he was done and the men scattering among the village and back to the castle for lunch, he walked over to Aliya, gathering her into his arms. She laughed and squirmed at his tickling hands. "Papa," she chastised with a smile when he finally stopped and set her down. He set his eyes on his beautiful wife, and he gave her a polite nod.

She returned it, and gestured to their daughter. "She was eager to come visit you. I hope that we are not interrupting you."

"I asked her to come find me," he explained, affirming Aliya's story. "We have been working on something together."

Arching her brow, she wondered what it could be, and wondered if it was anything to do with her birthday that was approaching fast. She smiled. "Well, then I will leave to allow you to work."

She walked away, looking over her shoulder to see her husband pointing his finger at Aliya. It looked as if he was harshly lecturing her about something, but Sabrina did not interfere. Instead, she continued to her rooms; where she lay down to take a nap.

When she awoke to the sound of loud footsteps in the hallway, Sabrina judged that she had slept for a fair amount of time sleeping. Guessing it was nearing the evening meal, she washed her face, before heading down below to find her family.

The servants pointed her in direction of the training yard, and she walked there to see Aliya sitting on a stool as her husband trained with a few other Master Assassins. Deciding to sneak up on Aliya, she quietly tiptoed behind her. However, before she could grasp Aliya's shoulders, the little girl spun around and scared her instead. Sabrina jumped, and gasped for air as the shock had her hand clutching the fabric of her neckline.

"How did you know I was—" she started to ask, but her words fell mute when she noticed her daughter's eyes were a metallic golden color instead of the cool, wet moss green they had shared. Yet, before her eyes, they were melting back to their regular color. "Aliya, what . . . what happened to your eyes?" she shrieked, panic coiling tightly in her chest.

Her husband strode forward, and removed her hands from their daughter. "Sabrina, stop making a scene here. Go help prepare the dining room for the evening meal. I will bring Aliya in after we are done."

Sabrina stood to her full height and narrowed her eyes at him. "What have you done?" she loudly whispered. "What have you done to her?" she cried.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her away from the others, including Aliya who watched them. "You will shut up now!" he seethed, the words coming from behind his clenched teeth. "Go to our bedroom, and I will deal with you after the meal."

He began to walk away, but she reached out to stop him. "What are you doing? Just tell me what you are doing to her!" she pleaded.

"I'm preparing her, Sabrina," he said, before walking away. He scooped Aliya up, and together they headed towards the castle.

Preparing her. Sabrina closed her eyes, remembering the golden color of his own eyes the night they met. On him, it had been strange, but alluring at the same time, but on her own daughter, it was terrifying.

For thine is the kingdom,

the power, and the glory,

Acre, 1176

The slave woman, Mehar, had cleaned the cut on Aliya's head, clucking her tongue at the sight of the scraped skin around it. Sabrina wrung her hands in worry and guilt. If she had not scared herself into thinking that white, robed scholars were indeed her husband in disguise, which had sent her running through the crowded streets of Acre, the incident might have been avoided. Carelessly, she had tripped over the hem of her dress, sending her and Aliya crashing into the ground. She had escaped the accident unscathed, but Aliya had hit the ground hard, her forehead scraping the rough earth.

Mehar had seen the incident as she was walking home the marketplace, and rushed over to help Sabrina and Aliya up from the dusty ground. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Suspicious from constantly having to be on guard, Sabrina tucked Aliya close to her chest to protect her. Saying nothing, she studied the woman trying to use her instincts on whether she could trust the woman to help her injured daughter. Aliya's cries rose in consequence of the cuts and scrapes that were slightly bleeding on her forehead, Sabrina knew then that the woman was her only hope to escape the growing attention of the guards—and perhaps those who knew her husband.

"I think she will have a large bump soon," Mehar said as she replaced the tops to her medicines. "You are lucky that she was not more seriously injured." The slave woman gathered the supplies and left the small bedroom she shared with her husband, intent on returning the medicines where they belonged.

Sabrina used the time alone to hover over her daughter. She cooed softly and gently pressed her lips to the sensitive skin around the wound. Apologizing over and over again for her foolish mistake, Sabrina felt worse each minute she had to look at the inflamed skin on her daughter's otherwise perfect skin.

What was she doing, trying to escape her husband? Today was proof enough that she did not have the skills—and obviously balance—to outrun him. She let her head fall into her hands, trying not to cry for the tragic situation she found herself facing, but with no luck, quiet tears spilled onto her cheeks. It was only a matter of time before he finally caught her either due to his range of skills or her mistakes.

She guessed he would take her back to Masayf, as well as Aliya, and continue life as it had been before. Cloistered. Prisoners. Pawns. Returning her eyes to the ones that nearly mirrored them perfectly, she sighed, and begin sobbing at the decision she now faced.

To run forever, hoping to find word of where her parents had gone, or to wait for him to catch her. Either choice was unappealing, and she discarded both. No, she thought as she watched her daughter's eyes close, I do have another choice.

Mehar was confused and flustered as Sabrina ran from the large home, and called for the crazy European woman to come back, but she kept on her way. She would walk the streets of Acre until he found her, and then she would face him.

It was nearly night before he had landed swiftly behind her from amid the rooftops, and she had spun around with a dagger in her hand. He laughed in her face and taunted her to try and face him. Sabrina knew it was an impossible task, but she held her ground.

"I let you find me tonight," she told him, ignoring his scoff. "I wanted you to find me, so that I could deliver this message to you."

"What message could that be, Sabrina?" he asked, his voice practically dripping with sweetness she knew he did not possess. His eyes dropped to her chest, and then scanned the area around them. "Where is Aliya?"

She smiled then before feeling the hardness of a wall smash into her back as he pressed her up against one of the buildings. "I killed her."

His golden eyes claimed hers in a battle of truths, as he studied her, looking for a sign that she was lying to him. "You are lying," he finally spat, before dropping her. Her knees buckled, but she kept the placid look on her face as she threw the brown locks in front of him. "I would rather her be dead with God, than in your possession to become an assassin!"

Anger radiated off every pore of his body, and his breath was coming out in heavy, loud gusts. He bent down to pick up the lock of hair and ran his fingertips over the softness of the hair he knew to be his daughters. He spotted the blood that matted the ends. "You are a fool! You—You bitch!"

She stood, laughing at him, continuing her act as he crushed his fist around the lock of hair in anger. He turned to then, and she poised her dagger at him. However, she had been right when she foretold that it would be his skills against her mistakes. He easily slapped the weapon from her hands, plunging his hidden dagger into her stomach. She had grimaced at the pain of having the blade enter her body, and she tried to cry out, but she couldn't. Her mouth gaped open in shock, but no sound left her throat. He released her, and let her collapse to the ground.

"Typically, I kill my victims in the neck. It is quick and almost painless," he said, "however, the stomach is a long, painful death, Sabrina. I hope it will give you a chance to think about what you have done." Then just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone again, leaving her to die in the shadows of Acre. Mustering up all the strength, she had left, she cried out, "Assassin!

forever and ever.

Amen

Acre, 1176

Al Mualim heard the bells tolling in the distance, and the screams and yells among the guards and townspeople as they searched for the assassin. He balanced himself among the edge of a roof, not far from the Bureau, to watch the ignorant guards search among the streets and shadows for the white robed figure they had come to hate so well.

He turned over his shoulder to look back at the area he had left his dying wife. She had been so beautiful almost to the point of angelic divinity, but her downfall had been her mind. Sabrina had stolen from him the most important thing he had ever had, destroying any chance he had now to regain the artifact many of the Templar men had killed within the last year spoke of.

Aliya had been his key to gaining the power her so richly deserved and needed. Now, because of a stupid woman it had all slipped through his fingers. Still he wondered if he was a fool to believe her, and that lock of hair. He slipped it out of his pocket to inspect again. The color, the feel, the slight curl . . . it was Aliya's he knew.

Stepping back, he navigated the rest of the roofs to slip into the Bureau silently, hoping to avoid to the rafik that guarded each of the assassin's safe places in the cities.

"What have you done?" the rafik demanded as the bells and yells spilt in through the entryway. "Who have you killed?"

"My wife," Al Mualim spat, daring the man to argue with him once more. "She had run away from me, and killed my daughter. Tell me I did not have the right!"

The man said nothing, instead casting his finger towards the exit. "Leave here and return to Masayf to tell the Grand Master of what you have done. He will decide what punishment you deserve for potentially putting your brothers in danger."

Al Mualim narrowed his eyes at the man. He imagined what it would feel like to wrap his hands around the rafik's neck and squeeze the life from his lungs, but he suppressed the urge. Backing away, Al Mualim bowed as if he was greeting a superior. "Safety and Peace, Brother," he said slyly.

"You are no brother of mine," the rafik said ominously and turned his back after the assassin escaped through the exit.