Has anyone noticed that the horses in AC are so well trained? Asides from the annoying invisible barrier issues in AC2, they're such well mannered horses. I especially love the teleporting ones in AC: bro. So I'm doing a series of oneshots that will all be posted (whenever I get them written) in this little story as new chapters. Anyone who's been around horses know that they're not the well trained perfect little angels games portray them as.

These oneshots are the forgotten snippets left out of the AC games. Enjoy :3

(The three dots represent time shift and all that jazz)

Disclaimer: me no own AC...sadly

Oh the Joys of Young Horses

Altaïr's been cooped up in Masyaf too long. Far too long for his liking. Yes, things had calmed down since his Cyprus adventure about two years ago, but that was two years worth of babysitting (both his own son and the entire novice fleet. He had yet to decide which task was worse, but today it was leaning towards the novices), as well as administrative duties of the entire assassin operations for this side of the Middle East. (Malik seemed far more than just delighted at Altaïr's return those two years ago. The accelerated course in administrative basics he gave him right after that seemed to swell the man's ego as well.)

And, of course, speak of the devil.

"Altaïr," Malik stepped into the room. "Rauf has compiled his bi-monthly report on the novices." He held up a stack of papyrus that seemed, to Altaïr's exhausted eyes, as thick as Malik's log book. Oh how he hated that log book. But that was another story.

"Do I have to read it now?" He rubbed his eyes and sat back.

"No, but it would be well advised to read it within the next couple of days. I'm not helping you if you don't." He raised a warning brow.

"Fine."

Malik dropped the sheets on top of the two columns of books he had already stacked on his desk.

"Altaïr." Maria poked her head in. "A minute? Or is Malik still discussing something?"

"I have more I need to say," Malik started. "But it can wait till later this evening."

"Good." She walked in and stood, hands on hips, in front of the desk.

Malik smirked behind her back as he left.

Altaïr wished the man would stay and take some of the brunt of what Maria was about to rant on this time.

"You look tired," she commented.

"As usual. This work just never ends."

"No, but such is the duties of a leader." She walked around and draped her arms around his neck, leaning her head atop his.

Altaïr would've relaxed oh so happily into her embrace, if it weren't for the warning gong pounding away in his head. She had walked in and stood that way in front of his desk. And now she was doing this? "What is it now?" he asked.

"Why do you ask such a thing in such a weary, grudging tone to your wife? Maybe I just wanted to be with my husband?"

He absentmindedly stroked her forearm. "You had your hands on your hips earlier and now you've wrapped your arms around me. I'm not blind. You want something."

She smirked and kissed his temple through his hood. "Such perception. So you think you've figured me out?"

"Only the warning signals that tell me when I should be extremely cautious."

She hummed. "Maybe you were wrong this time?"

"I know I'm not."

"Oh really?"

He heard the challenge in her voice. "You forget my profession. I know everything that goes on in this city."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And also Fahd informed me of your tirade in the armory earlier."

"Ugh!" She stood and paced in front of his desk. "That little traitor."

He smirked and leaned against his right hand. As shocked as many in the compound were when he returned with her, let alone announced that she was his wife, many still didn't quite understand why he married her. Yet her little rebellious outbursts from the norms had slowly captivated him – and still do.

"What is so hard to understand about the usefulness of us women in fighting?"

Except for when it was an age old argument they had gone over and over time and again.

Maria continued to rant and pace in front of him. She had tried convincing many of the older assassins of the usefulness a woman would pose as a fellow assassin. Not herself being an assassin (which Altaïr was thankful she didn't try and push as her Templar background had already caused him some headaches from the older generations), but the fellow women in this city. She wanted to get them just as involved in the workings of artisan work as well as assassin work. Altaïr agreed that women could be just as good as many middle ranked assassins (he had his own wife for example, but she had yet to beat him in any sparring match, and he would never let her win. Her anger and continual drive to defeat him was so sexy, although he wouldn't admit it).

But convincing the older generations, as well as the traditionalists, was – yet again – the road block. She wanted things to change now. He had to delicately dance with those stubborn mules on getting women into their ranks. She thought he wasn't moving fast enough and was trying to start things herself. It was causing more problems for him. It was an old argument.

…

He was tired. Who would blame him? From deciphering Al Mualim's journals, to working with the apple, to reading Rauf's (boring) reports, to Malik adding yet even more work on top of more work, to Maria's ranting earlier in the afternoon. Yes, Altaïr was indeed tired.

And he needed out of there.

But it's not like he could just get an assignment and leave. He had tried that early on after returning from Cyprus, only to have Malik berate him loudly upon his return and throwing all administrative duties on him for a week while he himself took a vacation. Not a fun experience.

So, instead, he found that taking one of the younger horses out for a ride around the area was a good enough distraction and breather. Or as good as he would be allowed. Some days he would say fuck it and take one of the older horses out. They wouldn't spook as easily and were better trained. But a sense of duty had him taking the younger ones more often to train them more. The only way to truly train a horse fast enough on trail riding was to expose it to all it'll encounter on a trail.

Today's mount was an ever cliché sorrel colored mare of about 5 years of age. She worked willingly and quietly in the training area, moving to all his commands quietly. Each gait she kept nice and paced. A good mount, but the real test was out on the trail.

He guided her towards the gate, and a novice opened it. "Safe travel," he called out as he closed the gate.

Altaïr nudged her into a trot and kept at that pace until the path diverged. Common sense counseled him to take the wider, more used track. There were less obstacles that would eat a horse. The other path led up and along the rolling hills, not through the valleys between them. It was an obviously unused path, and as such, more unkempt.

The mare had remained calm and alert the entire time he had been working her, and his day had been stressful, and he was tired of that boring overused track. He wanted a change of scenery dang it, and so chose the less used path.

She moved beautifully. There were a few times where he had to coax her into passing through a dense brush area, but she went willingly…after hesitating and trying to decide if there was a horse-eating bunny of doom in those bushes or not.

A flock of birds had taken off nearby and she startled, but didn't bolt or even move from her place. Altaïr was becoming more impressed with her as the evening wore on. For such a young horse, she was quite calm. He was even bordering on considering her to be a possible decent trail mount in the future – one better suited for the assignments that took assassins out into the wilder regions than from city to city.

They crested a hill and he noticed the sun. It would be nearly gone by the time they returned to Masyaf if he turned around now, but not before taking advantage of the open field up here. The hill had flattened out slightly and was wide enough to work some drills with the horse. Working the drills in the safety of the training area was one thing. Out in the fields, an entirely different aspect.

He walked her around the area, checking for any holes in the ground and seeing how she would react near the lone tree that marked the hill's descent on its other side. Satisfied, he nudged her into a trot and circled her, backed her, stopped her, asked for sharp and wide turns, asked her to move sideways. Everything went smoothly and she gave him little fuss in responding to his cues.

He threw in transitions into and out of cantering into the drilling. She was a bit grumpy in going into a canter and when transitioning down, she liked to forgo the trot and go straight for the walk (to which he mentally rolled his eyes and muttered about females).

Content with what she had given so far, he decided one more wide circle of going from a canter to a trot would be good before turning around and heading back. He cantered around the side of the hill, looked towards the tree and directed her towards it. Half way there, he asked for the trot and she slowed, but kept going down to the walk. Before she got there, he squeezed with his calves and she picked it back up to a moderate trot. Satisfied, he turned her back to Masyaf.

And then the breeze knocked a leaf off the tree.

It was there and then that Altaïr rediscovered how hard the ground well and truly was when it hasn't rained in forever, especially after a horse bolts out from under you.

He remained on the ground, cursing swords for being made of pure, solid, really hard metal; cursing grass for not feeling like pillows; and cursing horses and their damn stupidity.

He glared at the mare only a foot away, calmly grazing as if nothing had happened. "Really? A leaf? The bushes threaten, the birds fly, but you bolt on one little lowly leaf?"

She cocked an ear at him, noticed him paying attention to her, and walked over. She sniffed his hands, nuzzled the leather belt, and then stopped on his face and inhaled deeply.

And then snorted.

So I never really intended for an AltxMaria scene...it just wrote itself in there. The woman was persistent in being seen with her husband.

And beware the big bad leaves for they will slice you in half!