A/N: It kinda ran away from me after the bit with the pillar . . . but writing concussed!Altair is amusing. I finally got my hands on a copy of the first game, and after playing through to the end of the mission in Damascus, went to bed, with this thing popping into my head just as I was about to fall asleep. Luckily, I was able to remember it in the morning and managed to write this up for your enjoyment.

The Most Important Tenet

He tuned the pureblood Arab out as he continued to question him.

Malik was too angry with him now, Altair knew, to listen to his explanation of why confronting Robert de Sable was inevitable. A glance had shown him there weren't enough handholds on the walls to get to the Ark without being noticed. As for waiting . . . just as with the innocent, there was no time to seek another option. This mission must be completed before the Templars took the Ark from the Temple.

The information had said they were doing it now and he could clearly see that that 'now' was only moments away.

He didn't bother with the ladders, dropping down and bending his knees to soften the landing even as he palmed four throwing knives. Wanting the best possible targets, he called out to his primary target, feeling the eyes of the four supporting Knights eyeing him warily, "Hold, Templars, you are not the only ones with business here."

"Well, this explains my missing man." Robert reacted as the foreign warrior nobility tended to, first with words rather than blades. "What do you want?"

Altair's lips curled involuntarily. This was the part he loved.

"Blood."

Four knives flew.

Four bodies fell.

Altair darted forward the moment the knives left his hands, unsheathing his hidden blade as he moved for his remaining target. He barely heard Malik cry out, dismissing him even as he felt fingers brush against his sleeve. Robert was smart, however, a seasoned tactician, and also physically stronger. He grappled the Hashashin, seizing his wrist in a viciously tight grip. Immediately, the half-breed assassin threw a punch in an attempt to free himself, only to find that wrist captured as well.

"You know not the things with which you meddle, Hashashin." He struggled against the Frenchman's grip, seeking any opening with which to gain release. "I spare you only that- ah!"

The response from Robert to the vicious kick to his knee was explosive. Altair felt stone meet his back with painful abruptness, then there was stone beneath him. It took him precious moments to realize he had been thrown into a pillar, barely able to think through the pain in his head and the spots in his vision. He pushed against the ground, hearing footsteps approach, and then heard Malik cry out again, "Kadar, no!"

The second set of running footsteps that followed that statement had him lifting his head. The young assassin was running at the Frenchman, his elder brother close behind him. Robert, sword in hand, turned away from him, preparing to meet and slay the tagalong.

Always protect your brothers. Safety before success.

The phrase drifted to the front of his mind, and he was moving even as he acknowledged it. He had a clear target this time, he could leap and kill Robert . . . but he didn't. He tackled the man, and kicked the sword away as it hit the floor. He received a vicious punch from a mailed fist for his efforts. More spots entered his vision as he was knocked back, but this time hands caught and supported him before he could strike the stone.

"Tell your Master . . . flee now . . . has the . . . Land is lost . . . and all . . . will die!" It took Altair too long to realize the Templar Commander had fled, and he forced himself to ignore the feeling of aching flesh that would undoubtedly bruise, and the blood that dripped from a split lip and sliced cheek. He listened without saying a word as Malik ordered Kadar to scale the scaffolding and collect the artifact.

"-ir, can . . . me?" His ears were ringing, balance shot, and his head ached too much to try to read his Brother's lips. "Altair!"

Deciding to ignore the man like he had for most of this . . . what was it they were doing again? . . . he tried to get to his feet, his back screaming in protest, his stomach flipping in his gut, and his vision went dark.

He reopened his eyes only moments later to find himself being bodily supported by Malik, who eased him back into a standing position with a wary look on his dark features. He was speaking again, insulting him. It seemed like all he'd done was question and insult him today . . .

Why couldn't he concentrate on anything? It could get him killed. Why would it get him killed?

He put a hand to his head, trying to ground himself into the here and now and felt the hands supporting him ease away. With a sound of satisfaction, Malik stepped away. Not enjoying how the world was spinning, Altair closed his eyes to try to block it out, concentrating on his breathing since nothing else was making any sense . . .

A short time later he hit the ground again, but this time he was blissfully unaware of the fresh pain.

Word Count: 844
Written: July 7th, 2011