I recently got this idea and decided to run with it. So far, I'm pleased with how it's turned out. I look forward to interactions with Malik, and the unpleasant Informer in Acre. You all know who I'm talking about.
For the record, this isn't an Altair/OC fic. I intend the relationship to evolve to a father/daughter one, or a brother/sister, but it will never be romance. While it's not said in the story, the apprentice is 18, and Altair is 25.
May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
And may you stay forever young
"Nine names adorn this list. Kill them all, and your rank will be restored." Al Mualim lifted the scroll so Altair could see it. The disgraced assassin nodded slowly.
"Nine lives for my own," he said quietly.
"A fitting trade, don't you think?" The old man said with humor. "Though it is not quite as simple as that."
"What do you mean?" Altair asked, confused. His master smiled.
"To be taught, you must teach. To learn, you must, in turn, help another." He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Altair. The young man took it with a frown and unraveled it. On it was a single name.
"Arha?" The assassin asked, confused. "Who is Arha?"
"She is the skilled novice I'm sending with you," Al Mualim said. "As your apprentice."
"An apprentice?!" Altair cried, shocked. "Master, don't you think it would be easier for me to do this without a child following me around?" The bearded man blinked owlishly at the younger man.
"I wasn't aware that you were under the impression that this would be easy," he said slowly. "Let me clarify. It won't be easy. In fact, I'm hoping that it will be challenging. But perhaps a friendly hand will help you in your endeavors. Though," he mused. "I doubt she'll be very friendly with you. As I recall, she has a bit of a crush on Malik, and she was a fellow and friend of Kadar. She was very displeased with my decision to allow you to live. She and Malik were practically yelling in sync. It was rather amusing."
"Then why send her?" Altair protested. "If she will only try to inhibit me?"
"Oh, she won't inhibit you," Al Mualim assured him. "She will help you; that is the way of apprentices. By helping their mentors, they learn the trade. And so she will help you, and in return, you will teach her, and be taught in return." He leaned on his desk and glared at Altair, his demeanor changing abruptly. "Now go, get her, and head for Damas. Or I may yield to the overwhelming cry for your blood and kill you where you stand."
Altair stomped off, his footfalls hitting the ground with unnecessary force, making his displeasure very, if childishly, clear. As he went down the flight of stairs, he felt the weight of the glares of his brothers on his back, and began to wonder whether it would be better for everyone, even him, if Al Mualim had simply killed him before.
--
The reaction to her apprenticeship with the disgraced Altair was not met with grace and sophistication on Arha's part. On the contrary, she tried to claw the messenger's eyes out, and vowed to murder anyone who snickered, or shot her a sympathetic look. An instructor chewed her out for her misconduct; as a novice, she was below everyone in the Brotherhood in rank, even messengers.
Though female assassins were few and far between (the last one of note had been Amunet, who killed Cleopatra with an asp), particularly in the Middle East, when a daughter of assassins showed promise, they were accepted just as quickly as a boy. That wasn't to say that she hadn't received her share of sexism, or special treatment. But after she made it clear that rude remarks would be met with a punch to the face, she was more or less accepted into the fold.
Kadar had been a friend of hers. Malik was someone she held close to her heart, though he was unaware of it. Altair wasn't someone she'd ever liked; his bragging and thinly veiled condescension towards novices, and even fellow assassins like Malik, had always put her teeth on edge. Plus, if one thought about it, he had every right to brag; his talent was unsurpassed. She and Malik would often mutter about that, never outright admitting their envy, but making it clear to each other that, yes, they did feel that way about the Son of None.
And now, here she was, waiting on a bench next to the gates of Masyaf for her teacher, the very man she loathed. Her feelings towards him had evolved in very much the same way that Malik's had. Jealousy and annoyance became hot, fiery hatred when Kadar didn't come home, and Malik bid her farewell and headed for a desk job in Jerusalem with only one arm.
And there he was, the devil himself, walking down the street towards her, looking miserable and desperately uncomfortable. Good. He deserved it.
"So," he said, standing before her, armed only with a sword and the hidden blade. "We're to go to Damas."
Arha stood and stomped over to the stables, taking the reins of a black steed and carefully ignoring Altair. She remembered Malik doing that to him before when Altair hurled an insult at him. As she recalled, it drove him batty.
"Poor Arha." One of the guards said, his tone half mockery, half pity. "Being taught by a man below even her status." Arha grinned at the man, and glanced over at her "teacher." Altair's jaw was clenched so tightly she figured blood might begin to trickle from his teeth, and he strode past the snickering guards and grabbed the reins of a white mare.
As they rode down the road towards the kingdom, Arha said, "Let's make this clear, shall we?" Altair glanced at her, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "I don't like you, and I really don't like being sent off to help you recover the honor you should have died without in the first place." Altair's eyes narrowed, but he let her continue. "But, Al Mualim made it clear that if I didn't help you, I'd never be an assassin. So I'll help you."
"Good," Altair snapped, scowling and watching the road before him, not looking at his grudging apprentice. And so the pair rode in dark silence, both wondering how they got into the horrible mess they were currently in.
--
Damas, more commonly known as Damascus, was obviously a wondrous sight for Altair's apprentice. The dusty streets were charged with people, from women with jars to men and women crowded around merchant stalls, listening to the men chatter away about their wares.
The ride to the city had been uneventful until they reached the city limits. Saracen guards were terrorizing a scholar, and while Altair would have simply walked by, eager to enter the city and take the first step towards redemption, Arha insisted on helping the man.
The subsequent battle, which Altair insisted Arha learn from, but not participate in, was bloody and brutal. Altair swatted away each slice and thrust from the guards with almost contemptuous ease, and he waved off the scholar's grateful rush of thanks. The assassin and his apprentice entered the city with the help of the victim's brothers, and were currently making their way via the streets to the Assassins Bureau.
A crash came, for the fourth time, from behind Altair, and he stopped, closing his eyes and breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth as the sound of Arha apologizing profusely came from behind him. The jar carrier, while obviously miffed, accepted her apologies, and Arha caught up with Altair a few moments later.
"You know," the assassin said through gritted teeth. "It may help our progress if you try not to run into every jar carrier we pass."
"Duly noted," his apprentice snapped. Altair scowled, but decided that the remark wasn't worth the effort it would take to reply.
"We're nearly there. There's the ladder." The pair climbed up the ladder and dropped silently into the living place of the Bureau. Altair stopped Arha before she could walk into the Rafiq's room. "Novices' stay out here," he said sternly. Arha glared, but followed him into the Rafiq's room, completely ignoring his instructions. Before Altair could comment, the Rafiq looked up.
"Altair. It is good to see you," he said solemnly. "And in one piece. You as well, Novice, though it's Apprentice now, isn't it?" Arha bowed her head respectfully. The Rafiq was older than Altair, or even Malik, but he was much younger than Al Mualim, with a dark beard, dark eyes, and, from what Arha had heard from rumors, a sharp wit.
"You as well, friend," Altair said respectfully.
"I am sorry for your troubles," the Rafiq continued, his tone never straying from the seriousness.
"Think nothing of it." The assassin said dismissively.
"A couple of your brothers were here earlier, in fact," the Rafiq continued, as though he hadn't heard Altair. "Ha. If you'd had heard the things they said… I'm sure you would have slain them where they stood." Arha frowned. An idea formed in her head that this whole thing was some strange ploy to annoy Altair.
Sure enough, her "master" was plainly getting irritated. "It's quite alright," he said shortly. The serious mien of the Rafiq dropped abruptly, and his lips curled in a sardonic smirk.
"Yes," he drawled. "You never were one for the Creed, were you?" He winked at Arha, who hid a grin. Altair's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Is that all?" He snarled. The Rafiq lifted his hands in an apologetic gesture.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Sometimes, I forget myself. What brings you to Damas?"
"A man named Tamir," Altair said angrily. "Al Mualim takes issue with his work. I intend to end it. Now tell me where to find him." Arha's eyebrows shot up at the complete lack of respect in Altair's tone; a complete 180 from when he'd walked in. The Rafiq mirrored her expression of disbelief, though for a different reason.
"Surely you remember how to track an enemy?" He said quietly. Altair blinked, confused.
"Of course," he said. "Learn where he will be and when." He waved a hand brusquely. "But that sort of work is best left for-" He stopped abruptly, realizing his error. He glanced between his apprentice and his superior, and had the decency to look vaguely sheepish. The silence drew out as the Rafiq surveyed the young assassin before him, looking a bit disappointed.
"I understand," he said quietly. Arha crossed her arms and scowled, cursing her damned luck for the hundredth time. Old habits died hard, she supposed, though the fact that his arrogance was a habit spoke volumes about his character. "Go and search the city," the Rafiq continued. "Find out what he's planning and where he works." He began pacing behind his counter. "Preparation makes the victor!"
"What can you tell… us of him?" Arha said, the word coming out reluctantly. The Rafiq smiled.
"Tamir makes his living as a black market merchant, so the Souk district should be your first destination," he said to them. "I suggest you seek out the following places; a small souk east of here, the Madrasah to the east, and the gardens north of this bureau. Focus on these places, and he shall become well known to you."
"I assume," Altair practically spat. "You want us to return to you when this is done?" The Rafiq smiled again, a bit less kindly.
"Yes," he said. "Come back to me. I'll give you Al Mualim's marker, and you will give us Tamir's life."
"As you wish," Altair said bitterly.
"Remember, you two," the Rafiq said as they began to leave. "If you find yourselves in trouble, and the city turned against you, return to the bureau. I can shelter you from the storm. Be warned though: If your enemies are too close, my door will remain closed until you've lost them. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Altair bit off the word. "To bring the enemy inside would compromise the brotherhood."
"Very well," the Rafiq said cheerfully. "Off you go."
--
The two stood outside the bureau, both awkward and unsure of how to go about the task set before them.
"Way to make an ass of yourself, by the way," Arha snapped. Altair flinched, then snarled, "No one asked you." Arha rolled her eyes.
"Anyway," Altair continued darkly. "I'll take the interrogation of the despot. You go and listen to the people, and take what you think may help." Arha frowned, then shrugged.
"Fine. I'll meet you here at noon then."
The Damascus Rafiq rocks. Have you ever walked in when you weren't done with the investigations? Swear to God, the man actually asks Altair if he's high. Altair's reaction is simply priceless, until he stomps out of the room in an indignant huff, and the Rafiq reminds him to "stay pure in mind and body."
Seriously, I love that guy. And he's LEONARDO!
Anyway, reviews prompt me into remembering to update, so if you want a chapter tomorrow, leave a review. A good one; don't half-ass it with "oh, this rox." No, that's not what I mean.