A/N: I do not in any way profit from this, Assassin's Creed does not belong to me in any way whatsoever.


The night was inky black, the city of Acre lit up solely by the stars and the moon. The streets had few lights from the houses, because the moon was high and most were in their beds, waiting in dreamland for their reality to claim them back. But there was one of the few lit windows, on an otherwise dead street, that was most important to one individual at the moment. Lit by a flickering oil lamp on a table, a small cot sat next to it. A pile of pillows and blankets in the corner opposite was occupied by a sleeping woman, with black hair and soft features. But outside the window, crouched on the tree branch outside, was another figure. Dressed completely in white, with leather and a red sash.

Altair knelt outside the room, staring inside at the little body that lay in the little, secure sleeping place. Occasionally his sights would drift to the young woman that had birthed the child, and he had nothing but affectionate thoughts for her. But the child...he had never thought about it before...being a father.

His eyes were drawn away from the sleeping woman by a slight whimper. The babe squirmed as a colder breeze swirled around the room and made the flame flicker. The child whimpered again, a little louder. Carefully, and almost kicking himself for the whimsical action, he stepped through the open window. His boots hardly made a sound on the rug on the floor, and he crept across the floor, stopping at the cot.

The baby, a tiny baby girl, stared up at him, and he saw his own brown eyes watering in her head.

Awkwardly, and painstakingly slowly, he reached down to scoop the little one up. She whimpered again, and he drew her closer, slowly swaying as he had seen her mother do more than once.

"Hush." He said quietly, and to his surprise she did quiet, one tiny fist wrapping itself around the hilt of one of his knives. He chuckled lowly, one of his larger hands prying her small one off.

His gaze softened as she wrapped her hand around his finger instead. Slowly, his thumb ghosted over her knuckles. She hummed, eyes steadily starting to close.

He held the sleeping babe, her hold on his finger never wavering. This was his firstborn, and even though a female, and a bastard, he felt something that an assassin should never do so...love. The name of the warm feeling came to him, and for a brief moment he felt disgusted with himself. Years of hardened assassin was screaming at him to put the infant back and leave. Leave and never reappear.

But the smaller part of him, the part that still felt, was softly protesting. He knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't bring himself to be repulsed at such an innocent and small being.

A rustling had him turning quickly, clutching the infant closer to his chest. It constricted when he saw Maria sit up, and rub the sleep and dreams from her eyes.

"...Altair?" She asked quietly, in awe and confusion, but most of all hesitation.

In a matter of seconds, the still sleeping child was replaced in her cot, and Altair was across the room to the window so fast the breeze from his robes put the lamp out.

"Sleep, Maria." He said before disappearing through the window, leaving his daughter and her mother.