He could've sworn he'd taken care of all the archers before, quite literally, descending on his target. He cursed his oversight now as he ran hastily over the rooftops of Damascus, the burning pain radiating from his shoulder a constant mocking reminder. He ducked at the approaching whoosh of yet another arrow passed by his head. He needed to break the line of sight of his pursuers, and quickly. The hot trickle of blood when he first got hit had grown to a steady flow, and crimson now covered, almost entirely, his side.
The sun was just finishing it's descent under the horizon when he finally got his break. The guards had fallen behind slightly, the edge of his current roof coming to an abrupt end to reveal a lower roof on the other side. He dropped down, his landing jostling the arrow embedded in his shoulder eliciting a harsh grunt in acknowledgment of the pain. He looked around, his eyes finding a small rooftop garden a few paces away. Hurriedly he made his way to it and disappeared inside. He looked around through the spaces, sharp eyes tracking his pursuers as they ran pass, or stopped near his hiding place. he took a moment to look around and plan his route for when the coast became clear. He mumbled a quiet curse realizing that the bureau was too far away, and his drop to this roof had embedded the arrow deeper resulting in further blood loss, already he could feel the effects. His eyes cut back to the guards standing just outside the garden he currently occupied, he listened as they huffed a sigh of annoyed defeat before grabbing a ladder and dropping down to the street below.
Slowly he climbed out of the garden his eyes running another cursory glance around then stopped on their own volition. His mind foggy with blood loss and adrenaline, it took a while for him to recall why the object his eyes stared so fixedly at was familiar. He knew that window, remembered ducking into it just months before. Without further thinking, he jogged toward it. Didn't hesitate to jump through. He landed on his good side and stayed there, the pain radiating through his body starting at his shoulder momentarily paralyzing him.
He could hear someone coming up towards the room, muffling a groan he sat up and melted into the shadows of the room. Readying his blade, he watched the door slowly push open, his muscles tensed as he waited for the person to come in to sight from behind the door. A wave of brown and then a familiar profile allowed him to release the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Sheathing his blade with a little more noise than usual, he carefully came out of hiding catching the girl's attention.
A soft gasp escaped her lips and she hurried over to him, "You're hurt," She almost rolled her eyes at herself, helping him up she pointed to the bed, "Sit. I will be back."
She left quickly and quietly. Luckily the hour had been late enough to see her parents to sleep, she had been in the mind to do the same and was readying herself when she'd heard the thump in her room. She came back with bandages, rags, a bottle of wine and a cup. She poured some wine in the cup and handed it to the man before getting to work.
"This will hurt, but luckily the head of the arrow went straight through." He grunted and drained the cup. "Here, bite on this." He took the offered rag in his mouth. She braced a hand on his shoulder as the other took hold of the arrow and swiftly broke it off, leaving only the fletched part in. "Sorry." She grabbed a rag and held it to the wound, then grabbed the remaining part of the arrow pulled it out. "Would you mind removing your robe? I need to dis-," His nod and struggle to remove the various belts keeping him in the robe cut her off. She tried helping as much as she could. Once the last belt had come off she removed the rag to allow him to gently shrug of his robe, along with the hood. She averted her eyes to look down at the thin shirt now stained with blood and plastered to his skin.
"You may rip the sleeve off."
The hoarse whisper startled her causing her to jump a little, but she nodded and grabbed hold of the sleeve and with a quick jerk, tore it off. She grabbed the wine, hesitating only to ensure he had bitten into the rag once more, before pouring it generously over both sides of the wound. Grabbing two new rags she replaced the soiled one from the back of his shoulder with a fresh one, using the other to staunch the front. "Hold this here, and keep pressure on it." She ordered softly, waiting for him to comply before grabbing the bandages, and beginning to wrap his shoulder.
Once she finished she stepped back, still not looking at him in the face, afraid of what would happen if she should. She wasn't daft, she knew what he was, had heard whispers of his kind in the market in the months since his first visit. Looking down she spoke, "You can rest here to regain your strength, you lost a lot of blood from the look of it. It should be safe enough until morning while my parents sleep. I can see what I can do for the robe, walking in daylight with it so stained is sure to call attention." She trailed off not sure what else to say.
"Thank you." She almost looked up in surprise, but stopped herself, a small smile gracing her lips.
"Not at all," she shrugged.
"Your name?" She did look up at that.
"Savara." She didn't ask his name, believing he wouldn't tell it even if she did. He nodded, then seemed to hesitate his eyes flickering for a second before nodding as if he'd come to some sort of decision.
"Altair." She blinked, confused.
"Sorry?"
"My name." He clarified, standing and placing his good hand over the bandage. She nodded mutely and made to grab the robes. His hand stopped hers. "That is not necessary. If you have a way for me to send a message, I can get a brother to bring me a new one by morning." She nodded.
"There is a messenger coup just down the street. I could bring for you a pigeon." She offered, "There is parchment and ink in the desk." She pointed toward the desk in question, and turned to leave.
She wasn't gone long before coming back into the room, a soft coo coming from under a shawl draped over her hand. "It would not be quiet otherwise," She explained at seeing his questioning look. He nodded and finished up writing the note before rolling it up and approaching her. Altair flipped over a section of the shawl to get to the bird's feet and secured the note then carefully took the bird from Savara. He walked to the window and let it go, staying there to watch it disappear in the night before silently turning back around to study her.
She stood awkwardly in the middle of her room, an arm crossed over her middle, apparently she'd been studying him as her head quickly averted and a slight blush tinted her cheeks.
"Twice now, you've helped me. You could have turned me out just now, why didn't you?"
She looked back up at him, "I figured if you were as bad as the town criers say you are, I would have died the moment I fell asleep the last time you were here." He gave a noncommittal grunt, "Besides, and I don't understand this myself, I wanted to help. Anyone with both eyes and some sense can tell that the people you've killed in this city were no good louts," she blushed at her language, the word just slipping through, "and the city's been better without their wasted breath."
His brow rose at her spiel, "My father likes to talk with his wine, it just so happens that I like to listen." She said by way of explaining. He looked out the window once more, "My brother will be here soon." He noted before glancing back toward her, she shuffled her feet, a sudden awkwardness overcoming her.
"If your...travels lead you back here, and if ever you need a quick escape, the window will be left open."
"You offer sanctuary." Surprise colored his tone, "You know harboring fugitives from the law is punishable by death, for those directly and indirectly involved if found out."
"Then let us hope they never find out." She smiled cheekily at him, invoking a slight one to find its way to his own lips.
A few minutes passed in comfortable silence during which a cloaked figure came into view on the roof just before her window. She only noticed the figure when Altair straitened up, a hand poised above the hilt of his sword. The figure slipped fluidly through the window, a parcel strapped to his back, which he quickly removed and handed over to Altair with a slight bow.
"Brother," was his mumbled greeting before turning his head toward her in a curious tilt. It wasn't everyday The Eagle revealed himself, and certainly less commonly in the presence of anyone outside the Brotherhood. In fact, he could say with confidence that this was the first time in all his years working with the master assassin that he'd seen his face at all. The girl nodded politely in greeting where she stood leaned against the side of a wardrobe. She was pretty, her hair a shade off from raven, but too dark to be truly brown, hung nearly to her mid-back. Her eyes a bluish green, signs of a mixed heritage.
He looked back to Altair and took note with surprise that the assassin was glaring at him, his brow furrowed in confusion and silent question. His only answer was a scowl as the master assassin turned away to slip on the robe. His eyes widened in realization then flitted back to where the girl was. Most interesting, he thought to himself before mumbling an excuse to take his leave, he received no acknowledgement from the room's other occupants, and he left without another word.
"You never called the guard after that night." Altair commented.
"I thought I'd already explained why."
"You did, but I still wonder."
"One shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth," she gave a teasing smirk his direction, "though if it bothers you so much I guess I can try to explain it better." Her face became thoughtful as she walked around to sit on her bed, "I suppose you could say I have a good sense of character and a desire to give the benefit of the doubt. Yes, you frightened me at first, a strange man comes stealing in to my room armed to the teeth and presses a blade to my neck, but you stayed your blade. Then you gave me a choice."
"And you offered a meal."
"Which you accepted."
There was yet another silence, both of them looking straight at each other. Something almost tangible in the air between them, but still elusive. There was something in Altair's eyes, a strange emotion muddled with other making it hard to decipher. He began taking slow measured steps towards her, each one making that one...something predominant. He stopped just in front of her, then slowly lowered to her eye level.
"I would not have killed you that night even if you had screamed."
She swallowed, "You wouldn't?" He shook his head, his eyes searching hers for something.
"No."
"Why," her brows furrowed, and her head tilted to the side allowing a stray strands of hair to fall into her eye.
"You were far too intriguing, most would have screamed the moment they saw me, and no one would have dared to push my blade away from them, no matter the circumstance." His arm twitched then hesitated, his eyes searched her face once more before he nodded minutely to himself and allowed his hand to gently brush her hair back.
Her breath hitched, and she couldn't find the words to respond. His hand hadn't left her face, only stayed where it was nearly resting fully on her cheek. He cautiously moved forward, waiting for any kind of negative reaction to his advance, none came. He stopped just inches from her lips, allowing her to make the final decision. A long moment went by filled only by an anxiety he'd never felt before, not even the moments before a leap of faith could compare. Finally she moved, closing the distance.