I think you are deserving of some back story here, and I'm in the mood for it. So enjoy this sappy chapter.

Tarja unpacked the cloths she had bought from the market onto her bed. The home she lived in with Malik was so empty now. And soon it would be even emptier when Malik would leave in a few days for Jerusalem. He was no use to The Brotherhood now as an assassin. Tarja slammed each item down on her bed, angry at Altair still. The pile of white cloth fell over from Tarja's force, and she picked them back up again. She reached into her bag and placed her red cloth on top of the white, then took out the heavy pile of cow-hide. She set it down on the ground by her bed and sat on the bed, sighing.

'What happened to the innocence we had,' Tarja thought to herself, and let her memories take over…

0000

"Tarja, stop this now! You can't be an assassin you are a woman! You need to stay home and care for your husband who may be an assassin!" Al Mualim scolded the young Tarja as she dressed in white robes to play with her brothers.

"Al Mualim! I don't want to! I want to be an assassin!" she protested. Al Mualim sighed.

"Child," he said, placing a hand on her head, "you are no assassin," he finished. Tarja looked down to the ground and stared at it for a long time…

0000

"Tarja! This beef is superb! You are indeed an excellent cook!" Imod said from the dinner table where he, Malik, and Izrail ate as Tarja watched from the firepit. She smiled sweetly.

"Al Mualim said I cannot be an assassin, so I want to be the best of the best of women!" Tarja said. Imod slammed his fork down. Tarja was startled by Imod's response and gasped a little. He had a stern look on his face.

"What? That bastard said that to you! Tarja, my dear, don't let any man say you can't do something! You are a delicate woman indeed and very in touch with your emotions, but that can't stop you from doing what you want! Don't let him tell you that!" Imod said. Tarja frowned. She was confused now for her purpose…

0000

Tarja's memories played back in her head on loop as she worked on the new clothes she was making from the cloths. With each stitch, she felt closer to what she had wanted for so long, and now that she had no one left, there was nothing for her to lose.

'Even if I lose my life…I will make my father proud. I will do what I have dreamed of, and I will avenge this family,' Tarja thought. She held up a white hood from her lap and used a blade to cut the excess thread from the edges.

'I will kill him…'

Tarja worked through the night on her uniform. So many thoughts were racing through her head and such rage and adrenaline dominated these thoughts. The sound of the summer crickets could be heard from outside, and they soothed her. She stopped her sewing and took in a deep breath, closing her eyes. She missed her family.

'Why did I ever waste my love on him...' Tarja thought to herself. She then became agitated and started her sewing again. Altair would pay for what he had done to her family, though she still could not put these feelings for him to death. Every so often, Tarja would see a glimmer of hope and reform from Altair, and would pray that he fix himself before he causes more pain. But all that hope is drowned when he makes more mistakes, costing Tarja's family.

She wondered what he was doing this very moment, and she wondered if he was thinking of her. She looked outside of her small window at the castle up at the top of the slopes she lived on. In another life, she would love him with all her heart. But his soul was troubled, and Tarja needed to put his grief, and her own, to rest. But still, she always wondered inside if she would ever be together in the end. He was strong, brave, and determined. He was something she would never get to be and she loved him for it. He was good and gentle to her.

Tarja kicked herself mentally.

'He murdered your family,' she reassured herself and continued to sew…

Altair sat on a ledge outside the city of Masayaf, looking over the soft plains of his land. The sun's rays had just begun to peer from the horizon, tinting the sky a cool lavender. He squinted his eyes as the sun blinded him. He wondered how Tarja was. He knew he owed her his apology, but he knew it wouldn't be enough.

Altair sat on that windy ledge for the rest of the sun's rising, watching it for every inch. He sighed. Tarja didn't need his apology. It wasn't his fault.

A sudden crackle of the dry grass behind him made him turn with alarm, unsheathing his hidden blade. He took a look at his adversary, readied himself to attack, but then held himself back. The figure was dressed as he was, in pearly white, clean robes. The same red sash was wrapped around its waist, defining her curves.

"Tarja…" Altair said both confused, and mortified. Tarja titled her head down as to hide her face. And within an instant, she was upon him, trying to hold a simple cotton shear to his throat. Altair was taken off guard at her attack, but pushed her off him slowly. Their eyes met as he pushed her away.

They were cold, hateful, and full of agony. They were red and puffy from tears, and no decent sleep. It was all Altair's fault. His face softened into one of guilt and sympathy, and he pried the cotton shear from Tarja's hands with all his strength, and threw it to the side.

Tarja whimpered when he stripped her of her weapon, and she struggled to break free, but Altair had grabbed a hold of her waist and arms, restraining her into his chest. She squirmed and screamed and demanded to be let go.

"Altair! Let me go! I'm going to kill you! I will kill you! I will!" her screams faded into powerless threats, then to mere words. Tarja had given up on struggling, and became silent. Altair held her in shock for a few more seconds, then released her gently. She kept her head down. Altair wanted to speak, but couldn't conjure anything to say. Not a word came to mind.

With a gasp for air, Tarja fell to her knees before Altair and gripped his knees as hard as she could, and she wept.

"Why? Why why why why why?" she screamed with desperation. Altair said nothing.

"You disgusting excuse for a man! Assassins are supposed to be noble and-! And-!" she couldn't finish her thought. Altair knelt down to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Tarja," he began. Tarja looked up at him with scorn, and spat at his face. Altair didn't budge. He took her insult.

"I beg your forgiveness," he said. Tarja's eyes shrank. She stumbled out pieces of words before she said through gritted teeth,

"You…beg my…forgiveness?" she hissed. Altair continued to look into her eyes. "You think it is that simple? What makes you think I should forgive you. Look at me! Look what a fool and a monster you have made of me!" she screamed at him.

"I have nothing left." Altair said. Tarja froze, and was silent. Did he say what she heard? Was he…truthful? Altair continued, "As much as I want to repent what I have done, and how much I desire to just make you happy for once and to erase the past, it still exists…Tarja, I am just as scared as you.."

Tarja swallowed and tried to hold back her tears. "You…you don't mean that," she said while choking on her tears.

"I do," Altair said. Tarja stared at him for a little longer before she pried herself from his touch and stood. She looked at Altair as if she was going to say something, but didn't. Instead, she walked away, stripping herself of the assassin uniform she had toiled on the entire night before. Altair watched her go. He had caused her so much pain, she attempted to kill him. He knew that Tarja knew she wouldn't be able to, but what could possibly drive a person to face an impossible battle to feel complete. He made her do it. He thought of running to her, but didn't know what he would do if she would allow him to talk to her more, so he stayed where he was and watched her leave…

Well, what now? R+R!