The Master of the Halls

Hooves clopped lazily against the scattered pebbles in the sand as a bay stallion slowly made its way towards the lookout point. The rider, Abbas, squinted as the strong morning sun filtered into the gorge he was passing through, its rays only partially blocked out by the high walls of rugged rock. Altair would meet him along the path shortly to switch the night watch for the day.

The assassin could see a figure in the distance walking towards him, small and huddled. At first, he assumed it was his friend, but then noted that they were far too short and petite to be Altair. Abbas dug his heels into the horse's side and brought the animal into a brisk trot.

"Who goes there?" he cried as he drew near. The figure looked up and for a moment, he thought he had stumbled across a vengeful spirit: pale and covered in blood. Then he recognised her as one of the peasants from the village; he cursed his superstitious nature and slowed to a standstill as she approached.

"Why are you out here, girl?" he asked, looking down at her.

"Your brother, Altair, is injured," she said, clutching at his leg, "stabbed in the night by attackers. I have bound his wounds as best I can, but I fear he will not last if he is not returned to Masyaf soon."

Questions quickly arose in Abbas' mind: why was she here? Why hadn't she been attacked? How badly hurt was his friend?

The assassin quickly pushed such questions away and nodded. Fool's Rock was not far now.

"Climb onto the saddle," he commanded. The servant girl shook her head, biting her lip as she eyed the beast he rode nervously.

"I will run to him," she insisted, turning and sprinting away before Abbas could protest. He marvelled at the speed of her and then shook his head; there were more important matters at hand. Spurring the stallion on, the horse and rider quickly followed the girl.

The landscape became a blur as he cantered after the servant, who had already forged quite a way ahead. Dust swirled up behind him as the beast worked its way towards the guide and light flickered overhead through the cracks in the natural, stone walls towering above them, silent guardians of the brotherhood.

As the servant ran ahead, only one thought was present in her mind: why was she doing this?

Shaking her head, she continued on, casting her mind back to the events of the morning as a distraction from the blazing heat.

Leilah's skin began to burn as the fierce sun began to creep over the horizon. Pain seared through her, her fair complexion unable to cope with the attacking light, and yet she dared not move. There was a chance attackers from last night were still present, just waiting for any hiding witnesses to reveal themselves...

It was a foolish thought and she was aware as much, yet fear gripped at her and held her in her place. She was more afraid of death now than she ever had been before and shielded her face from the sun with her reddened arms, curled up in a ball on top of Fool's Rock.

A thought occurred to her. It was not a pleasant one.

"What is this?" she hissed to herself, anger interrupting instincts. "You have always been held in your place by man! Now you have a chance to show your worth, you cower like another weak and feeble woman? Stand up!"

Her own words coursed through her and for a moment, she felt ready to face anything. But she remembered the screams of the night and her stomach churned. There was a twitch of her fingers and little else. Leilah despaired and tried again.

"Stand up!" she commanded, louder this time. If there was anyone lurking at the bottom of Fool's Rock, they would have almost certainly heard her. This in itself was an incentive. Trembling, Leilah slowly unfolded her arms away from her head and rolled onto her front, pushing herself onto her knees. She crawled forward and peered over the edge of the rocky pillar, the height making her head spin slightly.

The ground was littered with the bodies of men, dressed in similar, poor clothes that suggested they were a small band of vagrants. They were all dead.

Leilah squinted and glanced about. Had Altair left her here?

Just then, she spotted a white figure propped up against a rock not far from Fool's Rock, a trail of red leading to it. It was the assassin and – judging by the streak of red he had left behind – he was wounded.

She needed to help him!

However, as soon as the words entered her head, she began to question them. She hated him, he who was lucky enough to be an assassin. Now here he was, injured and alone. She could leave him for the vultures. She would gain nothing but the small amount of satisfaction that the assassins were not the all-powerful gods they pretended to be, but humans who died because a woman had not saved them. It was more than enough.

Of course, she could always kill him herself. No doubt, one of the attackers had dropped a sword or a knife. She could easily slip it between Altair's ribs. Al Mualim's Red Feather – his new favourite pupil – killed by a mere servant girl! The prospect was laughable...and highly appealing. No one would ever know she did it. The vagrants would be blamed and everyone would forget about it. It would be her beautiful, bloody secret.

With the murderous thought in mind, Leilah tentatively made her way down Fool's Rock, discovering that climbing up was almost simple in comparison with climbing down. More than once, she missed a foothold and nearly plummeted to her death, before managing to catch herself at the last second. When her feet rested firmly on solid ground, she breathed a sigh of relief, resisting the urge to kiss the sweet earth that held her safely.

A wicked grin on her face, she strode over to the assassin, who was slumped against a boulder, deathly still. In one swift movement, she scooped a nearby blade off the floor and raised it above her head, ready to strike. Leilah paused, hesitating at the thought of killing another person. Last night she had been devastated when she had believed she'd pulled him off the cliff; was she ready for this?

Her eyes settled on Altair's hand and she winced. A finger was missing – the assassins removed it themselves as a sign of loyalty and honour. Leilah glanced at the sword she still held high. She was killing an unconscious man instead of fighting him fairly. Where was her honour now?

With a grimace, Leilah lowered her arm and dropped the blade. She knew she would never be able to fight Altair and win, but she could not kill him in such a lowly way. He had earned his honour with the removal of his own finger. What right did she have to deny him a proper death?

Crouching down, Leilah inspected Altair's features instead. She had to admit, he was handsome, and despite years of training and fighting, had no blemishes on his face. He had only a small amount of stubble on his jaw line, which was strange. Most men had a beard, although Malik was another exception to this trend.

Leilah sighed. Altair had saved her life the previous night, pushing her out of the way of an arrow. Maybe it had just been instinct, not on purpose, but it didn't matter. She had to return the favour and help him.

Upon inspecting his bloodstained tunic, Leilah discovered a sizable stab wound through his side. She had no idea how he had survived so long, but he was still breathing, though faintly. Leilah removed his hood and took the sword she had discarded earlier, hacking through the material until it was in strips, and then set to work binding the injury so it would slow the loss of blood. The white did not take long to turn red. It was obvious she would not be able to move him herself, given that he was taller than her. She would have to run back to the village and hope she encountered other assassins to help her.

Standing up, Leilah pulled a face at the fresh blood the assassin had left on her clothes. Then, tucking her hair behind her ears and smearing red across her face, she set off into a run down the beaten path back to Masyaf.

"Altair?"

The word broke through the black of Altair's world, dragging him from the dark. He opened his eyes with difficulty, wincing as the light stung them. Memories of fighting sprang to mind and the assassin turned sharply, looking for his sword. A deep burning shot through Altair's right side and he groaned with agony, clutching at the source of the pain.

"Don't try to move. You were wounded."

Altair gritted his teeth and then glanced up at the speaker.

"Malik?" The assassin felt calmer now that he knew he was with a friend. He studied his surroundings, finally realising that he was in his quarters in the brotherhood fortress. "How did I get here?"

"Abbas found you by Fool's Rock after a small group of bandits tried to..." Malik paused. "Well, we're not sure yet. All we know is you killed all of them. A servant girl bound your wounds, led Abbas to you, and helped you on his horse. She refused to ride with him, though, so he left her behind."

Altair thought on this, trying to remember if there had been a girl with him the previous night. A pale face drifted into his mind. "Another joined me unexpectedly at the lookout point. I nearly killed her, mistaking her for an enemy. It was the mongrel."

"Seif?" Malik didn't bother to hide the surprise in his voice. "What in God's name was she doing there with you? Was she with the bandits?"

"No." Altair recalled her stubborn vow to him and found himself tempted to smirk. And yet she had kept from sight, found help, saved his life...

Malik sat on a chair opposite his friend's bed. "Tell me your thoughts, brother."

"She..." Altair paused, trying to word it without sounding absurd. He failed. "She was 'training' herself and decided to climb Fool's Rock to test herself. She wants to be an assassin."

Malik burst into laughter, before noticing Altair remained silent. "Surely you did not take her seriously? She is just a woman."

"A determined woman who climbed down from the lookout point by herself and helped me when she could have ran," Altair replied coolly. "I may find the idea of a female assassin to be distasteful, but she certainly shows more promise than a normal girl."

"You did take her seriously!" Malik looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be amused or concerned. "Perhaps your injuries are worse than apparent at first glance."

"Make no mistake," Altair snapped, cheeks flushing red, "I think she is a fool to become so wrapped up in ridiculous hopes...nothing good will ever come of her."

Malik sat back in the chair nodding, satisfied with the answer. Altair meanwhile pondered. Would it be so bad to have a female assassin? Everything he had ever been taught, every fibre of his being screamed 'yes!' There was a niggling doubt buried under all of his training, though, which suggested otherwise. True, the mongrel hadn't fought anyone, but her attitude gave the impression that she had a ruthless streak to her, something every assassin needed.

"Malik," Altair said suddenly. His friend looked at him.

"Yes, Altair?"

"Bring me the girl, please. I would like to speak to her."

The slap came from nowhere, striking Leilah hard across the cheek.

"Your bed empty this morning and no sign of you in the village; do you have any idea how worried I have been, child?" hissed Nahlah, grabbing Leilah by one arm and dragging her inside the house. "And look at you! You are filthy! What have you been doing?"

Before Leilah could reply, Nahlah pulled her daughter into a bone-crushing hug, holding her like she never wanted to let go. Eventually, however, she relaxed her grip and Leilah eased herself out of her mother's embrace.

"I saved an assassin's life," Leilah replied, rubbing the stinging side of her face. Nahlah's jaw dropped.

"You did what?"

Leilah recounted her tale to her mother. When she'd finished, Nahlah was speechless for a moment, before recovering with grace.

"Well," she sniffed, unable to hide her irritation mixed with pride. "While I am not...best pleased at your activities, this may earn Al Mualim's favour. Now get changed, girl. You are late enough for your duties as it is."

Leilah sighed inwardly and removed the bloodstained garments with difficulty. Her arms ached terribly from her ascent of Fool's Rock; it had been a wonder that she'd made it down from the cliff at all. She pulled her only other set of clothes on and then picked up her beige headscarf, sweeping her hair back after she'd removed all the twigs. Leilah covered her head with the scarf and then jumped as a sharp knocking sounded at the door.

Nahlah answered it and Leilah waited politely, straining to listen to what was being said. A mumbled male voice spoke a few words and Nahlah nodded before turning to her daughter.

"Leilah," she said, face pale. "Al Mualim wishes to speak with you."

Leilah blinked and then hurried towards the door when Nahlah frantically beckoned her. The assassin she had met that morning was stood there, arms folded, waiting.

"I have been ordered to take you to the fortress," he said, his tone suggesting he'd rather be doing anything else at that particular moment. "You are to come with me."

He spun on his heel and strode away without a backwards glance. Leilah hesitated only for a second, following only when Nahlah jabbed her in the back.

They walked in silence until they reached the looming fortress of Masyaf. Leilah had only ever been in its lower halls, the one place the younger, less physically pleasing servants were permitted to go. Older or beautiful women had access to the gardens and the living quarters of the brotherhood, either to clean with experience or to see to the assassins' 'needs', as it were.

While Leilah had always been curious to see the upper halls of the fortress – supposedly grand and exquisitely decorated – she was happy not to be comely enough for the assassins' tastes. She'd always had higher ambitions than the bed of a man.

Her frayed sandals slapped against the stone steps as she followed the assassin up towards the main entrance. They walked inside and Leilah felt her breath being taken away.

Books! So many books! She had never seen so many in one place before. And there weren't just books, but scrolls, inks, quills...the crafters of knowledge and it was all here. Leilah stopped dead in the centre of the main hall and stared around, her mouth hanging open. When she had finally managed to overcome her shock of all the amazing objects present, she noticed the decor. Incense drifted through the air in twisted trails, coiling with the slight breezes coming through the main door. Candles sat in rows at every window and available shelf, illuminating the stone and stretching the flicking shadows, and large candelabras were suspended from the ceiling. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting battles and feasts and rich-coloured, woven rugs covered sections of the floor.

It had been everything she'd imagined and more.

"Girl!" barked the assassin and Leilah snapped out of her daydream and scurried after him. They reached another set of stairs at the end of the room, which led to Al Mualim's seat of power.

"Master," the assassin said, gesturing his hand towards Leilah.

"Thank you, Abbas." The old assassin master sat at his desk, watching her with sharp eyes shrouded under his hood. "You may go."

Abbas nodded and left, leaving Leilah at Al Mualim's mercy. She had never seen him before, but he was different to what she had expected. Tales of the master portrayed him as a deadly and skilled assassin with unimaginable power and prowess. Men feared even the mention of his name, the stories said, and when he chose a target, he never failed to end their life.

All Leilah could see was an elderly, bearded man clad in black. She would not have suspected for a moment that he was the leader of a group of cold-blooded killers. Perhaps, she mused, that was why he was so dangerous. A thorn amongst roses?

For a long time he stared at her. No words were spoken. Leilah felt as though he was waiting for something, but didn't want to commit to anything until she was sure what.

"Good," the assassin master said eventually. He gave her a rare smile. "You are aware of your betters despite recent events. You do not let success control your actions. And I am most grateful that you tended to my pupil. More than likely your actions saved his life and you will be rewarded for it. But tell me, girl, why were you present at our lookout point? You are a villager, not an assassin. You should not have been aware of its existence."

"I was not," Leilah replied carefully. "I was not aware. I wanted to test myself by climbing Fool's Rock."

"Those warnings exist for the sole reason of keeping peasants away. Surely you knew you could have died?"

"I did."

"Then why attempt such a foolhardy act? What could you possibly gain from it?"

Leilah told him and then shifted uncomfortably as Al Mualim's eyes narrowed. He said nothing for a long time, but his eyes never left her. Unable to hold his piercing, hawk-like gaze, Leilah looked down at the floor, feeling her cheeks beginning to burn.

"No doubt you realise what a preposterous notion it is for a woman to be an assassin." It was not a question, but a statement. Al Mualim stood up, walked around his desk, and then moved around Leilah in a circle, inspecting her. She kept still, not daring to cast a glance at his expression. She wanted to cling to her hopes for as long as possible.

He stepped back and leaned against his desk, stroking his chin. "Although you could cover your face..."

Leilah bit her lip, not daring to breathe. Al Mualim noticed and chuckled.

"Speak, child. I give you permission."

"No one would suspect a girl of being an assassin," Leilah blurted out, picking up on what the assassin had uttered to himself. "If I keep my features hidden, who would dare accuse the brotherhood of accepting a woman?"

"This is true," Al Mualim agreed, giving a small nod. "And you would be able to go where my children would not without becoming suspect. This is highly irregular, though. It does not sit well with me, girl. You are a servant, not an assassin."

"Altair was no one before he was a killer," Leilah snapped, forgetting herself. She realised too late what she had said and blushed deeply, bowing her head. Al Mualim laughed.

"Do not believe all the rumours, girl. While it is true that Altair's father wanted his family separated from the assassins, their fates tied in with brotherhood's."

Leilah arched an eyebrow, intrigued by this piece of information. She decided not to press it, though, and instead waited for Al Mualim's judgement.

"I propose a compromise of sorts," the assassin master said as he returned to his seat. "It promises nothing, denies nothing; if you can find one of my assassins willing to train you, then you will be accepted into the brotherhood. Do you find that fair?"

Leilah's jaw dropped. She nodded frantically, before remembering herself.

"Yes, Master. Oh, thank you, Master. Thank you!"

"You may go now. Good luck."

Leilah bowed to him and then left, a spring in her step. Al Mualim watched her go. Women were easy to manipulate; there would not be a competent trainer in Masyaf that would take her on as a student if they valued their reputation. Either she would find a poor tutor and become bored or get herself killed, or she would find no one.

Women in the brotherhood? Ridiculous.

Certain of the outcome, Al Mualim smiled to himself and took a sip from his goblet of wine.

By the time Leilah had reached the servant halls, the girls had already been assigned their duties for the day. One look at Malik's face told her she was going to be cuffed across the head for her lateness. It wasn't exactly her fault, though, what with Altair that very morning and her audience with Al Mualim. She only hoped he would believe her—

"Seif!" Malik bellowed, finally spotting her. Leilah winced. Probably not.

"Master," she said when she had reached him. "I apologise for my lateness. I—"

"Save your excuses, girl," Malik snapped and Leilah fell silent. It was quite clear he was in a bad mood, and as it was well known he hated his current role in the brotherhood, it was best not to push his temper today. "This not good enough! How many times have you arrived behind everyone else? Too many. So, I have a special duty for you."

Leilah expected it would be kitchen duty again, probably for a week. Instead, it was something she would never have imagined.

"A brother was injured last night," Malik said carefully, looking at her straight in the eye. "I need someone to attend to him while he recovers."

"Yes, master," Leilah replied, suddenly curious. He was assigning her to Altair? Before she could contemplate this, Malik grabbed her arm and yanked her forwards.

"Do not answer me back!" he bellowed and then practically threw her out of the door. As she staggered outside and tripped over her own feet, Malik followed her. His face was like thunder and he slammed the door behind him before advancing on her.

Leilah covered her face, waiting for an attack that never came. Instead, Malik crouched down and offered her his hand.

"I am sorry for such behaviour, Seif, but I cannot show favouritism. I wanted to talk to you personally," he said, his tone grave. Leilah blinked at him and then slowly grasped his hand. In one swift movement, he pulled her straight to her feet and then let her dust herself down. "So I hope you can forgive me for that unexpected act."

"I do," Leilah replied, although in truth she was quite shaken.

"Good." Malik paused, seeming to have difficulty on what to say to her. "Altair...we have been friends for as long as I can remember; since we were children. I wish to say thank you for helping him last night. He also wants to speak to you himself and asked me to find you."

The assassin told her where to go and Leilah nodded. "You are most welcome. I will go see him now."

As she turned to leave, Malik caught her shoulder and turned her back to him.

"Seif...Leilah." He stopped and sighed. "Altair told me of your wishes. While I cannot claim to have the wisdom of a master, I think you will drive yourself to insanity with such unachievable fantasies. Go to Altair, but do not expect him to be your teacher."

Leilah nodded, a jolt in her stomach reflecting what she feared the most: she saved the life of an assassin...but if even that assassin would not tutor her, then who would?

A/N: A rewrite of the rewrite to fit in with revealed canon of Altair's life in Assassin's Creed: Revelations. Also because I thought some of it sucked and needed replacing. Next chapter is new.

Lance~