ThatGirl: When I first started coming up with the idea for this fanfic I was replaying the original Assassin's Creed and I thought to myself 'hey, he'd be the perfect straight man to someone's comedy.' So I came up with Pyrrha and started thinking of other things about her and the relevance she has to the plot and thus this story was made. Oh yeah, I only like romance if it's done well and if it's not then I'm like why is this here this serves no purpose and it's not entertaining. I feel the same way about movies.

Chapter Four: Decisions

Well, that was something. She didn't expect that from Altaïr of all people or really anyone here. After all, there were prettier, curvier women in far more revealing outfits in here to try to make out with. And another issue was why did Altaïr make out with her or anyone in fact? If she didn't know better she'd say he was a eunuch or sterile. But no, if he kissed her like that then he clearly had a thing for women… and maybe… just maybe had a thing for Pyrrha.

She snorted loudly and actually exclaimed out loud, "Nah!"

The thought left her entirely when her silver eyes caught sight of none other than delicacies spread along the table across the room. For a moment she thought she was drooling from just looking at the pretty presentation of various breads, meats, cakes, and other delicious items she hadn't had for quite some time. And before she knew it she was moving towards those lovely foods.

"Hey! Dancer girl!" she suddenly heard near her.

It broke her out of her little trance. "Me?" she asked, pointing to herself curiously.

"Who the hell else?!"

He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the other women in similar costumes. They were dancing in a fashion she mostly definitely hadn't had any experience in. Then again she wasn't all that coordinated with her feet (she liked to blame it on her sandals though). Sure, she'd very briefly studied it from one of her many books about Syria, but that certainly didn't mean Pyrrha ever put it into practice. So she was very much put on the spot.

She looked from her peripherals and tried to copy the women next to her's moves. But she was behind, tripping up, and definitely wasn't as alluring as any of the others. She tried though. But the whole clumsy thing probably got old, real quick.

"You new here?" one of the women asked near her.

"Yeah," Pyrrha said to her as they did a spin.

"You'll get the hang of it," the woman said with an encouraging smile.

"What's your name?" she asked as the toe of her sandal caught against the cement. She barely caught herself from smashing her face in.

"Aisha. What's yours?"

"Pyrrha."

"Girls! Stop talking!" the man that grabbed Pyrrha hissed at them.

Both of them frowned but complied. Pyrrha tried to keep up and all; however, she was very much in over her head. Aisha and all the other women probably had years of training and she didn't. How was Pyrrha going to blend without getting kicked out like some kind of chump? But thankfully the song was mercifully shorter than she thought it would be. The loud drums came to a stop soon enough, signaling the dance was finished.

"Thank God," she said not all that softly, wiping sweat from her brow.

Aisha laughed softly at her. It made her feel a little odd, no one really laughed at her or found her funny. It was a nice change of pace.

"Wow, no one really laughs at me," she said as she followed the rest of the women who began dancing with individuals. "It's usually 'shut up, Pyrrha' or 'that's not lady-like, Pyrrha' or 'don't have fun at all, Pyrrha'."

Aisha continued to giggle at her words. Pyrrha wasn't going to lie it was a bit of an ego boost for her. It was nice to be appreciated even for something as minor as her humor.

"So you're from Greece right?" Aisha asked after controlling herself from her giggle fit.

"Yeah, how did you know?" she asked curiously.

Pyrrha picked up a ladle about to pour herself some punch as she continued to look at the woman she just met rather recently.

"Your name," Aisha replied swiftly.

She'd never admit it out loud especially around the Assassins, but she longed to be back in Greece where her family was and where a crusade for the holy land wasn't going on. If she did spill the beans, they'd simply lock her up and not allow her any sort of freedom. In that sense, they were only slightly better than the Templars.

"Yeah, there's no place like home," she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her tone as she poured the reddish liquid into a cup.

"Hey, I heard there's a ship heading out to Greece tonight," she said.

Pyrrha nearly dropped her cup from the shock of such good news. There's a ship going to Greece? Her home country? Crossing the Mediterranean Sea to take her home? This was far too good to be true. Aisha must be messing with her.

"Really?" she couldn't keep the hope from seeping into her tone.

"Yeah, we go on tours to whoever pays nicely. If you wear that costume I can guarantee you'd get on that ship."

Pyrrha was about to ask her some more questions, but both of them were pulled onto the dance floor. As one of her fellow party people spun her around to get her to dance and whatnot her head was spinning with possibilities.

Going back to Greece? Sure, she'd probably been banished, but home was home. Things made sense there. She'd be out of the sweltering heat, surrounded by water and greenery. But then she'd probably never see Malik or Altaïr again. And as much as she would've loved to ditch them and kick some dirt in their face when she met them, she'd be lying if she said they didn't grow on her. Not to mention banishment was prossibility.

Decisions, decisions.

X

Altaïr tore his eyes away from Pyrrha conversing and dancing with other party goers. Come to think of it she was probably used to lavish events like these. That's why she probably blended so well with crowds and looked like a fellow party person… with the exception of her awful dancing of course.

He needed to focus on the entry into Abu'l Nuqoud's palace, the balcony specifically. Thanks to Pyrrha, he was able to sneak into the courtyard where the party was held, but unfortunately she was also the cause for high guard activity within the party. Looking around him, he noticed all points were guarded and he couldn't make a scene or a sound otherwise he'd miss his shot and Nuqoud would just hide within his palace. He'd have to get Pyrrha to cause another diversion.

He weaved through the crowd until he spotted the silver eyed girl he'd been looking for. Her dance partner spun her out, so he took the opportunity to intercept. Altaïr caught her by the shoulders and stopped her from spinning. He waited for her to get her bearings since she was still wobbling.

"Whoa, too dizzy," she said, steadying herself. When she finally stopped seeing double she noticed who it was. "Altaïr. Here to try and shove your tongue back down my throat? You know, if you're not careful you could choke your lovers doing that," she snorted in amusement.

He ignored it for the most part, but the heat rising on his cheeks said otherwise. He really did bring her merciless teasing upon himself for trying to kiss her and all. But ain't nobody got time for that. Nuqoud was starting to give his speech to his guests.

"I need you to cause an uproar," he told her.

He watched her silver eyes dart left and right languidly before she answered, "Easy enough."

Pyrrha pulled away from him and picked up an empty bottle of wine that one of the caterers just poured for everyone and then smashed it on the ground. She roared at the top of her lungs:

"ARSENIC! ARSENIC IN THE DRINKS!"

That definitely got everyone's attention. In fact, it was a mad stampede. People were screaming manically, dropping their drinks, and running over others to get away. Pyrrha was pushed and pulled around like a violent wave unlike Altaïr who was an expert at maneuvering through insane crowds.

She cursed loudly in her native language and then grabbed the table to pull herself up on top of it. It shook violently as everyone attempted to escape. But they began falling like flies, their goblets clattering to the ground; the same goblets that actually contained the wine she lied about being filled with arsenic. Were they actually… poisoned?

"Hahaha!" Nuqoud laughed manically, pot belly shaking in his colorful clothing. "Finally, sweet vengeance! This for all of your whispers behind my back for being different! Guards, kill all those who try to escape."

Pyrrha's eyes widened marginally.

But for Altaïr, it was the perfect opportunity to approach the eloquent balcony. He used the footholds along the wall to start scaling it. He grabbed the archer reloading his bow's string and threw him to the ground. Altaïr pulled himself up and snuck along the walls in order to remain hidden.

He got to the balcony where Nuqoud and his two bodyguards stood. He knew he needed to be stealthy about this and just how to accomplish this. He came up behind the first guard, covered his mouth, and stabbed him in the back with his hidden blade. He set the body to the ground soundlessly. Then he moved on to the next guard and did the same.

Now, all was left was Nuqoud himself. Altaïr sunk his blade into his kidney as he tried to get his hand around the large man to keep him still. It wasn't easy. He eased the man on his cushioned back. Nuqoud started coughing up blood, hacking, wheezing, and just fighting for breath as his lungs started filling up with blood.

"This isn't… over. I… saw you… with that… silver-eyed girl… today. Sticks out… like a sore thumb. Sablé… is looking… for her. Rightly pissed off. I sent… my… finest men… to inform Sablé… and… end her… life. Your… friend… is… going… to… die."

Nuqoud's body convulsed, spraying more blood, before finally relaxing. Altaïr ran his two fingers down his face, closing his lifeless eyes in rest before standing. Then he let go of the body quickly.

Altaïr mounted the balcony's railing, looking for Pyrrha. If what Nuqoud said was true then she was a dead woman. Robert de Sablé was probably absolutely livid. For one, she was valuable to him for reasons Altaïr wasn't quite sure of, and two, she escaped him with personal information. She wounded his pride, insulted him personally, and had valuable information against the Templar Order. Pyrrha was going to die by Sablé's hand unless Altaïr intervened.

His eyes swept along the dead bodies and people scattered all over the cobbled pavement. He hoped one of them wasn't Pyrrha. He didn't see her drink any of the wine from the fountain, so in theory, she should be fine. He didn't see anyone with a bright orange dancer costume lying dead on the ground. But then again he didn't see anyone alive in the giant plaza.

Panic started to seep through his cool exterior when he activated his eagle vision. He looked around for that telltale blue aura to try and find his friend. His eyes darted all around, wondering if she really was dead. All he saw was red around the living people. No blue. Just when he was about to proclaim her dead, he saw a tiny sliver of blue. It was hard to make out since it was so close to red, actually blending parts of it into purple. But nonetheless he finally found her.

Once his eagle vision was gone he saw the aura belonged to none other than Pyrrha with the guard she distracted while he snuck into the party. Altaïr's gaze narrowed in confusion and irritation at the display.

"Oh hi… Salim," Pyrrha huffed.

"You remember me?" he asked, surprised.

Barely, she thought. She was exposed to too many faces and names today. That and people were poisoned and dying left and right around her, so she was lucky that she even remembered that his name began with an 'S'. All she wanted to do was get away from this place with Altaïr or not. She heard Nuqoud's orders: everyone was going to die. And she wasn't going to be one of them. So maybe just maybe Salim liked her enough to let her go. But Pyrrha wasn't going to hold her breath.

"Of course I remember you," she said, hoping it wasn't too forced.

He smiled a shy smile, looking rather flattered. Apparently, very positive female attention wasn't something he was used to. It was kind of endearing.

"Do you know what's going on?" he asked. "I couldn't hear Nuqoud over the screaming people."

This was her opportunity! If she lied her ass off and she'd be scott free. How angry could Nuqoud get if just one party guest got free? A non-tax paying, war hating party guest, mind you.

"You know… that um… guy with the knife," she said, having trouble recalling, "poisoned everyone."

"That's horrible," he said.

"Yeah, so if you don't mind helping a girl out and—"

"Salim!"

Both of them jumped at the loud bellow from behind them. They turned and saw Salim's superior just slice someone across the back with his sword. They flinched and looked away especially when the woman screamed in pain.

Pyrrha didn't think she'd ever get used that level of up close brutality.

"Sir?"

"What are you doing talking with the enemy?" he demanded. "Did you not hear Nuqoud?! Kill everyone!"

"Well, shit," she said aloud.

Her easy method of escape was now shot to hell. Now either Salim or his boss were going to hack away at her. Although, she still had her throwing knife hidden in one of the many folds of this get-up, so she wasn't completely helpless. But could she actually do it? Kill someone? Even if it was to save her own life?

Well, the look of hurt and betrayal on Salim's face and him drawing his sword said she had to make her decision quickly. She glanced back and forth between the two men surrounding her. She could either run back into the party and find another exit (which wasn't very likely) or stab her way through Salim.

"You lied to me!" Salim shouted, voice cracking with emotion. "You're gonna pay!"

It seemed she'd have to stab away even though it pained her to do so.

He swung, she barely dodged out of instinct, and took her opportunity to get close. He made the mistake of carrying a heavy weapon and now his recovery was far too slow. So she came close, pulled out her knife, and stabbed him through a chink in his armor. He spluttered and coughed and then fell to the ground, convulsing from the pain in his abdomen.

She gasped at her own actions even though she was in full control of her body. She couldn't believe she did it. Even though he wasn't dead yet he couldn't survive being impaled in a complicated area like the stomach. Never had she thought she was capable of ending a life. He could've had a wife, children, friends, family. And she took him away from all of them.

"Y-you! You killed him…!" the guard behind her gasped in shock.

"I… I," she said, wanting to push away the guilt and fear that was making bile rise in her throat. "Well, what does it look like genius?" she barely huffed out.

Then she ran.

Her feet thundered across the pavement, leaving a trail of dust in her wake. So many feelings were coursing through her. The guilt had her stomach in knots. The constant fear inside her was driving her a little mad. And honestly, she wanted to go home where things made sense. Maybe her family could be forgiving. She hoped for the impossible.

Her decision was made. It was time to go home. She'd take the ship home and be done with the Templar and Assassin bullshit. At least she'd buy herself some time away from it all.

She found her horse tied at the water trough, hopped on her, and took off at a much higher speed. Pyrrha was going home.

Altaïr was hot on her trail. He wasn't going to let her get away and be killed by Sablé. So he took a swipe at the gate guard's calf to keep him from running. The man cried out in pain before Altaïr caught him.

"Did you see a woman run through here?"

"Yes," he gasped.

"Where did she go?"

The man didn't answer quickly enough, so Altaïr ejected his blade — poised to inflict pain. Time was of the essence and the Assassin had no patience.

"N-north! She headed north on horseback!" he exclaimed, looking as if he might start sobbing. "Please don't kill me!" he pleaded. Altaïr's blade sank into the man's chest, done with his enemy. He told him to rest in peace, and ran his fingers down his eyelids to close them.

Then Altaïr took off, finding his horse, and then cantering on along the streets. He was heading north to find Pyrrha and keep her away from Sablé at any cost. He'd keep her safe and wouldn't dare let Sablé kill her. She was such a pain in the ass. If she had just stayed where she was at then he could keep her safe.

As his horse thundered through the streets he caught a glimpse of orange fabric flying on horseback. He could see she was heading towards the ports and the many ships reading for, at least, a month long journey to import more cargo. She wanted to go back home. Surely, there was a ship going to Greece to take her back. He wouldn't let her get away.

"Pyrrha!" he called.

She gasped in surprise, nearly toppling off her horse and eating dirt. But she caught herself and gave him a furtive look for nearly killing her from the fall.

"The hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he said.

"Piss off!"

She pulled on the reins to slow her horse down. Then she maneuvered her palomino behind Altaïr before taking a little detour down an alleyway full of sharp corners. She knew it would be hard to make these tight turns and see which turns she was taking. But either way, she was going to slow him down and shake him. If there was one thing Pyrrha was really good at it was running away… and, well, running her mouth.

She looked behind her as she weaved through the small crowds and narrow alleyways. She didn't see Altaïr and smirked. Her silver eyes came across the docks when she turned back around. She could see another set of dancer girls filing into one ship and that was all it took to know which ship was hers. Her smile was positively victorious.

She was home bound to Greece and nothing was going to stop—

Screams of terror, and whinnies of pain sounded off when Pyrrha was intercepted by none other than Altaïr, and Robert de Sablé. Her horse skittered to a stop and bucked like a bronco. She was thrown into the air with great speed towards the ship, screeching wildly, before landing harshly into the water beside the ship, barely missing the railing. It wasn't a soft landing either; doing a belly flop with that amount of force wasn't something that someone could just brush off so easily.

For a few moments all she did was sink further into the water, practically paralyzed in pain. But the burning in her lungs for oxygen made her move quickly and soon she broke the surface for air. When her head broke free from the water she took in big gasps of air, coughing sporadically since she unfortunately inhaled some salty water.

She looked around and vaguely heard through the water in her ears that Sablé was yelling at his men to find her. She shuddered in fear. How the hell did Sablé find her? Who ratted her out? It couldn't have been Altaïr or Malik since the Templars, especially their Grand Master, was their greatest enemy. No one besides those two knew who she was, Assassins wise, so… it had to be somebody from the party. Was it that Aisha woman? Was it Nuqoud? Is that why Altaïr wanted him assassinated? Because he was a Templar?

"You son of a bitch," she growled angrily.

"Hey, did you hear something?" she heard a male voice ask.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

She hugged the side of the ship, using the rigid decorations as footholds. She began to climb it slowly, her clothes now wet and heavy, since she was thrown from her horse by the Assassins and Templars. She bit her bottom lip to keep her grumblings quiet as she slowly reached the top.

Her silver eyes peaked over the edge to look for pairs of feet that would most definitely intercept her. She didn't see any at the moment, so she pulled herself up onto the ship and back on her feet.

"What are you doing here?" someone asked her harshly.

She visibly jumped at the man's voice. Her nerves were practically fried from all the 'excitement'.

"Uh, is this the ship to Greece? I'm with the dancer girls," she supplied awkwardly, scratching the back of her head.

He gave her a disdainful look, especially her soaking wet clothes and her face, suspicious of her. She could see it in his eyes. Uh-oh.

"Oh yeah, I'm a klutz. I fell into the water like a doofus," she said. "So um about that ship I would—"

"Over here! She's over here! The silver eyed girl is over here!"

"Oh come on!" she groaned in irritation.

She pushed him to the floor, out of her way, so she could jump through the gap in the railing onto the post before leaping onto the next ship. She looked around frantically and what she saw caused her blood to freeze in her veins — which was quite a feat considering how hot the direct sunlight was. Sablé just entered the end of the ship she was on and Altaïr pulled himself up on top of it as well. She was corned by both Templars and Assassins. Great.

"So… you're here, I'm here… again," she said awkwardly.

"You've caused me quite a bit of grief! The both of you!" Sablé shouted. He drew the sword from his side and pointed it at her. It wasn't a surprise that she'd be the most hated. "You and that Assassin friend of yours will die by my hand today!"

"Aw, humiliated that someone as weird as me has a friend?" she antagonized. Although, she wasn't certain she'd call Altaïr a friend perse.

The point is she was hoping she'd enrage him, so he'd get sloppy. After all, he had reason enough to be pissed about her escaping and risking valuable information. Perhaps she could push him over the edge. Then Altaïr could kill him. That was a… hope.

"Befriended?" he said, scoffing. "He and his brethren would sell you out in a skinny minute if it meant benefiting their order. But, I suppose it's better than nothing, isn't it Pyrrha?"

She looked away uncomfortably for a moment, and then shot back, "Well, s-so is your face! … Goddammit!" she cursed at her inability to make a decent joke in this instance.

Sablé, with a smirk on his face, lowered his sword to point it towards her. And that was some sort of signal for his Templars because several arrows were shot, originating from the archers atop the buildings near the docks. The arrows, with uncanny precision, were aimed right at her. They were intended to kill seeing as they were aimed tight at her face.

She wasn't proud to admit it, but she froze. The fear was too intense and it seemed as if it caused her to forget how to move. Even though her mind screamed at her to do so nothing happened. All she could do was stare with exceptional wide, silver eyes.

Then suddenly, she felt a hard hand shove Pyrrha hard to the side. She gasped in both surprise and pain from hitting the wooden floorboards. What the hell? Who had a change of heart? Who helped her. Her eyes looked up just in time to see Altaïr take a couple of arrows in the arm. He groaned in pain as he hit the floor hard too.

Her ears, that were rushing with blood at the moment, picked up the sounds of deep, malicious laughter. She glared angrily at the source: Robert de Sablé.

"Oh, this is rich!" he exclaimed, still laughing derisively. "Does the little Assassin actually care for the most insufferable woman in the world? Pathétique. Impossible. Surely you're aware she's the most intolerable person to live with. Die."

He walked towards them and she tensed in fear. She saw the tip of Sablé's boot kick Altaïr off the ship by his face. Silver eyes looked down at the man, sinking in a pool of his own blood. Then her eyes snapped back up to Sablé who pointed the tip of his sword at her face. It made her heart nearly stop.

"You're next," he said, smirking.

What was she going to do? What could she do?

Author's Note: cliffhangers….