Israh holds onto Altair's arm and pouts, "It may serve, but there doesn't seem to be enough room for the children, don't you think darling?"
Altair's nostrils flare and she knows he is struggling not to smile. The homeowner is beside himself, "Not to worry, my good lady! There is more space concealed above and below us!"
The man shows them a ladder that folds down and allows access to another floor, and then leads them to a spacious cellar through a trapdoor. The whole house is large and airy and reasonably furnished; she especially likes the balconies and the rooftop garden. The seller wrings his hands zealously as he awaits their judgement.
"Does this please you, love?" Altair asks her softly.
Israh smiles pleasantly and nods.
"Then we will take it," he says, turning to the realtor.
The man claps his hands, "Excellent, excellent! I have the paperwork right here."
Altair writes in the name of the merchant and forges his signature. Israh smiles warmly at the house seller as he takes the document and rolls it up.
"It has been a pleasure," she tells him courteously.
The man scoops up her hand to place a kiss there, "Why, the pleasure was all mine. What a doting husband you have, perfect for such a kind, graceful wife!"
The door barely swings shut with his departure before Israh catches Altair's eye, and they struggle to stay serious only a moment; she bursts into giggles suddenly while he grins.
It takes many months, but they begin to build a Brotherhood. Somewhat.
A couple of thieves are the first to join their cause, impressed by their skill in swindling the rich trader. As promised, Israh gave them all a portion of their haul, which they were wholly pleased with and thus solidified them as allies to the Assassins. The two recruits settled into their new home and strict training regime with moderate success; Altair is a stern Mentor and a demanding teacher who takes failure in stride but always expects improvement from his students.
While Altair took on most of the training, Israh continued to search for more recruits. She demonstrated a disappointing lack of results for a good long while until stumbling upon an opportunity quite by accident.
The child was no common thief else they would never have been caught filching from the market stall. Therefore Israh briefly wonders how such a pitiful thing has survived this long as she jumps down onto one of the child's pursuers, dispatching him expertly. The little one is fast though, faster than the other guards chasing them are. Israh takes an alternate route to get ahead of them, and then snatches the child out of harm's way. They struggle against her a moment in panic before Israh wraps her cloak around them securely and pulls them down to sit on a bench with her.
"Stop squirming and be silent," she shushes, holding the little one close to her to hide their face.
The guards grumble loudly at their fruitless pursuit while the child sits on her knee stiffly. When they give up the search the young one scrambles away from her. Israh does not get one word out before the child is off again, running down a side street. She shakes her head and sighs, but the little one's distrust is of no consequence. It is wise in fact. She is merely beginning to become frustrated in helping people as much as she can and receiving nothing in return. Israh has saved many citizens from perilous situations in the hope of recruiting them but every single one of them has thus far turned her down. She is starting to believe she is doing something wrong.
"Perhaps they are intimidated by you," Altair says with a small smirk that he tries to hide by blowing into his cupped hands in an effort to warm them. The winter months are beginning to thaw but the nights especially are still cold, and he has taken to lighting a fire before they sleep.
She makes a noise between amusement and incredulity, "Despite the fact that I appear perfectly sweet and trustworthy? Just look at me, I'm as soft and light as a feather."
He does look at her, in a way that sets her heart racing. Being alone with him in such close proximity is wearing down her resolve to never pursue his affection, but she will not disrespect Maria like that. She refuses to disrespect all three of them in such a fashion.
"You are," Altair agrees, placing the grate over the fireplace before he stands, "And yet you are still deadly. I would think that makes it worse, because it is so unexpected."
Israh flops back onto their veritable nest of cushions and blankets they have taken to sleeping in, "Well, that is the point is it not?"
He drops down beside her and stretches out, putting his hands behind his head, "It is. Most people simply do not have the fortitude for our work, as it should be."
"But how can we protect them if they will not protect themselves?" she asks, staring up at the ceiling of the attic dejectedly.
Altair does not have an answer.
In the morning Israh finds a package on their doorstep, and is immediately suspicious. She opens it outside, on the neighbour's roof, with Altair watching cautiously from the window of their attic after being ordered to stay back. The bread seems innocuous enough yet she is hesitant to touch it with bare skin.
"Poison?" Altair asks shortly when she shows him the food partially wrapped in cloth.
"I cannot tell," she replies, giving the bread a careful sniff, "Not any that I can pick up on."
He is quiet but she knows his mind is flashing through possible suspects and motives and responses at a mile a minute. She takes a moment to think too. The merchant they stole from, his son, and all who serve them are enemies, but she is confident they do not know them and will not find them, especially since it is likely they have given up the search now. They have allies in some factions of thieves but they are not permitted to know where their base is. The only other suspect she can think of is-
"The child," she speaks aloud, and Altair's eyes focus upon her once more, waiting for elaboration, "I helped a child yesterday. They were caught stealing from a bread cart. But they would surely never give up their food where they so desperately needed it?"
It is a question more to herself than him, but he answers regardless, "If they were grateful enough, perhaps so. I am more concerned that they saw you enter here."
"I came in through the window," she mumbles, somewhat embarrassed she had evidently not been stealthy enough.
"We will let this go for now," he decides, "And hope the action is simply one of goodwill."
Nevertheless, the gesture intrigues her and she cannot let it be. The next day she sits on the same bench where she had hid the child from hostile eyes, and waits. She waits almost all day and feels somewhat guilty for doing no work, but then her patience pays off.
A little boy sits next to her and whispers, "You're the lady that helped Vesta. Did you get the bread?"
Israh glances at him out of the corner of her eye and whispers back, "I did, thank you. Are you certain Vesta doesn't need it?"
The boy nods, "We need it, but they wanted you to have it anyway."
Provided the bread is truly safe, that would mean the child has honour. Israh smiles in approval.
"Who is 'we'?" she questions, hoping it will not scare the boy away.
Yet he seems to trust her already, "Everyone in the gutter. That's what we call home. Mistress is old and sick, so she can't clean to feed us anymore. That's why Vesta tried stealing."
"Mistress is the only one who takes care of you?"
He nods.
"How many children live in the gutter?"
He shrugs, "Lots."
Israh bites her lip as she thinks. Children are easy to mould and easier to train than adults who already have bad habits ingrained into them. But they also require looking after, and she and Altair cannot stay and wait for them to grow.
And yet, the child has honour. That is a good sign.
"So you need someone else to look after you?" she asks slowly.
"Mistress will die soon, Euginia says," the boy tells her sadly, "We don't know what we'll do then."
Altair will probably not like it. But she has made her choice, soft hearted as it is.
"I have a home you could go to," she offers gently, "It is not a kind home though. To live there you must train to become strong, fast and hard. It is not an easy life, but it is a necessary one."
He ponders for a moment before turning to her hesitantly, "Will there be food? And beds?"
"Yes. You will not go hungry or cold. Not unless it's part of your training."
"Training for what?" he asks curiously, and the question is so innocent she doubts she is doing the right thing.
Israh steels herself. It will not do to keep the child ignorant, "Killing people."
The child flinches back some and she does not blame him. He is wide eyed but still he asks questions, "Why?"
That is another thing she likes about children. They want to learn more so than adults do; they seek answers at the root of things rather than pretending they already know all or simply accepting surface level explanations.
"Because they seek to hurt others," she responds steadily, "So we must stop them. We fight for safety and peace."
He is quiet again while he thinks, and Israh does not try to push him down the path she wants. The boy is young but he is still a person, and can make his own decisions.
"Those are good things," he says slowly, "But do you have to kill people to do it? Killing is bad."
She smiles gently, "Not always, little one. It can be for the best as long as your target is corrupt or cruel or hateful. These people do harm unto others, and so innocent people are freed by their deaths."
The boy is utterly serious as he stares at her, "So I would be killing people like my parents?"
Her heart hurts a little, but she takes him just as seriously, "If your parents hurt you then they might be a threat, and it may be for the best that they die."
He nods, "Okay. I think I understand," Then he jumps up, "I'll tell Vesta and Euginia about what you said. Can you come back here tomorrow?"
Israh stands too, grateful to stretch her legs, "If you like. Will you tell your mistress about me?"
"I should," the boy says, "But she might be angry."
"I would like to meet her," she tells him, "If you could tell her that, I would be grateful."
He lights up, glad that he would not have to keep secrets from his caretaker, "Alright. Tomorrow then?"
Israh bows her head in agreement, and the boy scurries off.
Though she knows it is cowardly she is glad Altair is not home. It is late into the night but she is not worried overmuch; their two recruits are gone as well, so it is likely they are simply out on a training exercise. Israh sits in the nest up in the attic with a glass of wine and heavy thoughts. There are many things she must tell Altair, but she is afraid to do it. She must tell him about the children she hopes to recruit. She should tell him that his attempt at establishing a guild here is supposed to fail, and so that may be inevitable. They could be wasting their time. But she won't, not yet.
Israh knows it is mere months until the Crusaders will be at Constantinople's walls and they will eventually sack the city mercilessly. As of yet she does not see a way to stop it from the very brief surveying of the city's defences she has done; Altair rarely leaves her alone for an entire day as their work requires they communicate almost constantly and she does not wish to make him suspicious by withdrawing from him. Yet she will find a way to help without putting him in harm's way. She will not leave the citizens to suffer such a cruel fate. Especially the children. They will be utterly defenceless when the city falls and she will not stand for it.
Israh sips her wine, and begins to form a plan.
The boy comes to their agreed meeting place in the morning, as promised.
"Come with me," he says, taking her hand. Israh lets him lead her into the worst parts of the city; Constantinople is rich and prosperous but not for everyone. For one to be rich another must be poor. The building the boy leads her into is derelict, and looks thoroughly abandoned from the outside. Yet inside the young inhabitants peak out from their hiding places to catch a glimpse of her.
"Mistress is in here," the boy offers helpfully when they come to another shabby door.
Israh pushes it open without hesitation. The room is dim in a quiet, soothing way, and there is much less dust here than through the rest of the house. The bed is the finest thing in the room, simple as it is, but it is also the cleanest thing she has seen thus far. In fact, the home in general is reasonably clean and tidy, for all she had expected a hovel.
Nonetheless, the elderly woman in bed apologises for the state of the house, "Please forgive the mess. None of my children enjoy cleaning, but then, who does?"
Israh would smile in amusement but the mood is dampened by the girl sitting at the edge of the bed, glaring at her in distrust. Israh closes the door quietly and moves further into the room.
"Euginia, show some manners. You have been raised in a gutter, not a barn," the old woman chides. Her voice is gravelly with age but not weak by any means. The girl, Euginia, stands and drops into a neat curtsy before hurriedly sitting again. Israh responds by placing a hand over her heart and then extending it to her in respect.
The old woman chuckles, "Vesta told me you saved them from losing their thieving fingers, and Cometas says you offer him a new home. Is this true?"
Israh appreciates getting right down to business, "It is. I hear all your children may soon need a new home."
As if on cue, the woman coughs, and the sound is wet and sickly. Euginia holds her hand until the fit is over. It takes a long moment for the woman to get her breath back, "I can hardly deny it. They will need another caretaker when I am gone."
"I told you I can do it," Euginia interjects firmly, "We can stay here and I can look after them."
"And have told you that you are still a child yourself," the elder argues, "You think I don't know where you've been off at night girl? Hanging around brothels hoping they'll take you on? It will keep everyone fed, yes, but I want better for you."
Euginia scowls, but does not look away. She is not ashamed to do whatever necessary to survive. Israh thinks that is also a very good sign. These children are cut from the right kind of cloth.
"So tell me," the elderly woman addresses Israh with steel in her gaze, "What life are you offering my children? Cometas says you deal in murder."
Israh is glad her face is mostly hidden under her hood, "He speaks the truth. I did warn him it was not a pleasant life."
The woman huffs, but Euginia is looking at her differently now. Something like determination when faced with an opportunity is in her eyes, and Israh thinks she may have a new recruit even if the old woman does not give consent.
"Their lives have not been pleasant thus far," the woman tells her, "they are orphans, cast offs, unfortunate little things born into poor circumstances. I simply wish that their lives become no worse."
"I see," the Assassin says, "So you took them in and cared for them, all on your own?"
"Well no one else was going to do it," she replies, ruffled and firm, and Israh smiles in admiration. There is a small moment of quiet while the old woman sizes her up and Israh thinks of words to use that may put her mind at ease.
"They will be better off as Assassins," she intones quietly, "I cannot say they will never know pain, or fear. They will be pushed to their limits in training and will become far too comfortable with spilling blood. Yet we also search for safety and peace for every individual. If they join us they will become siblings and all of our kin protect each other. We strive to keep people safe. We seek to correct injustice. It is a difficult path to walk, but it is a worthy one. They will be dedicating their lives to a just cause."
"So they will not be free?" the woman concludes harshly.
The question takes Israh off guard, but she speaks truthfully, "None of us are, one way or another." Esteuan had taught her that as much as she loathes seeing wisdom in anything he said to her, "They will be bound to the Order. But the skills we give them will free them in a sense; they will not be helpless at the hands of another ever again, nor will their minds be shackled by illusions. Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
The elder does not look happy, but she sighs, "We are desperate, and I see no other options. I am tired. It is not the worst thing that could happen to them by any means. Take them then, but not yet. I wish to die surrounded by my children."
Euginia looks as though she is struggling to maintain a neutral expression but does not quite succeed. Israh steps forward and lightly places a hand over the woman's wrinkled one, "I will take care of them."
"You had better."
She stays in the 'gutter' for two more days, not having the heart to leave. It would be kinder to the children that they know her before they are moved into a new environment regardless. Vesta and Cometas trust her well enough, and Euginia sets about immediately questioning Israh about what will be expected of her as a trainee Assassin with the gusto of one that throws themselves fully into any task they put their minds to. Some of the other children are less enthusiastic however, and do not take to Israh at all. They see her only as the person who will take them away from the only home and caretaker they have come to love.
"I don't want to go!" a scrawny little girl cries, rubbing at her eyes and stubbornly refusing to pack her things.
"Hush," Euginia orders, but not harshly. She is the eldest of them all at four and ten, and already she acts much older. She kneels at the girl's side and wipes away her tears, "Mistress has gone to heaven now, so we must move elsewhere."
Israh and Euginia buried the elderly woman outside of the city, not having the funds for a proper burial within it. Euginia told her she wouldn't have wanted that anyway.
"She never really liked it here," the girl told her, with smears of dirt on her face as she furiously burrows into the ground with her shovel, "She just stayed because we needed her."
The circumstances that led to their recruitment make Israh feel sombre and grim, but she would take the sentiment any day over the look Altair levels her with when she holds the door open for the children and they march into their base single file. There are thirteen of them in all, but they are small and thin and there's more than enough room for them to pile into the kitchen.
"A word?" Altair tells her more than asks as he brushes past her, heading for the attic. She sighs wearily.
"Feed them?" she requests of the only other adults in the room. The two recruits – Florian and Patricia – thankfully do not question her and set about finding more plates and bowls to scrape stew and bread into. Israh follows Altair up the stairs and again up the ladder, and he turns to her as soon as she is through.
"What are you thinking?" he questions harshly, kicking the trap door shut so they will not be overheard, "We do not have the means to take them all in."
"I will find the means," she replies firmly, "They had nowhere else to go."
"We cannot take in every stray from the street, especially when they are not useful to the Order. They can stay for the night but you must send them away in the morning."
Israh shakes her head, "I will not."
Altair sighs in frustration, "Israh, be reasonable. How do you expect to look after them? They are children. They must be supervised at all times. They cannot defend themselves from trouble. They are a burden as they are now, one we cannot afford to bear while we are in such early stages of building this guild. They need to have a constant caretaker and we cannot fill that role, nor can the recruits."
She knows he is right but she argues anyway, "They are stronger and more independent than you think. These children are already honourable, and brave, and smart. I know they will grow into good, worthy people and they deserve the chance to do so. I won't deny them that due to my own failings."
Altair is still obviously displeased and it needles at her quite a bit. She is stubborn once she has made up her mind but she values his high regard and hates when she does not have it.
"I have built a guild by myself before," she reminds him, aggravated, "I started recruiting from the streets of Acre and expanded from there. I know what I am doing. Trust me."
She might have convinced him had she not said those last two words; he latches onto them angrily and suddenly he is all bluster, "How can you ask that of me when you do not extend the same courtesy? I have so many questions for you yet I hold my tongue because I know you believe it unwise to give me the answers. Yet even this is not enough for you! You seem to expect blind faith from me where you know I cannot abide by it!"
The accusation cuts deep because there is a ring of truth to it. She flounders for a response for a moment before he ploughs on, "You will not tell me of the future even though it directly concerns me. I know you are keeping things from me and I grow tired of it. You act as though only you can solve every problem there may ever be and never seek the assistance of any other. I know you are planning something concerning this city, and I demand to know what!"
Israh glowers even as her mouth drops open in shock, "How do you know that?"
Altair does not answer but his hood is down for once and she can see the defensiveness in his eyes. It takes her a moment to put two and two together.
"You are unbelievable," she growls, "You said you needed to be more careful yet you use the Apple anyway. Ask it questions about me specifically, do you? Do you enjoy invading my privacy?"
He is a little guilty but his anger overrides it, "It would not be necessary if you would trust me. You were gone for days without a word and I knew not where to look for you. You do not tell me anything!"
"Fine!" she explodes, "What exactly do you want to know?! Do you want me to describe in detail all the terrible things that are going to happen to you? Do you want to know who lives and who dies at any given moment? Do you want to know that at this very instant Crusaders are diverting from Zara to siege Constantinople?!"
Altair's face goes slack with shock, but she turns her back to him; she fears she might cry under the weight of helplessness despite all her knowledge, and she does not want him to see such weakness. He will not allow her to hide from him, however. Altair takes hold of her arms to turn her around and she latches onto him straight away, hiding her face in his neck. He sighs as he runs a hand through her hair, slowly undoing her braid as he speaks.
"That which increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow," he recites despondently, "Your knowledge is a burden to you more than a boon, I know. You cannot save everyone even when you know where and when they will be hurt. It is a difficult thing."
Israh clutches at the material of his robes at his back and closes her eyes, breathing him in. In his arms nothing else matters. She is safe and at peace.
"You need not carry this weight alone in future," he advises gently, "I am here. You can tell me what you know. You can trust me."
"I love you," she tells him. It is her deepest, darkest secret.
Altair is not taken off guard. He pulls away just enough to get a hand under her chin so he can angle her face towards his. He touches their foreheads together, and their noses, and tilts his head and presses forward...except she moves back. She slips out of his hold and turns from him again, only for a moment.
"I don't have a plan to defend the city truly," Israh confides, smiling wryly, "Beyond telling the army generals exactly when and how the Crusaders will attack and praying they believe me and I am not burned as a witch or a traitor or something of the sort."
Right now, he does not want to talk about fighting or the city or the Order. He wants her. For too long he has been worn out by this keen longing that has taken up residence within him, and he knows he is not imagining the tension between them. Altair is afraid she will take his wanting as a form of disrespect or dishonour. He fears she will be insulted on his and Maria's behalf as well as her own. He does not know how to tell her all of his wants and fears and doubts and he is terrified but he leaps anyway, "Marry me."
Whatever he intended to say, of all the things he could have said, that should not have been it.
Israh's eyes go wide and her lips part in shock. She is speechless for a solid minute until he poorly attempts to salvage the situation, "Legal and religious scripture states a man cannot have two wives, but the Creed is not bound by such things. Others have done it before."
She still has no idea what to say, so he takes her face in his hands and kisses her. His heart is hammering fearfully but her lips upon his are indescribably soothing. Altair is not good with words when expressing such sentiment so he hopes his actions make things clear; he kisses her desperately, reverently, trying to communicate what he feels in a touch.
Israh pushes him away, gasping, "No!"
The pain he feels is cutting and intense but he is well versed in not letting it show on his face. His eyes have always been expressive however and he cannot help that. She seems to curl in on herself under the weight of his betrayed stare, hunching her shoulders and crossing her arms as she repeats the word, "No."
Altair cannot look at her anymore. He is wounded and embarrassed and trying to say anything more will likely make things worse. He manages to make a noise of understanding that sounds as though there is a painful lump lodged in his throat, and then makes his escape shamefully quickly through the attic window. She does not attempt to call him back. She needs time to gather her wits; for now her mind is blank and she presses her fingers to her lips in shock.
Meanwhile, Altair runs over rooftops almost to the other side of the city until he finds a tough looking tree and blunts his throwing knives by slashing into the branches repeatedly. Telling himself all the while that he is such an idiot.
Smooth, Altair. Real smooth mate.
Listen, Altair is a hopeless romantic who only acts as though he feels nothing most of the time because actually he feels too much. It is known. Remember Adha, guys? Your first love is she, Altair? Sure, you're only vaguely acquainted and have barely communicated with each other at all throughout the entirety of your lives but you're gonna risk life and limb to chase her down anyway and oh you LOVE her now do you? That was fast. Oh bless you're gonna run away together are you? Gonna run off into the sunset and elope and live a 'normal' life in barely acquainted bliss? Oh no she's been captured, time to be her knight in shining armour and spend a long ass time trying to save her and whoops she's dead now, so I guess the only logical thing to do is to *mercilessly hunt down and murder every single person that had anything to do with her death.* Yep. Solid. And then stew in grief for too long which leads to resentment towards the Creed which leads to being such an asshole in Solomon's Temple.
Yeah. Okay mate.