Part One

Chapter 9

The wind blows through my hair, whipping the strands around me as Epona runs. A giggle leaves my lips without permission though it soon turns into a full-blown laugh as I hear Altaïr's chuckle over the roar of the wind.

I feel free as we all but fly across the land with nothing but the sound of our laughter and the clip-clop of the horses' feet around us. We end up by the river again, racing along it without a care in the world.

It's beautiful.

Picturesque and I wish I'd thought to bring my phone along so I could snap a few pictures. This land, untouched and wild, undisturbed by any type of settlement—yet— is mesmerizing. The water clearer than any lake or river I've ever seen and a small part of me mourns for what will, no doubt, become of this river in the years to come.

I don't know when Epona's gallop becomes a steady trot but once I realize it I bring him to a slow walk. Altaïr does the same to Hamza, bringing the white stallion to a walk beside us.

"I won," I whisper, hesitant to break the peace around us.

"Hafiz has always been one of our faster horses," he whispers back as his eyes roam the river banks.

Not too far away a twig snaps.

I don't know how much of it is habitual or an actual need to be cautious as Altaïr's eyes instantly snap in the direction of the noise. His stance seems relaxed enough but these are dangerous times for anyone in the Holy Land, let alone an Assassin. I don't have to ask to know that he's alert.

Beautiful as this place is, it's just as dangerous.

"Let's head back," I mumble as I tug on Epona's reins to get him to turn back the way we came. Altaïr agrees with a nod and I simply follow suit when he urges Hamza into a faster gait. "We should go check if they're ready."

"It has not yet been a full day."

"It should be night by now, if they haven't finished yet they'll need more than a day."

Altaïr doesn't say anything to that and we make our way back in a comfortable silence. I feel the heat fully now that I'm completely dry though we make it back to the stables before I can start to sweat under the hot sun.

Note to self, pack deodorant on your next visit.

We stick to the shadows as we make our way back to the swirl. Not that we're trying to avoid being seen or anything. It's just too damn hot to make the mostly uphill walk directly under the sun. Though I do end up sweating when I drag myself up the ladder.

Oh well, I'll just smear on the deodorant once I get home.

Though it's once I'm facing the swirl again that I realize I have made yet another lapse in judgment.

"I shouldn't have thrown the ball back," I mutter as I try to find some way to get the attention of those on the other side of the swirl. Altaïr hums his agreement as he too starts to search the roof for something to throw in. "No rocks."

I don't need to hurt someone.

"Throw this," he says as he hands me a handful of hay left behind from the bales. With a shrug, I toss it into the swirl, being careful not to get sucked into the current as I do.

Nothing happens. No one tries to contact us from the other side. I try to calculate the time in America as we wait but find that I can't because I don't know what time it is here or the exact time difference. With another shrug, I turn back to Altaïr.

"What now?"

"We come back in a few hours and try again," he says. I nod in agreement and we climb off the building without another word. "For now let us grab something to eat," he says once we reach the ground.

We head back to the fortress on that note, neither disappointed nor excited. It's too early to be legitimately concern on not getting back home but the prospect of being here—in this dangerous world—longer than strictly necessary does worry me a bit.

Though the promise of food helps lighten the mood a bit and I follow after Altaïr eagerly.

"Eat as in food, food? Or more fruits," I ask curious to see what the Assassin's eating arrangements are. If they have public baths then I wouldn't be surprised if they ate together as well. Most of the Assassins seem to live inside the fortress, after all.

Most of the people I'd seen entering and exiting the homes surrounding the fortress had been dressed in regular tunics, not the Assassin's uniforms. Maybe those are the homes of the families? They never seemed against marriages or actually starting families. Maybe those who have non-Assassin family members live with them down in those homes while others, like Altaïr—who's single and family-less—, live up in the fortress.

"Yes, food, food," Altaïr says, a smile in his voice even as he gives me a bemused look. We're inside the fortress now, heading back towards that out of the way door and I look around the courtyard to find it less crowded than it had been before.

No one's sparring or practicing, and the only people seem to be the guards.

"Do you guys all eat together?" I ask as we head inside and down the halls.

"Those that are not busy tend to eat around the same time," he says just as we pull up to a set of double doors. Even closed I can hear the sounds of talking and laughter from those inside. They're no doubt having a good time from the sound it. "It is late though, so most will be leaving soon."

He opens one door quietly, allowing the noise to spill out, and motions me in before him. The site that greets me reminds me of a tavern. Men and women laughing and talking as they drink and eat, though most sit with empty plates, on wooden tables and benches.

True to Altaïr's words, most people begin to file out as we head toward the back of the room where the food is being served by some men and women. There doesn't look to be much left but we both get a plate with a decent amount of food.

By the time we've taken our seats the room is half empty and we get a table to ourselves a little away from the bulk of the people. It's not as loud as it was either so we enjoy our food in a comfortable silence, me very deliberately not asking just what it is I'm eating.

I'm stuck in a dimension hundreds of years before processed food or any recipe I know. Food is food at this point and I don't care what it is as long as it doesn't kill me.

"Altaïr!"

The yell startles me enough that the food on my fork sails across the room as I jerk. Not that anyone but Altaïr and I notice and the former is too preoccupied with two figures suddenly dropping onto the bench next to him to say anything.

The one on the left is a man with shaggy black hair pulled into a low ponytail, deep, dark, brown eyes, and a rather nice looking beard. He all but drapes himself over Altaïr as he sits down. He throws his arm over Altaïr's shoulder, either not seeing the frown on Altaïr's face or ignoring it completely. The one on the right—also a man—simply sits, back straight and a small frown on his lips. His face is hidden behind the white cowl of his Master Assassin coat but even then I can tell he's glaring at the other.

"So the rumors are true!" the bearded man says, oblivious to the glares he's receiving—or just very good at ignoring them—as he turns dark brown eyes my way. He's dressed in gray robes not those of a master. "You found yourself a friend and she's a quite the sight as well. I'm jealous."

"You have no tack, brother," the one in white growls, a hauntingly arrogant tone to his voice along with an almost unnoticeable accent, but his apparent brother pays him no mind as he releases his grip on Altaïr and leans towards me.

They're brothers?

"And look at those eyes," he says, awe coloring every inch of his voice as his hand shoots forward. What he's aiming to grab at I don't get to find out as Altaïr stops his arm before he can get too close. It doesn't stop my flinch though.

"Sorry 'bout him, M'lady," the one in white says, tone still slightly arrogant and accent a little more pronounced. It's familiar one though. If it hadn't been, I wouldn't have detected it and yet I can't place it. "My brother was raised in a barn, unfortunately."

M'lady?

"Oh, shut it, Odell," the one in grey says, not sounding the least bit chastised. In fact, there's a big goofy smile on his face.

Odell is an English name and the other man is clearly not English. He's got skin a few shades darker than Altaïr's and Odell's—from what I can see of Odell that is. In fact, Odell's skin seems lighter than Altaïr's so he's obviously not from this region. That accent makes more sense now that I think about it.

Wait, doesn't everyone in the brotherhood call each other brothers?

"An apprentice, I never thought I'd see the day," the bearded man says. "I promise you, I suspected Gabr had hit his head when he started sprouting such ridiculousness. I even offered to take him to the healer."

"And you got smacked for yer troubles," Odell reminds him and his 'brother' nods along as one hand comes up to rub at his chin.

"Abbas may not be a Master but he has quite the arm on him."

"Abbas attacked you?" Altaïr asks, a dangerous tone to his voice and it's then that I realize just what the fuck is going on.

These are Altaïr's friends.

It shouldn't be surprising, it really shouldn't—he's a full grown man who travels the world and apparently lives in a very tightknit community (if the fact that they bathe, train, and eat together is anything to go by) of course, he would have at least one friend—but it is surprising. It really, really is and I can do nothing but stare as the men continue to talk.

So they're all just really close friends.

"I would not say attacked," the man, whose name I still don't know, says, grin still in place. "He simply threw a punch."

"That yeh failed to deflect and wound up sprawled on the floor," Odell says, and the tone of his voice obviously implies that he's rolling his eyes. "Then I had to take you to the healers."

He's trying to hide his accent, I realize as he carefully pronounces 'you' now that he's putting emphasis on it. Especially since he's already said 'yer' and 'yeh'.

"Well, what good are you for if not to take my sorry arse to the healer every time my big mouth gets me into trouble?" the bearded man asks, a teasing tone in his voice as he turns to Odell and he cocks his head. There's such a sense of camaraderie going that, even though Altaïr hasn't really said anything, I feel like an outsider as I continue to watch them interact.

"Enough, Basim," Altaïr warns him and that just settles it for me. They're not brothers and Odell isn't from Masyaf.

Britain, maybe? It would explain the 'M'lady' thing and the arrogance. Especially if he's an aristocrat. He definitely holds himself like one, back straight, shoulders squared and chin kept tilted up. Oh, yeah, he's definitely a rich boy, now the question is: why is he here?

" Are you from England? "

I can't help myself, the words are out before I can hold them back. My insatiable curiosity gets the best of me buts it's turn out to be worth it as Basim turns wide, surprise eyes towards me.

"And she speaks English!" Basim cries. I don't have to ask to know that I've only been speaking in Arabic since coming here though it's nice to finally have it confirmed. This way I know that I can communicate with anyone I come into contact with, at least. "Oh, brother, how I envy you."

"London, actually," Odell says, back going straighter in pride as Basim is ignored. Arrogance oozes off of him now and I'm not too surprised actually. Altaïr was an arrogant bastard himself. Figures that he'd befriend other arrogant asshats.

Basim doesn't seem too bad though. He's doesn't seem arrogant in the least. He appears more playful than anything—read immature—and I'm sure that's why he's still not a Master while these two are.

"Secrets out of the bag, Blub," Basim says, accent heavy as he forcibly switches to English. Do they all speak more than one language? "No need to hide that pretty, little British face of yours," he teases in Arabic—I can sense him speak in different language even as my mind translates the words into English before I can fully realize that they've gone onto another language—as he reaches around Altaïr and yanks the hood off of Odell's head.

The falling hood reveals a shock of platinum blonde hair—long enough to hang past his shoulders and just so damn straight—wide, crystal blue eyes, and extremely pale skin. Skin so light that I have half a mind to ask him if he's not Irish instead.

"Basim, you pillock!" Odell, curses as he yanks his hood back on, hiding his face, all sharp features—and I'm surprised he's not actually a women—from view. He's pretty, not handsome, no. The guy is definitely not handsome because that requires a certain ruggedness that this man doesn't possess—Assassin or not. He's just pretty.

Prison pretty.

"Don't worry, mate, the sun can't get to you in here," Basim says through a laugh as he leans back into his seat.

Altaïr has gone back to eating at some point, obviously unwilling to waste any more attention on the two weird men. I follow suit, going back to my food but keeping my attention on the men as they continue to tease and bicker with each other.

From what little I've seen, I'm a little surprised these two seem to be such great friends. Odell seems like the uptight—arrogant—type while Basim doesn't seem to have a care in the world. He laughs freely and cracks joke after joke that never fails to rile Odell enough to snap back.

I ignore the fact that I haven't been introduced to these two yet and I don't even think I want to at this point. So when Altaïr stands, I do too—unfinished food forgotten—and once again follow after him without prompting.

Too bad the other two do as well.

"How about a spar, Altaïr?" Basim asks as we exit the mess hall. They walk behind Altaïr and I so only I can see the corners of Altaïr's mouth pull further down even though he nods his head yes and we head out towards the courtyard.

"Yer a glutton for punishment," Odell says as we exit into the courtyard and Basim races towards the training ring with a bounce in his step.

"That may be true," Basim agrees as he steps into the ring and pulls out his sword with all the grace of a trained swordsman. "But how would I expect to improve if I were always too afraid of biting off more than I can chew?"

Well, when you put it that way….

"I won't be taking yeh to the healer's this time," Odell says nonetheless as Altaïr joins Basim in the ring and pulls out his sword as well. The fight begins then and instantly Basim goes on the defensive as Altaïr rains attack after attack on him.

Odell and I watch in silence, both of us leaning, side by side, against the ring.

"The name is Odell," he says, finally introducing himself.

"Yeah, I figured," I say as I give the man the best smile I can manage and hold out my hand in greeting. "Jennifer."

"Jennifer?" Odell asks as he takes my hand in his though, instead of shaking it, he brings it to his lips instead. "Would it be correct to assume you are from England as well?"

I'm vaguely aware of Altaïr cursing behind us as Basim lands a hit.

"Nope," I say as I pull my hand back fast enough to only just still be considered polite. "My name may be English but my blood is not," I correct him and only just keep myself from saying Mexican or American. I'm not a hundred percent sure if Spain exists yet either so I avoid saying that one as well.

"Where are you from, then?" Odell asks and, for once, my quick brain fails me for an answer because I don't know what to say. I haven't thought of what to do in this situation though I really should have. Especially if I have been planning on being here often.

"I, um," My eyes instantly snap to Altaïr as I try to think of an answer. Basim and Altaïr are still fighting though so I won't be receiving any help from him. "I come from the North," I finally say, for a lack of anything better to tell Odell. "My family were travelers and began to travel south years before I was even born so I don't even know where I come from."

It's not impossible, if you think about it. In this time in history, almost nothing was ever documented, it wouldn't be too hard to believe that a family began to travel one day and, as the years went by, they would forget just where their starting point had been.

At least I hope it's not too impossible.

"Grandmother once said she would run down the streets of Norway as a child," I say while desperately hoping that Norway does exist in this time in history. Why hadn't I paid more attention in history class? "Though Grandfather used to swear he met her in Sweden and that Mother was a beautiful dame father picked up during their time in Germany."

"Germany?" Odell asks, confusion in his voice and face as he looks at me before it clears. "You mean the German Empire?"

"Yeah," I say, holding back a curse. I really need to ask Altaïr what country do and don't exist before I mess things up more than I already have. "Grandmother, in her senile years, used to call it Germany. It annoyed Mother to no end and kind of stuck with the rest of us."

He takes my explanation with no questions though it could be because our attention is drawn back to the fight before he can say anything.

Basim is on the floor, laughing hysterically even though he's just had the snot beat out of him. Altaïr stands above him, not looking the least bit fazed. He helps Basim to his feet and pats him on his back when the bearded man gives him a toothy grin.

"You have improved."

"You have been gone too long," Basim counters before he heads towards Odell and me. "I should rank up soon," he says excitement coloring every inch of his voice as he joins Odell and me on the outside of the ring. "I will be coming before the Grand Master for the final assessment within the month."

"Congratulations, brother," Altaïr says, sincerity in his voice as he claps Basim on the shoulder once more. Basim gives him another grin—this man really is full of them—as he nods his head. Odell says nothing and a comfortable silence falls over us. We stay there even as another pair of men move to use the training ring.

"Altaïr."

Once again the silence is shattered by the call of his name. Though this time it is just a call and not a yell. We turn as one towards the voice, just as Malik reaches us and just seeing him is enough to fill my stomach with dread.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind the guy at all during the game. Hell, he and Altaïr have one hell of a bromance going on by the end of the game but there's just so much suffering and grief and just all around horrible things involved with this one man that he's become a god damn omen in my mind.

My words have never been proven so correct than in the moment he speaks.

"It is time, Altaïr."

The world stops, crashes, and burns as my gaze flickers to Altaïr.

His are on me as well and when our gazes lock everything freezes. I don't know how long we stand there, gazes locked but it's only when his hand latches onto my arm that the world starts moving again. He pulls me into his chest, strong and sturdy, and I use it to anchor myself back into the world as he speaks.

"Allow me to tie up a few loose strings," he tells Malik and doesn't bother to wait for his answer as he begins to head back into the fortress. "I will meet you at the gates before the hour."

I don't say anything as he drags me into the fortress and to his room. I keep my mouth shut until after were safe from prying eyes and ears. And even then I'm mindful of the Assassin's exceptional hearing so I hold up a hand when Altaïr moves to speak and tap my ear with the other.

He understands and I move to grab my pack from where I left it the night before while he moves around the room, gathering his own things for the mission. By the time I turn back around to face him he once again has an arsenal of weapons on his person.

We leave the room in silence and exit the fortress in much the same manner. Neither one of us talks until we're safely up on the roof, standing in front of the swirl. I toss another handful of hay and pray for a quick response as I turn to face Altaïr.

"What do I need to know?"

"I don't know," I whine as I pace the roof. "I don't know what I can tell you other than to follow your god damn Creed to the letter. Don't kill any innocents, don't draw attention to yourself, and don't put the Brotherhood in danger. That's it, that's all I can tell you without having to worry about messing everything up."

"Follow the Creed?"

"Yes! Don't be brash or arrogant," I tell him as I move towards him. My hands are on his shoulders before I can think better of it and I make sure to catch his gaze as I speak, "Bring them home, Altaïr. You make sure to bring Malik and Kadar home, okay?"

"I will," he says with such conviction in his voice that I don't doubt him. I pull away from him with a firm nod, then.

"Go then, I'll wait here," I say as I nod towards the gates. "It's almost been a full day anyway, they should be ready soon," I say just as a ball comes sailing through the swirl and right at us.

Altaïr catches it easily enough and passes it to me without a word. There's only one word written on it but it's enough and I once again clutch it to my chest as I head towards the swirl.

Jump.

— A

"How far away is Solomon's Temple, Altaïr?" I ask as I stand in front of the swirl. I glance back to find him watching me.

"It's a five-day ride."

"I'll see you in ten days then," I tell him, a wide smile on my face as I jump.

~oOo~

Pillows, pillows everywhere. Small pillows, big pillows, throw pillows, and even body pillows. They are fucking everywhere. I'm drowing in them but they keep me from going splat against the newly repaired attic floor so I keep my complaints to myself as I claw my way out of the pillow pit.

Hands pull me from the pit before I can even get all the way out and I'm set on my feet almost carefully. When I look up I find myself surrounded by my family, all of them gearing up to tear into me for being so reckless but I ignore them and search Kenny out.

He stands in the back of the room, in front of a bunch of computers and other mechanical equipment, but I catch his eyes instantly.

"The game is starting, Ken."