Follow the Creed
Authors Note: Thank you all for your comments on Chapter 9!
However the reviewer I must make a point of addressing is Yumi Sakura. I thank you for your compliments its nice to have people read your work. As for your Bad One comment, here is my response. Aden is a woman but lets face it, the gear that Assassins get up in arent exactlly form fitting. And they wear armour underneath those white robes I'm sure. Under those kinds of layers her femininity would be obscured. Even though Aden is 23 years old Altair always thinks of her as a 'boy' or a 'lad'. When he finds out (eventually) that she is a woman, he will put the facts together and grasp it a bit better :D Hope that cleared it up a bit.
We have reached Chapter 10. 10% through this story. Scary hey?
Enjoy!
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Chapter 10 - An Agreeable Outcome
"You little fool." Altair seethed, shaking the young man he held once more for emphasis. He couldn't convey to the boy the absolute feeling of dread that had filled him when he had seen him hanging from the wall, arrow in his shoulder, through shaking, but he knew that any other more stringent forms of punishment for scaring him would have to wait. Neither of them was out of danger and the boy was pale with pain and blood loss.
Feckless little...
Shouts rang around them as the Hospetalier Guards appeared over the roofs and the two Assassins took off, feet flying as they sprinted down the dusty street, people throwing themselves out of their way, especially when they noticed the sword glittering in Altair's fist. Aden drew her short sword as she ran, breath sobbing in her chest as she raced after the faster Assassin.
The pair hurtled around a corner and came to a fork in the roads. Without a word said Aden dashed one way while Altair pelted down the other path. The guards milled, confused as to which Assassin to chase. In the end they divided, the greater half following Altair while the rest pursued Aden.
~*~
Aden was the first to make it back to the Bureau, bloody and weary and leaving a trail of corpses behind her. Most of the guards who had followed her through the alley's of the conquered city were dead, slain by throwing knives or, later in the chase when they wouldn't give up, her hidden blade.
She dropped down from the roof, landing on the edge of the fountain, and was met by an anxious but angry Quasim.
The lecture he gave her, after she had told him what happened and while she crouched there on the fountain rim was long and impressive, about how she had failed in her duties to just observe and witness Altair rather than getting caught up in the action. Her actions were ones of a foolish child, he informed her, and then in a softer voice sent her in to get her wounds tended to.
Quietly the young woman slipped into street clothes and left the building searching for the apothecary she always visited when in Acre, an old crone, known for her discretion and skill.
As she left she heard rumours of the great manhunt happening across the city and sent a prayer to the heavens for Altair's safe return.
~*~
Altair ran at a flat out sprint, leaping from rails and balconies to avoid arrows that whizzed past his head. He knew that guards were closing in on him from all directions, summoned by the City Alert. He had to escape, lose the ring of pursuers and find somewhere to hunker down until the Search moved on.
His brain was working overtime. He couldn't fight them all, the odds were too bad, he had to lose them. So with a sudden prop and shift in direction he bolted down a side alley, weaving through the crowd and ducking down into an even narrower pathway between two houses.
Up a wall he climbed, discovering to his delight a group of Scholars all sitting having a theological discussion on a wide balcony. One of them, an old friend of the Brotherhood, shifted, and Altair moved swiftly to sit beside him.
Just in the nick of time.
Guards came pouring up a nearby ladder, plainly still searching. "He has to be around here somewhere." They snarled to one another, not even glancing into the midst of the insignificant Scholars. Altair stayed perfectly still, his intelligent dark eyes following their movements in minute detail.
Gradually the guards moved off and the Assassin felt comfortable in slipping away unseen. Thanking the Scholars he trotted off and dropped lightly back down into his alley.
Swiftly he ran, leaving behind the infuriated guards and the latest in a long line of assassinations.
~*~
"Are you alright?" the rough, boyish voice asked, "Are you injured Altair?"
The former master Assassin looked up from his deep consideration of one of the ornate cushions resting against the wall of the Bureau. Standing at the door into the inner sanctum, hand lightly resting on the wood was Aden. The younger Assassin watched the man carefully, dark topaz eyes wary remembering his rage when he had caught up with her near the Fortress.
Altair stood slowly, moving closer to the smaller figure, his dark brown gaze raking the others form carefully. "Minor injuries." He responded gruffly, "You? How is that arrow wound?"
"Minor." She responded with equal cordiality, "The apothecary said that it shouldn't take too long to heal."
"Excellent."
Without warning Altair lunged and his fist curled into the white fabric of Aden's robed tunic. He could feel the thick leather armour breastplate below his grip as he whirled them to the side and slammed the young man up against the smooth gold bricks of the Bureau courtyard wall. Aden groaned, struggling groggily where the bigger, taller and stronger man held her pinned.
The breastplate bound her breasts flat, hid her shape, but if he pressed close, he would be able to feel that there was no essential parts downstairs, she thought, a sick feeling uncoiling in her belly.
Altair's handsome face pressed close to hers, and she could feel his enraged breaths gusting across her neck under the cowl of her hood. "Good, now that I know," he growled, voice strained with restraint, "that you are not going to collapse on me due to a life threatening injury, I can move on to more important things."
Viciously he shoved her harder against the stone, "Why did you follow me Aden?" his hand came up, grabbing her pointed chin. "Why were you there in the Fortress when I killed Garnier."
"I was curious." She gasped out, trying to jerk her head out of his grip, "I wanted to see, see how you..."
"How I killed?" Altair growled, not letting her off so easily. "Wanted some pointers did you, you foolish little Assassin? Don't you know how dangerous it was? For both you and me?"
He had let himself be distracted from the actions of her right hand and suddenly he found his grip on the slighter built assassin broken. Her weight slammed into him and they both fell back, landing on the cushions. Then Aden was straddling him, her knees and lower thighs pinning his legs, carefully keeping the apex of her legs as far away from him as possible.
"I came to view." She hissed at him, her hood fallen down, revealing her delicate boyish face framed by the shaggy dark hair. "I am telling you the truth."
"Little..." Altair spat, hand grabbing the dark silky strands and heaving upwards with his hips, sending the young man rolling away. However for a brief moment there was contact and a part of Altair wondered at the feeling. It wasn't right but the moment was over so fast and he was so concentrated on his actions that the feeling was ignored and soon forgotten.
Aden rolled away, scrambling to her hands and knees, ready and braced for when the man lunged again. Down the pair went, punches hitting flesh, no other sound save for the harsh breathing of both assassins to be heard in the courtyard.
They knew they were both unarmed, not a weapon on either person and so the gloves came off and they flew at each other with a vicious passion, wanting to hurt the other as much as they could before they collapsed to the cushions once more. Altair blocked off Aden's airway with his arm and then hissed as her boot crashed into his ribs, knocking him back a pace.
They grappled some more, growing more and more weak as the days tolls wore on them. Finally Aden gasped out, "Enough." And they lay there panting.
The older assassin looked over at the boy, sprawled out beside him; hair mussed over his forehead, dark with wet sweat, a trickle of bright blood running down from a split lip to the stubborn chin. His jaw was lightly bruised and there was a small abrasion at his temple and Altair felt something powerful and frightening rush through him at the sight of the lad so battle weary and yet still defiant.
He sat up and leaned over the other man, seeing Aden's topaz eyes widen and his hand come up to prevent another expected attack. "You," he rumbled softly, "Are a feckless, stubborn, foolish little rat child." And before the boy could respond he shut him up by crushing their lips together.
Hot copper taste, the taste of the blood on Aden's lip was the first thing he noticed, followed by the warm rich flavour of Aden. The boy tasted like spices, comforting and yet exciting. He expected blows, fury to erupt from the lad, but nothing happened, in fact, if anything, the slighter man began to kiss him back, letting him take control, which he did.
His hand fisted in the dark hair, tugging the boys head back, opening him up even more, making it clear who was dominant, and to his pleasure the boy began to fight once more, reasserting his place.
They would have kept on, locked as they were in their own private battle, but the city bell struck the curfew toll and Altair broke away, staring down into Aden's face with almost comical horror.
What had he done?
~*~
"Have you news for me Altair?" Al Mualim asked two days later back at Masyaf.
A white robed aide handed over a scroll to the leader of the Hashashin, and bowing, left to shuffle back down to the great library attached to the complex of buildings that the assassins habited, leaving the two men alone.
"Garnier De'Naplouse is dead." Altair said, walking forward a few steps to stand before the great oak desk.
"Excellent!" Was the immediate response, "We could not have hoped for a more agreeable outcome."
"And yet..." Altair hesitated. He had thought about this a long time, had even spoken to Quasim about it when he had handed over the bloodstained feather. The old man had not been receptive to the conversation, and he had not dared discuss it with Aden.
That boy would no longer be a part of his life, he would make it so.
"What is it?" Al Mualim's voice was sharp as he turned back to the assassin from where he had been moving over to his working cabinet.
"The Doctor insisted his work was noble." Altair said, looking at Al Mualim closely, "And looking back those who were supposedly his captives seemed grateful to the man. Not all of them, but enough to make me wonder. How did he turn enemy into friend?"
"Leaders will always find ways to make others obey them." The black robed master said, moving back behind his desk. "That is what makes them leaders. When words fail they turn to coin, when that won't do they resort to baser things; bribes, threats and other types of trickery. The master turned back to his prodigy with a solemn look on his aged face, "There are plants Altair. Herbs from distant lands that can cause a man to take leave of his senses. So great are the pleasures it brings men may even become enslaved by it."
"You think these men were drugged then?" The master assassin asked sceptically, a small frown furrowing between his brows, "Poisoned?"
"Yes," Al Mualim answered definitely, "if it truly was how you describe it."
"Herbs," the assassin mused, "It seems a strange method of control."
"Our enemies have accused me of the same."
"The promise of paradise." Altair said with a soft sigh.
"They think there is a garden, overflowing with women and pleasure, that I drug you, like Garnier did his men, and tempt you with these rewards."
"They do not know the truth of it."
"Which is how it must be."
"But if they knew the truth? That all we seek is peace?"
"Then they would not fear us, and we would have no hold over them." The older man moved to look out of the large glass window. "Go, it is time that you continued with your work. Another rank is restored to you, as is a piece of your equipment. We will speak again when the next has fallen. Send in Aden when you leave."
Altair left, holding the belt with his throwing knives and nodded to the boy waiting at the doorway.
He did not stop. He did not speak.
~*~