Follow The Creed

So in the time since I last updated this story, Assassins Creed 2 came out! Woo exciting! As did Bloodlines, although I didn't get to play that cause I am a PC gal at heart. Also Star Trek stole my fandom muse and Dragon Age took over my computer. WOOHAA DRAGON AGE FTW!

Anyway it meant I neglected this story, for which I am terribly terribly sorry. Trust me guys its back in the works, and Aden is quietly fuming over the whole...Adha and Maria thing :D ee drama.

I would also like to thank the fans who reviewed and encouraged me to get back to this story. I can't tell you how awseome it is to open up my inbox and find a review telling me they would love to read more. It makes me wanna go to my computer and start writing at once. So this is for you the loyal reviewers who stuck through almost an entire year of silence.


Chapter 11: Clipped Wings

"Quasim has sent me a missive Aden." Al Mualim's voice was stern, but Aden, standing before him, refused to squirm. "A letter detailing the time both you and Altair spent in Acre, including your observance of his task."

"Yes master." She did not look at him, rather at the glassed window behind him, the sky beyond.

"He has already lectured you on your impetuousness, and he notes that your mistake, although foolish, was not made out of negligence or pride. Therefore although you will be punished, it will not be severe."

That was a relief, she had hoped for Al Mualim to understand, during the long ride back home from Acre, a stony and stubbornly silent Altair by her side. It brought her mind back to its favourite topic of the moment...the kiss.

Why had Altair kissed her? Did he know, or suspect about her true sex? Or did he prefer pretty boys? Aden did not know but she did suspect that Altair didn't know why he had kissed her either. Judging by the silence and the invisible treatment he had given her on the road.

"Altair goes to Jerusalem to complete his third task." Al Mualim continued, bringing her mind back to the present. "However you will remain in Masyaf while he attends to it."

"What? But Master..." she protested, back stiffening. He was taking her off her mission, the most rewarding and challenging mission going. One mistake and she would lose it all.

"This is my decision. Altair will go to Jerusalem and you will remain here. You injured your shoulder at Acre, Aden. You know how wounds can become infected, especially with prolonged use. Malik is the new Bureau Leader of Jerusalem, and he has no love for Altair. He will not allow him to fudge this mission in your absence. When you have healed and he has returned, you will continue to follow him."

So she wasn't being completely removed from her job. This was good. And he was right; she did need to take care of her shoulder. The arrow had missed the muscles but it had still done damage, and healing would be important.

"Thank you Master." She said, bowing when he dismissed her, and leaving the room quietly.


Altair didn't say goodbye to Aden before he left.

He wished he could be able to say he didn't even consider the possibility of waiting for the young man to leave Al Mualim's presence. Or seeking him out the next day before he mounted up on the healed Ghada and leaving Masyaf once more. Unfortunately he did, but he had stayed strong and had stayed away from the lad.

Without Aden by his side the ride to Jerusalem seemed longer than the road to Acre, and annoyance made him touchy as he paid for a room at a roadside inn.

Aden was nothing...and no one.

He wished he could believe that.


Altair hadn't said goodbye to her before he left.

She wasn't surprised, and she told herself that she hadn't wanted him to anyway. They were comrades, brothers in arms. She was Aden, sex-less, androgynous, and he was Altair, a master Assassin, despite his recent fall from grace.

If he liked men, then liking her was a lie.

It was a simple truth.

Altair might be a gorgeous man, with a voice that made her decidedly female insides quiver.

But he was nothing to her.

Now...she just had to try and convince herself of it.


Time at Masyaf seemed to drift by at a different pace to the outside world. Insulated by their isolation, the Assassins practiced and lived in their mountain citadel and town, protected by the dangers of the outside world.

For Aden the days since Altair had left had fallen into a rough pattern. She woke at dawn and made her way through the sleeping citadel dressed in the clothes she wore for combat practice, soft boots in her hand, feet bare as she padded across the cool stones to the practice area. For the first week, she had concentrated on her weaker side, her left hand side, letting her right shoulder heal. But then when the bindings came off and the wound was well on its way to healing she began to introduce exercises to work it as well.

Punches and blocks, swordplay drills, pattern dances, she worked her entire body, building up her fitness to peak condition in preparation for Altair returning.

Then when the citadel began to wake she would pack up her equipment and head back to her small chambers. There she would sharpen and polish her blades, oil her leathers and repair any tears or fraying in her armour.

The midday meal would then be taken and she would spend the afternoon wandering the streets of Masyaf, or walking the tower parapets. She replenished her stores that she carried with her, including the small fruit that eased the ache that her monthlies gave her. Sometimes she even slipped out in woman's garb, veiled and unrecognisable. But there were only so many places to go, and only so many people to see.

Then late in the second week since Altair's departure, the training master dragged her down from the parapets where she had been brooding and walked her, protesting, over to the training grounds.

"Your time could be better spent helping me train these apprentices than sulking up in the tower Aden." He had told her sternly before shoving her into the circle. "Alright lads, let Aden here warm up and then he's going to show you how to fight against a sword with a shortsword."

After that Aden became a regular instructor with the afternoon classes and found to her surprise that she actually enjoyed training and teaching the younger apprentices the skills she had.


Jerusalem was large and sprawling but Altair made his way carefully through the crowds and through the winding alleys and streets to reach the outside of the Assassins Bureau. Walking around the back he swiftly climbed a ladder and walked across the rooftop to the open trellis.

Climbing down he looked around at the white stone, burbling fountain and patterned cushions before he walked through the courtyard and into the Bureau.

Stepping out of the bright sunshine into the dimmer interior of the Bureau made the assassin pause, letting his eyes adjust. There was a long bench like countertop running the length of the room and behind it a man stood. He was facing the shelves attached to the walls, considering a jar of this and that, but Altair's eyes were drawn to the right hand sleeve of his robe.

The empty right hand sleeve.

"Safety and peace Malik."

The man behind the countertop tensed and turned, sneering, towards the white robed assassin.

"Your presence here deprives me of both. What do you want?"

"Al Mualim has asked..." Altair began, walking over to the counter, only to be interrupted sharply by Malik.

"...asked that you perform some menial task in an effort to redeem yourself. So? Be out with it." The dismissal in his voice made Altair tense and grit his teeth in anger. So when he spoke, he spoke with a bit more bite than he had originally intended.

"Tell me what you can about the one they call Talal."

Malik smirked and Altair clenched his fist, hiding it behind the fall of his robes, "It is your task to find and assassinate the man Altair. Not mine."

"You'd do well to assist me." Altair gritted out, feeling his body tense up even more, "His death benefits the entire land."

"Do you deny his death benefits you as well?"

"Such things do not concern you."

The instant the words left his mouth he knew he had made a mistake. Malik's face hardened even more, eyes flashing dangerously as his single remaining hand came slamming down onto the countertop.

"Your actions very much concern me!" he roared. Altair glared back, not liking the guilty feeling crawling in his belly, and lashed out in return.

"Then don't help me! I'll find him myself..." Malik turned away, lifting a hand with disgust and Altair headed for the door, already wondering about where he could possibly begin. Jerusalem was a big city...a big city.

Malik sighed from behind him, "Wait, wait." Altair turned to see the new Bureau leader looking at the jars behind the counter anywhere but at him, "It won't do having you stumble around the city like a blind man. Better you know where to begin your search."

It was as much of a concession that Altair was going to get, and he knew it. "I'm listening."

"I can think of three places. South of here in the market that runs along the border from the Muslim and Jewish districts, North to the mosque of this district and the western front of Saint Anne's church."

"Is that everything?"

"It's enough to get you started," Malik said, turning away dismissively. As Altair left he heard the man add quietly, "And more than you deserve."


It was easy enough to get directions from several helpful locals, as to the location of the Saint Anne's church that Malik had mentioned. Walking through the streets, surrounded by the milling, oblivious crowds, he had time to think, to consider.

Aden.

He hated that his mind went straight to contemplation of those dark topaz eyes, that interesting face, and that stubborn mouth. He tried to push it away, tried to remind his body that the boy was in fact a boy. That he liked women, that he certainly didn't like lippy, strong, brash, hot headed boys who were more trouble than they were worth.

His body disagreed.

At the memory of the boy's lips parting under his, the soft catch of breath as he kissed him, the initial submission and then the fight back, he felt a hot stab of sheer molten pleasure through his abdomen. He wanted Aden...wanted him very much.

But...he paused in an alleyway, hand resting against smooth white stone. He couldn't imagine touching the lad. Touching him...in that sense. A part of his mind supplied curves, and soft flesh like a woman, but that didn't make sense. Was he womanising Aden in his mind because he missed the touch of a real woman?

It was all too confusing...much too confusing, and although the touch of Aden's lips to his, and the taste of him haunted Altair's mind, he pushed the thoughts aside.

He had work to do.