Captain: Phew! This chapter...did not turn out how I expected, haha. What was originally going to be a fairly short one turned into the longest chapter of this entire story thus far! I blame my magical typewriter-like keyboard I just got for it, and I hold zero regrets. This chapter is special for another reason. The scenes that are about to take place are what birthed this *entire* fic. That's right, it was this moment right here that led to the creation of Emma and Firewall :D

I hope you all enjoy and please drop a review!


Malik did not give her long, barely an hour that passed like a minute when he returned and woke her from her unintended nap, pushing for the story of what happened at Masyaf. Stress pinched his brow from the start and Emma was sorry that she could not ease it in any way. Her words only made it worse, but she told it true and complete from the moment they left Jerusalem to the moment Altair pulled her from Masyaf; the Mongol raiders and the burned village, the late night run-in with Abbas, she left out none of it. By the time she finished, his shoulders sagged heavily.

"I wish I could say that I do not believe it, but the words of the people I spoke to brought nothing that could convince me of such." He released a heavy sigh, rubbing his forehead. "It is the why of it all that vexes me."

"I don't know his motive, but it can't be good, for any of us or the people." Emma slouched in the chair, massaging the burning wound on her thigh. Objectively, she could almost understand the drive to get information out of her, forcefully or not. She was from the future, she could have information that would change the course of history. But there was something else, something sinister behind it all. There was no real proof, nothing but a feeling she couldn't shake and her senses screaming at her that he was dangerous. If she just knew why, why he was doing all of this, what his end goal was, then they could predict his next move and stop him.

If it wasn't already too late.

Malik stood watching her, but she had a feeling he wasn't really seeing her, his mind running through everything he thought he knew.

"We have questions and very few answers. There is one place more that may have the information we seek." Yet he did not sound thrilled to go, in fact, Emma would dare say it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Great, where?" Her chest ached as she forced herself to her feet, swaying as her leg buckled, recovered, and held.

The Dai opened his mouth, paused, and released a pained sigh. "Beneath Solomon's Temple, where this all began."

Where Altair made his fatal mistake and lost his rank.

Where Malik lost his left arm.

Where he lost his brother.

It'd been months, but that would hardly make such a wound any less raw.

"Malik….I could go. Just point me in the right direction and I'll see what I can find," Emma offered, wincing as she reached for the black robe. She would rather sleep the rest of the day than move again, but time was no longer on their side. How long it might take Altair to reach the plains of Arsuf, she hadn't a clue, but she knew she couldn't afford to be benched now.

Malik shook his head. "You are injured."

"A flesh wound."

"This is something I must do."

She paused, gauging the sharp lines of his face, the weariness in his eyes. "You haven't been back there, have you?"

"No," he answered after a pause, "my duties here have not permitted me the time."

And he'd still been recovering from the loss of his arm, the threat of the Templars too great to risk going when he couldn't defend himself. Emma couldn't believe the man that led a group of slavers and killers would honor an enemy with a proper burial, which meant his brother's body was likely right where he had fallen.

"You don't have to do it alone. Let me go with you at least." They would look a ragtag pair, but this wasn't something Malik should have to face alone. No one should have to face such a thing alone.

He looked on the verge of arguing before his shoulders deflated. Rubbing his face, he heaved a sigh. "Very well, if you are certain you are up for it. We must leave now, I fear that time is against us."

Months they had had since her arrival, weeks of stillness and calm and what had felt like all the time in the world. Now it was gone and Emma got the distinct feeling of a speeding train derailing. It was all going to come to a head, one way or another.

Sucking in a pained breath, she pulled the robe back over her modern clothes, fixed the ponytail that kept the hair out of her face, and nodded. "Then let's go."

Easier said than done, of course. Climbing out of the bureau was hell on both her thigh and chest. More than once on the way up she wondered if it was really a good idea for her to go. No, Malik would need someone, even if just for moral support, if he was forced to confront his brother's body. She couldn't stay behind, no matter how much her body wanted her to. Through gritted teeth and more than a few colorful words, she managed to get herself up and then back down the ladder and into the square.

Malik led the way in silence, weaving through a crowd that was riding a high of gossip. The snippets she caught were all related to the funeral, to the fight that broke out and the strange booms that had come from it. A new weapon of the Crusaders, some thought, an ambush for a traitor, others were convinced. A few were hopeful the tyrant's killer had escaped the attack, though most doubted it was possible. None mentioned seeing a woman amidst the chaos and Emma breathed a sigh of relief. If worse came to worst in Masyaf, perhaps there would not be hunters looking for her in Acre.

Worrying her lip as she followed the one armed Dai through the noisy crowd, she wondered just what the hell she was going to do if this all went to shit. What if Altair was killed in Arsuf? What if their attempt to expose the Master failed? Either Al Mualim could remain in power or the entire Assassin order could fall. Either way, her safety with Malik would come to a crashing end. There would be no sanctuary in his bureau, in the city itself, probably not anywhere within the Assassin Order's reach. She would have to leave. Find a boat in Acre to take her to England and then….then what? It wasn't as if the island treated women any better than they did here. It wasn't as if there was a way for her to get back home there. As far as she was aware, the country was steeped in internal conflict as the King's brother overtaxed the citizens. She could always attempt to find Robin Hood and join his merry band of outlaws, help the few that she could. Shaking the thought from her head, she knew that outcome was as likely as finding her way home in the bottom of a whiskey barrel.

There was no plan if they failed.

No second chance.

No heroic ending.

If they failed she would have to disappear and live the rest of her life like any other English spinster.

The very thought chafed, but it was the most probable outcome.

"Here," Malik motioned to a broken archway that once opened to a descending staircase. While partially blocked off, any determined adult could manage a way through. Emma recognized the courtyard from her exploration of the Rich District, but had never gone inside it due to the higher number of patrolling guards. The golden dome was visible nearby, winking cheerfully in the sunlight.

Not a single guard anywhere in sight. "I thought it would be guarded?"

Or at least a better attempt made to keep people from entering an obviously dangerous location. Such an easy target would be occupied every day and night in a place like New York.

"It usually is. The madness of the funeral has drawn many from their regular posts. They have tripled the guards at the gates and are checking any who enter or leave." His voice rang hollow as he took a lit torch from the entryway and weaved through the broken stone. The debris did not go too deep, revealing a tunnel in relatively good condition despite its obvious age and structural questionability. Bits and pieces of the walls and ceilings lay crumbled on the ground, but it looked like it would hold for now.

"Do you think Altair made it out?" The thought hadn't crossed her mind that the assassin could have not even made it out of the city. Of course such a capture would no doubt spread like wildfire through the people, but it was always possible…

"Do not hold doubt for his abilities now. He made it out." Despite answering the question, Emma couldn't escape the notion that Malik was a hundred miles away. Or perhaps, more accurately, he was several months in the past, reliving whatever happened here.

Glancing down to the floor, she noted the remnants of old footprints in the torchlight. Many of them, in fact, left relatively undisturbed since they were laid down. The tracks of the Templars when they left. The only ones returning were her own and Malik's. Truly, no one had come back since that day, at least not through this way.

The tunnel twisted and turned, opening up to a massive cavern that she suspected lay directly underneath the temple exposed on the service. Solomon's Temple or at least the bottom of it. Some of the stone structures looked as new as the ladders secured to their sides, while columns up high were clearly older. An archeological dig, she realized, in a fashion that would itself be studied as the centuries passed.

Unbidden, the theme for Indiana Jones began playing in her head as she followed Malik in his task of lighting the dark torches that lined the walls. Making a mental note to be suspicious of holes in the walls or protruding rocks or levers, she kept her hands firmly to herself. Who knew if booby traps were actually a thing in places like this. Catching sight of what looked like a large golden box, tucked on a pedestal up high, she paused to look it over. On it's lid were carved two angels, their wings stretched forward towards each other. The rim around them looked to host intricate details too small and too far to make out from here, but she didn't need that to know what it was supposed to be.

The Ark of the Covenant.

No way. It had to be a fake, a reproduction. She may have been humming the theme but there was no way this was actually an Indiana Jones movie.

Either way, she wasn't going to touch the thing.

Malik finished with torches, sliding his own into an empty slot on a pillar by the stairs. Stepping up once, twice, he paused. They led to a platform which funneled to a doorway under the Ark, blocked off by the mass of a collapsed wooden structure, but it wasn't what he was looking at.

Bodies laid about the stone platform, crimson crosses nearly obscured by black blood. Templars, three of them, the ones Malik and his brother had been able to kill before they were overwhelmed. In the middle, a lone Assassin, grey robes darkened and hanging limp. Exposed as they were yet protected from the sun, the worst part of decomposition had already come and passed. Fluids and soft tissue were dried and gone, any rotten smell blessedly along with it. Nothing left of these men but tattered clothes and shrunken skin stretched over bones.

A dark sight for any person, but even more so if it was family.

Malik stared at the body of his brother, unmoving except for his hand clenching at his side. Left out to rot like yesterday's garbage. What beliefs the Dai held for the afterlife or necessity for funeral rites, she didn't know, but this couldn't be allowed.

Placing a soft hand on his shoulder, Emma watched the sorrow and grief pull against his features. "We will bury him."

He sucked in a breath, shook his head once. "We do not have the time."

Flexing her hand to squeeze his shoulder, drawing his gaze away from the bodies, she met his stare hard. "We will make the time."

Finding tools to dig with proved a challenge, but eventually she scrounged up what could pass for shovels. The ground did not give easily, but a little at a time they moved rock and dirt until it was large enough to fit a man.

Malik said nothing and Emma respected the silence as they rolled Kadar over and carried him to his grave. He had the dark hair of his brother, but it was the only feature living enough to recognize. He hardly looked a man anymore, eyes hard and shrunken, a pair of cloudy marbles barely held in sunken sockets. They laid him on a chunk of fabric that had held small pieces of interest from the abandoned dig, gently wrapping it around him before laying him in the grave.

The living brother looked at the wrapped body for a long time, pain radiating off of him in waves. His voice cracked, tone tight as a bowstring, "It should have been me."

The words stabbed straight through her heart, hurting far worse than a bullet to the vest could ever hope to.

"Malik…" What could she say to that? How could she tell him that 'should have beens' would only eat him up inside? That his little brother would have believed the very same, had their positions been reversed? That as much as she wished he could be spared this pain, she was glad he was here and had been the one to help her in the market? It was a failed mission from the start and there was nothing he could have done.

It was a failed mission from the start.

"You can't blame yourself, blame the ones responsible for all of this." She gestured lightly to their surroundings and the bodies of the Templars. "All we can do for him is give him a proper burial and justice."

He cocked his head to one side, mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "What is justice to the dead?"

"Not a damn thing." An honest answer, if not the most gentle one. "Justice is for the living. It's for the survivors who can move on; it's for everyone else, so that none of them have to suffer like this."

But even that wasn't totally true. Stopping one may spare some, but pain always came. Someone else would take up the violence. There was always another Robert de Sable, always another Al Mualim or Talal or Majd Addin. It was a never ending cycle and sometimes she didn't know how long she could take it.

Malik quietly stood over his brother for another moment before shoveling the first dirt into the grave and together they made quick work of it. No longer was this place just Solomon's Temple, it was also Kadar's Tomb. A fitting place for a man whose death spiralled into so much more, like ripples in a lake.

The words of the women in the garden echoed in her mind: 'Never even got to visit us', 'So important he sent three Assassins on it'. His robes, tattered and bloodstained as they were, were so obviously not the same as Altair's.

It was a failed mission from the start.

"Malik, what rank had your brother reached?"

The shovels were tossed aside, her chest and thigh burning. The Templar men deserved to be buried, even together. They were human too after all, but in that, they really did not have the time. Perhaps if they ever came back, it could be done.

"Kadar? He had just become an Apprentice, this was his first journey to Jerusalem." Appearing to take some force, he tore his eyes away from the freshly turned dirt to scan their surroundings.

Failed from the start.

"This was an important mission though, wasn't it? One that justified sending the best." Too many variables, too many ways it could have gone wrong and yet...it fit too well, made too much sense.

Malik's gaze turned to her, his brow furrowed. "Yes, of course. What are you getting at?"

"So important that Al Mualim sent his best and most arrogant assassin, the one most likely to break the tenants of your Creed, along with an inexperienced trainee and his brother?" The more she gave voice to it, the more she was certain that her suspicion was on point. Sometimes the simplest answer, no matter how crazy it seemed, really was the right one.

"I was of the Master rank myself," he defended, but the furrow in his brow only deepened.

"But Kadar wasn't. Al Mualim knows his men, especially Altair. So would he not suspect he'd be arrogant enough to face whatever Templars you might come across, putting you both at risk?" Could he have known so many might be down here? Of course, this was a mission important enough to send three Assassins on. The Master expected for the enemy to be here and to be here in numbers greater than Altair alone could handle.

"You are claiming my brother was a sacrifice? For what possible purpose? To brand Altair a traitor and nearly kill him? He did not need a desire for redemption to follow orders." Malik narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, moving slowly towards the stairs and the Templar bodies.

"Maybe...maybe not at first, but a man seeking to redeem himself will ask fewer questions than one who sees himself above the need."

"He selected me as well, it was not just Altair and Kadar here that day." Despite the words, his tone betrayed his wavering belief. He could see what she saw, the utter convenience of it all, the invisible strings jerking them along like puppets.

"To give credence to the mission I guess," Emma shrugged, chewing the inside of her cheek as her mind raced to give words to the feeling she had about all of this. "It would have been suspicious for such an important task to only go to those two and you had the level head. Kadar...he wasn't prepared for this, he was never meant to make it home and you...you were the one he could trust to ensure the mission's success should Altair have failed. If you had been killed as well then it would have been just another charge for him to make up for."

There it was, the master plan of the Master of Assassins. Maybe he'd even hoped Malik had died instead of just losing an arm, maybe he would have been satisfied if they'd both only been severely injured.

"There are too many ways such a plan could have gone wrong and it is only a theory. You need more than that to level a charge against the man who controls the Brotherhood of plotting against his own men." His eyes caught something on a small table tucked into the corner, the torchlight casting odd shadows.

"And yet such a plan guarantees the greatest control over the deadliest assassin in your ranks. Think about it, Malik. A mission like this one was no place for inexperience, not unless they served a different purpose."

"A convincing theory though it may be, I cannot take any action without proof. And you have not offered why. Why would Altair need to question the men he was sent after? All of them were Templars, even if they spin strange words upon their death. The cities and people are better off without them." He crouched, pulling on a dusty book trapped under a board. It came free and the Dai dropped it on the tabletop, idly peeling back the cover.

"I don't know why. I can't figure out what his motive could be, but the point is he sent Altair after these men specifically. There's something that connects them and it's that connection I don't think Al Mualim wants anyone to find out. If Altair is busy redeeming himself, he's not thinking about stuff like that. So what we have to figure out is not what connected his targets to the Templars, but what connected them to Al Mualim. Why these men and not others?" What felt like a lifetime ago, she'd done some victimology training, but she didn't know enough about his targets outside of Jerusalem for that to be any real help. All she could reason was that they knew something, some secret that could be devastating to the Master if it got out.

If Altair killed Robert, they might never know, save for confronting the Master directly. With the others dead, all he would have to do is lie.

Emma growled low under her breath. There was no way to get word to Altair to talk to Robert before killing him and the woman who had played his decoy at the funeral was no doubt long gone.

"Perhaps there will be some answers here then, in Robert's journal." Her eyes jumped to the book he'd been looking at. There was no way they just got that lucky. "The Templars left here in a hurry, both to pursue me and to rally their men to follow Altair once he escaped. I had assumed they came back after we repelled them from Masyaf, but it appears they did not, not even for this."

Emma joined him at the table, looking at the stained pages. It was written in old English in a script barely legible to her eyes, but she recognized a few words, mostly names of people and places. Her brows rose on a particular section.

Apparently Robin of Locksley was a very real person after all. The words she could make out in the following line were far from flattering. So Robert was not a fan of the current King's guardsman; must have declined to join his band of merry assholes.

They flipped through more pages, Emma feeling more than a little useless as Malik easily read the writing.

He grimaced as he looked over a page done in almost obsessive neatness. Every line done perfectly straight, each letter painfully laid down with precision. "This is a pledge to the Templar Order and a command to hunt for the mythical artefact The Piece of Eden, to use its power to take control of this world and bring about unchallenged peace."

Peace through slavery, basically. Emma felt her gut drop as she remembered the golden orb Al Mualim had used against her. Was that it then? Was that The Piece of Eden? Could it really be used to take control of the whole world? A region?

If the Master knew what he had and his endgame was approaching, she had a sinking feeling they were going to find out the range of the thing.

"The hell is a piece of Eden?" And more importantly where did the damn thing come from? Surely not actual Biblical Eden? That had been a garden, destroyed, not broken into pieces in the shape of a golden orb...right? Of course, calling it a piece insinuated there could be more than one.

Damn it all she was not in a Harrison Ford movie!

"I suspect it may have been the artefact I stole from here and brought to Masyaf...and was later used on you." Which only brought on a whole slew of more questions. Al Mualim had probably been able to get some of the answers he'd wanted from her, but the whole time a voice from the damn thing had tried to burst her brain. Such a tool could theoretically control many through fear, but it would not ensure an unchallenged rule. Not unless….not unless it had other uses and the one she experienced was a control of the Master's choosing.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing she could go back to the simplicity of just being stuck in the past.

Malik inhaled sharply as he scanned the page following the pledge. It was adorned with signatures of ten men, some of which Emma thought might have been the marks of Altair's targets, but Malik's hand was frozen over one.

Disbelief, anger, and resignation twisted his voice as he growled, "Al Mualim's name is here."

A traitor after all.

Which presented a much larger issue for the one currently not in the cavern. "If Robert reveals this to Altair, he's going to go straight to Masyaf as fast as he can. He'll have no idea about what the Piece of Eden might be capable of, no idea what he's walking into."

Malik nodded, expression grim. "And once Robert is dead, Al Mualim will have no further use for him. There will be a trap awaiting him."

A trap made by the leader of the Assassins, a trap months in the making. He would be surrounded by his own brothers, with no possible chance of fighting his way out. There really was no time.

"We've got to go, we've got to warn him!" Maybe Arsuf would take a day for him to get to, maybe he would rest before confronting Robert, maybe, just maybe, they could intercept him on the way.

Her turn for the exit was halted by a firm grip on her arm. "No. No doubt Altair has already reached Arsuf and he will ride as if hell were on his heels. We would not reach him in time and we would be but three against the might of the Brotherhood. We cannot warn him."

If she thought for a moment that he was giving up, she was proven wrong by the fire that lit his gaze as he continued. "But we can still help him. We must rally the assassins in the city and any we may find as we ride for Masyaf. We cannot warn him, but we will not leave him to fight alone. This book will be our proof to the Master's treachery."

Nodding sharply, Emma snapped the book shut and tucked it under her arm. "Then we better get topside, we've got work to do."

The quiet that fell between them as they worked their way back to the surface held a different kind of tension than before. Perhaps Malik had found a measure of closure in burying his brother, but now he had to contend with knowing his leader had betrayed them, that he may have to fight his own brothers-in-arms for the sake of the country, maybe even the world.

No pressure or anything.

Even the sun could not warm the chill that settled in her bones as they stepped back into the open air. So much to do, so much riding on them getting it right, and all she wanted to do was sit down for a minute, just a minute, and rest.

"Where to first?" she asked instead, shifting as much weight as she could off her injured thigh.

Malik looked over at her and motioned to the right. "I will track down who I can in the time I believe we have to spare, you will go back to the bureau and rest."

"I can help." But she knew his plan was better. It would be a hard ride once the others were gathered and there was definitely no rest to be found on the back of a racing horse.

"You look ready to collapse. Go, get some food and rest." He grimaced lightly. "I will send the assassins I find to you, show them the pages and warn them of what we will be against, but tell them of yourself only that you are a friend and ally of the cause."

It wasn't a terrible idea and she did feel damn near dead on her feet. It would help them all as well, if everyone knew what was going on by the time the last man returned.

"Alright, watch your back out there." As they exited the courtyard, they split different ways, Malik towards the Poor District and Emma on the shortest path to the bureau.

It felt like it took a hundred years longer to reach the bottom of the ladder than it had to find the entrance to the buried temple and going up somehow felt so much worse on her injuries than it had earlier. Her foot splashed into the fountain as she misjudged the remaining drop on the descent into the bureau, soaking the bottom of the robe and her pant leg underneath. At least she'd managed to land on the good one.

Incoming assassins meant she needed to keep the cover on over her modern clothes and deal with her vest and gun that were still sitting out. Stuffing her things in her bag along with enough salted jerky to make the trip to Masyaf, she fell back into the chair by the cold fireplace, a dried piece of meat between her teeth.

It almost wasn't worth the work to chew, but she knew she needed to or else she was only going to feel more like shit later and be even more useless.

So she forced some of the fresher stuff down along with a bit of fruit and checked on the bandage over her grazed thigh. Soaked more with dirt and sweat than blood, she left it be and lightly rubbed her chest. As much as it hurt to move or even breathe right now, she knew it was only going to get worse in the next few days before it would get better. A grim prospect considering what the next few days would no doubt entail.

"So this is the one the Dai has been attempting to hide from us." Emma jolted awake at the strange voice, blinking blearily at the man-shape that stood in the doorway.

"Attempting and failing. I thought he would give our abilities of perception their due, yet he thought he kept the presence of a woman here hidden," another voice intoned with amusement, brushing past the first to step fully into the room. Emma's hand jerked towards her hip only to find it empty and her chest screaming for the movement.

The other assassins, right, Malik was sending them here.

And apparently they'd always known she was here in some fashion, fantastic.

"Apologies, my lady, I did not mean to startle you," the first man eased, holding open palms towards her. The lighter skin tone, the accent, and way he formed his words all pointed towards an Englishman of wealth, at least once upon a time in his life.

Huh, her mind mused idly, that motion of harmlessness had been around for a long time.

"Ah, sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep. What has Malik told you already?" She straightened stiffly in the chair, rolling her neck to a series of pops.

The two men exchanged curious glances before the second shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning against the opposite wall. "Only that we are needed to handle a terrible betrayal and that he has proof of who awaiting us here...with a Christian woman."

"Right here." She tapped the book on the little table next to her, flipping it open to the page with the Templar pledge and following signatures. "The journal of Robert de Sable."

Now that shared look was one of surprise as both men stepped forward to look at the pages, expressions twisting from dread and concern to rage as they found the signature.

"We must take this to Masyaf, show the rest of the Brotherhood! They will not stand for such treachery!" The second man's cheeks were red from his fury.

"We can't." She received twin sharp stares. Right, women don't give men orders in this century. Well, tough shit. "Al Mualim has the artifact the pledge talks about. If he's figured out how to use it...he might have control of everyone in the castle."

"And how would a woman know of such things?" the second man asked icily, pacing now for lack of a better immediate outlet.

The Englishman, however, stood perfectly still, watching her. Whatever he was looking for, he found, his lips twisting into a grim smile. "Because you have seen it, have you not? You are the woman who fled Masyaf only days ago, the one the Master is looking for."

So much for only telling them she was a friend and ally to the cause. This one was sharp.

"Yes." No point trying to lie, they'd be more likely to believe her anyway...maybe.

"Curious." Now would be a great time for more assassins to show, if just for a break in the scrutiny. "Curious that an outsider could escape the fortress."

"Hardly a matter of import for now," the other man snapped, still pacing.

"I did not expect this," a new voice entered a moment before his body cleared the doorway, followed by a fourth.

Emma let out a soft sigh of relief, rubbing her chest with one hand while motioning to the book with the other and starting the short spiel over. Conversation followed between the assassins and Emma let her head fall back, not bothering to try following as they flitted between the two languages at random.

"How did you accomplish such a feat?" She jerked, finding the damn Englishman next to her. The others fell quiet at his question, their eyes dancing between them.

"Not relevant to our current issue," she growled back, shifting to lean away from him. Too risky to reveal Altair's hand in it, not when she didn't know their loyalty to the man, or at the least their trust level in his judgement. Malik had told her not to reveal much, so damn it all she was not going to reveal what she didn't have to.

"It could be," he countered easily. "A mysterious woman who our traitor Master desires brought back to Masyaf immediately, appears with proof of said betrayal. A woman who eluded a castle of assassins to get away and somehow made it all the way here, in good time. Is our home so weak? Our brothers so blind?"

Squatting down, he dropped himself to her level, meeting her eyes and daring her to look away first. She stared him down, clenching her jaw as he asked again, "Who helped you?"

"It was Altair," Malik answered as he stepped into the room flanked by three more assassins. Immediately the one before her stood and backed off. If nothing else, they held respect for the Dai. "Altair helped her escape and make the journey here, after she revealed to him her experiences of the Master's behavior that conflicted with the tenants of the Creed. For the safety of an innocent did he help her and in return she used her connections here to discover and warn him of a trap set for the funeral of Majd Addin. A trap that failed because of her."

Not the exact truth, but one that potentially bent it just little enough to not trigger any lie detector extra senses. Is that what the Englishman had? Was he like her father? Either way, he wouldn't have made a half bad detective in her time. Now if only he would turn that attention elsewhere. The revelation caused most of the men to turn towards Malik, but not him, he just kept staring, a new light sparking in his eyes as something triggered in his mind.

"Curious." Was all he said, a slender finger tapping his chin. Emma pointedly refused to look in his direction anymore.

"Altair's judgement has been questionable at times of late," the second huffed, distrust evident as he glanced between her and the Dai.

"He saved my life from Majd's execution," a newcomer interjected, casting a stern look to the other. "I am inclined to trust his judgment and trust he had reasons we do not yet know for his most recent actions."

"Reasons that can be revealed later, for now we must ride for Masyaf. He is on the plains of Arsuf to face Robert and save the Brotherhood from a threat on the outside, we must reach the city in time to aid him in saving it from the inside." For the first time Malik reached under his table strewn with half drawn maps and withdrew a sword and dagger.

"You would have us abandon the city?" one of the men asked incredulously, his hand resting on his own sword's hilt.

One of the others helped the Dai strap on the belt as he nodded. "We must. The Master may have turned the whole of the Brotherhood against us. We must make safe Masyaf and worry about Jerusalem later."

It was not a decision he made lightly. No matter how long he had spent at the fortress, this city had been his home for the last several months. It was his home now and he cared for it as much as if it had always been his.

They had depleted the Templar numbers, the city would be safe from their enemy's influence at least.

"Collect what you need, we must be gone within the hour," Malik ordered. Unconsciously the other men straightened sharply before dispersing, some collecting items from the bureau itself while others disappeared back into the city. An hour did not necessarily mean exactly 60 minutes in an age before digital clocks, so she leaned down with a hiss, tightening the laces on her boots.

"I cannot help but believe it would be better for you to stay, though I doubt you are willing to do so," he sighed once all the others were gone, approaching her side. He looked ten years older, ready for battle but loathe to do so.

"You know I can't just sit around doing nothing." Her breath wavered as she forced herself to her feet.

"You would be healing." He eyed her as if he expected her to topple over at any moment. Honestly, she felt like it wasn't out of the realm of possibility, but she wasn't going to let it sideline her, not yet.

"I can heal when this is over." Cat would be happy to know her self preservation was as dead as ever, she thought with bittersweet amusement.

"You do not have to return. Should we lose...there will be nothing to protect you from the Master. Here you would be able to escape his reach in time, you could disappear." He was right of course. Should they fail, should her friends of this world all be killed, she would be alone at the Master's mercy. There would be no second escape from the fortress. Here...here she stood a chance of a head start, of knowing that he won with the time to spare to leave and make for...anywhere else.

She shook her head. "We're not going to lose. We're going to win. Good always wins in the end."

In the stories anyway. Not here, not in real life. More often than not, good lost, but not this time. They had to win this time.

"Do you truly believe that?" Malik sounded doubtful. How could they win? They had right on their side, but Al Mualim had an army on his.

It was a failed mission from the start.

"No, but it's a hope I have to cling to right now." Even if they did somehow manage to pull a win out of their ass, it hardly meant that would be the end of it. Maybe it would be the end of the Templars, maybe they could destroy the orb and it would be the end of an actual global threat, but removing the leader of the Assassins would open a whole new can of worms.

A can they would just have to deal with when the time came. One problem at a time.

He broke out in a half hearted chuckle, some of the tension in his shoulders easing as he approached her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You are certainly an unusual woman."

She raised her brows, a smile pulling at her lips. "You've said that once or twice since we met."

"And yet I am glad you are here." He released her, turning to grab things from the shelf he thought he might need on the trip.

"I knew you missed me." She tossed him a playful wink, her grin wide and real.

His laugh eased the strain in her neck.

"Ill news, Dai," the Englishman greeted as he returned with the other six men not long later. All of them bore packs and were armed to the teeth. "The guards on the gates are being thorough in their inspection, they are not allowing anyone out of the city without scrutiny and they have doubled the archers above."

Which meant they couldn't get out the same way Altair had gotten in most likely; not that she was certain Malik would be able to take such a path regardless.

"Secret passageways?" Probably a long shot but hell, Masyaf had one, and the world seemed content to roll with the Indiana Jones theme today.

The bald one who'd spoken up in support of Altair shook his head. "Guarded or blockaded. We will have to use a ruse and a good one at that. They are accosting the scholars."

Eight men, all heavily armed, one missing an arm, and a woman. What the hell kind of ruse could they possibly use that would be halfway believable?

She doubted the guards would buy the story of a fellowship on a quest to destroy a ring.

Malik handed her a folded parchment, held closed by melted wax pressed with a seal she didn't recognize. He motioned for her to stow it in her bag before turning back to the conversation at hand.

Emma did as he bid while racking her brain for an answer. Every solution one of the men presented was immediately shot down by another: not possible, would take too much time, they didn't have the supplies for that one, or too many men for that to work. She came up empty herself as she pulled her bag closer, making sure none of the assassins could accidentally see the modern items inside.

They didn't have the damn time for this!

A flash of red and white caught her eye as she tucked the paper into the pages of her journal, so far neglected of writing since her stay at Masyaf. Fingers running over the soft silk, her mind raced. The white had not survived the trip completely unscathed, dusted with sand and dirt, but the red did not show it as much. Such a vibrant color...she'd only seen the wealthy capable of such a color in such a fabric.

"What about my entourage?" The men paused, half looking annoyed she would interject into their business once again.

The red dress slid free of the bag as she held it up. "I pretend to be a lady, here for the funeral. You all are my guard while I travel."

A few did not look impressed, but the Englishman and Malik were nodding.

"A wife to a general in Salahadin's army, here to show your family's support in your husband's stead," the former added, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

"They will not believe such a lady would travel without handmaidens or chests." A valid argument from one, but easily countered by Malik.

"The roads are dangerous during this war. We were forced to travel light and fast, despite the lady's displeasure. Showing our support for Majd Addin was more important than our lady's immediate comfort."

Alright, so not just any Lady, she was going to have to pretend to be a stuck up snob. Well, she'd seen what it looked like first hand in Masyaf, she could channel one of those ladies for long enough to get through the gate. Hopefully.

"While I am opposed to the woman joining us on the road, I do believe it to be our best option if we wish to leave before the gates close for the night." The speaker turned to her, his brows raised. "It will not be a comfortable ride, I can assure you."

Emma snorted lightly. "I got here sharing a horse with Altair, I think I'll be okay."

Malik nodded once sharply and the decision was finalized. "Go and change, we must make haste."

Haste was not the speed in which Emma was able to haul her body towards Malik's room to change-like hell was she about to attempt stairs-and changing was absolute murder, but soon enough red silk draped over her skin, the growing bruise on her chest starkly visible above the low neckline, but there was nothing to be done for it. She could always blame Altair, claim in the chaos of the funeral she'd taken a blow from the fleeing crowd. If a guardsman was willing to bring it up, they might just assume it was a gift from her 'husband'.

The men were much quieter when she returned, looking at her with newfound...she didn't know what.

"For you, my lady." The Englishman tipped his head, handing her an ornately carved cane. Well, it would make the limp not quite so blaringly obvious as wrong.

She took it with a grateful tilt of her head, her brows raising as she noted he had her pack as well as his own. "I'm injured, not inept. I can carry my own bag."

"You will have the chance when we are outside the gates. A Lady never carries her own things," Malik explained as he reached behind her, pulling out the binding that kept her hair pulled back. It fell down around her face in messy waves, no doubt in desperate need for a wash and a comb.

Nothing left to do now but start the show.

With an assist from the men onto the rooftop and down the ladder, she realized that the shift in their attitude had been towards respect. Once on the ground, they took up a diamond formation around her, with Malik on her right and the Englishman on her left. She leaned towards the former as they began walking towards the gates, drawing curious glances from the citizens but nothing that lingered. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but what changed?"

She lightly gestured towards the assassins around her.

Malik, like all of the men, kept his hand on his sword hilt, a threat display that cleared the path before them. "I told them that you attended the funeral this morning and fought at Altair's side."

She quirked a brow. "Not exactly how it happened."

Malik's look was a blatant challenge to try him. "You may have used a different weapon, but you still fought. He is alive because of you and they will show you the respect you deserve for it."

Respect she didn't really deserve, but if it won her more allies among the Brotherhood, then she was going to take it right now.

Soon the gate loomed overhead, the crowd backed up as the guards limited the stream of those leaving.

This was going to take forever.

"Force your way to the front," Malik ordered and immediately the men at the front began to push through the crowd. Emma winced at the forcefulness of their shoves and Malik lightly thumped her arm with his stump. "Do not show pity. Chin up, you look down on these people, you are above them all, above your guard. Act like it."

Right, play a part for the guards. It was not hard to let the disgust she felt towards the whole situation show on her face, raising her chin and straightening her spine while attempting to limp as little as possible.

"And what is this? A Christian woman traveling alone? What business have you?" a guard sneered as they breached the front of the crowd, forcing the group to a halt as four other guardsmen cut off their progress, suspiciously eyeing the assassins who did not remove their hands from their swords. His eyes dragged leisurely over the cut of the dress, lingering on the bruise.

Play a part, she reminded herself, keeping her head high, assuming the haughtiness and superiority complex she'd witnessed on the older women's faces in Masyaf.

"My business," she snapped icily, praying she wouldn't let slip any modern slang, "was to attend a good man's funeral in place of my husband, who is otherwise occupied in Arsuf. And now I would return home if you would but remove yourself from my path."

Her fist tightened on the cane while she held the other in the folds of her dress, lest her shaking hands give them all away. Gods, please let this work.

The guardsmen looked over her men warily, focusing in on the Dai with narrowed eyes. They were found out, she knew it, the ruse had failed already.

"You would be guarded by a man with only one arm?" the guard sneered, giving Malik a look of contempt.

Emma reigned in her temper, carefully maintaining a look of cool indifference as she answered, "It is why he is my right hand man, instead of my left."

The guardsman blinked as Emma mentally high-fived herself for that one.

"And which side of the plain does your husband fight?" he recovered unsteadily, eyes flashing from the empty sleeve to her.

She made sure to tip her chin higher, looking down her nose at him. "The great Salahadin's, of course."

The guard continued to scrutinize her while the crowd pushed in around them, anger growing. Other guards looked about warily, eager to let the people through before the mob turned to violence.

His attention shot elsewhere as a merchant attempted to force his cart through the line of other guards. With a growling wave, the head guard turned to this new problem, ordering over his shoulder, "Let them through!"

Emma and the assassins started forward, resuming the diamond formation as they walked uncontested through the gate. She let out of breath of relief as they turned towards the stablemaster, leaning heavily on the cane. "I thought for sure we were gonners."

"You did well," Malik assured her, laying a hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Now find a place to change while we barter for horses."

While the assassins save for the Englishman filed towards the stable, Emma knew she didn't have much time for the task at hand. Grumbling, she hurriedly shuffled behind a cluster of market stalls. Pallets and blankets lined the back of them, creating a little alcove that was only visible from one direction.

Motioning for her bag, he handed it over. Before going for her clothes, she blindly reached in until she felt cold steel, drawing out her knife and pointing it at him. "You look, I stab, deal?"

The Englishman looked down at the blade in bemusement, his brows pitching upwards slightly before tipping his head. "I will not look, my lady."

Dutifully, he turned his back and it was only then that Emma realized it was not her knife she'd pulled from the bag. It was one of Altair's throwing knives. When the hell had that gotten in there?

Didn't matter, she didn't have time for pondering that just now. Shedding the dress, she replaced it with her own clothes and the black robe, tucking the little knife into her boot and shoving the red silk back into the bag.

Her lungs heaved as she slung the straps over her shoulders, stuttering a few breaths. The assassin turned, his eyes tracking to the bruise on her chest now covered by the robe. "Not all injuries require blood to be serious. This will not be an easy ride with such a wound. If you need assistance, I willingly offer it."

Apparently helping Altair had earned her some major brownie points.

"I'll be okay for now, but thank you." She nodded and they made their way back to the stables, where nine horses stood saddled and ready. The others were already mounted and Emma grimaced as she realized she was about to ride by herself for the first time. Hopefully her horse would just follow the others so she could focus on not falling off. She knew the gist of steering at a walk, but she had a feeling they would be doing little of that over the coming miles.

The Englishman helped her mount before taking her cane and sliding it through the straps of his sword belt and mounting himself. While taking the weight off her leg eased the strain on her thigh, the motion of getting on had not. She had to steady herself with several long, cursing breaths before she could sit up straight; by then they were already moving.

Unlike the mad dash up the hill she'd taken the last time she'd left the city all those weeks ago, they started out at a trot, forcing the stream of people coming and going-mostly going, she noted-to get out of the way but giving them a chance to do so.

Emma's chestnut dutifully followed the lead horse, sliding into a faster pace once the crowds thinned and the road opened up before them.

What would they find at the end of their path? A sleeping dragon, trusting his deception had gone uncovered? Or a beast awake with his wings unfurled, ready to burn them all?

Whatever the case, she could only hope they made it in time.


Present Day

"Matt, please, this won't help anyone," Eliot stood firmly between the irate man and the front door, placing a soft hand on his chest. It hurt to see his partner's brother so...broken. The furious snarling rage was only a thin veil over burning pain, and unable to touch their enemy, lashed out at the other side of the conflict that was the cause of all this. The cop held no favor towards the Assassins, but allowing Matt to attack the leader would not end well for any of them.

"He knew! He knew they were going to kill her and he did nothing!" His leg had to be hurting, was the only possible reason why his lunge failed to send him through the cop and after his target, who Eliot had no doubt he would be able to find, no matter which rock the man had crawled under.

Eliot felt bitterness burn his tongue. A name had never been dropped in the meeting, only that Abstergo had sent out Hunters to retaliate against being jerked around by a new annoyance. Yet there was a way William Miles had mentioned it that made him suspicious of otherwise. They tracked every move of their enemy outside of the Abstergo building with surprising ease and depth. How could they not have known? How could they have stood by and done nothing during the three hours the Hunters spent in the woman's apartment? On whose orders did they stand by and let an innocent woman die? And for what?

"They can't protect everyone in the city, Matt." He hardly believed his own words, but he needed to get the elder sibling calmed before he did something rash and stupid.

"They could have stopped them! They could have burned Abstergo to the ground! But no, they keep playing this game of cat and mouse while good people get tortured!" His voice cracked, breath shuddering. The break was coming.

"A direct assault won't help Emma, they could kill her if they went with a direct approach."

The fury raged again, but the pain in those blue eyes tore Eliot to his core. "She's already dead! There's nothing to rescue but a corpse!"

It was the words of a man in pain, the words of despair and heartbreak, he didn't mean it, couldn't mean it. Eliot felt something inside snap regardless and his fist connected solidly with the Marine's face.

"You don't get to say that," he snarled, taking a step forward as Matt regained his balance. "She's alive and she needs you to not go doing anything fucking stupid while your judgement is clouded!"

He tensed, waiting for the retaliatory hit that he probably deserved.

It never came. Matt deflated, backpedalling to collapse into the recliner, dropping his face into his hands.

"They tortured her. For three hours." His voice broke, choking out as his shoulders shook. Eliot relaxed, blowing out a breath and moving to stand next to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I know," Eliot sighed, giving the man a gentle squeeze. Nothing would be enough to lessen the hurt, nothing could make this better. "But we'll get the ones responsible. For her, for Emma."

"Will we?" Matt sounded utterly defeated. "We've been at them for months, Eliot, months. And what do we have to show for it? Nothing. We're no closer to finding Em and Jessie is dead."

"We'll make them pay for it, I promise. If I have to spend the rest of my life going against these assholes, I'll do it." A bold promise, but one Eliot knew he would stick to. How could he continue on as a regular beat cop, writing tickets and arresting car prowlers when he knew something so much worse lurked overhead? How could he pretend he was making a difference if he didn't take on the people who weren't afraid to hurt anyone? No, he would follow through. As much as he loved being a cop, this would be worth losing his badge over. For Emma, for Jessie, for everyone these people had hurt over the years. "Our big break is coming, I can feel it. We just have to keep our heads and not do anything rash."

His phone chirped and he glanced down at the message that popped up. "Your dad wants us to meet him downtown. Are you up for that?"

The older man blew out a heavy breath, rubbing his face. He didn't look up for anything. He looked like what he needed was a long vacation a long way away from here, but that wasn't going to come anytime soon. "Yeah, just...you drive."

Eliot caught the Camaro keys moments before they hit his face and nodded, turning to get the old machine fired up and give Matt a chance to compose himself.

The black beauty looked like she was in desperate need of a wash and wax and the cop amused himself by imagining the disgusted look Emma would have on her face if she could see her car right now.

Engine rumbling to life, he took comfort in the fact that at least this was working as she always had, complete with a slight rattle to the driver's side air vent. He remembered commenting the week before she disappeared that she should fix it, but she'd only given him a laughing smirk and said she liked the quirk. His fingers found the vents, mimicking the motions she'd often do almost unconsciously, snapping them open and closed. One of the vent bars was missing, probably the source of the rattle if it had fallen back. On a whim he twisted until the missing bar was over the bottom and stuck his finger inside. Of course he felt nothing, he'd already checked that spot.

Matt came out of the house, lingering to lock the door. Eliot hooked his finger and rotated the vent back around to its usual place at the top. His knuckle scraped against something metallic on the side. Brows pinched, he leaned over to look, scratching his nail over the spot. It caught on something, pulling up whatever was stuck against the sidewall of the vent. He'd checked the bottom, but who the hell would think to check the side?

"Clever girl," he mused, a genuine smile stretching his lips as a key slid into his palm, the sticky tack that had held it in place sticking to his skin. Matt slid into the passenger seat, raising his brows at the little piece of metal. "Not a clue what it goes to, but it could be the break we need."

Matt took it, twisting it back and forth. "It looks familiar, but I can't place it. Maybe Dad knows?"

"Good thing we're going to meet him then." Eliot pulled the car out onto the road, taking the back way to get to their intended destination. It was longer mileage wise, but it avoided the heavily trafficked city center more than a direct shot.

They presented the key to David the moment they stepped out of the car, explaining where they'd found it but that neither knew what it went to.

He stared at it for half a second before barking a laugh and shaking his head. "Christ, girl."

"I take it you know what this opens?" Eliot leaned against the Camaro's hood, hope swelling for the first time in ages.

"It opens a locker, but not just any locker. One at a warehouse by the pier, the one the McRory Family used to use to store their books."

"Didn't the whole company go under when you took down the family?" Matt asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

David nodded, tossing the key into the air and catching it. "Company did, but they couldn't get out of the land lease. They're still locked in for another three years. Warehouse has been sitting empty since the take down."

"Well then, instead of standing around here like a bunch of fools," Eliot swung the Camaro keys around his finger, "let's go find out what our girl left for us."


Captain: Dun, dun, duuuhh! Our modern boys are finally on to something, but what is it that they'll find? Will Emma and the gang get to Masyaf in time? What did ya'll think of Emma's little theory about Al Mualim's master plan from the start? I admit, it is my own personal theory/headcanon that I got after playing the game and wondering just why the heck Kadar was ever there in the first place. Yes, I know Malik was technically not yet a Master Assassin and was there to get field experience from Altair, I pushed him up to Master to make his upgrade to Dai less of a jump, but that still doesn't answer why one so low in the ranks like Kadar would have been on a mission of such importance. And I mean, there's no way Al Mualim wasn't aware that Altair was an arrogant dick back then. Coincidence? I think not!

Reviews are much loved and appreciated! Next chapter we reach the end of the game, woo!