Captain: Hello from Texas! As followers of NRFTW know, I have been offered and accepted a graduate position in another state (other side of the damn country), so unfortunately updates may fall off again as I get into both classes and being a research assistant. That being said, I give you all a *monster* of a chapter. I did not intend for it to hit 14k words, but it did, so enjoy :D

If you haven't played yet, Valhalla is *wonderful* and Eivor, woo /fansself, he can raid my village any day ;)

Also I have gotten into Star Wars thanks to the Mandalorian being amaze-balls (I know, I'm so late to this party, but better late than never yeah?) and Y'ALL WHY DID I NOT GET INTO IT YEARS AGO?! Prequel movies are terrible meme mimes but young Obi-wan, wooo *fans self again*, and Ewan is coming back for a Kenobi show and yasssss. (Din Djarin fine as hell too, but that one's a given haha), and of course seven seasons of Clone Wars to get through and good gods this fandom is giving me a mask kink. *Ahem* anyway, apologies for the wait, clearly I've been *distracted*, among other things.

As a note, the poll on my profile has been redone, please vote, even if you did so on the old one!

Now onto the chapter and the end of the game!


Emma wished she could say the trip to Masyaf was a heroic ride that raced by in one montage and a rock song, but the reality was far from it. They pushed the horses to a lather and then beyond, every mile stretching out like an eternity before them. Despite the dust kicked up from flying hooves only touching ground long after they were gone, their progress felt slow; like attempting to run in a nightmare, all the effort getting them nowhere. Every step of her little chestnut sent pain skyrocketing from her thigh to her ribs until she thought she might pass out and still they kept going. The day wore on like an anchor, but even as darkness fell only a few hours after their leaving, they pressed on. Limited light forced them to the slow, but still they pushed, following paths known by heart. Pausing only to let the horses drink from creeks close to the road, Emma pitied the animals. But sparing a horse could cost them all their lives, so they forced them to go long after they wanted to stop. The chestnut's head drooped lower and lower, ears bouncing limp with every shaky step.

Malik's bay dropped first, sometime late in the night. Shuffling his pack and hers to drape over the saddle of another, he swung up onto the chestnut behind her. The horse groaned under the added load and the pace slowed to a walk, which barely became a crawl.

The Englishman's roan was the next to falter, barely an hour later. Stripping the saddle but leaving it on the road like they had done before, he gave the horse a reluctant pat before bags were moved and he doubled with someone else, all the reward a dying animal earned.

The rest of the night did not pass any better and they were forced to stop in the wee hours of the morning. Two more horses were left behind and Emma felt progressively more ill with each one.

"Why don't you kill them, end their suffering?" she braved to ask as they dismounted, a white horse squealing as she fell out from under her pair of riders. The mare panted heavily but did not move as the assassins worked to free her of gear.

"That is a choice for each man to make," Malik answered softly, pushing the chestnut's head towards a patch of brush that might pass as edible. "Some do, and many call them merciful for it, for the animal will likely die anyway. Those of us who do not, leave them with the hope that they can recover their strength enough to survive."

A double edged sword, if ever there was one. Ride a horse to death and give it a swift end, or leave it lie to suffer, on the off chance stubborn will to live might pull through. A stark reminder that animals in this era were not pets. They were tools, used until their use was done. A rider who gave them respect was a lucky chance, but even that did not promise old age at the end of the road.

As the little chestnut stiffly lowered its body to the ground to lay by the creek, she hoped it was not a choice she would have to make.

Emma wished she could say they all slept well and the morning dawned with hope, but it did not. Sleep evaded most as the reality of their mission spun about their minds and the horses appeared even more haggard in the light.

"We'll all be on foot by noon." She frowned as an assassin ran his hands over the white mare who refused to stand.

"There is an outpost not far where we will find fresh mounts. Two miles at most," Malik assured her, but it did nothing to soothe the roil of her gut as the assassin by the mare shook his head, softly stroking between her ears and ejecting his hidden blade into her throat. Her squeal gurgled and coughed, large body heaving for three desperate breaths before falling still.

A mercy, but a dark one at that.

The chestnut stood with a drawn out groan, his legs splayed as he took a few unsteady steps.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him as the saddle fell upon his back and tightened. She tried not to see the sad weariness in his eyes, tried to tune out the heavy sighs the few remaining horses released as half the assassins mounted.

Two miles, they just had to make it two miles and then they would be exchanged for fresh animals. Who would no doubt be pushed to the brink themselves. Now more than ever she wished for the ease of the cruiser she and Eliot had shared. Flashing lights and sirens and they could have made it to the city within hours.

Progress with the overworked and overburdened horses was even slower than the night before, despite the five men who urged them from the ground, lightly jogging to keep up. Two miles, had her thigh not burned and her chest not ached with every breathe, she would have been down there with them. Instead she carried her own pack with two more draped over the back of the saddle. The chestnut did his best despite the low hang of his head and in a short amount of time, the four remaining animals were relieved of their burdens and given food and rest.

In exchange for the sorry animals and a handful of coin, the horsemaster of the decent sized village gave them all eight of his horses. Emma grimaced under the hood she'd been instructed to keep up around strangers. One of them was going to be forced with two riders from the start. There was no doubt which horse it would be, either. A massive dappled stallion with legs like tree trunks stamped hooves the size of dinner plates in impatient irritation. A fallen knight's war charger, the horsemaster proudly claimed. An irritable beast but one that could carry two riders as much as a knight in full armor.

From the pinned ears and raging eyes, Emma thought it a possibility the horse was the reason his former master had 'fallen'.

Being the smallest and lightest-and the only woman no doubt playing a part-she was unanimously chosen to be the double rider. With no time to spare over formalities, the assassins divided up the horses and moved their tack over. Emma hobbled to the charger, who snorted in her direction while prancing in place.

'Going to survive assassins, templars, a psycho leader with a magic object, and mercenaries from my own time only to be done in by a horse,' she silently cursed to herself. Fate sure thought herself a funny bitch, didn't she?

The Englishman grabbed the reins, steadying the animal while another tightened the cinch and offered her a boost up. Compared to the little chestnut, the warhorse was an absolute monster. His obscene height put her up taller than all of the others and the sheer power in the quivering muscles underneath her was so very different from any of the other horses she'd ridden in this era. This was not a horse she had any confidence in being able to control.

Not that she'd need to, the Englishman swung up behind her, both hands reaching around to take up the reins. The horse hardly quieted under his touch, but he did turn smoothly at the slightest prompting, snapping at Malik's grey for getting too close.

"A horse bred for cavalry charges, not travel," the Englishman grunted, holding the animal to a barely contained lope at the front of the group as they set out again.

She couldn't help but wonder how long such eagerness would last.

Not long, as it turned out. In only a few miles the charger slowed, dropping his head and falling to the back of the pack. Warhorses, the Englishman told her, were not designed for stamina. They were bred for power and speed and neither of those lasted long on the road. Most knights didn't even ride their horses from battle to battle, they rode much smaller animals for travel, allowing the warhorses to go unburdened until the fighting started.

"I don't even know your name," Emma remarked during a period of slowed gait and lulled conversation.

The Englishman chuckled, shaking his head lightly. "If we both survive the upcoming fight, I will give it to you."

The cop frowned, twisting to glance over her shoulder at the man pressed against her back. He only smiled, flashing her a wink. "You think it'll come down to a fight?"

One that they wouldn't all walk away from, one that he suspected would involve more than just the Master. Emma didn't doubt he was right. Altair may be able to walk right into the castle and confront the Master without incident. Or he could be ambushed from the moment he stepped through the front gates. There was no telling what awaited them and now that he'd said it, no way to know how many-if any-of them would live by the end of it. Certainly if they lost, names would hardly matter.

"I know it will come to a fight, just as I know some of us may take our last breaths on that day."

"Planning for death makes you more likely to find it." She stated, remembering the lesson being drilled into her by her father the moment she expressed an interest in joining the force. Prepare for the worst but hope for the best; if you go into a situation expecting to die, then death was likely to find you.

"Fighting for the freedom of my brothers and the safety of the land is a noble cause to die for, I will gladly greet death, if it chooses to come for me," he answered easily and without hesitation. There was no resignation in his voice, no quiet dread, only peace and acceptance. They weren't just pretty words, he meant them.

"You sound like a Viking."

"A what?" Emma belatedly remembered a tidbit from a show she'd watched once that they didn't actually call themselves Vikings during the time they were active.

"Oh, uh, a….Dane." That sounded right….maybe, she could be wrong but she didn't think so when the Englishman dipped his chin in recognition, his teeth flashing in a grin.

"Those are stories most English try to forget, but I have heard many of them anyway. It is a comparison I shall take as high praise." That grin said something else was hiding behind it, something he found immensely amusing but had no intention of sharing.

With little to do on these rides when her companion decided against sharing, she let herself entertain the idea that perhaps the Englishman was a descendent of one of those England-raiding Danes and that was how he heard the stories. Or maybe he'd simply been friends with one or lived in an old settlement once upon a time.

Either way, she'd be willing to put money on the fact that he knew far more about the people and their stories than she did.

Conversation did not flow easily on the road between the other assassins. What passed between the men were generally orders to move out, stop, or to send scouts ahead. While the Englishman was happy to share what he knew of the people or the landscape when she asked, he remained frustratingly tight lipped about himself or details of the men they were riding with. She had a feeling he was enjoying her frustration, which only further annoyed her on the matter.

Must be something in the water, the men here all seemed infected with the terrible disease of selective nuisance.

Whatever amusement he got from denying her answers and her from trying to pry it from him faded the closer they came to Masyaf. None of the horses had dropped by nightfall, attesting to their better condition than that of the first batch, though the charger was now perfectly content to plod along at the back of the group. They pushed on, assassins somehow figuring out how to actively sleep while remaining upright in the saddle, a skill she only achieved due to the Englishman behind her keeping her trapped in place. Rest came in fits and spurts, the pain in her chest or thigh flaring her back to alertness whenever the horse jarred a step. The Englishman knocked out for almost an entire uninterrupted hour, his breathing steady and even behind her and his grip on the reins slack. The charger did not attempt to test them even for a morsel of dry grass.

Emma lost their location in the dark, unable to make out any bit of scenery to give her a clue of how far they had come. She dared not ask any of the assassins, for the answer was clear on all their faces and echoing in her own heart: 'Not far enough'.

Two horses fell before they found a stable the next morning that didn't immediately balk at the idea of selling every one of their horses for the exhausted beasts they rode. The charger somehow made it, looking thoroughly relieved once they dropped from his back. She had a suspicion he got so far only on stubborn will.

Muscles stiffened and cramped from the endless hours in the saddle left her feeling practically crippled, but she ground her teeth and took the help getting onto the next horse. She ended up behind Malik this time with two other assassins pairing up. The barn lacked the horses and they lacked the desire to kill two more of the others that had barely made it this far. Masyaf had to be getting close, they'd ridden too long and too hard for it not to be. Even if she couldn't recognize the terrain, the pinched strain between Malik's shoulders grew tighter the further they went.

When night fell again, they stopped and made camp far earlier than she expected them to, stripping the horses of their saddles and rubbing them down before turning them to graze and drink freely from the barely-there stream. They drank themselves, resupplying canteens and guzzling while passing about larger quantities of road food.

"We're close, aren't we?" she dared to ask the Englishman as several broke away to lay against their saddles for sleep. Despite the appearance of being in the middle of nowhere and a good fifty yards off the road, their voices were kept low, the tension nearly palatable.

He nodded tightly, gnawing on a hunk of jerky for a moment before glancing around at his brothers. "We will get there midday tomorrow. If luck holds, Altair will do the same."

Her attention perked at once, fatigue and pain fading to the back of her mind. "Has he been spotted?"

He tipped his head, regarding her silently for a moment just bordering on uncomfortably long before motioning a negative. "Not directly no, but one of the horses the stablemaster refused to sell to us because it had just been brought in the day before and was no less fatigued than our own mounts. It could be another assassin in a hurry, but I have hope it was Altair."

A hope that it was him, that it meant he had survived the fields of Arsuf and a confrontation with Robert de Sable, that their best defense against the Master was just ahead of them.

She chewed her lip, the worry of his condition scraping against her thoughts. He had managed to avoid major injury at the funeral, but that hardly meant he'd made it through warring armies in the same fashion. He could be hurt, badly so, he could be in no condition to face down a Brotherhood turned against him. Would he wait? Would he pause to rest and recover, to be at full strength? Emma wouldn't say she knew the man well, but she felt confident in saying the answer to that question would be a big, fat, hell no.

Her eyes turned to their dark surroundings, towards the distant road ahead, straining to see a fire she knew he wouldn't set. Did he know that help was coming in behind him? Or did he believe he was in this fight alone?

"Would it not be better to push on?" She could scarcely believe the words coming from her own lips, but there was no denying that it was the very urge she had at the moment despite her body demanding she not move for a week. "Use the cover of darkness to get into the castle? To disrupt the Master's plans while he sleeps and is unsuspecting?"

Perhaps they could even find Altair if they kept going, regroup with him and hit the fortress with a united front.

Clouds blocked the light of the moon, nearly obscuring the Englishman's light shake of the head. "We cannot hope to find or traverse the path we must take in the darkness, we must wait for light. As much as our training has conditioned us to fight on little and less sleep, the more rest we get now, the better prepared we will be for any confrontations we must face. No, we stay here for the night. Now go get some sleep, you most of all are in dire need of it."

A clear statement as any that she would not get another word from him if she tried, so she slowly eased herself off of the rock and found an empty saddle to lay her head against.

Body aching worse than any time she could recall, she found sleep reluctant to claim her. Thoughts of tomorrow rolled through her mind, a hundred scenarios, a hundred bloody ends. What if they came too late to help? What if they weren't enough to change the tide? What if a moment came that depended on her ability to act and she failed? More than once she wondered if it would not be better for her to stay behind. She was injured, weak, she certainly wouldn't be considered fit for a shift on the force, let alone a battle, and she wasn't even trained in these kinds of weapons. Her bullet stores were low and if the Master had taken control of the assassins by the power of his orb, could the men around her take the lives of their own brothers? Could they subdue them while knowing that their actions were not their own? If they came at them with murderous intent, then lethal force was more than justified, regardless of the situation, but it would not sit well with any of them. What good was her presence when her only weapon provided just one outcome for those she used it against?

She stared up at the dark sky, seeing nothing. Subdue, they would need to subdue the men who were forced against them. In that, she would be little to no help, but keeping them subdued was another matter entirely. Her fingers found the strap of her bag, lightly rubbing against the worn leather. Abstergo had been kind enough to send her back in full uniform, which meant that she had two sets of handcuffs at her disposal. Certainly not enough for every assassin in the castle, but if she used each for two men, containing four just might make a difference when it mattered.

Injured or not, she knew she couldn't stay behind, she just...couldn't, no matter what logic told her was the wiser course. She would army crawl there if she had to.

By the first hint of light in the sky, they were up and moving, saddling horses, checking weapons, and strapping on sheaths. Eight men ready for war.

Malik pulled her aside while the others were occupied with their mounts, his brow pinched. She could guess what he wanted to say.

"I'm not going to stay behind and wait." No sense in burning the time with him trying and failing to convince her otherwise.

He pursed his lips, eyeing her harshly in the growing light. "I know, even if I wish you would, though waiting here is hardly safer than joining us."

Right, lions and raiders, frankly it was probably only a sheer stroke of luck they hadn't come across the latter. They'd taken no precautions when traveling during the day, only at night by avoiding fires. The raiders could know they were there, could be planning a strike or following them from a distance. Out here was hardly more secure than whatever might await them at the castle.

"Will you really fight your own brothers?" she asked softly, shifting her weight off of her throbbing thigh, feeling her chest tighten with every breath, she was in no condition for this, but there really was no other option.

"I pray it will not come to that, but if it means the safety of this region, then I will, we all will." He gestured to the assassins behind them, checking their weapons one last time.

"I have my handcuffs and I know a few knots, I can bind some if they're subdued."

He nodded, lightly grasping her shoulder. "If they are enthralled, the fewer that must die for it, the better."

Turning his eyes to the lightening sky, he dropped his chin sharply once. "We should be off, we have miles to go yet."

The Englishman appeared to help her mount again, swinging up behind her as Malik took a horse of his own and led the way.

"Change your mind about giving me your name before the incoming cluster?" She turned slightly, eyeing him over her shoulder as he forced a tight chuckle while shaking his head.

"You'll get it if I come out the otherside," he repeated, reaching around her to give the tired horse a pat on the neck as they set out at a steady clip.

Emma raised a brow at him. "You think my odds are somehow better?"

Clearly the man hadn't heard enough about how her luck tended to go in this era. The man laughed heartier, the sound rumbling through her back. "Despite your injured state, I believe you to have the best odds of all of us, particularly if Altair is there."

Her other brow joined the first in an attempt for her hairline. "Clearly you know nothing of my track record."

His amusement only came out harder with a tone that said he knew something she didn't and she rolled her eyes. Sure their odds were better with Altair there, but what did that have to do with her odds?

The man behind her, true to form, refused to elaborate or say another word on the subject. Stubborn mule, but she let it go without much of a fight. Plenty of that awaited them ahead and the tension only continued to grow the further they rode.

They left the road before Emma could recognize anything from the last time, though she strained to find the rock that marked the hidden path. Whatever secret pathway they were taking into Masyaf, it was not the one she had taken on the escape.

She chewed her bottom lip, fighting a smile. She'd have to get after Altair for lying about the ways into Masyaf not once but twice. Of course, a castle for assassins, they were bound to have dozens of secret ways in and out, but still, she'd bring it up once this was all over.

If they made it out the other side.

No, plan for the worst but expect the best, they'd make it through, they'd defeat the Master. She'd get the Englishman's name and tease Altair about the secret passages. Then...well then she'd worry about what came next, but she'd have help.

By midday they reached a large river surging out from towering rocks. It appeared to be a dead end. Stripping the horses of their tack, they set them loose into a pen along the water's edge. The old corral looked decades past use, but the gate swung open and shut with surprising ease. Their mounts made for the river that ran through the fence immediately, ignoring the limited grass for a cold drink.

Emma leaned heavily on the cane, working the stiffness from her joints as they started away from the pen and into the rocky hillside, following a pathway that appeared more incidental than intentional. No sun lit the way for them today, clouds rolling thick overhead, setting a chill to the air as they climbed that was more than a little foreboding.

Logs served as bridges over gaping ravines and rocks tumbled down steep cliffs as they stepped along barely-there trails. It would have been a straining trek if she were in the condition she'd arrived in this era in, but in her current state she had to wonder if the trail would beat her before she ever made it to the fight.

She caught Malik eyeing her more than once, but he said nothing, nor did their pace slow.

Heart pounding heavily in her ears, Emma focused on each and every step she had to take, careful to stay on the narrow pathway. The trail utterly intent to stop her before she could make it to the village, but her stubborn determination forced her to push on, keep moving, one more step, then another.

Clanging steel rang against the still air, the assassins around her surging forward towards the sound. Fighting ahead, it had to be Altair.

The pains of her body retreated to the far reaches of her mind as she followed the assassins to an open ledge just beyond the bend in the trail. On her right, the castle loomed into view, and to the left...Altair in the lower reaches, completely surrounded by men he had once called his brothers.

Her breath caught in her throat, choking off any sound she could hope to make as one of the men swung towards his exposed back. Altair turned at the last second, catching the blade with his own. It cost him, taking a punch to the gut and getting knocked roughly back.

Knives whistled in the air around her, flying towards the men below. They struck true, scattering the assassins while leaving Altair the time to pull himself up from the ground. His movements appeared stiff, slow; how long had he been fighting alone?

"Altair! Up here!" Malik called, raising his arm to catch the assassin's attention. His head whipped towards them, his shoulders dropping as he started towards them. Relief, relief that he was no longer alone.

Emma wasn't sure which of them was actually more relieved in that moment, him for their timely arrival, or her in seeing that he was still in one piece. He'd survived the confrontation in Arsuf, he'd made the dangerous journey here, and for now, he was still breathing. Blood coated his robes, but he moved under his own power as he reached them.

"What are you doing here?" Despite the weariness in his body, his voice remained steady and strong, the hood doing nothing to hide the fact his eyes were boring into Emma.

She couldn't stop a lopsided grin from pulling at her lips. "We'd be the cavalry."

He snorted lightly, the sound barely audible as he tipped his head towards Malik. "You picked a fine time to arrive."

"So it seems." The one armed Dai nodded at the bodies behind him, his fingers dancing over the hilt of another throwing knife.

Altair followed his gaze, his mouth twisting grim. "Guard yourself well, friend, Al Mualim has betrayed us."

"Yes, betrayed his Templar allies as well."

"How do you know?" He sounded surprised, as if he hadn't expected them to come for the sole purpose of helping him.

"After you and I spoke, we returned to the ruins beneath Solomon's Temple." He gestured loosely towards Emma and himself. "Robert had kept a journal, filled its pages with revelations. What I read there broke my heart, but it also opened my eyes. You were right, Altair, all along our Master has used us; we were not meant to save the Holy Land, but deliver it to him. He must be stopped."

Emma wondered if it wasn't arrogance that had kept the Templars from revealing the deception to Altair previously. Had they thought they could best the Assassins? Had they believed Al Mualim would fail in his betrayal? Not that Altair's targets had been innocent, but he was not the only assassin out working. How many victims had died because Al Mualim saw them as threats to his plans?

"Be careful, all of you, what he's done to the others, he'll do to us if given the chance. You must stay far from him." Emma flinched lightly, remembering clearly the threat. If he used the orb on her once more, it would kill her.

"We didn't come all this way to sit on the sideline." Even if she couldn't fight, she could help the wounded and secure the neutralized threats.

For a moment, Altair looked as if he were planning to suggest she stay put, but Malik interjected before he could. "My blade arm is still strong and my men remain my own. It would be a mistake not to use us."

He tipped his head in concession. "Distract these thralls then; assault the fortress from behind. If you can draw their attention away from me, I might reach Al Mualim and end all of this."

"I will do as you ask, Dai." Altair nodded in thanks, giving little indication he noticed the status Malik had bestowed on him. If the circumstances were not so immediately dire, Emma would have given the time to appreciate the full circle the relationship between the two men had come.

"The men we face, their minds are not their own. If you can avoid killing them…"

"Yes, though he has betrayed the tenants of the Creed, it does not mean we must as well. We will do what we can." Malik tipped his head towards her and her fingers found the cold metal of her handcuffs. With luck, the men would go down easily and they could save more than they lost.

"It is all I ask. Safety and peace, my friend."

"Your presence here will deliver us both." Malik placed his hand over his heart, bowing his head towards Altair before starting down the hill. The rest of the assassins followed while Altair himself turned to continue up.

Emma paused, grabbing his vambrace as he passed. He halted easily, turning to face her, question and grim determination in his eyes. "You should not have come, injured as you are. If I fail to stop Al Mualim…"

"Shush," she planted a finger against his lips, halting that trail of talk before he could finish it. "You will stop him and walk out the otherside, because if you let yourself get hurt, I'm going to be pissed."

The scar on his lip twitched, his hand capturing hers. "I would hate to tempt your ire."

"Good." She nodded sharply once, feeling the worry that had been gnawing at her for days growing tenfold. This wasn't a Templar knight or even his fellow assassins, this was the Master himself, armed with a magic orb of which none of them knew the limits of. What if he used it on Altair? What if he was able to turn him into a thrall as well? "I...be careful, please."

If any of them could do it, it was him, she had to have faith he would pull through, that this time, good would win the day. His eyes met hers and held, conviction strengthening in his gaze. His grip on her hand tightened briefly before releasing her. "I will be, mind yourself as well. I expect you to be no worse than your current state when next I see you."

He turned his back to her, trotting his way up the hill towards the castle. She watched him go, silently praying to whoever might be listening that they would see it through this. With a bitter taste on her tongue, she trekked down towards the village after the disappearing forms of Malik and the other assassins. She had her own job to do.

The bodies had been totally bypassed by the other men. Regardless of their condition, these men posed no threat. Emma checked for a pulse on each, lips set in a grim line as she found none again and again.

Her chest constricted like a pile of weights rested on it each time she bent to check. She growled to herself in irritation. Fuck those mercenaries and the time machine they rode in on.

A man groaned as she shifted a body off of him. Breath sucking out of her lungs, she froze as clouded eyes met her own. His brow furrowed, hand reaching up to clutch around the throwing knife lodged in his chest. Not a heart shot, but if he was unlucky enough it might have clipped his lungs. Shaking his head, he blinked rapidly, as if struggling to fight off a force on his mind.

He garbled out something in Arabic and Emma could only shake her head. She wasn't a trained medic and there were others that would need to be restrained for their own safety. This man wasn't going anywhere if he was lucky enough to survive his wound.

Tearing the robes from a dead assassin, Emma wadded up the bundle and placed it under his head.

"We'll come back for you, just stay here and rest. Do not pull out that knife." Damn it all, he might not even understand what she was saying if that confused expression was anything to go by, but he made no other move for the knife.

Three more were still breathing, their injuries less severe but still enough to render their threat minimal. Stripping more fabric from the dead, she pressed the robes against the injuries and told the men to stay put until they returned for them. Every one of them stared heavily at her, as if they weren't really seeing or comprehending anything around them.

No doubt this was the work of that orb and whatever dark powers it possessed.

Where had Malik and the others gone?

Stepping down towards the village, dread sank like a ball of lead into her gut. Where were the villagers? Only a few stood listlessly, like puppets hanging from strings waiting to be pulled.

A horror movie, this was a horror movie, and she was alone.

Good going, dumbass.

"He has shown us the Light," A woman her own age sighed, stepping towards her. The action jerking and abrupt, the woman teetering as she paused her advance. Like the men, her eyes were heavily clouded. "He will show you the Light as well."

"No thanks." Emma sidestepped the woman, twisting to keep her eyes on her while not presenting her back to the man several homes down who looked towards them.

"You must, the Light is the Way, the Master is the way." The woman turned, dark hair swinging with the motion and temporarily obscuring her vision. Emma backpedaled, mind spinning. She hadn't counted on potentially having to grapple with a civilian as hurt as she was, she hadn't counted on getting separated from the others.

Damn it all.

The woman cleared away her hair and advanced again in that jerking motion that was unnatural enough to appear truly terrifying.

"Come on," she grumbled to herself, shifting her stance and pulling her walking cane up like a bat, "at least Loki's flying monkeys still moved normal."

Not that that had helped anyone facing down the archer.

Huh.

That might work.

She'd rather try it on an assassin than this woman who continued to make for her, arms outstretched, but beggars can't be choosers.

"Sorry lady, I've no intentions of becoming a minion today." The woman closed in, backing her against the outer wall of a lower level home's second floor.

"He has relieved us of our burdens, he will relieve you of your own. Rejoice in the Light." Her voice crooned, as if delivering a wonderful message, her body stepping into Emma's swing radius.

"Nah, he's just relieved you of your senses." She hesitated. Too much force or hitting just the wrong spot and this woman would die. A choke hold was probably less risky than this. If she just subdued her, restrained her until Altair won the fight, then there was no need to hurt her.

What if he failed?

What if Al Mualim used the orb to take control of his mind?

What if the next person backing her into a corner was Altair?

The woman used her pause to lurch forward with surprising speed and latch onto her shoulders. With nowhere to go backwards, Emma twisted into the woman, throwing an elbow up as she did so with all the force she could muster.

"Sorry," she grunted as she made contact with the woman's temple, the blow knocking her back onto her rear.

Rather than immediately regaining her feet, the woman sat in the dirt, one hand pressed to her head while she stared at nothing. Was the fog lifting or no? Emma couldn't tell.

No time to hang around and check either, the man a few houses down was coming at her now with another behind him. Her fingers found the cool metal of her cuffs on her belt. Save them for assassins or use them to protect herself from the remaining villagers?

Not like she knew where the men she'd come with had gotten to anyway.

The two men came at her side-by-side. Really, even mind-controlled, she expected a little technique. At least the woman had backed her into a wall and removed escape as an option.

Lurching left, she cursed as her thigh waivered, turning her move into a stumble. One of the men's hands came for her, latching onto her bicep. Her left hand palmed the cuffs, turning and snapping them onto the wrist holding her. With a jerk, she pulled him into the other man, slapping the other cuff onto the second man's right wrist as well. They were stuck together, facing opposite directions.

Both men looked at the metal holding them together in confusion, pulling uselessly against it and each other. She was practically forgotten for the moment.

Yeah, mind control really didn't give much room for higher thought processes, clearly.

"What is happening?" A soft voice asked from behind her.

Emma pivoted, facing the woman she'd hit still sitting on the ground, rubbing her head and looking around in clear confusion.

Her eyes were a lovely, vibrant, chocolate brown.

Still….the cop eyed her warily. "Not going to talk about showing me the Light, are you?"

She looked up, startled, her brow furrowing sharply as she looked over Emma and the two men struggling to face the same direction while handcuffed. "What light?"

Emma released a relieved sigh. Score one for cognitive recalibration!

Offering the woman a hand, who returned her skeptical look before taking it and allowing herself to be pulled to her feet, Emma once again cursed Malik for disappearing on her. Now that she knew the tactic worked, it'd make subduing their brothers that much easier and less likely to kill them.

The two men rumbled, fighting each other to both be facing the two women.

"She has lost the Light," one stated flatly.

"We must take them to the Master. He will show them the Way," the other agreed.

"Fantastic," Emma growled. For all their lack of critical thinking, apparently they could tell immediately if someone was under the spell or not.

"What are you speaking of, Saer?" The woman tried to step towards the restrained men, hand outstretched. Emma grabbed her arm, tugging her away.

"They're under a spell from the Master of the castle, they aren't themselves. You...don't remember being under it yourself?" That could spell trouble for the end of all this. If the assassins had no memory of being controlled, how much more difficult would it be to convince them of what Al Mualim had done? They might not all believe Robert's journal, especially if any had grudges against Altair.

The woman looked her over in disbelief. "A spell? Like witchcraft?"

A handful more villagers were meandering their way up the hill towards them. Emma groaned, latching onto the woman's wrist and pulling her up the hill, towards the castle, towards the one place she didn't want to go. "Something like that. I was able to break you out of it, but everyone else wants to put us under it. We gotta go, find a safe place."

If one even existed anymore. The safest place was with the assassins, but she had no idea where Malik and the others had gone. All she knew was where Altair was headed; right towards the Master, right where these enslaved minds wanted to take them.

"Who are you?" Whether the woman was that trusting or simply too baffled to resist, she followed easily, even so much as silently offering to take some of Emma's weight as her thigh struggled to keep up under the strain.

"I'm Emma, I'm a...friend of the assassins trying to stop this." She waved a hand at their surroundings, glancing back and sending up a silent prayer of thanks that the villagers seemed content to simply herd them up the hill for now.

The bodies of the assassins Altair had been forced to drop sucked the air from the other woman's lungs in an audible gasp.

Four men looked up, two struggling to their feet. Emma tensed, the hand not holding onto the other woman shifting to reach for her gun. Even injured as they were, these men could kill her if they worked together.

One of the men frowned, his sword hanging loosely from his grip while his arm pressed against the oozing wound on his side. "I know your face."

His eyes were clear, all their eyes were clear. Emma sagged against the woman at her side, who shifted to take the added weight without question.

Not that the man recognizing her could possibly be a good thing, but at least their minds were their own.

"Does anyone know healing? This man needs attention." She gestured to the one with the knife in his chest, his eyes now closed but his breathing short and shallow.

The three assassins turned to their brother, two shuffling towards him while the first remained where he was. Emma tensed under his scrutiny. Either he knew her from when Altair brought her in or he knew that Al Mualim was looking for her. Neither were promising options.

"You pulled me from the fog," he said instead, his voice dropping into wonder and disbelief.

The latter an emotion that quickly claimed Emma as well. "I...what?"

One of the men assisting the other assassin responded instead. "It was like a fever dream I could not wake from yet cannot now remember. There was pain and it felt as though my head would burst, but then I saw your face, heard your voice, and the fog faded away."

The injuries, the bloodloss, it must have been what knocked the Master's control loose. She just happened to be there as they came out of it. If it was what they needed to believe to not attempt stabbing her, then she was just going to go on and let them believe it was her doing that broke the spell.

So she nodded instead up towards the castle that seemed so far away. "Your Master betray you and tried to control your minds. He set you against your own brothers."

For a moment she thought they might not believe her, that their loyalty and love for Al Mualim would outweigh their absent memories and pressing injuries. The third man shook his head, his eyes on his brother's wound. "I do not wish to believe such, but something I cannot explain happened to me and I cannot ignore that. Terric, your injury is worse, you will stay with Ranulf."

Shakily, the assassin stood, abandoning his heavier sword for his lighter dagger. The one with the injured side did the same.

"Are we the only ones with minds our own?" The former asked, eyes flashing to the villagers forming a line but otherwise not advancing.

Emma glanced back at them, hoping they would not attack the two injured assassins who were being left behind.

"Altair went after Al Mualim. Malik and several others are attempting to distract and restrain the rest of your brothers still under the spell." With cautious steps, Emma started forward, releasing the woman and taking her own weight to start past the assassins and up the hill. She silently cursed herself for dropping the damn cane.

"Might the witchcraft be strong enough to ensnare Altair as well?" The woman asked, keeping pace despite her release.

Emma grimaced, not wishing to think of that possibility, but there was little use in lying. "Yes."

The two assassins nodded grimly and turned as one, starting up the hill towards the castle. At first Emma thought their injuries were slowing them, but no, they were quite deliberately matching their pace to hers, staying one step ahead, weapons drawn, the steel glinting a dark reflection of the clouds overhead.

Emma paused as she passed the two downed men, tipping her head towards the villagers. "A solid blow to the head should be enough to free the spell's hold."

Terric nodded without looking up, removing the knife in one smooth motion. Emma turned away and started again towards the castle, hoping the man would pull through. He didn't deserve to die, not for Al Mualim.

"Ida, you should stay with Terric and Ranulf." The man on her left glanced back at them as they rounded the first bend and Emma had to blink twice at the sudden stiffening of the woman's spine and set of her jaw.

"I know less of healing than Terric. I would rather die today facing my enemy than live the rest of my days enslaved to him." Her voice trembled only marginally with the fear of one facing supernatural powers they couldn't explain. Emma's respect for the dark haired woman skyrocketed.

The assassins did not attempt to argue, the rest of their trek up the hill done in heavy silence. It had been some time since she'd seen Altair head this way, too long. How long had he been fighting? Had Al Mualim defeated him? Enslaved him? Or had the master escaped, like a rat in the sewer? Too many possibilities, too much time gone by. And where were Malik and the others?

"The portcullis is down," the man to her right growled. The cop cursed long and hard in her mind seeing the massive gate dropped. Their way was barred.

Reaching the blockade revealed where the rest of the villagers had gone. They all stood inside the courtyard, still as stone, silent as the grave. As one, their heads turned towards them.

Creep factor of a thousand.

"Is there another way?" she asked, looking around for hidden doors or footholds. There appeared to be none.

"Yes, but it is not an easy path when wounded." Of course it wasn't, why on earth would it be?

"Are you well enough for it, Hazm?" The assassin asked the one clutching his side.

The man sucked in a deep breath, held, and released it slowly. "I must be, Farraj, for the Brotherhood."

Farraj dipped his chin once and turned, striding towards the right of the castle and what looked to be a very steep drop to a river below.

Emma quietly groaned to herself. Another goat trail, because apparently all of the assassins in this era were part cat or something.

Ida did not hesitate to step out onto the trail. Where was this woman the first time she'd come to this place?

The cop followed, turning so her injured thigh was against the stone walls of the fortress. After all this, she was not going out by falling off a cliff.

The trail did not go far, bending just long enough to be out of sight of the main road before abruptly coming to an end below a small window. Hardly bigger than most bathroom windows, it seemed impossible a fully armed assassin could hope to fit. Farraj motioned for Hazm to go first, hoisting his brother up enough to reach the window ledge and lean in to pull himself the rest of the way. Once through, Farraj sent Ida up, who slipped through with surprising ease. Emma sucked in a breath, bracing her good leg in Farraj's waiting hands. The window appeared before her, Hazm on the other side, grabbing her arms and pulling her through quickly. Stone scraped against her chest.

Hitting the floor, she cleared the way for the assassin to help his brother in, cursing as she rubbed at her abused bruise.

Whatever part of the castle they had come into was not one that Emma had been to before, but as the two assassins led the way up twisting stairs and dark halls, the unassuming door at the end opened into a familiar entry room. The door slid easily shut behind them and Emma glanced at it with a start to realize it was disguised as a scroll shelf.

A pulse whipped through the room crowded with villagers and assassins alike. Emma felt a crackle roll across her skin, the three around her shuddering in tandem. Everyone else in the room were as puppets whose strings had suddenly been cut. Their postures slumped as they shook their heads, rubbed their faces, and looked at each other in utter confusion.

The spell had broken.

Altair had won.

Heart surging into her throat, Emma left her stunned companions and shoved her way through the crowd towards the back gate that was inexplicably shut. She recognized the women of the garden pulling each other into hugs, cradling their temples.

Altair had to be in the garden. Would Al Mualim not have wanted a spectacle in a place he could return to whenever he desired?

She couldn't see him from the closed gate, but fresh splatters of blood were clear as day on the stones out there. Jerking on the metal proved fruitless. It was locked.

An assassin stood nearby, crouching down as he rubbed his temples. A key hung from a strap on his wrist.

He might react defensively. She didn't care. Reaching down, she grabbed the key and ripped it from him, the cord catching on his vambrace for a breath before releasing as his arm jerked with the movement. He looked up, startled, but slow, her attention already on fumbling the key into the gate lock.

"Emma! Praise, there you are," Malik's voice cut through the crowd. Relief fluttered across her heart. He was okay, he'd made it through.

The key caught the tumblers, turning and releasing the gate to swing wide. Emma stumbled forward, breath catching in her throat. Al Mualim lay in a growing pool of blood, unmoving, still as death; the dragon reduced to nothing more than an old man. Altair stood several feet away, white robes stained worse than before, but he was standing. He was alive.

It was over and they had won.

They won.

Knees buckling in the surge of emotion that overcame her, she let herself fall heavily against the stone banister overlooking the scene of death below, breath coming in shaking gasps.

They won.

Malik appeared at her side, laying his hand on her shoulder before stepping down the few stairs to join Altair, their attention transfixed on the orb and the image it projected into the air above.

Several of the other assassins passed her, their steps jolting in surprise and trepidation at what they saw. Hands reached around her side, gently lifting her back to her feet. She allowed it, leaning into the Englishman as he slowly led her down the stairs.

They won and the men she cared most about in this era were still breathing.

Dragging her eyes away from an obviously injured Altair, she finally looked at the image the orb was projecting. For once not attacking her, the cursed object seemed content to show off a rotating hologram of the world, random locations blinking lazily, like pins on the map, showcasing the whereabouts of...something.

Releasing the Englishman who wanted to move no closer, Emma stepped forward, warily eyeing the orb, wondering if it would attack of its own volition.

Malik sucked in a sharp breath as the globe rotated, crossing the Atlantic this time thought was the edge of the world, and revealing the American continents.

"That's…" she paused, hand pointed towards one of the blinking dots on the east coast, "that's where I'm from."

New York, a damn pinpoint was on New York. But what was there?

A Piece of Eden, this orb was a piece. Did that mean these points were others, scattered across the globe? Did that mean that there was a supernatural magical eightball of death in fucking New York?!

Was it still there? Was that why Abstergo had headquarters there? Hell, was that what powered their time machine? Just what were the limits on these power balls?

She tore her gaze away, finding the assassins totally transfixed by the image. Their entire world views had just been uprooted and demolished, but that didn't change things. "It should be destroyed."

Too much power. It shouldn't exist, it shouldn't be allowed to exist. It could kill, it could control, and others would be willing to do whatever it took to get their hands on it. This wasn't something that could be hidden away, it needed to be destroyed.

"Yes," Altair agreed, his voice hoarse, "but I...I cannot. The knowledge here…"

No, it didn't need a wielder to pull people under its spell. With a growl, Emma ripped off her outer robe and tossed it over the orb. The hologram disappeared immediately, the glow from the ball itself fading under the fabric.

Altair pressed a hand to his temple. Inside the castle, voices grew louder in evident confusion. The assassin sighed, stepping towards the pile of fabric and the orb. Emma backpedaled away from it. If he tried to use it, even without meaning to, it might attack her. Al Mualim hadn't wanted it to kill her, but still it had promised to. Altair didn't know this weapon, it might succeed at its goal before he figured out how to turn it off.

But he did not uncover the orb. Instead, he wrapped the robe fully around it and tied it to his belt before turning to the body of Al Mualim with a grim look. "The Brotherhood will need to know what has happened here. They must be addressed and Al Mualim's body burned."

"Burned?" Malik gasped, "Altair, we know what he has done, but burning…"

Emma didn't know what sort of cultural significance there was to burning a body, but evidently it was a big one here, one that Altair was willing to go through with.

"I know, but I...I do not know the powers of this, I do not trust that it will not...revive him somehow or that this is not just an illusion." Because Zombie-Master would certainly be on par for how things had gone thus far for them. Emma could not blame him for that, but that did not erase the danger of anger from his brothers that did not know the full story.

"Altair, the people...they don't remember being under his control, they won't know what he did." She wanted to step closer, to reach out to him, but the presence of the orb at his hip kept her back.

"I will have to explain it to them, make them understand." He stepped towards the old man's body, as if he meant to do so right this instant.

"Now? You're wounded! If they turn on you…" Malik's hand on her arm cut her off. He boasted a sharp cut across his cheek, but otherwise appeared unharmed.

"It must be done now, but he will not do it alone," he promised, and the assassins at his back stood just a little straighter. This group, this ragtag band of assassins, were the saviors of Masyaf, hell, possibly the world, and yet no one would ever know the true extent, could ever believe the whole story.

"The Brotherhood is in shambles and this will not help it." Altair gestured to the body of their former leader.

Malik nodded, giving the other assassin a meaningful look. "The artefact's influence is broken, but repairing the damage will take time and it may not be easy to convince some of what happened, but we shall prepare the pyre."

Altair nodded, tipping his chin towards the gate. Turning on his heel, Malik led the other assassins out. They would clear the way and prepare the men for the shock they were about to receive.

"Emma," he sighed her name, for the first time true exhaustion showing itself. Fuck the orb, Emma stepped to his side. The fight against the Master and his schemes was over, but there was still the fallout to deal with. Her body begged for rest, but she would help him face what was waiting outside the gardens however she could. His hand lifted, hesitated, then lay softly against her cheek. "There may be fighting left and plenty of distrust, particularly with an outsider. Please, go to the study and wait for me there. I will come to you when I have settled matters."

She opened her mouth to protest, he was going to need all the help he could get! Her lips closed and she nodded. Despite the allies she had made, the Assassins were not her place. They were in chaos and about to be more so. They had to be brought together and fixed from within. Right now, she could do nothing to help Altair but stay out of the way. "Do what you need to do."

Her hand laid over his still resting against her cheek. "See a healer before you find me, you're no good to anyone if you let yourself bleed to death."

He agreed with the slightest tip to his head, his eyes leaving her to track over the body of his former master. Emma stepped away from him, a pressure behind her eyes joining the long list of aches. It could have been worse, it should have been worse, hell, it could still get worse. They were not out of the woods yet, so she stiffly turned and walked away from Altair and back into the castle.

The crowd inside had grown considerably thicker, but they paid her no mind when she came through and made for the climbing stairs. Confusion ran thick on the air and she could barely make out Malik's voice attempting to capture everyone's attention.

Everything could go horrendously wrong if it wasn't all handled perfectly, but once again, she was helpless to assist. An outsider at Altair's side would only tip the scales against him. Perhaps Malik and his men would be enough or maybe even the assassins she infiltrated the castle with would back up what was said. All she could do was hope.

The Master's study was just as she'd remembered it from the last time. Scrolls lined shelves and sprawled across the desk. It looked as if he'd been in the middle of writing one, the feathered quill balanced neatly in the inkpot but the page unsigned. What had it been? A marking of a new target?

She couldn't read it and didn't spend much time trying. The large window behind the desk overlooked the courtyard. Sliding to the floor, she pressed her cheek against the cool glass and watched as a wave rippled through the crowd. Moments later, Altair stepped into view, the body of Al Mualim in his grasp.

Some backpedaled away from him, while others closed tightly around him. Despite her inability to do anything, she narrowed her eyes, forcing focus.

Altair glowed like a brilliant blue beacon. A ring of blue was forming around him, but the crowd was not so solid. They shifted between blue and red, colors muting, growing stronger, mixing into an odd purple as convictions waivered. They didn't know what to think, how to respond, and it would only get worse when he laid the body on the pyre and made his intentions clear. But that pyre was outside of the fortress walls, outside of her sightline. Altair crossed under the raised portcullis and vanished from view, the crowd of villagers and assassins following closely behind.

Emma closed her eyes.

"My lady." She jolted, head snapping up to face who had managed to sneak up on her without making a sound.

The Englishman stood next to her, the right side of his robes splattered red. His sword was missing, along with half of his visible throwing knives. The long dagger was shoved haphazardly into the front of his belt rather than sheathed against his back.

"Why are you here?" She glanced between him and the window. A thin trail of smoke rose above the castle walls. The pyre had been lit.

He tucked his chin, jaw set in a hard line. "If my brothers do not believe Altair and Malik, if they perceive this all to be a coup, they will come for his allies."

She raised a brow in question. The threat was little enough surprise, but she did not expect the Englishman of all people to hide from possible retaliation. He met her gaze with an unwavering stare.

Oh.

The threat that brought him here was not against himself, it was her, the danger she could be in if the Brotherhood turned against them. A lump rose to her throat that refused to be cleared. Of all the terrible things going on in this era, somehow she had been lucky enough to find honorable men in the middle of it all.

"He might need you more than me," she forced out, eyeing the growing smoke cloud as angry voices rose to a roar that reached even this far.

The assassin rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger, his voice weary but his body standing strong and tall. "I know, but we would not have ended the Master's machinations if not for you and we would not have you left defenseless."

"I hardly did anything." There was no use even arguing against being defenseless. In her current state, she practically was, save for shooting someone, and that wouldn't help her long if it really came to that.

He gave her a look that stated he wasn't about to accept anything contrary. "We would say otherwise. Regardless, when I turned back for the castle, I was given strict orders that I will not go against."

Her brows rose in tandem. "Orders for what?"

To play bodyguard? Did Malik really believe things might go so badly? Or was he concerned an enemy might come for her if the Master had shared anything of her origins?

"To get you out of here, should the Brotherhood not be settled peacefully," he stated plainly, as if it were the obvious answer.

Emma pulled her lower lip between her teeth and worried it. "They would notice your absence."

Cocking his head, he regarded her for a moment before offering a soft, sad, smile. "You misunderstand, my lady. I would not simply help you leave the city, my task would be to remove you from the region. We could blend in well enough on English shores or I will return you to your homeland, if that is your wish."

Her jaw dropped, mind scattering a hundred directions. "You would...you would abandon your brothers, your life, on Malik's orders? For me?"

The corner of his lip twitched up for a flash, but sorrow clouded his gaze. "If it comes to that, then it is no longer the Brotherhood I have fought and killed for. So yes, I would do it for you, but it was not Malik who gave the order."

Not...well then who else would? Only one obvious option came to mind, but that hardly sounded reasonable in her own mind. Why would Altair order one of his own men to potentially leave the Order just to take her far away?

An explosion of light erupted from the front of the castle, jerking Emma upright as she looked for a source as the wave of golden beams reached them.

It struck like a train, piercing into her skull, tearing through her mind. The voice shrieked and cursed, raging. "You are ruining it! It cannot happen this way! You will destroy it all, you will destroy him! The ripples, I must repair the ripples!"

Emma clenched her hands over her ears, trying and failing to pull away from the voice, from the presence in her head. The woman's voice screamed her fury as the pressure eased, her claws raking the cop's mind as she was dragged away, back to the Piece of Eden that contained her.

The blonde panted, hands still clutching her pounding skull. Somehow, someway, she'd survived, the presence was gone, the glow of the orb vanished.

"What the devil was that?" the Englishman breathed next to her, on his knees. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose.

Her gaze snapped to the smoke trail over the castle wall. No sign remained of the artefact's use and no indication of what had happened, or for that matter, who had walked away from it.

"The Master's orb. Someone...someone must have used it." Had it been Altair? Had he tried to subdue an angering crowd with it? Tried to prove the Master's sorcery and treachery with it?

What the hell was going on out there?

No crowd stormed the fortress, so they both stayed where they were, barely daring to breathe.

Time ticked by slowly, tension thick in the air as they awaited some sort of fallout from whatever had happened. But the other shoe refused to drop, at least as far as they could see. Emma wouldn't say that they began to breathe easier after the first hour, but she was able to drag her eyes away from the portcullis to give her companion a true look.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, stiffly shifting away from the window. Muscles protested and joints popped at the movement, but she forced her body to do it anyway.

The assassin visibly shook himself from his thoughts before glancing down at himself and his filthy robes. "I am well enough, my lady, nothing that cannot wait."

Using the scroll shelf, she pulled herself to her feet. "All we're doing is waiting, might as well make it productive or I'm going to go crazy thinking of what-ifs."

While she didn't clearly remember most of her time in this study, she was at least still familiar enough with it to know where the water basin was kept for the Master to get his drinks whenever he desired. She held no qualms taking the spare robe he kept close by just in case his had gotten soiled and ripping it into strips. The Englishman raised his brows but offered no further resistance, shifting the items on the desk to the side so that he could perch on the corner.

Though he stripped the belt and weapons, they did not go far from his reach. He hesitated with the robe. "I assure you, it can wait."

But Emma had found something to distract herself with and she was not about to let it go. "Don't go getting proper on me now. Take it off or I will."

Turned out it took both of them anyway, as the fabric clung to a wound on his side that had tentatively crusted over. Water helped to loosen it, but the man hissed sharply under his breath when she pulled the last of the robe free. Fresh blood ran rivets down his side, but the gash revealed itself to be blessedly shallow despite its length. She would almost swear he'd been clipped by an arrow rather than slashed by a sword.

Emma let out a sigh of relief as she carefully washed away the old blood. "I think you need stitches, but it's not terrible."

The Englishman looked down at it. "I have survived worse. A firm wrapping will be enough."

Now that was an assessment she couldn't agree with, but given she had no needle handy, one she couldn't push on for now.

At least the Master's robes had been lined in silk. That should keep the blood from clotting the fabric to his wound. She hoped anyway. Wrapping side injuries was not a skill in her repertoire, but she made due with what she had. In the end, it wasn't going to unravel itself or allow dirt to reach the wound, which was all she cared about for the time being.

"You never told me your name, you know, and you did promise to do so if we both made it through today," she stated, scrubbing the blood from her hands with the last of the clean water.

"So I did," he chuckled, leaning back to eye one of the unfinished letters Al Mualim had been working on.

He offered nothing further.

"You're a pain, you know that?" She joined him in sitting on the desk, straining her ears to listen for anything beyond the study.

Only eerie silence reigned, giving no clue to what could be happening among the Brotherhood.

The man at her side flashed a tired grin. "Not that any have dared say so before, but I believe the sentiment was there."

Yeah, he and Matt would have gotten along swimmingly.

"If you don't tell me a name I'm just gonna have to make one up for you," she threatened.

The man chuckled, reaching behind her for a long stem which he used to start lighting more candles around the study. "You tempt me, my lady, for now I am curious what kind of name you might assign to me."

Damn it.

Emma stuck her tongue out at his back. While initially tempted to call him something ridiculous like 'Buttercup', she decided to roll a different direction. "Fine then, Robin Hood."

He snorted, but now that it was out in the air, the woman liked it even more. He was English, after all, and he did roam around wearing a hood all the time.

"What kind of name is Robin Hood?" he asked, a brow raised as he extinguished the stick and returned to the desk. All around them, candles flickered in the dying daylight.

"Yours now, unless you decide to grace me with your actual name at some point." Not like she'd ever meet the guy who would eventually give rise to that name anyway. For all she knew, the archer was already active in the forests of Sherwood. Either way, she didn't count on the man before her knowing anything about the outlaw that would one day boast a number of movies, shows, and books about him.

"Robin Hood, hmm? I suppose you think you are terribly clever with the hood part."

She pretended to ponder for a moment before giving him a decisive nod. "I have my moments and this is one of them."

Reclaiming his seat, the man dipped his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Very well, then Robin Hood I shall be."

Emma rolled her eyes heavenward. "You really aren't going to tell me your name, are you?"

He flashed her a mischievous grin.

As darkness fell, they drifted from meaningless conversation to silence. Emma desperately wanted to ask how he thought things were going below, but she loathed to bring it up, to remind them both of the tension still in the air, of the stillness of the castle, as if the very stone were holding its breath with them.

Full dark had fallen when the Englishman rapidly took to his feet, his hand falling to the dagger now tucked into his pant line. The hard set of his shoulders rapidly dropped, his stance relaxing as he saw whoever was making his way up the stairs.

Altair reached the platform, his back rigid but looking like a man with the world on his shoulders. Emma stood slowly as his eyes found her.

The Englishman gave a short bow to the other assassin. "I take my leave."

Altair nodded without looking at him, as if he hadn't really heard what he said. His robes were the same she had last seen him in and she doubted he'd seen a healer before coming up here, but it at least appeared that he'd made an effort to wash off his face. He stepped towards the desk, the movement stiff and slow.

Emma intercepted him before he could reach the piles of papers there, standing in front of him and looking up at his shadowed face. Her hands moved of their own volition, reaching up and gently pushing his hood back, letting it fall and expose his face. Exhaustion and pain haunted his features.

Ignoring her probing curiosity, she let the silence cover them, let her arms wrap around him and pull him against her. No words, she simply tucked her chin over his shoulder and held him tight. His response came hesitantly, but the moment his arms surrounded her, they crushed her against him.

Time meant nothing. It could have been seconds or hours that passed before Altair released a heavy, shuddering sigh. "I...I confess I do not know what to do."

Too much weight, too much responsibility, for one man to bear alone. The uproar of the Brotherhood had been quieted for the night, but that did not mean it was over.

"What you do is get some sleep. The problems will still be there in the morning and you'll be better able to face them with a clear head." It didn't even seem possible that the man was still standing under his own power at this point. He practically defined 'dead but alive'.

She felt him wince, but he did not pull away or loosen his grip. "I cannot trust my brothers until this is settled. You should take my room, it locks from the inside. You will be safe there tonight."

Emma raised a brow, pulling back just enough to meet his amber gaze. "Of course I'll be safe, because you'll be there with me."

His brows pinched. She pressed a finger to his lips before he could respond. "To hell with whatever you were about to say. You're practically dead on your feet and will be no good to anyone tomorrow if you don't sleep. Besides, if you don't go, then I'm not going. I'll not have you staying up all night in here."

His eyes scanned her face, looking for any sign she might not be serious. She was. If she had to sleep in the damn chair out here because the idiot man refused to do something so simple as take care of himself, then damn it all, she would.

Heaving a sigh, he nodded, slipping from her grasp to lead the way to his old room. Once there, he locked the door securely behind them before moving to start a fire. It wasn't nearly chilled enough to need one, but she suspected it was more out of a need for something mundane to do. As the fire began to crackle to life, no longer in need of aid, he took a seat in front of it. Soon the sound of the whetstone on steel rang through the room.

As inviting as the straw-stuffed bed was, Emma was not going to go to it until the assassin was there.

Stepping in front of him, she blocked his light, carefully putting her hands on the sword and stone, drawing them from his grasp. He allowed it with a blink of surprise, his eyes tracking her as she set them on the desk. Returning to his side, she took his left arm in her hand, slowly working the laces and buckles of the hidden blade contraption. Altair didn't move, didn't speak as it came free and joined the sword on the table. She moved to the vambrace on his right arm, and it soon joined the blade. Pulling him to his feet, she worked at the belt that held his throwing knives and the strap that secured the dagger to his back. Still he only moved when she silently instructed him to, his eyes watching her like a hawk.

Finally free of weapons, she went for the robe. Altair took half a step back, about to speak. Emma silenced him with a stern stare. Either he was curious to what she was doing or genuinely too exhausted to fight her, either way she didn't care, so long as she got what she wanted.

Now removed of his soiled robes, he stood before her bare-chested, clad only in his breeches. Cuts and growing bruises littered his skin and a thick bandage wrapped across his abdomen. Good, he had seen the healer. Taking his hand, she pulled him towards the bed. This time he resisted.

She rolled her eyes, tugging on his hand again. "You need sleep, you stubborn mule. We both do."

He frowned, glancing at the bed and then her. "I will not allow you to sleep on the floor."

She scoffed with an amused shake of her head. "I'm not going to, that bed is big enough for both of us. It's just like when we traveled together, only more comfortable."

Still, he tried resisting, though the fight was clearly fleeing him. "It would hardly be…"

She cut him off. "I really hope you were not about to say 'proper'. There is nothing improper about sleeping. Now, for the love of God, get in the damn bed already."

Victory. The last of his resistance evaporated and he slowly did as she ordered, though his movements were somehow even stiffer than before. The bed looked a lot smaller once he was in it and with the both of them their shoulders pressed firmly together. It was better than sleeping on the ground and given the events of the last few days, it wasn't long before Altair relaxed against her.

It didn't last.

Emma had barely begun to drift off when he twitched, an unintelligible sound coming from his throat.

In all the nights they'd traveled together, he'd never so much as moved a finger in his sleep.

She sat up, frowning. Hardly any time had passed so the fire still cast off its glowing light. His face pinched harshly into a frown, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Altair?" She reached over, but before she could touch him, his eyes flashed open and he jerked upright. Now she did lay her hand on his shoulder, feeling the feverish sweat that had broken out over his skin. "Are you alright?"

His skin shuddered under her touch. "There will be no sleep for me this night."

If he got up, there would be no getting him back. He would keep himself up all night and not get another moment's rest. Emma couldn't allow that, couldn't let him give up so easily. It wouldn't do him any good to spend the night tormenting himself with his thoughts.

Her grip on his shoulder tightened as he tried to get out of the bed, pulling him back towards her. "Wait, Altair, please, just give it one more chance."

She couldn't know what demons were haunting him, but she knew what it was like to have them waiting in her dreams. Avoiding them never worked. They were patient bastards, they knew they had to be faced eventually.

Heaving a heavy sigh through his nose, Altair rubbed his face before giving in to the pressure on his shoulder and let her pull him back. Sometimes contact could help, but Emma knew that it was a selfish part of herself that wanted to confirm that this was all real, that they had defeated the dragon and that, for now, they were both safe. She let herself be selfish, laying on her side facing him and lightly splaying a hand on his chest. It rose and fell with his breathing, his steady heartbeat pulsing against her palm.

His own hand rose and covered it, fingers curling softly around hers.

She couldn't say which of them fell into sleep first.

Around them, the castle stood in silence and a thousand minds wondered what damage tomorrow might bring.


Present Day

As they expected, the docks hosted a fair amount of activity given the time of day, but the warehouse sat empty, thick chains wrapped around the doors. A light tug on the chains revealed there was no lock holding them in place and the three men soon found themselves standing before the locker bay that was originally designed to hold the workers' lunches and clean clothes. Most of them hung open and empty, some missing their doors entirely. A few were still secured shut, but only one matched the number on the key in David's hand.

"Wait!" Eliot's voice startled the other two, causing the elder Harp to miss the lock on the first try. "Do we know this was Emma? Or that Abstergo hasn't found it already?"

He left it unspoken that the Templar men could have boobytrapped it, had probably boobytrapped it, if they'd already gotten what they needed from it.

David looked at Matt, his brows raised. His son shrugged, gesturing towards his leg. "Doesn't really work for that, all I know is no one is watching."

Eliot didn't understand that interaction whatsoever, but the retired detective took a closer look at the locker before sticking the key in anyway. "It doesn't look like it's been touched in months, but to be safe, you should back off."

Matt scowled, but after only a moment's hesitation, did as bid anyway. Eliot followed, retreating a fair twenty yards to allow the older man to slowly turn the key and open the door.

It swung open with a groan and nothing more.

David reached in, tugging out a duffel that barely fit. He grunted as it came free and the full weight dropped into his hands. Whatever was in here felt like a pile of bricks. Lightly setting the bag on the floor, he held up a hand to stall the two younger men from approaching. The coast wasn't clear yet.

Carefully, he grabbed the zipper, sliding it down at a snail's pace. No wires, no blinking lights, the zipper reached the end with nothing blowing up in his face. Softly lifting the edges, he released a relieved sigh, motioning for the two to approach. No bomb or bricks, the duffel was full of paper. File folders, loose pages, crammed envelopes, and thick notebooks filled every inch of available space in the bag. Immediately he recognized Emma's hurried writing on some of it.

Eliot whistled low as he saw the amount of potential information they now had before them. "We've got our homework cut out for us."

And he couldn't be more thrilled about it. Now, now, they could figure out what the hell it was that had drawn Emma to Abstergo in the first place and why she'd decided it was important enough to launch a car into their lobby but not tell the people she trusted most.

"Let's get back to the house, I'm gonna need some coffee." Matt dragged a hand over his face, reaching with the other for the straps.

"No," David forestalled him, frowning at the plethora of intel before them. "We know the Assassins are keeping tabs on us as much as Abstergo. I wouldn't doubt either is at all of our homes right now, planting bugs to replace the ones we've destroyed. We can't keep this together. We can't risk losing it all if they find out about it. We take a little at a time, each of us. Work through it, stash it, and come back for more. We'll need another location for discussing what we find."

Matt scowled. "That'll take longer to go through and make any connections Em made. She might not have that kind of time."

"They haven't tried to ransom her and they threatened our lives and went after an innocent instead of threatening to kill her to get us to back off. As much as we all may hate it, time is on our side with this. If we take precautions, keep our heads down, Abstergo may believe we're backing off and not go after anyone else. The more we slow down," his eyes tracked to Eliot, nodding towards the duffel, "the less likely we are to miss any more bread crumbs she left for us."

END ACT I


Captain: THAT'S A WRAP!

For the game anyway XD What, did you think this story would end with it? HA! Never. There's still a lot to come! Templars, modern mercenaries, Maria, Abbas, and of course our modern friends! There will still be more canon content, but I'll be deviating more heavily from it the further we go.

Whew, a lot happened this chapter, I *almost* split it in two, y'all can thank TMWolf for talking me into keeping it as one. Please drop a review and let me know what you thought! Love it? Hate it? Got a favorite part? Theories for the future? Hopes for the future? I cherish every review!