Part Two

Chapter 4

Jennifer Hernandez:

The streets are as bustling as ever. The people come and go under the setting sun. They go about their daily lives even as a heavy tension rests in the air. Guards patrol the city more heavily, eyes narrowed and shoulders tensed as they go.

More than once, narrowed eyes land on me. They harden when they do, but only for the briefest of seconds before they dart away. The heavy glares don't last too long, at least not from the guards. It's the glares of the civilians that last longer.

They linger, watching me, assessing me. After the commotion of our arrival with a severely injured Abbas, I'm not surprised that they do. We'd made quite the scene arriving as we had. Especially since we had kept everyone from helping Abbas out too.

Factor that in and I'm surprised no one has done more than glare.

Still, glares or no, I keep my head held high as I make my way towards the Masyaf gates. Those who don't glare at me, stare simply because I'm a sight to see. My face is a patchwork of bluish bruises only just beginning to yellow, leaving them a sickly green at the edges.

Ignoring them as best as I can, I slip out of the gates and head towards the stables with only one goal in mind.

Epona.

Basil exits the stables just as I pass through the gates. A chestnut horse trails behind him on a lead, ears perked forward as it goes. Despite that the horses almost towers him, Basil shows no hint of nervousness or fear as he hands the horse over to a waiting Assassin.

"Ah, there you are," Basil says once the horse has followed after it's new handler. "I was going to send word to you about Hafiz's condition, but then I realized no one quite knows where you run off to when Altaïr is away."

"Hafiz? You mean the black one with bits of white?" I ask, ignoring the rest as my heart begins to race. Fearing the worst, it takes a lot not to rush him for answers. "Is he okay?"

"The black stallion, yes. I had the farrier look at him per The Master's instructions," Basil answers, something like worry in his voice as he steps back and nods for me to follow him into the stables. "While there are no broken bones the sprains he has sustained are more than tad bit concerning."

Farrier?

Isn't that just someone who puts shoes on horses? Wait, when you think about it like that, it would make sense he was called to look at Epona. They work on horses' feet, after all.

He talks as we pass by stalls, some empty and some filled with curious horses who nicker as we pass. More than one eagerly paws at their door.

None of it fully registers, though. The stalls and horses pass by in a blur as one word circles around my head, frighteningly real and horribly possible as my eyes land on where Epona stands, one leg cocked and noticeably swollen.

Laminitis.

Horses, for all their grace and prowess, where built ridiculously stupid. Bearing all one thousand plus pounds on only four digits (one on each leg), prone to overeating until they drop dead, and with a surprising inability to throw up no matter what they consume. The ways in which they can die are surprisingly simple.

And Laminitis can be brought on by a number of ridiculous ways. Eating overly nutritious being one of them and bearing too much weight on one leg (to make up for keeping weight off an injured leg) being another. It's why they say a broken leg means death for a horse.

With so much weight and only four legs to carry it, putting too much weight or strain on one leg can lead to a host of horrible problems like bruising, sprains and—worst of all—the swelling of the tissues that quite literally keep their hoof wall glued to their bone.

Laminitis.

Once those tissues start to go, it's a hard-fought battle to recover in my own timeline. I can only imagine what it is like here, where human medicine is practically a horror story.

This is not good.

Not good at all.

"What exactly did the Farrier say?" I ask even though my mind is already racing with all the things I can remember from spending time at my grandparent's ranch and all that I can Google as soon as I get home.

"There is quite a bit of swelling in his right hind fetlock as you can see," he says and yes I can. The joint is bigger than it should be. "This has made him noticeably lame, of course, and his refusal to bear any weight on it had originally made us assume it had been broken."

"But it isn't, right?"

"No, it is not," Basil agrees but there is nothing reassuring in his voice even as he says it. "Despite it being sprained, he is will bear weight on it when made to trot. There is no broken bone, at least."

"At least," I echo, the dread is a heavyweight in my stomach as I watch Epona limp to the water trough. "He's going to need something for the swelling and to relieve the pain."

"Ah, yes the Farrier has already given us a poultice to apply daily," Basil says, handing me a jar of a brownish-red something. "It is a bit difficult to do so, though. Give how much pain he is in, Hafiz is much more likely to kick me than to let me apply the poultice."

"Right," I choke out, wondering just what is in the jar. But not even my level of curiosity is enough to get me to open it. "Well, I got a better idea. Give me some time and I'll be back with something much better than…this…"

"Better?" he asks, doubt in his voice as he takes the poultice back. "This was prescribed by a farrier, what could be better than that?"

"Just wait, I'll be right back."

I can't keep from running as I race out of the stables and to the swirl. I don't even bother to stop as more than one guard yells after me to slow down before I hurt someone.

Google is opened before I even make it out of the pillow pit. The fact that I even had my phone on me to begin with is a miracle I don't take for granted as I climb out of the pit and search Google for anything helpful.

"Hun?" Mother calls, slight concern in her voice as I pass her by in the hallway, nose practically glued to my phone. Which is quite honestly surprising considering I don't know where my phone is half the time. "Is everything okay?"

"What anti-inflammatory is safe to give to a horse?" I ask her even I continue to scroll Google for the same answer. But all I get from it are medications I've never heard of, much less those I can easily get access to.

"I…I wouldn't know," Mother says, something like a frown in her voice as she thinks. "I honestly haven't the slightest idea, but why ever would you need horse anti-inflammatories?"

"Epona's hurt, badly—for horses anyways," I tell her as I Google the names of all the horse medications for something over the counter. It's just my luck that most, if not all, require prescriptions and Veterinary administration. "He needs meds, strong ones."

Should I just kidnap a Veterinarian?

"Try your Grandfather," Mother says as she places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "If anyone would know, it'd be him."

"Thank you!"

I'm dialing my grandparent's home phone in Mexico before she has even pulled her hand away. She walks away then, a small smile on her face as she enters her room. I make my way to my own as the line rings.

"¿Bueno?"

"Grandma!" I answer, relief and happiness in my voice as I hear my Grandmother's soft voice on the other end of the line.

"Míja!" she replies, the same happiness in her tone. It turns her voice softer, sweeter and fills my mind with memories of golden sunsets and bustling market stalls. "¿Y ese milagro? How are you, Míja?"

We delve into pleasantries then. Catching up after months of no contact. I don't mind it. As I listen to my Grandmother's voice, most of the panic ebbs away, but not enough for me to completely forget.

"Is Grandpa there?"

"Sí, sí," she calls from him then, the phone rustling as it exchanges hands.

"Míja," Grandfather answers voice strong but no less fond. Now all I can think about are nights spent by campfires and days spent on horseback. "How have you been?"

"I've been great," I tell him and it's not a lie. All in all, I have been. Extremely so, even with the horrifying attempt on my life. "But I have a slight problem I need your advice on."

"A ver, dime. ¿En qué té ayudó?"

"There's this horse," I begin, struggling to explain without giving out the whole story. "He's lame. His right hind fetlock is noticeably swollen and he refuses to bear weight on it. I was wondering if you knew what kind of medication I can give him that doesn't involve calling a veterinarian or getting a prescription."

"Right hind?" he asks but doesn't wait for me to confirm before he continues, "Why can't you call a vet, Míja?"

"It's complicated," I tell him, embarrassed by the lack of explanation.

"Complicated like your extraterrestrial boyfriend?"

"He's not an alien, grandpa," I say around a groan. Wait, how does he even know about him? "Let me guess, my dad told you?"

"But he's not of this world, right? Doesn't 'Extraterrestrial' mean 'not of this earth'?" he asks, smudge because he kind of has a point in a not entirely correct way—if that's even possible."It was your Mother actually."

And she calls dad a chismoso.

"Really?," I ask, embarrassed. "Can we just talk about the horse and discuss whether or not Altaïr is an alien later."

"Oh, so se llama Altaïr, eh?"

"Granpaaa~"

"Okay, okay. If he allows it without any medication, ice the foot," he continues, getting back on topic. "If not I would suggest DMSO Gel for the inflammation and Dormosedan Gel to sedate him just enough so he'll actually let you work on him. You can probably get both at a farrier supply store if you're lucky. If not, you can probably get some off the internet."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I gush as I rush to my computer to Google both. I stay on the line with him as I do, delving back into talking about my recent adventures now that I know its safer to tell them everything. His ribs and teasing about Altaïr comes back now that he's told me all he's can about the gels. I laugh with him, enjoying the gentle teasing.

"You should come to visit us soon, Míja," he says in goodbye, longing in his voice. It makes my heart ache to hear it so I rush to tell him I will before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

To my luck, the closest horse supply store is only a few cities away. Without a thought, I pull up Kenny's number and push call. While I wait for it to connect, I rush around the room, switching my tunic for a time appropriate shirt and collecting my purse and wallet.

"What's up?"

"Ken! Horse emergency! Get your shit, I'm picking you up in ten," I tell him as I grab my keys and race out of my room.

"…But I'm in your living room," Ken says just as I round the corner and spot him on the couch, Ezio perched next to him.

"Even better," I tell him as I hang up the phone. "We'll take your car, it's faster. Hurry!"

I don't bother to wait for his reply as I step out into the dewy gray morning. Where the sun was setting in Masyaf, it's only just beginning to rise here, turning the world a grayish-blue.

"It's that bad, huh?" Kenny asks later when we're all loaded up into his car and barreling down the almost empty freeway at way past 60.

In California "Speed Limit 60" translates into "If we all go 80 they can't pull us all over" and I think that's so beautiful.

"Oh yeah," I agree even as I continue to Google different stores in case this one doesn't have the gels. "And its already been almost four days since the attack."

"Not to be mean but he probably will not survive," Ezio says from the back seat, lounging against the leather seats as he watches the world whiz by. "Uncle Mario has had to put down a number of great horses with similar injuries."

"Ezio," Kenny warns, eyes locked on Ezio's through the rearview mirror.

"Giving him a fighting chance is better than doing nothing at all," I say, voice strong even though the dread continues to sit heavy in my stomach. "He deserves that much, right?"

"Right."

We make it back from the store, prize in hand, with no incident and only stop long enough to change into Masyaf Era appropriate clothing before diving through the swirl.

Ezio and Ken come with me for moral support. Both of them stay silent, serious in the face of what technically is an emergency as we make our way through the streets. With the sun past setting, the city has begun to settle in for the night. The streets are emptying, so we don't meet too many harsh glares as we go.

"Basil!" I call once I reach the stables, though I don't bother to wait at the entrance for him. Instead, I make my way inside, heading straight to Epona's stall. "I'm back."

"Over here," he calls from the other side of the stable. Meeting us at Epona's stall, he eyes us wearily as I pull out the bottles of gel. "What did you bring?"

"Something to sedate him enough to let us work on him and a much better paste for his leg," I say, trying my best to explain the medication. At the sight of his doubtful expression, I try, "We got it from a Farrier from up north."

Other than a 'hmm' Basil says nothing. I take it as I win as I pull out the syringe of Dormosedan Gel. Having read the instructions on the way back from the store, I carefully apply the gel under his tongue. I make sure to explain everything that I do to Basil so he will be able to do it when I'm away.

"Okay, now we wait for it to take effect," I say as I pat and scratch everywhere I can reach. Epona soaks up the attention, head bobbing happily every once in a while.

"It is not as bad as I assume," Ezio says as he inspects Epona's foot. "It is concerning, yes, but if you can just get the swelling down, I am sure he will pull through. With the way you were panicking, I assume it was twice as swollen."

"It's not?" I ask, eyes locked on the injured foot, taking in swelling. "It looks pretty bad, horrible even."

"That is because you are looking at it with a mother's eye," Ezio says, fondness in his voice as he throws an arm over my shoulder and draws me close. "The sprain is painful, yes, but nowhere near fatal. I may not be much of a horseman myself, but I am sure he would have recovered on his own."

"But Basil—"

"Is looking with the same kind of eyes as you," Ezio says, voice still fond as he ruffles my hair. "He has raised and cared for these horses his whole life, trust me when I say that his concern comes from the same place as yours, so be wary of exaggerations brought on by fondness."

"So Epona will be okay?" I ask as Ezio pulls me tighter into his side, comfort pouring off him in waves.

"Yes, little one, he will."

~oOo~

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad:

He reads the papers late into the night. Once, twice, again and again, until they're engraved into his memory and then he reads them once more. He looks for the differences but not in the words. No, those won't change, at least not the ones on these papers.

He looks for the differences in them.

In Jen and Maria.

They're so alike, so similar he has trouble differentiating them as he reads. He forgets at times, gets so deep into reading the words that he forgets who the entry is about until he can't tell if it was supposed to be about Jen or Maria.

But the differences are there, small and insignificances but he clings to them as something that feels an awful lot like dreads pools in his stomach because he can see it. As he reads the stories about Maria, as he reads his words about her, he can see himself falling in love.

That he does love her.

Or at least his future self will if given the chance. She's just so much like Jen. Brave, adventurous, witty, and beautiful. She has all of the qualities he admires in Jen—all the same ones that made him love Adha—that loving Maria would not be a question of 'if' but of 'when'.

So he clings to the differences, reads them and ingrains them in his brain until all the reason why he shouldn't love Maria are compiled into a neat list. With Templar at number one and Selfish at number two.

Because she is selfish, extremely. So much so that her need to be recognized as something more than a woman, a wife—someone whose only job in life was to cook and clean for a husband she didn't want—had driven her to abandon her family.

To disgrace them as she ran from her obligations as an English Noblewoman and all for what?

Honor?

Glory?

Where's the honor in working with people hell-bent on destroying the way of life of the innocent? How is their glory in kidnapping and enslaving the poor?

Selfish.

The word burns itself into his brain and he clings to it as he struggles to remember why he can't love Maria despite everything he reads.

But the more he reads the harder it gets.

The more he sympathizes. The more he understands why she was driven to such extremes. As he reads he begins to realize that she'd been misled. That she'd never been told the full extent of the Templar's plan.

That even as Robert de Sabe's right hand, he'd never delved into the full truth of their cause. And even as light had begun to be shed on the truth of their mission, it had been loyalty that had kept her at his side.

Because out of everyone in her life, it was Robert who had first supported her. Where her family had turned away and shunned her, Robert had welcomed her with open arms. He had accepted her as she was, feisty and with the call for adventure running through her very veins.

Where Jen's family had welcomed her need for adventure with open arms, Maria's had been curbed. Suppressed until running away had been the only option left. He can't even imagine what he would have done if their—his and Maria's—roles were reversed.

If he had been the one stuck and unable to run, to ride, to fight. The need for adventure is like fire in his veins. Impatient, needy. It demands the weight of heavy metal in his hands and the pounding of his heart. Nothing is as satisfying as the 'clang' of two sharp blades meeting, of the thrill of perfectly blocking your opponent's swing.

Expect maybe the feeling of steel slicing into skin. Of the give of soft flesh under harsh metal. Of the slick feel of blood gushing forward, painting everything red, staining once shiny steel. Of pained groans and whimpers slowly fading away to deathly stillness.

If Maria's need for adventure is anything like his, he's amazed she hadn't run away from home earlier. If he had been as restricted to pursue his interests as she had, he would have run from home well before his eighteenth birthday and definitely before he could have been married off.

So he sympathizes for her, despite wishing elsewise. The more he reads, the more he realizes he could love her. If given half the chance, he would love Maria just as much as he had Adha, if not more so.

But he doesn't.

Not when Jen occupies his every thought. When his love for Jen surpasses anything he had ever felt for Adha. He can't love anyone else, not when his only reason to do better, to be better, sits with making Jen proud.

He could be all the things he was—callous, arrogant, violent, ruthless, murderous—but none of it would be worth seeing the pain and disappointment in her eyes.

Even while the words in front of him paint a love for Maria that would be greater than anything he ever felt for Adha, he knows that he won't ever feel it. Not anymore.

His very reason for being has changed.

It's no longer the thirst for blood and need for destruction and death that drives him. Despite how eagerly he once sought it before, the feeling of his blade sinking into his latest target doesn't bring the all-consuming satisfaction as before.

It doesn't lessen the need in his veins. Nor does it alleviate the tightness in his chest. It only grows. As he sinks the white feather in the pool of blood of yet another victim, his chest throbs sharply.

Was this death necessary?

No, nothing drives him like Jen.

A/N:

Hi! (Giggles nervously)

Look, there's a chapter...finally...and its' decently long (3,600+ Words) so no hard feelings, right?

But seriously, I'm sorry for the wait. Life has been one hell of a ride these last few months and my muse ran away with my will to live (I'm only partially joking here [good mental health is not my forte]) but it suddenly came back, in the middle of the night, of course. So I stayed up all night to present this masterpiece to you guys (I wrote this instead of sleeping). Hope you guys liked it!

Thank you for reading!

P.s. I'm sorry for the mini Horse Hoof Care Lesson but I didn't pay $200+ for the class to not talk about it.

(Disclaimer: Well, I had my fair share of interaction with horses, I wasn't actually raised around them so all I've written is what I attempted to learn in my classes. If I got anything wrong, I truly apologize. It was a hard class to pass.)

Spanish Translations:

"¿Bueno?" - "Hello"

"Míja!" _ "My child!"

"¿Y ese milagro?" - "And this miracle?"

"Sí, sí," _ "Yes, Yes"

"A ver, dime. ¿En qué té ayudó?" - "Let's see, tell me. What doI help you with?"

Chismoso - Gossiper

"Oh, so se llama Altaïr, eh?" - "Oh, so his name is Altaïr, huh?"