A/N:

A/N:

Thank you, guys, for the reviews! It's nice to see, that you read this and liked it so far. I do my best to find free time and write :)

My best regards to shuffle-panda! It will be amusing to compare our stories later on :)) I liked yours as well :D

And the last… Duh the annoying update system at ffNet hasn't changed a bit! Believe me, I saw the mistakes and incorrectly represented symbols in prologue, I even edited the document! But I still see the same in browser /

Mercy in White

--Chapter 1 "Stargazers"--

The sound of thunder woke her from her thoughts. The windows in the room were open, letting in the blessed coolness and the fresh smell of rain.

She looked outside. The deserted streets were glittering under heavy storm, all city-dwellers hidden in the safety of their houses. The smell of promise, of adventure, the smell of freedom ran through the air.

A night not to be spent within the house...

She put on her silk face mask ("Well... Seems like I'm doomed to wear that annoying thing forever... But that was my choice, after all...") and robe, after a brief hesitation buckled the scabbard with her sword to the hip and put her favorite poniard in her leather boot, another one already in its sheath in her left sleeve. "That would do, for the night"- she thought, climbing on the window-sill and out of the room, into the rain.

"This journey is best made from one roof to another" - she smiled to herself, enjoying the feeling of cold water soaking through the black silk, wrapping her in cool embrace, the feeling of wet stone under her deft fingers so familiar and calming.

--

The mission in Damascus was over, but Altaïr decided to spend the night in bureau, either than soaking down to his undergarments on the horseback. Surprisingly, Rafik wasn't against it, even suggested some extra pillows and a colorful blanket.

"Despite his constant grumbling about the disturbances in the city that each of my arrivals brings, sometimes he is a rather understanding man..."

Altaïr set his back against the wall and listened to the sounds of the storm, as the heavy rain little by little made the crowd in the street thin out. His thoughts were wandering from one point to another, until at last he remembered his amusing encounter with a mysterious "assassin" in black a few days ago.

"Indeed, of all the covers in the district, of all hay in the city he has chosen the very same!" - he thought with a chuckle. This made him remember a brief confusing moment later, when his trained analytic mind had tried to combine a certain male appearance (though there was not much of an "appearance", indeed - the man was all covered in black, even wore the black face mask, leaving visible only eyebrows and pale grey eyes) and the strangely soft voice. He would even call this a female voice, but for the abovementioned appearance, more precisely - the lack of certain curves here and there, usually associated with women.

On the other hand, weapon was not the thing, usually associated with women... That man had at least a sword, judging by the scabbard on his right hip ("Right hip? He must be left-handed then... A rare thing among the swordsmen of the Holy Land... "), and also the crossbow and the dagger in sheath on his back. Altaïr didn't know many trained women, in fact he knew none, that's why meeting this stranger in black had aroused his curiosity.

From the Creed's sources of information he learnt, that Muhammed Amir, the Damascus second nobility and, by gossips, one of the biggest slave traders, had been killed the same day he met the "assassin" in black and heard the alarm bells ringing. Killed before the Creed had a chance to announce the white feather for him and a price for his life. It meant that someone was gathering information much faster, and was as good at killing, as the trained white hoods of Masyaf. That was rather disturbing.

"If I ever have a chance to meet that man again, I must learn something, whatever it takes" - Altaïr thought to himself and got up.

It would be stupid to waste such night by mere sleeping.

--

She fled from one rooftop to another, jumping easily, climbing the walls up and down, quietly avoiding those few poor archers left to guard the streets on such stormy night. She didn't know where her legs were leading her, just the pleasure of the night and fresh air and cold waterdrops on the silk of the robe was her guide. The city looked so peaceful and deserted under the heavy storm.

One of the turns brought her to the wall of one of the watch towers.

"The view would be amazing... Hope I won't have to kill anyone to get to the highest point" - she thought and began climbing up, poniard ready in its sheath in case someone was waiting for her on the top.

"This place would be the best to recall some memories, buried in the past long ago..."

--

Altaïr was lost in his thoughts, traveling through the city, hardly noticing the cold rain and wind, the tails of his white robes flying behind him. Since Al Mualim's death everything had changed so much. He never considered himself a thinker, an analytic, a man that seeks answers instead of mere killing, but here he was now - out in the city, thinking about the bits of information he just gathered, calculating the chances and possibilities... With Malik at the head of the brotherhood, he practically became his own master. He still had missions and white feathers that Master gave him, but he gained an opportunity to discuss the purposes and methods, free to do what he thought was best. He was better in tactics and in battle, but he definitely lacked certain patience to control an organization as large in number, as the assassin brotherhood, it was not a secret, neither to him nor to Malik, so it was common now for the new Master to seek advice from his best assassin.

He had no remorse about what had happened to Al Mualim and his own role in it, though sometimes he missed the old man, who took him from the streets and taught him the only craft he knew, wishing everything could be different...

--

She sat on the wooden beam, resting her elbow on one knee, her other leg not very elegantly hanging down over the deserted square, her back against the cold stone of the tower parapet. The rain was letting up, but the light pleasant chill lingered in the air, keeping away the Damascus famous ever-present heat. The raindrops still drummed on the rooftops, lulling her, driving away...

She sighed. No, those memories are hard to be distracted from, once stirred up by meeting the man in white hood... An assassin from Masyaf...

She recalled the chilly air and resonating echo of those narrow stone passages, the magnificent vault of the main hall, the endless bookshelves filled with most amazing pieces of literature she ever got acquainted with... The unbearable heat of the training ring, with its constant jingle of steel and encouraging cheers of the audience in white and gray robes... Her first training lessons, mostly secret...

It's been a really long time... She never thought of coming back, though now the possibility of seeing it all again seemed rather desirable... and unwise... She still had some contacts in the brotherhood, but she had to stay anonymous to most part of them, if she wanted to stay alive. Women were neither allowed, nor valued there.

She sighed again and looked at the clear spot in the night sky above, the stars, quiet observers, always there to watch... They have seen so much, in so many years... Sometimes her life with all risks and adventures and dangers seemed so brief and unimportant under that eternal light...

All choices had been made, regretted or not, and even if she had a chance, she wouldn't change anything.

She had no way back, and all she could do was continue dancing that dangerous dance started long ago...

--

Sitting under the wooden shed on the roof of Damascus library, Altaïr watched the stars above his head. After winning his internal battle against vanity and ambitions and letting go the chance to possess the greatest power in the world, he often thought of the insignificance of the brief human life compared to something that had been born long before the first man ever walked this ground, and will still be young long after the last breath of the human race... It's not like he doubted the purpose of his missions... What else could he do in this life, trained only to kill, hide, eavesdrop and steal? "Indeed, a noble man" - he chuckled.

A lonely slender silhouette against the clear spot in night sky caught his attention. A stranger was sitting on the wooden beam of one of Damascus watch towers... At the assassins' usual view point...

Altaïr got up. As far as he knew, he was the only assassin on the mission in this city. Could it be that same stranger? If so, he was surprisingly familiar with the brotherhood ways of hiding and gathering information about the city for a person not of the Creed...

As Altaïr watched, the silent figure on the tower stood up, reached the end of the beam and dove headfirst, disappearing among the buildings.

"Impossible" - he gasped, jumping from his watching point - "the leap of faith, taught in Masyaf only... Who the hell can this man be?"

If the stranger landed where he assumed, it was only a few blocks away... He could make it within a couple of minutes...

He should not miss such excellent opportunity!

--

A/N: Shame on me, but I can't remember the name of the Damascus bureau leader… (confused) Either it was not mentioned in the game, or I simply forgot it. Anyways, let's leave it just "Rafik" for now, ok? :)