A/N: Wow. I've done that, at last. Don't kick me, please, I know that the title is way too long! But… It just came to my mind like that, in one phrase.
As usual, thanks for your patient waiting. MusicalSoul, thanks for your kind words! You inspire me! :)
Enjoy!
Mercy in White
Chapter 4 --"Uneasy thoughts and long-awaited decisions"--
"The… flying one…"
Her lips had betrayed her, and she cursed herself and her damned destiny and everything that could have made that possible, meeting that man in such inappropriate, inconvenient moment, as she watched his honey brown eyes widen, surprised, shocked...
"Oh, sure, you can seldom be taken by surprise, like this..."
But it was just a second, no, even less... Just a brief moment between two heartbeats, a moment of confusion and shock, on both sides...
But they both were so terribly skilful, so damn fast...
Staring in those surprised brown eyes, she blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, the scene had already changed.
His hidden blade was pressed against the tender flesh under her lower jaw, his other hand was gripping the left side of her face, tightly, holding her for the last deadly blow.
No more gentle hints and half-truth. His intentions were easy to guess, his face being quite readable at that moment. All his incredible speed and skill served him for one purpose.
He was ready to kill her.
For touching his face.
For knowing his name, when he still knew almost nothing about her.
But she could rival him as equal in both speed and strength, and at that same time her right hand was holding his left wrist in an iron grip, gaining her few saving millimeters, as the tip of the poniard in her left one was pressed under his chin.
A stalemate.
Studying those dark gold eyes, searching for the trace of a human behind those deadly blades and the shadow of the white hood, she gently asked, not even hoping, that he would obey:
"Let me go..."
He growled, and moved fluently, and twisted his left wrist out of her grip, getting up, taking her with him, and the next moment he was already standing in front of her in his incredibly beautiful stance, with his silver-decorated scimitar in his right hand, swaying on the level of her eyes, gracious, deadly...
"Who the hell are you?" - she heard in that growl, and there he went again, moving like the quicksilver, attacking her like a bird of prey that gave him his name...
Only to be met halfway by her sword, her faithful long blade, that held the pressure of the attack of the master assassin, and pressed him back.
Stepping sideways, watching his eyes, she tried again:
"Let me go… Please…"
And, diving under his arm, twisting, jumping aside, escaping his attack, holding back her blade not to hurt him as long as possible, she added:
"I won't tell you anything more. But I won't let you kill me either."
He didn't deign to answer her. Probably, he didn't intend to kill her anymore, after the fury had given place to cold intelligent calculation… Only to strip down her face mask and see the face of so-much-knowing stranger in black, who had dared to distract him with smooth talk and touch him…
Probably, he even wanted to take her to Masyaf alive, to ask the current Master if she had told the truth about her training there…
"The current Master? Who could that be? I thought that after he had saved the remains of the brotherhood…"
Answering her thoughts, the assassin attacked again, this time trying to press her against the wall of the pavilion, gripping her sleeve with his free left hand…
"No-no-no, I can't let you do that… Not now… Oh hell, not EVER…"
And she dove again, trying to set herself free from that impossible man, feeling his scimitar slicing open her right upper arm somewhen during the fight. Pushing his hands away, slipping on her own fresh blood on the stone floor, she flew on the carved pavilion railing and, turning back to face him, gasped:
"Don't look for me, please. If God decides so, we'll meet again. I'm not your enemy, remember that"
And she jumped outside, into the heat of the Damascus daylight, not caring about the guards and archers, waiting in the city, her fury giving her strength to fight them all...
--
To say that he was surprised was to say nothing. Altaïr was shocked. With all his experience, he couldn't have imagined a situation like that.
Slipping on the fresh crimson blood on the stone floor, he reached for the silk curtain, pulled it aside and looked out, to see the black flash at the edge of the roof. The figure jumped across the narrow passage between two buildings and disappeared amongthe statues of the rich households.
And he was left to his own thoughts, alone again, and even more confused than before that brief encounter. This event had left his questions unanswered, and added even more to them.
Why hadn't he followed the stranger? It would be easy, since he was wounded...
Altaïr absently wiped his scimitar with the silk of the curtain and stared at the crimson stains.
He had asked not to follow him... He was as much shocked and confused, as Altaïr himself.
But why?
If what he had said was true, and he was really trained as a novice some years ago, then they obviously could have known each other.
But why was he so shocked?
And then, that crap with Altaïr's scar...
"He was not surprised by seeing a master assassin, he was surprised to see me in particular... As if he didn't expect it to be me..."
Altaïr quickly tried to recall any accidents during him being a novice, then a young assassin... Any possible misunderstandings, grudges, fights...
Thanks to him being self-righteous ignorant bastard most of the time, that happened a lot, and it was useless to remember every conflict... He couldn't recall all names even, but sure, they did remember him...
But then, almost all novices he knew either passed their initiation and eventually survived until the final battle, showing either loyalty for him or dying for Al Mualim... Or passed the initiation, but died during their missions, sacrificing themselves for the idea of purifying the world by eradicatingcorrupt and mean people...
But those were not the ones he needed to pay attention to at that moment...
Those, who didn't get an initiation together with the white hood of an assassin and the hidden blade, usually stayed at the fortress as simple peasants... Of course, there always were bold and proud ones, who dared leaving the Order, though he hadn't heard much about them...
"Damn!"
He clenched his fists, furiously glaring at the clear deep blue abyss of the Damascus sky. That was useless. He couldn't find a trace of that man.
Only maybe...
"What did he say? He had never lost contact completely... And he almost finished his thought about Al Mualim turning out to be... What? The Templar? That's impossible... How could he find that out? Who are his contacts inside the brotherhood? What rank can they have? Oh..."
Altaïr wearily closed his eyes, rubbing the eyelids with his fingers. Another sleepless night, followed by yet another complicated day...
He finally made his way out of the roof garden and turned towards the direction of the nearest city gates. He had stayed too long in this city, longer than necessary... And the only person probably able to help him with his questions was Malik, his loyal and reliable Master, already waiting for his report... He just had to know something...
Altaïr cast a final glance at the carved pavilion, wondering, if everything that had happened there was just a mere dream, and sighed...
"If God decides so, we'll meet again"
Repeating those words in his mind over and over again, he started his long run towards the Kingdom...
--
She wasn't sure at which moment exactly did she turn her way, and headed towards the city gates instead of her own household, being already visible among its less decorated surroundings.
She was angry. Furious.
Mostly, at herself.
At her lips that had betrayed her, saying that long-forgotten name against her will. At her own carelessness and curiosity that had obscured her logic, letting her join that stupid talk… How romantic… Ghosts of the forgotten past were talking to her… Why not accept the invitation?
She snorted.
She was angry at her stupid night-loving nature of a stargazer that had made her sneak out of her own house on such a terrible night, a night that most of the honest citizens had spent at home…
And then, at that damned, damned man in white attire, the angel of death, the living embodiment of cruel mercy…
She had spent many nights and days in faraway land, trying to forget them… The atmosphere, the elegance of their movements on the ring, the proud white of their clothes… She came back and went away again, thousands of times, but his enormous reputation always reached her ears wherever she was. First the angry hisses of the humiliated and offended, then – the ecstatic praises of those, who had survived… Words about his glory spread fast, and wide…
She helped as much as she could. Never mentioned his name when asked, and openly doubted the gossips about his origin and his identity. After all, he himself would never want such popularity for himself and his name. At least, that was the image of the man she had been proud to know long ago…
She never planned to see him again. She always worked alone, and though being a faithful ally for the brotherhood, let only one man know about her much enough to call her by name…
And then, she returned to her rich house in Damascus, refreshed her relations, looked around, took a few minor missions… And there he was… Reviving all her forgotten, bitter memories in one breath…
"What the hell am I doing here?"
Her wounded upper arm was securely bandaged by stripes of black silk torn from her robe, her side carefully inspected, but that didn't help much. She already felt the familiar dizziness that usually followed blood loss and intensive pain. Light-headed and already clumsy, she was an easy target for the armed men on the roofs and the streets. But still, she turned in her tracks, and headed the opposite direction, and there they were, those magnificent ornate iron gates, the perfect image of strength and defense for the innocent city-dwellers.
She knew the man he would seek answers from… It was extremely stupid, but she wanted to prove herself right.
She sneaked across the shadowed alley, joined the group of suspicious-looking men, dressed in rags of different colors, and reached the complex construction of wooden beams, probably left by the repairmen of some rich noble merchant, but successfully serving people like her as a quiet and safe way out of the city. Climbing up, she swayed, as a sudden strike of pain had interrupted her thoughts.
How stupid…
Gritting her teeth, fighting the sharp pain in her upper arm and the dull throbbing in her left side, feeling hot blood soaking her robe, she climbed to the top, then jumped between the thin wooden beams, again, and again, carefully looking for a place to step on, observing the city guards, quite busy with the usual crowd of ragged beggars, and suspicious-looking armed men trying to sneak past the gates into the city.
One more jump, and she was outside, under the city wall, breathless and light-headed, waiting...
The sun was high by then, and its heat was pressing down on her like a thick hot curtain, making her sweat under her black silk garment, and hiss from pain, as the sweat mixed with blood in the wounds and stung terribly, and curse herself.
And then, already carefully hidden in the shadow of the stone wall, behind some forgotten wagon, she saw him, and smiled despite the pain and the dizziness, and weary, because she was right.
Yes, it really was him. Intelligent and curious. Always full of questions. Always ready for another philosophical dispute.
He couldn't let her go without thorough thinking.
He couldn't simply forget that encounter.
He was going to ask someone about her…
A certain someone…
--
With an uneasy sigh Altaïr gripped his reins and turned his back to the city walls. He knew that he was being watched.
He felt that.
"To hell with you, black-clad bastard! Watch. Watch as I go home to find out who the hell you are. Believe me, I'll do that, whatever it takes!"
Not quite sure, why he felt so angry, Altaïr yanked the reins, setting the canter rhythm for his horse, and headed towards the road to the Kingdom, still deeply in his thoughts.
--
She smiled again, watching him pulling the reins and turning towards the road to the Kingdom.
"I know you felt that I was watching you."
Standing there, sweating and swaying, watching him leave, she suddenly thought, that all decisions had already been made. That was surprising, and stupid…
But so desirable…
And she had no other choices left, tired of doing only what was necessary and safe for the whole of her life…
"I'll give you a day of advantage, Altaïr. Only one day. Take the opportunity."
And, using the remains of her strength to climb the wooden beams once more, and jump over the heads of the guarded men in the gates, she finally headed home, to take care of her wounds and think everything over…
--
A/N: Like? Hate? Drop a note! :)
