Okay, I decided to redo the last part mainly because yes, I did make Maria more of a housewife instead of a tigress. I didn't know what was going through my brain when I wrote it, but now I fixed it and hopefully made it sound more believable.
Glorious, was all Zahara could think as she looked over the wall of the garden to gaze at the setting sun to the west. Admiring the many hues and colors that nature chose to show her, Zahara felt a true sense of peace, but also a pang of unease.
What will I become? What is my destiny? The sixteen year-old woman thought. Her father wished for her to marry soon, for she was no longer the scraggly girl he remembered her to be.
Glancing down to her ring finger, she tried to imagine what it would like like with a piece of cold metal that she would have to wear for the rest of her life. She hated wearing jewelry. When she first tried wearing a necklace her friend Aamina gave her, it poked at the skin of her neck, sent chills up her spine, and just felt too uncomfortable and gave her the feeling of being choked. The result was the removal of said jewelry and a slightly disappointed Aamina.
Why is it so important that I marry? She sighed, bringing her head down to where it rested in her hands, Zarif and Haytham are lucky they are men...and true Assassins...
Zahara glanced back down to her ring finger, wishing that it was a nub like what her brothers had. She wished...just wished that she could strap on the Assassin gauntlet...to claim more than one life...to earn praise from the Order...but that would never happen. For she was a woman, chained down by nature to keep her from performing acrobatic stunts and by society for simply having the losing end of the fifty-fifty chance in the womb. She had no idea how her mother managed to break the chains. Perhaps because she was born a free-spirit. But Zahara was no free-spirit...at least she thought she wasn't.
Zahara was a woman now, perfect for bearing children, beautiful to any man who saw her, and, her quiet nature was something any man wanted from a wife. She has told herself hundreds of times over that this were not true, that she was not a meek kitten that cannot mewl...she was deadly to any man who dared to touch her...
A shudder suddenly engulfed her as the memory of her first mission at Damascus nearly a year ago crept back into her mind. To think, if she was unarmed during that encounter, she'd likely be lying dead in an alleyway right now instead of that Templar...
Because of that mission, her father has permitted her from venturing out of Masyaf, simply because she was an Assassin and a beautiful woman. Why though? What use is a spy if she could not venture out and collect information? And besides, she proved herself to Altaïr that she could defend herself when she produced the dagger to him, still coated in Templar blood. But that still never changed anything. She was to be a doll for the rest of her life now and not the spy she sought to become...
"Sister? What are you doing out here so late?"
Zahara's thoughts were interrupting by her twin's voice. She looked over her shoulder to see her brothers Zarif and Haytham making their way over to her. The handsome young men were dressed in traditional Assassin attire, coming complete with weapons of all kinds strapped to easily accessible areas. Haytham's face was completely hidden underneath the Assassin hood, but Zahara already knew what the eighteen year-old looked like: he now looked just like their father, save for the scar on the lip... Haytham had a scar that stretched the length of the left half of his face that he earned by being too careless during swordplay with one of his friends. He had a dark complexion to all his features, from his brown locks that bounced just below his ears, his hazel eyes that strangely inherited mother's spark of ferocity, a hooked and shadowed nose...everything was like Altaïr when he was younger...arrogant, handsome, unemotional...
Zarif, being her twin, shared the same aspects from their mother; black, curly hair that he cut short in a similar fashion to their father's, challenging yet calm grey eyes, and of course, their more prominent European features such as rounded jawlines and low cheekbones. However, both had tanned Arabic skin and the hooked nose of their father.
Her face sunk slightly when she realized why they were dressed for battle. A message arrived not too long ago, and her brothers and another assassin were called upon to meet Altaïr. She removed herself from the wall and embraced her brothers, tears threatening to spill over, "Be careful out there."
Haytham did not respond to her affections like she expected, but then again he never did play as 'big brother' to her. At least Zarif gave her a loving pat on the back and that was reassuring enough for her, so she then turned away from the men and continued staring out into the horizon.
Even if they were excellent assassins, she still heard the silent thuds of their boots and clinks of their weapons as they walked away from her, I could walk more silently than them, she thought with a sudden rush of anger and jealously. Making sure that none were nearby, she angrily stormed off towards the highest tower where her family slept.
Making her way up the many flights of stairs and down long corridors, her attention was suddenly drawn over to a stream of light underneath the door of her parent's room. Curious, she gently opened it and peaked through the crack...
"Altaïr, how could you just send our inexperienced sons away to do the mission?" she saw her mother pacing across the room, a scowl crossed over her face while her father sat on the edge of the bed, kneading his forehead and obviously frustrated.
"Maria, our sons need experience if they wish to become leaders of the Brotherhood. Besides, this mission is crucial and who would be better to send than our sons, who mind you are top of their classes, and Malik's son? All three are extraordinary assassins -"
"That does not mean you can send them away behind my back! I birthed them, I share their blood just as they share yours!"
"Maria, listen to me -"
"I will do no such thing until YOU listen TO ME!" Maria stormed over to Altaïr, who was now standing up and towering over his wife with equal defiance. "Haytham may be strong, but Zarif is not! You said it yourself; he is the scholar, not the fighter."
"Well, what would you want me do? Zarif needs to understand his birth-right and this may be the perfect opportunity for him." Zahara could sense the tension in the room. And even though her father wasn't shouting, there was an unmistakeable hiss to his voice.
"Well, for starters, you could tell me what you plan to do before making a decision that could potentially kill our children or worse! And speaking about our children, what about Zahara? She's only sixteen and yet your already offering her hand as if she was the latest rug in the market!"
"Must you be so adamant on my decisions?" Altaïr hissed through gritted teeth.
"That doesn't answer my question, you pot-belly swine!" Maria snarled, "Ever since that incident in Damascus, you've been hiding her in this damnable fortress! You and I have spent years training her in the art of stealth and battle, how to keep her senses aware -"
"Don't you see that she could have been raped and murdered?" Altaïr interrupted. He was losing his patience, but still managed to keep his composure, "Do you think I do not love my daughter as much as you do? I'm trying to keep her safe! If I marry her away right now, she would stay here and care for her children and not risk her life -"
"Collecting information that could prove valuable to the Brotherhood? Honestly Altaïr, you're acting like a constipated goat right now! You saw the dagger she gave you -"
"Among the bruises, love-bites, cuts -"
"You insolent man! Need I remind you that Zahara is alive?" Maria drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself before continuing, "She can take care of herself and does not need the shadow of her father looming over her all the time...you know that she is not the average woman."
Zahara noticed the tension in the room had lessened considerably. She then heard her father sigh, "I know she is not, Maria...perhaps giving her hand to marriage is not the best idea and would be a waste of her skills..."
"Altaïr, listen. Don't let one near-death change your opinion about your daughter. She was born with your luck to survive, you know."
Altaïr chuckled in slight agreement. There was a long pause in the conversation, before finally he spoke again, "Fine...I'll tell the potential suitors that Zahara is not ready for marriage yet. However, Haytham, Zarif, and Kadar are probably riding through the kingdom by now."
"I swear, husband, that if my babies come home with even a scratch..."
"They'll be fine, Maria..." he shushed her, before his eyes darted over to the door with a slight smirk.
Maria seemed to catch unto his hint, laughing softly at their daughter's curious nature.
"Zahara, come in here."
I changed it a second time, adding more detail and even my view of Altaïr into the matter. Well? Fixed? Better? Tell me in any way you can.
BTW, yes, Malik named his son after his brother...kinda sad really, but I think he would do that.