Author's notes: Dear lord, it scares me how fast I wrote this, I was just so insipred after buying a new Muse album called Shobiz, but anyway.

OMG 50 reviews for 4 chapters!!! That's 12.5 reviews per chapter!!! Thank you all so very, very mcuh for all the suppot and helpful criticism. Honestly, I know I really suck with the errors and grammer (and tenses, sorry, sorry) but I've taken it all on board and I'm trying to break bad habits! (such as using so many italics. God, that button is so tempting!)

BTW, it was PBandJam who gave me the idea for the theasarus, I'm very sorry for the mixup, and thanks a bundle, it really helped!

Warning: This chapter contains violence and bloodspill. Be warned, it's kinda gory.

Blooded Floors

The darkness in the house was almost painful on my eyes. I thought I could see Adham in lounge, and tried to reach out for him, but was pulled back by my arm, the hand around mine tight and dragging me as I stumbled up the stairs.

Tugged into my bedroom, my hand was released, I could feel the heat of the man beside me and I edged closer to it, my eyes seeing spots as they tried to adjust in the gloomy room.

"Altair, what-" But he hushed me, I could just about make out his silhouette in the darkness. His head, almost like that of a bird turned, cautiously listening as the clamour of armour got nearer, and my heart clenched.

Behind him, I grabbed the robes on his waist, trying to pull myself back to earth and rid the dizzying feeling in my head. He walked back, pacing me with him and into the corner of the room, two walls as my protection and then the man, his back like a wall all on it's own.

Save for the sounds of moving armour, nothing else could be heard. It grew, and then stopped, quickly followed by low murmuring. I could feel the rise in Altair's chest, his breathing low and controlled, where as I was on the verge of hyperventilating.

My heart skipped a beat when a knock rattled the door to my house, then again after a few seconds. A shout, then a crash as the door was bust open. He hushed me when I whimpered, burying my face into his robes, my fingers clenching tight in the strong material.

Thunder rumbled in my chest, my pulse fierce as my blood raced at terrific speeds. Footsteps, downstairs, and then a shout.

"Come out, woman!"

That, in it's own way, was my death sentence.

So I prayed. Fucking hell I prayed. I begged, pleaded with God to spare me, to save me, to make all of this go away. I clenched my eyes tight, terrified cries threatening to fall, my limbs were shaking. I could swear the beat of my pounding heart was audible, and it would guide them to us.

Maybe they would stay downstairs, I thought. Their loud, beastly footsteps thumped against the tiles of the kitchen and lounge, I couldn't hear any sounds to indicate Adham's presence, perhaps they…

"Check upstairs."

By then, I stopped breathing. I couldn't remember how to. Time was moving too slow, as the footfalls hit against the stone stairs, and I was pressed further into the corner, shielded by Altair's taller, broader frame.

Light pooled into the room, followed by two guards, no, templars, the crusaders carrying torches and swords. The flickering flames danced around the room. One of them made a noise, calling the other's up, while the guard nearest pointed his sword at Altair, who was still so calm, his breath even, his shoulders tense.

"Give up the woman." He spat. "You're out-numbered."

I stared, wide eyed at the guards from under Altair's arm. He nudged me gently with his shoulder, so I let go of his robes. Two more men marched into the room, the one at the back dressed differently to the rest, his armour under-layered with robes of deep red and purple.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his accent hard to place, stepping forward, "if it isn't one of the assassins. Let's make this easy, shall we? Give up the woman, and we may just spare you the pain of trying to protect her."

His voice was deep, booming, and when his grey eyes met mine, I felt a fear like I had never known. They spoke of just how he was going to kill me. I was shuddering in terror, and Altair stayed silent. He shifted, rolling his shoulders back, arrogantly cocking his head to the side, as if beckoning the opponent forward. I gasped when the man drew his sword.

"You fool. Five of us, against just you, and a trembling woman?" He chuckled, the firelight against his back giving his armour and unearthly glow. "Last chance to leave."

He swung the deadly blade, threatening and cocksure at the same time. I plastered myself against the wall, my heart lodged painfully in my throat, begging God to be spared, to save me, save Altair.

How do soldiers and warriors do this? How do they fly into battle, so true, so sure of themselves? How do they stare death in the face, and feel no fear at all?

I heard sounds, and it took me a second to realise they were coming from me. My hands were scrabbling against the wall as if trying to dig a tunnel out, breath coming in noisy, whimpering drags as the man approached, sword down, hilt in hand, smirk sliding easily over his face. The other guards drew their weapons alongside their leader, placing their torches into the candelabra on the far wall.

Horrified, I prayed and prayed, if I was to die now, let it be merciful, please, please don't let me suffer.

A hurried scraping noise followed their footsteps, but they ignored it, staring each other down like animals ready to attack. And no sooner had the man made a move to strike, did a black blur catch him off guard, and he stared disbelieving at my dog, Adham, as he shot in front of Altair, and stood his ground, stopping both men in their tracks.

Never in my life have I seen Adham like this before. Usually a friendly dog, now his glossy fur was on end, his ears down and back, vicious fangs and teeth bared in a snarl, low, terrifying growling rumbling in his throat. His head was down, brown eyes glaring at the men, teeth showing, limbs still, ribs puffed out and proud.

From my corner, I just saw from the side as his pupils dilated and he shot forward. It was short lived, Altair used it as a distraction and forcefully pushed the dog out of harms way, darting forward with speed like I've never thought humanly possible and drove his hidden blade straight through the man's jaw.

I drew a breath when I heard the crack, blood spluttering from the wound, his hand coming down in a swift movement to remove the blade. I think I tried to scream then, but no sound passed my lips, Adham had been pushed near me, and he raised himself up. I threw my arms around his belly, trying to save him from the men who now circled around the assassin, their leader's body fallen and slumped on the floor. Blood slowly oozed out of the hole in his neck, a deep red puddle on the tiles.

Adham was barking, the deep boom ringing in my ears, the shuddering of his chest cavity shaking me, but I held fast. I was transfixed, staring horror struck as each man drove to attack, to kill, but Altair was far too fast, and easily side-stepped their blows, his sword blocking effortlessly, sending sparks as metal met metal.

His mouth was set in a grimace of concentration. One guard surged forwards, but he darted fourth to meet him as their swords struck, one foot hooking around the other, bringing the guard down on his backside. The free hand darted fourth, and grabbed the man's face. I screamed then, when I heard the hidden blade jerk through his head, blood splattering out the back, over Adham's fur who was barking wildly and trying to free himself from my grip.

The second body fell, my eyes refused to tare away from the sight of his blood filled eyes rolling back, mouth open, sword still in hand. Red elixir pumped out from the hole, then receded to ooze, rivers pouring down the man's forehead and into his short hair. I could feel my stomach turning, fire and fear boiling away at my organs.

I made a noise, a sort of horrified squeak at the scene, and he heard it. It caught him off guard. He turned to look at me, to see if I'm hurt, but the action cost him. A sword, quick, hacks at his left arm and he recoils, an angry snarl passes from his mouth. But it is short lived, and the next blow is blocked, the stream of blood rolling down his arm goes unnoticed.

It was almost like a well versed dance. There was no pause in him to think. If there was an opening, he would take it, it didn't matter where it was. Another sword swung, but Altair, far too quick, butted his heel right where it would hurt the man most, sending him too his knees with a strangled scream. His falter was his death, as the sword spurred across and viciously slit his throat, spraying the white robes in a shower of angry red.

I've… never seen so much blood before.

Hell, I've never seen someone being killed before, either. I was gasping for air, my heart, my poor heart numbly beating my ribs with enough force to crack them in two.

And suddenly, Altair didn't seem…

This thing, in my house was no longer made of flesh and bone. What human could cut another down like that, with no expression, with no hesitation or remorse? How can he ignore the pain in their eyes, when he deals the fatal blow, how life leaves them in spurts and showers of red, like obscene flowers, or paintings when they decorate the floor?

By the way he moves, I am almost convinced he isn't human. So fast, he parries the blows with his own sword. The last man is angry, and scared. I can see it in his eyes. But this man… this… He is like a ghost, in his white robes. An animal, mindlessly killing, though it is more like slaughter. He finds enjoyment in this, I think. His last kill, in my opinion was by far the worst.

The last guard's rage was his downfall. Angry, too angry, he lunged forward, bring his sword down, where but a second before was Altair's head. Using the momentum, he grabbed the guard by the sash on his back, flinging him bodily into the adjacent wall. I cried out as he brought his sword, thrusting it swiftly though the man's abdomen, pinning him against the stone brickwork. I could hear the blood curdling in his lungs as he expelled air, hands spasmodically grabbing at the hilt of Altair's sword, who only drove it deeper at the action and twisted it, until there was a crack and a chocked scream.

And as the man looked around the room, at the three fallen soldiers, at Adham, at me, I could see his shock, his fear, his reluctance to die.

But it was too late.

The sword was wrenched free, Altair stepped back as the man crumpled to his knees, hands covering the wound, his eyes wide at the floor. The life left him in a pained roll of his eyes, turning them back into a milky, red-shot white and he fell, face forward into his own blood.

I could feel heat rising in my throat, burning, I gasped and choked for air, Adham still barking loudly. He soon calmed to a whimper, but I did not. The blood stained sword was sheathed, hands, robes an array of splatters, dripping. He is not a man.

He turned to me, and in my terrified, confused state, sat whimpering on the floor, scratching at the stone wall, hurting my fingernails, my free hand still clinging to Adham, who was nudging against me in an unspoken comfort. But I was far from comfort.

Something… something passed over his features then, but I couldn't register it. He tentatively reached out a hand to me, approaching but I cried out, squashing myself against the wall, my dog moving forward to block my view, his fur soft against me, his heat radiating.

I was shaking, violently, trying to keep the contents of my stomach down, trying desperately to stop my tears from falling.

It was… so horrifying. The image would be forever burned into my mind, I don't think I can just forget what happened here, the screams… the b-blood.

The man… the monster.

He slowly drew his hand back, shaking his head, and wordlessly picked up two of the bodies, slinging one over his shoulder like a bag, the other secured tightly in his arms. With a grunt, he carried them both down the stairs, and out of sight.

Returning sometime later, he took the two other bodies, the fallen men, back down the stairs.

I don't know where he took them. I don't want to know.

How did I get here? I can't remember, and why I was here, I still didn't know.

On my knees, I was scrubbing the blood off my bedroom floor. I can't remember when I started, but I didn't intend to stop anytime soon. My arms ached, the water puckered my fingertips. It was late morning now.

So much blood…

With a sigh, I dipped my towel into my bucket of water, wringing it out, watching the tendrils pour back in a murky mix of red and brown. Bringing the towel back to the floor, I scrubbed and scrubbed again, feeling it heat up with the amount of force I was putting on the tiles.

How many men did Altair kill? With his level of skill, accuracy, speed and ruthlessness, it suggested a lot.

At first I was shocked, terrified, now I was…

I was pensive. I prayed.

How could I think of him as a man? Just a few short hours ago, I was talking with him, smiling with him. Funny… how quickly things can change…

Hah, my life has never changed so quickly, so dramatically in such a short space of time.

Assassins are trained to kill. That statement unnerved me, exactly how do you train someone to kill? How do you tell a man to take a life, and assure him that it's alright, that it's allowed? What do you have to do to a person to get them to kill?

What has happened in his life to make him so… hollow? Hollow like his hood. Empty, gaping countenance, there is no man underneath.

Something must have been torn from him, to make him act so viciously like that. His blows were not merciful, they were violent, they were angry, they caused as much pain as humanly possible. Why?

Never in my house… has someone died. I scrubbed harder, but the blood rolled away from me, defiant.

Sure, the men who came to my house searching for my husband rough-handled me. They threatened me, they hit me once or twice, but my husband protected me, along with other men from the town. But those were just brawls… this was…

I can't live here knowing there's bloodstains on the floor, on the walls. Blood is the essence of life, along with the heart and the head and the soul, so knowing that people lost so much of that precious essence here, in the room where I sleep… I didn't want to think about it.

Funny… just hours ago I was so… so happy, so hopeful. What happened?

It was useless cleaning with dirty water. It merely spread the filth, but I couldn't bring myself to go downstairs and get another bucket. I was cleaning, almost ritualistically. But the blood wouldn't come off, it just rolled in different directions. It would be here forever, not just a physical mar on the house.

The stench turned my insides to jelly. Like copper and water and… people. It was scary.

I heard footsteps, I glanced around at a pair of shoes at the doorframe, and flinched. I couldn't look up, I just continued scrubbing, even though it was going nowhere.

Bastard, what did I say about shoes in the house? How dare he dirty my floors…

Perhaps I was loosing my mind. My heart felt dull and heavy in my chest, my mind wrung like the filthy towel I was "cleaning" the floor with. My broken thoughts scattered everywhere like dust in the wind, I couldn't think, I could only clean. It was getting me no where, fast.

How did it turn out like this? Surely, God is merciful, for I couldn't have possibly sinned that bad.

It was nothing to him, he did this too often to let it disturb him. But I, a witness to it for the first time, was horribly disturbed by it, such violent kills.

He watched me for a moment longer, then walked near. I was twitching with every slow step he took, still cleaning, head down. I couldn't meet his gaze.

I didn't want to.

God, why? What did I do to let this happen? Should I have intervened? Should I have tried to stop their fight?

"Stop it." He said quietly, curtly.

I shook my head, scrubbing harder, hurting my hands. My eyes stung.

"Stop it." He bent down, trying to take the towel from my but I wrenched it free. His hands, quick, strong, darted out and caught both my wrists, making me drop the sodden rag. He hauled me upwards, but I was too drained to stand properly.

How did I get here? I can't remember.

Falling against him helplessly, he let go of my wrists, catching me as I slumped against his chest and sobbed, my hands fixing tightly in the material. Low groans emitted from my mouth, streaky tears pouring down my face, finally released. His hold was strong, the material warm against me.

I've never witnessed a single act of tenderness from this man, and yet he held me, strong and true, genuine. His fingertips massaged circles into my back, his chin resting on my head.

Somewhere, beneath the hood and the bloodstains, there is a man, I convinced myself. Words were not needed now, he simply held me as I cried my eyes out, burying my face into his robes, every part of me shaking. Everything from the past few days, the fear, the hate, the worry, the terror broke through the walls of my quiet demeanour, and I cried. Yes, somewhere, behind the blade and sword, there is a man.

I pitied him.

I was so tired, so drained from everything that has happened, and then sudden realisation that this was only the beginning. I must be strong to things like this, but I couldn't be, not now at least.

I sagged, my mind foggy and drunk with repressed emotions and sadness, fear. It felt like I was falling, but I hit something soft, he picked me up in his arms, and carried me.

He carried me to my bed, tears rolling down my temples, so terrified, but I couldn't move. Placing me on the squishy, cold bed, he pulled the duvet up over me, my eyes felt too heavy to open up in protest. Only sleep mattered then.

God, how did this happen? Was it… punishment? I couldn't have possibly sinned that bad, for this to happen. Those men… perhaps they don't have to suffer anymore. God forgives, God always forgives the helpless. I know they were here to kill me but… they didn't stand a chance.

How did I get here? It doesn't matter. Only sleep mattered.

I awoke to the feeling of fingers, treading softly through my hair. It was warm, so blissfully, beautifully warm and comfortable I didn't want to wake up. Somewhere in my sleep, I lost my duvet, but it was warm.

Blearily cracking an eye open, it was dark, a candle flickered in the corner. How long was I asleep? The hand previously in my hair, it belonged to Altair. He sat on the edge of my bed, his robes cleaned, his face pensive, almost sad.

He noticed I was awake, and gently tried to remove his hand from the wavy strands, but I reached up and grabbed it, begging him to stay.

Yes, the skin was warm, it was human. Not a monster.

Everything was beginning to fall apart on me. My husband was gone, possibly dead, four men were killed in my house and I fear I'm falling in love with a dangerous assassin. Who could easily snap my neck if he wanted to.

His eyes met mine, tired, a weariness I've never seen before, the colour dark and too difficult to make out in this light. He squeezed my hand, reassuring me he wouldn't leave. I looked down, my eyes fixing on the intricate metal plate on the right side of his chest.

"I'm so sorry."

He stilled, searching my face for an answer.

"You have nothing to apologise for." His voice was low, gentle. I never thought he could sound so gentle before.

I kept my eyes down. I was sorry, sorry for everything that happened, sorry for my weak, foolish tears, for my terror of the fight, for my refusal to look at him, even when he protected me.

God… He protected me. And it hurt, because I hated him for killing, and yet it was to protect me. How could I?

"Look at me." He said, voice soft and commanding. His hand left mine and cupped my cheek, thumb brushing off my brow. I met his gaze, and he looked so unguarded at that point. Open. "You have nothing to apologise for."

I stifled a cry, by biting my lip. My hand was on his wrist, I nuzzled my cheek into his hand, so desperate for comfort.

"How did you do all that?" I whispered, solemn. I was asking how did he kill, how did he hurt so much?

What happened to you, Altair?

"It is my mission." He answered, his brows furrowing for a second. He adjusted his weight on the bed, his hand still warm against my face.

"You killed them." I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, my heart sinking deep down, almost like it was in my stomach.

I watched as he looked away, to the corner of the room I was cowering earlier.

"They were… they would have killed you. I didn't want to kill them, but under the circumstances… it had to be done."

He was genuine, his mouth set in a hard line, the light of the candle dancing shadows against the white hood.

That hood, like a mask or a wall that held the truth underneath.

"I know."

He swallowed, turning back to look at me again, and said, "I should be the one apologising. I… You shouldn't have seen that. I should have just gone with my instincts, and left you on the roof."

So he made a mistake, did it really matter? I was safe now, I didn't want to think about it anymore. It was far too tiring. Though I doubted I could forget what happened, the least I could do was forgive. I couldn't stay angry with him, not after he tried so hard to defend me.

His left hand cupped the other side of my face, eyes staring intently into my own, as if searching for something. The aching sadness burned at my eyes, rolling hot tears down my cheeks.

"I'm so sorry." He said. "I only wanted to protect you."

His words were meant to stop me from crying, but I was far past that point. He was genuine, and it registered in me that it meant something, a double meaning. He… wants to protect me? No one has ever wanted to protect me as much before, enough to kill…

Why did it ache? Why was it the most painful, and wonderful thing to hear?

Perhaps there was a man underneath that hood, behind that blade.

He must have built so many walls around himself, walls of arrogance and cocksure attitude and defiance. Walls of silence and anger, of steel. I pitied him even more, especially now that his walls were crumbling down at the sight of me crying, holding his hand, as he tried terribly to explain his conviction.

His thumbs circled the apples of my cheeks, rough, but soft, warm. He was so unguarded now, it almost scared me, for I have never seen the man like this before. His eyes slid down my face, searching, expression furrowed and deciding. He moved gently closer, and my heart sped up.

"I'm so sorry." He said, his breath tickling my chin, face hidden so much in shadow all I could see was the hood.

He lowered his head, softly brushing his lips against mine, a ghost of a touch. My heart, weak from the events still managed to beat heavily in my chest. My hand tightened around his wrist, eyes searching in the darkness for his, but I couldn't find them.

He pressed further again, lips against mine, I could feel his sharp intake of breath through his nose, I much the same. God, it was so warm, so wonderfully warm, and I was still so tired an drained, but nothing could compare to this, this heat.

My heart fluttered, tears forgotten and cold on my face, the mouth against mine caressing, so slow, so wonderfully gentle. Lord, I could have never expected anything about this man to be gentle.

Soft, feather light brushes were planted on my lips, they travelled to my jaw, down around to my ear, where he expelled a breath into my hair.

"Please forgive me." He whispered, needy, desperate, and… sad.

He was a little broken then, I think. He didn't expect me to get so worked up, so upset, and it broke his heart. At least that's what I thought. He messed up, and he was sorry.

I could forgive. How could I stay mad, after that, after hearing him so fragile? I brought my arms up, wrapping them around his shoulders, my fingers brushing softly against the back of the hood.

"I forgive you." It was said almost like a prayer, and he pressed a kiss to my neck, gently before he rose, detaching my arms from his shoulders.

Yes, his walls were built again, I helped provide the mortar this time. He was guarded again, but I was happy for it. He only wanted to protect me, if that meant by building walls around himself, so be it. As long as he stays safe, that I don't distract him anymore.

I think he smiled, only slightly before he got up and quietly left the room, his lingering warmth still present on the bed. I pulled my duvet back around me.

Please, Lord. Please help him.

Author's Notes: OMG YAY all done! I was really excited writing this chapter, and to those who my not have believed her thoughts while watching someone being killed, I'm sure watching somone die in such a violent way is enough to fuck ANYONE up for a long, long time, especailly if it's at the hands of someone you care about. It hasn't happened to me, but I'm trying to get into the mindset.

Thanks for reading!