Beta note: I'll put all my changes in bold so they're easier to spot :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed.

WARNING: (Minor spoiler in this note/ chapter – deal with it people.) I haven't really played Assassin's Creed I, but I know that Ezio gets Altaïr's armor in Assassin's Creed II. So, I decided that this is how he got his armor. I also call the Levantine Assassin's Arabians – do I know if this is correct? No. They could be damn near anything, and I really don't know. Plus, Altaïr doesn't have parents and they look from that general area (I think – I'm really bad at geography). Minor language, minor spoilers. I'm pretty sure that's it.

HUGE THANKS to my beta, Believe In Fairy Tales.

So this is the life they talked about
This is the I can't live without
When the real world crashes down
Oh if they could see me now
When all the dreams are all your own
Turn to nightmares all alone
It hits you right between the eyes
This is the life
This is the life

"The Life" by: Hinder

Chapter Five: Assassins Don't Retreat, They Descend

*Anima's POV*

The walk down the hallway to the Mentor's office had never been more agonizing… not even when I hadcompletely screwed up my mission when I was first starting out. The large doors loomed ominously in front of me, screaming out my impending doom. I gulped and stared at the doors. When they swung open, I jumped about a foot in the air with a girlish shriek.

The Mentor raised an eyebrow. "Anima! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

I glanced at the ceiling, then at the tapestry on the wall. "Um. You know Altaïr? Well, through a series of… unfortunate… events," I took a deep breath, and the rest of my sentence came out in a jumbled rush, "hisarmorendedupintheriver."

"What was that?"

"His armor – it ended up in the river." I forced myself to repeat slower, my expression sheepish.

The Mentor released a deep breath and chuckled, "Do I even want to know how?" I glanced into his eyes - they sparkled with amusement.

"No, not really."I paused before continuing. "Anyways, since I was involved, I wanted to replace his armor for him. It only seems fair."

"Then I suppose you should find work outside of the Creed to acquire funds, yes?"

I felt some slight apprehension. More work. "Of course. Thank you for your understanding." I bowed my head in respect before trudging away.

*(Still) Anima's POV*

Three weeks. It had been three weeks of outside work - plus Assassinationmissions. It was miserable work. Miserable I tell you! I was exhausted. I ended up having to help with chores for not only the town doctor, but also the blacksmith to get a meager discount on the weapons and armor. By the end of it, I was so sick of working I decided to waste my savings just to get the damned armor. And I, being the guilt-riddled perfectionist, decided on nothing but the best for that damned drowned assassin.

Damn my kindness. Nothing but the best gifts, of course.

Maybe I could give him the money and he could just get the damned armor for himself, since I saved his sorry ass. But noooo. The shame I felt from casting his armor into the river made me feel obligated to give it to him myself. I walked down the hallway, sulking internally and cursing my stupidity out. Thesound of voices caused me to look up from my self-berating. Lo and behold, Altaïr and company were striding stiffly down the corridor. The tall Arabian man with thegolden eyes led proudly, closely followed by Al Mualim and whatever other allies hadaccompaniedhim from Masyaf. The only good thing about the situation was that Altaïr was exactly who I was looking for. I took a deep breath and stood in the middle of the hallway with my back straight, arms crossed, and my chin held high.

Of course, the entire assassin group had their hoods up and none met my gaze. Instead, they remained aloof and shoved right past me – like I was a door to barrel through at will. I gnashed my teeth together in irritation, but refused to show any anger because I was a nice, calm, happy, somewhat sane person - not a rudebastard like all the others.

What can I say? I'm rebellious; I refuse to conform with others.

"Altaïr." I called out while turning towards the retreating group. Oh, I'm sorry - Levantine assassins don't retreat. They descend. My mistake.

Said assassin turned slightly. Well, more liked inclined his head over his shoulder and paused mid-step for a moment. I couldn't help but wince slightly as my trained eye caught sight of the replacement armor he wore – it fit him awkwardly, definitely not as well as his original. Assassins had been trained to take in weak points within seconds, and this armor was definitely had its weak spots. It was slightly tight around his shoulders, hindering his movement. It looked completely out of place on him.

"I need to talk to you when you're done." I attempted to make eye contact, but failed. My nose scrunched up in distaste at his rigid posture, literally radiating hostility, "Find me."

He didn't even nod - just turned around, squared his shoulders, and continued retrea– descending.

I wandered around the town outside the main bureau aimlessly for a few hours. It worried me that around the edges of town, poverty and distress were becoming more apparent. These were hard times, and the men that supposedlyput the money into the land stole more than they gave; it wasa vicious cycle that left the middle and lower classes to compensate for the mysterious economical loss. I almost wanted to tell them that it would be okay, that the assassins were on the job and doing their best to help, but they hardly called the 'dealers of death' allies.

Everything was faded and dusty. The cost of living had gone up. Buildings were run down and people were weary. Of course, the rich and extravagant would tell you that the town was flourishing. And if it wasn't, they would say that they'd give more money willingly - purely out of the goodness of their hearts. The people of the town wouldn't accept money from the assassins - they assumed that we would corrupt them and assume something in return. The metallic tang of the irony hung thickly in the air.

Or maybe it was just thesmell of blood.

A weak tug on my gauntlet snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced down at a young child pulling at my armor. I couldn't help but allow a smile to form on my face - the people in the town did not converse with assassins; our existence was ignored, whether it be us scaling up a wall, jumping off a roof, or emerging from the river in full armor. We were invisible to them. They did not make eye contact with us, let alone look upon us. Civilians gave us awide berth when they passed us by. We were considered the lowest class in the town, though we were among the richest and most powerful.

"Hello." I said softly to the girl. I could see the hint of fear in her doe eyes - The Mentor liked it that way. He said that civilians respected and feared us, just as it should be. Though, I never believed that protectors should be feared - we should be accepting and welcoming. The Mentor never left the bureau to see the graffiti on the walls slandering assassins, or knew how sometimes the people spat on our feet when they were feelingbrave, before being whisked back into the thick crowds – that was the only time they acknowledged us as all.

"Money please?" She held her hands out in a begging manner, her expression pleading.

"Of course." I kept my tone gentle and dug through my pouch, giving her a few coins.

"Thank you, Miss Assassin. Gods bless you." She smiled widely.

I couldn't help but laugh, "And the same to you, child." I chuckled as she ran off.

"Bold girl. She needs to learn her place." A voice behind me came from the overhanging rooftop. I whirled around and grabbed a throwing knife on instinct, hurling it at the source of the noise.

My eyes searched the rooftop for the intruder, until my gaze fell upon Altair perched on the overhang. His expression was unreadable. He twirledmy throwing knife between his fingers absent-mindedly.

How in the Lord's name did he catch that? I tried to contain my surprise.I wasn't sure to be relieved I hadn't harmed a fellow assassin, or pissed that not only did he not get injured, but he made my infamous knife-throwing skills look like I was tossing him a ball in the streets like a child.

I wanted to make a sharp comment, but I held my tongue. Instead I chose my words carefully and forced them out through gritted teeth, "I… regret… having thrown your armor in the river. My actions have… hindered… your work here and caused you some inconvenience." I paused, "If you could please follow me. I wish to make amends."

Without waiting for a reply, I spun on my heel and made my way into town. Much to my surprise, Altaïr walked right beside me. I frowned - he was slightly in front of me, as if he was leading me through the crowd. I snapped irritably, "Is that some dominance thing – walking in front of me?"

Instead of answering, he quickened his pace and kept in front of me – as if proving a point.

"Well, this isn't your culture." I sneered.

Before I knew it, I was pinned against a wall with Altaïr's forearm pressed roughly against my throat.

"I will not be treated with such disrespect, novice." The icy tone in his voice and the molten glare in his eyes made me light-headed. Though, my head being slammed into a wall and asudden lack of oxygen might have added fuel to that fire.

"Respect is earned, not given!" I spat. "And I'm a mercenary dammit, a rank eight. Not some worthless novice!"

I was seething, the angry words tumbling from my mouth. I couldn't stop myself, even as I noticed the murderous look in his golden wasn't like he was going to kill a fellow assassin, even if he looked about ready to… Right?

Again, he snarled menacingly. My world was starting to turn grey around the edges, and I finally decided to take action before I passed out.

I kneed him. In the groin. Hard. Hishold on my throat loosened as he staggered away. I wiggled out of his grip and started making my way towards myprevious destination. I was still furious about the slap across the face he had given me at the river, and now all of this. I continued along towards my destination. Five minutes later I arrived. I sighed and scanned my immediate area. Understandably, Altaïr wasn't anywhere to be found.

I let out a deep sigh. The last thing I wanted was to go searching for him again.

"Well?" His voice suddenlycame from directly behind me. Just like before I whirled around, senses on red alert. Somehow, he hadmanaged to sneak up behind me again, making me seem like a complete novice… again! I almost considered asking him how he did it, but my pride got in the way.

Instead, I scowled at him andgestured towards the blacksmith's behind mebefore heading inside.

"Ah, Anima. I'm assuming your taking the fitting today? Did you bring him along?" The blacksmith questioned jovially. He had been loyal to the Brotherhood ever since his brother had joined the ranks of assassins, but had never had the will to join the Creed himself. So he had taken to the forge, instead.

"Yes. Here." I gestured towards Altaïr, my tone clipped in annoyance.

The blacksmith looked him up and down with a skilled eye. "I'll just have to make some minor adjustments…" he mumbled under his breath, more to himself than anyone else in the room. "If you could, ah, just remove your armor so I can get the other pieces fitted?" he asked Altair tentatively.

Slowly, Altaïr complied and I retreated from the room. I re-entered a few minutes later, heading to the back room where the blacksmith was making a few adjustments to the armor.

"I couldn't make the hidden blade for him since I didn't have the measurements. I will give you a refund for it, I'm sorry." The blacksmith apologized.

I nodded in understanding, "Keep the money. Thank you for your hard work - this is the best armor possible, right?" I eyed the armor with a tinge of jealousy.

"Yes, yes. It's lightweight, practically impossible to damage; the best armor in the country, which includes the Levantine bureau too."

I nodded in satisfaction.

I waited outside while Altair fitted the armor on. When he was finished, I took in the shining silver metal on top of his stark black assassin's robes. Despite all of my irritation with the man, a small voice in my head was telling me that it had been the right thing to do. Which really didn't help make me feel any better. That was, until I realized that Altaïr wouldn't do the same thing. No other Assassin would've gone this far to make an apology.

With that, I smirked. Mostly because I was happy that I would've done the exact opposite of what Altaïr would've done. Especially since all the other assassins here seemed to think that they should mimic everything he does, like he had the sun shining out of his ass or something.

Altair removed the armor again andthe blacksmith wrapped it in a soft cloth to hide the shine of the metal and provide extra resistance to attack. When he was done, the blacksmithmotioned me into the fitting area. I stepped in and he handed me the armor. I cast an appreciative eye over it - I had to admit, it suited Altair quite nicely.

"Do you like it?" The blacksmith asked. I shot him a glare. He looked confused before opening his mouth again, "Miss Anima here chose the pieces and colors herself."

Altaïr turned towards me. Perhaps I shouldn't have given him the armor; he looked about ten times angrier than before… the kind of angry that makes people soil themselves involuntarily. "The robes are black."

Oh, that stung. Instead of snapping a retort, I smiled lightly, "I thought the black matched the color of your soul. If it's that big of a deal, I'll get the cloths dyed back to Assassin's White for you later."

"I don't want it." He sneered at me.

Oh hell no. "Keep it. Whether you use it or not is your own choice. I already paid for it, anyway."

Again, I made my retreat, fuming. No, I'm sorry - descending.

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Again, big thanks to my beta, Believe In Fairy Tales.