Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Assassin's Creed. All rights go to their respective owners.

Warning: If you don't like cliffhangers, I suggest not reading this chapter until I upload Chapter Twelve and read them together. I think you guys will feel bittersweet about this chapter though.

Keep you in the dark
You know they all pretend
Keep you in the dark
And so it all began

Send in your skeletons
Sing as their bones go marching in... again
The need you buried deep
The secrets that you keep are ever ready
Are you ready?
I'm finished making sense
Done pleading ignorance
That whole defense

Spinning infinity, boy
The wheel is spinning me
It's never-ending, never-ending
Same old story

What if I say I'm not like the others?
What if I say I'm not just another one of your plays?
You're the pretender
What if I say I will never surrender?

In time or so I'm told
I'm just another soul for sale... oh, well
The page is out of print
We are not permanent
We're temporary, temporary
Same old story

"The Pretender" by: Foo Fighters

Thank you to my awesome beta, Believe In Fairy Tales, she is amazing!

Chapter Eleven: I Decide to Get a Backbone

I stormed to my room, sending murderous glares at anyone who crossed my path. They were wise enough to stay out of my way.

I shoved open my door and slammed it shut behind me, falling onto my cot with a huff. For the first time in a long while, I felt the sting of the stigma attached to my gender. Like I was nothing more than a weak woman in a man's world - my ideas, thoughts and inputs didn't matter; I didn't matter.

But no, the Mentor would say of course that wasn't true. The Creed was not about individual people, but working together as a whole; no one person mattered more above the rest. However, the Mentor had made it fairly obvious that, even as a part of the Creed, I wasn't an important one. Why should I put my life on the line for somebody to manipulate and use me for their own benefit? I work my ass off, to be what? A pawn in a stupid game that nobody knows the outcome of? Do we even know what we're fighting for? Do I even know what I'm fighting for?

A soft, persistent knock at my door snapped me out of my tumultuous thoughts. I sat up abruptly and called out a hoarse, "Come in."

Hesitantly, the door swung open and Kinja stepped in with a guilty smile on his face. It quickly disappeared when he saw my expression. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, "I…um, wanted to see if you're okay."

I nodded stiffly, "I am fine. Don't worry about me." I forced a weak smile. "Congratulations on the mission and advancement in your assassin studies."

He shrugged it off and sat down next to me, his movements weary. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're about to cry."

My hand traveled to my eyes instinctively. I shook my head fervently in denial. "No. I'm not crying. I'm fine, really."

"But you're sad… your eyes have water in them," he persisted.

I forced myself to roll my eyes. "I'm not sad. Just…" I trailed off, pausing to think. I was emotionally exhausted from the roller-coaster my life had spiraled into since the Levantine Assassins had shown up. Everything just seemed to compound, and it crashed over me in one vicious wave of unwanted emotion. I choked, "Confused. Angry. I want to scream, cry, choke them, and beg them for this mission, this chance. And yet I know nothing I can do will change their mind. My heart seems too heavy to lift a sword to fight. It feels like my lungs have been filled with rocks and my brain hurts too much to think. I feel like I'm useless; like I'm a complete failure. What have I done to deserve all the scorn from everybody else? Is it because I'm a woman? Last time I checked, I can't control what gender I was born. If it's because I am not the same skin color – I can't change that about myself either. Is it because of my personality, my attitude? What do they want me to do? Conform? Give in and do what they say on command without question?" I snorted and looked sideways at the younger, silent assassin. "Can you believe that I wanted to be a scholar as a kid?" I scoffed. "Me? Sitting in one room all day studying words and math and the world from inside a room? When I grew into the Creed more I scorned my old thoughts - why sit down and question things when you could run around and never have to actually think for yourself? Life was so much easier. Now I look back and think that being a scholar of some sort would've been nice. Then I could have questioned things and learned and not had to worry about everyone trying to make me their slave."

"Save for the Nobles ordering your death for disloyalty to the kingdom. They'd see you as a threat." Kinja's reply was quiet. He didn't look at me.

"As if I'm not now?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

He cracked a smile, "You couldn't fight if you were a scholar."

I sighed, "But I would've been heard. Listened to. And then maybe some people could hear me. Here, I am mute; here, I am one person, but it's not who I really am."

Kinja dipped his head sympathetically and wrung his hands, "But we all fight for a better cause."

"What cause?" I snapped. "Tell me, Kinja! You obviously know something I don't, because in all my years of being in the Creed, I haven't once been told what we are truly fighting for. What is it? Are we fighting over land, weapons, supplies, resources? What? Are we all just dogs for whomever to call the shots? Mindless creatures that attack on command?"

Kinja stood up suddenly, eyes burning. "We all are one. We are all the Creed."

I stood up and waved my hands in the air dramatically, "What is the Creed then?"

He straightened and started repeating automatically, "There are three rules in-"

I cut him off. "That's not the Creed! Those are just the rules that bind us to it! What are all the people? Are we just playing pieces of a person with too much power? And if we are, why does he get the power, why not me? Do I not matter as a person? If I die in the Creed am I just a casualty of yet another blind Assassin or am I mighty warrior, who was sister to all?"

"How can you be so selfish?" Kinja bellowed, fists balled at his sides.

"Selfish?" I repeated in shock before my voice rose in pitch to match his. "Me? Selfish? I have worked my ass off for the Creed with nothing to show except disrespect and patriarchal views that hinder me from reaching my full abilities. I can be great - I know it. I can be somebody worth knowing, a beacon. Somebody who matters! I could achieve so much more if I just knew what the hell I am doing! But nobody in this damned place seems to know jack-shit about anything going on and I find that extremely suspicious!"

"So you're saying that the Creed is corrupt and you should be in power?" Kinja seethed, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I'm saying that I want the chance to be great, just like any man here can! And no, I'm not saying that the Creed is corrupt, I am saying that there is something more going on here that isn't quite right and it's starting to become increasingly more apparent, but everybody in this place seems oblivious!" I answered heatedly.

Kinja crossed his arms and scoffed. "Shut up, woman. Maybe this is why the Mentor doesn't allow you to leave - because you do more arguing than work!"

I opened my mouth to back out at him, but instead closed my mouth with an audible click and gestured towards the door. "Safe travels brother. I pray your mission is successful." I kept my tone flat and cold.

Kinja nodded and strode out the door without a backward glance.

I watched them leave from the rooftops near my room. Kinja was overeager in front of the more subdued Malik and Altaïr. Malik nodded slightly to the other assassins bidding him farewell and Altaïr seemed as distant as ever. I narrowed my eyes at Altaïr. Something was different about him…

It dawned on me as the three of them halted their horses in a straight line facing Al Mualim and the Mentor –

He was wearing the black robes and expensive armor I had given him. For the first time in a while, a smile curved my mouth. I quickly covered the lower half of my face to hide a giggle before forcing my face into a bored, indifferent expression. Still, a tiny snort managed to wriggle free. Kinja looked up at me – he made it so obvious, it was painful. He even turned fully in his saddle – it was if he'd never been taught to use his peripheral vision. I could almost picture his lips turn up in a slight snarl at me and his eyes narrow. Something said he was still mad about last night's conversation, but I was almost certain that he would forgive me while he was away. Rigidly, he turned back around to listen to the customary speech by the bureau leader.

A pang of jealousy flashed through me, then quickly became replaced my sorrow and regret. I was almost certain that my face showed my emotions like a painting. A sharp movement from Altaïr caused me to look at him; his head was cocked to the side and tilted slightly, though he still sat facing straight ahead. Two golden eyes caught the sunlight like coins, directed straight at me. Sure enough, he had noticed the interaction between Kinja and I.

I gave him a small two-fingered salute with a wry smile; I knew he'd probably see my expression with that eagle-eyed vision of his, even with my hood up. He sat up slightly straighter and blinked slowly in return, before returning his attention back towards the rambling old men.

And then the speech was over, and all three of them were racing into the sunset like the good little heroes they were.

I found myself packing my saddlebags in my room with a surprising amount of determination. My final decision had been that I needed a break, to experience the world a little before I decided to get any more caught up in this Assassin business. And if the Mentor didn't like it, well then he'd just have to deal with it. For the second time in two days, a knock at my door tore me from my reverie.

The door creaked open and Amelia and Raan stood in the doorway, both with worried expressions.

They took in my open saddlebags and the various items strewn about my floor and cot. "You're leaving?" Amelia inquired softly.

I nodded stiffly and turned back to packing, trying to stuff a crumpled blanket into my left saddlebag with little success.

She smiled softly and helped correct my sloppy folding. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" I snarled.

She shook her head and chuckled. It was Raan that answered for her. "We figured you'd snap and take a break soon enough. Honestly I'm surprised you lasted this long."

I remained silent and gathered the rest of my belongings.

"How long will you be gone?" Amelia spoke up again in a soft, soothing, motherly voice that she'd picked up while working in the library.

"One month. No more, no less."

"Where?"

I shrugged. "North. I'll end up where I'll end up. It doesn't matter where I go so long as it isn't here."

"Home?" Raan suggested.

I flinched as I thought of Sweden, where I grew up. It didn't hold the best memories for me and I had only gone back once since I was captured, but it didn't seem so much like home, but rather more as a place where I had once lived. "No. Not that far."

They both nodded and it was silent for a couple minutes. Raan coughed. "Well, I will go tell the Mentor that you're leaving. Safe travels, sister."

"Stay in good health, brother." I responded formally.

Amelia tackled us both and gave us one big hug. She was crying slightly, but gave a watery smile to me nonetheless. "Stay safe and be back within a month or I will go after you myself, do you understand?"

I rolled me eyes and smiled. "Yes, mother."

And so, with one final tight squeeze, I grabbed my saddlebag and headed out to the stables.

An assassin greeted me on the outskirts of town. I probably wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't jumped in front of my galloping horse like a maniac and grabbed the reins, swinging the horse and I around quickly. The horse squealed in protest, jerking me in the saddle.

I frowned, regaining control of my horse and looking down at the stranger. The assassin grinned slowly up at me. I recognized him as Rjorn*, an Assassin who liked to flirt with me the second after I had hit puberty. He took all my rejections in good humor and soon became somebody to pass time with, though not exactly a close friend. I tended to find his views of women and humor slightly vulgar, though he was a good storyteller.

He put on a pout much like Raan's. "Leaving me, my love? I'm heartbroken."

I rolled my eyes. This was not going as planned. "What do you want?"

He remained silent and instead diligently handed me a bulky messenger bag with multiple different packages in it. They were lumped together and stuck out at odd angles.

"What do you think I am? Saint Nick? I don't deliver presents."

Strangely out of character, he remained silent and stern looking. "They're not for delivery. Safe travels, sister." With that, he melted back into the shadows without a trace.

I tapped my heels lightly against the flank of my steed and pointed him in the direction I wanted him to go before starting steadily towards a random destination. As we moved slowly, I sifted through the bag.

The first thing I found was a small pouch filled with various precious-metal pieces that could be used as currency - specifically random jewelry pieces and coins and the occasional other valuable metals or gems. There was a lot and I searched for a sign of my benefactor. There was no note at all. I wearily placed the bag back, hating the feeling of owing someone for something… especially when I didn't know who it was I was indebted to.

The second thing I took out was a wooden box that had the same perimeter as a piece of paper, but about as deep as a thick tome, and surprisingly light for its considerable size. Double checking that my horse wasn't going to do anything stupid while I was distracted, I opened up the box. A note rushed out and I scrambled to catch it, my horse tossing his head up in distaste from the jerky movement. I just barely caught it, and brought it up to eye level to read. In neat handwriting, it said:

First lesson: Trust yourself. – M

I glanced down at the simple knife set within the box. They weren't meant to be used for killing people, but they were sturdy and obviously meant for training. In Malik's defense, however, he didn't exactly know that I was leaving and probably meant for me to practice on unmoving targets in the training area.

I moved onto the third thing I saw. It was a firmly closed leather pouch. I opened it slowly. A puff of a soot-like substance arose from the pouch and I sneezed and wrinkled my nose. It smelled like burnt wood and metal. It was powdery and unlike anything I'd ever seen. A small note stuck out from the powder. Soot was smeared over it but I managed to decipher it after squinting. – A clue, my dear.

I shook my head and moved onto the fourth pouch. Inside was a feather - an owl feather, to be specific. A note came out and in shaky handwriting it read – Not all are blind, child.

Finally was there was a simple piece of paper at the bottom. It read: You have allies.

I glanced between the notes and rubbed my temples. This was gonna be one hell of a long month.

*Rjorn – pronounced: Ri-your-n