Note ~ I'm really taking this story at a mix of paces, but above all, I'm trying not to rush it. So, just bear with me if you can. It's just no fun if I jump around like a spider and miss all of the goofy details. Hence, this chapter. :P

Thanks again to all of you who have favorited, subscribed, and reviewed! You're making this a lot of fun for me and I hope you're having fun reading it! ^.^

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"Whatever you want to call it, it's still a bad bandaging job."

"Oh relax, Brother. You're just upset because you let yourself get hit by a couple of Templar lackeys."

Altair glared at Malik through his muddy irises, debating on whether or not to smack him. "I didn't let them hit me, Malik." But it was true. He had been careless and Malik knew it.

"Alright, Brother. Whatever you say," Malik chuckled, patting Altair lightly on his shoulder that wasn't smothered with bandages. "In any case, you're lucky neither of those arrows did any real damage or you'd be turning to a new profession right now."

Altair admired Malik for many things, but his ability to endure and live on after tragedy was what stood out the most. He had lost his brother and his arm because of Altair's own pride, and yet on he laughed, accepting the hand fate had dealt him like a leaf swaying in a new breeze.

The two were sitting casually in Altair's quarters. It was early in the morning as the sun told them, peeking through the balcony suspiciously. This newborn light reminded the assassin of his previous recollections of Al Mualim, and he could not help but bring them up with his friend.

"Malik, do you think there is a way to balance emotion…with focus?"

"What do you mean, Brother?" Malik asked, startled by Altair sudden deepening tone.

"I often find myself feeling violent outbursts of emotion while I'm trying to concentrate. It is…distracting."

He shifted uncomfortably about the small cushion he was sitting cross-legged on. He did not want to admit to feeling unreasonable hatred towards that strange girl's captors.

"That is only because you are fighting for something, Altair. What is an assassin if he does not have a goal worth defending? A light worth heading towards?"

"He is nothing, a tool meant for carrying out his master's bidding."

"Exactly, Brother. Just as we all were for Al Mualim. But you were different. He made you believe you had something to fight for, but his motives were false. Still, it was that fire that burned within you that made you defy his rules and pursue the truth. Do not be afraid of such emotion, Altair. On the contrary, you should embrace it. It is what makes you human."

"Then how do I mingle it with my skill to prevent more mindless failings in combat?"

Malik laughed shortly, "You don't."

"What?" Altair snapped, frustrated. "No, Malik. I think there is a balance…"

"Oh there is, Brother, but it involves a considerable amount of practice."

Altair raised his eyebrows, ushering Malik to continue.

"If you completely cut yourself off from your emotions during combat only, then you will be able to focus more clearly. It is that simple."

"And yet so difficult?"

"Yes. Very few men are able to cut themselves off, then lapse back into feeling like that."

Altair thought for a moment, gazing out towards the brightening mountains. "Thank you, Malik."

"Anytime, Brother," Malik smiled good-naturedly.

"Any word from our search parties?" Altair asked suddenly without turning his head.

Malik paused, "Quite anxious, aren't you?"

Altair ignored him and patiently awaited a response.

"It has only been a few hours, Altair. They probably haven't even reached Damascus yet."

"I see."

"What are you planning on doing if they find her anyway? You still need time to recover."

Altair did not answer and chose instead to continue staring at the happily rising sun. He knew exactly what he would do. He would go straight to wherever that pesky girl was, drag her back to Masyaf himself, and tire her to the wall so she couldn't go ANYWHERE else. She had already caused enough trouble as it was. In fact, he was beginning to wonder whether or not her story was true…But, that device…He shook his head decisively. Of course it was true, and she had to be found.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Helwa…wake up."

I moaned at the sound of the vibrant voice beside me, accompanied by gentle raps at my shoulder.

"We're here," the voice smiled.

As consciousness began to seep into my senses, I fully expected to open my eyes to the sight of my old room in my old house in my old time. But I was utterly disappointed. I wiped heavy sleep from my vision and strained to see the calm expression of Zafar staring back at me.

"Oh no…" I groaned. "I haven't woken up from this yet…"

"What was that?" Zafar asked with a hint of disinterest.

"Huh? Oh, nothing."

I straightened myself in my seat and blinked away the last bits of drowsiness as the sun bored into my skin. Warm sweat pooled at my forehead and beneath my arms.

"It's hot!" I gasped, wiping my hand across my face.

And I'm willing to bet no one uses deodorant around here.

"Not like England, eh?" Zafar grinned, then waved his hand out before him in a grand gesture. "Welcome to Damascus."

I turned my attention to where he pointed and was greeted by one of the most beautiful scenes I had been witness to. In a magnificent oasis below our current cliffs sat a proud, ancient city. All around it sat careless palms and streams of blue water. The game was only a little accurate, on account of the city's overbearing size. It extended far into the desert like an ant digging a tunnel and its numerous mosaic towers glowed in the hyper sunlight.

"It's beautiful…" I mused, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Ah, you might be feelin' different when you see the 'honorable' guardsfolk we got patrolling our streets," Zafar huffed, twitching his reigns.

I continued to gape at the city below as we made our way down the sloping cliffside. Eventually, we were at the gates, where a couple of people were making quite a scene.

"Damn it," Zafar breathed, humor still present in his tone. I began to think it was just how he was. Everything had a bit of humor to it in his life.

"What's happening?" I asked. I suspected there was more going on than the simple denial of entry that I could see ahead of me.

"It's those guards," he laughed coldly. "They don't let missionaries into the citiy."

At the break in the city wall before us, which served as the only entrance, there was a man and a woman arguing tiredly with four guards.

"Please, let us in," the man was pleading. "My wife is pregnant and she needs to see a doctor!"

"No, peasant! We know your tricks! You will not turn the citizens of Damascus against God!"

"That isn why w-"

"It's alright, Nahid," the woman said calmly, though with barely-concealed pain. "We don't want to cause any trouble."

"What?" I gasped. "She obviously needs help! How can they do that?"

"Because they're guards," Zafar spat, stroking his beard impatiently.

"We can't let them get away with it!" I cried, impassioned with disgust.

"Oh yes we can, habiti. Unless you want to get thrown from the city as well."

"No! Zafar, look at that woman! She. Needs. Help."

"I don't care WHAT she needs! We have to pass security too!"

I stood up in my seat, on the edge of strangling the heartless creature beside me. But before I could do anything, a woman approached his side of the wagon and stretched her tanned arms across its edge.

"Zafar?" she asked curiously. "Who is your friend?"

Zafar jumped a little at her voice, but quickly readjusted. "Oh hello, umm…Badiyah?"

She thwacked him on the arm, irritated. "No, you ghabi! If you can't get my name right, I doubt you can tell me that of your companion."

"Me?" I asked stupidly, still a little distracted by the missionaries being shooed away at the gate.

She laughed, "Unless he has some other people tucked away in this wagon, yes."

"Who are you?" I asked, almost aggressively.

I was not about to give my name out to whoever asked for it on the streets, especially not to some strange woman who spoke like it was her birthright to know. How she knew Zafar was none of my business, but how I knew him was no affair of hers either. Suddenly, I found myself longing to be back in Masyaf with that promise-breaking assassin. Anything seemed better than parading around with a selfish old man and his mistress.

Well, that was not entirely true. Anything but being held in a Templar camp or starving to death in the wilderness. I reminded myself to be grateful for what I was being given, which was a lot considering my…circumstances.

"Hah! This one's smart, Zafar!" the woman smiled. "Where'd you find her?"

Her wide smile revealed a mouthful of ill-kept teeth and her black hair was tangled haphazardly around her cheeks, yet there was something alluring about this woman. There was something in her large dark eyes that promised to keep all of your secrets safe within.

"She was wondering the road alone," Zafar added coolly, keeping his eyes ahead. "I didn't bring her here for that."

"For what?" I wondered aloud, suspicious.

"Oh, why not?" the woman persisted. "She's pretty enough. Dress her up a bit and she'll do fine. Plus, she seems to have a bit of a head on her shoulders, unless she's really good at fooling me. In that case, she'd still be a good asset."

"She's just here to…" Zafar paused, turning to look at me. "You never did tell me why you were coming to Damascus."

"I-I ran away from home," I managed to stammer out. His question caught me by surprise. "My parents were going to umm…marry me off to some noble who drank too much."

The woman clapped approvingly, "Bravo, girl! But that means you have no place to stay!" She looked at Zafar suddenly, her hard gaze barging in on his very soul.

"What?" he asked, annoyed. "Oh, yes of course!"

The woman smiled and directed her attention back towards me. "How would you like to lodge with our old friend, Zafar? He has a lovely little building that he holes out in while he's here. Always blows most of his money on my girls and me, but we won't bother you, habiti."

I was appalled. I had never known a prostitute before, but here was one offering me a bed in her favorite customer's home!

"This man is not so lovely," I accused, my brow furrowed. "He'd turn a blind eye to suffering just to save his own skin!"

I thrust a finger towards the quarreling couple at the gate, which the woman followed.

She frowned. "Oh, come now Zafar. That isn't like you."

"It is when those guards are always looking for a reason to take my carriage away!" he snapped.

"So that's what it's all about, then? Your carriage? Come off it, Zafar! That woman is in pain!"

"I know," he moaned, pressing his palm to his brow.

"Oh don't act like you're the victim here. Those two have been duking it out with the guards for almost an hour. I'm willing to bet anything that woman's about to pass out. I know you have something that would help."

Her comment stunned me. What exactly did this man do? She acted like he wasn't the selfish slime he had seemed to be a moment ago, but some…kind helping soul.

"And what do you propose, then?" he asked mockingly.

His humor was still there, if considerably diminished. On the road, he had been so alive and upbeat. Maybe it was the guards that put him so on edge.

"Give me whatever it is and I'll deliver it to the couple. You would have passage into the city and the couple will be on about their way."

"What about you?"

"Oh, those guards owe me a few favors. I won't be thrown into the dungeon for aiding missionaries if that's what you're worried about."

I scratched my head awkwardly, eager to see this exchange of goods take place. First, Zafar nodded and rummaged through one of the pouches on his robe, from which he retrieved a small mucky vial of liquid. This he handed swiftly to the woman, who darted off for the couple, her ratty gown whipping in the wind.

"What is this?" one of the guards demanded, his stance hardened at her approach.

"Just something to calm the lady's stomach," she answered, holding up the small vial.

"What?" the female missionary gasped, on the brink of collapsing.

"Here, drink this. It's from the doctor in that carriage over there," the woman offered, smiling warmly.

A doctor? He was a doctor? Well, he was a strange one then. Constantly moving from city to city, denying aid to those who would compromise his carriage and whoring around whenever he had the chance. He was certainly unlike any self-respecting doctor I had ever seen.

The missionary glanced back at the carriage and smiled a weak smile. "Thank you," she whispered, taking the remedy.

I highly doubt that I would have taken it had I been in her shoes. I did not think it entirely safe to take medicine from strangers, but maybe her pain was much worse than it appeared, making her apt to accept anything.

"Hey!" another guard shouted hoarsely. "It is illegal to associate yourself with missionaries!"

The prostitute shot him a cold sideways glance. "Which is why it never happened."

All four of the guards shuffled their feet, unnerved by her statement. So they really did owe her favors.

"I think you're right, miss. Never happened," the first guard echoed. "Right boys?"

The other three nodded and returned to their posts as casually as they could as the two missionaries wandered away from the gate.

"See? How was that?" the woman chuckled, sauntering back towards Zafar's carriage. "I'll see you in a few days, Zafar. And you as well, miss…"

"Sarah," I answered, smiling.

"Lovely," she smiled back. "I am Laleh."

"No, that's not an Arabic name if you're wondering," Zafar added abruptly.

"Huh? Well, then what kind of name is it?"

"Persian. She ran away from home too, helwa."

I watched in interest as Laleh disappeared in the crowd of merchants unloading their horses outside the city walls. My views on professions were certainly flip-flopping. Doctors were crooks and whores were angels, but both worked towards a good cause. And then there were assassins...I exhaled, exhausted.

"I know," Zafar scoffed, misinterpreting my noise. "Laleh loosened them up for us. But they're still guards. Dirty sniveling guards. In any case, we have to unload all of this stuff before we can get through to the city. I don't suppose you mind carrying a few bags, habiti?"

I nodded, "No. Just tell me what to do...and thank you, Zafar."

"Ah, don't worry about it. Just as long as you aren't to picking about not having roof gardens or expensive incense."

I laughed a little to myself. He had no idea what he didn't have. There was no internet, no real beds, no radios, no...showers.

"Is there someplace to take a bath?"

"Bath? You mean like clean yourself off?" he asked, sounding not a little astonished.

"Umm...yeah." I sniffed, unbearably aware of my odorous sweat.

"Well, no. Everybody washes in the river. Just let me know when you want to head there, but you should probably wait until we get settled in to go anywhere. Those guards are slimy creatures."

I gasped. Take a bath in public? No way. "I'll pass, I think. Thank you, though."

Zafar shrugged, leading his carriage over to the four mortified guards for investigation of his goods. Soon we would be in the city and I had a place to stay, to boot. Granted, there was no private bathing arrangements, but I would have to live without it until I could find a way home. At least I wasn't starving and alone. And above all, I wasn't in any danger, for now at least. I had learned to expect the worst in this wretched realm.