Apologies on the mild lateness - I have to finals tomorrow (today?), neither of which I'm feeling very prepared for.

On a lighter note, I'm thinking of making a series of drabbles on Altair and Maria during pregnancy and parenthood. But it could be the stress that makes me find the ideas so hilarious. But keep your eye of for it nonetheless!

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Chapter 7
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"So it seems her labor isn't going too smoothly." Malik prompted.

Altair merely grunted, and continued scratching away at the paper in front of him.

"I'm sure she'd appreciate it if you were there."

No response.

"What if it turns out you were wrong, Altair? Then you'll have missed the birth of your first son, and-"

The quill bit snapped, but the assassin said nothing, merely taking a new one from the desk drawer.

"Do you really think she did it, Altair? I'm not exactly fond of her, but…"

"We've been over this, Malik." He snapped, his quill scratching the paper more harshly than necessary.

"I'm just saying, she was pregnant-"

"Not enough that it couldn't have been hidden." Altair paused in his paperwork, glancing at his companion, who looked unconvinced. "My first loyalty is to the Brotherhood, Malik. I cannot afford to be lenient to its enemies."

Malik sighed, rubbing his temples to ease the growing ache. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe you were so worried about being too soft on her, that you're being too harsh? We don't even why she would have killed those men."

"Doubtless to seed worry and discontent amongst the Brotherhood." Altair bit out.

"Oh please." Malik replied dryly, "If you'd actually bothered to see her recently, you'd see how listless she's become."

"Only because she was caught!" Altair snarled, slamming his fist on the table.

Malik stared at him a moment, looking unconvinced, before he said, carefully, "Will you at least go and see her when the baby is born? It can't last much longer."

"Only to see if the child is mine." Altair said shortly, running a hand through his hair.

"Sir, sir!" Cried one of the novices, sliding to a halt and fighting to catch his breath, "The baby, sir…"

"What is it? What's wrong?" Altair demanded, rising.

"It's crowning, sir! The midwife sent me to fetch you, come quick!"

Altair wasted no time, brushing past the novice and leaping over the railing. Malik shook his head and followed, muttering to himself.

They neared the room, following the sound of Maria's swearing – "It's impressive, really, even considering she was a knight." Malik commented – and the midwife's encouragement. Until, finally, the thin wail of a child burst out.

"Congratulations, brother." Malik said softly, patting Altair's shoulder somewhat awkwardly.

"We…" Altair began, before clearing his throat, "We still don't know if…"

"Bah, let it go for now. Go in and see her." Malik scoffed, giving the other a light push.

Altair glared at him, but did as he was told, hesitantly opening the door – the birthing chamber was no place for a man, after all – and peeking in.

"Ah, Altair!" Cried the midwife, an ancient old thing, catching sight of him, "Come in, come in…" She grasped his hand and tugged, "It's a boy, Altair, congratulations! You're a proud father now, so stand up straight!" She said, slapping him on the back.

"Are you sure it's mine?" Altair said softly, leaning close to the ancient woman.

"Stupid boy!" She cried, boxing his ears, "Don't you think I'd be able to tell if he wasn't? I brought you into this world, same as I did him. You were just as difficult, you know." She chortled, her eyes twinkling. "Now," She clucked, "I'll leave you three alone, hmm? Call me if you have any difficulties, my dear." She said to Maria, before shuffling her way out of the room.

Altair watched her go, rubbing his ear ruefully. She heard him yell something at Malik, followed by Malik crying out sharply in pain.

"Altair?" He heard Maria say softly. He took a deep breath, and turned to face her.

She laid on the bed, obviously exhausted, her dark curls sweaty and clinging to her face. A small bundle rested in her arms, wrapped in clean linen. It wriggled, and she turned her attention to it, cooing softly.

Altair stood, stunned. She was so beautiful… he crept closer, his footsteps practiced and silent.

"Look, Altair." She nearly whispered, moving some of the swath so the assassin could have a better look.

There lay his son, perfect. Large dark eyes, almost too large for his tiny face, blinked at him, while tiny hands fisted sporadically. A feather soft mop of dark hair dusted his head, and he twisted his face, as though he was considering whether or not to cry.

"Believe me now?" Maria said with a smirk, "He's your spitting image." She paused thoughtfully, and readjusted her hold on the tiny package, "Do you want to hold him?"

Altair looked at her sharply, amazed she would even offer after… he managed a nod, and hesitantly held out his hands.

She stared at him expectantly.

He blinked.

She sighed, "Your hidden blade. Take it off." At his look, she frowned, "I don't want you accidently skewering our son."

"Ah." He breathed, understanding dawning. With practiced movements, he removed the weapon, and gently took the tiny bundle from her.

"Mind his head." She chided gently, adjusting his hold.

There, perfect.

His son, nestled in the crook of his arm, pawing at what remained of his father's ring finger. Maria at his side, muttering disapprovingly about how her son was already acting like an assassin.

Perfect.

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Maria lay in the darkened room, exhausted but unwilling to sleep. She was nearly fully recovered from her labor now, and knew that she was running out of time.

Soon, Stephen would be coming, to take her back to England, and turn her into a pawn for the Templars.

And she couldn't very well stay here, only to be ostracized by the man she'd sacrificed everything for.

She kicked off the covers, and padded softly over to where her son lay, sleeping.

Her gaze softened as she gazed upon him – she wouldn't want him to live out either of those lives.

She'd made her decision.

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Altair, his hand poised to knock, hesitated.

What could he possibly say to her?

What did he want to say to her? 'Thanks for giving birth to my son, now what would you like to do?'

Damn it.

Gritting his teeth, the assassin knocked softly – no sense waking the baby – and waited. Best just to see her and see how things went.

He waited.

No answer. Was she sleeping?

He knocked again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

He frowned. It was unlike her to be so unresponsive – years in the military had made her a light sleeper. Gently, he opened the door, intending merely to check on the pair.

Ah, there she was – watching the baby.

"Maria?" He called softly, taking a step towards her, but froze as his eyes adjusted to the light. "Maria." He repeated, more firmly, "Where did you get those clothes?"

The Templar turned, chain mail clanking softly, "Maria isn't here, Assassin. She's probably halfway to England by now."

"You're-" Altair breathed.

"Stephen. How do you do. I believe you've heard of me?" He replied with a smirk, removing his helm and shaking out his golden locks, "Truthfully, though, we have met before. You just didn't know it, though that was the way I wanted it…"

Altair said nothing, merely flexed his hand. He had nothing but his hidden blade on him, while his opponent was fully armed and equipped… granted, they were in the middle of the Assassin fortress, but Altair knew how quick this man could be…

"What's the matter, Assassin? You look a bit pale." His opponent smirked, hanging his hand casually on the hilt of his sword.

"What are you doing here, Templar?" Altair ground out.

"Isn't it obvious? I came to take my wife back." He sighed, "But it appears she's run off ahead of me. She always was a defiant bitch."

He paused thoughtfully, "I'd also been planning on killing your bastard son, just to remind her who owns her, and to make sure it was my line who inherits, but it appears she foresaw that and took him with her." He shrugged. "No matter. I'll kill him once I get back to England. For now I'll just have to settle for killing you. Who knows? Perhaps the news will finally break her."

Altair gritted his teeth, and flexed his hand once more, checking the responsiveness of his blade.

He'd been wrong.

So very, very wrong.