Chapter Twelve: Wounds

When Altair woke up he found himself in quite the comfortable place – he was lying over some very soft pillows and a very warm sheet was spread over him. The dirty floor he recalled had vanished, as well as the blood and the pain. He was in the dreamer´s limbo at that point – trying to decipher what is reality and what is a fake. It would not be until he felt the footsteps of someone walking nearby that he decided to completely wake up.

The place where he lay was very different from what he was expecting; it was just a good old barn with an improvised bed. It was big, nonetheless, and even though it was full of hay, the atmosphere was not suffocating. There were windows too, which allowed the cold breeze of night to creep in. It wouldn't be a couple of hours until sunrise, yet the place did not seem as dark as usual. There was an oil lamp, a tad farther away from where he was laying, which was the reason everything was brighter than it should be. He was indeed, surrounded by pillows, as he lay in quite the comfortable and thick rug, the kind that the nobles have in their own palaces.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his abdomen did not make it an easy task. It was then when he realized that the he had been stripped of all the weapons he was used to carrying. His chest was bare too and mostly covered by the bandages that were gently wrapped around it. The footsteps he had heard seemed to be approaching him. He was unarmed, yet he was already trying to figure out a way to attack the person nearing him. When she finally came to his view, he launched himself towards her, pinning her against the wall – his hand in her throat.

"Who are you?" he asked the young woman, who had by then, dropped all the things she was carrying.

"It's me, Amira," she said, struggling to breathe. He stared at her, for the woman he had in front of him was very different from the one he remembered. She smiled at him and it was then that he realized that the only person who could smile at a man while he was choking her was indeed that girl. He let go of her and she kneeled down to pick up the things she was carrying.

"How are you feeling," she asked as she tried to stuff the things back into the basket.

"Where are my weapons?" He asked in return, sounding more aggravated than usual.

"I asked you first, assassin. Don't expect people to answer your questions, if you are not willing to answer theirs." She said, folding her arms across her chest. Her hair, which used to be long and curly, only retained the last quality. It had been cut so that it would reach a couple of inches before her shoulders, much shorter than it used to be. Her eyes too, seemed to have gotten a little bit lighter, but then the lamp's light could be blamed for that, and they also wore some dark bags underneath, exposing to the world her lack of sleep. Her clothes were very different as well; she was no longer wearing her fancy nightgown or what remained of it. She had instead chosen to wear some pants and a short sleeve shirt which exposed the scars on her arms.

"I am fine," he replied through gritted teeth and she smiled again.

"I hid them. Don't worry most of them are still safe," Amira said, before pulling him with her back to the bed she had improvised in the barn.

"What do you mean most of them?" He said, pulling his hand away from her, raising his voice again. She sighed and made her way to the warm corner with the basket in her hands. She kneeled as she started to pull out some of the contents of her basket.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said tossing a fruit at him. "I am sorry, but I was forced to use some of your knives." She said as she took a bit out of her very own little fruit. "You can stand there all you want, or you could come here and join me." She said when she noticed Altair had not relinquished his desire to be cranky. He sighed and walked towards her, sitting down across from her.

"Why did you have to use the knives?" he said, still refusing to take a bite out of his food.

"I think that by now your wounds should've healed enough to let you move, but I don't think you should push yourself too hard. It must hurt like hell."

"It seems you are not the kind who does as she preaches," he stared at her, his eyes demanding his question be answered. She chuckled, in her head thinking: 'touché, assassin, touché.'

"It seems that I am good at attracting trouble," she said, stretching her back slowly, "I ran into some more trouble and well, since you were unconscious I thought I might borrow them for a while but, you know them thieves." She sighed and reached back into the basket. She had all kinds of things inside thought most of them were fruits. She pulled out a piece of cloth and a container with some water in it. She took the smaller piece of cloth and damped it a bit, before reaching towards Altair. He moved back, acting on his reflexes, and she just glared at him.

"I have to change your bandages; if we don't keep the wound clean then it might get infected. If the wound gets infected you might be in some serious trouble." She explained to him, trying to convince him to let her touch him. She leaned in again but this time he did not move. She pulled the knot that held the bandaged together, making them come undone. She got up from where she was sitting, taking with her the clean set of bandages. She sat behind him and started to unwrap the clothes from his chest.

"I am sorry," she whispered, as her fingers trailed the scar that was beginning to form in his chest. The wound was finally cicatrizing, which was a relief for Amira. He had been unconscious for three days in a row, which not only made her task of changing his bandages harder, it also let her wondering whether he was feeling fine or not. "It's my fault you got hurt," she said, her voice trailing off.

"It was not your fault; it was my lack of ability. That's all." He said bitterly. She sighed bitterly, only wondering what he was really thinking – wondering if he could remember their little fight as vividly as she could. He did not lack ability, quite the opposite; he was a very skilled man. It was almost impossible to believe that someone as good as him was defeated because that would imply that there was someone even better.

"I don't think he won fairly," she said in a whispered, as the images were playing in her head, slowly. She did not know how, or why, but, the fight was very different for her than for him. She could see one step ahead of them both; she could see when either of them was going to strike before they did. It was a weird feeling – it was awkward and somewhat painful. She had been trying to focus, to make it work for her, but it seemed to present itself only when it was not being called for. The lieutenant, however, seemed to be able to take advantage of her visions, even though she never communicated them to him. She knew he could not see them on his own, for he would have not questioned her back then. What she could conclude, was not entirely more comforting. If he could see anything, that was everything that went on in her head – the limits of such ability unknown to her.

"I think," Altair said, slowly, hesitating whether to finish his sentence or not, "I think I should thank you." He snapped her back from her thoughts – she was drifting way too deep into them more often. She reached for another flask from the basket. She also brought out of the cozy basket a smaller piece of cloth, which already seemed to be slightly stained with red.

"There's no need to thank me," she said, "this was my fault, remember."

He was about to reply when she opened the bottle she had pulled out, the fragrance of which quickly filled the room.

"Wine?" he asked as she soaked the piece of cloth with it in turn. She smiled at him before offering him the remaining wine.

"Take a sip, it will make things easier," she advised. Though it was not as strong as she might've wished for, the wine would be more than enough to ease the pain that was about to come.

"I don't drink," he said, coldly, giving the container back at her. She sighed and drank some herself.

"You are much too stubborn, assassin," she whispered before placing the wine dampened cloth against his wound, causing him to groan in pain. She pulled the rag back, immediately. Even though changing his bandaged when he was unconscious was harder, she never had to hear him complain, and so she contemplating the idea of putting him to sleep for a while longer. She cleared her throat, pushing that thought out of her mind, and pushing the cloth back into his wound.

"What do you think you are doing?" He yelled at her, turning around to take a grip on her hand, to stop her from continuing the mild torture. "Do you even know what you are doing?"

She smiled at him, the same smiled she used when being choked earlier. She smiles, because she thought that if he was to kill her, she might as well die with a smile on her face. "I know what I am doing, assassin," she responded, sounding confident of her answer. Though the reason to why she knew what she was doing was going to be harder to explain.

"How exactly did you learn this, woman?" he asked her, trying to hide the pain that the alcohol was causing when touching his not so open anymore, wound.

"I think I am one of the few women in this world who can read, write and whatnot. I completed the trivium courses with my master. And I was finally going to get into the deep stuff when you…intervened." She explained, now placing the cloth with water over his abdomen, the cold of it easing the burning sensation he had experienced a while back. His muscles had loosened up a bit, making Amira smile. She was however, still hiding the fact that – as crazy as it may sound – she was told what to do in one of the dreams she had. That girl with the short hair who looked a lot like her had manifested herself again, giving her some instructions as to what to do with his wounds. She kept on complaining about there not being enough equipment, but she eventually came up with a solution. 'Whoever she is, I hope I get the chance to talk to her more often' Amira had wished that very night.

"Well," she said as she finished wrapping the new bandages around his well defined chest. "I believe I am all done here." Altair was about to stand up when she pulled him back down again, "I still have to deal with your arm," she said pointing at the smaller, yet still existent, wound that he had on his arm.

"Don't worry about it," he was trying to let her go of him, but this time her grip was firmer than before. He glared at her and she simply let go of his arm, dropping her own hands. Her face had turned paler than usual but her eyes seemed to be getting brighter.

"Fine," she agreed, "but in return please eat that or at least have some water." She said, almost pleading. "If you don't eat then it will take longer for you to recover. And you should be sleeping, too."

"As I said," Altair spoke, finally taking a bite out of the fruit he was given. "You are not the kind who does as she preaches. When was the last time you had a full night of sleep?"

She chuckled as she tried to make herself comfortable, she had moved away from the assassin, allowing him to be the only one sitting near the big pile of pillows.

"It's okay," she said, trying to repress a yawn, "I am not tired." It was clear that she was lying and he was not hesitant to call on her bluff.

"Are you afraid I might kill you in your sleep?" he asked her causing her to burst into a nice and soft laughter, her cheeks turning pink.

"No, no, it's nothing like that," she said reassuringly, "I am more worried about the way you will treat that wound when you feel confident enough to be running around again." She was leaning her back on one of the wooden columns that held the barn together, it was probably not the most comfortable position ever, but it was better than lying down on the barren floor.

"How come you don't hate me or anything?" he asked her, catching her off guard with his straight forward manner. She laughed again, though this time it was charged with feelings the other one lacked.

"I can't," she said, with a big smile on her face, "You did what any other assassin would've done and that's the reason why I cannot hold a grudge against you. See, I used to know someone who was just like you – only a tad nicer to me." She giggled when she said that and she could see a faint smile carved on his lips, though she thought it was probably just the lamp light playing a trick on her. "He wanted to be an assassin too, not because he wanted to kill, no, he wanted peace. My mother was murdered when I was a little girl. Guards from Saracen walked into our house in the middle of the night, claiming she was a heathen and killed her on the spot. He tried to help her but, you know them guards, and they decided to use me as hostage, to keep him on the line. In the end we could not do a thing but watch as my mother got slaughtered right in from of us. Later, we found out that the real reason she was murdered was because she had declined the invitation of one of the highest ranking members of the guards, you know, like any married woman with two children would. My point is, that after that night he always craved for a world where people would be treated fairly, everybody the same way. He wanted a world with no corruption, no war. He had quite the idealistic view, and well, I am sure that if it would've been him assigned on a mission, he would've acted just like you. If I was to be mad at you for killing for your cause, it would be like getting mad at him. And that would not be fair, don't you think?" She paused, not really expecting a response. She had spoken more about her brother with him in those few minutes than she had to anybody in the past years. It was always a sore subject for her, because his death was another one of those images that were carved into her head, even though she was not even sure that was the way it occurred.

"Besides," she said, sleep was finally getting to her for after three nights of not sleeping, she couldn't keep up the pretense any longer. "There is something about you that makes me want to be near you. I don't know what it is or why it is, but I just can't bring myself to hate you." She let out a yawn and turned to look at the assassin, who simply stared back at her, his thoughts she could not even attempt to read. She giggled quietly and readjusted her position against the beam.

"You should have some rest," Altair spoke, after the silence had settled. "We will be leaving tomorrow morning, we have to get to Jerusalem."

"Oh, it's okay," Amira replied, trying to act cool. "I am not that tired, besides sunrise is just a couple of hours away." She reassured him, she did not want to fall asleep now that he had woken up.

"As you wish," he desisted. Silence began to creep in once again, though it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. They were both too immersed in thought to bother about the actions of the other person, though they were both thinking about each other.

"Hey," Amira said, being the one responsible to break the silence that time, "what's your name? I can't go around calling you assassin." He looked at her, hesitant. She had already seen his face at that point, so giving her his name couldn't do any more damage.

"It's Altair," he said, almost in a whisper.

"I'm Amira," she replied, eagerly, "it's nice to meet you Altair."

"Don't you think it is a little too late for introductions?"

"Ah, but it is never too late."

***

"Aldrich, I see you are back," The lieutenant was greeted as he entered the castle that belonged to King Richard. He was, though unlikely in him, not in the best of moods and the one person that had presented to greet him was one of the last he would want to see.

"Robert, so unpleasant to see you," he replied icily.

His despise for the man was obvious, and Robert was quite aware of it. It seemed however as if Robert enjoyed the hatred that Aldrich held towards him.

"I see you come empty handed, was the assassin too much to handle?" Robert asked him, teasingly, trying to drive the always so cool Aldrich to his limits.

"No, Robert, unlike you I am quite capable at sword handling," he glared at the man, who clearly showed that the remark had, even if just one bit, hurt his ego.

"Then where is the Willow?" Robert pressed on. Aldrich sighed. He could not possibly tell that man that he just left her in the hands of the assassins nor would he acknowledge a defeat he did not suffer. He started walking away from the man, and towards the king's study, the place where he had been summoned to, the moment he arrived at the kingdom.

"She's not with me; she was left back in Jerusalem. I will go get her as soon as I have time," he lied, hoping that would get Robert off his back before he decided to cut him out.

"Could it be that you failed, Lieutenant Aldrich?" Mockery seemed to be quite the strong point in Robert, especially at that very moment. He stopped, and turned to look at the man behind him, contemplating the many ways he could kill him without even giving him the chance to scream.

"Don't push me, Robert, for you know that if we were to fight, you would not emerge victorious," Aldrich's voice now reflected the anger that had started to boil in his blood.

"Oh, but you don't know that, Aldrich, though, we could always try and see," Robert said moving his hands towards the grip of his sword, ready to pull it out at the slightest movement of Aldrich.

"As much as I would love to see the outcome of that fight, I suggest you do so another day," a very deep voice came from the top of the staircase. They, who were standing of the base of it quickly looked up to stare at King Richard as he, with a smile on his face, stood there staring at them with amusement.

"My king," Aldrich said, bowing down to him respectfully while Robert simply stood there. "I apologize for quarreling with this man," he stated. It was amazing to see how he could shift his mood depending on who the person he was interacting with was.

"Oh, worry not, Aldrich, men will always have a reason to fight with each other. May I ask what is the reason of your quarrel?" the kind asked as he made his way downstairs. Aldrich glared at Robert who smirked in return.

"It may seem juvenile, my lord, but it is about a woman", Robert said, his smirk even more pronounced now. The king burst out laughing at the comment while Aldrich simply wished for the authorization to stab Robert.

"It is not juvenile, Robert. When two men take interest in the same woman, problems are bound to arise. But, I believe that such problems should be solved with words not with blood. Now, if you excuse us, Aldrich and I have some matters to discuss," the king said before turning away from Robert.

"Please, do, sir," Robert spoke. As they walk away, Aldrich could feel his cold stare perched on his back. Even though Robert was quite the disgraceful snake, he knew that his venom was just as powerful as his. It would not be long before Robert starts questioning Aldrich's loyalty to his cause, which, he should've realized by now, was not as strong as he once thought it was. It would not be long before Robert sends out his own men to look for her. He sighed, as he walked into the meeting room with the king, hoping that the assassin had by then recovered, for what was about to come was going to be much worse than had been until now.

The author is ranting again...

Hello muffins. I am here once again to basically point out today's top three reasons why it must've been to live in the twelfth century.

1. Bottles: I really do wonder what the hell did people use to carry liquids back then. Though I am sure they did not have any plastic bottles, I could not think of anything else that might be as practical as that. Seriously, where would we be if plastic bottles had not been invented? Oh, we still have bags and what not, but still, plastic bottles are damn useful. And life would be so much worse if we did not have them. It's like toilet paper and pencils and cars - they are that important.

2. Sober: I was not sure whether the wine back in the twelfth century would hold as much alcohol as tequila does nowadays - thank you mexico, for tequila - but I am assuming it had enough to be able to sanitize a wound. If it didn't then, Amira just burned Altair for no reason whatsoever.

3. Trivium: It was a greek method of teaching, it held three main subjects and was pretty much the basics of their education. Since I could not find any info on almighty wikipedia on how the Middle Eastern study system worked, I decided to go for the greek one. Why? Because I love the band, that's why. :D

Oh and one more thing,
Robert and Aldrich work together, since they are both templar knights, but they don't get along for Robert always thought that annoying Aldrich was a fun hobby. And so every time Aldrich sees him, a beast wakes up inside him and the murderous intent surfaces. So as you can see, they are very good friends.

And so, that should be all as far as my ranting goes. See you again in my next update, which might come a tad faster than this one.
May the force be with you, all.