Disclaimer: Controversial/unpleasant scenarios ahead. Read at your own discretion.
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Chapter 18
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Her blood runs cold at the sight of Altair emerging from the shadows. Jin swallows hard. She watches in silence, frozen in place, as he calmly walks up to the Malik's desk.
"I was reviewing our supplies. Looks like we are a bit short on tar and metals. I was about to ask permission to make a quick trip to Damascus, but it seems I have disturbed you two. My apologies, I shall take my leave now." Altair's voice is cold and emotionless. He does not even spare her a glance as he turns and stride out of the office.
Malik scoffs lightly. Takes one look at her horrified expression and mutters, "Go to him. He obviously misunderstood." Jin nods numbly. Quickly excusing herself, she turns and runs after Altair.
Her footsteps echo loudly in the empty halls. Every man they can spare is manning the fortress outside, or scouting the perimeter for the inevitable attack. The Templars are less than a day's ride away, and tension everywhere is running high.
"Altair! Wait!" Jin gasps out. It seems like he literally turned a corner and disappeared. She hastily looks around, but she cannot find him. Jin steps out into the Garden, and shivers a bit at the afternoon chill. No sign of any one.
Despair hits her like a heavy blow. She wraps her arms around herself. Jin walks along against the gray granite walls, swallowing the hard ache in the back of her throat. Cursing herself for not being able to speak up when Altair first appeared and for letting such a situation happen. It is so ironic that she sought out Malik for his behalf. And now it has come to this.
She does not receive any warning. In fact, Jin does not even hear him. But all of a sudden she finds herself slammed against the stone wall, the pain in her back swiftly forgotten as her mouth is assaulted by another's. A familiar taste.
"Altair?" She breathes. A growl escapes his lips as their mouths clashes over and over. His tongue demands entrance, pushing forcefully into her mouth. He grips her shoulders in a bruising grip. Jin pushes back, he stops her from moving. His chest, so hard and unyielding, crushes her breasts, barely allowing her to breath.
He moves down. One hand tugging insistently at her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her throat. He begins the same treatment with his mouth on the soft skin of her neck. She feels teeth graze at the sensitive skin. And she trembles.
"You… are mine." The harsh, biting words reach her hazy senses. Viridian eyes widen in alarm. Jin tries to meet his gaze, but he does not meet hers.
For the first time since she has met him, Altair does not seem to be completely in control. His breaths come ragged. His movements erratic and coarse. And his voice, hissing incoherencies against her skin, has an undercurrent of pain.
The unexpected sound of ripping cloth drags her back to reality. "No… not out here…" She protests weakly. But her leggings are already sliding down. His other hand is under her shirt, possessively grabbing a breast. A moan escapes her. His mouth swallows the sound. Hushing her effectively. He releases her hair, and she can feel the tip of his arousal pressing against her entrance.
She wants to tell him to wait. That she is not ready for him yet. But she cannot find her voice. A tiny part of her is relieved. When she was chasing after him, the intense feeling of despair was so painful she does not think anything can come close in comparison. Now that she has him in her arms again, how can she say no?
Altair is pressed so tightly to her that he might as well be trying to merge their two bodies. Every forward grind of his hips is torturous. And the pain, when it does come, is almost as sharp as the first time. Jin whimpers, but he shows no sign of stopping. He sets an merciless pace, thrusting hard and fast. She can feel flesh tearing, but she does not dare make a sound. Jin clings to his shoulder, her soft cries intermingling with his low grunts. The assassin buries his face in the crook of her neck. Inhaling her scent like it can save him from inner demons. He finishes quickly. His entire body freezes, and then shudders his release inside of her. Panting lightly, he seeks to re-establish himself.
Jin is at a loss. This is not how it is supposed to be. She feels cold inside. Numb like she is frozen. She knows she was at fault earlier. But this. The rough treatment shocks her to the core. And all of a sudden she cannot bear to be touching him.
He is still inside of her. Altair faintly registers through the angry haze in his mind. With the starting realization of the extent of his actions, the first traces of disgust start to materialize. Like a wave breaking upon the shore, revulsion, loathing, crashes down upon him. Drowning him in their unforgiving embrace. He cannot even look at her. He does not want to see the abhorrence, the revulsion marring her pretty features, but most of all he cannot bear to see her pain. What exactly compelled him to do such a thing?
Altair has heard many of the elders talk of the ugly, entrapping vines of jealousy. Of how many men have fallen to it, no matter how high their pedestal. And few can completely escape. Altair had no idea of its insidious nature… until now.
He suddenly draws back. Almost the same time as when she pushes him away. Without his support, Jin slowly sinks to the ground, her legs shaking. He sees the trickle of dark crimson on her inner left thigh, and curses inwardly.
"I…" Altair hoarsely breathes. He stares pointedly at the ground. The words "I am sorry" is stuck in his throat. Refusing to come out. His left hand, the one without the ring finger, comes up to gingerly cup her face. He needs assurance. A signal. Anything to tell him she is still alright and not broken.
Jin flinches from at his touch. He draws back as if burnt.
He stands a scant few inches in front of her, but suddenly it seems as if he is miles and miles away. An apology, half-choked and half whispered, comes out of his lips. But she does not hear him. She does not even notice when he walks away, the shame and remorse making guilty prints in the soft grass.
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The incoming winter is a cold one indeed. Fast, whipping wind that cuts to the bone like a knife. The sky is always full of gray and looming clouds, as if dreading the impending battle. And when the first flake of snow fell, the Templars arrive at the gates.
Masyaf is divided in two parts. One, the assassin's fortress carved into the side of the mountain. And the other lower region, the modest city-town with a marketplace and residential areas. But due to the size and range of the town, the early founders decided to concentrate fortifications on the fortress.
The Brotherhood has already warned its residents. All of those who could leave did, and for those who cannot, they take shelter within the stony walls of the fortress. The usually quiet halls are filled with mothers trying to shush their babies' cries, and the occasional argument between families.
But the busiest and nosiest is the infirmary. From even the first day, inmates begin pouring in by the handful, and Jin finds herself completely occupied with work. She is not fighting in the front lines, but working at the infirmary where her skills are more needed. However, that does not spare her from the horrors of war. Instead, she sees all the gory aftermath.
Open, gaping wounds which will later prove fatal. Skulls bashed in with internal bleeding. Sword and arrow wounds that are infected or has pus leaking out. Amputated limbs and unmoving corpses.
The injured are many and grotesque. They flash before her at an insane speed. Too soon, she has to say good bye to familiar faces, or even worse, watch them painfully recover only to return later with even more horrifying injuries.
One night as she was making rounds, a hand from the sick beds reaches out and stops her. It is Imad. He was one of the first to ridicule her for she was the only female within the Assassin's ranks. His head is swathed in bandages, and he recently developed a cough which can only be pneumonia. Anyone can tell that he does not have much time left.
"You," he croaks in a weak voice, "bring me some water. Please."
Jin nods stiffly. She fetches a bowl of water, props him up, and holds it steady as he drinks slowly. But he cannot take more than two sips before he started coughing again. Huge, heaving coughs that sound disturbingly liquid.
"My head… it hurts."
Jin answers quickly, "I will fetch you some medicine to relieve the pain."
"No!" Imad desperately reaches for her again. "Do not leave me. I fear…" There is panic in his voice, and it compels her to sit down by his bedside. "I fear… I may not live to see the next day." Jin has nothing to say to that. When a man knows his time, there is no use arguing with him.
He gasps out between painful heaves, "I-I am sorry. For the way I treated y-you before. Having a women in our r-ranks was un-unprecedented." The sickly man grips her hand tight. "I-I do not want your forgiveness nor do I deserve it. But… I am glad you are not out there. Fighting and risking your life."
This is unexpected. Those are the last words she thought she would hear from him. Struggling for words, Jin manages a quiet "Thank you." She squeezes his hand comfortingly.
Suddenly, another coughing fit seizes him. From her experience, she can already see what is going on. Mucus is slowly gathering in his lungs, causing a rattling sound whenever he coughs. They eventually will prevent him from taking in any oxygen, and he will essentially drown. When he finally finishes, he collapse back into the bed, exhaustion forming beads of sweat on his brow.
"I do not want to die…" his dark eyes pleaded with hers. "Does that make me a coward?"
His grip tightens around her hand. "No," she whispers with a constricted voice.
He begins wheezing. Death is already upon him, and the most appalling thing is that he can feel it.
"No!" He coughs. "I am n-not r-ready…" A heavy gasp. "I wish…I want…"
" Please…" Jin tries to calm him. But all she can do is helplessly look on as he struggles for his last breath.
"I need more time. Allah, spare me-" A wet gurgle interrupts his final words. He chokes. His eyes roll up and his limbs twitch sporadically. Jin gasps out as his fingers squashes hers in a bruising grip. She is openly crying now, the tears streaming down her pale cheeks at his agony.
He does not die swiftly. Nor without pain. It is one of the most ghastly ways to go.
And she stays with him. Till the very end. Until his body is finally still. The pulse of life already gone but his skin still faintly warm. Jin sobs. She falls down on the floor, her face scrunching up with unstoppable tears. She tries, unsuccessfully, to pull her hand out of his grasp, but finds herself out of strength.
Death has always been her enemy. That is why she chose to learn medicine. To save the sick and ailing. But to witness such a one-sided fight, no, a massacre, is just too much for her already frail psyche.
Its unbearable weight slams down on her. Crushing her. Suffocating. Until fatigue eventually numbs her limbs and lowers her eyelids. Still crying with shuddering breaths, her head falls down to rest against their still connected hands. She finds herself in a downward spiral towards blackness, and eventually she loses the battle against unconsciousness.
It is much later when a shadow detaches itself from the darkness. A pair of blood-stained hands skillfully untangle her bruised fingers from Imad's cold grasp. One hand goes up to shut the dead body's eyes, and a quiet prayer is murmured. Capable arms lift Jin gingerly, as if she is made from fragile glass, and carry her out of the infirmary.
He notes how light she is with a scowl. She hardly makes a dent in the mattress as he lays her down. A strand of gold lies astray on her temple, and while his hand yearns to reach out and tuck it back, his conscience stays his hand. He pulls away, and with heavy footsteps, takes his leave quietly.
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"Safety and peace, Altair."
The assassin lifts his head tiredly, and nods at Malik. He does not bother to move from his position on the bed as he lies face down in exhaustion.
"What news?"
"We have successfully deflected the first wave. They have camped a few kilometers south of our gates, and have prepared to settle down for a siege."
"Then I suppose it is time for the second installment of the plan?"
Malik scrutinizes his comrade carefully. "Whenever you are ready. Although it does look like you can use a few days of rest. When was the last time you slept?"
"Four days ago. If I recall correctly." Comes the weary answer.
"You are not sleeping in your room," Malik observes. He is referring to the tower room which Jin is occupying. Altair's more spacious bedroom is currently housing refugee families from town. "And as much as I enjoy your presence on my bed, I would rather share with the fairer sex."
A humorless chuckle comes muffled from the sheets. Altair lifts his dark head, and looks at Malik. "That much is apparent. Given your behavior a few days ago."
The older man sighs. He walks pass Altair, and stands resignedly by the window, leaning forward with one hand on the sill.
"You presume too much." Malik's words are crisp and succinct.
"But it did make me think. Exactly what claims do I have of her? I cannot marry her. I cannot give her status. I cannot even properly protect her. Not as the person I am now," Altair mutters dejectedly into the shadows. "She would be better off by your side."
"She would," Malik agrees instantly.
"Then why not?" Altair growls.
"That is not for me to decide," he answers simply. "Feelings are not something to be forced upon others."
The assassin turns onto his back. He brings his hand to his face. The space where the ring finger should be seems to be mocking him as he clench and unclench four fingers.
"An assassin's emotions can never be revealed. For when he loses control, he leaves himself and others vulnerable and in danger," Altair quietly quotes from their earliest training. Malik nods in agreement.
"That is… the absolute truth."
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A white robe slinks into the enemy's camp under night's guise. The daggers fly straight and true, one in a guard's jugular, and the other into the heart. Quickly, he swoops down and finishes the dying soldier, silencing him with a twist of the neck before he can alert others.
With a bloody hand, the assassin lifts the tent flap slowly. A sleeping form awaits for him at the very end. Clothed in rich velvet and silks, the luxurious contents within tells him he has the right one. The high officer.
No hesitation in his steps, Altair pads silently forward. He glides effortlessly over to the bedside. With a flex of his hand, the hidden blade slides out with an inaudible sound.
"Rest in peace," he murmurs and deals the fatal blow.
As he makes his way past the other various tents, he signals to the archers waiting up in the cliffs. The Templar's supply lines are scantly defended. No surprise, as Masyaf's unforgiving terrain makes it hard to repel attacks. Especially those coming from above.
A storm of arrows come whistling down, alighting the camp in fiery, orange flames behind him. Altair walks on calmly. The sounds of chaos and destruction barely reaching his senses.
This is the third one of the night. There are two of them left. Without supplies, the main Templar army will not be able to survive the harsh winter. According to Malik's calculations, they will be forced to retreat in three months.
But all Altair can see is the haze of red. It swirls and hovers on the edge of his vision, and his ultimate objective, his absolute goal of peace, seems even further away.
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She cannot keep the scant breakfast of milk and bread down. Jin bends over and retches into the chamber pot. When she is done, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. A disturbing idea materializes in her mind, and with a tight throat and unsettled stomach, she heads towards the infirmary. An hour later, she has her answer.
She had expected it. Hell, she even planned for it. But the news that she is pregnant does not bring the elation or joy she had wanted. Instead, it is a fear that burdens her. Responsibility, uncertainty, and apprehension are chaining her down and she does not know what to make of it.
A few weeks ago, she would have automatically turned to Altair. To her safe haven. But ever since the incident in the Garden, she has not seen a trace of him. Nor does she want to see him. Once again, he disappears into thin air. Always in the edge of her vision, but never appearing in front of her. She wonders just how big Masyaf can be, if he can continually avoid her for weeks. Part of her is grateful for his absence, but another part is also saddened by it.
So the young woman digs herself deeper underneath the covers. It is so very cold at night. She misses his warmth. Craves his solid presence that radiates self-assurance. And when she cannot bear it anymore, she writes to Yasmin. She does not explicitly disclose her pregnancy, as her mail will undoubtedly be read, but she words the letter so that her dear friend will know what exactly is going on.
The courier pigeon, a pudgy little fellow, takes off into the gray morning sky, taking all her hopes, her misery, and her loneliness along with it.
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Spring comes, and the Templars are retreating. With their supply lines cut and their strategic officers dead, the army's morale is low and the ones left in charge are at a loss of what to do.
Malik was right. He always is.
Their methods are not honorable. It is insidious and underhanded and they all know it. It is not a glorious victory. In fact, there are no signs of smiles or celebration within Masyaf. Only weary gray faces and fewer comrades.
His black, austere robes swishing around him, Malik enters the infirmary. His critical gaze takes in the number of injured, and he inhales sharply. Both sides suffer heavy losses. One third of their ranks are either dead or missing. Another one third suffers casualties. Only a small dozen men are blessedly in good health.
Malik thinks of Altair with his gaunt face and bloodshot eyes. Very few men in good health.
The sounds of retching grab his attention. He walks over to the open door of the washroom, and to his surprise, finds Jin inside. Her tousled blonde hair completely covers her face as she leans over, but looking at the contents in the porcelain sink, there are no doubts in his mind she is the one vomiting.
In a matter of seconds, he reaches her side. His hand comes up hold her hair aside as she gives up more of her body's content into the sink.
"What is going on?" He demands of her when she eventually looks up.
"I am fine," Jin mutters stubbornly. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. And hides the hand behind her back.
Malik curses loudly. "Like hell you are! Did you have Master Shafiq look at you? What kind of sickness do you have?" His hand goes to grip her shoulder, and it is all he can do to restrain from shaking the answers out of her.
To his utter amazement, a red blush appears on her cheeks. Jin cannot meet his eyes. He realizes where exactly his hand is, and he lets go of her slowly.
"Forgive me, that was uncalled for." His dry tone of voice suggests anything but. She is still not looking at him, but chooses to finger the hem of her loose shirt nervously. When minutes pass without her saying anything, the realization hits him.
Malik finds himself at a loss for words. Barely containing his embarrassment, he says simply, "I see." He runs his hand through his dark hair nervously. Opens his mouth to say something, but then clamps it shut. Clears his throat. Tries again, but nothing comes out. Giving up, he turns and prepares to head out the door. Turning his head slightly, he asks her grimly, "The father does not know does he?"
Jin shakes her head.
"Well you best tell him soon. He makes to depart Masyaf in a week." With that, angry, quick strides carries him out of her sight.
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It was hard to pin down the elusive assassin. It was even harder to sum up the courage to confront him.
Jin eventually finds him in the master bedroom. The refugees have already left, and there is nothing but empty cots littering the room. Altair stands in the middle, fastening his weapons on his person, and packing clothes into a bag. He pauses when he realizes her presence.
"Greetings," she ventures cautiously.
"Hello," he replies calmly. He finishes his task efficiently, and slings the bag over his shoulder.
"You are leaving?" she asks as he passes by. Hating how there is an edge of desperation in her voice. Altair does not turn. He nods.
"I depart for Acre."
For Maria…
Jin counts back the months. Sickened to her stomach, she realizes the other woman is due to give birth soon. Feeling as if she is losing a battle of attrition, Jin takes a few steps towards him. Takes a firm grip on his sleeve.
"Stay." It was more of a request than a command. Because he listens to no one. Jin wonders despairingly when she has turned out like this. Like a clingy wife hanging onto a wayward husband.
Altair looks down at her with detached gentleness. He disengages himself from her grasp and murmurs, "I will be back."
He takes a few steps forward, and she can no longer hold it in. The words fly out of her mouth without any more thought.
"I am… with child," Jin blurts out.
Altair freezes mid-step. Turns around, and regards her with disbelief. "Pregnant? Are you sure? We have not … since…" His eyes darken dangerously as he recalls the last time. Shame and guilt washes over him again, and he thinks he cannot ever be clean. Not like an assassin will ever be purged of his sins.
Jin also looks uncomfortable. She replies in a hushed whisper, "Yes."
"I thought you take precautions?"
"Well… it is not a guarantee. And at that time I was … unprepared." Her forest green eyes lowers. A flush appears on her face, and he has the gut-wrenching feeling that she is lying.
Stony topaz narrows their gaze at her. He takes a step closer but then stops. For whatever reason she feels like she has to lie to him, he has no right to judge. In the end, it is still his behavior that is infinitely more deplorable. But the feelings of betrayal grip him, hardening his heart.
"I…have made a promise that I intend to keep. I apologize, but nothing will hold me back." Not even you.
She stares down at his chest plate despondently. "Please… just this once. Let me be selfish," she murmurs entreatingly. She blinks, trying to clear the wetness that is forming in the corners of her eyes.
"About last time," Altair straightens unconsciously, "I sincerely apologize for my actions. I may already be a sinner, but that is one wrong that I truly regret to have. And if this is divine retribution, I shall gladly accept it. Farewell, for now. I shall return soon."
He turns away, not wanting to look upon her anymore. He does not see the damage his words causes. Or else he would have elaborated on its meaning. But Altair, a man who faces forward and walks the path ahead, does not turn back.
His statement leaves her stricken. Green eyes stare at his retreating back in astonishment.
The baby is a punishment? The tiny life, who is already growing inside of her, is unwanted?
Vision blurring with tears, Jin sinks to the ground. Her silent cry echoes down the empty halls, carrying her unheard pain and scattering it in the wind.
Notes: So this chapter was very difficult. If you have read this far, I think you would understand. Believe me, I do not enjoy doing these things to my character, but I have already planned this out, and it is necessary for plot movement. In typical Lelouchian philosophy: Must burn everything to the ground in order to start anew. Sorry it took so long. School's been busy, and I kept re-writing this chapter until it had the emotional impact I want.
- Adultery for women had severe punishments (stoning/death) in Middle East. And just being seen with a male stranger can be constituted as adultery, so what Malik and Jin were doing is definitely questionable. Only issue here is that Jin is technically "Altair's women" but is not formally married. While his actions are not justified, Altair's intense reaction is most likely a byproduct of those beliefs. I realize for us modern women reading this will be disturbing, but for that time, I think Altair is (relatively) lenient. Game producers also probably plays down the chauvinistic aspect to appeal to audience, but you kind of can tell it's there.
- War is not glorious. I think Jin is finally realizing what being an assassin/ being with an assassin entails. She has always seen Death as an opponent, but Altair sees it as a necessary instrument/friend sometimes. We shall see if they can overcome that obstacle.
-Altair's still confused about what he wants. With so many years of emotional training, it means he will still be clueless of his feelings for at least another chapter. Lol I do not like emo/angsting Altair. It is pretty OOC in my opinion. Oh and for the last scene, where Jin misunderstood his meaning, Altair meant he is being punished by having to choose between two women and the fact he has to leave her temporarily due to his previous promise. I don't know... too sleep-deprived to make much sense of anything right now.
- Embarassed Malik= cute Malik haha