Loving Hate

by Era-Age

He had thought that she would stay with him, that they'd start their own family. However, that was all to be mistaken, for she left. Now the two of them are forced to confront each other as well as new enemies. Violence, lemons, and language, Altair/Maria

15. Chapter 11

Had this halfway completed, so I decided to finish it. Chapter 11, -insertKoolAidManOHYEAHHHhere-

Hem hem, ANYWAYS. Gotta give credit where it's due.

The 'my ass is twitching' scene between Hildegard and Malik does not belong to me. I came up with the idea after watching one of my favorite movies, French Kiss (HILAAARIIIOUUSSS), and the idea just slowly came to mind. I'll put the link in my profile for those of you who are interested in seeing the short clip.

Now, I have a lot of work to do. School starts in a couple of weeks, I gotta get cracking on some homework I've been putting off just to work on this story. So, yeah, won't be hearing much from me. Like I said before, Christmas is the best time for me to work on this, soo... wait a few months XD

Cheers to MJ and Christina for being my editors.

All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is, like those Finding Nemo gulls say, MINE MINE MINE!

And for those of you who are wondering about who in the name of pita bread is Jonathan, it will all be revealed in due time. There are a lot of hints in my previous chapters that allude to Maria's history and also who Jonathan really is to her. You just have to look hard enough :)

---

His eyes widened and he shook his head back and forth as he stared at her face. She looked so frail, so defeated...

'No... This is sorcery...' He couldn't bear to see her this way, if it was her. He lifted her chin up delicately and scanned every centimeter of her face. He saw past the bruises and cuts on her forehead and cheeks. What he saw was the beautiful and soft features of the one he loved the most in the world.

'It can't be—impossible!'

He quickly searched her naked and bloody body for the scars and flaws he saw when they were on the tower. The same faded line was on her left hip, the same red and puckered rash on her stomach. Everything was identical to the woman he loved.

He stepped away from her and shook his head furiously. No... this... this couldn't be! His face was twisted in a painful mask as he bit his bottom lip and stared at the ceiling.

A year without her. A year dying from her absence.

And here she was; dying.

He slid his arms around her and brought her body close to his as he closed his eyes and nestled her head into his neck with his chin. He breathed into her matted hair and ran his hand up and down her exposed back. His arms trembled as he held her. She was so cold...

After brief moments of embracing her, he gently held her out and inspected her injuries. His eyes wandered over to her thigh that had a knife sticking out of it. Blood was dripping from the wound and onto the sheets, staining them. No...

He looked around frantically for something to bandage her up with. He felt around the floor in search of her clothing, only to find that they were torn to shreds. He frowned when he picked up a rather large tunic that had a red cross stitched proudly in the center of the shirt.

'Templars...' His blood boiled inside of him. How DARE they touch her! He shook his head, vanquishing the evil and ill thoughts that threatened to enter his mind.

He turned his head over his shoulder and found his solution. Quickly making his way to the curtains, he tore them off of their hooks and began slicing them into makeshift bandages. He wouldn't be able to treat her wounds properly until he made it back to Shihad.

He gripped the hilt of the knife and slid it as carefully as he could out of her leg, making sure to cause her as little pain as possible. He glanced at her face as she groaned and knitted her eyebrows together.

"Forgive me," he whispered, "for everything."

Once the blade was out of her, he instantly applied pressure to the wound and wrapped the torn curtain around it tightly, restraining more blood from flowing out of it. He took more of his bandages and wound them around her arms. It was a horrid sight. He'd never thought he'd see her like this in his life. This was definitely not how he had thought he'd see her again. He always expected to just pass her by in a town and have her smack his face and kick him where it hurt the most for men.

Of course, there was always his fantasy that while he slept deeply in his room back at Masyaf, she'd come sneaking in, wearing nothing but a regal fur robe, her hair down and flowing just past her shoulders. She'd wake him, slowly remove the robe so he'd be tempted to reach out and claim her feminine curves with his hands. He always imagined, whenever he felt like torturing himself by thinking of her, that she'd run her hands over his shoulders and down to his waist and untie the red sash there. She'd eventually pull his shalwars down and remove his kameez and make love to him—after she was done admiring and palming his toned chest and abdominal muscles, of course.

But no, none of that was happening. She laid there, suffering because of him. There was no flying fist to meet his face, nor a regal robe. Just her bloody body.

He clenched his fist and lowered his lips to her forehead, planting a gentle kiss on her.

Soon, he had her worst injuries bandaged up with the curtains. Almost all the skin on her legs was covered in the cloth, but it was necessary. The backs of her calves had deep cuts and gashes in them that would require serious attention, as well as her thigh.

He was beginning to wrap her chest with the curtain when he growled from looking at her breasts. What used to be soft, flawless, and supple mounds with two delicious pebbles on them that he loved to feel and suckle on were now wrangled and bloody ripped pieces of flesh. He breathed out of his nose in anger and hatred as he finished tending to her wounds.

Altair pulled the other curtain off of its rod and used it as a blanket for his jameela. He bundled her in the cloth and tucked it around her, and then tenderly scooped her up in his arms, careful not to disturb her broken body further. He padded quickly out of the room, but stopped when he past the corpse lying on the ground. He turned his head back to glare at the dead man, wishing that he could stab him a thousand times for even touching her. His eyes narrowed and he growled at him as he shook with rage.

He very much wanted to mutilate his body and let his innards spill out onto the floor, but he was above that. He was not a feral dog; he was an Assassin that knew honor and respected the dead, even if they molested his Maria.

But it was her... Maria... that his member had nearly entered...

The option of slitting the man's throat and hanging him from their tower seemed a pleasing and satisfying thought. However, when blood began to seep through the curtains and onto his own robes, it became clear what was more important: humiliating a corpse, or saving Maria.

Altair took in a shaky breath, and walked out of the room, making his way out of the stronghold's interior as quietly as he could.

It fatigued him when he used his gift to navigate through the darkness while carrying her. He had to apply more energy to his muscles, which meant more of his energy being drained. On top of that, he was forced to walk even slower due to his burden. He was irritated beyond belief. He wanted to get to Shihad already, apply the ointment to her wounds, and take her back to Masyaf with him and nurse her back to health. He didn't care what Malik said on the matter. She was his love, and he would bring her wherever he pleased to, with or without Malik's approval.

His heart clenched in his chest when he heard her whimper quietly in his arms.

"Stay with me," he murmured into her ear, "my bahar." He maneuvered through the armory, finally on the base level of the fortress. He stepped over the dead bodies of the guards he had killed and carefully opened the door leading to the outside. She stirred once more in his arms as he brushed his arm against her leg while turning the handle open. He hissed through his teeth and bounded out of the door, dismissing his sixth sense from his eyes. Altair held her closer to himself as the night's chill welcomed him as he stepped foot inside the fortress' courtyard. He breathed out of his mouth, his breath visible against the icy air. He needed to get her out of there and fast. A mere curtain wouldn't shield her from the cold, and she'd only freeze more while on Shihad's back.

He kept to the shadows while he made his way back to Acre's gate. Those who saw him gave him a curious glance, but soon looked away. It wasn't uncommon to see a man scurry off with an unconscious woman in his arms; after all, crime had risen drastically in the past year.

He stopped as the gates came into view. There was no way he'd be able to pass while carrying her, even if he did acquire the service of a group of scholars. He glanced left and right, looking for a way through. He sighed in relief when he saw a small group of his Brothers peering down at him from atop a building. They were only novices, but he would have to place his faith in them.

'Malik.. always looking out for me, aren't you?' He jerked his head in the direction of the guards and the Assassins nodded in response to the silent order. Altair carried her off to the side and stood in a shadow. He watched as his Brothers jumped to buildings closer to the gate until they could not leap any further. They each unsheathed a throwing knife and flung it at the guards stationed there.

The knives missed their targets from lack of experience, and instead hit the massive stone walls of the gate and clanged to the ground noisily. However, it caught the guards' attentions. Shouts of 'Infidel!' and 'I will catch you!' were heard as they left their posts to chase after the small band of Assassins.

Altair couldn't help but smirk as the novices scurried away and out of sight. They still had much to learn, but he'd be forever grateful for their efforts. He walked as fast as he could to the now cleared and safe gate, aware that the bundle he was carrying moaned in pain once more. At least it was proof that she was alive.

Once he stood outside of Acre, holding onto his precious Maria as tightly as he could without causing her discomfort, he snaked to the right to where he had left Shihad. He hoped with all his heart that the idiotic horse had finally listened to him and stood still.

He ambled through the small graveyard outside of Acre that the bodies of those who had fought to protect it from the Crusaders rested in. He past the miniature tower in the center of the hollow ground; the symbol of their heroism. He paused, looking into the darkness for his steed. His eyes burned and stung from synchronizing his unique ability with his movement, but nevertheless, he still tried to will the vision back to himself.

He didn't need to, though. He felt something tugging at the back of his hood and he spun around in a heartbeat to face the new threat. Altair tensed his muscles and bent his knees, ready to sprint.

However, the friendly and slightly oblivious face of his brown horse with white stockings was staring at him with a peculiar gaze. He didn't mean to sneak up on him, he just wanted to show him that he was indeed a good horsey and listened to him for once.

Altair breathed out in relief and shook his head at the animal. He was soon in front of it, his forehead resting against its soft muzzle. "Don't ever approach me from behind again, ahbal," he sighed. Shihad snorted and narrowed his eyes at him, but soon gave the woman wearing nothing but curtains a curious stare. He sniffed at her and nipped at her hair. Altair shook his head and made soothing sounds from between his teeth as he hoisted the woman up and onto the saddle.

"Shh, shh," he cooed to the horse. Shihad remained still with his head turned to the side to study the woman now on top of him. Altair gave the beast a reassuring pat to his neck before taking the reins and leading him away from the gates. It was only a matter of time before the guards gave up their search for his Brothers and returned to their posts. Although he wanted to apply the salves onto her cuts and gashes, he couldn't risk being caught by the guards. It'd only put her in danger, and she was already in a poor condition as it was.

His feet took quick and light steps to further the distance between himself and Acre, leaving the real captive behind in the horrific city. He occasionally looked over his shoulder to glance at her. She was slumped forward with her head resting against Shihad's mane. The curtains were slipping off of her, exposing her shoulders to the frosty night. There were one or two blankets in his saddlebag, he knew that, and he'd wrap her in them as well as his own robe once Acre loomed in the distance.

Finally, after nearly half an hour from venturing away from the dreadful city, he deemed it safe to stop and nurse his beloved. He was in a thicket, a common feature on the west side of Israel. Since the western edge of the country faced the water, more trees and grasses were able to grow. Masyaf, although they received much rainfall, could not even compete with the sheer abundance of plantlife.

He led Shihad to a tree with low branches and tied the reins to one of the limbs. Making sure the knot wouldn't come loose, he gave it a firm tug and sauntered over to his horse's side. Altair reached up and wrapped one arm underneath her legs while the other supported her back and pulled her off of the saddle carefully. He set her down at the base of the tree, cringing when he saw her body shake uncontrollably as she shivered. He dug in his bag until he found the vials of medicinal paste. The ointment contained grounded tealeaves and lemon skins mixed with vinegar and olive oil. Oil wasn't necessarily an essential ingredient, but applying it to a cut or scratch greatly reduced the chances of scarring.

He nearly yelled in fury when he realized he could barely see a thing. He tried, multiple times, to let his vision that was a blessing from his ancestors to invade his eyes, but gasped as a painful jolt stabbed right through his forehead. He groaned and grabbed his head with both hands and halted his attempt to harness his sixth sense. He had gone too far already. One more try would mean that he would fall to the ground unconscious, leaving Maria to die from her wounds.

Altair panted heavily, sweat dripping off of his face. He growled once more and brought his knees to the ground. He caved into himself and let his head be cradled by his thighs as he rocked back and forth, trying to ease the pain away.

His method to soothe himself was interrupted by a snort and a hoof stamping. Altair blinked, and slowly looked up to see the outline of Shihad nudging fallen branches at his feet. The Assassin tilted his head to the side and stared bewildered at the animal. How in Allah's name did he untether himself from the tree?

He whinnied happily and pushed more pieces of wood at the man. Altair crawled backwards and glared at him. "Now is not the time to play," he hissed.

The horse grunted and stamped his foot impatiently. He lowered his muzzle to the ground and began searching for something, and soon two small sharp rocks were lying in Altair's lap.

Shihad blew out of his nostrils impatiently, waiting for the brainless human to make the connection between the wood and rocks. When he still stared bewildered at the animal, the horse rose on its hindlegs and slammed its forelegs down into the earth in irritation. Altair looked down at the rocks and then back to his horse. A grin slowly stretched on his face as he began to understand what the animal was trying to tell him. It was dangerous, however. It'd make it that much easier for someone to spot him and threaten Maria, but it was a chance he had to take.

He grabbed handfuls of grass and ripped the green strands out of the earth and tossed them to the side. Shihad's ears flicked in delight and he too began pawing the ground until a ring was formed from the torn grass. Altair groped around in the dark until he felt the sticks and stones. He placed the wood in the middle of his makeshift hearth and scraped one stone against the other above the tree limbs. He continued to strike the rock with the other until it created a spark that fed off of the branches and set them ablaze. He sighed as the fire began to grow into a decent size. Shihad snorted and trotted off in search of more wood.

Such a clever horse he had.

Now that he had a light source, he crawled back over to where his love was. Her skin was so pale—more than the moon, even. For a moment, his heart threatened to burst from his chest as the possibility of her being dead entered his mind. But the panic soon vanished as he held his hand in front of her slightly parted lips and felt faint traces of life escape her mouth. She was alive, but barely.

Altair quickly removed the curtain that he had wrapped her in and grimaced when he saw that blood had soaked her bandages. He carefully peeled away the cloth from her wounds one by one and rubbed the medicinal cream onto them. She remained deathly still, even when he was forced to tug the bandages held firmly onto her skin from her blood creating a thick and sticky paste.

He clenched his hands and cracked his knuckles when he saw the region in between her legs also covered in blood. Did he arrive too late?

He gently ran his hand over the abused skin and stared at her face with a pained expression. The feeling of guilt choked his heart. This was all his fault... If he'd stayed with her on the tower until morning and told her his true feelings, she'd never have gone through this...

Altair swallowed the lump in his throat and gave her forehead another kiss before tending to the last of her wounds.

He had used up all three bottles of paste, but he was glad. She had a chance to survive at least. And if she didn't live through it...

'I will forever hate myself,' he thought bitterly. 'I had let Adha die before my very eyes—saw how her face was frozen forever in a fearful stare. If Maria was to leave this world right before me...'

He knew not what he would do if she departed.

Altair wrapped the curtain loosely around her once more and looked over to the fire when he heard a crackling sound. There was Shihad, nudging a log twice the size of the Assassin into the flames. What god watched over this horse?

He sighed and reluctantly left her side to lend his assistance to the horse. Once he was done settling the log into the fire, he searched through his saddlebags to find his blankets. He pulled both of them out and knelt beside Maria. Altair slipped the curtain off of her. He removed his waistband, armor and weapons to slip his robe off of him. Once it was off, he dressed Maria in them and bundled her up back in the curtain and wrapped one blanket around her. He laid down next to her and draped the remaining blanket over both of them. He used one of his arms as a pillow for both of them while the other delicately pressed her body into his. He closed his eyes, hearing nothing but the flames crackling and Shihad trotting around their campsite.

---

"Still nothing," Tyler whined. "Not even The Chair has the boy spewing information out. His screams are so delicious and entertaining, but I have to prove to the Master that I'm capable of carrying out orders. What'll I do if Damiel never confesses?" He sighed and looked out of the window he was leaning on. It was remarkable how well-protected the boy's mind was. The coals didn't work—they only had him swearing his blasted head off at him. The Chair, well...

The sharp spikes had him scream as they entered the backs of his legs, but only more swearing was gained. It was all so nerve-wracking for the Templar. What would get him to speak?

"Augh, and damn it! When is Earl getting back from visiting his sick daughter? Surely he knows something about the whereabouts of that bitch Maria?" He frowned and shriveled his face up. He didn't like staying at the town. Too many drunkards, too much dirt that found its way under his fingernails, and too much violence. Ugh, it was repulsive! Even Seer, who he had tried to befriend, did not wish to speak with him. Why had Christopher insisted that he and Seer stay in this disgusting, uncharming town? When did Christopher get to make the rules? Their Master was the one in charge!

Even Malcolm, who had a high position in the Templar ranks, thought his idea was brilliant. But what was so brilliant about it? They'd sent a letter to Earl, requesting that he'd capture that Maria woman, and he didn't even reply back! Over a week had past since that letter was delivered. There was no excuse for his tardiness! None at all! One would have thought that he was ignoring what his comrades ordered him to do just to carry out his own plans!

And then there was Clarence. He and the man got along pretty well, but it was Clarence and Christopher that worried him, yet it was somewhat exciting at the same time. Christopher was just trying to support the Templars by offering his humble service, while Clarence wanted all the fame and popularity.

It was a shame how they would always argue with each other. Well, Clarence would argue, while Christopher would reply with calm and logical answers. It was as if Christopher was the red carpet while Clarence was the bull. He'd always provoke him, yet Clarence could never find a way to handle his anger properly.

And then came Clarence's ridiculous need to couple with that traitor. Eugh, why would he want to do that? She was damaged goods anyways, her vagina was nowhere near satisfying anymore. From what he'd gathered, Clarence knew her for a long time, years even. Maybe a decade, maybe half a decade? He shrugged, not really caring for the answer. But to seriously want her underneath him..! Was the Devil possessing the man?

What would Clarence even do if they managed to capture Maria? Their orders were to torture—rather, his orders—her until she told them where the Piece of Eden was. And then once they collected the artifact, they'd dispose of her in a cruel and painful fashion.

But what if Clarence wanted more than just simple sex from her? Oh, that'd foil his plans completely! He wanted to see her feminine body shake from the torture and to see blood come from her, and if Clarence had feelings for the whore, then there'd be Hell to pay for sure. He'd manage to sweet talk Malcolm and the others into letting him deal with her personally. He'd romp around with her and have her every night, not letting anyone else touch her! That'd deal a serious blow to himself. If he couldn't perform his torture when he wanted to perform his torture, things were going to get messy. Damiel would only last for so long until he eventually was drained of blood and his body was too exhausted to function. And what would happen once he was gone? He wouldn't have a plaything anymore, and he'd have to wait.

Wait. He hated waiting.

Even though he and Clarence were on good terms, the man would never let him torture Maria if he was interested in taking her as a wife. Yes, he did say he wished to bring honor to the Templars, and marrying the traitor would certainly be treason and an act of shame. Was he telling the truth, or was he lying so that he'd be a step closer to her?

And what of Maria? She wouldn't want to be his woman, would she? Oh, that'd ruin his plans too. He could just imagine it, having her strapped down to The Rack, screaming for Clarence to come and save her. And he would. Tyler was too much of a coward to put up a fight with a fellow Templar.

And what about the Assassin? The thought of the killer had him shiver and hunch his shoulders. It was a terrifying thing to think about, but it needed to be considered. What if he was searching for Maria, the woman he still loved? What if Maria and Clarence did marry and the Assassin saw this as her being taken hostage? Would he come for her? Of course he would if he still loved her! But that was a big 'if'. What if he didn't love her? What if she was just a pleasurable body for him? Or, maybe it was the other way around. What if he was a pleasurable body for her?

Oh, what if he did come for her, though? He'd kill everyone in his path to save his precious little woman, even himself. Tyler gulped from the thought of having an Assassin's blade in his throat. Would Seer protect him? Hah! He'd probably be watching with a bottle of booze, cheering the murderer on! Oh, no no, but wait! He would have to help him! Purposely not offering assistance to a fellow Templar was treason! It was illegal and seen as betrayal! Seer would probably be able to handle the Assassin just fine. He was a trained and hardened soldier, after all. He'd faced every type of villain out there! Certainly a man with only four fingers on his left hand would prove little challenge, no?

But then he had to rewind and think about what would happen if the Assassin never came. The Templars would have Maria, meaning they'd all be in the same headquarters. That meant Clarence and Christopher would be in the same room...

They were bound to argue, he knew it! The two never agreed upon anything, it was impossible for them not to bicker at one another! Clarence would be distracted with Christopher's retorts—he could just see Clarence's pretty fair face becoming red in anger! That would give him maybe, maybe, enough time to have Seer haul that whore down to the torture chambers and to have a little fun watching her body spasm. Of course Seer would drag her there, there wasn't anything to worry about.

A disgusting little smile appeared on his lips.

He had it all figured out.

---

Sleep did not come to him that night. Every time she would moan or whimper, his eyes would snap wide open and he would inspect her and his surroundings, making sure she was safe. Every pore on his body was alert; every particle tingling with anticipation. He stayed vigilant, never losing focus on the sounds and smells around him. Whenever she cried out, he'd immediately readjust her body in a more comfortable position. He thought that he was hurting her at first, but soon realized that it was the salve doing its job. He knew that the medicine stung her, but it was the only way to ward off infection.

Not once did she open her eyes.

He'd do anything to see her grey pools once more. He wished dearly that she would wake up from her slumber and look at him, call him a fool and a hairy and useless git, and then allow him to press his lips firmly against her own. He couldn't bring himself to kiss her anywhere other than her forehead. It was... strange how he felt limited to her.

But he knew why. He didn't know her first thought of him. He had no clue if she would weep in his arms and cry her heart out, stammering between breaths of hysteria that she had missed him dearly and that she loved him. He could never see her doing that, even if he returned from the dead. He could easily see her smack him silly and punch his nose in.

Her face scrunched together in agony and sweat began forming on her brow. He dabbed her face with his sleeve, his ever-so familiar feeling of guilt and responsibility crashing down on him. When had Maria ever looked so lifeless? He could never remember a time that she hadn't looked so strong and independent. She was always sure of herself, always held a respectable amount of dignity and pride. And here she was, almost devoid of life.

He frowned when he felt something soft and velvety rub against his head. Shihad was softly chewing on his master's cheek and ear with his lips. Altair sighed and pat the horse's head, and the beast responded by licking the man's hair, his slobber causing it to stick out in peculiar angles. He rolled his eyes and stood from the ground, carefully picking Maria up as he did so. It was light enough for him to travel back to Masyaf, yet the sun had not come up yet. His body still ached from abusing his eagle vision, but he ignored the pain. After all, she was probably enduring much worse than what he was.

The fire was just about diminished, the log he and Shihad had placed was charred and done with. Altair tenderly placed Maria on the saddle, strapped his armor, sash, and waistband back on, then climbed onto it himself. He repositioned her in the saddle so that she leaned back against him and didn't hurt her neck from craning it. He wrapped his arms on either side of her as he took the reins—a miracle how the horse had untied them—and guided Shihad out of the thicket. The horse was tired, he could tell by how heavily his gait swung. He probably didn't get any sleep either, and now he was going to run the poor thing until his legs fell off.

But if he didn't have her bandages changed and more ointment applied to her wounds... he risked losing her. And he couldn't have that—wouldn't have that. He also risked, since she was wearing his robe, his identity revealed if he past any guards along the way. It seemed as if the odds were against him, but he was never one to run from a challenge.

He would reach Masyaf by nightfall, and he would only stop if absolutely necessary.

---

'Absolutely necessary', meaning that her skin was slick with sweat and mouth dry. She was unbearably hot and feverish, so he had pulled Shihad over an hour later to the side of the dirt and rocky road he was riding on to help her down a waterskin. He swung off of the saddle and pulled her down with him. He laid her out on the ground, propping her head up with one hand while the other allowed the water to trickle down her throat. She did not move nor make a sound.

He let the water trickle down to her mouth and onto her neck to cool some of her skin. Yet, as soon as the water made contact with the flesh, it quickly evaporated into nothing. Lines of worry creased over his brow and he took in a deep breath. Her face was flushed red, the bruises becoming purple and her cuts were now beginning to form puss. She was fighting, he could tell, as she breathed in short, weak puffs of air. Altair shook his head and gnashed his teeth together. He would make sure she'd live. He would never let her die from his own mistake. She meant too much to him for him to allow that.

He swung her and himself onto the saddle. He dug his heels into Shihad's side, and he responded by bolting faster than he had ever before. His master's new determination and strong heart had given him strength to deliver this woman back to his home alive.

---

"Your move," he said as he eyed the chessboard. They'd taken a strange acceptance of each other over the past couple of days. Granted, he still saw her utterly annoying, but he could live with it now that he knew that was the way she was. She'd say something that would insult him and mean nothing by it sometimes, and he'd easily shrug it off. She'd questioned him about the Creed, and he likewise about her own Order. He'd give her answers and so would she, and then both of them would have new questions to ask. She'd proven that she was no threat to the Assassins of Masyaf. In fact, she proved rather useful.

For instance, he'd learned that in England, Templar activity was bustling and their new leader had been trying to woo and persuade King Richard to let their faction control the trade and transportation vessels. The idiot King was still deciding, and Hildegard was thrilled that she was not in England to withstand the confusion and chaos his decision would cause if he was to agree.

And for the past two days, they had walked around the fortress with Bayo, Hildegard telling the man tales of how the dog killed that Saracen, or how he had threatened that Crusader. It was all so fascinating to him. Or, if they did not wish to have a walk, they would sit down and play chess with Bayo laying down on the cool stone floor, dozing. He found it interesting how she was able to comprehend each move. Clearly, she was a smart girl.

"King me."

Malik frowned and looked at the chessboard, wondering how she had done it. He sighed and shrugged and gave her one of her pieces back. He grumbled something unintelligent beneath his breath as she happily took the piece and placed it on top of another red one.

"So, what is it that you do?" she asked as he moved one of his black circles on the board. He chuckled and waited for her turn.

"I'm the Master's most trusted Brother. I assist him in making decisions and sorting through paperwork."

She curled her lip back in distaste and puckered her mouth. "So you sit behind a desk all day, getting fat and scratching your butt crack while you give him words of wisdom? That's a bit dull for my liking."

"You're forgetting the part of picking my nose as well," he muttered sarcastically. "It's very important what I do, Hildegard." She nodded in understanding and slid her piece on another square. "Without me, he'd probably have gone insane with all the choices he conjures up out of thin air."

"Isn't he already insane due to Maria?" She picked up the glass of ayran from the counter next to her and took a sip of the drink. She had also grown addicted to it over the last two days.

Malik cringed from her name but nodded slowly. "Yes, indeed he is. I'm waiting for the day he performs a leap of faith into the water surrounding the great mountains of Masyaf."

She shrugged casually and took another swig from her glass. "And that'd be a problem, why...?"

"He can't swim," he said simply. She spat the ayran out from her mouth upon hearing the news. Malik closed his eyes and pursed his lips as she sprayed the yogurt onto his face.

"He WHAT?" she spat in disbelief.

He slowly wiped the ayran away from his mouth with his sleeve and glared at her. The affect was lost, though. His face was dripping with the white drink—even his eyebrows were white!

She mumbled a quiet 'sorry', but couldn't help but to giggle from his expression. He groaned and rolled his eyes at her, removing himself from his stool to search for a towel. She and Bayo followed him to the kitchen. The servants were bustling about, each calling out a different food that they were preparing. Who could blame them, though? Soon Assassins would be stampeding through the fortress in search of food after a hard day of training. She couldn't help but to admit to herself that her stomach was grumbling as well.

He quickly snatched a towel off of one of the countertops and dabbed his face with it. Once the ayran was cleaned off, a servant came storming toward him, scowled, and swiped the cloth away from him. He stood in confusion until he finally glared at their retreating back.

"Novice servant," he mumbled. Hildegard rolled her eyes and strolled out of the kitchen with her faithful old friend tailing behind her. Malik raised an eyebrow in question and followed her out to the courtyard. She stood atop the stairwell and stared at the ramparts in front of her. He looked at her, then followed her gaze.

"Is there something of particular interest about the walls?"

She huffed and crossed her arms. "Can we stand?"

He blinked and turned his head away, his eyes narrowing at her. "We are standing—"

"I meant on the ramparts, you monkey!" she groaned. She turned to him and shook her head slightly. "Well?"

He sighed but nodded. "I suppose the Master will brand my backside if he was to know that I did not treat you correctly. Yes, we can stand on the ramparts. This way," and with that, he led her down the stairs. They past the training ring, and just from one glance at the men hard at work, she knew that they were hungry and eagerly awaited for their trainer to call it a night.

He stopped in front of a wooden ladder and placed his foot on the bottom step. He was about to climb up when he heard cackling coming from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see the blonde woman snorting into her hand as she tried to hold back more laughter.

"Are you serious?" she said with her hand cupped over her mouth. He opened his mouth to ask, but she responded before he could. "How do you plan on climbing with one arm?" She hooted again and he bit his lip in annoyance. He'd show her...

It was awkward ascending the ladder with only one arm, but he managed. He had to sway his hips side to side while his one hand gripped the edge of the ladder and pulled him further up. He thought he had done a pretty impressive job, but obviously, from hearing the woman laugh even harder from his climbing, he looked like a fool.

She pointed up to him while clutching her side and hooted louder. From being behind him, it had seemed as if he was swinging his rear back and forth-as if he was trying to shake something off of him. She breathed in and caught her breath and soon joined him at the top of the ladder. She pulled herself up into the circular room they both stood in and bit her lips to stop the giddy smile that desperately wanted to show.

He growled from deep within his throat and pushed her aside as he opened a door that led to the rampart that looked directly over Masyaf. She sidled over to him and rolled her eyes as he continued to brood.

"You really need to work on your temperament," she said casually. He huffed and lowered his head, dark shadows being cast on his face. "So, tell me, Malik: how long have you been here, at Masyaf?"

He recoiled his head slightly from the question, but answered her nevertheless. "Eh, about twenty-one years."

"Twenty-one years?" she gawked, shocked from the answer. "What, was your family a nightmare or something?"

"You know, I don't really want to talk about it, okay?" he replied curtly. He rolled his eyes when she continued her pointless rambling.

"A healthy person is someone who expresses what they're feeling inside," she countered with an innocent smile. "Express; not repress."

He grunted and nodded his head, amused by her. "In that case, you must be one of the healthiest people in the world."

She scowled and shook her head at him. "Now, why shut me out? You know what happens to people who shut everybody out?"

He looked down at his feet, then back at her, and guessed, "They lead quiet peaceful lives?"

"No," she drawled, "they fester." She gave a satisfied smile when he looked completely baffled.

"Fester," he stated matter of factly. "I am festering?"

She nodded and continued, "Inside: fester and rot. I've seen it happen," she assured him hastily. "You'll become one of those hunched back, lonely old men, sitting in a corner of a crowded souk, mumbling to yourself: 'My ass is twitching. You people make my ass twitch.'"

He stared at her, not knowing what to say. She remained smiling, bobbing her head to the sides happily as he remained tongue-tied. Finally, she spoke, "So, you're not going to tell me?"

"No."

"Alright, alright, I won't broach on the subject. But let me ask you another question."

He sighed, but allowed her to ask away. "Why didn't he send any letters to her?"

Malik took a deep breath from the question and looked to the side nervously. "Who is this 'he' and 'she'?"

"Oh, don't give me that, you know who I mean. Altair and Maria."

"Oh. Them." He said it as if he hadn't the slightest idea who she was talking about. "He was, he was... sidetracked. He was sidetracked."

She frowned and placed a hand on her hip. "Sidetracked? By what?"

"I don't think we should discuss this." He tried to pass her and escape her interrogations, but was stopped as she grabbed his left shoulder and hauled him back to where he was previously standing.

"No, I want to know. It's my business anyways—she's my best friend and he's your best friend. We're practically related because of them!" When he widened his eyes in fear from the thought of ever being related to her, she scoffed. "Alright, maybe not related, but I still damn well deserve to know."

"He never sent his letters." It wasn't a lie, at least, not completely.

"Why would he write letters and then never send them? What's the point of that?"

He looked side to side for help from his fellow Brothers, but they had retreated inside of the fortress for their supper. "He didn't want to send them."

"Didn't want to?" she repeated. "DIDN'T WANT TO? Are you telling me that brainless oaf didn't want to tell her his feelings?" She crossed her arms and stared the Assassin down. "I want the truth. NOW."

"I didn't send the letters. Is your soul satisfied now?" he hissed at her and walked away to the opposite side of the rampart, leaving her mouth hanging wide open.

"You WHAT?" She stormed after him and tugged on his loose sleeve until he faced her. Her face held a dangerous thunder while her eyes gleamed with terrifying lightning at the cripple. "You didn't send the letters?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing—"

"The right thing?" she snarled at him. "You think by depriving two people, that were CLEARLY meant to be together, of each other's love was the 'RIGHT THING'? What is WRONG with—"

"Listen, Hildegard!" he roared at her as he gripped her shoulder. "He was constantly worrying over her, never stopped pacing back and forth, waiting for his little Maria flower to race into the fortress so he'd swoop her off her feet into his arms! If he saw a letter, he'd become more addicted to her nonexistence!"

She swatted his hand away and bared her teeth at him. "Because of you, she almost committed suicide!"

"How is that my fault? I was trying to protect my friend—"

"Enough with your pathetic—" she stopped as they both turned their heads in the direction of the Masyaf's city gates. Several of the Assassins were running out of the city to help stable a tired and exhausted horse. Malik grunted and nodded his head.

"He's back, I see."

She swallowed and inclined her head in acknowledgment.

He sighed when it remained silent for several moments. He finally spoke, in an exasperated voice, "I did not know that it would have caused so much damage—"

"Their baby died because she thought he didn't love her." Hildegard turned away from him and took in a shaky breath. "One letter... was all it would have taken... Just one letter from him, Malik."

He was about to reply when a flash of white caught his attention. He peered over the edge of the rampart to see the Master bustle through the gates, his stride quicker than usual. He and Hildegard silently, the tension still very much alive between them, descended the ladder to greet Altair.

---

Being Assassins, it was usual for them to deal with peculiar and out of place things. They were trained to have strong stomachs, to not be afraid of heights, to not panic at the sight of leprosy, and to use their abilities to their advantage. They were all taught to not question the Master's judgment and to place their trust in him.

But when a small group of Assassins that had not yet left the training grounds for their dinner witnessed their Master storm through the courtyard, carrying what looked like a person wearing his own robes in his arms, they couldn't help but to exchange puzzled glances with each other.

Altair bounded up the steps that led into the castle, ignoring his aching muscles' protests. He was a fool: he had tried to call forth his gift while riding Shihad to help guide him in the dark while riding towards Masyaf, and he was only given another wave of pain and dizziness. His lack of sleep from the night prior had also taken its toll on his body.

He stopped when he stood in the center of the hallway of bookshelves. The guards were not on duty— probably eating. He growled and cleared his throat, and bellowed, "MALIK! HILDE—!"

"I'm right here, Brother," Malik said as he padded up to his friend. Hildegard was still in the courtyard, contemplating whether or not she should enter. After what had just happened between her and Malik, she was in no mood dealing with those two men.

Malik frowned slightly when Altair did not turn around to acknowledge him. His head was bent down instead. The one-armed Assassin strode around the man and stood in front of him, shocked at what he saw.

He was holding what appeared to be an Assassin—one of them—in his arms. But, why was the Brother wearing robes that were too big for him, and why was Altair only wearing his light grey kameez and dark shalwars? The hood was pulled over the person's face, so it was impossible for him to determine who exactly he had rescued. On top of that, why were black strings (he hoped it was hair) covering the rescued Brother's face? He glanced back and forth between Altair and the bundle.

"Brother, did you pillage a Poor District?" he asked quietly. When he wasn't given an answer, he sighed and began pacing the hallway. "I know that it can be tempting to take advantage of the weak, Altair, but—"

"Shh."

Malik froze as he turned to see the Master whispering into the robes, the Arabic words rolling off of his tongue. In a heartbeat, he stood in front of him and narrowed his eyes at the package. It was shaking from what he could see, or was Altair shaking it?

Malik took a step back when he heard it whimper and he practically screamed, "It's alive?"

"What's alive?"

Both men turned to the woman entering the fortress. Behind her were the three novices that had chosen to postpone their dinner.

She held her head high as she walked towards them, being sure to send Malik an evil and threatening glare. He returned the look eagerly.

Hildegard furrowed her brow together as she studied the heap of white cloth in Altair's hands. Altair's hood was not on his person, revealing his terrified and pleading expression. His mouth was open as he took in sharp gasps of air, his face pained and exhausted. She tilted her head to the side and stepped away to let the other novices behind her take a look as well.

"Master, what... what exactly is it?" one of them asked. Malik nodded his head encouragingly at Altair as he seemed somewhat hesitant to answer, as if he'd say something they didn't want to hear.

Instead of answering his question, he barked at the novices, "Go and find Healer Asiya, and quickly! I do not want even a minute to pass by!"

The boys blinked, nodded their heads in confirmation, and ran off to complete their order.

Malik and Hildegard stared at the novices running off in different directions in the fortress in search of the healer. The boys were utterly confused. Hildegard looked at Malik for an explanation, but he held none. She averted her gaze to Altair, and asked in an uncertain voice, "What the Hell is going on?"

He carefully handled the package delicately, adjusting it in his grip. He took a step towards Hildegard and jerked his head towards the bundle. "See for yourself."

She stared into his eyes, waiting for the signs of a trap, but he gave none. She nodded and gulped. She slowly pulled back the hood halfway and brought her hands to the heap of hair, gently separating the black strands.

Hildegard gasped and withdrew one hand to cover her mouth in shock, while the other cradled the person's cheek. It... it couldn't... No, she... it... No...

She took a step back, her breathing harsh and heart slamming inside her chest. She shook her head and stared at the woman that was in that man's arms. She refused to believe how familiar the face she saw was.

Malik stole a glimpse at Hildegard's state before he too peered at the bundle. "A woman?" he questioned, looking at Altair. He smirked and shook his head. "You bring a woman home with you? Who is—"

"Maria," Hildegard croaked. Tears were sliding down her cheeks and her brown eyes became red from the emotions she battled inside of herself. Her best friend... had come for her after all, even though she purposely ran away. She ran away to save her; Maria. She didn't leave to have the woman she admired so much become marred in such a way. Her face was bruised and swelled, no color left in her cold, pale cheeks. Her weak body was trembling as she tried to fight off the cold that only she was feeling with what little strength she had left. She looked absolutely sickly, and Hildegard couldn't help but to let a strained sob escape her lips.

Malik's smirk slowly left his face as he became aware of the situation at hand. Altair, returning home from the mission. The mission being to rescue an ally from the Templars in Acre. Altair coming back to Masyaf with a woman that was barely breathing, the woman being the ally. The woman being Maria. Altair and Maria. Together. Him holding her in his arms, just as he had wanted all along.

"Hildegard," Altair whispered. He stared at the woman with sadness devouring his eyes. "Please, help her."

She could only nod her head, her voice no longer with her as she continued to weep. Just then, the novices that he had sent to go and find the healer came stumbling down the stairs, nearly tripping on the stone. "Master Altair! Healer Asiya requests you bring the patient to her instead. She does not wish to leave the infirmary."

Malik groaned and clicked his tongue. "Your orders were to bring her here—"

"That's enough, Malik," Altair hissed. He ambled as fast as he could to the infirmary, ignoring how the muscles in his legs bunched together and twisted in an agonizing fashion. He gritted his teeth together and let out quiet, short hisses of discomfort.

Hildegard tailed after him, almost stepping on his heels. Malik was not far behind her, festering from the fact that she was in front of him. They past other Assassins that stared at them, but mainly at the beaten woman in the Master's arms. What's going on? Who in Allah's name was he carrying?

He looked around frantically when he stepped foot into the infirmary. Altair's eyes darted about for Healer Asiya, and he gave out an audible sigh of relief when he spotted her and her assistants standing outside of an opened door.

Malik knew that door very well. It was where he had his arm amputated. It was a room reserved for serious cases. It had a tub in it, a bed, and operating table all in one. He closed his eyes and halted in his tracks, knowing very well that she was going to be introduced to a new onslaught of pain— if she wasn't dead already.

In seconds, Altair was standing in front of the medic, holding onto Maria dearly. The medic was a big woman, as tall as Altair was, if not taller. "Mistress Asiya," he bowed his head, despite the situation at hand. "Your assist—"

"Give child to me." She didn't give him a chance to analyze the command or to react. She had taken Maria from him in her large calloused hands. She brought the patient inside, and her team of assistants scurried in after her. Hildegard frowned from the treatment and cracked her knuckles. Maria did not deserve to be manhandled by that ogre!

Altair glanced to the side at Hildegard, and they both nodded to each other, as if reading each other's minds. They both entered the room the healers had brought Maria in, but Hildegard turned around furiously when she heard Malik pad over to them. She hissed and dug her nails into the palm of her hand as she raised a fist at him.

"I believe you are of no need here."

Malik frowned and glared at the woman. "It is my job to assist the Master—"

"You've already done enough to them!" she shrieked. He looked away in shame and shook his head. After being under her frightful gaze for a few seconds, he turned and walked out of the infirmary. She quickly scurried back into the room to inspect the condition her friend was in. She and Altair stood to the side of the commotion, watching as how they placed her down on the operating table and removed the Assassin robe from the woman with little mercy.

Asiya clicked her tongue. "Not good, very bad condition. Bandages must go. Girls!" The band of young women quickly peeled off the bandages Altair had crafted out of curtains, revealing the naked, bloody, and shivering woman beneath them.

Hildegard closed her eyes from the sight. Maria's body reminded her too much of her own, and she knew without a doubt that she did not deserve whatever had happened to her.

Altair winced as he watched the bandages being torn from Maria's body, ripping the scabs off of her dried cuts with them. The unconscious woman moaned from the pain, and soon fresh blood began to trickle down her flesh. He immediately stepped in the way to protect her. He shouldered the women out of his way and grabbed the wrist of one who was about to yank another strip of bandages off of her. "Gently, fiend."

The young healer rolled her eyes and plucked the Master's grip off of her hand with her free one. "Master, you may wait outside until we are finished—"

Hildegard was soon at his side, her nostrils flaring in anger. "Finished? With what? Tormenting her?"

Healer Asiya frowned and shook her head. "Too much people make work hard. Leave, we take care of her."

Altair, however, had shoved another assistant that tried to put her hands on Maria. His eyes darkened and he flexed his left hand. He knew there would be serious consequences if he harmed one of his own, but at that particular moment, he valued Maria's life more than the Creed. She was an inch from death, and all these women did was treat her harshly?

Asiya stormed over to Altair and placed her hands on her thick hips. "Master, you leave now, and we heal her."

"Like Hell you will," Hildegard mumbled under her breath. "Step aside." Hildegard glared at each of the women with the darkest expression she could muster. They stared back at her, and one by one, they began stepping away. Once Asiya was the only one still standing proudly, she glanced back and forth between Hildegard, the Master, and the patient. The healer's body trembled in rage as she too stepped away from the operating table.

"Prepare yourself to be of use, Altair."

He nodded as she took over the role as medic. "Bring me the water basin and wine from the counter and salve and fresh bandages from the cabinets." Altair did as she said and brought her the requested items. The women gasped as they witnessed their Master take orders from her; a Christian guest!

Hildegard dunked her hands in the bowl that held the wine and motioned for Altair to do the same. He followed suit and cleaned his hands with the beverage. Hildegard slowly removed the bandage that the assistant had practically ripped off of Maria. She was careful not to disturb the scabs and sighed when the bandage came off. She didn't know she had been holding her breath. She tossed the cloth to the floor and turned her attention to Altair. He was holding out the water basin to her, and she took the washcloth that was soaking in it and began to clean Maria's wounds with the water.

Healer Asiya sniffed and, with an insulted 'hmph', left the room with the girls following obediently behind her. Hildegard sighed in relief when they were gone. "Shut that door, will you?"

Altair clicked the door shut and was back at Hildegard's side. "Will she live?" he whispered. She didn't reply, only bit her bottom lip as she cleaned a long cut that extended from Maria's cleavage and down to her navel. She dunked the rag back in the water once it was covered in blood and brought it back out after a few moments. When he did not get a reply, he demanded, "Answer me now—"

"I don't know," she stammered. She shot him an insulted glance and turned her attention back over to her wounds.

He inhaled and exhaled his anger away. "Is there any way I can help?" he asked quietly.

"As soon as I clean a cut," she began as she handed him the container of salve, "rub the ointment into the wound and begin bandaging it."

They started with the long gash between Maria's breasts. Once Hildegard finished gently dabbing the rag to her skin, the Assassin had scooped his fingers into the salve and was spreading it along the length of the cut.

"You don't need to smother it in, her skin will absorb it." She rolled her eyes when he stopped the process to stare at her. "Like this." She took his hand in her own and began guiding it up and down her ally's skin, making sure his touch was tender. He grunted in understanding and she removed her hand from his to hand him the bandages. "Be careful not to wrap it too tightly," she chided. She gently lifted Maria from the table so that he could wrap the cloths around her chest and stomach. "If you make it too tight, it'll cause the wound to bleed even more. Also, it isn't exactly comfortable, either."

He frowned upon the last comment, but did as she said. He made sure that the bandages weren't lung-choking.

"She's freezing," Hildegard whispered as she placed her hand over Maria's. "Her hands are like ice..."

"She will be under the blankets and warm as soon as we're through with this," he stated urgently. Hildegard sighed, and they continued their process of tending to her wounds.

The minor cuts on her body proved to be little challenge, but it was an injury in her thigh that was difficult to mend. They had tried bandaging it, but the blood still flowed freely. Maria moaned from the stinging she felt as the salve was applied to the wound.

"We'll have to sew it back together," Hildegard said firmly. She left the table to raid the cabinets, in search of a needle and thread. Altair's eyes widened from what she was about to do.

"You cannot sew her."

"I must, or else she'll bleed to death." She walked back over to him carrying a spool of thread and needle. She quickly looped the string around the needle and was about to start stitching her thigh back together, had it not been for Altair's hand covering the wound immediately.

"She is not a piece of linen, Hildegard."

The woman withdrew the needle and gave him a small understanding smile. "I know you don't want her to hurt anymore than she already is," she murmured, "but it's necessary. The wound will become infected if we do not close it, and her leg will have to be removed if that happens. Do you understand? I am not trying to hurt her, or you," she added in quickly.

Altair gulped. Already one person that he held dear had lost a limb because of him. To have Maria fall in the same Hell that he put Malik through...

His hand reluctantly left her leg and allowed Hildegard to pierce her skin with the needle, slowly closing the gash. It was a sickening sight to see small punctures being made in his habibti's leg, but he forced himself to watch. He repressed his sigh of relief when she had finally tied the end of the string when she finished. He wrapped a bandage around her leg just in case if it still bled. He forgot Hildegard was there for a moment and lowered his head down to Maria's knee, his lips gently brushing against her skin.

Hildegard stared in surprise yet awe as she saw him give a chaste kiss. It was ridiculous to kiss a knee, but the way he had executed it... it struck something inside of her. She smiled from the sight. If Maria was not on the brink of extinction, she would have dared to say the moment was picture perfect.

"She needs to be dressed."

Hildegard snapped out of her sudden trance and nodded from his words. She stepped away from the table and knelt at the foot of the bed, opening the small chest situated there. She pulled out a simple brown gown and carried it back over to the couple. She bit her lips to keep herself from sighing.

He was stroking her hair behind her ear, his thumbs making small circles on her cheeks as he cupped her face. The way he looked at her was so heartwarming, as if she was just closing her eyes for a brief rest and he was waking her up from her sleep. It was the way a lover would look at their partner...

Lovers...

Hildegard stood next to him and cleared her throat politely. He turned his head to look at her, then frowned. "What of her hair?"

She tented her eyebrows together. "What about it?"

"It is covered in her blood."

"We can deal with that once we know for sure that she'll survive—"

"No." He lifted her frail and bandaged body off of the table. She was practically covered in the bandages. Barely any of her skin was even visible. He sighed and directed his feet toward the already prepared bath at the corner of the room. "We will clean it."

"But we might get the bandages wet—"

"Her hair is beautiful," he murmured. "If you will not help, then I will do it myself."

She swallowed back a lump of emotion in her throat. She'd never heard the man speak so softly, so carefully until that night. It was the unknown side to him. Not even his Brothers saw him so tender and loving. Hildegard nodded. "Very well."

He sat down on the floor next to the bath and held her in his arms. He brought her head to the edge of the tub and allowed it to fall back so that her hair was the only thing that fell into the water. The other woman sighed, knowing that she was the one who was going to have to do the cleaning while he held her like that.

"Can't be good for her neck," she muttered. She rubbed the creams and oils into Maria's hair and untangled the knots and blood from it. "It's a miracle she made it this far alive, you know."

He did not reply, only stared at his beloved's face. He'd never seen so many bruises on a face. But it was still her. She was still Maria, and she was still the only woman he'd ever love.

Hildegard looked over at the man. He wore no hood, revealing an emotional face that showed all of his years. Dark lines were forming beneath his eyes due to his fatigue and worry over his battle maiden. He was staring at Maria, his hazel eyes boring into her. It was all remarkable to Hildegard. She had slowly begun to believe that the man did indeed have a heart. Malik's talk two days prior had opened her eyes to a new perspective. But this... this was proof. This was all the evidence one would need to know his undying love for the woman they both cared for. All someone had to do was take a good look into his exotic eyes and they would feel that love he preciously hid away from the world.

And Maria was the only one who had experienced that love.

Hildegard bit her lip and removed her hands from the tub. "It's done."

Altair glanced at Hildegard and she felt her heart twist inside of her. He looked so defeated and drained, as if someone had plunged a knife into his chest. He picked her body up, her hair soaking wet, and brought her to the bed. Hildegard sighed and tugged on his sleeve, stopping him from placing her down.

"If she sleeps with wet hair, she'll wake up with a sore neck."

"You have a solution then?"

"Yes," she smirked, "it's called a towel. Maybe Arabs only use them as head decorations, but in England, we use them to dry our bodies off after a bath."

The humor was lost on him, not that she was expecting a chuckle. He stood there, waiting for her to produce a towel. She shuffled through another cabinet and brought the soft fabric to him. It was made out of pure cotton and was thick and warm.

To him, it looked like Hildegard had assaulted her head with the towel and was trying to strangle her with it. To her, however, she was just scrunching and rubbing the towel against her hair. Altair took three steps back and glared at the woman. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

She couldn't help but chuckle from his typical behavior. "Men. Do they not understand something so simple as towel-drying?"

"You said you would dry her hair, yes. You did not say that you would attack her with it!"

"Keep your voice down," she sighed. "Look, we're a team for now, okay? I know you don't fully trust me, but just listen to me. I'm a woman and I have experience with these things. Do you have hair that's more than three inches long? I didn't think so."

He narrowed his eyes, but allowed her to 'dry' her hair again. Honest to Allah, it was obvious she was trying to shake Maria's brains out of her ears!

After her hair was reasonably dried, she tossed the towel to the side and nodded toward the bed. "You can lay her down now."

He gently lowered her body onto the sheets and assisted Hildegard in pulling the loose gown over her head.

Hildegard sighed in relief when the work was finally over. She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead and gave a tired smile. "You should get some sleep, your people expect you to be fit to lead."

He shook his head. "I will stay with her."

"Altair, I completely understand your want to be near her. Anyone would feel protective over an injured loved one. But please, consider," she said softly, "if she wakes up, and she sees you. What would she think? What would she do? She'd run right out of here, you and I both know that, and reopen her wounds. Please, consider your actions."

Normally, he would have put up a fight and insisted that he'd be the one to make sure she slept comfortably. However, the thought of a soft, warm bed had his shoulders slump in defeat. His legs nearly buckled under himself from the thought of rest. He sighed, annoyed with his fatigue, "You will watch over her, then?"

"I'll be right outside—"

He puckered his lips, swung the door open, and left the room. She frowned and crossed her arms as she noticed how he scowled after each step he took and how the corners of his mouth would turn downwards in a grimace. The man was obviously in pain and needed sleep—what on Earth was he up to?

He soon returned with a wooden chair and set it down at the side of the bed. "You will sit here and watch over her."

Hildegard shrugged and tried to pull the chair away from the bed so she wasn't so close to it, but he had repositioned it to where he had it. She sighed and nodded in defeat. "Yes, I'll stay right here—"

"And you will not move from this spot—"

"And watch over her. Don't worry, I love her just as much as you do."

'That is not possible...'

Altair wrapped the thick blanket around her and adjusted the pillow underneath her head, making sure she was as comfortable as possible before he left for the night. He knelt down and leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Sa arje'o halan, Maria." He gave her temple closest to him a small kiss before he stood and left the room, retreating to his own chambers.

Hildegard sighed and plopped herself into the chair, instantly falling asleep.

---

Seer flipped through the pages of the little journal they had collected from Damiel's person when they had first captured him. It was obvious that the deep thought put into the text could never belong to the boy himself. What he read interested him, even though there were only eight pages. Each page contained very intriguing information on the Apple, as well as the Assassins, especially the last page. There were two pictures, one being a diagram of some sort of weapon, while the other depicted a battle between Assassins and Templars.

There were ideas, philosophies, and theories written down in the journal, as if someone was trying to come up with answers for unasked questions. It proved to baffle Seer himself. Who would spend so much time asking question after question?

The author never came up with an answer, only more questions. He'd state a partial answer, but then finish it with yet another blasted question! The Roman was confused.

'What follows are the three greatest ironies of the Assassin Order: (1) Here we seek to promote peace, but murder is our means. (2) Here we seek to open the minds of men, but require obedience to a master and set of rules. (3) Here we seek to reveal the danger of blind faith, yet we are practitioners ourselves.'

Seer frowned and reread the passage. The author was... an Assassin? He shook his head, slowly digesting the information. The author wrote how they kept staring into the Piece of Eden, and even mentioned one of his colleagues suggesting he leave the artifact alone.

'So, the Apple is with the Assassins after all... Hmmm...' Seer scratched his chin and smirked. Of course! The Apple was not with Maria—she never had it. It was with him, her lover. All this time, they'd been chasing that woman, and for what? Just for sweet revenge? Or because his allies actually believed that she held the artifact?

Everything made sense then. When they had burned down that Hildegard's estate in London, no one was home. In fact, his men had reported seeing her board a vessel to Syria. Of course!

The Rose was in league with the Assassins all that time, and the Templars didn't even know! It made Seer sick thinking about how stupid and ignorant they were.

Hildegard left to inform the Master of Assassins that the Templars were once again rising to power, and also to inform him that reinforcements were on their way. That was why Maria and the other Roses had left London! Not because of the wedding, no. They had plans all along to rendezvous with the Assassins. And his Brothers were too blind to have foreseen this!

But he knew the truth. He knew where the Apple of Eden was, and that Maria certainly did not have it. Yes, she could be looking at it right that very moment while he made his discovery, but the fact that she held it in her palm and kept it safe and locked away from the Templars was absurd.

But what if she fell under its illusion? He had only heard rumors of what the artifact was capable of doing, but only just that: rumors. He never experienced its capability, nor did he plan to. What if Maria was trying to persuade the Assassins to give the Apple over to her so that she may destroy the Templars?

It was an insane thought, but it was still possible. Men were weak, it was a fact of life, save for a few select people. What if she succeeded? He'd watch comrade after comrade bow down to that woman.

But then again, why did he even care to begin with? The Templars were fools. He served them only because his family had deemed him a disgrace. It didn't concern him, though. If he had stayed in Rome like they had wished him to, he'd be bored to tears with the politics he'd have to endure. Did he actually care for his fellow Templars, though?

Well, there was Christopher. He was a good man; wasn't tainted with all the false beliefs and bravado that the others were plagued with. He was admirable, that was for certain. He had an astounding wit to him that most would have been jealous of. Seer, however, quickly gained the man's trust. Brains and a sword were always a good match. But other than Christopher, there was no one he really cared for. Admittedly, he'd love to see Tyler eaten by rats and to have Clarence drown.

And then there was Earl. He never personally knew the man, only knew that he had a weight problem and was always annoyed with someone or something. No, he wouldn't care if his head was placed on a pike.

Seer smiled maliciously and closed the worn journal. He'd keep his little discovery to himself. Let the others hold on to their petty beliefs. He'd be sure to hide the journal from his comrades and withhold the information from them.

---

"Master? You really should try to sleep. I mean, you look awful."

The three previous novices were surrounding their Master, who was sitting on a bench in the fortress, kneading his forehead with his fingers. They had tried to persuade the man that in the morning, he'd be able to check on the rescued hostage and to replace her bandages. Tried, but failed.

When he did not respond to them, they nervously looked at one another and tried again. "Don't worry, Master. She's in good hands, she'll be fine. Please, you mustn't do this to yoursel—"

"Wise advice, Brothers, but we all know that he is too much of a fool to listen to wisdom." The three novices turned their heads and each gave a small bow to the one-armed man approaching with a white bundle in his hand.

Malik nodded to each of them and waved them off. The poor souls didn't even eat their dinners yet. Malik sighed when their retreating footsteps were no longer heard and lowered himself onto the bench next to his friend. "You're worried," he stated as he placed his Assassin's robe in Altair's lap.

Altair grunted and continued his assault on his face. Malik chuckled and replied casually, "I don't think I've ever seen you this worked up over someone. The novices are right— you do look awful."

Altair groaned and rested his forehead on Malik's good shoulder. "Malik," he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"It's all my fault that she's... in this condition..."

The Assassin rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulder, trying to shake the man off of him. "Listen to yourself. How many men have you killed in your life? Did you ever cry in the face of death—"

"I am not crying!"

"But you will be," he snorted. "You're a grown man with a brain, Altair. Perhaps you should consider using it? Healer Asiya may be a little rough, but she's a good healer. The woman will be alright, you're overreacting."

"Overreacting?" he hissed. He slowly raised his head to glare at Malik. "I am not overreacting! Maria's life is on the line, dwindling, and all you can say is that I'm overracting?"

He sighed and clicked his tongue. "There, he did it again! Yelling at the poor cripple when he was only speaking the truth." He closed his eyes when he heard Altair growl at him. "Altair, I care for your well-being, I really do. But fretting over her is not going to make anything better."

"What would you rather have me do? Parade through the fortress, singing that she's finally back in my life?"

Malik stared at him for a few moments, then burst out into laughter. Altair balled his hands into fists and gave him a seething, narrow-eyed glower. His friend doubled over and clutched his side from thinking of the Grand Master of the Hashashin ever doing such a thing as... as... singing!

"You... may as well... throw flowers... around, too!" he sputtered between newly founded giggles. "Or... you could... stand on the ramparts... and.. shout... your accomplishment..."

Altair stood from the bench and stormed back in the direction of the infirmary. Malik, however, immediately sobered and had grabbed his shoulder and ushered him back to the bench. "Brother, I meant no offense."

"No offense? You are clearly enjoying the fact that she's dying!"

"I said no such thing! I am enjoying the fact that you are blind to see that she is back in your life!"

Altair was about to say something to counter his words, but his mind went blank. She was... back? She was... at Masyaf? He had seen her and held her, finally, after mourning her absence for a year?

Malik groaned and slapped his forehead. "Please tell me you've noticed that you once again have your precious Maria kibbeh."

Altair stared at his feet and frowned. He'd been too concerned worrying over her and battling his frantic emotions inside of himself to notice that he had held her! True, she wasn't exactly in perfect condition, but she was alive. Wasn't that what he'd been telling himself; that he'd be happy knowing that she was alive?

"Ahh, so the novice finally uses his head," he mused. Altair sighed and shook his head, a small tired smile stretching across his lips.

"I suppose I am," he admitted, "still a novice with women after all."

Malik nodded, but then smirked, "And I cannot help you in that field of study, for I myself have zero experience with the opposite sex."

"Thank you, Malik," he murmured. "I suppose things are better than before."

"No more sulking around the fortress, then?"

The Master rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. He grimaced when he still felt Shihad's slime in it. "For now, at least."

His friend noticed how his eyebrows tented together once his hands felt his hair. He leaned toward him and grabbed a handful of it and sniffed it. Not only was it covered in a light layer of grease, but it smelled like... horse. He shook his head in wonder and stood from the bench. "I'll have a bath prepared— the Grand one, mind you. You should get something to eat. I doubt you ate anything on your way back from Acre."

He nodded and slowly removed himself from the bench. "Thank you, Malik."

The man shrugged and walked off, calling over his shoulder, "If I didn't babysit you, who would?"

---

The Grand bath was reserved specifically for the Master of the Assassins. The tile in the bathroom was always polished, the intricate designs etched into the stone gleaming even in the darkness. Thick rugs decorated the floor here and there, pillows and cushions in one corner of the bath. There were two shelves stacked with fresh towels and a clean robe. There was also a window, that, when the sun was angled just right, sent comforting rays of light on the fairly large, square tub. It was a room that possessed a warm atmosphere and calmed the user down, even if their minds were as troubled as his was.

Altair stared at his robe in his hands, a distressed frown plastered on his face. Blotches of red had stained the white fabric. Blood. Maria's blood.

He shook his head and let the robe fall to the floor and pulled his clothing off. He lowered himself in the tub once he was bare and winced. His back was killing him— if he twisted it too much that way, it'd shoot an icy pang up his spine, and if he leaned over like that, he'd clench his teeth from the feeling of having each vertebrae stretched from their rightful place. Once his body, save for his head, was submerged under the water, he sighed and leaned back. He massaged and coaxed his muscles to relax and loosen from their clenched states. It took nearly an hour for them to mellow out.

And once that was done, he was immediately flooded with images of Maria lying underneath that obese man, unconscious and unable to defend herself. It was disgusting. He never thought he'd be the type to bear hatred for his enemies, but this was indeed a special case. If he had only arrived sooner, he would have been able to kill him before he even forced her down on the mattress. He had failed her.

But if he had arrived seconds later, that man would have slid that Allah forsaken penis inside of her. He growled when he thought of what might have happened. He was the only man allowed to ride her. That corpulent, miserable bastard had no right to lay even one finger on her.

The thought of having that damned man's hands clutching her mounds that only he was allowed to fondle made his hands clench, cracking his fingers as he did so. Maria's nipples were red and swollen, as if someone had pinched and squeezed them too hard. Her breasts were even bruised. Altair would have never treated the sensitive flesh in such a way, even if she became a Templar again and he was sent to kill her. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes. He was furious and had half the mind to ride back to Acre, even if he and Shihad were both miserably tired, find that man's corpse, and tear it to shreds. But he only had half a mind to do so. He knew that his duty was right here at Masyaf— for his Brothers and for her. He knew he would stay put in his home for the time being, but it felt somewhat refreshing when he schemed ways to disfigure that yebnen kelp.

He sighed, knowing that he needed to calm himself. He was grateful that his Brothers had left some food for him, even if kibbeh, bread, and cheese were the only things on the table remaining. Food had helped to ease his thoughts, but not for long.

It took more than Malik's sharp yet friendly words to convince him that she'd be alright. She barely moved while he and Hildegard dressed bandages on her wounds, and, if it was even possible, she resembled a ghost. He thought that at any given moment, she'd become transparent and disappear.

If she'd pull through and become better, then what? What would happen then? What would he even say to her? Or would he be so tongue-tied he wouldn't say anything? What if she left for England again?

He growled and began scrubbing Shihad's saliva out of his dark hair with herbal creams. He knew he had to fix their relationship, but how would he construct a bridge between them once more? He doubted he'd be able to just take her in his arms and let his and her lips reunite. No, she'd never let him do that. She'd be furious and would have the urge to kill him before she even considered speaking to him, let alone continuing what they used to have. Even if she found out from Hildegard that he had planted soft, tender kisses on her knee and temple, she'd bring Hell down upon the Assassins.

But he supposed that her fiery, fierce, and independent side was what made him fall in love with her. Everything about her was, well, beautiful to him. She had a certain charm and grace to her that no one he had ever met possessed. The way her lips would curve upwards in a gentle and innocent smile when conversing with strangers, persuading them to trust her was absolutely remarkable. Her eyes would still have that glorious spark in them, yet there was that haze of femininity underneath all of that. Her mouth would always be a pleasant sight for any man, but you'd only see the fire in her eyes if you were looking for it. He knew that men would be tempted to hold her down to a bed and break her spirit, just to have the right to say that they 'owned' her if they ever saw that rebellious glint.

He admitted, he felt a bit of power while they were on the tower together. But it wasn't that he was trying to deem her his little piece of property. He loved her, and wanted to feel that ferocity and glory hidden underneath her skin. And she let him bask in it as she wrapped her legs around his waist, clutched the back of his neck with both of her hands while she tugged on his dark locks of hair, and when she had sealed her lips to his own. Maybe she too felt that she wanted to experience his strength.

Altair slowly craned his neck backwards so that the water cleaned away the now grimy cream out of his hair. He wasn't fond of dunking his head underwater, even if it was just a bath. Water had always been his mortal enemy, even though his body depended upon it for survival. It was so ironic to him, but he couldn't quite place his fear. He felt as if it choked him whenever he lowered his head into it. His ears would always pop once he resurfaced, and he hated that feeling.

He swung his legs over the edge of the tub and stepped out onto the lush towel laying on the floor next to the bath. He grabbed another towel off of the shelf and dried himself off, frowning when he recalled how Hildegard nearly tore Maria's head off with one of these Allah-forsaken towels.

He slipped into a clean robe and made his way back to his bedchamber. There was nothing more he could do that night.

---

Four days had past, and still her eyes remained shut. And each day, they'd replace her old bandages with clean ones, hoping that she'd recover soon. Hildegard's back ached tremendously; she hadn't slept in a bed for those four days. She was either up all night watching over Maria (Altair had taken a liking to randomly popping his nosy head in now and then to see if Hildegard was truly keeping an eye on her), or she was sleeping in that most uncomfortable chair. Either way, her spine felt like it was about to snap. However, some things were pleasurable for her.

He and Hildegard had made a deal: she would watch over Maria, and he would only enter the room to help dress new bandages on her and feed her, and also to spend brief minutes by her side. Hildegard's end of the bargain was that she had to look away while he gently held his habibti's hand and tenderly brushed her fingers with his thumb. Of course, Hildegard stole peeks at him here and there. Her breath was immediately taken away when she saw his expression. He was still tired and aching, she could tell, but the way he looked at her...

She was shaken that such a man even existed.

Maria's face was still pale, but her breathing had improved.

Since she did not wake up, they had to feed her themselves, which was slightly embarrassing for Hildegard. They had fed her jellies and jams that were made from peaches, raspberries, and lingonberries. Hildegard couldn't help but to suggest that she'd be needing bread and meat as well. She was already thinning away, and she had insisted that she needed more meat on her bones.

So, what did she have Altair do?

Well, she tried to have Altair chew the bread and meat and feed her by going mouth to mouth, just for amusement, but he had vigorously refused to do such a thing. He had stated that his lips would not touch hers for any reason until they had sorted things through with each other when she was awake. He was torturing himself with it, but he respected Maria enough to politely let her go should she choose never to love him again.

But it wasn't a full failure on Hildegard's part— he disagreed partially. He still chewed the bread and chicken to soften it for Maria, but had used a fork to place it in her mouth. Bread and meat wasn't a problem for them, it was the jelly.

Constantly, it'd slip down the corner of her mouth and slide to her chin. They'd had to tuck a handkerchief into her blouse so that she wouldn't dirty herself up. Hildegard couldn't help but grin like a complete fool every time he had fed her spoonfuls of the mushed up fruit. Oh, if Maria knew what she looked like whenever he'd get some of the jam on her nose accidentally...

'I am such a cruel woman.' Hildegard shrugged to herself and knew that her behavior was excusable. After all, Maria was showing signs of recovery, even if they were slow. She would make it, at least.

Altair, however, found no amusement or hilarity out of the situation. He would be in total concentration as he fed her, eyebrows practically becoming one. Hildegard had often considered getting a towel and dabbing his forehead. With the way he was treating her, it was only a matter of time before he began sweating and panting. For crying out loud.

"You know, she isn't as fragile as you think she is," she mumbled. He held her mouth open with one hand and slipped the spoon in her mouth, and let Maria's lips slowly come together again as he slid it back out. He stopped his process to glare at Hildegard in offense. "You treat her as if she'll break at any second. She's solid flesh, just like you and me."

"Forgive me if I am trying to comfort her," he hissed. Hildegard sighed and crossed her arms.

"I care about her as well, Altair, but you don't see me pretending she's royalty and worrying if she'll choke on the jelly."

"If I am not careful, she may very well choke."

"Then she'll hack it back up and be done with it," she shrugged. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at the woman. She stuck her tongue out at him in return. "Admit it, you're behaving like a fool."

"The only one who is acting foolish, Hildegard," he growled, "is you. I caught you sleeping last night when you were meant to be watching over her!"

"I was watching over her, you buttless man!"

He snorted and scooped another small spoonful of jelly from the jar and fed her once again. "Oh, really? How can one watch through closed lids?"

"She'd make a sound if she was in pain, Altair. And besides, I'd sense if something was wrong with her," she pouted. He looked unconvinced and pursed his lips in annoyance. "You forgive me for being tired—"

"If you are tired, then leave."

She huffed and sat on the foot of the bed and crossed her leg over the other. "You are so stupid. I am not going to leave her. I don't abandon my friends, for your information."

"Then do not complain."

Hildegard sent him optical daggers and prayed to the Lord Himself that this man would be beaten to death by a fish one day. 'Stupid man...'

---

"Is everything alright, Brother?" Malik called out to Altair as the man brushed past him. His clean Assassin robe billowed behind him as he stormed to his study, marching up the stairs with a clenched jaw. Malik exchanged a brief look with Bayo, who had witnessed the Master's mini tantrum as well. The two of them followed Altair to his study silently, waiting for a response.

He slammed his fist down into the table, small splinters flying from the impact. Malik frowned while Bayo growled and darted his eyes in search of danger.

"Stupid woman," he snarled. "She thinks she can tell me what to do with her...! The nerve!"

Malik quickly rushed over to him and placed his hand on his shoulder as he was about to send another blow to the table. "Never harm an innocent, Altair. I believe it applies to furniture as well." The Master breathed out irritably and bit his lip. Once his hand slid back down to his side, Malik said, "Now, tell me what happened."

"I was feeding Maria and that woman, Hildegard, decided to order me to treat Maria like a person instead of a breakable doll! It was madness, Malik!"

The one-armed man blinked from the confession and shook his head. Such stupidity! "Altair, did you consider that you were being too gentle with her?"

"I am merely trying to help her recover!" he spat in his defense.

"I see how you're mumbling to yourself while walking the halls. Instead of sulking, you're fretting over her! Relax, she will be fine, I assure you. And as much as I dislike agreeing with her, maybe Hildegard's right."

"Are you saying I should not care for Maria?"

"I never said that. I'm saying to not overdo it to the point where the entire fortress is gossiping about you—oh, wait, too late for that," he mused quietly. Altair raised an eyebrow and was about to question, but Malik waved him silent. "The only ones that know of her presence are the three novices, and I already spoke with them," he murmured. "The rest of our Brothers believe that you're having another one of your episodes. The Intermediates are already placing bets to see if you will either whimper for her while taking a bath or if you'll moan her name while you sleep."

"They what?"

"Oh, I never told you? Well, now you know."

He sighed and sat down in his chair. He groaned and placed his head in his hands. "Malik, what am I to do?"

Malik shrugged and guessed, "Continue breathing, eating, and shitting every day? I don't know, Altair. What are you to do after what?"

"When she wakes up," he growled, "what am... what am I supposed to say?"

"Is this what plagues your mind?"

He nodded.

"You tell her the truth then, I suppose," Malik said easily. "You and I both know you wouldn't want to lie to her."

"Malik, the truth would be that you interfered with our relationship with the letters..."

He sighed and gave a concerned lopsided smile. "I'll stand her fury and anger if it means fixing what I've destroyed."

"It wasn't just you, though," he sighed. He told Malik of the night on the tower and how he doubted himself. He told him that he never told her that he loved her or that she held a special place in his heart. "What if she is set on believing that I never cared for her? What if she thinks that I just needed some form of release that night?"

"Altair," he said softly. The Master looked at his friend, waiting for him to speak. Malik took in a shaky breath, and said, "I do not know her well enough. But from what Hildegard has told me over the past few days, she loves you. Maria loves you very much and I believe she too would like to piece together your broken and somewhat confusingly ironic relationship. But tell me, how exactly did she acquire those wounds?"

Altair confided in him what he walked in on at the Templar stronghold in Acre. "The man was a Templar, no doubt about it. I do not know who he was though. I was too careless to have checked his clothes for a family crest."

"Not careless," Malik mused, "but concerned. Perhaps when she wakes up, she may have the answer to that question. It's just strange. How is it that she's the captive? I know that she assisted you on Cyprus, but the letter clearly said that one of us was being held a prisoner. She isn't part of our Order, Altair."

"I know, and I'm curious about it as well."

"You are sure that your sense told you that she was the target?"

"Yes, I am sure of it. No one else had a gold aura, and the man on top of her was portrayed as an enemy. She had to be the victim," he replied.

"And you are sure you searched the entire stronghold?"

"Malik, I had to go down many flights of stairs, and when I finally reached the bottom, there was only that one door that led to the room she was in. There weren't any other doors, just racks and racks of weapons and armor. There is no mistake about it—she was the captive."

Malik sighed and nodded his head. "I believe you when you say you searched it thoroughly, but something just doesn't seem right. Do you sense that we are missing something important in this puzzle?"

"Yes," he stated, "it's beginning to worry me as well."

"What was she even doing back at Acre?" he thought aloud. "Why would she just hop on a boat and venture all the way to the Holy Land just to see Acre? I know it's special to you two, but it's ridiculous. Ah well, I suppose she's the only one that can give us answers."

Altair sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I only hope that she wakes up in a few days. It gives me enough time to think of what to say to her."

"Novice."

---

Six days—six damn days! He was beginning to become frantic now, wondering when she'd wake up. Maybe there was something seriously wrong with her, but if that was the case, why was color returning to her bruised cheeks? Her minor injuries were healing quickly, but he knew that her leg wounds and gash between her breasts would take weeks to heal. There'd be a faint line replacing the cut; a symbol of his failure.

He'd only have a few minutes to himself before Hildegard returned from relieving herself. They'd both moved Maria to a different room now; Healer Asiya had demanded that since her life was no longer in jeopardy, she should not be vacating the emergency room. So, Altair had the servants prepare a bedroom that was just down the hall from Hildegard's for her. It was a small room, but it was comfortable. There was a window that faced the sun, a dresser, mirror, and chest at the foot of the bed. It wasn't much, but he doubted Maria was the type of woman who demanded luxurious space.

He sat on the chair next to her bed and looked her over. She slept peacefully, her head turned to the side and her black hair half covering it. Her hair had gotten longer, he noticed. It now almost reached her breasts, but not quite. It was still just as beautiful as it had been.

He cupped her cheek in his hand and stroked it. Altair gave a weak smile and planted yet another kiss on her forehead. He wasn't sure how many times he had done that that week. Every time, he'd go to her and either hold her hand or cup her face, then bring his lips to her forehead and leave her in Hildegard's care. But the woman was not back yet, so he had some time left.

"Maria..." He sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear, admiring how soft the ebony strands felt as they slipped past his fingers. She stirred in her sleep and rolled her head to the side so that she pressed her cheek into his hand. He froze instantly at the spot and held his breath as she sighed and mumbled his name. How did she know he was there?

"Altair..." she murmured once more and placed her hand on top of the one against her cheek. Her lips turned upwards in a gentle smile as she nuzzled his hand. His heart boomed in his chest, but he sighed, relieved that he realized she was still asleep. He smirked, but widened his eyes as she ran her hand up his arm and gently tugged on his sleeve. His other hand used the mattress for support as he was pulled, very willingly, towards her. She unconsciously loosened her grip and let her fingers slide off of his kameez once he was leaning over her, his face right next to hers.

He could feel the breath coming from her mouth fanning his face, intoxicating him with lust and desire. He swallowed when he found himself leaning closer towards her lips. They were so close, yet not close enough... Maybe, just maybe... one little kiss couldn't hurt, right?

He parted his lips as the distance between them was closed, barely a centimeter from his target—

"Em... what are you doing?"

He jumped and sprang back from the bed at the sound of her voice and whirled around to stare at Hildegard. His face unconsciously reddened while he glared at her. "There is a thing, Hildegard, called knocking."

"I did knock, you mule." She rolled her eyes and pouted, but soon a sly and mischievous smile crept onto her face. "So, what were you doing, pray tell?"

He looked at his sleeping beauty and bit his lip. "It was nothing."

"Nothing? Pah! I was walking in on a love fest, and you call that nothing?"

"Leave it alone, Hildegard."

"No! Don't mind me, I can turn around so you can finish," she giggled and lived up to her word by facing the doorway.

He opened his mouth to snarl at her, but shut it. He could finish what he started... All he wanted was a quick, harmless kiss...

He angrily marched and brushed past Hildegard, swung the door open and slammed it behind him. He had better things to do than listen to her petty banter.

Hildegard jumped slightly as the door was violently closed. She frowned and stomped her foot in irritation. 'Damn Assassins! Damn them all to a pit of mud!'

She sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed her arms, her chin held high. "I hope fleas infest his undergarments, that pitiful Assassin. Hmph!" She began scheming of evil pranks to pull on him, ranging from placing hot peppers in his meals and hiding the water, to throwing a bucket of water at him and watching him run for dear life. 'Oh, thank you, Malik, for telling me he can't swim.'

Her thoughts were interrupted as the woman lying in the bed moaned. Hildegard swiveled her head to look at her friend, and opened her mouth in shock as Maria's eyes blinked open.

---

She was having a pleasant, yet aggravating, dream. She didn't know why she would think of him, but it sent sparks of pleasure through her when she thought of him—particularly like that.

She couldn't tell exactly where they were, only that they were together. She was in his arms, being held tightly to him as they pressed their lips against each other's.

Rather, that's what she would have loved to dream about. Instead, she leaned in for his warm and feverish kisses, only to have him smirk and move his head back, teasing her. At first, it was somewhat arousing for her, but it became rather frustrating after he had repeated the action four more times. She furrowed her eyebrows together, straining her neck to reach that scar on his lips. She huffed when she her mouth didn't connect with his. He was only about an inch or two away from her, that damn arrogant smirk that she couldn't help but to love plastered on his face. She slid her tongue out, trying to close the short yet painful distance between them.

He flicked his own tongue out against hers and slid his lips over the wet muscle, enjoying the torment he put her through. She whimpered in frustration, but quieted once he cupped her face in his rough, calloused hands. He stared into her eyes as she did the same. His eyes closed as he brought her face closer to his, finally giving her what she desired the most, their lips about to touch—

Slam! The sound killed her dream, gutting it, skewering it like a kebab, ripping it to shreds. She moaned aloud when it ended. They were so close! Who was the fool that chose to viciously close a door?

She opened her eyes, only to shut them as sunlight mercilessly bore into them. She groaned again and puckered her lips out. After a few moments, she tried again, and slowly, the blur that was her pitiful vision, became clear. She blinked once more when she fully awoke.

"M-Maria?"

---

Maria groaned and turned her head to the side to look at Hildegard. The blonde woman was immediately at her side, feeling her forehead for a fever and checking to see if her breathing was normal. She babbled endlessly on how she was 'so grateful' and that she was 'worried sick' about her. She spoke nonstop while scrunching Maria's face in her hands and turning it this way and that, inspecting her for any flaw that she seemed to think she possessed.

Maria frowned at the woman. What was she talking about? Why was she asking her if she was alright? Of course she was alright, why wouldn't she be?

"Are you hurting anywhere? Do you feel nauseous? Uneasy? Unsettled? Do you feel the slightest bit dizzy?"

She slowly shook her head and continued to stare at her. Her grey eyes blinked at her brown ones.

"You... you do know who I am, right?" Hildegard asked nervously. She hadn't said a thing and it was beginning to worry her. Why was she just staring? God, just make her say something already!

Maria nodded her head slowly. "An angel?" she rasped out. Her voice was feather light and coarse, even though she'd been given water regularly.

Hildegard bit her lip and shook her head sadly. "No, I'm not an angel..."

"Yes you are," she croaked.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No, Maria, I'm not."

"For the love of God, Hildegard, yes you—HILDEGARD?" Her eyes widened upon her revelation and she quickly stared at the blonde woman in front of her. She beamed at Maria, obviously taking pleasure from the other woman as her jaw nearly hit the bed. "H-how—w-why—w-where—when?"

Hildegard laughed and was about to reply when an incoming punch hit her right on the cheek. It wasn't exactly an earth-shattering blow, but it wasn't light and lovely either. She rubbed her cheek and playfully whined, "Lord Himself! Those punches of yours need to come with a warning siren, Maria!"

Maria, however, found no amusement in the situation. She stared stubbornly at her friend, waiting for an answer. Hildegard sighed and shrugged. "I helped take care of you for the past week," she said casually. "Don't you... don't you remember anything?"

She frowned and shook her head. "Why would I need to be taken care of? Honestly, Hildegard, did you hit your head? Are you alright?"

"It was you who had her head hit, Maria," she mumbled. Maria crossed her arms over her chest, but winced at the pain. She blinked, perplexed as to why her body would ache. She slowly pulled one of her sleeves up to her elbow, eyes widening from the sight of having her arm wrapped in bandages.

"What... what happened to me?" she asked quietly. She looked at Hildegard with frightened eyes, waiting for an answer.

"You really don't remember?"

Maria shook her head.

"I don't know the full story myself," she mused—she'd have Altair tell her that later—"but from what I know, you were found at Acre—"

"Acre." Maria's eyes widened and she nodded vigorously. "I was at Acre, yes! I... I beat a man up in a pub... He said my... my breasts were like a man's!" She nodded to confirm herself and continued to remember what had happened a week ago. "I... found a letter... from Damiel, yes, that was it! Found a letter from Damiel. He told me to meet him at... at... somewhere. I can't remember," she groaned. She hit the back of her head against her pillow in irritation and continued to whine.

Hildegard grabbed Maria's head to prevent her from rattling around further. "Please, you need to rest, Maria, you're straining yourself."

"They're gone, Hildegard... They're all gone..."

She frowned. "Who's gone?" It remained silent. She asked again, "Who's gone, Maria?"

"Everyone. The Rose, we... we were... we were..." her voice trailed off and her eyelids drooped heavily.

"The Rose? Maria, what happened to the Rose? Maria!" She shook her shoulders desperately, fearing for a certain man's life, but sighed in defeat as her eyes closed. She once again was in slumber's deep embrace.

Hildegard slowly removed herself from the bed and held herself as she stared at the wall. What had happened to her friends? Were they in the Holy Land as well? More importantly, what had happened to Aden? Was he alive? Was he hurt? Was he... dead?

She groaned and shook her head. No, he... he couldn't be dead. He was Aden! He was capable of defeating any man, be it Templar or Assassin...

She looked back over to Maria who was sleeping peacefully. How could she have such a calm and pleasant face on, while Hildegard was experiencing torture and trauma? Damn it!

"Nothing more I can do," she sighed. "I'll just have to wait until she wakes up again to ask her more questions. Oh, I hope they're alright..." She walked out the door and slowly shut it behind herself. She knew one thing, though: she would not tell that Altair hound that Maria had finally awakened—not after he had stormed out of that room like a feral mutt.

---

Maria's eyes slowly fluttered open after her nap. She yawned and stretched her arms and legs out, but quickly brought them back in to her body when pain shot through her limbs. She sat up in the bed, with some difficulty, and looked out the window. It was pitch black outside and the moon was doing a poor job of lighting her room. Crickets and cicadas sang their love melodies through the night, their chirps audible from even in the room she was resting in.

She slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed and placed her bare feet on the smooth stone floor.

'I can't believe I acted like such a ninny to her! Augh, when did I turn into such a helpless little s'wit?' She clenched her jaw and slowly flexed her shoulders. They ached, but she'd have to live with it. She wanted answers, and she intended to get them.

Hildegard...

It seemed so ironic to Maria. She left England in search of her best friend, only to have been found by her. That wasn't right, was it? And how had Hildegard found her, and, more importantly, where was she? She didn't know this place that she was staying at—no, held captive against her will at. And where did Hildegard even go? She wasn't in the room—where was that sneaky little fiend?

She groaned and placed her palm against her forehead. She was beginning to develop a headache from assaulting herself with so many questions. But what did happen in Acre, and how was she no longer there? She couldn't recall everything that had happened, only bits and pieces. She remembered being tackled to the bed and having her clothes ripped off of her, but she couldn't recollect how she had sustained such injuries. Was she really that vulnerable?

The worst part was she remembered that Earl bastard's disgusting, foul mouth attacking her own and his utterly filthy tongue exploring something that did not belong to him. No, her body belonged to a different man.

She tried to stand on her own two feet, but it proved to be a challenge for her. Her legs buckled and she landed butt first onto the bed once again. She, however, was not going to give up. She had a mission, and she was going to complete it. She attempted the feat once more and had to hold onto the edge of the bed with one hand to support her unsteady legs, while her other hand groped around in the dark. It was painful and time consuming for her; her muscles cried out as she moved them. They weren't healed yet, and she was forcing them into action, even though it was a slow walk.

'Turtles are probably faster than me,' she thought with a humorless chuckle. Once there was no more bed to hold onto, she narrowed her eyes in search of the door. She could barely see her hand even if she held it in front of her face. Maria grumbled beneath her breath as she took a wild-shot. She braced herself and gave a little sprang with her toes to haul herself across the room. She tripped over her feet, but caught herself when she softly collided with a wall. She held onto the wall—cursing the fact that the stones were smooth—and began scaling it. She felt around herself, palming this side and that, until she felt cold metal. Maria frowned and ran her fingers over it. A smile slowly curled onto her lips as she realized she was grasping a door handle. She slowly turned it, biting her lip as it squeaked when she pulled it open.

She held onto the door frame, looking out into the hallway that she had just stepped into. Moonlight shone through the windows on either side of the corridor, doing a somewhat decent job as a light source. She was panting by then, sweat slowly starting to form on her brow. She didn't like this feeling of weakness, or the feeling that she was in a place that she should have known. Maria shook her head and took small baby steps down the hall.

She leaned against the wall as she hobbled like the fool she was for pushing her body past its limits. She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching her. She couldn't help but to feel eyes on her—of course, she was the only one in this annoyingly long hallway.

"Stupid Hildegard," she grumbled. "What's she... doing in... a place like this anyways? And where in the name of donkey piss am I?" she stammered between puffs of air. Her legs ached and felt like two useless noodles attached to her hips as she continued to stumble around. "Have to... find Hildegard..."

The end of the hallway was becoming closer, inch by inch. There was a corner, and from there she could take a right and venture further into this ridiculous fortress—was it even a fortress, or was she in some sort of royal castle? She began pulling herself along the wall with her arms. It was faster, meaning that she moved just one more extra inch than before, but it taxed her muscles greatly. She bit down on her lip, holding back the whimpers that threatened to escape her mouth. 'Almost there, Maria. You can do this.'

The corner was just a foot away, beckoning her closer. She quickened her pace, but her foot caught onto her other's heel. She lurched forward, her hands scrabbling against the stone wall for support, but knew that it was pointless. She closed her eyes as the floor became closer to her head, until she became one with—

But it never happened. Instead of smacking her face against the floor, she fell against something broad and white.

---

Altair walked through the fortress with all the purpose of a man on a mission. He was frustrated that he had not yet tended to this need inside of him. He was particularly busy that day—annoyed with Hildegard's behavior, bombarded with papers from Malik and the Dai at the main cities, and on top of that, Malik had insisted that new roses be planted in Masyaf's lustful garden. Apparently, the roses were beautiful, yet there were not enough of them. Was it absolutely necessary for the man to pester him on such trivial matters when he was in agony? Did his Assassins not see that he gave the briefest squirms in his chair—that he looked side to side nervously from time to time? Ugh, of course not! It'd be too simple on his behalf!

He had to use his chamberpot.

He quickly stepped up a flight of stairs to the waste room. It was a secluded section of the fortress, past the residence hallways and dining areas. His mouth was a grim line of concentration as he walked faster and faster through the hallways. He knew he'd have to take a left turn, and then turn left yet again to be put in the right direction.

He reached the end of the hallway and swerved left, his palms now sweating. He'd been holding it in since morning—how many hours was that?

Altair quickened his hustle and bustle and reached the end of the hall, ready to take the final left turn. 'I could always sprint it there.' That was his plan. Round the corner, then make a beeline to the waste room. He sighed and spun to the left once he had finally made it, only to collide into a flurry of black curls.

Or rather, a person.

He instinctively knelt, catching the woman dressed in a servant's gown just before her forehead hit the floor. His arms wrapped around her waist as her head was cushioned by his chest. She clutched his Assassin robe with her hands as he hoisted her onto her two feet.

"It's unwise for a servant at this hour to be about—you are meant to be in bed," he growled. This was time consuming. He had to go, for crying out loud!

She mumbled something unintelligent into his robe and snarled when she felt his hands run along her sides as he pulled her up. He recoiled his head back, not quite hearing what she had said. "What did you—"

"I said," she hissed, "how DARE you call me a SERVANT!" She raised her head to send snakes and knives at the man with her fiery grey orbs. Her lip curled back as she glowered at him.

He started to return the facial expression when he realized just who was standing before him. His hazel eyes widened as her menacing glare was replaced with a shocked and slightly fearful gape.

Her mouth hung open as her eyes darted all over his face, taking in every detail of the man's tanned skin. Beautiful dark hair, thick, arched, and elegant eyebrows, brown eyes with specks of green in them, a hooked nose, strong jaw with stubble scattered across it, and full lips accompanied by a scar on the right side of his mouth.

He stared right back at her, looking right into those grey eyes that meant the world and more to him. He swallowed once her eyes trailed down to his arms that had unconsciously held her tighter to himself.

Her eyes quickly blazed bright with fury as a year's worth of pain and memories flooded her mind. She brought her hand back and sent him a painful and stinging smack! to his cheek. He staggered backwards from the blow, letting her fall from his embrace. She immediately doubled over from the loss of support and hit the stone floor hard with her knees. She hissed and brought her knees out from under herself, laying down on her side. She stared up at him, her teeth bared and muscles in her neck strained and prominent.

"You..." She scraped her nails against the floor and hissed at him.

He rubbed his abused cheek, knowing fully well that she had left a mark. He looked down at her, his urge to relieve himself disappearing instantly. "My apologies," he murmured.

'Fool! 'My apologies' is what you've been planning to say to her all week? Brilliant, just brilliant.'

Her eyes flashed violently from his words and she tried to hoist herself back onto her feet, but the attempt was fruitless. Her arms wobbled and soon flew from under her as she tried to push herself back up. She cried out as her stomach smacked against the stone.

Altair was quickly at her side and reached out to assist her, only brought his hand back to himself quickly as she snarled and snapped her teeth at him. He was vaguely aware that the sounds of two pairs of footsteps were making their ways closer to where he and she were.

"You insolent, disrespectful, flea infested toad! How DARE you—"

"What in the name of Allah Himself is going on here?"

Both man and woman turned their heads to stare at Malik and Hildegard before them. Hildegard seemed ready to faint from seeing Maria ready to tear Altair's throat out. Malik, on the other hand, only narrowed his eyes at the black-haired woman and then turned his attention to his Brother. "Altair, what is the meaning of this?"

"Why didn't you tell me she was awake, Hildegard?" He stood to his full height and grabbed the woman by her dress' collar. "Your orders," he hissed at her, "were to tell me when she finally fought her way through her unconscious state! That is what you'd promised!"

Maria stared back and forth between her best friend and the man she thought she was finally free of. "You know each other?" she shrieked. "You... you betrayed me, Hildegard!"

Hildegard threw Altair's hand off of herself and pleaded, "Maria, please listen to reason! I... He... We... M-Maria!"

Maria's eyes rolled back into their sockets and her head would have hit the floor, had Altair not dashed over to where she was laying and rested her noggin on his lap. He absent-mindedly stroked her hair as he looked at Malik and Hildegard—specifically Hildegard.

Malik shook his head, grumbling about a 'long year ahead of them'. Hildegard merely bit her lip and looked down at her feet and mumbled, "She needs rest."

Altair scooped his habibti in his arms and carried her back to her room, being sure to give Hildegard a possessive glare. She sighed, knowing that he'd never trust her with her own best friend again.

He entered her room and placed her back on the bed. Her face seemed troubled, as if she was experiencing a bad dream. He sighed and sat down at the foot of the bed. He didn't want to have their first conversation in over a year be like that...

Altair ran a hand through his hair, scrunching his locks between his fingers.

He messed up, he knew that. And he knew that she'd never want to speak with him again.

What was he going to do?

---

Translations:

Jameela = beautiful (female)

Bahar = sea (*One of the meanings of the root word of Maria's name, Mar, means 'sea')

Ahbal = idiot/stupid

Habibti = dear/darling/sweetie/love (feminine)

Sa arje'o halan = I will be right back

yebnen kelp = son of a dog

Little FF, Fun Fact here: Damiel's character was modeled after two people: a good friend of mine, and my cousin's cousin. The name 'Damiel' was created when I typed the name 'Daniel' over and over again, and accidentally hit the 'm' key instead of the 'n' key. That's how I came up with his name, ladies and germs! :D!