Alright, alright, I know I promised this on Christmas, but hey, I'm two days late, gimme a break XD Consider this a late Christmas present, early New Year's present. Not much to say about it, just hope you all enjoy it.
Hope everyone's holiday was better than mine (seriously, I really do hope that). Cheers to no editors, this is all me.
Enjoy!
Hey, guess what, U of T? Don't like it? Don't read it.
She laid in bed, arms folded over her chest and breathing calm as she stared up at her ceiling. It was close now. She could feel it. It was well into the night, maybe even morning already. She didn't know, night was different in this land than it was in England. Even while in the Crusades, she still had difficulty telling what time of day it was.
Sunny, cloudy, or dark. Syria's three attributes that confused her so.
She shuddered as a chill, not caused by the climate, crawled up her spine to settle at the base of her neck. She unconsciously held herself tighter to ward the cold away, but she knew better. Anticipation combined with fear had a tight grip on her as of late.
She thought of her decision: leave Masyaf. It was either that or stay and wither away because of that damned man. She couldn't have that. It'd eat away at her, and a repeat of the year prior would occur.
How many more blows could she handle? She was barely holding herself together. One more encounter with him would surely cause her to fall into failure and darkness.
Not only that, but it contradicted her personal philosophy. If there was a problem that she was able to solve, she was the type of woman that would solve it. And the solution to her troubles was running away. She wasn't sure where she'd go, only that she'd go. How would she live with herself, knowing that she'd be so hypocritical as to not put her words into action?
The plan was already formulated and growing. She'd slowly make her way back to where Aden, Olivia, and Zaina were taken as hostages and start from there. She'd find them.
Then she'd find Damiel. She was confident that Benjamin was capable of defending himself. He knew the land better than the other Rose's did and he knew how to survive on his own.
Her duty to her friends came before her duty to herself. She had left them to fend alone, and she knew that that went against her personal beliefs. Whether or not she'd find corpses or breathing beings, she would still put her heart into rescuing them.
What had they done for her? Nothing, yet everything. Aden was an unbecoming, annoying, temperamental donkey of a man— or, rather, he claimed he was a man. He was always trying to better her at everything. From the moment she met him, she knew that he was a royal pain in the ass. He was always trying to look golden in Benjamin's eyes, something that the veteran only saw in Maria. Perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was his ego.
Olivia and Zaina. Probably the two most peculiar women she had ever met, despite her own unfeminine behavior. Zaina, the typical damsel in distress. Olivia, the damsel in distress' backbone.
Maria took in a shaky breath before slowly swinging her legs over the side of her bed. It was time. She stood and slipped her nightgown off and over her head. Standing nude, she stood at her dresser, staring at the clothes Hildegard had obliviously let her borrow.
If she stayed, she'd be forced to subject herself to that man. The dim, nearly dead feelings she had for him were too scattered and porous to have her stay. If she didn't leave, she'd be standing nude in front of him and not in front of a dresser.
Maria silently thanked Hildegard for her foolishness. If the saying 'fate likes fools' was actually true, she probably would not have smirked so smugly.
But maybe Maria herself was the fool.
She closed her eyes and gave a firm shake of her head. No. It was not healthy to dwell upon. Nor was the fact that her closest friend might be accused of things she was not responsible for. Hildegard was not something to think of. The woman would be fine here alone. After all, her welcome at Masyaf lasted longer than her own. She would be fine. She had another to think about.
With this new confidence in mind, Maria dressed in Hildegard's garbs, gritted her teeth and hesitantly turned the handle on her door. She'd be damned if some ridiculous Assassin decided to take a little stroll in the middle of the night around the fortress. She braced herself, then pulled the door open. She winced as the hinges creaked, the wood crying out her plans into the night—
Nothing.
The corridor was deserted, no trace of any novices prying about. Splendid, yet terrifying. What if they knew what she was up to? What if they— no, HE, was waiting for her? Dear God, the thought managed to have her gulp down a lump in her throat.
Stepping lightly through the fortress, she gave an inaudible sigh of relief once she reached the foyer. No guards on duty, all was asleep. She forced a smile to her lips, pathetically trying to convince herself that everything would go according to plan. She was about to step down the small staircase that led to the courtyard, but stopped herself.
It didn't seem right. Maria closed her eyes and balled her hands into fists. Perhaps she should leave a note? Just to let them know that she'd be alright...
She rolled her eyes from being agitated with herself and marched back up the stairwell and turned toward his study.
Empty.
He wasn't at his desk burying his nose into his Order's affairs. He was asleep. He was human, after all, and needed his rest.
Maria placed her hand on a bookshelf and gave the study a brief look-over. Books everywhere, unorganized documents littering the desk, stale bread scattered about. What sort of man left his work space such a disaster?
'A man deprived of meaning,' she thought bitterly. She slumped her shoulders and made her way to his desk. Idly, she leafed through his papers. Nothing that interested her.
Why was she doing this?
Maria dug her toe into the floor and grasped the table with both hands. She had to leave. She couldn't live with this stress any longer, nor the responsibility of her comrades.
But was that what she wanted?
She tightened her grip on the table as her hands began shaking. No, she didn't know what she wanted. It felt... out of place to leave. There was something— no, someone that needed her here. She had a responsibility, a purpose, a love at Masyaf.
Would it truly be so terrible if she didn't leave? The nights that she knew she'd eventually spend with him, since every person's defenses eventually broke, would they be so awful as to hate him? Would his body coupling with hers ignite more fury? She knew, underneath his want of her companionship, that that was also something he desired from her. She knew men, and she knew the one thing in common they all wanted.
Would she be able to give that to him if she stayed—
If she stayed. No. NO.
This was troublesome and a waste of her time.
Maria shook her head and ran a hand through her hair.
'Just what are you doing, Thorpe?'
She pushed herself away from his desk and fumed down the stairs back to the foyer. How could she even think of such possibilities with him? He had disgraced her, made her life miserable, and here she was thinking that she should pity him and offer her body to him.
The thought of even considering bedding with him had her knuckles turn white.
With more confidence in her stride, she briskly walked out into the courtyard, not sparing a glance back at the desk. She had enough to worry about. Altair's petty emotions could wait. She'd write to him, maybe. In a year or two, to tell him how she's doing. Of course, she'd never tell him where she'd be, but he'd have to cope with that.
He was a big boy, he'd live.
Maria breathed out a white puff of air once she'd made it at the bottom of the steps. Of course, the training ring was deserted, no Assassin in sight. If the Assassin's were retired for the night, and none of them were in the courtyard, why was she feeling as if eyes were on her?
The urge to take a quick look over her shoulder, just to be safe, was repressed as she grumbled to herself. She was just imagining it, of course. With Hildegard's cloak and other clothes, Masyaf's people would assume that she'd be just that woman instead of her true identity. There was nothing to worry about.
Turning, her eyes scanned the courtyard's walls for the weapon rack. She almost cursed herself when she realized she no longer had Ebony and Ivory. Bara would kill her if he ever found out how careless she'd been with the weapons.
'But Bara isn't here,' she thought solemnly. The man's memory was still heavily imprinted in her mind; she'd never forget him.
She pulled a dull sword from the rack. Frowning, she examined the blade. Novices weren't permitted to use advanced weaponry as their superiors were. Figures the training weapons would be in standard condition. But this was all she could use to defend herself. Sheathing the weapon at her side and pulling her hood and cloak about her, she left the courtyard and ventured into the town below.
She had only seen the actual town of Masyaf from her bedroom window. But now that she was walking the dusty, somewhat cobblestone streets, she grew weary and frustrated with how maze-like the place actually was. It took her a great deal of time before she realized the city was laid out in layers. She learned that from almost falling off the edge of one particular street with a haystack practically laughing at her.
'Bloody Assassin's and their perverted architectural designs,' she hissed in her mind. Finally making it to the fountain in the marketplace, she rolled her eyes when she discovered a small circle of young men speaking to each other with dramatic hand gestures.
She prayed that she'd be able to pass.
Breathing deeply, she approached the men.
Their conversation— something about kibbeh labniyeh— abruptly stopped once they saw her coming toward them. They eyed her carefully, and Maria swore to herself internally. They were bound to be suspicious—
Their grey hoods became visible as they bowed their heads down out of respect to her. One of them even murmured, "Lady Hildegard," under their breath as acknowledgment.
Maria didn't know that she'd been holding her breath. She finally let the clogged air out of her lungs and gave the men a firm nod.
"A beautiful night for a walk, is it not?"
Maria forced herself to smile and bob her head up and down in agreement. "Yes," she replied softly, "it truly is. There's just so much to think about lately, walking seems the only way to rid myself of it." She hoped that the words didn't sound as rushed and nervous as they felt in her mouth.
One of them chuckled, the sound not deep enough to label them as a grown man. She narrowed her eyes under her hood at him. He wasn't a man at all! He was roughly Damiel's age, give or take a year or two.
Damiel...
It was a reminder of her mission. She couldn't afford to stand around for idle conversation. Luckily for her, one of the boys seemed to sense this as well.
"We shouldn't waste your time, miss," one of them said politely. He motioned with his head toward the stable. "I believe that Shihad's eager to see you. Perhaps you should exercise the beast, seeing as how the Master is far too busy to do so," he added in quietly.
'Shihad?' Maria thought to herself. Of course he was a horse, she garnered that much. She looked over at the stables, a few sleepy heads peeking out from their stalls. But which one was Shihad?
She slowly stepped to the stables and stopped once she was in front of the stalls.
"Don't worry," the one who had previously chuckled whispered, "as long as you're back before the sun comes up, the Master will not know. Trust me: he won't hear it from us."
Maria secretly smiled from this news. She'd be off a ways from Masyaf by the time the sun rose. She calculated the time it'd take the man to figure out that she had actually left. Hildegard would no doubt think that she'd just went brooding on her own in a corner of the town, and most likely hinder him from actually setting off to search for her.
It was a perfect amount of time.
She looked left and right at the heads peering curiously at her, no longer hazed by their sleep. One horse whickered softly at her, smelling a familiar scent on her cloak. She held her hand out to the beast, and it instantly recoiled its head, but then brought its muzzle back to her palm.
Wasn't this the lady that master had placed upon his back when they were at that gloomy, dull and depressing city? Yes, yes it was!
Shihad whinnied, and Maria couldn't help but to chuckle at how peculiar the beast looked. His eyes were kind and gentle, and his muzzle velvet to the touch. She rubbed her palm against his nose, and he smacked his lips playfully against her hand.
Remembering that she had an audience, she abruptly withdrew her hand away and made to saddle and tack the horse. However, she discovered that while pampering the animal, the novices had taken the courtesy to do it for her. She nodded in thanks at them and mounted.
"Be sure to avoid Damascus, miss," one of the boys warned just as she was about to dig her heels into her mount's sides.
"Yes," another one chimed in, "Damascus has been very... questionable as of late. Best not to take any chances."
Maria frowned and jerked on the reins from Shihad bobbing his head impatiently. "What's been eating away at the city?"
"It isn't the city itself," the boy looked at his friends for support, "but..."
"There have been caravans going to and fro Acre and Damascus for the past week or so, miss. They bore the Templar insignia. We aren't sure what they're up to, but it cannot be good, that we know."
Maria bit the inside of her cheek and absent-mindedly rubbed Shihad between his ears. "Where are these caravans now?"
"Just outside of Damascus, a little southwest of the city. Our scouts tell us that they haven't moved for some time, and it is not my place to say, but I can safely assume that they're waiting for reinforcements. Reinforcements for and to what, it is beyond our knowledge."
Maria, appearing to take the warning to heart, secretly thought her heart would burst with joy at the thought of being out in the field again. Finally! Something that could take her mind off of him and supply her with information on recent Templar activities— all at the same time!
Shihad snorted as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"My thanks, gentlemen," she replied coolly with a convincing smile. "I assure you that my path does not cross the direction of Damascus."
"That is good to know, my lady," the chuckling one replied. "The Master has so much on his mind lately," he sighed, not taking note of Maria's eyes flickering back and forth between the sky and the boy, "with his woman and responsibilities, of course."
Her knuckles tightened around the reins and she raised her eyebrows from the statement. These people considered her to be his woman?
And then another one had to put their word in as well. "He misses her so dearly, Hildegard. I wonder if there is anything we can do for them? You should see the way he just stares out of his window, completely lacking any emotion." Maria's teeth clenched together. "It's absolutely heartbreaking."
"To think," one of them whispered, "that two people, obviously in love with each other, would disregard the other and dismiss them entirely from their life. I'm not sure if I could do such a thing if I had feelings that the Master had for his habibti."
"I've never seen a man with greater stress—"
"Pardon me," Maria nearly growled out, "but you fine specimens are throwing my time away like an old maid dumping a chamberpot out of a window." The boys instantly looked down at their feet in shame. Her voice did not soften, however. "I expect you to keep your promise to not tell the Master anything."
Their replies were hushed and mumbled "yes, ma'am"s. Blowing between her teeth in irritation, she dug the stirrups into Shihad, albeit a bit too roughly. The horse snorted and more than willingly complied with the command.
It was about time he got some exercise! Being cooped up day and night was just unhealthy for any living being.
'Cooped up', indeed, was a fantastic phrase to describe Maria's situation. Tired of the walls, tired of the eyes watching her, tired of that desperate and sulking face of that damnable man.
"'Never seen a man with greater stress'," Maria muttered under her breath as she slowed Shihad down to a slow and unalarming trot once she reached the Assassin's post. She barely glanced at the tower as she spat what the boy had said to her. "I'll give the man great stress, alright."
This idea caused her to sneer like the Devil. If Altair was as great as he silently claimed himself to be, then surely he could handle a few more heart-stopping moments, courtesy of no other than Maria Thorpe herself.
Altair bolted upright from his sleep, eyes darting about in the darkness, sweat caking his skin and causing his hair to stick to his brow. He was surrounded in darkness, his breathing heavy and trembling. He smothered his face with his hands as he rubbed what was left of his sleep from his eyes, then collapsed back in bed.
What was that?
Blinking rapidly, he stared at the top of his canopy, his arms outstretched on either side of him, the blankets now barely covering his bare form.
It was another one of those harsh, lonely nights, where he needed her. He ached and yearned for her, his mind screaming at him to either find her or find the nearest brothel.
And of course, he didn't give into his masculine desires, and instead, had to pleasure himself. When would it end? He was tired of all of it. For once, he needed to be dominated by another being, and that being just happened to despise him to the end of the world.
Running his hand over his face again, he tried to control his erratic breathing to a normal and steady beat. However, it did near nothing to loosen the tight knot in his chest.
Was it a dream?
He shook his head lightly and sat up slowly. No, it wasn't possible. His Brothers were bound to notice her, and even if they didn't, he doubted she'd leave Hildegard all alone in Masyaf. The dream was far too detailed, far too clever—
But Maria was a clever woman. It was typical of her to scheme the impossible, and then perform said impossible.
But she was wearing Hildegard's clothes. She would have had to silently crept into Hildegard's room and remove them from her drawers. Yes, it was only a dream, how could he let his mind convince him otherwise?
But Maria and Hildegard were with each other yesterday—was it even tomorrow yet?— while doing exercises with Bayo, as his Brothers told him. She could have innocently asked for an extra pair of britches and a tunic, and voila.
No, no, but that was far too intelligent for a wom—
'She is not a woman.'
Tugging the canopy open, he screwed his eyelids shut as the morning light took the opportunity at hand and promptly attacked his retinas. Uttering a curse, he threw his legs off the bed and began to dress, all the while not taking his eyes off of the window.
She left in the middle of the night, before dawn even. And what time was it now? A few hours after dawn? Maybe even more than a few, most likely.
But why was he even pondering over it? It was only a dream, just his mind trying to have him worry even more for her.
'She is a damn temptress.'
Finally dressed in his appropriate garments, he hastily made his way out of his room and descended the stairwells that led to the residence hall. Surely Hildegard would confirm that he was only being paranoid at the moment. Maria was probably still asleep, or with Bayo training him, or in the dining hall eating, and most certainly not out in the Kingdom.
She was in Masyaf, perfectly safe from him. Bah, why was his neck still slick with sweat?
He rapped Hildegard's door with his knuckles and waited. One, two, three...
No reply. He knocked again, this time with his fist. Four, five, six..
Nothing. Breathing out his irritation, he took a step back, then gave a quick and powerful kick with his foot, the door hinge breaking from the blow.
The room was empty, no blonde and hindering woman in sight. He rolled his eyes and made his way to the courtyard. That's it! They were probably there, watching the novices train, maybe even joining in themselves. Or Hildegard was with Malik somewhere, talking his arm off or annoying him until his ass twitched so much it fell off.
And Maria was... she was...
'Not in her room,' he thought as he spared a quick glance at the woman's open bedroom door. His heart sank further in his chest when he happened to overhear a conversation once he reached Masyaf's foyer.
"Then why are there only nineteen, Harun?"
"I do not know, master."
Two men, a novice and one of the fencing trainers, stood outside on the top of the staircase that led to the courtyard. The novice, clearly flabbergasted, merely shrugged his shoulders and did his best to defend his case.
"You were the last one out of the ring yesterday, Harun. Do you mean to tell me that one of the swords just magically wandered off on its own?" The trainer folded his arms over his chest and gave a disapproving frown at the boy.
"W-well," he stuttered uneasy, "I do not see any other explanation—"
"Well, perhaps kitchen duty for the next week will open your eyes to another explanation."
"B-but, sir!"
"But nothing," the trainer said with a final shake of his head. "I only asked one thing of you, Harun: to make sure all the weaponry and equipment is returned to their proper place." He motioned with a wave of his hand at the weapon rack. "And you cannot even carry out that simple order. Do you honestly expect me to give you permission to wield a blade in the training ring?"
"N-no, I-I—"
"If you don't have the responsibility of making sure all twenty swords are back where they belong, then perhaps kitchen duty will teach you responsibility. That's two weeks now for your incompetence."
Harun hung his head low and murmured a "yes, sir" before sulking with heavy feet toward the kitchen.
Altair's nostrils flared as another icy finger curled around his heart. Maria took a sword off the rack in the dream..
Dream. It was a dream. One of the novices probably left it lying about in the barracks or at the side of the ring somewhere. He'd done that plenty of times while still wearing the grey hood.
With that partly sticking to mind, he exited the courtyard, nodding his head in greeting to fellow Brothers as he passed them. He was just about ready to convince himself that Maria was most likely in the town, buying something of interest to her, when another conversation caught his ear.
"The stables have been pretty busy lately, haven't they?"
"Why, yes, of course! The Master recently purchased several new mounts, which require the stable-hands' full attention. You should see them. Magnificent creatures."
"What, the stable-hands?"
"No, you idiot. The horses!"
Altair inclined his head toward the two townspeople. He had recently bought horses: mares, for breeding purposes.
"Perhaps I will tell my sons about this. The Master doesn't mind the children playing with the female ones."
"Oh, but there is a problem, my friend!"
The other man took a quick glance, not noticing the Master of Assassin's within hearing range, and took a step closer to his friend. "What is it?"
"It's his horse again, that's what."
"Whose horse?"
"His horse, my friend. The Master's."
"And? He's wandered off before, surely he'll come back this time?"
"But what if he doesn't? That'll be the end of my job, no doubt."
"Then the beast was never worth the Master's time. How does this relate to my sons playing with the mares?"
The other villager placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "If word gets out that Shihad escaped again, then I'll be in more trouble than I can afford. I've a family to think about."
"Of course, of course. I won't breathe a word to anyone about this." He returned the pat on his friend's shoulder. "Ma'assalama, friend." Both men dispersed.
Altair groaned and shook his head. He did not need this right now, he really didn't—
"What's got your hair in a knot?"
The feminine voice almost had him breathe out in victory through his pursed lips. He turned around to acknowledge her, his face blank as usual.
Hildegard wrinkled her nose at him when he made to reply. "I was serious. What's got your hair in a knot?" When he took a step back out of bewilderment like a spooked horse, she rolled her eyes and motioned to her own head. He slowly brought his hand up to his hair and tried to run his fingers through it.
Tangles, snarls, and knots.
Hildegard laughed and crossed her arms over herself. "I can see that someone doesn't exactly know what a comb is, do they?"
The tease was lost on him as his face paled and he looked away. Her smile faded and she tilted her head to the side. Before she could ask, he whispered, "I cannot find her."
"Find who?" she asked bluntly. He only sighed and glared at a stone he dug his boot into. "Look, as much as I pride myself in my skills, mind-reading is not one of them."
"Maria," he murmured, "I can't find her."
"Really." Hildegard stated incredulously. She shrugged her shoulders and flipped her hair behind her. "She was never lost to begin with. She's probably with Bayo, you know." When he remained silent, she continued, "You worry too much about her. You're the reminiscent of a mother hen making sure her chicks' feathers aren't ruffled in the slightest. She's a grown woman, she can handle herself just fine."
"Which was made true only too clearly at Acre," he snapped back at her.
Hildegard's features hardened as she swallowed. "Then, come. If you're so set on making a scene this early in the morning," she glanced at the sky, "then so be it. We'll start in the dining hall, since it's breakfast—"
She didn't even have time to finish her thought as the man brushed past her and into his fortress. She grumbled and trudged after him.
He moved with a smooth gait, she noticed, as she eyed him. Long, powerful legs carried his body with no effort at all, even uphill. Not quite the same way Aden moved, but both men had a sense of pride while moving, as well as that undeniable air of masculinity.
She quickly scampered up the stairs, being sure not to lose sight of him. Lord only knew what outbursts this man was capable of. Why did Maria have to choose such a baby as a partner?
Altair swung the dining room's doors open with both hands and stepped inside. Sure enough, there was the dog under the table, resting his head on a small pillow laid out for him by (most likely) Malik. But there was no Maria with him.
Bayo blinked and lifted his head as he caught a familiar whiff. He gave a small thump with his tail in greeting to the man and woman, then plopped his head back down on the cushion. Altair knelt beside the dog and shook him. The hound only groaned.
"Why will he not get up?"
Hildegard shrugged. "Maria worked him pretty hard yesterday. He's probably exhausted from exerting so much energy without hardly any proper exercise over the past year."
"But Maria is not here—"
"Then she's somewhere else," Hildegard lazily drawled. "Is it such a sin to wander around? It isn't like she broke any of your rules—"
Altair tuned Hildegard's pointless persuasion out and turned his attention back to the heap of fur on the floor. He tapped Bayo's muzzle, and the dog opened a sleepy eye at the man. "Where is she, Bayo?" he whispered.
Bayo whined, then covered his snout with his paws.
"—and this constant shadowing her must stop. If you're trying to be on civilized terms with her, stalking the poor thing is not the answer—are you even listening to me?" Hildegard huffed and balled her hands into fists at her sides. "No, you're not, aren't you?"
"She's gone," he mumbled to himself. Rising, he glared at Hildegard, and, in a louder voice, repeated, "She's gone."
Hildegard abruptly stepped out of his way as he stormed past her, his boots echoing off the stone floors. She shook her head and attempted to walk abreast of him, but he was already out of the dining hall and back in the foyer before she could even make her first move.
Damn Assassin.
When she finally caught up with him, a group of his guards were circled around him, and he was giving orders to them. She could only make out bits and pieces of their hushed tones as she stood outside of the ring of men.
"Look for... black hair... yesterday... woman... can't find... report back... Bayo..."
"Yes, Master," each man said as they bowed and sprinted out of the fortress and to the courtyard, where they briefed the trainers in on the situation at hand. The trainers, with a nod of their heads in understanding, ended the training session, and the guards rounded the novices up for their search-and-retrieve party.
Hildegard, meanwhile, leaned against the foyer's door frame, hip jutted and with a hand on her waist. She was unimpressed with this man's decision. Of course, given the power and control at his command since he was Grandmaster, pulling over-dramatic orders such as the one she had just witnessed was probably quite casual for him. She scrunched her face up from his thick skull.
Aden would have never been so gaudy and flamboyant if he was the one giving orders—
Well, no, that wasn't true. He probably would have made more of a show and to-do about it than Altair did. Aden would have been barking his head off, complete with clunking Damiel on the head for no apparent reason. It was definitely something to compare between the two men.
Hildegard jumped, startled, as Altair cleared his throat. The damn man had been standing next to her the whole time! She whipped around to face him.
"Pardon me," she hissed, "but it'd be polite to not scare the shit out of people."
He only grunted and ignored her. 'It is my fortress, and you are my guest. I will behave as I see fit to.'
He smiled inwardly with that new statement in mind. "I believe that would be impossible, Hildegard." When the woman tilted her head to the side innocently, he couldn't help but to snarl out, "You are just so full of it."
Her jaw went slack in horror and offense as he purposely shouldered past her into the courtyard. Her brown eyes blazed black as she glared at the back of his hood.
The guards and novices were searching the city, but what of the fortress? So much of it was left to be inspected still. There were the libraries, the towers, Memory Hall, the barracks, and even the bathhouse.
So many places, and yet he knew the one man who would get the job done.
"You want me to do what?"
"Yes, Brother, you heard me."
"All of this work just because of your paranoia? And all of it based off of a dream?"
"That is correct."
"And you don't know if this dream of yours is reality or not?"
"It is all a hunch, Malik."
Malik grunted and returned to looking at the town below him from the ramparts. He could see blotches of white running to and fro buildings, asking villagers if they had seen the woman. "And if this is all just a waste of my time?"
"Then you will have my apologies."
The other man rolled his eyes and shook his head, his mouth twisted into a grimace. "How can you act without even knowing, Altair? This is all so... foolish."
"Were you not the one who told me that we could only suspect and never know?" Altair took a step closer to him and placed a hand on his good shoulder. "Don't try to hide behind words, Malik. You and I both know that what I've seen is most likely reality."
He snorted and swatted his hand away. "I expect anything foolhardy from that woman, Altair— not that I do not respect her, oh no. Any woman that has the nerve to talk back to you, run away from home, speak such foul language, and be completely unbearable is by far admirable," he muttered sarcastically. "When you could have had any woman in the world, you choose—"
"I chose a person, Malik." He kept his voice level, but it was only a matter of time before he'd be snapping and barking at the man. "I've little time for combat with words, but if it's a fight you seek, then I will be more than happy to oblige. After we find her."
Malik scoffed and his frown deepened. "Anything for a woman, anything for something that may not even be true—"
"Listen, Brother. I may not know for sure, and this may all very well be, as you put it, foolish. But," he followed Malik's gaze to the town, "as you would sacrifice anything for Masyaf, as would I, I would risk everything for her."
Malik frowned and slowly looked back at his friend. Altair did not meet his gaze, but the look in his eyes as he stared into nothing was enough to make him slowly nod. "I will return when I am done patrolling. But, Altair, tell me: what will you do if we cannot find her?"
There was no bravery, and certainly no joy in his voice. But there was an undeniable amount of confidence and certainty.
"I will go after her. I'm not going to lose her again."
Shihad's hooves pounded across the Kingdom, his rider urging him to greater speed. The horse kept to the trees and cliffside as his rider guided him to do so. The sun was mercilessly blazing on the two, the rays causing sweat to form on the horse's magnificent brown coat and also on Maria's brow, even though she wore a hood. The sweat didn't last long, though: the sun saw to it that evaporation would diminish the perspiration wherever its rays reached.
A shame that the underside of her trousers did not qualify for evaporation's target.
Last night had been Hell for her. Due to her attire, whatever was left of the Saracen army had claimed her to be a spy for Europeans. Apparently, she was the spawn of the Devil and a heretic. She cursed herself for not thinking of bringing along less conspicuous clothes to change into.
Shihad, however, enjoyed outrunning the horses and men pursuing them. He was a remarkable creature. Though he looked innocent and dumbfounded most of the time, in the field or in action, his mind was in the objective and kill. Maria was almost jealous of Altair for owning such a horse.
It only made her more envious when she thought of how he had neglected the animal. Shihad was the ideal horse for any soldier, Assassin or not. The man never ceased to wrought on her nerves.
Other than soldiers chasing her throughout the Kingdom, camping was by no means a treat. She had either pulled Shihad off the main sandy roads to lessen their chances of being detected to rest in an unnoticeable spot, or she had slumped against the horse and slept while he continued to trot onward. Either way, it was still uncomfortable and did little good to her lower back, nevermind that she had recently discovered that she had her monthly curse as well.
Oh, the trials of being a woman.
Bending over in the saddle to lean her cheek against the horse's, she murmured appreciative and soothing words to him. He bobbed his head up and down as his stride increased, followed by a delighted whinny. If only Altair would let this nice lady have him...
They continued to travel the land, Maria sending prayers to the Lord each time they found any means of shade. It was terrible. With the sun high in the sky, nowhere near setting, hardly any shadows were made by the cliffs. Staying too close to the mountains were dangerous, as well. There was no telling when a rockslide would strike. Vagabonds also preferred staying hidden above ground for the bird's eye view.
They were by no means far from Damascus, but they weren't a hop and a skip away from the city either. It'd be another hour before common villagers would be seen on the crude paths laid out along the land, either carrying jugs of water or making the tedious and tiresome journey to a city of opportunity.
Deciding that Shihad could use as much exercise as necessary, Maria dug her heels into the horse's side to urge him to gallop faster.
That is, she was about to give the horse permission to run at an even greater speed. A group of men, dressed in turbans and traditional Middle Eastern wear, came thundering alongside her on their mounts. Shihad neighed nervously, and Maria took a greater length of the reins in her hands.
These men were not going to stop and let her pass, and she particularly didn't want them to be following her when she noticed the horses were dragging tied up victims. The unfortunate, soon-to-be slaves had their wrists bound together by ropes that were none too friendly.
But one of the men had another horse tied to his saddle, presumably for trading purposes. It was a mare, as far as Maria could tell, and its coat was dapple grey. She used to have a horse similar to this one when she was still a child in England.
Analyzing and understanding the situation at hand, Maria stood up in her saddle and gently pulled on the reins. "Whoa, whoa, boy," she whispered gently, but urgently, to the horse. He snorted, not liking the fact that his pace had slowed considerably, but listened and stopped in his tracks.
She narrowed her eyes beneath her hood as she allowed the slavers to pass her, one hand tightly gripping the reins while the other remained near the hilt of her sword. She still wasn't completely healed from her escapade at Acre, but if a fight was necessary, she was sure she'd be able to put up a decent match.
Or so her ego and pride told her.
The slavers slowed their own horses to a stop, forming a horizontal line merely fifteen or so meters ahead of her. Their captives immediately fell down to the ground, their labored panting audible from where she was standing. She saw them lean toward each other as they delved into conversation.
"Abgha hiyya, akh."
"Meen? Hiyya?"
"Na'am, akh."
Another one of the slavers tapped his heels to his horse and brought himself and the beast to where his two partners were. The two villagers, one man and one woman, tied to his horse cried out in agony as their muscles were once again forced into merciless pain.
The new man snorted and glanced at the lone woman astride a horse. "Lay ish?"
"Feloos, akh."
"Kum?"
"Yimken ashra... ashreen?"
Maria nervously tightened her legs around Shihad's middle, and as a response, the horse danced in place and snorted anxiously. The rest of the slavers' conversation was lost upon her as their words were more hushed. They probably sensed that she understood them, even though she was dressed as a European.
What she did, hear, however, worried her. "Ba ad masaa... ghali... yimken jameela..."
Maria could have sworn she saw one of the men, whom she presumed to be the leader of this band of monkeys since he was wearing the most self-indulgent and colorful silks royalty would have been jealous of, smirk before motioning for his posse to disperse.
She gritted her teeth when the captives screamed from the rope digging into their wrists. She almost charged the men full speed when one of them spat on the victims. Even their mounts seemed to be displeased by the violence as the horses pranced, almost in a panic, and their eyes rolled back into their sockets.
Finally, when the dust from the hooves died down and the men were no longer in sight, she sighed and reassuringly pat Shihad on his neck. The horse stamped his hoof as if to question her decision not to engage in battle. Maria rolled her eyes and quickly defended herself, "I'm not exactly in tip-top shape, oaf. If I attacked, I could very well have ended up like those people tied to the horses."
Shihad, however, huffed and shook his mane out of his face, grabbing the bit with his mouth as he did so. Maria stumbled atop the saddle but quickly recovered from his action. With the bit held securely between his teeth, he marched forward, trying to eagerly catch up with the slavers. Much to his dismay, Maria held him at a slow but uneasy pace as the horse zig-zagged back and forth between the cliffside and the road.
"Son of a mule," she breathed out as he stomped and tugged his head forward again. "Just... stay still—damn!" Shihad successfully ripped the reins from her grasp, Maria's back arching backward and feet barely in the stirrups as the horse took off in a clumsy gallop. Maria was catapulted backward when Shihad reared his hindquarters up, and she fell to the ground with an unhappy and miserable oof!
Groaning from the sudden onslaught of the sun since her hood had fallen back and also from the lack of care her rear-end received, she held herself in a tight ball, cursing the horse and also her menstrual condition. Honest to God, of all the times to bleed, it had to be that day.
Shihad pranced over to the fallen woman and lowered his muzzle to her head. He nipped at a few strands of black hair that weren't being held by her bun. She turned her head to the horse, her eyes cold and unforgiving. He, however, looked quite unhappy with her as well. He nipped at her arm only to receive a smack to his mouth. Squealing, he stomped backward and raised his head defiantly.
More profanities left her mouth before she removed herself from the ground. Her lower back throbbed and she did her best to soothe the pain with her hands. The massage helped somewhat, but she couldn't just throw away the day by tending to her womanly pain.
Raising her head at Shihad, she frowned when he snorted and stamped his hooves in place. Grabbing and yanking his reins to force the beast to look her dead in the eye, she snarled, "You. Don't. Do. That. Again. EVER."
He blew out of his nostrils, but allowed her to climb back on top of him. Grunting, he obeyed as she clicked her tongue for him to trot. He was anything but contented with this pace.
"No wonder Altair ignores you," she mumbled. "A horse with personality is rare and often appreciative, but a horse with too much personality is downright troublesome."
Shihad snorted, as if to say the same applied to women. Maria gasped and smacked the horse's ear from his comment. "You hush up, you useless spawn of a tongueless, hormone-less duck."
It was beginning to set— the sun was beginning to set.
He had no idea why it would take his Assassin's so long to search the whole of Masyaf, but it did. He could only assume that they were doing a fantastic job carefully investigating every square inch of the small city. It seemed that every second he spent staring out of the window of his study, the sun's descent into the mountains quickened unnaturally.
Malik had told him that she was not in the fortress itself. The one-armed man had searched the garden, he had checked the residence halls, the waste rooms, the bathhouses— everything that the Master had told him to search. But still, there was no sign of the woman.
Altair had even tried to ask Bayo to sniff her out, but the dog was content in lazing around all day and not participating in the Assassin's search party. He knew that he'd have found Maria by nightfall if the dog had only the energy to use his talents to their advantage. Unfortunately, the woman's fox-like wit had once again stumped him. It was seductive in the most perverse way.
Shaking his head, he whipped around and stormed down the stairs of his study. He couldn't wait anymore for fruitless reports. He knew she wasn't in Masyaf— he should have left hours ago! She could be halfway to England, or in a dungeon somewhere, or being forced into a bed at Acre again, or she could be dead and rotting at the side of a road somewhere for all he knew.
She was a capable woman, but even capable women wouldn't be able to hold their own with aches, pains, and injuries hindering them. And, oh Allah help her, men patrolling the Kingdom at night only had one desire from a lonesome woman.
He was about to turn into the foyer when he slammed his feet against the floor and threw his arms out to stop the novice from charging right into him. The boy was panting and gave a small, wheezy 'thank you'.
Altair frowned and held the boy at a distance for him to catch his breath. When he was in good enough shape for conversation, the Master began, "Mashhur. You are meant to be at the post outside the city. Is there anything wrong?"
The boy, doubled over, hastily replied, "Yes, Master, I know—I mean, no— but yes! Yes, yes there is!" He immediately straightened up and looked at the taller man with frightened eyes. "Our scouts report Templar's patrolling only a couple of miles outside the city! They're swarming together—"
"They plan on attacking Masyaf?" Altair's voice was cold as ice, as were his eyes. If the Templar's sought a battle, they would most certainly get one from the Assassin's.
"No, not for attacking the city! They do not bear the proper equipment for a battle! But they are meeting in the Kingdom for something! What that something is, though," the boy looked down at his feet, "I'm afraid our scouts were picked off before they could finish their letter."
Altair's eyes narrowed. "And this letter? I would very much like to see it."
Mashhur's eyes widened— he should have known that he'd want to see the letter! "I-I... I forgot it at the post, Master," he stuttered. He hoped the man would think his poor quality of speech was because of his shock for the situation at hand. "I was in such a hurry to tell you the news, and my Brothers urged and urged me to tell the Master—"
"Quiet, Mashhur, and control your emotions," he added in quietly when the boy was almost in tears. Altair remembered that when he was a novice, the first few disasters that involved Masyaf had scared him as well, so he understood completely what fear the boy must be feeling.
"F-forgive me, Master," he sniffed as he rubbed his nose and eyes. Altair nodded, sure that the boy would be able to handle himself, before stepping past him and into the courtyard.
Mashhur carried on his pitiful act once he was sure that the man could no longer detect his presence. He then smirked, smug and satisfied with his convincing dramatic display. Templar's? Collaborating in the Kingdom just outside of Masyaf? What falafel was this man eating?
He stretched his arms out and shrugged. Maria was blindly walking right in on Clarence's trap. That was good. The Master would be unable to go after her and either rescue her or aid her in combat against Clarence's men, since he'd be too preoccupied with the 'raging Templar masses'. His people would surely question his ability to lead if he left them in their time of need. The Assassin was rooted to the spot, unable to help his precious little woman. That was even better.
Not to mention, if Clarence was pleased and if his plans went accordingly, then Tagvoryan would also be satisfied. Maybe he'd even be able to join him in Armenia and leave this unbearable country once and for all.
But how long would it take to drag the Thorpe woman back to Clarence for their postponed wedding? If Clarence finds her in a day or two— maybe if it even took him three days— it'd only take another three or four days, depending on what city the man wants to be stationed at, to report back to headquarters with the bitch.
All Mashhur had to do was survive a week, then he'd be golden.
"Insufferable beast," Maria swore as Shihad's stride became bumpy and unacceptable. "You know how to slow down, you mongrel." The horse groaned and tossed his head in the air, not very much liking the treatment of her jerking on the reins every other second.
Damascus was only a couple more day's away— if Shihad cooperated. She knew that she'd never make it to the city in just a lousy twenty-four hours. She dearly wished that she was in a city rather than in the outdoors. The sun was almost completely gone, and the bugs were out. Shihad swished them away from him with his tail, but that only caused them to find a new target: Maria.
And it was cold. She could see that her hands were white, even in the darkness. She was shivering, and a few times she'd rest her cheek against Shihad's neck for warmth. He, however, was much too irritated with her to have any sympathy, so he'd ram his neck into her whenever she needed the extra heat.
Not only that, but she was positive that she'd bled through the leaves she had stuffed in her undergarments. She felt something sticky on the saddle that wasn't there before, and its smell was most terrible.
She hated being a woman.
What she really wanted was to find a place for the night, gather whatever vegetation she could use as a blanket, curl up while being miserable, and just sleep. But no, Shihad didn't want to call it a night. He still had all the energy in the world.
Maria yawned into her hands, the warmth from her mouth somewhat comforting. She could use an hour or two—or seven— of sleep. She hadn't gotten much shut-eye the last night because of her anticipation, and she greatly regretted how jumpy she'd been. Altair probably would have calmly accepted the fact that he'd run away and wouldn't return for a long time without wracking his brain with all the 'what if's'.
But it was that man's fault that she even left in the first place! If he didn't come skipping back into her life like a blasted performer that he was, she'd never had near heart-failure experiences! Or better yet, if he'd killed her in Jerusalem, she never would have fallen in love with him and slept with him.
But that was an experience she enjoyed on a personal level.
To conclude, she was in the right, and he was in the wrong. She was half Thorpe and half Ayars. Her pride would eventually kill her one day.
"Speaking of pride," she huffed as Shihad continued to toss his head around arrogantly. "Stop that, you deflated, fatless ass!"
She was about to smack the horse again, but grabbed hold of the reins as an intriguing sight caught her attention. She immediately made the horse's canter slow to a calm walk. Shihad's ears perked up and he flicked them back and forth as he sniffed the air. "Easy, boy," Maria breathed into his ear. She craned herself over his neck, her arms wrapped around him as she stroked his cheek. He snorted uneasily and began to sidestep.
Maria swung off of the saddle, her legs and lower back screaming from the sudden force of hitting the ground. She uttered a curse before taking Shihad's reins and leading him into the sparse bushes along the cliffside. What they saw confirmed what the novices had told her earlier, but by no means was this caravan 'just outside of Damascus'.
All around a campfire, men were speaking to one another, mind-altering drinks in their hands as their topics ranged from women, to 'business', to money, and then back to women. Maria's eyes narrowed as she recognized the slave trader with the fancy and prominent silk garments ushering his captives to the fire. But the fire was what was the worst of all.
The mutilated corpse of the mare she had admired only hours ago laid next to the fire, the legs completely gone and midsection torn open. The savages were sticking the hunks of fresh meat and cooking them over the fire. Maria almost gagged from the smell. If she didn't know what was being cooked, she probably would have said that the aroma was acceptable and appetizing, but this was awful.
Even though Shihad had proved to be as difficult as his owner, she still loved horses and felt something for the beast. She quickly stood in front of him and lowered his head into her torso. At least he wouldn't have to see the meat cooking.
Returning her gaze to the camp, her eyes widened when she realized just how many men there were. Twenty, maybe even over thirty. She heard the chink of money as transactions took place and coin traveled from man to man. And then came the grunts and screams of the slaves being hauled off to their new owners.
Maria rubbed Shihad's cheek as an attempt to not only calm him down, but also to keep her from screaming bloody murder and skewering each man alive.
Was this how it was like for Damiel when he was still in slavehood? How much damage did the word 'property' do to a person? Was it as bad as when Joseph declared her his wife and his woman and his pleasure? No, it was probably far worse. Marriage was one thing, but selling humans was another matter completely. She closed her eyes when she saw a young woman, newly purchased and probably a little older than Damiel but not as old as she, stripped of her clothes and thrown to the ground. A man quickly mounted her.
How much of this did Damiel see? This was not how people were supposed to act. This was how animals acted! Maria stared in horror as the man claimed the woman's virtue. The girl screamed and screamed, the pain he brought upon her irrelevant to his desires. No. Even animals did not perform intimacy like this. She wasn't even sure if this could be considered intimacy. It was more like dominance.
Maria was sure that she'd love to be anywhere else in the world at that moment, maybe even with him. She could very well live without the smell, the sights, Shihad's shaky breathing, the hand on her shoulder-
She nearly jumped out of her skin as she whirled around and threw a punch at the slaver. He stumbled, and she tackled him to the ground. Shihad stamped his hooves and gave a frightened neigh.
They rolled around together until Maria gained the higher ground. She slammed her fists into his face and throat, trying to render the man unconscious. He, however, seemed to know exactly what she was planning. He brought his knees up into her stomach, and just as quickly as she had tackled him, he was now atop her, pinning her down. He slammed her head into the ground and stars danced across her vision. The fury in his eyes was almost tangible as he bared his teeth at her, ready to kill her.
But his expression changed from anger to complete surprise as his eyes traveled down her form to her chest. He was pretty sure men did not have swells there. Maria let loose a battlecry and slammed her thigh into his crotch while her fist connected with his chin. He went flying backward into an already startled Shihad. The horse, seeing the body fall unconscious at his feet, reared up on his hind legs and ran as fast as he could away from the man.
Maria smirked when she saw the man cradle his precious gems, but her face was swept clean of the grin once she realized just what she'd gotten herself into.
All around her, the slavers stared at her, estimating the price she'd earn them in trade.
"Hold onto her— watch her hands! She's a slippery one!"
"Keep away from her face, she's trying to bite you!"
"Bring her here, that's it! Tie the woman up!"
"Don't let her get free, this is a Christian beauty we've got here!"
Maria grunted as she was slammed to the ground, her wrists tied together behind her back. One of the slavers, a rather large one, held her down while the other men bound her ankles together. She screamed and thrashed about, bringing her knees in and then shoving her feet into a face of a less fortunate man. She took some pride when she heard his nose crack.
Hands were everywhere on her. They were taking her sword off of her, searching her for coin and other weapons, turning her head this way and that to inspect her, opening her mouth to check her teeth and gums, feeling her legs and arms for muscles—
This was business. This was their trade. Fear held her as she desperately tried to squirm away from the men. Where did that bloody horse go? Part of her wished that he'd stayed, but the other half of her was glad that he escaped. Maybe he'd go and fetch some help for her, that'd be very much appreciated.
She was about to scream at the top of her lungs as images from Acre came to mind as one of the men began tugging at her clothes like a scavenger.
However, the need to scream was lost as a thud! caused the men to swivel around, losing interest in Maria very quickly as they gawked at the figure before them.
What appeared to be a Crusader soldier stood, clad in chainmail, in front of the corpse lying on the ground, his blood pooling out beneath him. The soldier calmly examined the slavers about him, measuring their skills and abilities, before his eyes turned over to the woman held captive on the ground. His head recoiled, perhaps out of recognition, but he had no time to let his mind wander over her as he did with the other men.
It was several seconds before the slavers took action. Some of them charged the soldier with their fists while most of them ran to their tents, brandishing weapons varying from daggers, swords, and bludgeons.
Maria's savior only bowed his head in acknowledgment of his opponents, and brought out the sword that claimed the first slaver's life. Maria lost sight of the man as the criminals swarmed her vision. She twisted her neck this way and that to try to have a better view of the fight. As far as she could hear, the soldier was winning. Voices from several different men cried out as the cold steel of the broadsword bit into their flesh.
Maria's eyes widened as one of the recently killed traffickers' body went tumbling down upon her. She threw her body to the side, squirming and rolling to avoid being crushed. The body crumpled beside her, his face a mask of horror. His cold hands were frozen for eternity to the gash running across his face, covering most of the wound. Maria crawled backward, avoiding another dead body falling to the ground. She stared admirably at the man dispatching the criminals so efficiently.
However, her state of awe came to an end when one of the slavers attempted to flank her rescuer. Practically crab-walking, she scooted closer to the coward of a slaver. Sending her legs out, she hoped that her blow to his calf would buy the soldier enough time to evaluate his position and end the other's life. The slaver yelped and stumbled to the side. Maria's newly found friend whirled his head in the direction of the flanker, and he quickly swung his sword at the man. The tip of his weapon slashed horizontally across his neck, sending his innards splattering to the ground and also onto Maria.
The woman didn't exactly appreciate being decorated with gore, and she let the soldier know that by narrowing her eyes at him and scowling. He seemed to be amused by this and gave a small shrug before turning his attention over to the other whelps.
Block, counter, kill, block, counter, kill, strafe, lunge. Who was this man, and why was he set on saving the slaves?
The final slaver left shook with fear and took small steps backward as the armored man approached him. Tripping over his own feet, he fell flat on his bottom and stared up into the eyes of his doom. He opened his mouth to plead with him, probably the worn out excuse of 'I have a family' was about to spill from his throat. The only thing that did spill from his throat, however, was his own blood as the final blow was dealt on the man.
Maria watched carefully from her position on the ground, attempting to tear her wrists free of the rope binding them. She cursed under her breath when she realized she cut herself on the thick and coarse material.
The soldier knelt beside the lifeless man he'd just killed and whispered a prayer before closing his eyes. He ran his sword along the dry and cracked earth, ridding it of the red liquid painting it. He then stood up from the ground and slowly approached Maria, the sword still gleaming brilliantly in his hand.
Maria stared in disbelief as he stood mere inches from her, his sword raised high above his head, ready to bring it down on her. Her eyes flickered between his sword and his helmet, but then she focused her gaze on his face. Or rather, the small amount of his face that was visible to her.
A weary, light blue eye stared down at her while the other was covered by a black cloth. Scraggly dirty-blonde hair peeked out from the sides of his helmet, accompanied by an equally dirty face. But he held no animosity for her in his face.
Was that... relief? Recognition? And... gentleness?
Breathing became harder and harder as her body refused to breathe.
Impossible— it couldn't be... could it?
Wowsas. Wonder who that could be. Hm hm hm. First one to guess it gets a cookie (not) XD
Translations:
kibbeh labniyeh= a Middle Eastern soup made of kibbeh with labaneh (yogurt) as the actual soup portion. Usually mint is added to it. It tastes amazing.
Abgha hiyya, akh = I want her, brother
Meen? Hiyya? = Who? Her?
Na'am, akh= Yes, brother
Lay ish? = Why?
Feloos, akh = money, brother
Kum? = How much?
Yimken ashra... ashreen? = Maybe ten... twenty?
Ba ad massa= after evening (rough translation)
Ghali= expensive
Yimken jameela = maybe beautiful
Falafel= another type of Middle Eastern food