As promised with my recent update to Talon's Bridle, here's the next chapter of Loving Hate! I said in the previous chapter in my author's note that I'd be going back and redoing some chapters, fixing typos and bettering the wording here and there. I also changed Hildegard's sister's name from Amber to Ermengard. I previously wanted 'Amber' to be a nickname for 'Ambrosia' (we'll learn later on that Hildegard had some coocoo parents), but eh. After a talk with my sister and after watching Hello, Dolly!, I decided I liked the name Ermengard.
I'm also considering dropping the story. To sum my reasons up, I had a nice heart-to-heart chat with my sister, who is also an Assassin's Creed fan. It's difficult to explain why I feel that the story just... isn't working, so I'm not going to explain it here. Message me if you want to know more, if you'd like.
Also starting an Oblivion fanfic if anyone's interested to read it, but I think its popularity has gone down, even though it's a great game.
Anywho, enjoy and let me know your thoughts on it!
All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.
Maria quickly scarfed down the bread she had pilfered from the kitchens, Ebony and Ivory clanking together in Benjamin's saddlebag as she jogged through the training courtyard. Several of the men hard at work paused in their exercises to give her a brief glance, but most of them ignored her presence and focused on the lesson being taught in the ring. She herself slowed her pace to hear what the instructor was saying. It was something about avoiding blows without staggering backward.
She looked down at her leg. It didn't hurt all that much, just a dull throbbing here and there. The wound wasn't deep to begin with, at least, to her it wasn't. She'd seen some brutal and disgusting injuries while still a soldier.
Perhaps she should have stayed and listened to the lesson.
She cast a look up at the fortress' grand window, scrunching her face together when she saw the back of him hunched over his desk. He was either sleeping on the job, or something proved very, very interesting.
'Damn jackal,' she hissed internally as she pulled the door open to the barracks. It was logical that the armory would be somewhere near where the men slept, or at least in the castle itself. But she had searched the place like a hound and had no luck.
Assassin's were filing to and fro, some shaking their heads as she entered the barracks. She returned their frowns as they pushed past her in their small squadrons to patrol the town. She nearly had to hug the wall to avoid being lost in the swarm of Assassin's bustling about. She resisted the urge to snort and roll her eyes at them. It was past noon, of course they were eager to leave the barracks. It was time for a meal, and she swore she heard several stomachs growl apprehensively.
Maria almost knocked a few of the men out of her way as she wedged her way past them. If only she'd arrived a few minutes later! Finally breaking through the mob of killers, she huffed and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. Honestly, would it have maimed them to have allowed her through without the struggle? She cursed quietly, content to believe that all men were bastards.
But soon her roused attitude increased significantly as she bumbled about the barracks without the smallest idea of where she was going. On the outside, it looked to be a small place, but on the inside, well. It was all a maze to her, and she swore that she past that same rug three times already!
'The bloody Hell is the smithy?' She heard the unmistakable clinks and clanks of the hammer hitting the anvil and let her ears guide her. Turn, walk, stop, go back again, listen, oh, was that the way?
She knew she found the armory when a sudden blast of smoldering hot air greeted her. Maria would have loved to sigh in relief and frustration from finally finding the damn room, but the scene before her kept her from any sound.
"I don't care if he's the Grandmaster or Allah Himself! I demand that he sends me apprentices that have a lick of talent in them!"
"But, Rauf—"
"Don't question me, boy! I've been in this fortress for nearly fifty years, and I deserve at least a crumb of respect, no?"
Maria smirked to herself as the man, Rauf, continued to bend the poor novice's ear off with a very creative choice of words. The messenger boy shrunk after every breath the man took, it seemed.
"And be sure to tell him that I do not appreciate having to create new arms to replace the ones that miraculously walk off on their own from the courtyard!" he bellowed before the boy gave a meek bow and ran out of the smithy. "Ooo-uumaa!" he sighed as he unceremoniously plopped himself down in a chair beside the anvil. "They keep spawning from nowhere, it seems. Apprentices, this way and that, swarming the armory, looking for a teacher!" He shook his head and barely spared a look in Maria's direction.
He tisked to himself when he saw her. "And now look, another one! Probably sent here by the Master for a lack of something better to do, and no doubt their shalwars are all bunched up in excitement from the thought of wielding a hammer and hitting something with it over and over again."
Maria cleared her throat and stepped toward the man, deciding that now was the time to interrupt. "Actually, sir, I'm here for my own reasons—"
"Oh, yes, I'm sure you are, it all sounds so lovely to me at the time. I suppose this is what I get," he grumbled to himself, "from retiring from being the combat trainer and persuading the Master to allow me to work as a blacksmith for our Brothers. At least the eager novices in the courtyard know the concept of fighting. Whereas these vermin that crawl even from the cracks in the walls stare at me with that blank and oblivious look in their eyes!"
Maria bit the inside of her mouth as she shifted her weight from side to side, impatiently fingering the leather straps on her bag. She opened her mouth to speak, but another rant from Rauf made itself known.
"Not to mention that the Master actually expects these boys to excel at the craft! What, does he think me a miracle worker of some sort? And who are you?" He sniffed and rubbed the back of his neck, rambling on and on. "I possess no magic, only skill with the anvil and furnace. All I can do is instruct, demonstrate, and hope that the pea-brains understand and have the ability to make a weapon by themselves without me holding their hands step by step.
"But oh no," he scoffed, "the Master wants me to give them encouraging and inspiring words of wisdom. Hah! Those boys are better off encouraging weeds to grow! At least it doesn't take much effort! And who are you? Don't even get me started on the weeds, either! Have you seen the Garden lately? You'd think those ladies would have nothing better to do than pluck, pluck, pluck!
"But of course the Master doesn't have the boys use some of their clumsy muscles for such trivial tasks as gardening! No, he has to send them to Rauf in hopes that they'd become blacksmiths. I hope the Master isn't praying with everything he's worth for those boys to be successful, otherwise he's sure to meet disappointment before the end. And Rauf never finishes before the end. And who are you?
"But I'm forgetting that we Assassin's do not believe in such a God. Perhaps this is our punishment for choosing the Creed over religion! Very useless apprentices! Talentless novices spontaneously generating from the soil! A Master who thinks that Rauf can fix just about anything! But no, he can't! The Master forgets Rauf is one person with only so much patience. And oh, that patience wears thin! These novices go on and on and on about their little problems all the time! You'd think with their training, they'd be learning something!
"And oh, once I ask for a new position amongst our Brothers, I suppose it's perfectly alright to have some baklava chum come and replace me! Hah! I'd like to see that instructor tell those boys how to find their way out of a burlap sack! I doubt they'd be able to. And furthermore—who are you?" Rauf furrowed his brow at Maria, his eyebrows nearly becoming one.
"You are not one of my Brothers," he stated, as if it was an insult. "Nor are you one of those pesky novices."
Maria only stared for several seconds, blinking at the man. He didn't even seem to take a breath, and... all that talking! Dear Lord, maybe she should have traveled to another city just for a smithy.
"I'll ask again, wom—"
"Maria Thorpe... guest of Masyaf," she blurted before he could finish taking a breath.
"Ah, the Master's woman who ran away! You've returned, wonderful. Why doesn't anyone tell me these things? Just because I work in the barracks doesn't mean I'm dead!" he grunted again. He sighed and waved a hand at her. "Forgive me, you've caught me in a bad mood. They seem more and more frequent nowadays. What with the novices and all."
"So I've heard," she chuckled bluntly. "They cannot grasp the hammer?"
"HAH!" he roared. "Grasp the hammer? They think the objective is to hit the anvil so hard that it breaks! If you'd look there," he nodded toward a pile of broken wood and metal, "that is proof of their inability to smith!"
She understood his agony perfectly, though she'd never say it out loud. And she would never complain and rant as he had just done. Well, maybe she would, but only in front of those she trusted.
She never really was a patient enough person to put up with such small-minded fools, either. "Perhaps your dedication can help me with something, friend." She pulled the bag off her shoulder and placed it on the worktable.
Rauf stood from his chair, mumbling to himself, "Hmph. Dedication. These boys do not know the difference between making a weapon and birthing a weapon. They think it's all about hitting. Hit a few hundred times, put it in the furnace, do it all over again, and then poof! You have a weapon. Wrong. It's about compassion and purpose. What good is a blade if it has no meaning to its life?"
Maria listened to what he said, almost nodding in agreement. She'd put much love and care into Riva. She wanted Damiel to be protected in battle and not fall because of his clumsy swings, and Riva made up for his flaws with her balance and length.
She carefully emptied Ebony and Ivory onto the table. Rauf took one look at the blades, then raised his eyebrows irately. "Of course," he gruffly sighed, "broken equipment. This is what happens when they are not cared for properly. People just leave them out, someone finds them, and then you can say ma'a salama!"
"I know it's my fault," she snarled, "but I'm taking responsibility—"
"I suppose you deserve some credit then—"
"And I intend to repair them."
"Were these daggers or swords?" He frowned at how the damaged blades were so short compared to the weapons aligning his wall.
"Swords," she coolly replied.
"Hmph. They're missing several pieces and are in terrible condition. You're going to need new hilts," he slowly remarked, as if she was a child, "and there's a crack running down this one. It'd be risky to fill it in with more ore. You'll have to melt them and start from scratch and add onto them from there."
She glowered at him and almost smacked his hand off his wrist when he poked at Ebony. "This one will require more time to repair, as the blade is thicker than the other one. That means—"
"The hilt is going to have to be wider to be proportionate with the the blade," Maria finished blandly for him. "May I use your anvil?" She didn't wait for a response before taking Ivory and carrying her to the furnace.
"Sure, why do I care? I suppose maybe an outsider will have better luck than the boys that pillage my privacy every hour of the day—augh, another one!" Rauf moaned and rubbed his forehead with his palm. Maria looked over her shoulder to see a boy, near Damiel's age, standing off to the side. She eyed him up and down, noticing he wore a grey hood.
He cautiously approached her, one eye on Rauf complaining to himself and the other on the broken sword in her hand. "You are Maria, no?"
She stiffened her shoulders. She never did like strangers knowing who she was. "And you are..?"
"My apologies, miss," he bowed before her. "I am Mustafa, and I am hear for your convenience. Whatever you need, I will be most honored to complete the task for you." He refused to call himself a servant, she noticed. She smiled, noticing that he was none too pleased with being given this responsibility.
She placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me something, Mustafa. Do you like these orders?"
He blinked and cleared his throat. "I am to do as I am told, miss. I am honored to be trusted with such a task."
She could only guess who gave him those orders. "You still have not answered my question, boy."
Mustafa shyly looked down at his feet. She most certainly wasn't like Hildegard. Whereas Hildegard was very easy to talk to and to get along with, this woman was practically asking for a conflict. "I am just here for your convenience, ma'am," he murmured.
"Oh? My convenience? Let us be blunt, Mustafa," she purred, "I do not need someone putting my boots on for me. I'm a capable woman, after all, and I'm perfectly able to pull my own weight around. Perhaps you should see to your Master's needs, seeing as how the man can barely keep himself together."
He couldn't agree anymore. Mustafa sighed. "I am here to assist you in whatever tasks you require aid for, my lady."
"Then make yourself useful by stoking the fire, Mustafa. We've a lot of work cut out for us today."
The novice sighed, wishing very much he was Rakin or Nabil. Sewing rugs must have been more entertaining than feeding a fire all day.
"I trust you know what to do now, right?" Rauf sighed when Maria remained silent. She had returned the following morning after melting Ivory and mixing more ore together, somehow avoiding Altair in the Residence Hall. They both exchanged a glance, he staring blankly at her while she glared quite impressively at him before purposely turning her back to him. The man never seemed to cease torturing her. Even then, as she looked over Ivory's new form, he still had her blood boil.
Maybe it was hate, but maybe it was love.
Though there wasn't any visible damage, she wouldn't risk there being the smallest of cracks inside of Ivory. She had to be exactly identical to how she was before Acre.
"Yes, Rauf. I hammer the bar into the shape of a sword."
"Yes, you shape the bar. You do not break that hammer on that anvil! I hear one little crack, and I'm taking it away from you!"
Mustafa rolled his eyes as he wiped sweat from his brow. He was sure that his face would be permanently flushed from spending so long of a time in the smithy. It was blazing hot. He hoped with all his heart that Rakin and Nabil were picking themselves over and over again with needles. He didn't deserve to be the only one punished in such a cruel way.
Maria grunted in acknowledgment of what he'd said and began the arduous hammering. Instructions that her uncle had given her swarmed through her brain. She was partially conscious to the fact that Rauf was hovering over her and watching each strike with experienced eyes.
"You've a good hit with the hammer," he murmured.
Each hit comes from the combined power of the wrist and the elbow, Maria. That way, the blow is more precise and accurate.
She nodded, continuing her work to shape the metal. "It'll take a week for each sword, won't it?" she asked between hits.
Rauf nodded and helped himself to the chair. He had offered, as a test, her a seat, and was most satisfied when she refused it. He knew a great deal of novices that would have disappointed him. "Yes, maybe even more than that if you desire specific accessories, like a design carved into the metal of some sort."
"I'm happy leaving that alone. It isn't the outside of a blade that holds its strength."
"The strength comes from the man, or woman," he corrected himself when she shot him a glare, "wielding the blade."
"A blade's purpose comes from their master's duty to life," she finished quietly. "My uncle said the same to me when I was younger."
"So you know a thing or two when it comes to smithing," he mused intently. "I suppose I should be happy with this, though I must say, I'm ecstatic. It's been too long since a person with half a brain of sense stepped foot in here. I can only pray to all the hammers in the world that you'll fail to disappoint."
She smiled, taking the compliment to heart. She felt more comfortable since he didn't see her as the everyday woman. Either Altair told him to mind his manners around her or he'd see to it that he didn't have any manhood left, or he was polite by nature. She didn't care to know which one it was.
Besides, Rauf was a compassionate man, even if he had his grumpy moments. He obviously cared for his Brothers as each blade hanging on display on the wall was absolutely gorgeous. It was as if he took the definition of an Assassin and imbedded it within the metal. How such glory could shine through a sword, Maria wanted to know. She couldn't help but to feel jealous of his skills.
However, though Maria was enjoying herself by improving her craft, Mustafa was bored out of his skull. She never seemed to be satisfied with the shape of the blade. It was either too wide or too long, or it was obtuse in the smallest fraction of a degree. He mainly twiddled his thumbs together, only leaving the armory to fetch lunch and dinner and to return their plates. He couldn't keep track of time in this place. There weren't any windows, and when he had announced he was going to bring them food, the two of them looked surprised that it was already time for a meal.
He prayed he wouldn't have to spend two weeks in there. He'd go mad, he knew it! That, and he'd permanently have a headache with all the pounding this woman was doing. He'd tried to take a nap, but his eyes kept flying open whenever she'd strike with the hammer. Rauf looked most pleased, though. He could almost see the idea whirling around in his head of asking the Master if she could be his apprentice. Hell, since when did Rauf need permission for anything? He'd only just have to show proof of her capabilities in a pleasing voice, and then he'd have his way.
Mustafa felt left out of almost everything their conversations were about. They mainly spoke of ores found in foreign lands, particularly those in China. He didn't understand them for the most part. It was all a different language to him, and one that wracked on his nerves. He couldn't even find a reason to chuckle in the place!
"And did you know that the hidden blade originated in Persia? It's quite a feat, I think, for an Assassin to travel from there to here over time, bringing their technology and knowledge with them. A powerful thing, knowledge is."
"Knowledge isn't the only powerful thing," she commented after finally satisfying herself with her handiwork."
"Oh?" Rauf raised an eyebrow and eyed the beginnings of the blade. It'd be a beauty in the end.
Mustafa pricked his ears upon hearing the challenge in Rauf's voice. Though Mustafa chose to stay on the sidelines in deep discussions, Rauf wasn't a man to be trifled with when it came to arguing. He knew how to cut people off fairly well.
"Yes. Music is just as powerful as knowledge." She looked over at Mustafa, who was once again pushing more logs into the furnace, hiding his look of interest with a concentrated and sweaty face.
"Music?" Rauf creased his brow and watched as she took the prongs and placed Ivory into the furnace. "How can sound be so earth-shattering?"
"Because it makes us feel. It inspires us." She watched as the flames licked at Ivory. "Music can lead a person to greatness, or it can lead them to the biggest downfall of their life. Each pitch, each note has its own meaning. It isn't just sound. Well, it can be, if the musician doesn't put their soul into it."
"But knowledge, and even weapons, can lead a person to glory as well. Besides, the only music I've heard are provocative tunes made for brothels," he shrugged. "You speak as if it such a dramatic thing in the world—"
"And why do they play that style of music in a Madam's house? Do you think they play it just to do something with themselves? I believe some of those men would prefer those hands on other areas than on their flutes or harps. Music connects to the soul in strange ways."
"Maybe on a small scale, but can music cure the world?"
"Can violence?" She stood straight and placed her hands on her waist. "Though I do enjoy a good match here and there, I'd prefer not having to fight and shed blood."
"Our Brothers share the same opinion, Maria," he held his hand up and chuckled. "An Assassin takes no pleasure in ending life, but we bask in the glory of knowing that the world is a little bit safer after every kill we make."
She raised an eyebrow and turned to the swords on the wall. "I don't disagree with you, Rauf. I'm merely stating my own opinion."
"And I am not denying you that right, miss. But tell me: are you a musician?"
"No," she chuckled, "it's been years since I've played an instrument. I can read it as if it was English, though. I can tell you the notes of each chord, each major and minor scale, the fingerings for each note for several instruments... you name it."
He grunted and stretched his arms out. "And what do you hope to accomplish with a little song?"
Maria bit her lip, afraid to answer him. "Unity," she whispered, "between all men and women. No more imaginary lines between people, no more false beliefs and stereotypes. We're all flesh and blood and bone, how are we so different than people who live in castles? Or those who are not so lucky and live in the streets? We aren't different from anyone, and it's about time people started realizing that."
"And did music lead you to this belief?" She could tell he didn't believe her, but he was being polite and giving her his full attention. She didn't answer him, only watched out of the corner of her eye as he prepared to leave. "Women are strange creatures," he muttered as he wiped his hands on a towel, "always seeing the world differently from men. Their solutions are always so... simple and mundane."
"I'd hardly call ending life spectacular, sir."
"No," he shrugged, "I suppose it isn't. But it gives purpose to a man, no? After all, we can't all be musicians, now can we?"
"We can't all be killers either, though," she whispered.
He faced her with a serious and concerned face. "Are you not one for the men you've killed during times of war? Tell me, Maria: what are you?"
She opened her mouth to speak but had no idea what to say. What exactly was she? A woman robbed of her rights? Someone desperately in love with a man that ruined her life? A warrior only taking a temporary break from the life of blood, sweat and tears?
"Music tells this man to sleep now," he announced when the second eighth bell of the day rang. They both turned their heads in the direction of the chiming, not that they'd see the tower. "Maybe some of these novices should take up the duduk instead of the hammer. Goodnight, Maria, Mustafa," he nodded to each of them and left the armory.
She forgot that the novice was in the room with them. She was too busy absorbed in Rauf's question to notice the boy staring intently at her. Maria sighed and shook her head. "Look at me. I'm making a big deal out of nothing."
Mustafa blinked and offered her a small smile. "I believe you, though."
"You shouldn't believe everything someone says, though. It's a petty way to view life, I suppose, thinking that music can change everything." She rubbed her hands together, though for what reason, he didn't know. It certainly was not cold in the armory. "Just a woman's petty belief to think that music will save the world."
"But it makes sense," he offered with a wider grin when she frowned at him. "I mean, suppose that Assassin's were trained to learn music."
"That'd be ridiculous," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't see the point of this."
"But what is music?"
"Sound produced from melodies and harmonies, of course."
"And if my Brothers were taught that? If we went to each city, either singing or plucking the strings on a harp?" He stood then, clearly proud of his speculations. "It'd be a cause to live for, would it not?"
"That's probably the most absurd thing I've ever heard," she snorted bluntly. "I cannot imagine any of your kind doing that."
"But maybe that's what's wrong with mankind," he wondered aloud, scratching his chin. "Maybe the solution to all our problems is right in front of us, yet we refuse to believe that it's so simple. Or maybe we're too afraid to embarrass ourselves in the process of righting the wrong. Like you said, it'd look foolish for us to go on a chanting journey."
"How many years have you seen, boy?" she demanded from him. He chuckled and replied with an 'almost twenty summers, ma'am'.
"Why do you ask? Does it amaze you that a boy my age can see the world like that?" He hoped that wasn't the case. He was beginning to like her, and he'd be shattered if she admitted that she was impressed with his ability to be mature.
"You remind me of someone I knew—know," she stuttered. She prayed night and day that he was still alive. "He was—is just a year younger than you, in fact." Her voice was distant and soft, but it was warm and caring. He listened with pure curiosity. "He composed and conducted his own scores, believing that one day he'd travel around the world and teach people the meaning of love through his work. I remember one time he told me something so odd that I couldn't help but to laugh." She stopped to chuckle at the memory. "I think I insulted him by it, though."
"What did he say?" Mustafa sat back down, a fascinated gleam in his eyes.
"He said, 'Maria, I know this is going to sound downright estupido, but I believe love is like manure. It should circulate and restore corrupted civilizations with the blessings that come with it.' Funny thing is, though I laughed, I believed him. There wasn't a false word that he said to me in that statement."
"Then are we mere blades of grass out of the millions that populate the earth?" He was entirely serious with the question. She'd even go as far as to think his face was childish with how big his eyes were and how personal he took her little speech.
"I suppose you could say that, what with the manure and all being thrown into the mix. I like to think that we are all music notes, just because it's a more professional way to approach the matter, mind you. We're all scattered, and one day, I pray to the Lord and Jesus above, that we'll all be joined together in one ensemble—that all the solos will become duets, and then the duets merge and create bigger and brighter things in life."
"And speaking of music," the two of them turned to the new person entering the room, "I do love me a good lullaby every now and then, hm?" Hildegard should have been posing with all the bravado she'd used in that sentence. Maria rolled her eyes while Mustafa chuckled.
"Figures it would be you to ruin the moment," Maria dryly stated. Hildegard laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder before wrapping an arm around Maria.
"Isn't she a bore, Mustafa? Always going on and on about every man and woman holding hands—fascinating, but repetitive, Maria dear. Why, I can think of a certain man who'd love to hear all about your thoughts and views on mankind. A certain Assassin, hm?" She unraveled herself from Maria to pace the length of the room, throwing her arms out in front of her as if she was envisioning something splendid.
"Why, nearly all the men in this fortress deserve to hear and feel the emotions you rave on and on about, Maria! Just look at what poor Mustafa's been going through! He's having a change of heart while all the other Assassin's must suffer being cold, dead bricks!" She pranced over to Mustafa, flinging an arm around his shoulder. "Terrible, isn't it?"
"What is it that you want, you leaking piss?" Maria growled. Hildegard swung over to Maria then, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Oh, deary, why do you always think I want something from you? Have you ever thought that I just want to spend a little time with my friend? No? Augh, you wound me, Maria!" She dramatically turned her head to the side, gasping as if having her very existence insulted. Mustafa's chuckling only encouraged her performance. "You only offer me such cruel words in my time of need!" Another dramatic and over-the-top gasp.
Maria peeled Hildegard off of her, but the other woman wasn't finished yet. She grabbed Maria's arm, flung her across the width of the room while still holding onto her, and whimpered, "Maria, love, I haven't spent any time with you in forever, and this is how you treat my attempt at conversation?" Maria let her breath out in an audible puff as Hildegard yanked her back over to herself. She twirled into Hildegard, the blonde woman leaning her backward into a dip.
"You never talk to me anymore, Maria! Have I done something to insult you? Prithee, let my flaws be known so that I may win you back!"
Maria blinked, not entirely sure how she'd ended up in that position. "Hildegard, you're dazing me, love," she breathed out.
"Pah!" She pulled Maria back up into a standing position, giving her only a moment before placing a hand on her waist while the other held her hand. "Now, walk with me in a one, two, three, love." Maria rolled her eyes, placing her hand on Hildegard's shoulder, knowing there'd be no winning with the woman. "I have come to inform you that I have been rummaging through the fortress in need of something to do."
"And it was important to delay with all your fiascoes, why?"
"Would I be the same person if I didn't? Isn't she a funny thing, Mustafa?" she lilted at the boy. He could only blink as a response. "Well, I've been opening doors all day long, digging my nose in cabinets and cupboards, and it's paid off tremendously, Maria."
"How so?"
Hildegard threw her head back and imitated a noble's laugh. "Why, while you were in here sweating like a man, I found something completely mesmerizing and out of this world!" Then, she halted their strange dance, her brown eyes sparkling and full of wonder. "I have something to show you, love."
"Hildegard, there better be a good reason as to why you are dragging me up these stairs, else there'll be Hell to pay!" Maria hissed as the two women clambered up more stairs with a very exhausted looking Mustafa trailing not far behind them. "For God's sake, let me go!"
"Oh, quiet your complaints, Maria, and keep up with me!" Hildegard gave a firm jerk to Maria's arm as she turned a corner up another flight. "It isn't too far now."
"What isn't too far? Damn, Hildegard, I'll be lucky if I even have an arm after this!" Maria's legs worked overtime to keep herself balanced while being pulled along. She swore that any moment she'd go flying into the stairs and crack her head open. What a present that'd be to Altair, seeing his beloved's innards spilled all over the place.
'Actually,' Maria smirked, 'it might be a benefit to me since Hildegard would be the one to blame.' She collided into Hildegard's back as she came to a sudden stop. "Bloody Hell, Hildegard, I swear to you that I'll—"
"Ah, here we are," Hildegard mused. She wasn't even panting, just straightening her skirts and hair as if she just took a light jog through the Garden. Mustafa soon joined them. He looked winded as he doubled over to catch his breath. "You'll forgive me soon, Maria," Hildegard chuckled.
"And how do you plan to have me accept your foolishness—" Maria's breath was taken away from her as Hildegard opened the door they had stopped at. Hildegard smiled in victory as Maria's face was the epitome of awe and admiration. Maria slowly ventured into the room like a child in a fantasy land. She repeatedly looked back behind her at Hildegard to make sure the woman wasn't just pulling her sleeve.
Mustafa's eyes widened at the structure situated at the far wall of the room. He didn't know they had one of those—he didn't even know that Syria had one of those! Well, he wasn't quite sure what it was, but it looked important.
Well, it looked important to Maria. He hadn't the smallest clue as to what he was looking at.
Maria hesitantly brought her hand out to touch the carved wood of the pipe organ, as if she was afraid it'd fall apart at any given moment. She brought her hand back up to her face, frowning from the dust on her fingertips. How many years was it left to wither away in solitude? She glanced at the keyboard, noticing a fine layer of dust blanketing it that would only accumulate even further over time.
"Oh, I know, Maria, I'm such a monster for tearing you away from the armory," Hildegard sighed hysterically. "I'm well aware that it is such a sin to present a pipe organ to their friend."
Mustafa crossed his arms, not very sure what a pipe organ was. He knew it was an instrument, but what sound did it make? He was curious, to say the least.
Maria sluggishly shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what was in front of her. "It's been years," she whispered breathlessly.
"Well, go on! Play something for us, won't you?" Hildegard pressed.
Maria narrowed her eyes, and in one quick swipe, she ran her hand along the row of keys. The dust flew into the air, and the instrument sounded. Mustafa gasped from the combination of the slurred notes, not expecting it at all.
"Quite different from our duduk and harp," the novice murmured. He watched and listened as she explained the basic parts of the organ to him. She placed her foot on what she called 'the bellows', explaining to him that it repeatedly needed to be pumped to supply the instrument with wind. He nodded, not really understanding anything that she was saying.
Her fingers poised themselves above the keys, and she lightly pressed down onto them. She clicked her tongue. "The tone isn't exactly to my liking," she explained when Hildegard tilted her head to the side. "I'll work with it, though."
She played through scales, accompanied by their arpeggios, teaching the novice the sharps and flats required for each one. She had to start from the very beginnings of music for him, though. The words 'half-step', 'flat', 'sharp', and 'chord' flew around his brain like a whirlwind. He tried to sort through them, but his struggle was visible on his face. She sighed, knowing that he'd never understand.
"Perhaps Rauf was right in saying that music can't save us," she said sadly. "If it's too hard a concept to grasp, then maybe violence is the only answer. After all," she snorted, "it doesn't take a genius to know how to drive the pointy end of a blade into another man."
"You belittle yourself, darling," Hildegard said obviously. "Keep playing. I'm off to find us some candles. The moon's offering us little light as of now."
And she played the minors and majors while Hildegard soon returned with the promised candles, as well as cushions for her and Mustafa to sit on. Maria refused a chair when Hildegard had suggested one, saying that she was better off standing to relearn how to play. She scowled whenever she made the slightest mistake, and she never smiled or praised herself when doing something right. Her brow was fixed in a constant line of determination as she remembered how to play.
She was so enveloped by the instrument that she did not notice when Hildegard and Mustafa excused themselves, the second tenth bell ringing, signaling that all novices were to be in bed. Even though Hildegard wasn't part of the Assassin's Order, she still thought it a good time to get herself some rest.
Maria played through the night, even when the candles burned out.
Altair narrowed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. That wasn't a sound he ever heard, at least not in Masyaf. Maybe he heard one being played a few times in Acre, but what was the importance of music compared to a mission? He placed his documents back on the shelves and left his study. He remembered coming across the pipe organ when he was younger and still a novice. He'd asked his superiors why they even had it, and they only shushed him and told him to respect what he did not understand.
He smirked, knowing that he'd come a long way from that ignorant and foolish boy he had once been. He no longer mocked what he did not grasp, at least not all the time. He was human, err was guaranteed with his existence.
He briefly paused up the steps when the music stopped, but resumed his pace when he shook his head. So the little musician had finally decided to call it a night. Good, he was planning on retiring to his chambers anyway. He didn't need to hear the nasally sound the instrument made all night. If Malik heard it, he'd surely pester Altair until he broke the thing.
Altair pushed the door open, letting his gift of vision flood his eyes. He blinked his fantastic guide away when he saw the gold shimmering of her figure curled up on the floor in front of the organ. He sighed, stepped forward, and knelt beside her.
Maria peeked her eyes open and groaned at the hound in front of her. Bayo stood next to her, wagging his tail back and forth while nudging her with his nose.
"I was having a good dream, you son of a bitch," she muttered before turning onto her other side. Bayo trotted around her and placed a paw on her shoulder. He whined and squirmed happily. She only scrunched her face up and moaned in displeasure. "Go find someone else to bother."
He got down on his belly and growled playfully. She threw her arm over her eyes to block the sunlight. "Give me five more minutes, hound."
The dog stood and stamped his paw in irritation. He barked and jumped on top of her and quickly skirted away when she launched herself upright to smack him away. She gave him a warning glare before curling back to the floor. Her eyes burned from the lack of sleep and the light. Not only that, but she could feel a headache begin to pound at her skull. God, why did she have to stay up all night? And why did Bayo have to wake her up so early?
Maria slowly opened her eyes again, testing whether or not she'd even be able to get out of her makeshift bed. She sat up and shook her head back in forth, immediately regretting it when her headache (that was probably Altair's fault in some way) pounded more insistently (which she blamed Altair for). Her eyes watered as she blinked them rapidly.
"Making me get up just to play," she spat at the dog while she stretched. "Ridiculous." She cracked her back, then stopped as she noticed what she'd used as a blanket. She didn't remember covering herself with anything, only that she'd laid down on the floor and shut her eyes. And she didn't remember Hildegard offering her a blanket, nor Mustafa for that matter.
"Now that I think of it," she whispered, "I never used a pillow." She looked behind her at the cushion, then back at the robe covering her. She picked a sleeve off the floor and felt it in her fingers. It was heavy, and just judging by the length of the sleeve alone, it was two or three sizes too big for her. She clenched her jaw and gripped the black fabric tighter.
"Insufferable, opinionated, self-centered, foolish, gluttonous, pig-headed, yellow-bellied, blind, breast suckling Assassin," she swore as she trampled through the robe. She stood up and ran a hand through her hair, cringing when she felt snarl after snarl. The clip was making it worse, and she rolled her eyes out of irritation. She ripped the damn thing out of her hair and shook her curls out. Of course she was going to have a bad day. It was probably Monday. Or maybe it was going to rain later on.
She held the robe out and bit her lip. She couldn't just leave it there. That'd be rude, and considering he'd actually been thoughtful (even though she was reluctant to admit it), it'd make her look bad if she didn't acknowledge that. Maria huffed and jutted her hip out as she pondered her choices. She had to give it back to him, it'd be the right thing to do. And though she was a woman who believed in independence of men, a 'thank you' was in proper order.
Curious, she slid her arms through the sleeves. As expected, it hung loosely from her shoulders and touched the floor. She turned her head toward Bayo, who was giving an encouraging wag of his tail and looking as happy as ever.
"What are you looking at, mutt?" she whispered. He responded by nudging her leg with his nose and lolling his tongue out playfully. "I'm just giving it back to him, it isn't like anything has changed!"
Bayo sat on his hind legs and whimpered. "Oh, so you think just by tucking me in with a robe, everything's healed and forgotten?" Bayo barked happily and sprung up and down. Maria groaned and shrugged out of the robe. "What, you don't believe me? Fine! You can come along if you wish, and you'll see that nothing is going to happen." She bundled the robe up in her arms, muttering nonsense at how ridiculous this was.
"The man probably had this all figured out from the start," she argued to no one in particular. She and Bayo walked down the stairwells back to the foyer. "If he isn't there, then I'll leave it on his desk and pretend nothing ever happened. Besides, I have better things to do. Rauf is probably complaining about my tardiness, and poor Mustafa, having to put up with the man. Honestly, these Assassin's are unbearable."
When she climbed the short staircase that led to his study, she was surprised by what she saw. Rauf, which she thought a complete coincidence, was speaking to his master. She guessed by his hand gestures that it was important. Not only that, but she was quietly admiring the other man in the study.
Altair, not wearing his black robe, wore the usual white tunic that most of the Dai wore beneath their robes. If he noticed Maria, he made no attempt to bring her in the conversation, and she was thankful for that. After all, she didn't want him to see her eying his torso up and down. The tunic was suited for him, and some parts clung to his muscles. And, well, while he still wasn't on her 'Favorite' list, she still had the gall to think that yes, he certainly looked rather handsome, in a rugged way.
Perhaps the wording 'dangerously seducing' suited him the most.
She backed away behind the bookshelf respectfully. What kind of person would she be if she was caught eavesdropping?
There were swords, obviously poorly made, on the desk. Rauf did his best to persuade Altair that the novices were draining their supplies of ores. What really piqued her interest was that his next topic was her, of all people.
"Please, Altair, you must consider. She's shown much more promise than those other falafel-headed boys you've sent me. She knows what she's talking about, and most importantly, she isn't a bother. I'm sure if I apprenticed her, she'd make a fine smith."
Altair ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought of an answer. "We do not even know if she's going to stay, Rauf. She has her own comrades, and I don't believe she thinks Masyaf to be home for her."
"Yes," Rauf argued, "but if she was doing something she enjoyed, Altair, then we may be in business. I'm not getting any younger, we both know that, and having someone else take up the craft may be useful. In fact, she may even be able to help you with your studies. You said that you were looking for a way to alter the hidden blade, no? Perhaps she can be of assistance to you. You never know until you try, Master."
Maria slowly turned her head as Malik ascended the other side of the stairwell. The man stopped and gave her a small glance. He smirked and rolled his eyes when he saw her and did his best not to chuckle.
"I must agree with Rauf," the one-armed man said as he entered the study. "She may be useful to the Brotherhood, Altair. That, and she may find a purpose or two to stay in Masyaf. She is a former Templar, you said. Well, then that means she can use a sword, and I think Rauf will feel better if someone other than Tamam trained the men, wouldn't he?"
Rauf nodded gruffly. "Malik has a very valid point, Master. Besides, you yourself want her to stay in Masyaf, I believe. It'd be a good opportunity for her to grow accustomed to the town, wouldn't it?" Malik mumbled in agreement, placing his hand on Altair's shoulder.
Maria's eyes widened when she felt something bump into her. Swiveling her head in front of her, she closed her eyes in relief to see Benjamin and Bayo. The man raised an eyebrow at the bundle in her arms, then gave her an expecting look. She frowned and shook her head. He motioned toward the conversing men in the study, and she again shook her head. She tried to find some reassurance in her dog, but he seemed either too pleased or too oblivious with her torture.
Placing his hands on his hips, Benjamin looked down at her as if he was a father scolding his child. Huffing, she let him guide her into the study with an all too happy dog following close behind.
She would have bolted right out of there, but Benjamin's hand digging into her back told her otherwise. All three men averted their attention to them, and their conversation stopped abruptly. Rauf gave a calculating gaze at Maria and seemed to find something he liked. He nodded his head at Altair and gestured toward her, whispering that she had skill when it came to weaponry. Altair looked both surprised and pleased to see her, more-so when he saw his robes balled up in her arms.
And he wasted no time noticing that her hair was down. He felt his lips tugging into a smile as he saw her hair was tangled and looked more like a rosebush in need of trimming. Nevertheless, the way she carried herself with all that confidence in her stride made it look good on her. Their eyes locked together and she narrowed hers when she saw him liking what he saw.
Though Maria felt uneasy with Altair staring at her like that, she felt even more nervous with Malik. His face paled and his eyes grew darker. Maria frowned from his penetrating glower, thinking that she was at fault. She felt Benjamin's hand tense on her back and heard him suck his breath in. She looked over at her friend, and what she saw startled her.
Benjamin only wore that face when readying for battle. He'd never grind his teeth together and shift his jaw unless he was preparing for an attack. When Maria looked back to Malik, she, as well as Altair and Rauf, gasped from surprise.
"YOU!"
In a split second, Malik had grabbed one of the swords on the table and was flinging himself at Benjamin. Instinct alone saved the Englishman as Maria, thankful that Hildegard finally persuaded her to store a weapon or two in her breastbindings, dug out a knife and blocked the attack. For only having one arm, he was strong. Her arm and elbow rattled from the impact and she involuntarily took a step back to steady herself.
Rauf stood, stunned from Malik's outburst, and it was Altair that took action and restrained Malik. He tried to hold him back from attacking Maria again, only succeeding partway. He wasn't able to keep him still completely, so he resorted to having both of his hands grip his arm.
"What madness has claimed you, Brother?" he growled as he struggled to stay his blade. It was as if the man had the strength of two arms instead of one. Altair met Maria's eyes, seeing her fight to keep Malik's sword from cutting through herself. She looked beyond furious for the sudden assault, and he knew from experience that when her face turned red like that, that she was in no mood for any games or tricks.
He glanced at her weapon, almost cursing when he saw it was only a throwing knife. The blade wasn't made to withstand such pressure. He also took the time to study Bayo. The dog looked torn between who to attack. Maria was his master, but she gave no order for him to attack, and yet he liked Malik for all the treats and goodies he'd been giving him. His choice of action was raising the hair on his neck and growling at the two of them.
"In all my fifty some years, I've never seen such a thing as this," Rauf mumbled as he applied just enough pressure to Malik's wrist to have his fingers uncurl from the hilt of the sword. It fell and clanged to the floor, Maria stepping back just in time. She was heaving with anger and trying to control the want to strangle him for almost skewering her like a kebab.
She stole a glimpse at the floor, noticing that she'd dropped Altair's robe sometime in the process of the attack. Shaking away some of her brutality, she managed to ground out a demand to know what just happened.
"What the bloody Hell was that for?" she barked again at Malik when she received no answer. Altair had one arm wrapped around his waist, the other curled around his friend's only arm, and had backed himself up into the wall farthest from Maria. "What in the name of God did I ever do to you, you cur?"
Malik grunted and flailed his limbs to free himself from Altair's grip. "It was him, Brother," he snarled. He almost broke Altair's grasp, which had Rauf slam himself into him to keep him under control. "He was the one!"
Maria blinked, then sluggishly turned around to face Benjamin. Altair clenched his jaw from the struggle his friend was putting up. "What are you—"
"He is the one! The one who killed him, and the one who stole my arm!"
Translations:
ma'a salama: good-bye