UPDATE, 6/6/11: HOLY SHIT, HOLY HOLY SHIT. AC:R E3 TRAILER? HOOOO, GOD. Anyway. Totally going to preorder ASAP. Now, back to nodding my head to the music and drooling over the trailer.
And here is the first part of chapter 20. The next part will probably be up in another month, or maybe sooner. That depends if A) I get over this cold that's been bothering me for a week now and B) when I get back from vacation. I know, you're all thinking that vacation is going to Florida or another country. Ahah, I wish.
Vacation for me is visiting all my little cousins and exhausting myself while entertaining them. Yay for family.
Also, totally psyched about AC: Revelations. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that Ubi will show some more AltMar. I mean, how many smexi scenes did Ezio get? And how many did Altair and Maria get? Yeah, I thought so.
Though, I'm a bit worried about my fic's popularity. I know that it doesn't receive much attention since a lot of people aren't fond of the pairing, even though it's canon, but once the game comes out, I hope people won't think that I disliked and changed the plotline for Altair. Sure, I'll feel a bit silly when the game comes out and we learn about what the Samheck went on with Altair, Maria and their family, but I hope any new readers I get will understand that I created 'Loving Hate' way before Revelations came out. I'm merely working with clay that has not yet hardened.
All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.
Maria sat at the foot of her bed and tightened the bindings around her breasts. She secured the strips of cloth in place before pulling on a tunic that was nowhere near form-fitting, courtesy of Altair's negligence. She shoved her feet into her boots and inspected herself in her mirror.
With her breasts flattened and without a belt making out the swell of her hips, she could pass as a male. If her hair was much shorter, then she'd really look like an adolescent boy. She tugged at the dark locks, tossing the choices around in her mind. No doubt Altair would be shocked speechless if she hacked her hair off. There'd be no clip for him to steal, then, and she'd be victorious.
But then she wouldn't be able to see his fleeting looks of adoration toward her mane, and though she was a woman who didn't appreciate flattery, she couldn't help but feel something inside of her stir from feeling his eyes on her.
She'd blame it on Masyaf's food. With all those foreign spices, she was probably allergic to one or more of them.
She fingered the clip on her bureau, frowning at the object. Since that buffoon was set on swiping away her hair pins, she found it ironic that he'd go as far as to buy her another one. It was as if he was trying to prove that no matter how many she had, he'd always find a way to snatch them from her.
Wrapping her cloak around herself, she pulled her hair up into a tight French braid before tugging her hood down. She rather liked long hair.
Slugging her saddlebag over her shoulder and leaving her room and exiting the fortress, she wondered if she should say her goodbye's to Benjamin and Hildegard. She could do with the man's support and kind words, though she doubted she'd be able to even breathe in Hildegard's presence—not after what happened yesterday. By God, that woman's ramblings had her dream the most sensual and heated things ever!
She'd say bye to Hildegard when she got back to Masyaf. It'd serve the woman right, after all.
Maria took her time through the small town. It really was a peaceful place, what without the townspeople and Assassin's running about. No, it was only her as she descended the layout of the city. She could understand why Altair sought to protect this place. There was an indescribable charm about Masyaf. Maybe it had to do with the birds wee-wooing to each other, or perhaps it was how different and distinct the inhabitants were.
She wrapped her cloak tighter about herself and exited the city gates, immediately turning toward the stables. There was the man of her misery in all his Master Assassin glory, speaking to those three familiar novices as they handed him blanket after blanket. He silently packed the blankets into his bags before securing them on one side of the horse's saddle.
Maria approached the small group and held her hand out for the horse to sniff. The horse stamped its hoof and eagerly placed its muzzle into Maria's palm. She scratched its whiskery chin, then leaned to the side of the animal for a quick inspection.
Definitely a mare.
Maria looked over at Altair, who hadn't even acknowledged her yet, which irritated her. He was busy speaking with his men and gesturing this way and that. She rolled her eyes and adjusted the horse's bridle while the mare in turn playfully nipped at her hood.
"We will return in at least a week, Mustafa. Be sure to tell Malik that we've already left, and I expect all three of you to keep our new guests feeling welcomed and safe in Masyaf's walls. Do you understand me?"
Rakin, Nabil, and Mustafa all nodded simultaneously as they helped their master fasten the saddlebags.
"You will continue your training as always, but don't think I won't know if you three get into any mischief. Malik will give me a full report on everyone's progress when I return."
The novices, trying to look as alert as possible without showing how tired they really were, nodded again and bowed their heads in respect when they saw Maria. They each gave lazy and exhausted smiles at her, which she couldn't help but to smirk at. With one final salute to Altair, they walked back into the city to return to their warm and comfortable beds. Goodness, waking up two bells earlier than usual was just downright exhausting!
Maria watched them leave as she tried to fend off the mare's muzzle. Frowning, she held the horse's bridle as she stepped to the side. She saw Altair's look of puzzlement from her attire from the opposite side of the horse. She ignored him and strapped her saddlebag.
"Why all the blankets?" she asked as she inspected what he'd brought in his. Waterskins, lamb jerky, dates, and plenty of quilts.
"Syrian nights are cold," he slowly said as if it was common knowledge. "And if we are unfortunate to not find a village to spend a night at, then we will resort to camping. I'd rather not freeze because of ill preparation."
She stopped to look over her own saddlebag. Compared to his, she was ready to go traveling as far as the well in the marketplace. She clenched her fist from her foolishness but snapped her eyes up abruptly as he handed her another saddlebag.
"Wool," he explained when he opened it up so she could survey its contents.
"Scratchy and irritating," she brusquely replied, but gratefully accepted nonetheless. He took the blank look she gave him as a 'thank you'.
"You'll be warm, at least. If it doesn't keep the cold away, then there is no harm in sharing." Though his words were purely sincere and friendly, she didn't know if it was just her or if he had secretly stashed a hint of something else with that statement.
She grunted and attached the saddlebag. When she turned her head back over to him, she took a step back from the object not two inches from her face.
"Since you are still repairing your other weapons, Rauf was generous enough to lend you one of his best ever made."
She silently took the sword from him, unsheathing it and holding it out in front of her. It was magnificent and looked much like Altair's own sword, save for the eagle head as the pommel.
As she admired the weapon, he took the opportunity to scrutinize her tunic—a tunic that was very familiar to him.
Maria sheathed the sword and secured it at her waist. "In case you're wondering, you brainless Assassin," she huffed as she ran her fingers through the horse's mane, "it's rather odd and provoking to find a woman roaming around the Kingdom. I'd rather avoid a fight on the way to the caravans, wouldn't you?"
"No matter what choice of clothes you wear, Maria, I think you'll always be provoking to guards." She shot him a glare, and as a quick recovery, he cleared his throat. "She is Hafa," he explained when Maria swatted at the all-too curious horse as it nudged her chest. "She's quite spirited, but she's a mount good enough for any soldier."
"She's a little bold, isn't she?" Maria ducked away from the horse when she almost stamped her hoof on her foot. She swore at the beast.
Altair smirked and grabbed the reins. "Does she remind you of someone?"
Maria paused and scowled at him. "Of course not," she sarcastically replied as she hoisted herself up in the saddle. Her face scrunched together from a dull and unpleasant ache in her stomach. God and all his men, Aden could kick!
Shaking the pain away, she sneered down at Altair's frown. "Oh? I'm sorry, were you expecting to be in front?"
"Of course not," he smoothly replied as he adjusted the bridle. "Normally, I'd ride Shihad, but—"
"Orders are orders," Maria finished for him. She rolled her eyes just from thinking about Malik. "Understandable. Up you get."
He swung himself over and loosely wrapped his arms about her waist. "I do not expect to reach this caravan in just one night, Maria."
"I know, I heard you speaking with your men. A week, was it?" She did her best to ignore how he kept shifting his arms the slightest degree. What an insufferable man!
He nodded, then said, "If we make haste, we may be able to rest at a small village just south of Masyaf instead of setting up camp."
"Whoa," Maria breathed when Hafa pranced in place. "Well, you needn't give any more encouragement for this lass here." The horse snorted and pawed at the ground, swishing her tail back and forth. Maria lightly tapped the reins against the beast and Hafa immediately started at a choppy and demanding walk. "Spirited indeed," Maria huffed when the horse tried getting hold of the bit.
They descended the winding path that ran alongside the river surrounding Masyaf. "I suppose you and your men take dives often, no?"
Altair turned his head to look at the river, his features darkening. "Some of us do, but not all."
"Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow and slowed Hafa down. "You don't enjoy swimming?"
He ran his tongue over his teeth. "And you do?"
He felt her jerk in the saddle, no doubt already frustrated with him. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Used to go swimming every day when I was a child."
"You are not afraid?" he quietly whispered. He bowed his head; the sun was just starting to come up.
"Afraid?" She furrowed her brow. "No, not at all. Why would I be—" She threw her head back and laughed as realization dawned upon her. "Oh, you must be jesting! Don't tell me the Great Master of Assassin's can't swim?"
"I find little reason to spend my time so uselessly by attempting to float on water."
She snorted and urged the horse to a faster trot. "So that's what you think swimming is all about? Tell me, Altair: have you ever felt water rush past you, surround you, and caress every part of you while you explored its depths?"
He remained silent. That was an experience he did not need to relive.
She sighed and shook her head. "I suppose you haven't. That's a shame, really."
"It is just water. We experience water in the baths as well, Maria."
She shook her head again. "That's nothing like open water, Altair. There's no motion in a bath, no life. Where's the excitement and thrill in that?"
"So you endanger yourself just for the high?"
Maria chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Endanger myself? No, I don't do that, Assassin. Do I swim? Yes, though I doubt I'm as good as I used to be. But do I do it for an adrenaline rush? Tell me, Altair, what do you do in your spare time?"
"As leader, Maria, I have very little spare time."
"Very little spare time is still spare time," she gruffly snapped. He didn't reply. "Fine then, avoid answering me. This will be a long week ahead of us, I can already see that."
He closed his eyes and squeezed her waist. She shifted uncomfortably, scoffing when he rested his forehead against her back.
They were at the post when they spoke next. "If you're going to sleep, Altair, then you'd better not fall off, for I will not stop just to throw your heavy self back in the saddle."
He grunted and straightened himself. He looked over at the post, no doubt his Brothers watching his and Maria's every move. He sighed.
"And to think," Maria murmured as they trotted through the mountain pass, "I was taught to believe that an Arab's home was a sickening and disgusting place to live." She snorted and scratched Hafa between the ears. "Comical, really. England is such a disease-breeding country and you can't even walk five steps without setting foot in a pile of droppings. France is almost as bad, too—the Mediterranean is such a clean place compared to the Western European countries."
Maria continued to add comment after comment, trying to ignore how quiet her partner was behind her. She knew he was awake by how his hands idly clenched and twirled with her cloak. It was rather distracting for her, and she was beginning to wish she had let him in front. At least then he wouldn't be touching her—
But then she'd have to cling to him like some lovesick dog while he most likely urged the horse faster and faster like a madman. That thought alone had her mood darken considerably, and it was such a fine morning!
"Stay to the cliffside," he mumbled into her ear.
She shook her head. "I have ill experiences with such things, Assassin, and I don't think I'd fancy a run-in with brigands, thank you very much."
"Would you prefer the guards following us, then?"
"I think they'd be suspicious if they saw a pair of travelers trying to hide themselves in a mountain's shadow, Altair. Besides, what reason would they have to give us trouble? We haven't done anything to them, have we?"
"You haven't," he sighed, "but Assassin's have, and I'm in curious attire, Maria."
"That's ill preparation on your behalf, Altair, not mine. If you didn't spend so much time with those blankets, then—"
"Then we'd only have enough for one person, Maria. But the blankets don't change the fact that the guards know to look for a man in a white hood."
She sniffed and tilted her chin. "Then perhaps Assassin's should change the way they dress to be more inconspicuous. Since you are Grandmaster, you have the authority to change the uniform, do you not? You could easily have your men wear one of those Arabian robes, a pair of trousers, slippers, or one of those fancy and extravagant tunics that merchants wear. Maybe the guards would turn a blind eye on you, then."
"And where would we attach our weapons, Maria? On the outside of our garbs, where guards would be confused as to why we are adorned with such dangerous equipment?" He smirked when she clicked her tongue and scowled.
"Well, you'd have to wear them on the inside, then—"
"And make it difficult to unsheathe a sword or dagger when need be." His mouth twitched when she grew quiet, obviously finding fault with her own reasoning. "So you see, Maria," he continued as she grudgingly steered Hafa near the cliffs, "no matter what an Assassin wears, his appearance is still devious and uncharacteristic to guards."
"And isn't there a tenet of your Creed that states 'hide in plain sight'?"
"I don't see how one can blend with the crowd while on horseback in the Kingdom, Maria, when there are hardly any crowds to blend into. But if you happen to have a solution, I'm willing to hear it."
"And no matter what an Assassin says or does, he still proves to be a thorn in my side," she bit back. He shrugged, much to her annoyance, and tightened his hold around her when she dug her heels into Hafa's side.
"Gone?" Hildegard gawked. "Wh-what do you mean gone? And where did they even go? And why didn't anyone tell me?"
Malik only blinked at the blubbering woman in front of him as he sorted through several documents. The morning had been peaceful for the most part, save for when a few brick-headed novices decided to eat all the kibbeh and pita bread—no, he should reconsider. The morning was terrible without his kibbeh.
And now this. This woman, flailing her arms about while she paced the length of the study, squawking and stuttering every other word, grating on his nerves, and rampaging about! Allah, why couldn't Maria just tell her where she was going before she left? Surely this was revenge!
"And, and, what do you mean that they've been dispatched for a week? What am I to do in a week? Sit around and knit? Those two are the heart of the gossip! With them gone, what exciting rumors am I to hear? What will I say to the novices? How will I occupy myself?"
He stacked his papers to one side of the table and suppressed the urge to either strangle this woman or to knead his forehead.
"And why did they have to leave now? I need Maria! I'm in my hour of need, and she feels that she should just dump me in a ditch and skip happily away? Hoho, that does not please Hildegard one bit!"
Malik leaned back in his chair and looked down at the two dogs leisurely sprawled out on the floor. They both tilted their heads at him and whimpered, oblivious to his misery.
Hildegard finally stopped her anxious pacing and replaced it with dramatic wailing that made Malik's eyebrow twitch.
When she finally took a breath and sobbed helplessly, Malik forced himself to calmly explain, "They've been dispatched to deal with a hindrance to Masyaf, Hildegard. They will return in a week or so, and when they do, you'll have the opportunity to lay all your important troubles—as I'm sure they're very, very significant—on Maria, instead of on an innocent being who is only following orders."
Hildegard frowned and placed a hand on her hip. "Orders? Whose orders? Maria's? Altair's?" She rolled her eyes and waved her hand. "Augh, that's not important anyway, don't bother answering. What's important is—"
He braced himself yet again for another gibberish assault.
"What do you mean 'a week or so'? You said a week before! Now you mean to tell me that I must wait longer than seven days? And where are they even going? I doubt you sent them away just to spend some time together so that romantic and emotional events may unfurl between them—that'd take the imagination of yours truly, Malik."
"Yes, well, Hildegard, I suppose that you're just going to have to wait, seeing as how I refuse to disclose their mission to you." He paused as a servant entered the study with a pitcher of ayran and a pewter goblet. They bowed their head as they set the drink and cup on the table, then left the study. Malik poured himself a glass, exhaling when Hildegard stared thoughtfully between him and the cup. He sighed and offered it to her.
Her greedy hands wasted no time in snatching the drink, then downing the contents in one, two, three gulps. He stared with wide and horrified eyes.
"Mark my words, Malik," she hissed, "I'll get to the bottom of this, just you wait! The novices are bound to know something, and if there's a person out there who they trust to spill the beans to, then it's me!" She whipped her hair over her shoulder as she stormed out of the study, only to return a few moments later to place the cup back on the desk. He watched with absurd fascination as she scurried away again.
Malik groaned and shook his head to himself. "Women," he grunted. "Forget the Piece of Eden—the opposite sex is man's greatest mystery." He dreadfully thought that he'd lose all sanity and end up as a drooling lump of flesh by the end of a week.
"That horse is more trouble than she's worth," Maria spat as she rolled onto her back. Altair had given her instructions to take a narrow route instead of the main road to Damascus. She agreed since there was a lesser chance of being spotted by pesky guards. What Altair didn't tell her was that there were trees littering this 'safer and faster path' with long and spindly limbs. And he didn't tell her that Hafa was prone to purposely letting the branches swat her riders off her back.
Altair did his best to hide his smirk as he still remained on the saddle. Hafa trotted over to where Maria was and whinnied in the woman's face. Maria snarled and would have loved to tackle the horse.
"It seems that she tired of having you in front," Altair murmured, his smirk clearly audible. Maria rolled her eyes and slowly brought herself to her feet, wincing from how her back throbbed.
"This is all your fault," Maria snapped at him. He only sighed and shook his head.
"No, it isn't," he argued. "You were the one steering her, Maria, and you saw the tree as we rounded the corner." He rubbed Hafa's dark neck as the horse bobbed her head up and down in agreement. Maria muttered threats beneath her breath as she dusted her backside off, knowing that he was once again right.
"I swear, Assassin, you and your horses are all in a league to make my days utterly miserable."
He rolled his shoulders as she made to hoist herself back into the saddle. To her surprise, he let her up front again.
Hafa watched her with amused and mischievous eyes, as if the horse was calculating whether or not to have a branch knock her off balance again. Maria glared and growled at the beast, fisting a large mop of her mane. "Don't even think about it," she hissed into her ear. Hafa snorted and stamped her foot, fumbling with the bit in her mouth.
"As I've said, she's spirited."
Maria scoffed and shook her head. "I'm beginning to dislike spirited, you twit." She frowned even further as he quietly chuckled. When was the last time he'd openly let his mirth show?
She tensed as he pulled her closer to him. "For your back," he explained. She hesitantly leaned into him, not very much liking how her head was nestled into his chest and shoulder, or how he now had the reins, or how his hands rested at her sides. She felt highly compromised and vulnerable.
If he noticed how stiff she was against him, he didn't say anything. He only urged Hafa back into a trot and continued their merry and wonderful way to Damascus.
It was a few hours later that the two of them even bothered to look at each other. He pulled Hafa over into the shade of a tree and dismounted the mare. Maria's stomach had been growling for some time already, and the woman was either too stubborn or humiliated to request a break. She wandered a few paces away from him as he dug in their saddlebags. She gratefully stretched her arms and legs out, sighing as she popped her neck and back. There was a small sting in the small of her back, something a massage could easily fix. But she was not about to go ask him for one. Never.
Altair helped himself to a quick drink and bite, motioning to the saddlebags as she made her way over. While she occupied herself with water and food, he wordlessly walked away to a more private place. She sneered as his pace quickened, no doubt needing to—what would Hildegard say?—drain his waterskin. She shifted her feet as she herself had to find a spot.
But no, she had to wait for him to finish. And the Lord knew how long it would take for him to finish.
Maria dug in her pack, pulling out a few dates, and held them out to Hafa. The horse picked her head up from the sparse patches of grass, her ears perking pleasantly as she trotted over to Maria. The mare's muzzle tickled her palm as she gobbled up the food. Maria shook her head and rubbed the horse's cheek and forehead.
"You're sweet when you aren't trying to buck me off or step on me," Maria mused as she let the horse have her share of the water. Hafa almost tore the skin open by how eager she was. "You're a pretty girl, too," Maria smiled as she scanned the horse head to hoof. Hafa was a beautiful charcoal color, save for a white star on her forehead. "But," Maria bluntly concluded, "you're still rude and troublesome."
Hafa's response was to blow in Maria's face, then promptly show the woman her rear end. "Oh, excuse me?" Maria huffed as she placed her hands on her hips. "Well, alright then, if that's how you want to act. Two can play at this game, horse." Horse and woman defiantly stood rear to back, ignoring the other's existence.
Maria stared at the sky, dully noting that with clouds that dark so early in the afternoon, it was bound to rain. Her boredom practically ate her alive. Where in God's name was Altair, and what was taking the man so long? Perhaps urinating wasn't all he had to do; maybe he was having trouble getting number two out. Maria laughed from the thought, earning a snort from Hafa. Maria ignored the horse's mumblings as she glanced at the top of the cliffs, admiring how when the light hit the stone just right, it glinted so wonderful—
Maria narrowed her eyes. Rocks shined, yes, but they didn't reflect light like that, especially when there was very little to begin with. Her eyes bulged out of her head as she leapt to the side, the arrow lodging itself inches from Hafa. The horse reared up, more arrows barely missing her.
Maria scrambled to her feet and grabbed Hafa's reins, yanking the panicking horse back on all fours. She winced as an arrow grazed through her cloak, slicing at her back, and clambered onto the saddle with unladylike grace. Hafa didn't even wait for Maria's feet to find the stirrups before bolting.
Maria clung to the saddle and Hafa's mane as she nearly fell off the horse. She risked a glance behind her, cursing when she saw several riders pursuing her. Maria braced herself as she situated herself properly in the saddle, shouting as her feet momentarily dragged against the rocky ground. She gave Hafa more rein as the horse increased her speed.
They couldn't just leave without Altair—she'd never hear the end of it from him! That, and although she wasn't particularly fond of his company, she'd feel guilty if she abandoned him to fend for himself.
"All because you had to piss," she bitterly snarled. Hafa didn't slow her sprint even when she made a sharp turn through a narrow pass. Maria was dangerously close to the cliffside that if she moved her left elbow the tiniest inch, her skin would be ripped clean off.
The Kingdom raced past her in a blur as Maria's eyes watered. She blinked away the tears and leaned over Hafa's neck, whispering encouragement to her. Hafa snorted and galloped even faster, lengthening the distance between them and their attackers.
Maria didn't know whether to shout in joy or give a gruesome battle cry when she saw Altair, as oblivious as ever to the danger a good one hundred meters behind her, abruptly halt in his tracks.
Maria would have loved to see his look of bewilderment and have a small chuckle from it, but with Hafa charging full speed ahead at the Assassin, it was by far not the time to do anything of the sort. She swung herself to the side of the saddle, outstretched her arm, then—
He was either fully prepared to be launched on the saddle behind her, or he didn't even recognize her. Either way, Altair yelped as an area of his body, sensitive to any pressure greater than a light tap, met the saddle with little consideration. He grunted as he held onto Maria's waist, baring his teeth from the pain.
"Why the Hell does it take you so long to find a place to pee, Assassin? And why so far away?" she yelled over Hafa's thundering hooves.
He blinked and fought down the temptation to cradle his injured pride. "It's called scouting, Maria," he managed to growl.
"Oh, of course, scouting," she snorted. Now she had even more reason to be annoyed with him! She could have relieved her screaming bladder! In fact, she should pee on him!
He tried to grab the reins from her. "Slow down, Maria, this is too fast for any hope of guards not—"
"Well, if you're so good at scouting, maybe you should look behind us and tell me what you see!"
He recoiled his head back and quickly did as she said. His eyes widened then narrowed beneath his hood as he saw what the commotion was about.
"It's all your fault," she yelled. "'Stick to the cliffside', he says. Well, I stuck to the bloody cliffside and look what happened, you mangy, itching, behind-headed—"
He ignored the rest of her raging insults as he turned his head side to side, trying to avoid her cloak flapping in his face. She had the right idea by keeping her head near Hafa's, and with him just sitting there in the saddle not following suit, the horse was suffering. Anyone could see that with how foam was dripping from the poor mare's mouth and onto her neck—anyone but Maria, who was too busy screaming at him.
Finally, he decided enough was enough. The cloak had to go. He got a good face-full of the material and his nose crinkled—oh good grief, it smelled like Hildegard! He fumbled with the front of her tunic, trying to find the ties that held the cloak together. He felt the thin and stringy fabric of the tie; it had to be it! What else could it be—oh, gods...
Maria shrieked and had half a mind to punch him off the horse when she felt his hands unintentionally brush against her breasts. Damn the arrow that grazed her back for undoing her bindings! She hissed and stiffened in the saddle, which made Hafa's gait choppy and bouncy. Finally, after what seemed like ages of him trying to find whatever he was looking for, he unsheathed his hidden blade and sliced through the ties. He sighed in relief when her cloak went flying in the dust behind them, no longer a hindrance to him.
He leaned over in the saddle, his cheek against Maria's as Hafa recovered. Maria didn't dare turn her head the slightest centimeter. If she did, she'd be mouth to mouth with that idiotic man, and she was close to smashing his stupid skull against a rock. Not only did he have bandits chase them, have her not find a decent bush to empty her canteen on, nearly grope her, but now her disguise was ruined! And on top of that—
On top of that, his arms were only wrapped in a death-grip around her waist, his body .00000001 centimeters from hers, his hips digging into her backside, and the motion of the horse was mind-shattering! All the rocking to and fro was too much for any person!
He was probably most certainly enjoying herself, most likely thinking it a proper exchange for her accidentally crushing the Ibn-La'ahad family crest.
"We aren't going to lose them," he murmured into her ear. "Bring Hafa to a stop."
She blinked and almost bashed his head from her surprise. "What? Are you saying we fight—"
"Yes, Maria, I am."
"Do numbers mean nothing to Assassin's, or is this just you?"
"Maria," he warned as he placed his hands over hers, "I'm completely confident in our abilities to handle them."
She chewed this over in her mind, sighing as she let him pry the reins from her grasp. "You've better be right, Assassin," she quietly threatened.
And Maria Thorpe made her conclusion right then and there: every Assassin in creation was either trying to annoy her, prevent her from answering nature's call, or attempting to get her killed. They were all out to get her.
Altair gently tugged on the reins, gradually slowing the horse down until she was at a calm canter. Giving one more tug, Hafa came to a complete stop. Altair was first to hop down from the saddle, and he promptly grabbed the reins and started at a jog until he was a good fifteen paces away.
"We aren't exactly in favorable conditions," Maria anxiously thought aloud. She was right: they'd be outnumbered and wouldn't have a decent advantage.
"But we're away from the cliffs at least," Altair reasoned as he offered a hand for Maria. She sniffed and rolled her eyes as she dismounted from the saddle with athletic finesse. He only smirked as she scowled from the jolt of pain that shot through her legs when her feet touched the ground.
"We're using a tree as camouflage?" She jutted her hip and shook her head. "You couldn't have thought of anything sturdier than this? I thought Assassin's were supposed to use the element of surprise?"
"We are—quiet." He clamped his hand over her mouth and knelt to the ground, bringing her with him. They both watched with cautious stares as their pursuers finally caught up with them and showed themselves.
They circled around with their mounts, glancing this way and that. There were twelve total.
"Eyna yezhabun?"
"Inahom la yumkin zahabu ba'iden."
Maria glanced to her side when Altair let his hand fall from her mouth. He silently withdrew a throwing knife and stood, poised and tall. They both nodded at each other as he helped her to her feet. His hazel eyes almost shimmered gold by how he was calculating the distance between his knife and the nearest man, gauging how much strength his arm would need to reach him. The soft patter of rain did little to nothing to calm Maria's nerves. If this man missed, then—
But Altair never missed.
With a flick of his wrist, the knife flew and embedded itself neatly into one of the criminals' necks. The rest of the group of bandits were alerted to their presence before the corpse hit the dusty ground.
Both of them didn't rush their attackers. Instead, they let the eleven remaining vagabonds charge at them with drawn weapons.
Seven of them pursued Altair while the other four surrounded Maria. She withdrew her sword and balanced herself on the balls of her feet, glaring at each of the men. She was disappointed that she couldn't see their astonishment from under their turbans, but was even more satisfied when she couldn't see their faces approve of a female body.
She gritted her teeth as one of the men swung at her. Their blades clashed together, but she had no time to counter, as not one, but two other men tried to flank her. She stepped out of the way, one of the swords narrowly missing her arm. She launched herself at them before they could recover their footing, and dealt a blow to one of their shoulders. It didn't finish him off, but it certainly caused him pain.
They cornered her and steadily forced her back into the tree. She stepped backward from a blow, tripping on a spindly root. She rolled out of the way of another sword and slammed her foot into the bandit's knee. A satisfying crunch! filled her ears as he fell to the ground, panting and cradling the broken bones. Maria stood on both feet and sheathed her sword. The three standing men glanced at each other from the gesture.
"Well, habibis," she lilted sweetly, "you're all going to have to try a bit harder than that, I'm afraid." Though they could only understand one word she said, the taunt was as clear as day. Their dark eyes narrowed and they simultaneously charged at her. She strafed diagonally until she was behind one of them, then curled her arms around his neck in a headlock. With one powerful thrust, he fell to the ground as his neck was popped from his spine. Maria turned around right in time to see an incoming blade only inches from her face.
The bandit spat out blood and gurgled as Altair withdrew his hidden blade from his back. Maria spared a glance at the Assassin as the brigand crumpled. Altair though, was a bit preoccupied turning his attention back over to his own mob of madmen to even look at her.
Finally, Maria finished off her last man with a clean swipe at his neck. She whipped her sword free of any blood and scowled at the body. How much she hated turbans! She could never tell where the chin and neck were underneath them.
Whirling around, she just managed to see Hafa clocking a man over the head with her hooves, then trampling him to the ground. Smirking, Maria jogged over to assist with Altair's last man standing. He was a burly and broad brute, using his strength more than his wit to his advantage.
Altair struck out with his sword, his hidden blade at the ready with his other hand. His opponent, however, didn't even bother to block with his own weapon. Instead, he dropped his sword and grabbed Altair's wrist. When the Assassin lunged his left arm forward to end the other man, he had another think coming.
The bandit latched onto his other arm and slammed his forehead into Altair's. His head spun as the giant of a man violently shook his sword free of his hand until it fell uselessly to the earth. And then, to her worst nightmare, he clobbered the Assassin to the ground.
Hurrying her stride, Maria made it just in time to leap onto the man's back before he could make his killing swipe. She was about to bury her sword in his flesh, but he had other plans.
He purposely fell onto his back, crushing Maria beneath him. She cried out from the pain and tore his turban off with her teeth. Her eyes blazing and face red, she bit into his ear and tore the thing off with a swift tug. He howled in pain, but was silenced as Altair pounced on him and let his hidden blade seep into his neck.
Altair clenched his jaw and grunted as he rolled the monstrous corpse off of Maria. The woman winced from the pain, sighing when the burden was off of her. She didn't resist when Altair took hold of her arms and helped her back up.
"That miserable heap of—" She cried out again, her back screaming in protest of standing, and would have surely fallen if Altair wasn't supporting her. She was terribly hunched over; it was a sickening sight to him. His own aches and pains were forgotten as she panted and winced. Pulling one of her arms around his neck, he gently but urgently guided her to back to the tree. Her fingers curled around the bark as she felt his arms leave her.
"Hold on," he whispered into her ear. She furrowed her brow, and that was the only warning she got before one hand firmly pressed into her back. She gasped and bit her lip to keep her scream at bay. Her bones cracked and clicked back into place, and he only relaxed his hand when her back was parallel to the tree's trunk.
"You..." she hissed between her teeth. Maria gasped again when his hand left her back. It felt as if a thousand needles were plunging themselves into her skin. "That bloody hurt..."
"I'm sorr—" He didn't even wince when her fist connected with his shoulder.
"Don't you tell me you're sorry!" She spat at the ground and, with as much dignity as she could muster, she hobbled away from him, rubbing her back, and tried to pull herself back onto Hafa.
Altair sighed and gathered their weapons, then made his way over to her. He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder. She looked as if she was debating whether to slug him one again or not. Exhaling, she let him help her onto the saddle, and not even a moment past before he was behind her. He easily took the reins from her and pulled her into his body. She said nothing as she used him as her personal cushion.
"We're almost at the village I mentioned earlier," he quietly said as he rested his chin on top of her head. It was the closest to an embrace he'd get from her.
She grunted and closed her eyes. "Wake me when we get there, you ruffian."
Hildegard sighed and crumpled the piece of paper up and tossed it over her shoulder. Once again, another attempt at writing down her explanation to Aden was fruitless. She pouted and slouched in her chair. Surely there was something that could give her inspiration!
"If only Maria was here," she bitterly mumbled, "then I'm sure I'd be able to think of something to say to him." She sighed once more and glanced at her side. Bayo was loyally sitting next to her with his head resting in her lap, staring up at her with his big brown eyes. "Even the dog thinks I'm helpless!"
"That's it," Hildegard announced as she pushed the chair away from the table. "I've had enough of this! I know just what to do!" With a triumphant grin stretched across her mouth, she pranced out of her room with Bayo following closely at her heels. The dog whined as she trampled her way down to the library in the fortress' foyer.
Hildegard made sure that none of those pesky guards were on duty, and more importantly, that Aden was nowhere to be seen, before scurrying over to one of the bookshelves.
"Now, there must be a book or two in here that can help, right?" she asked the dog. Bayo only nudged her leg with his head before sitting down again. Hildegard nodded and squared her shoulders. "Right, that's what I'll have to do. I'll have that paper written, and when Maria returns, I'll shove it in her face and flaunt my progress with such audacity and luminescence that she'll have no choice but to apologize to me! It's brilliant!"
Within a few hours of her scouring and tearing apart the library, Hildegard eventually learned that the scrolls and books either described historic battles, Assassin achievements, battle strategies, descriptions of the Creed, lessons on alchemy and healing, and also an Assassin's guide to surviving the world. She sat on the floor, a mountain of documents surrounding her as she slammed another cover closed.
"Oh, it's hopeless," she whimpered. "It's as if Maria's mocking me even when she isn't here! Oh, bollocks!" Hildegard folded her arms and hunched her shoulders. "Is it so hard to have an author that has an ounce of imagination in their brains? Ugh, this is just terrible. Doesn't anyone keep journals that they like to jot a few things in now and then that describes their life? But that'd probably be too much to ask for, wouldn't it?"
Hildegard blinked, a cat-like, toothy grin slowly coming into play on her face. "Oh, but that's it! Why didn't I think of it before? Oh, of course!" Leaping to her feet, she hurried past Bayo, who had successfully managed to not lose himself in the piles of books, and ran up the stairs to the fortress' tallest tower.
"Oh, Bayo darling, how could this not have crossed my mind? By Saint John, I can be such an eggshell sometimes!" Hildegard lifted her skirts as she quickly ascended the spiraling stairs. She steadily slowed down as she neared the door. Of course it was closed; he was on a mission. She hesitated opening the door. Did he have traps set up in case an intruder decided to sneak into his quarters when he was away? Or did he trust his Brothers to keep everything in order in his absence?
"Oh, cow testicles, to Hell with it," Hildegard snorted as she slowly turned the handle and opened the door a crack. Her precautions went to waste when Bayo bounded through the door and leapt onto the bed, thrashing this way and that in the sheets.
Hildegard grabbed the sides of her face and shook her head back and forth, swearing underneath her breath. "You stupid mutt, you could have—" Her hands fell as she took a step inside the room. She glanced about as she swayed uneasily side to side. "So, this is the Grandmaster's sleeping quarters," she whistled. "Quite unimpressive, I'd say." The room was horribly bare, save for a desk in the corner and a chest right at the foot of the bed. It was lonely just looking at it all!
"Maria's going to have to do some redecorating, I can see that. Just look at all this space! And nothing to fill it all up? No tapestries on the walls, no banners, no portraits? Not even a weapon rack or armor models? Well, I can say that I am very disappointed." She leaned against the bed. "I was expecting souvenirs of his accomplishments, some form of trophy or memorial. But all I get is this," she waved at the opposite wall.
"And why is his bed so big? And why isn't my bed this big? And why all the pillows? And why a canopy?" Her eyes became two sly slits as her mind took a more provocative train of thought. "Oh, all the things they'd be able to do in this bed. And the color scheme—if you can even call it that—is rather sensual, I believe. The golds and reds do a marvelous job creating a pleasant atmosphere. It'd be even grander if it wasn't just the bed that was colorful.
"Honestly, with his title and status, he could easily have this place looking less drab! What he needs is some Hildegard here and there in his room to banish this dreariness. Goodness, it makes my hair frizz just by looking at it!"
Leafing through some of the papers on the desk, she shook her head again. All the papers were blank. "It's as if a ghost lives here. Depressing."
She opened his chest and peered inside. A few tunics and trousers, undergarments, and—
Hildegard pulled the clothes out of the chest and threw them onto the floor. At the bottom of the chest were a few papers. She smirked and congratulated herself as she grabbed them and sat on the bed, not feeling the least bit guilty for trespassing in Altair's personal records.
And personal they were, for her eyes bulged and her mouth fell slack as she read through the paper.
"By Malik's kibbeh! This is... it's a... a... oh, rompy goodness!" She fell back on the bed, her head spinning from the words she just read. "'Your face abuses me, night and day, hour after hour. I cannot remove you from my mind—oh, I think I'm onto something! Alas, a solution to my problems!" She flung herself off the bed and continued reading the letter. She smiled almost uncomfortably as she finished the letter, then mechanically marched out of the room with the word 'giddy' radiating from her very orifice.
She knew just what to do with this letter!
It was a very rude awakening for Maria when they finally reached the village. She was soaked to the bone, her hair was tangled and knotted around her clip, her feet were wet and clammy, and she was so stiff that she felt like an elderly, crippled woman. And to finish it all off, she had a terrible cramp in her back, and she had suspicions that she reopened her wound.
Her feet sloshed through the mud as she trudged up the slick and slimy path up to the inn. Altair, that ass, had let her go and purchase a room for them while he led and situated Hafa at the stables. The only downside to this was that not only did she have to walk uphill in the mud, miserable as can be as the rain relentlessly poured and plastered her hair to her face and neck, but she had to walk uphill in the mud, miserable as can be with her clothes drenched and hair a mess, while lugging two saddlebags.
But curse his instructions for her to buy a room! The first thing she did was find a suitable shrub behind one of the houses, pull her trousers down, and piss on it. She didn't even care who saw her as she took a leak. It was that man's own damned fault that she was embarrassing herself, even though she knew fully well that no one was out in weather like this, not to mention that night was falling.
Finishing her business, she continued her search for the inn. She snorted to herself: as if Altair expected her to magically know where the inn was. After bumbling about and feeling as if she was walking in circles, she pushed open a door and let her dripping self inside. Finally, the much detested inn.
A plump and short man owned the inn, his turban almost hiding his face completely. She awkwardly walked over to him and requested a room suitable for two. The poor man was so short that she had to look down to address him!
He either pitied her for having such burdens, didn't care at all, or was very kind when he didn't complain about the seven silver coins she handed him as payment. He quickly led her through a doorway that opened into a hallway with curtains hanging from the walls on either side, spaced apart just so. She thought it was for decoration, but that theory was proven false when she discovered that the curtains were actually substitutes for doors. She mumbled a thank you as he stopped in front of an unoccupied room.
She pushed the curtains aside and made herself at home. It was a small room, a single candle dimly lighting it up with a calm glow, with only enough rugs and cushions for one person. Oh, Altair was not going to like this. But then again, he shouldn't be the one complaining.
She grimaced as she felt her back sting. She'd have to take care of that sooner or later, preferably sooner. She sat on the rug and rifled through the saddlebags. Blankets, a few dates, and a few scraps of bandages. It'd have to do. She pulled out the latter and carefully took her tunic off. She winced as the cloth stuck to her wound. She raveled her useless bindings in a ball and set them to the side. Looking over her shoulder, she tried to see just how serious her wound really was.
Maria, however, locked eyes with the source of all her troubles as he stood in front of the curtains, head recoiled and looking more than a little surprised. She was eternally thankful that her back was to him, but nevertheless, she crossed her arms to cover her breasts.
"GET OUT," she snarled at him. Recovering from his momentary shock, his eyes swept down her back.
"What happened?" Instead of listening to her, he wasn't even a foot away from her as he knelt behind her and examined her back.
Maria felt her blood surge in fury as his hand lightly traced down her back. She tensed and curtly seethed, "An injury happened, of course. Now, if you'd be so kind as to use your head, you'd—" He was gone before she even finished her sentence. She waited a few moments before sighing out of relief. Her peace was interrupted when he once again came into the room, carrying a few things in his arms.
She stared viciously at him as he set the pestle and mortar, herbs, and bandages down next to the rug, followed by a bundle of cloth and two waterskins. She watched his every move as he unbuckled his gauntlets and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Dunking the rag in the skin, he squeezed it out and gently dabbed at her wound. She very much wanted to rip his head off and kick him off the Earth, but she let him ease her onto her stomach without a single peep. Unable to glare at him, she entertained herself by trying not to hiss at how the water stung.
"How did it happen?"
She turned her head to the side, still unable to see him. "An arrow. It was right when they attacked Hafa and me. Ridiculous how the horse remains unscathed," she muttered.
He stood for a brief moment to bring the candle closer. "And when that man fell on top of you—"
"It hurt doubly so," she finished for him. It was quiet as he continued tending to her; the only sounds were their breathing and him cleaning her wound. She probably would have dozed off if he didn't suddenly inhale like that. She twisted her neck as far as it could go, but even then, she could barely see how his face was dark and how his brow was creased. Strange, she didn't know he'd taken his hood off.
"How did you get this?" he quietly asked. He was sure that Earl didn't deal this to her.
She quirked an eyebrow. "Get what?" She turned her neck around so that her chin rested against the rug when his finger traced her skin again.
The scar was a horrid sight, even though he knew it had long healed. But still, it was a gruesome, almost raw, pink color and stretched from in between her shoulder blades down to the middle of her back. Altair busied himself with grinding the herbs down to a thick paste while he waited for her to answer.
She sighed and shook her head. "It was a long time ago, Altair." She wasn't outright yelling at him, but he could still hear a warning in her voice. "But maybe you should be more concerned with your own body, Assassin. I'm absolutely positive that you received your own bruises and pains from that ape of a man."
He spread the paste over the clean wound, then unrolled the bandages.
Maria blew out of her mouth and turned her head. "I'm quite capable of doing it myself, Assassin. After all, it's much like wrapping bindings." She would have had to look in his eyes to see the blow she dealt him. Didn't he have her trust, or was that still lost to him?
He set the bandages back down. It was unnervingly silent for a moment as she waited for him to give her some privacy. She rolled her eyes when he didn't budge, and was about to bend his ear for it, when she gasped from a feather light touch on her back.
His lips traveled down the length of the scar, skipping over her wound just to finish their course. He ignored how every muscle in her body tightened and how her eyes were trying to kill him with her glower. Blessing her with one more kiss, he breathed against her skin, "I'm sorry," before leaving the room.
As soon as she heard the curtains brush against each other, she whirled around and sat up, ignoring her back's protests. She didn't know why she was panting or why her heart was doing somersaults. She placed a hand on her chest as she tried to steady her breathing.
She glanced to her sides, her mouth opening up further as her eyes fixed themselves on two objects. Not only had Altair cleaned her wound and supplied her with more bandages, but he had also taken it upon himself to buy her new breast bindings and a freshly baked loaf of bread.
"There," Hildegard beamed as she slipped the amorous letter in Maria's possessions. Really, would it have hurt the woman to have brought along her other clothes, few as they were? "Ah, well," Hildegard shrugged, "I can't wait to see her face when she finds it, though I doubt that'll be any time soon. I'll have to get Rauf to give her a few vacation days here and there so she can have time to go through her things. What do you think?" She smiled at Bayo who was making himself comfortable in Maria's bed. Hildegard chuckled and sat next to the dog.
"First you roll around in Altair's bed, now you roll around in hers? What, are you trying to tell me they're going to go at it in doggy-fashion? Though, I doubt that they wouldn't do that, strange minds as they are." Hildegard stood and left the pooch to his own amusement. Besides, after all her hard work that day, she thought she deserved a nice, hot bath.
Yes, a hot bath, and then some tea while gossiping with Rakin, Nabil, and Mustafa. She'd have to wake Malik up to get the water ready.
Translations:
Eyna yezhabun?= Where did they go?
Inahom la yumkin zahabu ba'iden. = It is impossible that they went far. (rough translation)
Props to my dad for helping me translate.
Oh my, oh my. It killed me to write the ending Maria/Altair scene. Reminded me of a puppy being scolded by their master. Ohowsad:3
UPDATE: 6/19/11: I'm very sorry for not posting a new chapter sooner, but the second half of chapter 20 is about 1/3 completed. My files on my computer have continuously been deleted by a virus (thanks to DeviantArt) about... four times, maybe? Had to start all over on the chapter, and it's been stressing me out. I'm still trying to capture everything I had in the chapter before it was deleted, but I keep missing a few key things. It's driving me INSANE! I hope to have another chapter up in less than a week. I just wanted all my readers to know why I've been so tardy with an update. Thank you for understanding!