Assassin's Creed 1. Chapter 1

**I recently got this idea and decided to run with it. So far, I'm pleased with how it's turned out. I look forward to interactions with Malik, and the unpleasant Informer in Acre. You all know who I'm talking about.**

**For the record, this isn't an Altair/OC fic. I intend the relationship to evolve to a father/daughter one, or a brother/sister, but it will never be romance. While it's not said in the story, the apprentice is 18, and Altair is 25.**

_May your hands always be busy_

_May your feet always be swift_

_May you have a strong foundation_

_When the winds of changes shift_

_May your heart always be joyful_

_And may your song always be sung_

_And may you stay forever young_

"Nine names adorn this list. Kill them all, and your rank will be restored." Al Mualim lifted the scroll so Altair could see it. The disgraced assassin nodded slowly.

"Nine lives for my own," he said quietly.

"A fitting trade, don't you think?" The old man said with humor. "Though it is not quite as simple as that."

"What do you mean?" Altair asked, confused. His master smiled.

"To be taught, you must teach. To learn, you must, in turn, help another." He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Altair. The young man took it with a frown and unraveled it. On it was a single name.

"Arha?" The assassin asked, confused. "Who is Arha?"

"She is the skilled novice I'm sending with you," Al Mualim said. "As your apprentice."

"An apprentice?!" Altair cried, shocked. "Master, don't you think it would be easier for me to do this without a child following me around?" The bearded man blinked owlishly at the younger man.

"I wasn't aware that you were under the impression that this would be easy," he said slowly. "Let me clarify. It won't be easy. In fact, I'm hoping that it will be challenging. But perhaps a friendly hand will help you in your endeavors. Though," he mused. "I doubt she'll be very friendly with you. As I recall, she has a bit of a crush on Malik, and she was a fellow and friend of Kadar. She was very displeased with my decision to allow you to live. She and Malik were practically yelling in sync. It was rather amusing."

"Then why send her?" Altair protested. "If she will only try to inhibit me?"

"Oh, she won't inhibit you," Al Mualim assured him. "She will help you; that is the way of apprentices. By helping their mentors, they learn the trade. And so she will help you, and in return, you will teach her, and be taught in return." He leaned on his desk and glared at Altair, his demeanor changing abruptly. "Now go, get her, and head for Damas. Or I may yield to the overwhelming cry for your blood and kill you where you stand."

Altair stomped off, his footfalls hitting the ground with unnecessary force, making his displeasure very, if childishly, clear. As he went down the flight of stairs, he felt the weight of the glares of his brothers on his back, and began to wonder whether it would be better for everyone, even him, if Al Mualim had simply killed him before.

--

The reaction to her apprenticeship with the disgraced Altair was not met with grace and sophistication on Arha's part. On the contrary, she tried to claw the messenger's eyes out, and vowed to murder anyone who snickered, or shot her a sympathetic look. An instructor chewed her out for her misconduct; as a novice, she was below everyone in the Brotherhood in rank, even messengers.

Though female assassins were few and far between (the last one of note had been Amunet, who killed Cleopatra with an asp), particularly in the Middle East, when a daughter of assassins showed promise, they were accepted just as quickly as a boy. That wasn't to say that she hadn't received her share of sexism, or special treatment. But after she made it clear that rude remarks would be met with a punch to the face, she was more or less accepted into the fold.

Kadar had been a friend of hers. Malik was someone she held close to her heart, though he was unaware of it. Altair wasn't someone she'd ever liked; his bragging and thinly veiled condescension towards novices, and even fellow assassins like Malik, had always put her teeth on edge. Plus, if one thought about it, he had every right to brag; his talent was unsurpassed. She and Malik would often mutter about that, never outright admitting their envy, but making it clear to each other that, yes, they did feel that way about the Son of None.

And now, here she was, waiting on a bench next to the gates of Masyaf for her teacher, the very man she loathed. Her feelings towards him had evolved in very much the same way that Malik's had. Jealousy and annoyance became hot, fiery hatred when Kadar didn't come home, and Malik bid her farewell and headed for a desk job in Jerusalem with only one arm.

And there he was, the devil himself, walking down the street towards her, looking miserable and desperately uncomfortable. Good. He deserved it.

"So," he said, standing before her, armed only with a sword and the hidden blade. "We're to go to Damas."

Arha stood and stomped over to the stables, taking the reins of a black steed and carefully ignoring Altair. She remembered Malik doing that to him before when Altair hurled an insult at him. As she recalled, it drove him batty.

"Poor Arha." One of the guards said, his tone half mockery, half pity. "Being taught by a man below even her status." Arha grinned at the man, and glanced over at her "teacher." Altair's jaw was clenched so tightly she figured blood might begin to trickle from his teeth, and he strode past the snickering guards and grabbed the reins of a white mare.

As they rode down the road towards the kingdom, Arha said, "Let's make this clear, shall we?" Altair glanced at her, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "I don't like you, and I really don't like being sent off to help you recover the honor you should have died without in the first place." Altair's eyes narrowed, but he let her continue. "But, Al Mualim made it clear that if I didn't help you, I'd never be an assassin. So I'll help you."

"Good," Altair snapped, scowling and watching the road before him, not looking at his grudging apprentice. And so the pair rode in dark silence, both wondering how they got into the horrible mess they were currently in.

--

Damas, more commonly known as Damascus, was obviously a wondrous sight for Altair's apprentice. The dusty streets were charged with people, from women with jars to men and women crowded around merchant stalls, listening to the men chatter away about their wares.

The ride to the city had been uneventful until they reached the city limits. Saracen guards were terrorizing a scholar, and while Altair would have simply walked by, eager to enter the city and take the first step towards redemption, Arha insisted on helping the man.

The subsequent battle, which Altair insisted Arha learn from, but not participate in, was bloody and brutal. Altair swatted away each slice and thrust from the guards with almost contemptuous ease, and he waved off the scholar's grateful rush of thanks. The assassin and his apprentice entered the city with the help of the victim's brothers, and were currently making their way via the streets to the Assassins Bureau.

A crash came, for the fourth time, from behind Altair, and he stopped, closing his eyes and breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth as the sound of Arha apologizing profusely came from behind him. The jar carrier, while obviously miffed, accepted her apologies, and Arha caught up with Altair a few moments later.

"You know," the assassin said through gritted teeth. "It may help our progress if you try not to run into every jar carrier we pass."

"Duly noted," his apprentice snapped. Altair scowled, but decided that the remark wasn't worth the effort it would take to reply.

"We're nearly there. There's the ladder." The pair climbed up the ladder and dropped silently into the living place of the Bureau. Altair stopped Arha before she could walk into the Rafiq's room. "Novices' stay out here," he said sternly. Arha glared, but followed him into the Rafiq's room, completely ignoring his instructions. Before Altair could comment, the Rafiq looked up.

"Altair. It is good to see you," he said solemnly. "And in one piece. You as well, Novice, though it's Apprentice now, isn't it?" Arha bowed her head respectfully. The Rafiq was older than Altair, or even Malik, but he was much younger than Al Mualim, with a dark beard, dark eyes, and, from what Arha had heard from rumors, a sharp wit.

"You as well, friend," Altair said respectfully.

"I am sorry for your troubles," the Rafiq continued, his tone never straying from the seriousness.

"Think nothing of it." The assassin said dismissively.

"A couple of your brothers were here earlier, in fact," the Rafiq continued, as though he hadn't heard Altair. "Ha. If you'd had heard the things they said… I'm sure you would have slain them where they stood." Arha frowned. An idea formed in her head that this whole thing was some strange ploy to annoy Altair.

Sure enough, her "master" was plainly getting irritated. "It's quite alright," he said shortly. The serious mien of the Rafiq dropped abruptly, and his lips curled in a sardonic smirk.

"Yes," he drawled. "You never were one for the Creed, were you?" He winked at Arha, who hid a grin. Altair's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Is that all?" He snarled. The Rafiq lifted his hands in an apologetic gesture.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Sometimes, I forget myself. What brings you to Damas?"

"A man named Tamir," Altair said angrily. "Al Mualim takes issue with his work. I intend to end it. Now tell me where to find him." Arha's eyebrows shot up at the complete lack of respect in Altair's tone; a complete 180 from when he'd walked in. The Rafiq mirrored her expression of disbelief, though for a different reason.

"Surely you remember how to track an enemy?" He said quietly. Altair blinked, confused.

"Of course," he said. "Learn where he will be and when." He waved a hand brusquely. "But that sort of work is best left for-" He stopped abruptly, realizing his error. He glanced between his apprentice and his superior, and had the decency to look vaguely sheepish. The silence drew out as the Rafiq surveyed the young assassin before him, looking a bit disappointed.

"I understand," he said quietly. Arha crossed her arms and scowled, cursing her damned luck for the hundredth time. Old habits died hard, she supposed, though the fact that his arrogance was a habit spoke volumes about his character. "Go and search the city," the Rafiq continued. "Find out what he's planning and where he works." He began pacing behind his counter. "Preparation makes the victor!"

"What can you tell… _us_ of him?" Arha said, the word coming out reluctantly. The Rafiq smiled.

"Tamir makes his living as a black market merchant, so the Souk district should be your first destination," he said to them. "I suggest you seek out the following places; a small souk east of here, the Madrasah to the east, and the gardens north of this bureau. Focus on these places, and he shall become well known to you."

"I assume," Altair practically spat. "You want us to return to you when this is done?" The Rafiq smiled again, a bit less kindly.

"Yes," he said. "Come back to me. I'll give you Al Mualim's marker, and you will give us Tamir's life."

"As you wish," Altair said bitterly.

"Remember, you two," the Rafiq said as they began to leave. "If you find yourselves in trouble, and the city turned against you, return to the bureau. I can shelter you from the storm. Be warned though: If your enemies are too close, my door will remain closed until you've lost them. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Altair bit off the word. "To bring the enemy inside would compromise the brotherhood."

"Very well," the Rafiq said cheerfully. "Off you go."

--

The two stood outside the bureau, both awkward and unsure of how to go about the task set before them.

"Way to make an ass of yourself, by the way," Arha snapped. Altair flinched, then snarled, "No one asked you." Arha rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," Altair continued darkly. "I'll take the interrogation of the despot. You go and listen to the people, and take what you think may help." Arha frowned, then shrugged.

"Fine. I'll meet you here at noon then."

**The Damascus Rafiq rocks. Have you ever walked in when you weren't done with the investigations? Swear to God, the man actually asks Altair if he's high. Altair's reaction is simply priceless, until he stomps out of the room in an indignant huff, and the Rafiq reminds him to "stay pure in mind and body."**

**Seriously, I love that guy. And he's LEONARDO! **

**Anyway, reviews prompt me into remembering to update, so if you want a chapter tomorrow, leave a review. A good one; don't half-ass it with "oh, this rox." No, that's not what I mean. **


	2. Chapter 2

**WHOOT! I got a review. Remember, reviews are like chocolate for me, so keep them coming! I also got a story alert, so sweet! I hope you like this addition.**

**By the way, I'm going to try to put lyrics at the beginning of each chapter. I listen to music as I write. Last one was "May You Stay Forever Young." This one is "In The Shape of a Heart" by Jackson Browne. I'm friends with whoever recognize the lyrics. **

_People speak of love_

_Don't know what they're thinking of_

_Reach out to each other through the push and shove_

_Speak in terms of a life and the learning_

_Try to think of a word for the burning_

Two thieves conversed in a formal square.

"So," one said. "How did you manage to do it?" The other laughed.

"It wasn't easy, my friend. No, not at all," he said. "Cursed merchant caught me trying to steal from him. Called for help!"

"I can't imagine the guards were pleased," his friend said, amused.

"At least a dozen of them appeared!" The other thief confirmed. "All well-armed and spoiling for a fight!"

"What did you do?" The other asked with interest.

"I ran, over, under, and through the crowd. Knocked over a few stalls for good measure." The thief said, gesturing wildly. "But they kept coming!"

"How did you escape?"

"With a little help from my friends," the other replied.

"What do you mean?" His friend asked. The other pointed down an alley.

"There are a couple of my brothers that gather around the south-eastern exit of the Souk. They let me pass, and turned their attentions to the guards. Kept them distracted while I got away. Without them, I wouldn't be here right now."

The two walked off, completely unaware of the fact that everything they'd said had been heard and filed away by the small woman dressed in gray sitting on a bench nearby. The cowl hid her face in very much the same way the white robe of an assassin would, but when she stood she allowed the hood to fall, revealing pretty, if unremarkable features and large dark eyes. The face was framed by dark hair, cut along the jaw, and if the fact that she was armed was startling to anyone she passed, it wasn't noticeable.

She considered the information she'd gathered. So far, she'd pick pocketed two men and listened to two intriguing conversations. The letters she'd pilfered were of particular interest. One described a sale for Tamir, commissioning weapons for a thousand men. An enormous amount, and she wondered who had the finances to bring about this endeavor. The other letter detailed a route onto the beams over the Souk Al-Sallah, the market Tamir ruled over, which she'd learned were accessible from a conversation between two merchants. And then there was the conversation between the two thieves…

She or Altair (probably her) would have to befriend the men the thief had mentioned and turn them to their cause. Easier said then done; she had no idea how to turn a bunch of burly men into helping a random stranger who had the intent of killing a powerful death dealer.

She headed down the southeastern exit of the souk and heard a woman calling for help. She hurried down the street and turned a corner. She saw the woman being terrorized by Saracen guards and scowled. She had no love or pity for men like that. She reached into her robes and took out three throwing knives, one for each guard. Her knife throwing had always been exceptional, so she aimed carefully and sent the knife into the stomach of the guard standing watch, making sure no one tried to help.

The one with his back towards Arha was the second to fall, tumbling over with a knife between his shoulder blades. The last, suddenly alone, shoved the woman away from him and drew his sword, looking around angrily for the person who interfered. He didn't think that the small, gray-robed woman standing down the street from him was the killer, nor did he ever realize it. The third and final knife landed with a solid _thunk_ into his chest, and he fell over, dead.

Arha jogged over to the woman, who was staring at her in shock. "Are you alright?" The apprentice asked. The woman stared for another startled second, then hugged Arha gratefully.

"Thank you!" She said breathlessly. "Thank you! I'll find a way to repay this kindness, I swear it!"

"Actually," Arha said, patting the woman on the back. "A friend of mine is going to make a little commotion in the souk Al-Sallah. If there's any way you could-"

"Of course!" The woman said, happy to help. "My brothers will be here, to help you in your… 'Commotion.'"

"My thanks," Arha said gratefully. The woman waved goodbye and hurried away, hopefully to her home. Arha checked the time and realized that it was nearly noon. She would have to hurry if she wanted to make it back to the bureau in time. Brimming with information, Arha hurried off.

--

Altair surveyed his swollen knuckles with distaste. It had been good to get some of the frustration and aggression out, but the despot hadn't been incredibly helpful, and such methods always left marks. Altair's attention went from his knuckles to the bruise forming along his jaw where the despot had gotten in a good hit. He had taken a grim satisfaction in pounding him into the dust after that. Killing him… not so much.

From the information gathered from the now-dead despot, Altair had learned that Tamir oversaw everything about his business, leaving nothing to chance. The preoccupation would be his downfall. From an overheard conversation, Altair had learned that the death dealer was holding a meeting in the souk Al-Sallah later that day. There was still time to prepare before the merchants meeting, but only if Arha showed up.

Altair checked the time by the position of the sun. It was either a little before or a little after noon. Either way, she should have appeared.

When he glanced down from the sky, he saw the grey-hooded girl running down the street towards him, skidding to a halt.

"Took you long enough," Altair said reproachfully. In response, the apprentice kicked him in the shin. Altair gritted his teeth and waited impatiently for her to catch her breath. "So? What did you learn?"

"That you're an impatient ass," she snapped. Altair breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, counted backwards from ten, and absolutely did _not_ fantasize about snapping her neck. "Tamir is currently preparing for the largest commission he's ever gotten. Weapons for nearly a thousand men."

"So that's why he called a meeting," Altair muttered. Arha looked at him questioningly. "He has called a meeting of the Merchant's Guild," he explained. "Later today. This is where I will strike." Arha nodded.

"I also learned that the beams above the central courtyard of the souk Al-Sallah are accessible by the rooftops to the Northwest. And once you're done, I've gotten some men to assist us. Leave the courtyard through the Southeastern exit, and men will waylay the guards." Altair nodded, impressed.

"Very good," he said, his surprise leaking into his tone. "Let's go and tell the Rafiq what we've learned." But as they went up the ladder, Altair realized that it could be a trap. She could be feeding him false information to stop him from regaining his honor. While one side of his mind reminded him that if she didn't help him, she would never be an assassin, the other side argued that it wouldn't be difficult to make it look like his fault. Besides, even she was held in higher regard than he, at the moment. He had no illusions over who the Brotherhood would believe, if it came down to that.

As they both fell soundlessly into the bureau, Altair decided to consider going through the entirety of the souk, instead of running out of the courtyard. Who knew what waited out that exit. Perhaps it was the help he would expect. Or maybe it was a guard post; how would he know?

"Altair!" The Rafiq said cheerfully. "And the lovely Arha! Welcome! Welcome!"

"We've done as you asked," Altair said. "Now give me the marker."

"First thing's first," the older man said. "Tell me what you know."

"Tamir rules over the souk Al-Sallah. He makes his living making arms and armor and is supported by many in this," Arha said. "Blacksmiths, traders, financiers; he's the largest death dealer in the land." There was a silence as the Rafiq considered this, nodding thoughtfully, then turned to Altair.

"And have you devised a way to rid us of this blight," he asked. Altair nodded.

"A meeting is being arranged at souk Al-Sallah to discuss an important sale. They say it's the largest deal Tamir's ever made. He'll be distracted with his work. That's when I'll strike." The Rafiq nodded.

"Your plan seems solid enough. I give you leave to go." He handed Altair a white feather, the marker to be painted with the target's blood. To Arha, it had never seemed very foolproof. An assassin could simply kill a guard or some such person and use their blood, if they were swayed by greed by offers of power or money. Though trust had a very large part to play in the Brotherhood.

It was the breaking of that trust that made Altair's crime so awful.

"You may rest here until you are ready," the Rafiq said. Both the assassin and his apprentice went into the small living room. Altair sat down on one of the cushions and closed his eyes, visualizing his plan in his head. Arha simply reclined on the cushions and flung her arm over her eyes, deciding to take a nap. The weariness of the ride over and her hours long search for information rushed at her, and she soon fell asleep.

--

Arha was shaken gently out of her sleep, which she left reluctantly.

"Get up," Altair said briskly. "Time to go."

"Oh, time for the ritualistic murder, is it?" Arha said dryly. "Oh, wait, it's not Tuesday…"

"I'd like to have a word with Arha before you go, Altair," the Rafiq called from his room. "If you have no objection, of course." Judging from Altair's expression, he had a very large objection with anything that stalled the assassination and wasted time, but he shrugged.

"Fine. I'll be outside. Don't take long." He climbed the fountain and out of sight, and Arha went to the Rafiq's desk.

"You told Altair other things, did you not?" The Rafiq asked. "Things he didn't mention?"

"I did," Arha said, puzzled. "I told him how to access the beams over the central courtyard by the Northwestern rooftops. And that, if he left through the Southeastern street, he would receive aid; I convinced some men to help us." The Rafiq nodded slowly.

"And is all that true?" He asked. Arha jerked back, affronted.

"Of course!" She snapped. "Why would I lie?" The Rafiq chuckled.

"Oh yes," he said sarcastically. "We're all that blind. We _so_ don't see you ogling Malik whenever he passes at Masyaf." Arha felt blood rush to her face and her heart begin to pound.

"What are you talking about?" She said hurriedly, her words stumbling over themselves. "I wasn't ogling him. You never saw that! And neither did he! D-did he?" She asked, horrified at the thought. The amused Rafiq pretended to consider it.

"You know, I don't know. I could ask, if you like." He suppressed a grin at the look of abject horror on the young woman's face.

"You wouldn't," she said quietly. "You couldn't!" She swallowed. "Could you?"

"I could," the Rafiq said lightly. "But I won't. Honestly, next you'll want me to pull his hair and pass him love letters." Arha's face, if possible, got even hotter.

"You're being ridiculous!" She choked out. "Completely inappropriate. I'm leaving now." She turned on her heel and stomped towards the exit.

"Arha," the Rafiq said softly. "You aren't lying to him, are you?" Arha hesitated, then sighed.

"No," she said. "I'm not. "

"Good," the Rafiq said, obviously relieved. "Off you go then. Don't want to keep Tamir alive longer than absolutely necessary." Arha nodded and began to climb out of the building, her thoughts turning towards the conversation.

Why was it so insulting to even consider lying to Altair? It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it. He killed Kadar through his negligence, cost Malik his arm and his life as an assassin, and brought death to their door in the form of the army of Templars led by Robert de Sable.

But he was also so desperate to redeem himself. She could see it. As she climbed down the ladder, she watched Altair out of the corner of her eye.

No. She'd never be able to lie to him. If he could redeem himself, let him. It wasn't her place to destroy his chances. And if he learned from his mistake, all the better.

She tapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on," she said briskly. "You've got a black market merchant to kill."

**The Rafiq's ribbing of Arha is my favorite part. **

**So, will Altair ignore Arha's advice about where to exit the courtyard? We'll see.**

**I know Arha, as an Apprentice, probably wouldn't have throwing knives. But in this story, she does. So no one whine.**

**Hehe... I made a mistake. It's changed now, but I accidentally made Arha lie to Altair. I put down that the vigilantes were down the southeastern exit first, which was correct, but then I accidentally put down southwest both times afterwards. Oops. Well, I caught it and it's fixed now. I just thought that was something funny to share.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to my two reviewers! And to MrsPhantomSylvia for a review/story alert combo! I'm considering Malik/OC. And the very least, it's going to be one-sided, with Arha having a crush on him. **

**While most of the books and playthroughs have Altair going to Acre first, in this, he goes to Jerusalem because I say so, and it fits better with my version of events. And Malik rocks, so whenever I play, I go to him before Creepy Old Guy.**

_Do you never rest? _

_Fighting the battle of who could care less?_

_Unearned unhappiness_

_Well, that's alright I guess_

Arha sat, pouting, on a bench in the central courtyard of the souk, next to the fountain. Altair had instructed her to sit there and "watch and learn." The ass.

He used the beams, at least. She saw him, though no one else did, as he crept above them all just as Tamir walked into the courtyard, speaking harshly to another man.

"Your methods," he was saying. "Have failed to fill the order. Which means I have failed my client." She made a face; Tamir looked like a pig. The man he was speaking to had a strange expression; a mix of irritation and fear.

"We need more time!" He insisted as they approached the fountain in the center. Altair was motionless above them, an unseen bird of prey. Arha found herself praying he wasn't caught before he had a chance to strike.

"This is the excuse of a lazy or incompetent man," Tamir said coolly. "Which are you?" The other man straightened, indignant.

"Neither," he said through gritted teeth.

"What I see says otherwise," Tamir snapped. People were beginning to stare as the fight grew louder in volume. "Now, what do you intend to do to solve this problem of ours?" The man didn't meet Tamir's gaze. "These weapons are needed _now!_"

"I see no solution!" The other man insisted. "The men work day and night but your… '_client_' requires so much. And the destination! It is a difficult route!"

"Were it that you could produce weapons with the same skill as you do excuses!" Tamir hissed, a dangerous light entering his eyes. The other man tensed, but didn't back down.

"I have done all I can," he said calmly.

"It is not enough," Tamir said quietly. Half of the souk was watching now, undoubtedly with the same tense feeling in their bellies as Arha, and the same chill traveling down their spines, foreseeing blood.

"Then perhaps you ask too much," the other man said wearily, walking past Tamir and towards Arha. He blinked when he saw her shake her head desperately, and then winced as Tamir's voice came from behind him, dark with anger.

"Too much?" The man hissed. "I gave you _everything._" The other man turned to face Tamir, but didn't meet his gaze. "If it wasn't for me, you'd still be charming serpents for coin! All I ask in return is that you fill the orders that I gave you! And you say that I ask too much?"

The citizens in the courtyard murmured fearfully and the guards pointedly looked away. The other man looked aghast, and flinched along with everyone else as Tamir spat in his face.

"You dare disrespect me?" Tamir said, his voice dangerously low.

"Please Tamir!" The other man pleaded. "I meant no insult!" Tamir's eyes flared.

"Then you should have kept your mouth shut!" The black market dealer unsheathed a knife and sliced the man in the gut, all in one motion. The crowd gasped, but did nothing as the man doubled over, clutching at the slit in his stomach.

"No," he begged. "Stop!" Arha felt bile rise in her throat, and dared to glace up at the rafters. She couldn't see Altair's face, but his fingers were clenched about the wood so tightly they were white.

"Stop?" Tamir laughed. "I'm just getting started!" He began cutting the man mercilessly, sending him to his knees. The other man screamed, but no one helped him, only gasped and muttered. "You came into _my_ souk, stood before _my _men, and dared to insult _me_?!" Arha trembled violently, her heart pounding in her chest and her legs useless as Tamir screamed, punctuating each word with a heartless stab, "_You! Must! Learn! Your! Place!"_

The body fell limply into the fountain, staining the water red immediately. A hush fell over the souk, and Arha's breath came out ragged, as though she'd just run a long distance, as she stared at the body, trembling and unable to stand or move. A guard slowly approached the fountain, but stopped when Tamir raised a hand.

"No," he said softly. "Leave the body." He turned to the citizens in the courtyard. "Let this be a lesson to the rest of you," he said. "Think twice before you tell me something can't be done." He sighed. "Get back to work." The people hesitated, and then a strange calm fell over them and they continued with the conversations they'd been having before the dreadful stabbing.

A soft creaking sound came from above as Altair almost silently dropped from the rafters. Tamir's back was to the assassin as he approached, quiet, barely controlled murder in the younger man's eyes. Arha flinched, half expecting her teacher to stab Tamir as brutally as he'd stabbed the other man. But that's not how it was.

Altair, taking advantage of the fact that no one was watching and all were carefully avoiding looking at the murderous merchant, approached silently and slid the hidden blade quietly into his side. He lowered the man onto the ground, and seemed to converse with him for a brief time before the merchant went limp and Altair painted the white marker red with his blood. He stood and looked for Arha, but just as their eyes met, a woman turned, saw the body, and shrieked.

The souk fell into chaos. Guards drew their weapons and merchants cowered in their stalls as their customers screamed and swarmed for the exits. Arha stood and hurried over to the exit that would lead to the aid she'd secured, and whistled to get Altair's attention.

Altair saw her, she knew it. Their eyes met across the swarming souk before she gestured meaningfully for him to follow, and he turned and ran in the complete opposite direction.

A misunderstanding? Doubtful, she thought as she stood there, staring after him as people screamed and the bells tolled and he ran into the crowded souk, dooming himself to being caught and injured, at the very least.

Turning and running down the street, she felt rage bubble up inside her. As she ran towards the bureau, she decided that while castration might be a bit of an overreaction, she still thought it was fitting.

--

Arha was standing in the bureau when Altair stepped in, and she was white with rage. The Rafiq, while having obviously heard her story, smiled at Altair.

"Word has reached me of your victory, Altair," he said cheerfully. "You have my gratitude, and my respect." Arha said nothing as Altair reached into his belt and pulled out the feather, the blood already drying into brown.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"It is a shame that the other assassins continue to hold you in such poor regard," the Rafiq continued blithely. Arha's expression gave nothing away, but she was still pale with suppressed anger. Altair didn't meet her gaze.

"Rafiq," he said. "I do not care what the other's think of me." It was a lie, and an obvious one. So obvious that even Arha's look softened

"As you wish, Altair," the Rafiq said. "I will send news of your victory to Al Mualim. I'm certain he has more work for you to do."

--

Arha and Altair rode away from Jerusalem, towards Masyaf, in silence. They'd left the city in silence to, and Arha clearly had no intention of breaking it. Altair took a deep breath in very much the same way as when he was about to make a leap of faith and broke the silence himself.

"I suppose you'd like an explanation for earlier," he said. Arha snorted.

"You mean why you completely ignored me and made it clear you trust me about as far as you can throw me?" Altair winced. "No. I get it. But I'll forgive you for the insult." Altair looked at her.

"Really?" He asked, stunned. "Why?" Arha smirked.

"Because, deep down, you're really just a pitiful little sheep." Altair's jaw dropped. "But I forgive you on one condition." Altair scowled.

"Really?" He asked sarcastically. "And what would that be, O Merciful One?"

"You trust me next time," she said quietly. Altair glanced at her, feeling a bit ashamed, then nodded and held out his hand.

"Deal," he said, and she reached over and shook it.

"So where are we going next?" Arha asked. Altair shrugged.

"First, we must go to Masyaf. Then we head for either Jerusalem or Acre." Arha pricked up.

"We should go to Jerusalem," she said cheerfully. Altair glanced at her, then smirked. "What?"

"Why should we go to Jerusalem?" He asked snidely.

"I've never been there," Arha said defensively.

"Right," Altair said sarcastically. "So it has nothing to do with the Dai there?"

"No," Arha snapped. "Now shut up before I castrate you."

--

They reported to Al Mualim and headed off to Jerusalem. Soon, the city was looming over them, the Dome of the Rock glittering in the desert sun. They crept in and Altair hurried forward.

"The bureau is this way, I think," he said. "Down this road and… then we take a left."

"Wow…" Arha whispered. "Look at it all." Altair looked up at what she was gazing at; the Dome of the Rock, one of the most sacred places in both Judaism and Islam.

"Yes, yes, very pretty," Altair said irreverently. "But we don't have much time. I want to get this meeting out of the way quickly…" Arha snickered.

"Worried Malik's going to smack you with a scroll?" She asked snidely.

"Or refuse to help me," Altair said simply. "Hopefully you being there will soften him a bit."

"Why would it do that?" She asked sharply. Altair blinked at her in fake confusion.

"You're friends, right?" He asked slowly as they approached the ladder. Arha coughed and went a bit red.

"Oh. Yes, of course." Altair smirked as she hurried up the ladder.

They dropped down into the bureau and Altair entered the Rafiq's room, Arha opting to wait in the living room, to give them some semblance of privacy, and because she was interested to hear what their conversation would be. Malik, looking strange and unfamiliar in his black robe and without his left arm, didn't look away from his shelves.

"Safety and peace, Malik," Altair said, an impressive show of politeness. Malik turned and made no such effort.

"Your presence here deprives me of both," he said darkly. "What do you want?"

"Al Mualim has asked-" Altair began, but Malik cut over him.

"Asked that you perform some menial task in an effort to redeem yourself. So be out with it."

"Tell me what you can about the one they call Talal," Altair said brusquely. Arha cringed.

"It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Altair," Malik snapped. "Not mine."

"You would do well to assist me," Altair insisted. "His death benefits the entire land."

"Do you deny that his death benefits you as well?" Malik asked coldly.

"Such things don't concern you," Altair snarled. Arha hurried into the room, trying to waylay any more angry words.

"Your actions very much concern me!" Malik said angrily, gesturing towards his lost arm. His anger became shock, however, when Arha rushed in.

"Then don't help me!" Altair said childishly. "I'll find him myself." He started to stomp out of the room in a huff, and Arha made a pleading gesture to Malik. The man made a similar gesture, as if begging her not to make him help her "master."

_Please?_ Arha mouthed, and Malik sighed.

"Wait, wait!" He said irritably. "It won't do to have you stumble about the city like a blind man."

Arha mouthed a _Thank you_, which Malik waved off, and then said, "Funny as that would be to watch," as Altair walked back into the room. Malik's irritated look relaxed into a grin briefly as Altair shot his apprentice an angry look. "What?"

"Better you know where to begin your search," Malik continued.

"I'm listening," Altair said peevishly, still glaring at Arha.

"I can think of three places. The markets south of here that line the border between the Muslim and Jewish districts. To the north to the mosque of this district, and east, to the front of St. Anne's Church, close to the Bab Ariha Gate."

"Is that all?" Altair asked waspishly, earning a smack on the arm from Arha. Malik smirked.

"It's enough to get you started." He waved his hand for the other man to leave. "And more than you deserve." Altair spun on his heel and stomped out, muttering darkly. Arha glanced back at Malik.

"It was good to see you again, Dai," she said quietly. Malik turned and smiled a bit wearily at her.

"You don't have to do that, Arha," he said gently. "_Our_ friendship has not changed." Arha smiled, then rolled her eyes as Altair hissed from the roof, "Hurry up, or I'm leaving without you!"

"Please do," she muttered under her breath, loud enough for Malik to hear and get a laugh out of it. "Safety and peace, Malik."

"Upon you as well, my little friend."


End file.

Assassin's Creed, Humor