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Mercy in White	By : digitalcoma Category: +A through F > Assassin's Creed Views: 3153 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Sad, but true - I do not own any part of the game "Assassin's Creed" or any of its characters. I do not make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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Mercy in White
-----Chapter 1 �Stargazers�-----
The
sound of thunder woke her from her thoughts. The windows in the room were open,
letting in the blessed coolness and the fresh smell of rain.
She
looked outside. The deserted streets were glittering under heavy storm, all
city-dwellers hidden in the safety of their houses. The smell of promise, of
adventure, the smell of freedom ran through the air.
A night
not to be spent within the house...
She put
on her silk face mask ("Well... Seems like I'm doomed to wear that
annoying thing forever... But that was my choice, after all...") and robe,
after a brief hesitation buckled the scabbard with her sword to the hip and put
her favorite poniard in her leather boot, another one already in its sheath in
her left sleeve. "That would do, for the night"- she thought,
climbing on the window-sill and out of the room, into the rain.
"This
journey is best made from one roof to another" - she smiled to herself,
enjoying the feeling of cold water soaking through the black silk, wrapping her
in cool embrace, the feeling of wet stone under her deft fingers so familiar
and calming.
---------
The
mission in Damascus
was over, but Altaïr decided to spend the night
in bureau, either than soaking down to his undergarments on the horseback.
Surprisingly, Rafik wasn't against it, even suggested
some extra pillows and a colorful blanket.
"Despite
his constant grumbling about the disturbances in the city that each of my
arrivals brings, sometimes he is a rather understanding man..."
Altaïr
set his back against the wall and listened to the sounds of the storm, as the
heavy rain little by little made the crowd in the street thin out. His thoughts
were wandering from one point to another, until at last he remembered his
amusing encounter with a mysterious "assassin" in black a few days
ago.
"Indeed,
of all the covers in the district, of all hay in the city he has chosen the
very same!" - he thought with a chuckle. This
made him remember a brief confusing moment later, when his trained analytic
mind had tried to combine a certain male appearance (though� there was not much of an
"appearance", indeed - the man was all covered in black, even wore
the black face mask, leaving visible only eyebrows and pale grey eyes) and the
strangely soft voice. He would even call this a female voice, but for the
abovementioned appearance, more precisely - the lack of certain curves here and
there, usually associated with women.
On the
other hand, weapon was not the thing, usually associated with women... That man
had at least a sword, judging by the scabbard on his right hip ("Right hip? He must be left-handed then... A rare thing among the
swordsmen of the Holy Land... "), and also the crossbow and the dagger in sheath on his
back. Altaïr didn't know many trained women, in fact he knew none, that's why meeting this
stranger in black had aroused his curiosity.
From the
Creed's sources of information he learnt, that Muhammed
Amir, the Damascus
second nobility and, by gossips, one of the biggest slave traders, had been
killed the same day he met the "assassin" in black and heard the
alarm bells ringing. Killed before the Creed had a chance to
announce the white feather for him and a price for his life. It meant
that someone was gathering information much faster, and was as good at killing,
as the trained white hoods of Masyaf. That was rather
disturbing.
"If
I ever have a chance to meet that man again, I must learn something, whatever
it takes" - Altaïr thought to himself and
got up.
It would
be stupid to waste such night by mere sleeping.
------
She fled
from one rooftop to another, jumping easily, climbing the walls up and down, quietly avoiding those few poor archers left to guard the
streets on such stormy night. She didn't know where her legs were leading her, just the pleasure of the night and fresh air and cold waterdrops on the silk of the robe was her guide. The city
looked so peaceful and deserted under the heavy storm.
One of
the turns brought her to the wall of one of the watch towers.
"The
view would be amazing... Hope I won't have to kill anyone to get to the highest
point" - she thought and began climbing up, poniard ready in its sheath in
case someone was waiting for her on the top.
"This
place would be the best to recall some memories, buried in the past long
ago..."
------
Altaïr
was lost in his thoughts, traveling through the city, hardly noticing the cold
rain and wind, the tails of his white robes flying behind him. Since Al Mualim's death everything had changed so much. He never
considered himself a thinker, an analytic, a man that seeks answers instead of
mere killing, but here he was now - out in the city, thinking about the bits of
information he just gathered, calculating the chances and possibilities... With
Malik at the head of the brotherhood, he practically
became his own master. He still had missions and white feathers that Master
gave him, but he gained an opportunity to discuss the purposes and methods,
free to do what he thought was best. He was better in tactics and in battle,
but he definitely lacked certain patience to control an organization as large
in number, as the assassin brotherhood, it was not a secret, neither to him nor
to Malik, so it was common now for the new Master to
seek advice from his best assassin.
He had
no remorse about what had happened to Al Mualim and
his own role in it, though sometimes he missed the old man, who took him from
the streets and taught him the only craft he knew, wishing everything could be
different...
------
She sat
on the wooden beam, resting her elbow on one knee, her other leg not very
elegantly hanging down over the deserted square, her back against the cold
stone of the tower parapet. The rain was letting up, but the light pleasant
chill lingered in the air, keeping away the Damascus famous ever-present heat. The
raindrops still drummed on the rooftops, lulling her, driving away...
She
sighed. No, those memories are hard to be distracted from, once stirred up by
meeting the man in white hood... An assassin from Masyaf...
She
recalled the chilly air and resonating echo of those narrow stone passages, the
magnificent vault of the main hall, the endless bookshelves filled with most
amazing pieces of literature she ever got acquainted with... The unbearable
heat of the training ring, with its constant jingle of steel and encouraging cheers
of the audience in white and gray robes... Her first training lessons, mostly
secret...
It's
been a really long time... She never thought of coming back, though now the
possibility of seeing it all again seemed rather desirable... and unwise... She
still had some contacts in the brotherhood, but she had to stay anonymous to
most part of them, if she wanted to stay alive. Women were neither allowed, nor
valued there.
She
sighed again and looked at the clear spot in the night sky above, the stars,
quiet observers, always there to watch... They have seen so much, in so many
years... Sometimes her life with all risks and adventures and dangers seemed so
brief and unimportant under that eternal light....
All
choices had been made, regretted or not, and even if she had a chance, she
wouldn't change anything.
She had
no way back, and all she could do was continue dancing
that dangerous dance started long ago...
------
Sitting
under the wooden shed on the roof of Damascus
library, Altaïr watched the stars above his
head. After winning his internal battle against vanity and ambitions and
letting go the chance to possess the greatest power in the world, he often
thought of the insignificance of the brief human life compared to something
that had been born long before the first man ever walked this ground, and will
still be young long after the last breath of the human race... It's not like he
doubted the purpose of his missions... What else could he do in this life,
trained only to kill, hide, eavesdrop and steal? "Indeed, a noble
man" - he chuckled.
A lonely
slender silhouette against the clear spot in night sky caught his attention. A
stranger was sitting on the wooden beam of one of Damascus watch towers... At the assassins'
usual view point...
Altaïr
got up. As far as he knew, he was the only assassin on the mission in this
city. Could it be that same stranger? If so, he was surprisingly familiar with
the brotherhood ways of hiding and gathering information about the city for a
person not of the Creed...
As Altaïr watched, the silent figure on the tower stood
up, reached the end of the beam and dove headfirst, disappearing among the
buildings.
"Impossible"
- he gasped, jumping from his watching point - "the leap of faith, taught
in Masyaf only... Who the hell can this man be?"
If the
stranger landed where he assumed, it was only a few blocks away... He could
make it within a couple of minutes...
He
should not miss such excellent opportunity!

------
A/N: Shame on me, but I can�t remember the name of
the Damascus bureau
leader� (confused) Either it was not mentioned in the
game, or I simply forgot it. Anyways, let�s leave it just �Rafik�
for now, ok? :)
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Mercy in White