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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Mercy
in White
Chapter 4 -----�Uneasy thoughts and long-awaited decisions�-----

�The� flying one��

Her lips had betrayed her, and she cursed herself and her
damned destiny and everything that could have made that possible, meeting that
man in such inappropriate, inconvenient moment, as she watched his honey brown
eyes widen, surprised, shocked...
"Oh, sure, you can seldom be
taken by surprise, like this..."
But it was just a second, no, even less... Just a brief
moment between two heartbeats, a moment of confusion and shock, on both
sides...
But they both were so terribly skilful, so damn fast...
Staring in those surprised brown eyes, she blinked, and
when she opened her eyes again, the scene had already changed.
His hidden blade was pressed against the tender flesh
under her lower jaw, his other hand was gripping the left side of her face,
tightly, holding her for the last deadly blow.
No more gentle hints and half-truth. His intentions were
easy to guess, his face being quite readable at that moment. All his incredible
speed and skill served him for one purpose.
He was ready to kill her.
For touching his face.
For knowing his name, when he still knew almost nothing
about her.
But she could rival him as equal in both speed and
strength, and at that same time her right hand was holding his left wrist in an
iron grip, gaining her few saving millimeters, as the tip of the poniard in her
left one was pressed under his chin.
A stalemate.
Studying those dark gold eyes, searching for the trace of
a human behind those deadly blades and the shadow of the white hood, she gently
asked, not even hoping, that he would obey:
"Let me go..."
He growled, and moved fluently, and twisted his left
wrist out of her grip, getting up, taking her with him, and the next moment he
was already standing in front of her in his incredibly beautiful stance, with
his silver-decorated scimitar in his right hand, swaying on the level of her
eyes, gracious, deadly...
"Who the hell are you?" - she heard in that
growl, and there he went again, moving like the quicksilver, attacking her like
a bird of prey that gave him his name...
Only to be met halfway by her sword, her faithful long
blade, that held the pressure of the attack of the master assassin, and pressed
him back.
Stepping sideways, watching his eyes, she tried again:
�Let me go� Please��
And, diving under his arm, twisting, jumping aside,
escaping his attack, holding back her blade not
to hurt him as long as possible, she added:
�I won�t tell you anything more. But I won�t let you kill
me either.�
He didn�t deign to answer her. Probably, he didn�t intend
to kill her anymore, after the fury had given place to cold intelligent
calculation� Only to strip down her face mask and see the face of
so-much-knowing stranger in black, who had dared to distract him with smooth
talk and touch him�
Probably, he even wanted to take her to Masyaf alive, to
ask the current Master if she had told the truth about her training there�
�The current Master? Who could
that be? I thought that after he had saved the remains of the brotherhood��
Answering her thoughts, the assassin attacked again, this
time trying to press her against the wall of the pavilion, gripping her sleeve
with his free left hand�
�No-no-no, I can�t let you do
that� Not now� Oh hell, not EVER��
And she dove again, trying to set herself free from that
impossible man, feeling his scimitar slicing open her right upper arm somewhen
during the fight. Pushing his hands away, slipping on her own fresh blood on
the stone floor, she flew on the carved pavilion railing and, turning back to
face him, gasped:
"Don't look for me, please. If God decides so, we'll
meet again. I'm not your enemy, remember that"
And she jumped outside, into the heat of the Damascus daylight, not
caring about the guards and archers, waiting in the city, her fury giving her
strength to fight them all...
-----
To say that he was surprised was to say nothing.
Altaïr was shocked. With all his experience, he couldn't have imagined a
situation like that.
Slipping on the fresh crimson blood on the stone floor,
he reached for the silk curtain, pulled it aside and looked out, to see the
black flash at the edge of the roof. The figure jumped across the narrow
passage between two buildings and disappeared among the statues of the rich households.
And he was left to his own thoughts, alone again, and
even more confused than before that brief encounter. This event had left his
questions unanswered, and added even more to them.
Why hadn't he followed the stranger? It would be easy,
since he was wounded...
Altaïr absently wiped his scimitar with the silk of
the curtain and stared at the crimson stains.
He had asked not to follow him... He was as much shocked
and confused, as Altaïr himself.
But why?
If what he had said was true, and he was really trained
as a novice some years ago, then they obviously could have
known each other.
But why was he so
shocked?
And then, that
crap with Altaïr's scar...
"He was not surprised by seeing a master assassin, he was
surprised to see me in particular... As if he didn't expect it to be
me..."
Altaïr
quickly tried to recall any accidents during him being a novice, then a young
assassin... Any possible misunderstandings, grudges, fights...
Thanks to him
being self-righteous ignorant bastard most of the time, that happened a lot,
and it was useless to remember every conflict... He couldn't recall all names
even, but sure, they did remember
him...
But then, almost
all novices he knew either passed their initiation and eventually survived
until the final battle, showing either loyalty for him or dying for Al
Mualim... Or passed the initiation, but died during their missions, sacrificing
themselves for the idea of purifying the world by eradicating corrupt and mean people...
But those were not
the ones he needed to pay attention to at that moment...
Those, who didn't
get an initiation together with the white hood of an assassin and the hidden
blade, usually stayed at the fortress as simple peasants... Of course, there
always were bold and proud ones, who dared leaving the Order, though he hadn't
heard much about them...
"Damn!"
He clenched his
fists, furiously glaring at the clear deep blue abyss of the Damascus sky. That was useless. He couldn't
find a trace of that man.
Only maybe...
"What did he say? He had never lost contact completely...
And he almost finished his thought about Al Mualim turning out to be... What?
The Templar? That's impossible... How could he find that out? Who are his
contacts inside the brotherhood? What rank can they have? Oh..."
Altaïr wearily
closed his eyes, rubbing the eyelids with his fingers. Another sleepless night,
followed by yet another complicated day...
He finally made
his way out of the roof garden and turned towards the direction of the nearest
city gates. He had stayed too long in this city, longer than necessary... And
the only person probably able to help him with his questions was Malik, his
loyal and reliable Master, already waiting for his report... He just had to know something...
Altaïr cast a
final glance at the carved pavilion, wondering, if everything that had happened
there was just a mere dream, and sighed...
"If God decides so, we'll meet again"
Repeating those
words in his mind over and over again, he started his long run towards the
Kingdom...
-----
She wasn't sure at
which moment exactly did she turn her way, and headed towards the city gates
instead of her own household, being already visible among its less decorated
surroundings.
She was angry.
Furious.
Mostly, at
herself.
At her lips that
had betrayed her, saying that long-forgotten name against her will. At her own
carelessness and curiosity that had obscured her logic, letting her join that
stupid talk� How romantic� Ghosts of the forgotten past were talking to
her�� Why not accept the invitation?
She snorted.
She was angry at
her stupid night-loving nature of a stargazer that had made her sneak out of
her own house on such a terrible night, a night that most of the honest
citizens had spent at home�
And then, at that
damned, damned man in white attire, the angel of death, the living embodiment
of cruel mercy�
She had spent many
nights and days in faraway land, trying to forget them� The atmosphere, the
elegance of their movements on the ring, the proud white of their clothes� She
came back and went away again, thousands of times, but his enormous reputation
always reached her ears wherever she was. First the angry hisses of the
humiliated and offended, then � the ecstatic praises of those, who had
survived� Words about his glory spread fast, and wide�
She helped as much
as she could. Never mentioned his name when asked, and openly doubted the
gossips about his origin and his identity. After all, he himself would never
want such popularity for himself and his name. At least, that was the image of
the man she had been proud to know long ago�
She never planned
to see him again. She always worked alone, and though being a faithful ally for
the brotherhood, let only one man know about her much enough to call her by
name�
And then, she
returned to her rich house in Damascus,
refreshed her relations, looked around, took a few minor missions� And there he
was� Reviving all her forgotten, bitter memories in one breath�
�What the hell am I doing here?�
Her wounded upper
arm was securely bandaged by stripes of black silk torn from her robe, her side
carefully inspected, but that didn�t help much. She already felt the familiar
dizziness that usually followed blood loss and intensive pain. Light-headed and
already clumsy, she was an easy target for the armed men on the roofs and the
streets. But still, she turned in her tracks, and headed the opposite
direction, and there they were, those magnificent ornate iron gates, the
perfect image of strength and defense for the innocent city-dwellers.
She knew the man he would seek answers from� It was
extremely stupid, but she wanted to prove herself right.
She sneaked across
the shadowed alley, joined the group of suspicious-looking men, dressed in rags
of different colors, and reached the complex construction of wooden beams,
probably left by the repairmen of some rich noble merchant, but successfully
serving people like her as a quiet and safe way out of the city. Climbing up,
she swayed, as a sudden strike of pain had interrupted her thoughts.
How stupid�
Gritting her
teeth, fighting the sharp pain in her upper arm and the dull throbbing in her
left side, feeling hot blood soaking her robe, she climbed to the top, then
jumped between the thin wooden beams, again, and again, carefully looking for a
place to step on, observing the city guards, quite busy with the usual crowd of
ragged beggars, and suspicious-looking armed men trying to sneak past the gates
into the city.
One more jump, and
she was outside, under the city wall, breathless and light-headed, waiting...
The sun was high
by then, and its heat was pressing down on her like a thick hot curtain, making
her sweat under her black silk garment, and hiss from pain, as the sweat mixed
with blood in the wounds and stung terribly, and curse herself.
And then, already
carefully hidden in the shadow of the stone wall, behind some forgotten wagon,
she saw him, and smiled despite the pain and the dizziness, and weary, because
she was right.
Yes, it really was
him. Intelligent and curious. Always full of questions. Always ready for
another philosophical dispute.
He couldn�t let
her go without thorough thinking.
He couldn�t simply
forget that encounter.
He was going to
ask someone about her�
A certain someone�
-----
With an uneasy
sigh Altaïr gripped his
reins and turned his back to the city walls. He knew that he was being watched.
He felt that.
�To hell with you, black-clad bastard! Watch. Watch as I go home
to find out who the hell you are. Believe me, I�ll do that, whatever it takes!�
Not quite sure,
why he felt so angry, Altaïr yanked the reins, setting the canter rhythm for his horse, and
headed towards the road to the Kingdom, still deeply in his thoughts.
-----
She smiled again,
watching him pulling the reins and turning towards the road to the Kingdom.
�I know you felt that I was watching you.�
Standing there,
sweating and swaying, watching him leave, she suddenly thought, that all
decisions had already been made. That was surprising, and stupid�
But so desirable�
And she had no
other choices left, tired of doing only what was necessary and safe for the
whole of her life�
�I�ll give you a day of advantage, Altaïr. Only one day. Take the opportunity.�
And, using the
remains of her strength to climb the wooden beams once more, and jump over the
heads of the guarded men in the gates, she finally headed home, to take care of
her wounds and think everything over�
-----

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Mercy in White