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Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  Robin Hood belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).  Words in foreign languages (Arabic, French, and German) will be italicized throughout this story.

Story:

Part 8 – Home

The bright sunlight and muffled noise of the markets slowly grew louder and louder in Robin's ears.  It was only when a persistent chirp of a bird blasted in his ear that he awoke with a start, his eyes snapping open and drawing a quick breath.  He was greeted with a rough dull-red clay ceiling that looked rough and patchy.  The soft bed beneath his body also felt completely out of place and a wave of panic shot through him as he did not recognize his surroundings.

He shot up, a choked gasp emerging from his mouth as a dull pain ripped across his body, pulling at his shoulders before he glanced down and saw that most of his left shoulder was covered in a swath of bandages.  He stared at the bandages, wondering how did he get so injured when a tentative voice spoke up near him.

“Master?” Much’s whisper was barely audible and he looked to his right to see him staring back at him, a hopeful expression on his face.  There looked to be tears glistening in his eye…tears for what he did not know, but somehow, he had a feeling that they were for him.

“Much?” Robin swallowed, feeling his throat dry before looking around him and spotted a small cup of what looked like water in it.  Reaching over, mindful of his bandages, he grasped it and lifted it to his lips.

That was when he found his own hand trembling to his dismay, but resolutely tightened his grip on the mug and drained all of the water down his throat.  He set the cup back down and looked up just in time to see tears fall down his manservant’s face.  What had happened?

“Why…?”

Much gave a loud sniff before dragging his arm across his eyes, hastily wiping the tears away, “Just…happy to see that you’re all right, Master.  I mean, you did give us a scare back then, you know, when you were screaming and yelling about something we couldn’t understand.  I thought it was Arabic, but even Altaїr and Carter; they were worried, though you couldn’t tell from their expressions.  It’s like both were carved from stone work or could not even budge for that matter.  I’m only glad that we got you out of there-“

“Wait, wait,” Robin held up a hand, biting back a grimace as his shoulder and to his dismay, the wounds on his abdomen area, protested against his movement, “slow down, what are you talking about?”

Much immediately closed his mouth, his eyes widening before scrambling up from his chair and waved his arm at him.  “Hold on, I’ll be back…”

Robin opened his mouth to ask where Much was going when just as fast, his manservant opened the door to his room and stepped out, leaving Robin gaping in silence.  He heard pounding footsteps fade away as Much ran somewhere and shook his head minutely before breathing out a sigh of exasperation.

Since Much ran off somewhere, he decided to examine the swath of injuries he had gotten, that he could not remember.  The last thing he remembered was being in Damascus, searching amongst the piles of burning books.  As he tentatively pressed each place where the bandages overlapped the most, he had a feeling that he did not want to remember what had happened to him.  Judging by the faint odor of sea water and decaying fish wafting through the open window of his room, this was most definitely not Damascus.

In fact, the odor smelled vaguely familiar.  He pulled the sheets off of his legs, finding himself in soft and comfortable linen pants from waist down, though one of his legs was wrapped in a swath of gauze.  Swinging himself gently out of the bed, taking care not to aggravate or pull any of the injuries that he apparently had, he stood up, feeling a wave of dizziness overcome him before he put a hand to the rough wall and steadied himself.  Taking a few steps forward to the window, he peered out and confirmed what he already knew…

The sea water and fishy decayed smell was unique to Acre and his window view gave him a very good look at Richard’s Citadel.  He noted the banner of Conrad of Montferrat flying on its spires, but otherwise, it seemed that the bustling port city was well on its way to being fully repaired.

The door opened again and Robin turned his head slightly to see Altaїr walk in, Much hovering just over the threshold before the white-robed assassin closed the door once more, leaving Much outside.

“Your manservant tells me you do not remember what happened?” Altaїr’s voice was skeptical as the assassin rolled something in his fingers, standing on the far side of the room.

“No,” he shook his head once, sliding down into the small hardback chair next to the window and in between the table and his bed.  “I remembered being pinned down by scholars, dressed in robes of black and red, but everything after that…”

He thought he saw shadows flit across his face, an afterimage of a vision, followed by the blink of a man’s face, bloodied, screaming at him…

Glancing up at the assassin, he saw that Altaїr’s eyes looked troubled before he finally seemed to come to a decision and approached him, placing the small object he had been rolling around his hand on the end table in front of him.  Robin immediately found his eyes drawn to the object, no larger than a pebble.  It was intricately carved, with symbols and patterns he did not recognize.  A part of his mind whispered at him to touch it, but another part stared at it in horror, revolted.

“What…” he stared up at the assassin who had stepped back a step, “is it?”

“Part of a Piece of Eden that has been determined to be a staff,” Altaїr said in a neutral tone.

“This is what was in Damascus, right?” Robin could feel the uneasiness inside of him grow stronger as he stared back and forth between the Piece and the assassin.

He could see flashes of more screaming faces, the squish of an eyeball in his hand.  The horror on a child’s face just before she died, her throat slashed wide open.

Robin shook his head slightly, clearing the fuzzy remnants of what had seen in his mind’s eye.  Who was that killing all of those innocents?  Why had he been seeing such things?  He glanced down at the Piece, a grimace on his face.  Was this Piece of Eden making him see things?  Even such a small thing, part of a staff Altaїr had said it was, was powerful enough to make people see things…

Altaїr was silent and Robin looked at him, brow wrinkling in concern, “Altaїr, this was in Damascus, right?  We found it?”  He rubbed his forehead, trying to alleviate a headache that was forming before finally roughly pushing the Piece away from him, unable to stand looking at any longer.  As his hand came in contact with the Piece, this time, he couldn’t stop the gasp of shock that coursed through him as he saw-

Robin smiled darkly as he neatly sidestepped the man’s overhead blow and lashed out with his sword on his right, cutting through flesh, bone, and sinew.  Ripping through the rest of the man’s guts, he kicked with his left foot and the man spilled to the ground, choking and gurgling as his innards fell out of the wide cut he gave him.

Laughing, Robin watched as he tried desperately to put his organs back into his open gut, and the spark of life along with copious amounts of blood soon left the man dead on the ground, eyes glazed in the pain of death.

-and jerked in his seat, pulling a few of his bandages and wounds with his sudden movement as he stared at the partial Piece of Eden, his jaw falling open in abject horror.  He remembered everything, the darkness that overtook him, the need to kill and slaughter anyone who stood in his way; the frantic clawing towards freedom; his willingness to kill everyone and anyone – to even kill his friends Altaїr and Carter, both whom had come to rescue him in the deep bowels of the dungeons.  The power, the delicious, spellbinding, enthralling power that he had in his hands, whispering to him that he could have it all, to make sure that no one ever hurt him again…

A choked cry escaped his lips as he glanced up at the assassin, who stood silently, staring at him with emotionless eyes.  “I did it…didn’t I?  I killed them all?” he whispered before glancing down at the Piece of Eden.  A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head, “I used this…this…thing…”

He looked up again at Altaїr who by now, was like a silent sentinel, ever watchful, and staring at him with the same expressionless eyes.  “You are going to kill me, are you not?” he looked away, staring out at the bustling city, “I broke the tenets of your creed, broke your trust, used the Piece of Eden and abused it to kill just because I was overcome with bloodlust.”

“You did not pick it up just now,” Altaїr finally spoke up, his voice contemplative, quiet.

Robin glared at the Piece of Eden and shook his head, “Because I am afraid of it!  Because I do not know what will happen if I pick it up…”  He looked around wildly, feeling decidedly helpless, “I know I got these injuries because I was not strong enough to resist; that I was such a fool to think that I would be able to resist.  That-“

He stopped mid-rant as Altaїr suddenly picked up the small pebble Piece from the table and dropped it into his hands.  His fingers automatically curled around them and Robin blinked in surprise, expecting to feel the seductive whispers and the urge to sate his unfathomable bloodlust that even he did not know he had.  However, what he felt was the rough edges of the pebble, the strange glyphs and scratch marks upon its edges, nothing to indicate its seductive power, or whispering for him to use it.

“Your fear and understanding of such power renders even the tiniest sliver of the Piece of Eden inert.  Your unwillingness to reveal such demons inside you also prevents the Piece from possessing you and controlling your will,” Altaїr said in a gentle voice.

Robin stared at the intricate carvings and designs before suddenly dropping it back in the assassin’s hands.  “It is too great of a temptation for me,” he looked up at the assassin and saw him put it away in the folds of his robes, nodding once in understanding.

The quiet stillness that followed made him suddenly realize what was really going on and looked at Altaїr.  “The agreement made between the King and the Hashashin is over, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the leader of the assassins replied.

Robin realized that after his rescue by Altaїr, Carter, Much, and someone else he could not quite identify, he could have been allowed to recover back at the King’s camp, treated by his own physicians, but instead, he had been kept here, in an undisclosed location under Altaїr’s watchful eye.  One would have thought it was because Altaїr did not trust him and wanted to make sure that he would not be tempted again by the Pieces of Eden – but Robin knew that was not the case.

If the assassin mistrusted his intentions, there was no way he would have placed the partial Piece of Eden, the same Piece he had used to massacre the prisoners and his captors, in front of him.  No, he realized, Altaїr had kept him here to make sure that he had received the best of care possible under the circumstances.  To make sure that he recovered before he was to return to the King’s camp, the agreement between the King and the Hashashin complete.  It was a courtesy not usually given to others, he realized…and it most definitely proved the burgeoning friendship between he and the master assassin.

He looked up at his friend, “Thank you.”

There was the barest of nods from Altaїr before the corner of his mouth curled up in a smile, one of the rare times that Robin had ever seen emotion register behind the cowl covered head.  “Salaam, Robin of Locksley.  I doubt we would ever meet again,” the assassin said before turning around and heading out of his room.

The door closed quietly, leaving Robin in the silence of his own thoughts, to reflect upon what had happened.  He didn’t know how long he sat there, thinking of the last few months of his life and the seemingly whirlwind adventure he had gone on until a brief knock on the door made him look up to see Much peeking his head in.

“Master?”

This time, Robin allowed a wide smile to blossom on his face, happy to see that Much had come through his rescue and through events safely.  He was glad that his manservant was able to escape after he had been captured.  That had been one of his chief worries, not because he hoped that Much would be able to get help, but because he knew that if Much was captured, then the torture done to him would break his soul and scar him forever.  Robin had no cares about his own soul, having taken so many lives and especially with what happened to him in the Templars’ hands…

“Ready to return to the Private Guard?” he asked and saw the child-like grin of happiness light up his ever constant companion’s face.

“Yes Master!”

                                    *                      *                      *

Timeframe - November, 1191

It was at least two more days of rest and recovery for Robin before he was able to make the journey from the port city back to the King’s camp.  During that time, he had learned that he was staying in one of the rooms of the brothel that Kalilah ran.  It was there that he also learned of her involvement with the Hashashin and that she was the one who had provided Altaїr and the Rafiq of the Acre bureau with information about his character and actions in the city.

He had also learned, to his great sadness and disappointment that it had been Arno, the young stable boy who had dreams of marrying Janan, was the spy within the Hashashin, even though he was only an informant.  It seemed that the Templars had discovered his love for Janan and used it against him, blackmailing him to give them any and all information he had on Altaїr and himself in order for them to spring their trap.  Altaїr had neatly evaded the trap by going after the Templar leader Armand Bouchart in Cyprus, but he had been caught by their trap.

He had learned that the Templars had threatened Janan with harm if Arno did not do as they asked and in a way, Robin did not blame the young man for his betrayal.  He understood the fleeting love the two had for one another and knew that if put in the same position with Marian being threatened, he might have succumbed to the blackmail in order to assure that she was safe.

But it was all for naught as he had learned that Arno had been overcome with guilt for what he had done and had secretly gone after Altaїr, Carter, and Much to try to help rescue him.  He had paid the ultimate price for his betrayal and for his love and perished while they were fighting their way out of the courtyard of the Hospitalier Fortress.

Kalilah had said that they had only discovered his body just a few hours prior and Janan had locked herself in her room, grieving and mourning the young man she had never realized had such strong and deep feelings for her.

And so, he and Much returned to the King’s camp, welcomed with open arms by Tomas and the others of the Private Guard.  If any of them suspected he had been captured and tortured on his mission, none of them made any mention of it.  He had immediately reported to the King and during his audience, the King had made no mention of his capture even though Robin was pretty sure that Carter told him most of the details, seeing that he was the King’s spy, but he had felt as if the King was giving him a critical once-over before dismissing him to return to his duties as head of the Private Guard.

His report to the King had been succinct, describing the city of Damascus, the way the Hashashin operated in a bureau and the fact that they had found a partial Piece of Eden that still held the power of a whole Piece.  During that part, Robin had declined to tell the King of his capture, but only mentioned that Templar forces still roamed Acre and seemingly had Conrad of Montferrat under their thumb.

Now, Robin found himself sitting by one of the fires near the King’s tent, whicking away a few thin sticks to create more arrows.  It had been a couple of weeks since his return and in that time he had not seen a hide or hair of Carter and wondered where the Captain of the Fifth Column had gone.  He knew the rest of the Column was in camp, but there was no sign of their Captain.

Booted feet, jingling with the clang of chainmail hitting the metal approached him, but Robin was not concerned, recognizing the distinctive footsteps as Carter’s and continued to whittle away the shaft of the arrow with his dagger.

“Planning to become a bird, Much?” Carter’s boisterous and joking tone spoke up behind him and out of the corner of Robin’s eyes, he saw his manservant bristle a bit at the slight before turning slightly in his seat, resolutely ignoring him as he continued to put feathers on the finished arrow shafts.

“Good to see you too,” Robin spoke up as Carter sat down next to him, heaving a loud sigh of exhaustion or exasperation he could not quite tell.

“You’re looking better,” Carter commented none too loudly as he picked up one of the sticks on the pile that Robin was working on and examined it, twirling it in between his fingers.

Robin snorted softly at his friend’s concern.  Ever since the revelation of Carter’s real status with the King and the fact that he was a spy, not only for the Knights Templar, but even within camp, he knew that their friendship had been rocky.  He knew the reason behind it – trust issues.  He did not know whatever he said would be reported to the King, though Robin had no fear since he would lay down his life for his King at the drop of a hat, but it was still disconcerting to think that even a mere joke or bit of humor would be reported to the King in such minute detail.

But, at this moment, Robin was willing to give Carter the benefit of the doubt.  “Thank you.”

The gentle slap on his back, rattling his own chainmail, told him that Carter understood what he was trying to put behind his words.  They sat in companionable silence, Carter drawing out his own dagger to help him whittle the sticks into a smooth shaft for his arrows.

“The King,” the blond-haired knight suddenly spoke up, “he was worried, you know…  I did not tell him of all the details, but he has vowed to see Conrad and the other known Templars in Acre punished.”

Robin glanced at him, surprised that the King would do such a thing for him before Carter shrugged again, “I do not think it is for your sake though, mostly because he despises traitors in his own camp.  Plus, many of them are Phillip’s men, left here to fight along with Leopold’s own men.”

“Ah,” Robin understood the meaning behind his friend’s words.  He was deeply moved that the King would do such a thing for him, yet could not do it officially.  There had to be an official story behind his motives and Robin understood that.  It was politics, simple and effective.

“The King plans an offensive into Jerusalem soon,” Carter continued, “though I suspect you already know.”

Robin nodded absently, finished with one stick before place it on Much’s pile and starting on another one, “He has said as much.  I presume it was you who told him that Salah al-Din has set up winter camp and disbanded half of his army?”

“Was scouting for the past two weeks, yes,” his friend nodded.  Now that all secrets were out in the open, Robin found it a lot easier to talk and relate to his friend.  Before, he had been angry, irrationally so, looking back, but that trust had been repaired, especially since he remembered that it was Carter who had also come with Altaїr to rescue him from the prison in the Hospitalier Fortress.

“Perhaps by the end of this year we would be able to finally capture the city and be able to return to our homelands with our heads held high,” Robin wondered wistfully.  His brush with mortality and death had made him think all the more of Marian and how much he wanted to return home to her.

“Perhaps,” Carter agreed, tossing his finished stick into Much’s pile and picking up another one.

“Do you have anyone at home waiting for you?” Robin was curious as he had never heard his friend say anything about his home life except for where he was from and that sort of information.

“No,” the blond-haired man shrugged, “I swore fealty to the King and his court since my father and mother died.  And you know about my brother…”

“He was a good man, your brother,” Robin remembered Thomas, Carter’s older brother leading the Fifth before he had died on his rash assault of the village.

“A fool, with tendencies to disobey orders,” Carter replied, “but a good man as you had said.”

“Was he also…?” Robin wondered if Thomas was under the King’s orders to assault the village.

“No,” a crooked smile worked its way up Carter’s face, “Thomas loved the glory knights got and was aiming for a higher position in the King’s court.  I liked the background.”

“But you command the Fifth,” of all of the columns in the King’s command, the Fifth was a highly prized and valuable cavalry division, probably the most visible of all of the King’s commands except for what used to be Robert de Sable’s men.

“Ironic is it not?” Carter grinned, “Though it was the King who suggested that it would be a good cover for me.  I have to admit, it does cut through a lot of pleasantries one usually has to deal with if I was not a Captain or commander of the Fifth.”

“So what will you do after all of this is over?” he waved in the general direction of where Acre and the lands to the west of them were.

“Don’t know,” the blond-haired Crusader paused for a second, looking thoughtful before grinning at Much, “can’t tease Much anymore I suppose since you’ll probably be returning to Locksley.”

“You can visit,” Robin also glanced at Much who stared at the two of them, mock horror in his eyes before shaking his head and muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

“True, my family has lands in England,” Carter continued, “how about you?”

“Home,” Robin smiled wistfully, “to Marian…”

“Marian…so your mystery woman finally has a name…” Robin shot a look at Carter who tapped the edge of the stick at him, “for the four years we’ve known each other, you have never told me her name.  Now you do…you really think we will capture Jerusalem by this year’s end?”

“Yes,” Robin’s conviction startled even himself, “I promised her that I would return and marry her when I do, complete with honors and glory from our campaign.”

“Well then,” Carter slapped him again on the back, “my friend.  I will see that you get your glory in our assault on Jerusalem.  Then perhaps you will introduce me to this Marian you so long for…”

Robin had to laugh at his half serious half mocking tone and returned Carter’s slap with one of his own.  “I will, my friend, I will.”  The three of them continued working in amicable silence, bolstered by the hope that by year’s end, they would be able to return home.

*                      *                      *

Timeframe: Mid-November, 1191

KING’S CAMP, NEAR ACRE

The initial clash of swords and cries of men dying was just a muffle to Robin's ears as he shifted slightly on his straw-covered bed.  Robin's chainmail rustled slightly as he moved a bit, having not bothered changing out of it after their victory yesterday against a marauding band sent by Salah al-Din.

Another clang made him twitch and he blearily opened his eyes, his sleep-addled mind coming to terms with the sound before he started at the sounds of screaming men, dying near his tent and realized what was happening.

“Much!” Robin shot up from the bed, grabbing his bow and a handful of arrows and his longsword, “Saracens in camp!  The King's under attack!  Much!”

Scrambling out of bed, he hurried outside of his tent, noting the scramble of men running everywhere and saw several masked Saracens running towards the King's tent.  Sticking his arrows into the sandy ground, he strung one and sighted down, firing the arrow.

The first assassin fell to the ground, dead.  He ran towards the King’s tent, pausing only to notch another arrow.  He sighted again and shot another one in the back, throwing the black robed assassin to the ground before quickly downing another assassin.  Was this an attack by the Templars?  The same ones that had captured and tortured him?

He notched his fourth arrow when suddenly, he felt something sharp plunge into his left side, underneath his armpit slicing through his ribs and screamed.  The dagger was withdrawn just as swiftly and Robin collapsed to the sandy ground, his right hand groping at the wound.  He could feel the blood already pouring out the wound and knew it was very deep, probably fatal.  Grimacing and very dizzied from the massive amount of blood lost, he tried to find his purchase, knowing that he could not let the assassin get away with what he did...

He tried to lift his bow, but his left hand felt so heavy, and shook with the effort he tried to make his muscles move to his command.  Launching the arrow, he watched as it missed his target, sailing across the assassin's face, startling him, but only for a moment before he disappeared into the King's tent.

“Master!” Much's yell was a blessing as Robin drew out his longsword and dug the tip into the ground, blinking against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.  “You're injured...”

“Go, get help, the King’s tent,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.  He was sure the dagger punctured a lung, “Go!”  He forcibly pushed Much away, putting as much urgency as he could in his voice as he pushed himself up and ran towards the King's tent.

He saw the bodies of both Stephen and Dennis, the two who had been assigned to guard the King's tent in the early morning hours before he threw the flaps open and ran in.  “Your Majesty!” he yelled as he surged forward, blocking the downward stab the assassin had been attempting on the King's sleeping form.

He shoved the assassin roughly away from his King and attacked him with wide cuts, driving him deeper into the tent.  With each swing of his sword, he could feel himself weakening and knew that he had to finish the assassin quick, but somehow, his arms barely worked.  Suddenly he saw an opportunity as the assassin got tangled up in the folds of the tent; grabbing the free arm, he pulled downwards, noting a wolf's head tattoo, highly stylized, and raked his sword across it, hoping to drive a deep enough cut to wound the assassin's sword arm.

However, he could feel his own arm weakening and barely made a cut across the tattoo, but it nonetheless elicited a startled cry from the assassin.  Robin felt his sword arm shake and dropped his sword to the ground, his knees following soon after.  He could feel the assassin get away, ripping his arm out of his weakening grip.  “No!” he shouted, trying support himself against one of the tent's poles, trying to go after the assassin, but his gaze became fuzzy, blurred as he could feel his heart beating faster, trying to compensate from the loss of blood.  He felt his blood pouring out of the deep wound, and clutched at it, trying to stem it...the assassin...he could not live.  His King had been threatened...he needed to make sure his liege and lord was safe...

With great effort, Robin turned his head, his grip on the pole slipping as he fell to the ground, barely able to keep his eyes opened.  He thought he saw a radiant light above him, and a face, red hair and full beard, talking to him, but the voices were oddly muffled, unpronounced.  His King...standing above him...Robin tried to see if there were any injuries upon the King, but for some odd reason, he could not move...  He heard other voices, ones shouting perhaps; hands frantically grabbing at him.

“M-My Lord...” he barely whispered before he finally succumbed to the dizziness and blood loss and passed out.

                                    *                      *                      *

Carter ran towards the King's tent, having been alerted by Much's shout throughout camp that the King was under attack.  Ahead, he could see Tomas pointing to a few of the Private Guard to go after what looked like a distant figure running across the sandy dunes, towards a group of horses stabled at a nearby oasis.

“Tomas!” he called to the second-in-command of the Private Guard, making him turn around, nodding a curt greeting before the two of them opened the flap to the King's tent.  What he saw made his heart nearly stop and horror fill him.  Not again, it couldn't be, his thoughts raced in denial as stared at Robin's prone body, being hastily attended to by the King's personal physician.  There was blood everywhere, but not a scratch on the King himself, which meant, the blood was probably from Robin.

“No,” he heard the whisper of horror escape from Tomas' lips, alerting the King who had been staring down with an intense focus on the physician's ministrations.

“Carter, Tomas, help Jacques,” the King ordered his voice tight with an unidentifiable emotion and Carter immediately shucked off his heavy gloves, putting them to the side and unbuckled his sword from his belt before he and Tomas helped Jacques gently lift Robin's body up to one of the King's tables.  However, the physician held up his hand to stop them from rolling Robin onto his back.

“I believe the entry wound is on his side,” the physician said in French, “hold him.”

The two of them did as they were told and Carter watched as the physician quickly peeled off the layers of chain mail armor and tunic from Robin's upper body, exposing the pale skin of his chest, littered with scars, some old and rope-like, others more angry red and fresh looking.  Carter realized that the fresher looking scars across his friend’s chest were from his most recent capture and torture by the Templars in Acre.  He steeled himself to keep his face neutral and passive as Jacques tried to find the source of so much blood.  It was only when the physician lifted the left arm that even Carter had a hard time keeping the curse off of his lips.

The wound was oozing dark red blood, and judging by the mutterings of the physician, Carter knew that the situation was very grave.

“Can you save him?” the King asked quietly.

“Possibly, it is not assured at the moment.  I will need to cauterize the wound and we shall see if he survives that process.  I need clean bandages, water, and light, a lot of light to work,” the physician replied quickly and looked at Tomas who nodded and made to leave the tent to get the supplies he needed.

“Tomas,” Carter called over to Robin's second-in-command, “make sure Much-”

“Got it,” the older man said gravely, understanding what he meant before heading out of the tent.  Much could not see this, otherwise, Carter knew that he would become hysterical and distraught – something they did not need at the moment.

“Milord, I will need a clean dagger, hot fire...” the physician looked a bit nervous at asking his King for anything, but Carter saw him nod once before heading to the other side of his tent and rummaged through a chest of sorts before procuring a wide, but short dagger blade.

“Will this do?”

“Yes, milord,” the physician took the blade before the King headed out of his tent, and Carter heard him barking a few orders to a few people.  He however, stood by the physician, keeping Robin's body prone at the angle in which the man was working from.

He could see the shallow rise and fall of Robin's chest, the only sign that indicated that his friend was still barely alive.  He did not know how deep the wound went, but knew that the angle in which the wound was cut was near the heart.  He knew from experience that any sort of wound near that place was almost always fatal.  It gave him some hope that if Robin was still breathing, perhaps whatever knife or dagger that had been plunged into him had not pierced his heart.

However, the sheer amount of blood still pouring out of the wound and from the amount on the ground, his friend had lost a lot of it to the point where he did not know if Robin would even survive the next few hours, much less the night.

Just then Tomas stumbled back in, holding swaths of bandages, a bucket of clean water, and a few other clay jars of things he did not recognize.  Carter reached out with his right hand and pushed everything that was on the King's end table to the side, giving Tomas a space to put everything down.  Immediately the physician took a few bandages, soaking them in water before moping up as much of the blood as possible.

“Here,” Carter indicated to Tomas to help the physician while he picked up the dagger, intent on finding a fire and heating the blade up for the physician to use.  He and Tomas were in the middle of switching positions when the tent flap opened and Much burst in, out of breath.  A curse fell almost silently from his lips as Much's gaze tracked to where his master was lying prone on the table.

“Master-”

“Much, you need to leave,” Carter stepped forward, blocking Much's attempt to move to his master's side and forcibly shoved him backwards.

“No!  I won't-”

“Come on!” he grabbed the shorter man by the scruff of his chain mail and dragged him outside of the tent, taking the dagger along with him.

“No, no, no, no!  I need to get back inside!  Robin's...” the protests and tears fell from Much's eyes and Carter looked away as he boldly hauled Much to the side, seeing a fire that was burning brightly next to the King's tent, probably on the King's own orders.  He dragged Much next to the fire and finally let him go and he collapsed to the ground, barely keeping in his sobbing gasps.

Carter immediately stuck the blade deep into the embers of the fire before towering over Much, the sudden well of emotion threatening to overwhelm him now that he was out of the tent.  He realized how tight of a grip he had been keeping on his own emotions while he had been inside the tent, to keep himself from even thinking any thoughts of despair or the fact that his friend was in all likelihood going to die from his mortal wound.

There had always been a sense that certain people, like Robin, were destined for greater things that they were not meant to die in this hell hole of a place; a sense of invincibility that shrouded them and made them seemingly invaluable to the cause.  That the two of them along with others of the Private Guard and other Columns were destined to ride with the King to glory and to ultimate victory.  That somehow, each person lost in the battles they fought was not themselves, but others to whom God had called to Heaven.

But that illusion had been shattered.  He knew that he should have seen it coming, that out of all of them, Robin's position as Captain of the Guard was the most precarious, the one fraught with the most danger.  That no matter how much the King loved him like his own son and tried to protect him, it was still his duty and upon his honor that he would ultimately give his life for his liege and lord.  That Robin had fulfilled the ultimate duty he had been commanded to do so, to die protecting his King.

“H-He...told me, to get help.  He was injured, but he told me to get the others...” Much whispered brokenly next to him and Carter looked down at him, seeing the tracks of tears wash away the stains that were on his face.

Anger suddenly filled him as he gripped Much's shoulder, bring the manservant's gaze on him and he shook it roughly.  “He will not die,” he growled out, “have a little faith!”

“But-”

“Much!” Carter knew he was angry at himself, for doubting such things, for even thinking such despairing thoughts.  Robin would survive; he could not die in this place.  He would go home, see to his lands, see to the woman he had spoken rarely of, but had held a deep love for, right next to the love and devotion he had to the King.

Robin's manservant looked at him and Carter was shocked at the depth and pain in his eyes.  “I promised him, you know, promised over his parents' grave before we left Locksley that I would get their son home, that he would be safe.  That he would come back alive.  Now...”

He released the tight grip he had on Much's shoulder and looked away, his eyes searching out the various forms of the camp still reeling from the attack, but nonetheless rallying to where the King was walking amongst his men, guarded by three of the Private Guard.  He noticed that the guards looked visibly tense, and knew that while they were worried of another attack on the King, they were also worried about their Captain and leader.

Robin did not know it, but he inspired these men, and even other men, not including the King himself.  That was how powerful his influence was, however subtle.  He knew by mid-morning, the whole camp would know of the assassination attempt and those that were involved in the defense of the King.

Carter did not know what else to say to Much and angrily pulled out the blade, seeing the metal glow a fiery orange-red.  Shaking his head, he left Much by the fire, lost in his thoughts, and hurried back into the King's tent.  When he entered, he saw that Jacques had already cleaned most of the blood surrounding the ugly looking wound and a pile of blood-red bandages was on the ground.  Both him and Tomas looked up as he entered and he handed the hilt of the blade to the physician who motioned for him to stand by him, holding Robin's arm up so he could work the heated  blade into the gaping flesh.

“Put something in his mouth so he does not bite through his tongue,” the physician ordered and Tomas stuffed a piece of leather hide in between Robin's teeth and tongue, making sure it was secure before the physician plunged the top half of the heated blade into the still bleeding wound.

The effect was immediate as Robin's eyes shot open and a muffled scream emerged from his mouth.  His muscles contracted and his whole body shook as the wound was immediately cauterized.  Carter winced as Robin involuntarily squeezed his hand tightly.

“Hold him, hold him,” the physician muttered in French as he adjusted the blade a few times, the smell of burnt cauterized flesh wafting into the air.  He then took out the blade and pressed the clean end, near the hilt onto the wound itself and Carter watched in morbid fascination, momentarily forgetting the painful vise-like grip Robin had on his own hand, as the remnant blood bubbled and boiled, the edges of his skin curling into little black embers before the physician lifted the blade away from Robin's body and immediately his muscles relaxed.  Carter looked down at his friend just in time to see his eyes roll into the back of his head, falling limp once more.

He quickly put a hand to Robin's neck and found that he still had a pulse, though it was very thready and weak.  He knew his friend may have survived the cauterization procedure, but he was still in danger of dying if the physician's initial attempt did not seal all of the major blood vessels.  He had seen men whose wounds were cauterized in the same fashion, but had dropped dead a few days later because of internal bleeding that the initial cauterization did not seal up all of the major blood vessels.

“Keep him there, I need to sew up the wound,” Jacques murmured quietly, procuring a sharp needle and black thread.  Meanwhile, Tomas had taken the leather out of Robin's mouth, and set it to the side.  The teeth marks were very visible on the leather, a testament to how much pain their mutual friend had endured in the last few minutes.

He absently wiped sweat off of his forehead as he and Tomas watched the physician slowly sew up the gaping wound, Tomas, having the better angle, reached out and occasionally mopped up the blood that was still oozing out of the wound, but not as much as before.  Carter did not know how long he stood there, but he was surprised to be handed a waterskin bag by none other than Much who had come in sometime while the physician was working and drank from the bag gratefully.

He handed it back to Much who then gave it to Tomas then to the physician, all the while silently staring at Robin's unmoving form, his breath shallow, lips and face completely pale.  Some more time passed and the passage of the sun through the morning into the midday and the late afternoon casted shadows upon the tent, but all of it was lost to Carter, Tomas, and the physician Jacques, as they worked to keep Robin alive.

It was late in the afternoon when Jacques finally stepped back from his work and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  Carter twitched a bit as he realized the physician was finished and gently set Robin's arm down, high across his chest and away from his newly sewn up wound, bandages now covering it.  Some blood still leaked through, but it was not as grave as when they had first found Robin on the ground, bleeding to death.

“It is done, milord.  I do not know if he will live through the night, but I have done all that I am able to,” the physician said in a quiet voice.  For a second Carter thought he was addressing him, but looked up and saw that the King had entered and had been standing a bit away from them, but long enough to watch them for a while now.

“I am sorry Your Highness,” he quickly bowed his head, apologizing, “I did not realize you had been waiting-”

“No need for apologies, Captain,” the King waved his comments away before nodding once to Jacques, “thank you for your efforts, Jacques.”

“He will need to be moved to his tent, but the effort will have to be very delicate as his stitchings may rip...”

“He can rest upon the other bed in here,” the King said and Carter saw Tomas' eyes widen in surprise.  He too was a bit shocked to hear such words from his King, but realized that the King saw Robin as nothing less than a surrogate son.

“Yes milord,” Jacques bowed his head slightly before gesturing to him, Tomas, and Much to help him move Robin to the spare bed in the King's tent.

After they had moved Robin and had made him comfortable, while still leaving him on his side, the King gestured for them to clean up and Carter did so with the utmost reluctance.  As soon as he stepped out side along with Tomas, Much having stubbornly refused to leave his ailing master's side, the second-in-command of the Private Guard situated himself outside the King's tent, standing at attention and resolute.

“I'm not moving,” Tomas gave him an even look and Carter understood the man's intentions.

“I will find food for us both,” he replied before heading towards his own tent to clean up and at least get some food into himself, having not eaten since he was woken up by the attack on the King.

About an hour later he returned, feeling a little more refreshed and handed Tomas his portion of the salted and dried pork along with some bread and cheese.  The two of them ate in silence and after Tomas was done he silently indicated that he was going to clean himself up before returning to his post.  Carter did not say anything and watched as he left, looking ten years older than his real age of his early forties.  Robin injured had to weigh heavily upon him, especially since it was Tomas who had recommended the young noble to lead the Private Guard, having turned down the prominent position, his reasoning being that he was getting old and would probably meet his end in less than a few years in the Holy Lands.

But Tomas had mentored Robin throughout his first year as they traveled to the Holy Lands, a guide and if Carter had to put a relationship between the young Captain and his second-in-command, it would be a grandfatherly one.  He supposed that with Robin incapacitated Tomas would be gathering the rest of the Private Guard together to discuss what would be happening in the near future and to bury the four others that had died before Robin had chased off the lone assassin.

From his own manservant Jordan, he had learned that the Private Guard and knights sent off to chase after the fleeing assassin had not caught him, losing him in one of the small villages on the outskirts between Acre and Arsuf.  The local population had been willing to let the men search their homes, but even then they had not found the assassin and had returned empty handed.

When Much had shouted that assassins were attacking the King, his thoughts had strayed immediately to Altaїr and his Masyaf-based assassins, but that thought had perished just as quickly when he realized that it made no sense for the Masyaf assassins to attack the King, much less kill him.  It had to be Saladin's personal assassins then.  Sent to harass the King even as they received reports that Saladin himself had disbanded at least half of his army and entrenched himself in winter quarters.

He knew that the King was close to launching a massive offensive to push towards Jerusalem once more, hoping to take advantage of the lack of troops to capture the city before the year was out and before winter befell them.  His own contacts told him that the time was ripe and Saladin was not expecting an attack.  He had only relayed the information to the King just days ago.

Perhaps Saladin did expect an attack which would be reason why he sent a small band of men to attack them yesterday, but even that was negligible...or it would serve as a nice distraction since everyone who fought would have celebrated the night before and be exhausted through the next morning.  His thoughts swirled darkly and on a slightly confusing path as he tried to figure out the reason behind the latest assassination attempt. 

He peeked into the tent and to his surprise saw the King, standing over Robin's prone form, holding one of his hands, just quietly talking.  For a moment, Carter thought his friend had died until he saw that Robin still breathed shallow breaths.  Much was nowhere nearby and he thought the King probably had sent him away on an errand of sorts.

In the barest of candlelight, the King struck an unusual image, and Carter was about to turn away once more to give him his privacy when the King's voice rose just slightly.

“...to the Grace of God and of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, may you find His healing grace.  I have failed you, my son, my ward, and have allowed harm to come upon your gentle soul.

“I had thought it to protect you by sending you away from me, away from this war, seeing a kindred soul in the unlikeliest of places, an assassin.  I sent to you my eyes and ears to make sure you were well, that you were not targeted, but alas, it is of my shortcomings and my own pride that I have led you into the very danger I have been trying to protect you from.”

The King placed Robin's hand back by his side, and bowed his head, “For that, I apologize and may God forgive this humble soul.”

Carter suddenly spun on his heel, backing out of the tent as the King turned towards him at the same time and hoped that the King did not notice him in his private moment with Robin.  A few seconds later the King stepped out of his tent and looked at him, his sharp eyes giving no indication that he had seen him peeking in, but the frown on his face spoke otherwise.

He opened his mouth to apologize when the King held up his hand, silencing him.  “Send word to the Hashashin in Masyaf.  If Robin survives the night, he will need a place to recover before he returns to England.”

“Milord?” Carter was confused.

“The campaign will be won,” the King's eyes were as hard as steel, “and those left behind will understand.”

“Sire,” he instinctively straightened as he understood the King's orders.  King Richard was even more hard pressed to capture Jerusalem now, and though was reluctant to leave behind his favorite soldier and guard; he was also allowing Robin the freedom to finally return home, considering him having won his glory and honor by fighting at his side.  Carter also understood that it was the King's intention of ultimately protecting Robin by sending him away from the bloody battlefield, back to the peaceful lands of England where he would be able to fully recover and await their return.

He also knew that if Robin survived and got better from his injury, he would not be too happy with his King's decision, but then again, he would also not protest it.  But the King also understood that should his Captain of the Private Guard survive, he needed a safe haven for the time being to recover until he was strong enough to make the journey.  Based on what Carter had been telling him, Acre was no safe haven and ironically, the only place that could even be considered a safe haven was with the fabled assassins of Masyaf.  The place that Carter did not want to see again.

When he had left to report to the King of the mission's success after their rescue of Robin from the bowels of the Hospitalier Fortress, he had heard from his contacts that  Altaїr had not immediately return to Masyaf as he had thought the assassin would do so and instead had stayed within Acre until Robin had woken up.  His first thought was that the master assassin stayed because of Maria, but even his contacts had said that Maria had disappeared somewhere soon after their mission was completed and could not be found.  It was then that he realized that though the assassin could have left, he stayed to make sure that Robin had recovered properly – something he could not wrap his mind around.  Perhaps he had been wrong about the assassin, but such thoughts were so alien and foreign to him.

He would never forgive the Masyaf assassins for what they had done to his men, but had come to accept that Robin and perhaps even the King saw them in a slightly different light than he did.

Now it seemed that God had decided for him to be the bearer of the ironic news, for him to ask the assassins to take Robin as he recovered while the King pressed on to Jerusalem.  Bowing his head to his King, he inclined his head once, “As you wish sire, it shall be done immediately.”

                                    *                      *                      *

Days later, three white-robed scholars, not assassins, but real scholars arrived at the King's camp just as the men were preparing to head further south in their push to Jerusalem and took Robin and his manservant Much away from the camp, headed northwestwards towards Masyaf.  It was a quiet affair, only overseen by Carter and Tomas who had formally taken command of the Private Guard in a short ceremony just a day before the scholars' arrival.  Some of the other members of the Private Guard had come to see their former Captain, still unconscious, off, but many of them understood the urgency of pressing on to Jerusalem.

However, as the cart and horse bearing Robin headed away from camp, some would say that the King stood upon the highest point of his own camp, watching like a solitary figure until the white robes, horses, and cart could not be seen in the watery-mirage of the desert.

The Crusade to capture Jerusalem continued.

                                    *                      *                      *

There were no loudly chirping birds this time to awaken Robin suddenly from his sleep, but instead, he felt himself slowly awaken and opened his eyes to once again, unfamiliar surroundings.  However, he did not feel the startled panic he thought he would feel upon wakening to such circumstances, but instead a sense of peace and tranquility.  He blinked his eyes a few times and looked around as best as he could without moving.  Wide arched ceilings with beautiful stone-worked carvings surrounded him and he had a sense that he knew this place, even though it seemed unfamiliar.  A mild, but not terribly cold breeze blew in from the windows, and Robin shivered, pulling up the blankets that had been covering him before he paused as his left arm raked across what felt like rough stitching near his armpit.

He sat up gingerly, but found that his head wasn't dizzied or nor did he feel particularly tired.  In fact, he felt completely refreshed and energized something that puzzled him.  He was wearing a loose linen shirt and lifted the left side of the shirt to see that the wound he knew he had received from the assassin who was attacking the King was stitched up in a professional fashion.  That meant...he had survived even though he swore that he felt like he was dying at that time from so much blood lost.

Touching the stitching gently, he found to his surprise that it did not hurt one bit and tentatively lifted his arm.  The movement and stretching of his muscles and skin in that area also did not hurt.  He mentally shrugged before looking around the room he was in and a smile slowly worked its way up his face.  It was not as impressive as the room he had first stayed in during his first night in Masyaf, but he recognized the stonework, shelves of books, and furniture design anywhere.

However the smile slowly disappeared as he wondered if he was here in Masyaf, then where was the King?  His eyes spotted a small envelope sitting on the end table next to his bed, along with a pitcher and cup of water and a plate full of something he did not quite recognize, but smelled of spices.  Reaching over, he picked up the envelope and saw that it was a folded parchment, sealed with the King's own circular seal.

He briefly remembered the campaign that where his King's first square ring had broken during fierce combat and he had it remade with a circular seal.  The seal was not broken, which meant no one else read what was in the letter.

It was addressed to him and he tentatively opened it, taking care not to break the seal in half.  He recognized the King's loopy script and scanned its contents:

I, King Richard of England and the Norman Lands, Count of Anjou, Duke of Normandy, Count of Maine, and Duke of Aquitaine hereby release Captain Robin of Locksley, Lord of the Locksley and Bonchurch lands, Knight of the English realm from his duties to the Crown and Church of participation in this Holy Crusade with full honors and titles bestowed upon his persons for bravery, heroism, and honor fought by his King's side.

His lands shall be reinstated upon his return to English soil and therefore act in my stead until such return.

There was another seal of the King followed by his signature and Robin was about to fold up the letter once more when he noticed a smaller piece of parchment near the bottom of the original one.  Frowning, he took that small one out and found that it was a more personal letter addressed solely to him.

May God look favorably upon your safe return to your homeland, Robin.  Your service to your King has done more for this holy war we have been fighting and for your King than you can ever imagine.  I send you now, to return to what you have so long lived for; I send you back to her.

Robin saw a splotch on the parchment before he realized that it was his own tear that had fallen upon the smaller piece of parchment.  He quickly wiped away the tears of either joy or sadness he couldn't tell by the torrent of emotions within him as he re-read what his King had personally written to him.  Never had he felt such fealty and devotion from his liege and lord before and had not realized how much the King valued him and his contribution to the Crusade.

He had rarely spoken of Marian to the King, and did not realize that his King had actually remembered her.  For his last words that the King was sending him back to Marian, it touched him greatly to know that his King understood why he had joined the Crusade and swore to protect him.

Folding the parchment back up gingerly once more, he set it back on the table, and took a deep breath.  He finally understood his King's intentions...and a sense of sadness filled him.  His King had considered him like a son, something he had not realized in all of his years serving him.  That sending him on his investigation of Robert de Sable's treachery was a mission of vital importance, something he needed to verify, even though Carter was providing him with information.  He realized that it was also a way for his King to protect him, or at least he thought it was.  When they made the alliance with the Hashashin, once again, his King thought to protect him by leaving him with Altaїr and the other Hashashin, expecting that their fierce reputation would allow no harm to come to him.

But his King had realized that he had grossly overestimated the seriousness of the Templar threat and the hidden war that had erupted between the two factions since the death of de Sable.  So he had returned to the King's camp to continue his duties and it ended with the attack upon the King himself by assassins who, in Robin's opinion, were probably sent by Salah al-Din.

Another curious thought occurred to him.  In all of this...his mysterious assassin friend, Altaїr, had seemingly also tried to keep him away from harm, to protect him if his thoughts were correct.  He frowned mostly to himself, lost in thought.  It was a curious thought, but one he would never voice to the assassin or to his King.  If it was the truth, he knew that neither of them would confirm it due to their pride, and if it was the truth, speaking it out loud would make him seem pompous and ungrateful.

Shaking his head, clearing all previous thoughts away, Robin gingerly got out of bed, and to his pleasant surprise, was able to stand with little to no problem at all.  He had heard of the wonders of medicine in the Holy Lands and it seemed that the rumors had some truth to them.  His wound did not hurt as much and he knew from that sheer amount of blood loss, he would have had dizziness and lack of energy to stand, much less sit up and read anything.

Looking around the room once more, he spotted a small bowl filled with water along with a clean linen towel and some of the clothes he had originally worn before the Crusader emblem and the King's emblem became his daily wear in the Holy Lands.  That had to be Much's work he supposed as he found his pack sitting next to his clothes along with the familiar Saracen curved bow and his pack of arrows and longsword.  Taking the letter of discharge written by the King from the table, he walked over to the pack and placed it carefully in, making sure that it was secure, yet easily accessible should anyone ask why he was not serving the King in the Holy Lands.

He quickly cleaned up and changed into the fresher clothes, feeling a lot more comfortable.  Glancing over to his bow and arrows, he decided against strapping them on, knowing that he was safe in Masyaf.  However, he still carried the small knife in his boot; experience long told him never to go anywhere unarmed, no matter what.  Heading out of his room, he found himself in a slightly unfamiliar corridor, having not been in this area of the keep in both of his brief stays at the fortress.

His confusion was saved as he saw an assassin apprentice approach, carrying what seemed to be clean sheets of linen and other assortment of things.  “Excuse me, can you direct me to Altaїr?” he asked the apprentice gently in Arabic, so as not to startle him.

The apprentice looked at him with wide eyes before nodding and pointing down the direction he had come from, “Master Altaїr is currently in the great hall, though he has asked no one to disturb him.”

“Thank you,” Robin had no intention of following the assassin's request, but nonetheless smiled slightly at the apprentice, “then do you know where my manservant, Much, is?  He is of pale skin and-”

“Oh, the one whom the children always chase around and pepper with food, him,” the apprentice smiled, “he is out in the village square the last time I saw him, about a few hours ago.  I do not know what game he was teaching the children, but it required them to freeze into place when touched.”

Robin had to laugh a little at the image of Much trying to teach the children the game of freeze tag.  It was something he and the others in Locksley used to play when they were just children.  He was one of the best at evading anyone's touch along with one of the young village boys, Will Scarlett, he believed.  The two of them had gotten so good one day that it had ended in a slight rough and tumble mock fight between the two of them with the rest of the children cheering on.

“Thank you again,” Robin said before heading down the stairs that the apprentice had come up to, intent on first finding Altaїr before Much.

He soon arrived at the great hall, this time from a different direction and looked up at the grand majesty of the giant keep before spotting the familiar white-robed figure of Altaїr sitting by a desk surrounded by bookcases.  An odd light was shining upon his face and from his angle; he could not quite tell what was making that light.  It certainly did not flicker like candlelight, and the daylight sun that was streaming into the windows and wide-open area was too bright for a candle to be lit.

Shrugging mostly to himself, he passed the silent sentries on duty and approached   the master assassin.  It was only when he got closer, he realized that the eerie light was emanating from a small spherical object sitting on the table and that the light looked familiar.  His widened with horror as he realized that his friend was staring at a Piece of Eden...  A sense of urgency filled Robin as he moved forward, to bat the Piece away, not to let Altaїr of all people become corrupted as he did by the Piece and kill innocents or even anyone else for that matter.

“It is perfectly safe, Robin of Locksley,” the master assassin suddenly spoke up, his voice calm and quiet and Robin halted mid-stride.

He opened his mouth to protest when he stared again at his friend and saw that indeed, it did not look like he was possessed by any psychopathic tendencies.  Instead,  Altaїr was sitting by the Piece, occasionally glancing at it, but mostly writing something on pieces of what looked like heavy paper, a small stack of them already by his side.

“The fabled Apple of  Eden, or so the Templars seem to call it,” Altaїr did not look up at him, continuing writing his notes and Robin stepped a bit closer, still wary of the eerie light emanating from the spherical Piece, but nonetheless curious.

“But I thought...”

“It is not easy to control, but with a strong will, one is able to manage it,” as Robin drew closer, he was able to see that while Altaїr was remaining calm and collected in all outward appearances, he did see small beads of sweat and the slight tightness of his jaw muscles as he continued to write down his notes.  Robin knew that his friend was lying through his teeth, but did not call him out on it.  A few minutes later, Altaїr reached up and gently touched the Piece and the light suddenly died.  He pretended to ignore the slight breath of relief from his friend and instead, looked at the spherical object closely.

It was beautifully designed and carved he had to admit.  It was a piece of artwork with a metallic sheen to it that looked completely foreign, ancient, yet so futuristic at the same time.  He dared not touch it, having learned from his own experience with the partial Piece of Eden.  If this was a whole Piece, then he did not know how it would react to him.

Sliding his gaze to the pieces of paper, he picked up one from the small pile and saw that it was a sketch of sorts and realized it was a sketch of the hidden assassin blade that Altaїr and the other assassins wore except it looked a little different.  “Did you get this from...that?” he indicated the paper and the Piece as his friend started to gather up his papers and inkwell.

“Yes,” Altaїr replied, “it shows things...the past, present, even what seems like future events.”

“That is dangerous,” Robin did not know what his friend was talking about but all he knew that something like the Piece of Eden should not be taken so lightly.

A soft chuckle of laughter issued from Altaїr, surprising Robin as he finished gathering all of his papers and took the one that Robin held in his hands before gingerly picking up the Piece of Eden and placed it in a small satchel.  “Malik says the same thing every other day,” the assassin headed away from the table in the corner of the hall and towards another opened spaced area where shelves of books were placed along with a few pigeon coops.

Robin frowned, scratching the back of his head, “I hate to agree with him, but he may be correct.  You said so yourself, that only a strong will and mind can control it...  What happens if one day-”

“It is necessary,” Altaїr interrupted him in a sudden burst of irritation, his voice steely cold, eyes flashing a warning at him as he set the papers amongst some books before placing the satchel inside an ornate box on the shelf and locked it.

Robin could tell that if he said anymore about the Piece and its corrupting influence, it would only serve to increase the anger and annoyance the assassin probably felt after so many constant warnings from Malik.  Instead, he shook his head, “Fine, I warned you.”

Stony silence greeted him back before Altaїr adjusted something and turned to him, “I apologize, Robin, it is something that has been a somewhat contentious issue amongst the other Hashashin.  I appreciate the warning, however, I also believed it to be necessary, especially with the recent viewings that led us to discover a more efficient way of treating battlefield wounds and even use explosives to our advantage.”

“Explosives?  You mean black powder?” he asked, curious.  He had heard of the fabled ingredient used by the Turkish armies in the north and heard rumors that it was supposedly created by the mystics in the Orient.

“After a fashion,” was all the master assassin said, “The point is that with careful viewing, the Piece of Eden is a resource that can be utilized in the war against the Templars.”

A part of Robin wanted to ask if the Templars were really truly still a greater threat than before, after the death of Armand Bouchart, and the slaughter at the Hospitalier fortress, but hearing the seriousness in Altaїr’s voice told him that the Hashashin still believed it to be so.  It was also then that he realized that this war between the two factions, unlike King Richard’s Crusade, was probably to continue even after he had passed from the mortal world.

And it seemed that Altaїr understood the implications too, hence his reasoning for studying the Piece of Eden and taking notes on what he had seen in it.  He was preparing for the future generations, to try to give his children and the children of the other Hashashin a chance against the Templars.  When he had shown him the pebble-sized Piece of Eden back in Acre, he had said it was only a partial Piece, possibly connected to a staff that was the full Piece of Eden.

That meant that there was more than one, and the grave inference that the staff was more than likely in Templar hands was assured.  “Did you discover what they were doing with the Pieces of Eden?” he asked, curious.

“No,” the assassin replied, “but judging by the prisoners at the fortress and the fact that they had only a partial Piece of Eden, they were perhaps testing the limits of what could be used to influence someone.  To make them see what they want to them to see.”

Robin could see that Altaїr was being careful with his words, and while he appreciated the fact that his friend refrained from outright saying what had happened in the bowels of the fortress, the facts were still the facts.  He had killed and murdered innocents while under the Piece’s influence and had enjoyed it.  It made him highly uncomfortable, but it was something he did not want to confront at the moment.

“So there may be a staff out there that is a Piece of Eden?” he turned the conversation back to the Piece itself.

“Yes,” Altaїr nodded, “but it should be of no concern for you.”

“What…” Robin did not get to finish his question when his friend gave him the ghost of a smile.

“You have been given leave to return to your homeland, have you not?” his friend asked.

“Yes, but-“

“Then the wars and battles fought here are no longer your concern,” was the simple reply.

Robin was about to reply when a messenger hurried up the stairs and said something in rapid Arabic that he did not quite catch.  However, he saw the narrowing of Altaїr’s eyes before he nodded once and waved a hand to dismiss the messenger who scurried away quickly.  “We will have to continue this another time,” the dismissal was evident and Robin shook his head.

“We will,” he made sure that his friend heard the finality in his voice.  Even though it seemed like Altaїr was rejecting his offer to help the Hashashin in their mission to stop the Templars, he still did not believe that they would so easily let him off the hook, so to speak.  He wanted to help, was even willing to offer his skills and services, but instead, his friend had essentially told him to go home.

Shaking his head and leaving Altaїr to his newest business, he headed down the stairs and out of the main keep and towards the village below.  As he walked, he realized that for essentially thinking that he was going to die from such a wound, he was surprisingly stronger.  He knew from experience that stitchings were supposed to hurt after a while or at least he was supposed to feel some kind of pain, but he was feeling pretty well.

He recalled the conversation he just had with his friend and realized that Altaїr had looked into the Apple of Eden for any way to help him heal and survive.  That thought in particular stopped him in his tracks; nearly making a few jar carriers crash into his back and more than one indignant remark in Arabic was thrown at him as the villagers passed by him.

The letter his King had written to him included in his writ of discharge explained everything.  In fact, it explained a lot of things.  His King had sent him to investigate Robert de Sable because not only did his King trusted him, but also wanted to protect him.  That much he gathered from the conversation he had with his King when Carter was revealed to be the King’s personal spy.  Then it was surely not an accident when the King sent Carter with him.  King Richard had ordered Carter to protect him at what he suspected was probably any and all cost.

Then there was his King, asking him to stay behind and serve with the Hashashin.  He had thought it was because he had been the one to investigate the deaths of those that Altaїr killed, but in hindsight, it seemed that his King was once again, trying to protect him.  Except his King did not know the full extent of the war that was being fought between the Hashashin and the Templars.

Either way, Altaїr had done the same as his King and Carter did, try to protect him as much as possible by limiting what he could do during the investigation in Damascus.  But his assassin friend did not anticipate the treachery and depth of betrayal the Templars had planted amongst the Hashashin, or the fact that they had been watching them ever since the initial investigation.  And that had resulted in his capture and torture by the hands of the enemy.

He wondered if the Templars had thought that by capturing him, they thought that they would try to get to the master assassin.  An absurd thought, one that was hardly even worth thinking about.  He had long learned in the Holy Lands, it was to watch out for ones’ self and no one else.  No, the Templars had been targeting them both and it was through his own stupidity and inept planning that he had fallen into their trap.

Still, he appreciated the rescue mounted by his friends and the sacrifices they had made just to free him from the corrupt Piece of Eden.  But now, he realized that his King and even Altaїr to some extent, was trying to protect him once more by sending him home; to let an old soldier like him rest.  He did not know what he had done to deserve such friendship and devotion, but he realized that it was he, who was ultimately selfish should he squander what was given to him.

With a much lighter heart and more pleasant thoughts in his mind, he started off again to find Much.  He would rest and recover in Masyaf until he was stronger, then he would do as his King had bidden him and return home.

                                    *                      *                      *

By Robin’s reckoning it was just a few days after the New Year, 1192, when he felt like he was strong enough to make the journey back to England.  Through the weeks he had stayed in Masyaf, there were days when he had felt his wound throb in pain, but it was temporary as the healers and physicians of the Hashashin had quickly remedied his discomfort with potions and liquid concoctions of sorts.  His stichings had come off a week after his initial conversation with Altaїr and though the wound had fully healed, there was still an ugly pocketmarked scar, something the healer attending to him had said was due to the initial treatment he had received back in the King’s camp before those stitchings were taken out and his wound re-treated and stitched up once more by them.

In the weeks following, he had spent some of his time in the keep’s libraries, or even talking with some of the other Hashashin.  But more often than not, he had found himself in the combat ring, testing out his skill with the other trainees who were all the more eager to train with him.  They had taught him a few new tricks with their curved blades and he in turn had taught them to fight with the longsword.

To Robin’s surprise, Altaїr himself had occasionally entered the ring and sparred with him.  In those times, it seemed that the trainees and crowd around the combat ring had grown larger, but Robin did not care, too focused on the sparring session with his friend than anything else.  To his chagrin, each time he and Altaїr had fought, it was always the assassin who won.  But then again, Robin understood that he had grown up to kill and to fight with his sword.

So in the latter weeks of his stay in Masyaf, he had counter-challenged Altaїr to shoot targets with bows and arrows and had won those contests with the barest of ease.  On the occasion he was not sparring in the combat ring or in the libraries, he was with Much in the village, the village children having taken a shine to his manservant, always asking him in their broken English to come play with them.

It seemed that this time, in his and Much’s stay with the Hashashin, everyone embraced them as their own so the night before Robin felt ready to leave, he found his friend, once again in a desk in the corner of the central room of the keep, studying the Piece of Eden.

But this time, instead of reprimanding him, Robin just watched, staring curiously at the light that emanated from the Apple, wondering what his friend saw in it.  A few seconds later, he thought he saw the ghostly image of a horse running across the light and rubbed his eyes before staring at it again.  No…this time he was sure it was the ghostly image of a horse…a rider on top of it, curved Saracen sword waving in a battle cry.  He did not recognize who the rider was…but somehow, the rider looked oddly familiar.

Just then, Altaїr placed his hand on top of the Apple, and the light disappeared.  Robin blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie and saw his friend look up at him, his eyes curious.  Even at night, his friend still wore his ever present assassin’s hood, hiding his eyes and a majority of his face.  But he knew that if their paths ever crossed again, and Altaїr had his hood off, then Robin would instantly recognize his friend anywhere.

“You have come to say your farewells?” how his friend knew Robin would never figure it out, but nodded all the same.

“Yes,” he replied, “Much and I will leave for Acre tomorrow and take a ship to Sicily.  From there, make my way across land to my King’s French territories and to England.”

“I will send word to the bureau to secure a ship for your passage to Sicily,” Altaїr replied getting up and gathering his notes once more.

“Thank you,” Robin was grateful for the securing of a safe passage to Scily, especially since he did not know if Acre was still under Templar control.  “And thank you, for everything.”

“Not everything yet, friend,” he watched as the assassin placed the Piece and notes back where they belonged before gesturing for him to follow him.  Curious and wondering what the assassin was now up to, he followed him outside, the only light the two of them had was the torch lights flickering this way and that.  Altaїr led him down the stone steps and to the combat ring of all places.

“One more for the record?” Robin asked he saw him pick up two swords, and tossed him a curved Saracen blade, taking the other slightly curved, but long one for himself.  He caught the hilt neatly with one hand and flourished it once, stepping into the ring as Altaїr took the other side.

Not surprisingly the master assassin did not reply and instead, saluted him with the flat of his blade to his face before suddenly charging at him.  In the inky darkness, and flickering torch light, it was hard to see the where he came from, but Robin had too much experience fighting in darkness to let it bother him and watched for the glint of Altaїr’s blade and the brightness of his white robes.

He smiled tightly and parried the first blow before lashing out with his own, swiping across where he thought the assassin’s head would be.  His arc clanged violently against Altaїr’s parry before he swirled his sword around in a circle and broke it.  Kicking out with his right leg, he felt part of his heel catch against the white cloth and knew that he had almost caught the assassin.

He brought his sword up once more in another clanging parry, before pushing ahead.  Scuffling his feet, he lunged, feeling the wind brush past the top of his hair and knew he had ducked a sideways swipe that was meant to take his head off.  Suddenly he found himself eating the dirt as a hand pushed him to the ground, flinging him off balance from his lunge.

He rolled to his right and sprang up on his heels once more, eyes narrowed and searching out for – there!  Swinging several times, he found each of his swipes was missing just by a hair before managing to clash swords once more with Altaїr in a stalemate.  The assassin broke the stalemate and shoved his elbow into Robin’s face, determined to strike him quickly across his cheek, but he was ready for such a move and brought his free arm up, locking his wrist against Altaїr’s elbow, trapping him.

“Too familiar,” he barked out, laughing, slightly out of breath, but nonetheless saw a full grin on his friend’s face, just as his world suddenly upended and Robin saw stars appear in front of his eyes as his head impacted the sandy ground.

He immediately rolled to his right and pushed himself up as Altaїr stabbed downwards and held his sword aloft, twirling it once in his right hand, his left hovering close to the hilt, but far enough to keep his balance.  His breath came in quick gasps, but he forced himself to calm his breathing down, to focus on the assassin in front of him.  His friend suddenly lashed out in a wide arc with both hands, stepping towards him and Robin brought his sword up in an upwards parry, when he suddenly realized he had left himself open to a second attack through his middle as Altaїr’s left arm had not been holding his sword.  He had only attacked with one hand!

Robin gritted his teeth, awaiting the inevitable blow when just as suddenly his friend stepped back and sheathed his sword, leaving him confused.  He lowered his sword and stared dumbly at him.  “You knew I was completely open…why did you not finish it?”

“Because, I wanted to test you,” his friend replied before suddenly tossing him something.

In the flickering torch light, it was hard to see, but nonetheless, Robin caught it and examined it as best as he could.  He instantly recognized the texture and feel of the object and knew it was pebble-sized.  Looking up at the master assassin he held out the object.  “This is…it is…” he stuttered, “I cannot have this!”

“It is the partial Piece of Eden which you had used in Acre,” Altaїr stated bluntly, “the same one you now hold in your hand.”

“But…” Robin felt repulsed to be holding such a thing.

“I wanted to test you, to make sure you were ready,” his friend said cryptically.

“Test me for what purpose?”

“The Templars know that the Hashashin already possess the Apple of Eden.  They may already know that we also possess part of another Piece of Eden.  We would like you to take this particular Piece as far away from this battlefield, to protect it and to guard it with your life.  You had proven yourself just now that you are no longer corrupted by the Piece nor does it hold sway over you,” his friend replied before gesturing to his curved Saracen blade, “do you not recognize this blade you hold?”

Robin lifted the blade slightly in his hand, seeing its white handle, brown stylized pommel.  Its shape was broad and wide and he realized where he had seen the sword before.  He had used it upon the innocents and prisoners of the Templars after slaughtering the guard who owned it.  It was the same blade, combined with the Piece of Eden he now held that had killed so many in Acre.

“…Yes…” he whispered, a wave of sorrow filling him.  It was then he also realized that this was what he wanted to do.  To remember; like the Saracen bow he owned, it was a reminder of how close he had come to losing his King through an arrow shot by an assassin.  His scar was a reminder of how close he had come to dying for his King.  This sword and this Piece of Eden were reminders of how close he had come to losing his soul to the devil.  It was also a reminder of how much it had taken his friends to bring him back to his senses.  These objects and so much more, including the lessons he had learned in his time serving with the King, they were not to be forgotten, but remembered.

A hesitant smile appeared on his lips as he hefted the sword and the Piece and looked at his friend, “Are you sure?”

Altaїr nodded once, “I believe you will guard the Piece before it would fall into the wrong hands.”

Robin held up the small pebble-sized Piece of Eden, “I will not use it.”

“That I do believe,” his friend replied, “which is why it is safer in your hands than in my own.”

That startling admission made Robin blink in surprise before he nodded, understanding that the normally recalcitrant and reserved assassin would rarely admit anything, even to his friends.  Closing his fingers around the Piece, he sheathed his sword and bowed slightly to the master assassin.

“Thank you, Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad, for all that you have done for me.  Salaam, my friend.”

“Safety and peace be with you, Robin of Locksley.”

And so the next morning, Robin and Much set out for Acre, bidding Masyaf and the Holy Lands farewell, never to see the sandy deserts or beautiful oasis of the land for the rest of their lives.  Roughly three months later, around March of 1192, they arrived at the outskirts of Nottinghamshire…

Three days after their arrival at the outskirts, Robin was branded an outlaw.

And so, the legend of Robin Hood had begun.

~END~

Historical Notes:

-         Richard the Lionhearted made a desperate push to Jerusalem around late 1191, having heard that Saladin had disbanded half of his army and had retired to winter quarters.  Saladin, having found out Richard’s plans tried to stop him by sending some men, but they were killed.  He only made it 12 miles near the city before having to withdraw for the winter.

-         Around the same time, Conrad of Montferrat was becoming an annoyance to Richard and sometime early 1192 (though it is not proven) two of the fabled Hashashin went to assassinate Conrad.  The two assassins were quickly captured, one was executed immediately while the other confessed to the deed, but not to whom hired them.

-         King Richard was known for his generosity and kindheartedness to his soldiers, though he did not quite care for the peasantry (especially since he didn’t even bother to learn that much English being the English king and all).  He was also childless when he died, so I took the slightly creative liberty of having him see Robin as a son of sorts…

TV Show Notes:

-         As depicted in the episode “Tattoo, What Tattoo?” Robin is mortally wounded in his attempt to save the King from “assassins” whom in reality we find out later in the episode, was Guy of Gisborne and people he worked with for Prince John to kill his brother.  It seems logical that this be set before Richard made his push towards Jerusalem and thus had an excuse to leave Robin behind.

Assassin’s Creed Notes:

-         From the events of AC2, we already know that Altaїr has been taking peeks and glimpses into the Piece of Eden for hints.  I depicted that with the rescue of using explosives, his inferring of advance medicines to heal Robin of his mortal wound, and the start of his codex.  I believe that Altaїr first probably wrote his codex with regular script before slowly coding them so only his fellow Assassins knew about it.

-         The one that Robin was looking at is in fact one of the first codex pages Ezio Auditore, the hero of AC2 finds and gives to his friend Leonardo Da Vinci to decipher.  I also inferred the mention of the papal staff as a Piece of Eden from AC2.

Author’s Final Notes:

            Basically, this story came out of the inspiration and positive reviews of Silence.  Plus, I had wanted to write a backstory between Altaїr and Robin when I started planning The Assassin’s Gift.  The result was this story you have now just finished.  However, Robin and Altaїr’s adventures are not quite done yet as there is one more set of stories concluding the friendship between the two.  The King Richard Trilogy is being planned and written as of this posting, and can be found in the Robin Hood section of the website instead of crossovers.

            For my loyal readers and reviewers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your comments and appreciation for this massive story that I’ve written.  Please, if you have not left a review yet, please let me know how you feel and feel free to ask any questions you want of this story or any other stories that I’ve written.  Thank you and I will see all of you in my next offering of Robin Hood!

-Shadow Chaser, 5/10/10.