Chapter Text
I don’t normally whine, but when I did…I made sure to be annoying, “Can we stop now? I’m dying here. I’m suffocating or something; please can we take a break?” I dragged my feet in the sand, kicking up little clouds of dust at the back of Altair’s feet. The stifling heat seemed only to affect me, both Malik and Altair casually walking beside me, the dogs taking advantage of the tall shadows. Many times there were quick dips into crowded corners or dark alleyways, hyperaware of the guards prowling the sandy streets. At some point my legs buckled underneath me, Dimmu and Veli stopping by my side to nudge at my face with slightly damp noses when I dropped to the ground.
"It's only a few more feet. You can rest inside." Malik reassured me and trying to pull me to my feet. I let him pull me up, huffing but trudging on after Altair who was a few feet ahead, arms crossed again and tapping his foot.
"You are very slow." Altair's monotonous voice cut over the murmur of the city when I walked past him, “You’re going the wrong way.” He nodded to the door in the alley of the stone building.
“Why didn't you just say so…” I mutter pushing through the door, shoving it back to close in his face. I could hear Altair’s arguing voice on the other side of the barrier, Malik’s calmer voice finishing the conversation as he entered the room.
“Feel free to relax in here. We’ll be through there,” Malik pointed to the open doorway. “There are pillows for you to lie on and the fountain water is fresh, I promise.” Malik pressed his hand into Altair’s arm to make him walk into the separated room, waving idly as he exited as well. I looked around the short room, sitting on a few of the cushions near the fountain, touching the relatively cool, clear water in the white basin. Candles lit around the room created a soft glow in the room. The dogs lapped greedily from the fountain, fluffy maws soaked as they investigated the new area.
“More interesting then collecting empty traps, huh boy?” Veli stood in the doorway, ears perked before returning the cushions. Dimmu shook small cloud of sand off his coat, continuing to pace around.
“Girl, get in here!” That arrogant voice was grating on my nerves, a low growl in my chest at being treated so rudely. I shuffled into the adjacent room reluctantly to find Malik leaning against the counter, Altair standing against the opposing wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and an elder man in white robes with a black robe over it behind a counter.
“You could try to using my name, you know, if you don’t want everyone to assume you're an asshole.” I sneered at the egotistical assassin.
“You should learn your place.” He stepped up to me and tried to stare me down. Like I’m scared— ok, maybe a little… I tried not to appear frightened by his imposing stance.
“What kind of world do you live in?” I was a few comments away from taking off my boot and attempting to swing it at his head, if only I wasn’t afraid I’d never get it back. I turned to the more polite company in the room, ignoring Altair's huffing beside me. Malik was looking at me with an unsure look but he couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face.
“I hate to interrupt,” I turned my attention to the black robed man behind the counter, the presumed proprietor of this building. “I am the Rafiq of this bureau. These two tell me that you claim blood relations to Sire. Is this true?”
I nodded, “Uh, yeah. Do you know where he is?” I put on my best pout, trying to persuade the Rafiq.
“Now, don’t try and pull that trick on me,” Damn… “Whether or not you can see him, is not my decision, but Al Mualim’s. He will be the one deciding what is to be done about you.” I sighed and dropped my head on the countertop, how did I not expect that? Lovely, more men…
Malik placed a hand on my shoulder, “I will be sending a messenger bird back to the fortress and ask what our next course of action should be. In the meantime, you will have to stay here.”
Wait a minute… “What if he doesn’t want to see me? What will he do?”
Malik frowned, glancing at the Rafiq then to me, “We’d have to get rid of you… you know more than you should, we can’t just let you go.” Fuck me. This place just wants to suck the life out of you.
“So I’m basically waiting here to die?” I whined, whose bright idea was it to put me here?
“No need to be so morbid, little one, I doubt the Master would be so hasty as to order your death—"
"But it's not out of line if he did?" My comment was promptly ignored.
“From what I’ve been told, you have caused no harm. It is against our creed to kill an innocent.” The Rafiq basically offered me a shrug and a 'what else can you?' as an answer.
Seriously…? Despite my obvious bad mood, the Rafiq offered me a gentle smile. I almost returned it until I heard that snarky voice.
“I don’t see why he would need to see a wench; you are only wasting his time and mine.” I couldn't help the scathing look I shot him before I left the room, he didn't seem to know when enough was enough. I found my spot again in the mound of pillows unoccupied by the dogs, thinking. What if I just lucked out and found the only other man named Sire Svenhuund? But if it actually is him, why would he be here? How would he get here? How did I get here in the first place? Nothing was adding up.
“Are you hungry, Svenhuund?” Malik’s gentle voice broke through my thoughts. He carried a plate of food in each hand, offering one to myself as he seated himself across from me. “I assumed you would be hungry after all the work you did this morning. I’d apologize for Altair’s inappropriate behavior but knowing him, he will continue to act his way unless he really gets to know you. I hope you will be able to know the friendlier side of him, Svenhuund.”
“You can call me Ysabeau, I guess.” I picked up the least suspicious item of food on the plate, it looked like bread. Nibbling on it confirmed as much and I consumed the whole thing in hunger. Dimmu and Veli whined helplessly, belly crawling over the pillows for the food. I took what looked like meat and hand-fed bits to each of them. When the plates were clear, Malik took both and returned instead with paper and a quill? Where was I that they still used quill, “No pen, eh?”
“Pen?” Malik gave me a confused look, but I had to side-eye him for that but the actual questioning look on his face told me to let it go, “Will you help me in writing this letter to Al Mualim? If you truly are the daughter of the master assassin, Al Mualim will surely ask him to verify the information in this letter. I would like to be sure that what I write is accurate.” I nodded, not like I could do anything else to contribute to this situation.
I noted the neat script as he swiftly wrote, “Ysabeau is Y-S-A-B-E-A-U, Malik.” Malik gave a slight nod, asking more little questions of me and my father. Once he placed the quill down and folded the note, I laid back, closing my eyes to the dull throbbing at the back mind. If all I could do was wait, perhaps rest was the best thing for the moment. Maybe this was just some freakish dream. By the time I woke up the next morning, I’ll be in my own bed, raining pouring down outside and a huffy Keaghan at the door. Not blistering heat and medieval death by iron blade.
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Malik regarded the young girl as she dozed in the open room. She did hold strong resemblance to the Master Assassin that he'd met. Her mannerism were similar, her were unmistakable, the temper and cursing habit seemed to be something learned from a parent. That icy glare she shot Altair as she left the room held that same piercing anger as the one Malik had seen from the elder assassin. Something like that isn't easily mimicked. He moved to reach the back room of the bureau to see Altair peeking around the corner like sulking cat. Malik couldn't help the scoff that left him at his friend's mistrustful behaviour, “Leave the poor girl alone, Altair. Haven’t you harassed her enough in one day?” His expression dropped from wary to pouty at the accusation, but followed his friend to be nosy. Clearly he felt anxious with the new presence so close by. Malik reached into the Rafiq's bird alcove, saddling the little messenger with his letter before letting the it flutter away. With hope, the bird with arrive and return swiftly, for even Malik felt a little on edge with no direction to follow.
“Why are we wasting our time with the girl, just dump her in the street or something. People will think she’s insane and disregard her.”
“And if the Templars find her?”
“One tried to kill her before, it’s not unreasonable if they try again.”
“They won’t now. The people likely witnessed them chase her, and they've likely found their fallen brother.” Altair remained tightlipped, his own plan used against him. “Let’s just retire for the night. Dealing with your poor social skills has been exhausting.
“She’s laying on all of the cushions-“
“She’s a small girl, Altair. She couldn’t possibly take up all the cushions unlike yourself. Grab some and be quiet.” Malik pushed past his partner, scrounging up some pillows and making a space for himself for the night. This would be a long journey.
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While Malik had fallen asleep, Altair took the time to think things over. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, she did have similar features to the Master Assassin. Her glare matched his in fierceness, chills running within him. He disliked her greatly, he disliked women in general, they were just a huge section of life that he classified as ‘unnecessary trouble’ and steered clear of the temptations. He sighed as he leaned back against the wall, shutting his eyes to fall into the state of mild rest; that sweet space of limbo between consciousness and slumber where he felt at ease.
Elsewhere, just a few hours later, Al Mualim was seated at his desk, marking down names and the like in a thickly bound book. He’d been in the middle of a few words when a rather intrusive messenger bird swooped in and landed on his desk, knocking his hand across the page and pushing over a small stack of stray pages. He sighed and just grabbed the pages, slapping them on his desk. He’ll let one of the scholars fix it or something… Turning his attention to the bird that was currently hopping about his desk, he gripped it gently in his hand and detached the letter from its back and placed it inside the cage with the other chirping birds.
Master,
Though our mission was a success, Altair and I have encountered a small problem. A young girl was being pursued by a Templar before we intervened. This wouldn't be a problem if not for her claims to be the daughter of Sire Svenhuund. Her name is Ysabeau and she is demanding that we bring her to her 'father'. Personally, I don't doubt her too much; she does resemble him in more ways than one. Her eyes are a bright amber. She has the blackest hair, and a spontaneously flaring temper that seemed to fuel an equally defiant and witty mouth. According to Altair, she wears a necklace that bears the symbol of the Creed. I would like to know if you would have us bring her to you for questioning or perhaps the Master Assassin, himself, could come to see if the account is true . Until we receive word back, she is being held here at the Jerusalem Bureau with Altair and I to watch her.
-Malik Al-Sayf
Al Mualim called out to a passing Novice, “Sabir, go and bring me Sire, quickly!” The boy jumped and ran off in the direction of the assassin’s quarters. Before the novice returned with his master assassin, Al Mualim quickly wrote a reply to the eldest Al-Sayf brother.
Just as his messenger bird took off through the window, a tall man entered his study, dressed in a black lengthy robes. “You called for me?” The man’s voice was soft in the early morning silence. With the dawn's light streaming through ceiling high windows, his amber eyes held an otherworldly glow. His hair blacker than a raven’s plume, spiked up in a lazy disarray.
“I did. Would you mind taking a quick look at this? I received it not too long ago, having a feeling that you would be most interested in it.” Sire stepped up to his master’s desk and picked up the letter that was passed over the desktop. His eyes look side-to-side as he skimmed the paper, the slightest smile was pulling at the edges of lip but his eyes narrowed. “Does this female seem familiar to you? I certainly remember you telling me of your daughter, describing her almost exactly like that…”
The twinge that pulled his mouth turned into a crooked smile as he nodded, “This certainly sounds like my daughter,” his face dropped as he continued, “I, however, don’t understand how she got here when she should be safe at home with her guardian…Would you give me permission to take her off Malik and Altair’s hands and bring her here myself?”
“No.” The reply bit sharply at Sire’s chest, a slight glare passed over his face briefly, “I have sent a reply to Malik to bring her back here, swiftly and unharmed. I’m sure Malik and Altair will ensure the safety of your daughter. Otherwise they have you to answer to. Am I wrong?" Al Mualim trailed off, waving his hand dismissively. It was clear that was all the input Sire was allowed to give, so he turned on his heel and marched down the stairs. He had a job to do, one that now involved his daughter it seemed. Causing trouble would only make the task difficult...