Author's Notes: OH MAI GAWD!

Yes, I understand your avid hatred towards me after making promises and failing to deliver (Peter Molyneux, no? perhaps I've been playing too many lionhead games...), BUT there is good reason for this, and it's not some god-awful excuse like not having time blah blah blah.

You see, I initially wrote another three chapters including this one, but after reading over them, I really, REALLY didn't like where the story was going in terms of plotline, and it all seemed too flat and too 2-dimensional for my tastes. I was just writing about actions, not emotions, it all felt so robotic, not my style at all. It took me so long to write them I almost felt like giving up, but NO I said to myself, I must keep going! I have fans to stay loyal to! I must not be Nintendo!

So I shall continue on with a better more formed out plotline now, and here is the re-vamped, long awaited chapter 11!!

Shameless plugs (yes, this get's its own section): I also wrote another M rated fiction called Cocoa for AC, just a oneshot, you can find it in my profile.

For Final Fantasy fans, I've tastefully crossed over X-2 and XII in a fic called Bereft, also in my profile.

Thanks for bearing with me folks! I shall not fail you again!

The Voice of Reason?

A pause, I could feel eyes on me as I was beckoned forwards. I shifted nervously, twisting my feet in my sandals, curling my fingers in the waistline of my dress as Al Mualim waited patiently for my answer.

"Well, tell me of your situation," he said, peering over his hands.

"Where do I start?"

"Upon entering the castle, the first thing you remember preferably."

I nodded, a hand going to my chin in a thoughtful way I may have picked up from Al Din; "I awoke in an underground cell first. I was… chained to the floor."

Feeling my cheeks flush, I looked to the rest, Al Din staring intently, his brow furrowed, Malik following the same, Altair was glaring at the floor.

"A man entered then. I gathered he was foreign, from his accent, and he started asking me questions about my husband."

"Questions of what kind?"

"Mostly about how my husband came to know of Mu'ayyad, and if he intended to kill him."

The old man sighed, his aged face greying for a few moments, studying the calluses lining his withered fingers. "And what did you say?"

Must I remember so vividly? Funny, how it seemed more brutal, more exaggerated in my head, the cruel laughing faces, the whip morphed into a snake with serrated teeth that tore through my skin with every crack, soldiers removed helmets to reveal skinless, skeleton heads. But I was being foolish. Truly, I just wanted to put it behind me, forget it ever happened, and just move on. But perhaps I was scared, and running away from my problems never helped. What else could I do though?

"I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say…"

The silence pressed as I seemed to be taking centre stage, my peripheral vision catching sight of Altair craning his head slightly to look at me.

"… And?" He gestured for me to continue, good eye fixing on me with a calculating glance. Fingers tightened.

"He took a cane, and beat me," Surprising, how monotonous my voice had become, and I played with my fingers, feigning indifference even as my expression crumpled. "Then a whip, because he refused to believe me after I explained how I know nothing of my husband's work." I cringed when my voice shuddered halfway through.

A deep sigh, and the old man rose from his chair, "I feared as much," he paced, his expression grave. "For how long did this continue?"

I crossed my arms. However long it did take, to me it felt like an eternity. Endless beating pain, and then waking up to myself I could say, realising these people didn't understand by sounding quiet and sincere I would somehow convince them, so I had to scream my answer. And still nothing. Still all whips and chains.

"… Hours," I choked. Forever…

He nodded, flickering eyes to Altair for a moment, before back to me, "And after that?"

Stiffening for a moment, I took a shuddering breath, before explaining what happened when I woke up after the beating. It was no less difficult than thinking about it, the butter curtains, soft breeze, and terrifying thought of not knowing where I was, only knowledge to my name was that I was sore and the whipping really did happen. And then the man, all too sure and confident in himself, white robes and dark, peppery eyes… Lord, it brings a shiver to my spine just thinking about it.

All through my stuttering explanation, The Master remained impassive, his expression stationary while I spoke, but I stopped myself before I spoke of what Mu'ayyad had said to me, called me "beautiful" and "a flower" and how his all too lascivious stare was burning holes into me, I kept silent. Some things, in the company of two elderly men and two hot tempered assassins, were best left quiet.

And the coin, which particularly piqued Al Mualim's interest.

"So," he said, the lightest of jesting smiles playing over his thin, chapped lips, "it seems we are dealing not so much with a criminal, but a man with an obsession… I was right to give him the gold then…"

"A trap?" Altair finally spoke, his head snapping to look at his master, in what I deemed was disbelief.

Al Mualim waved his hand. "Nothing so trivial. The man is easily swayed by money, but so obsessed he is willing to build armies in order to obtain it. However," and with this, his remaining functioning eye darkened, "he is far too much trouble to be allowed to keep the crate much longer. I do not wish for you to end his life, but, if it comes to that…"

"The French are on his side," Altair said quietly, unfolding his arms. "A connection to The Lion, perhaps?"

"A possibility," he answered, turning to tend to the eagle in the large cage on the right, "and one that should be taken seriously. I highly doubt Mu'ayyad is so far connected he means to bring The Holy Land to its knees, after all, the French and English are on opposing sides, and we are trapped in between. No, it is money he is after, and a security to keep him from the Assassins who once trusted in his information."

"What would you have me do?" A tentative question.

"The only thing that is asked of you for the moment; your mission. Protect the woman at all costs," he paused, his palm out, full of seed for the eagle, which nipped at the grain. "That being said, if she were to, say, gather information from an easily attainable source, you would have no choice but to follow, is that not right, Altair?"

A chuckle then, from Al Din, "And on what sources are you working from?"

"Why, yours of course."

"I thought as much."

The smallest of smiles formed on Altair's lips, but he dared not speak, and I wondered if he was this courteous to Al Mualim only. Perhaps it was fear, for even I sensed something foreboding about the old man, something that almost dared to be crossed, but at the same time warned to stay away. No doubt the man was a killer, but his wisdom and intelligence seemed to both draw people in and push them away all at once. Odd, and no less terrifying, but it was a quiet sort of warning.

He turned to me then, and I shifted awkwardly under his scrutiny, "I am sure, after what has happened, you too would no doubt want to see Mu'ayyad fall."

Not really knowing what to say to this, he took my silence as an agreement and continued, "Would you feel comfortable gathering information from Jerusalem about Mu'ayyad's associations?"

"I already know about Aludra's husband - sorry - Abdul-Matin, and that he is connected through his fish trading."

"You read my mind," Al Din quipped.

"I see," once again, that cold, calculating stare. "Then I'm sure you will not mind if you were used as bait to raid Abdul-Matin's house?"

I felt I wasn't so much being asked as told that was what I had to do. A silent war, between two parts of my brain, one whispering danger and telling me to hide in a corner, and another, louder part of my mind (which has been growing, these past few days) telling me to make sure Mu'ayyad went through the same pain I did. But where would that get me, said the whispering, terrified part of me, surely I do not need to torture someone for my own pleasure?

Like he did to me?

All of them turned to watch my internal battle. I chewed on my lower lip, turning it red, feeling the sweep of Altair's honey-brown eyes rake over my form. He thinks me too weak, too delicate to do what is asked of me. I have come this far, be dammed if I am going to run any longer.

Altair turned, and opened his mouth to say something, but I quickly cut across him, "I will do it," I said, clenching my fists, determined. "If it will help in any way, then I offer myself as 'bait'."

And of all people, I never expected Al Din to intervene. "Please, Al Mualim, allow me to be the bait."

I stared, shocked at the sudden proclamation, and felt as both assassins also followed suit.

"You know I cannot allow you to do that, Diya." And there, just for a second, a reproachful look quickly hidden by determination.

"Then allow me to help, at least."

"… What would you propose?"

"There is a large delivery going into Abdul-Matin's manse in the morrow, one that I myself must deliver. If she were to hide among the packages, sneak inside and allow passage for Altair inside the house, would that not be better fitting?"

A raised, greying brow crinkled the skin on Al Mualim's forehead. "I take it you can provide the cover for the assassins then?"

"I do not need to," a small smile, fingers playing with the grizzled hair of Al Din's upper lip. "I am sure the surrounding buildings can impart enough ground for your students."

Silence, for some moments, as the old leader paced, back hunched horribly against the sunlight breaking through the windows behind him, the assassin insignia plastered on banners and plaques, proud and righteous.

Whatever way it happened, I wanted to have a part in it, regardless of how I entered or not. Those stains on the floor of the cell I was in, how many more people have been in that position? And will there not be further interrogations held in that awful place? No, I told myself, this must end. It must be stopped, and if I can help in any way, then I will do what is asked of me.

Part of me believed this might actually work.

"Very well." Al Mualim announced finally, the lightest hint of amusement behind his icy stare, and turned to Malik, "You will assist them. Each of you, gather as much information as you can, interrogate his wife, preferably."

Malik straightened up, and bowed. Altair frowned.

My mind, oh how it jumped to Aludra and her reaction to being cornered in her own house. As much as I disliked the woman, I would never wish such a thing on her, but before I could contemplate further I too was rounded on, "I appreciate the risk you are taking to help the Creed. Be sure, I will reward you handsomely for this endeavour. Al Din will instruct you, no doubt he knows the workings of the Manse far better than I."

"I will help them."

"Good." A reassured sigh, and he linked his arms behind his back, gaze once again turning cold, and steel, "To the Bureau in Jerusalem, then. Safety and peace to you."

Despite being two very different people, there was something frighteningly similar between Al Din and Al Mualim. While one was bent, his face held the memory of hard, taut muscle and a strong jaw that now supported jowls. Grizzled hair was once a chestnut brown, a stance once proud and straight, now bent and pained. And the other, who's visage was an encyclopaedia of worldly knowledge and humble charisma. Skinny, paler than most, and sickening almost to look at, yet shrewd and cute, he escapes people. They both did, shrewd, escaping the world, humorous to an extent as only old men could be.

"It was good to see you again, Al Mualim."

"And you, my good friend. I do enjoy when you visit, however infrequent."

"I will keep that in mind then, and visit more often."

Malik turned to leave after bowing, and I followed as Al Din held the Master's gaze, an unreadable expression, and also took his leave alongside me. Altair was the last, and I vaguely heard his teacher's last order.

"Protect her, Altair."

It seemed like mere minutes after we left Masyaf and returned to Jerusalem.

I stole glances at Altair every so often, but he was refusing to look at me on the ride back. Malik now took the reigns, and hummed a tune while half listening to Al Din.

"It should not be too difficult," he explained, to the right of me, pausing when the cart rolled over a large rock and jerked, "Abdul's manse is in one of the richer quarters of Jerusalem. While the outside is dangerous, being so in the open, it leaves the cellars free and that is just where the delivery of nets shall be delivered."

"I should warn you not to speak so freely in the open, old man," Altair said lowly. "It is too dangerous out here."

And while I highly doubted anyone could hear unless they somehow managed to fasten themselves to the underside of the cart, Al Din obediently said no further. Must he be so paranoid all the time?

I suppose I should not have expected Altair to help me down into the hidden Bureau, for he jumped down first and stalked off, while Malik was left behind. He handed Al Din down first, carefully, as the frail old man bit back a cry when his long fingered hand had just about slipped from the assassin's grasp, but was caught by a second, stronger one. The left one; his knife hand. An apologetic look (but he did not need to apologise for Altair's attitude) at me before curling an arm about my waist and hoisting me down with him.

Ivy crawled down the walls in sharp angles like spider's legs, sunlight shone through the lattice on the roof, casting diamond patters on the floor. It was a small place, and the bureau leader was a snippy man with a wooden leg and a large, diagonal scar running from his left ear, across his mouth to his neck, which I refrained from recoiling at. Such a painful looking wound.

Myself and Al Din sat outside under the lattice, joined by Altair and Malik a short time later.

"The delivery is tomorrow, in mid-morning," the old man explained. "Five of the traders, including myself, have to make sure every order is filled. We will be helped by two young shop-hands, and I am sure that they will ask no questions when escorting the bait inside."

He winked at me, and I smiled weakly, trying to concentrate on absorbing all the information I could.

"The nets and timber are heavy enough, so it is not likely that they will notice the difference in weight."

"And if they do?" Malik interjected.

"Then I am sure they can be assuaged with a few sheqels," He inclined his head, and both assassin's nodded.

Al Din was risking his small business and money for… for what? For me? Was I truly that important? Or for the Creed, but was that even important to him? And if it was, why?

I wanted to ask, but it was an ill place to be when his help was so valuable in this situation.

But this time, I could do more than just pray everything would turn out for the better. Cards would be dealt with my hands now, and as frightened as I was, I was sure of myself. It would work.

It has to work.

"Tell me what I must do."

If sleeping were a sport, I am sure I could be one of the most talented of them all. When one gets as little rest as me, with as husband as demanding as mine, any sleep, any rest was a welcome, highly anticipated event to be greatly celebrated with soft sheets and linen.

Tonight however, though I was as comfortable as one could be on a few cushions out in the warm, Jerusalem air, my somewhat light sleep was interrupted by the faint murmuring of two white-robed assassins conversing quietly on the wall some distance behind me.

Malik and Altair sacrificed their outer-robes for Al Din to rest on, while the Bureau leader passed me some cushions and a blanket, with a small smile that stretched his scar. He enjoyed my cooking earlier, it seemed, and had warmed up to me somewhat.

The cushions were rather dusty, but large enough for me to rest. The night air was humid outside in the bureau, only barely illuminated by the crackling torch on the far-right wall and the pale crescent moon. Al Din had fallen asleep, my back was to Altair resting on the stone wall, fixing a new belt acquired from the Creed earlier that day. How fared his stomach after the fight with Gareth, I wondered?

Utter silence. We had not spoken since the ride to Masyaf half a day ago. I almost felt sorry for Malik, who struggled to play mediator between our meaningful glares. Only the gentle rasp of Al Din's breathing through his long, hooked nose seemed to shatter the tension every so often.

But the tension between us is equal now. I'm through with feeling guilty.

"You could use a drink, Brother," I heard the rustle as Malik situated himself on the wall beside Altair.

"… Is that not unprofessional-?"

"I'm sure you have done worse on your missions, so do not argue." Amusement, in the darker-skinned man's voice, and I could imagine his sly smile and Altair's frustrated twitch.

Sloshing liquid and a satisfied rasp of breath after a long gulp, and the two fell silent for another long time. The belts of Altair's new armour snapped and rattled together as Malik continued to drink.

"… What would you know of my missions, Malik?"

A small chuckle, and a knock as the bottle was discarded by the wall. "You make it too obvious, brother."

"Do not bother hiding cryptic messages in your words, I will only loose interest. If you do not wish to say what you mean, then be silent." Altair sighed.

Malik scoffed, "I mean, it may not be obvious for them, but I can see how you steal glances so subtly from under your hood at your woman."

"She is not my woman," Altair hissed, "and how dare you suggest such a thing. I do not have the time to care for another creature."

He didn't think that when he so suddenly pulled me atop of him on the boat, now did he?

"Not yours?" I could just imagine Malik's brow ascending with his sarcastic tone. A ruffle, as he stepped off the wall, I could feel the vibrations in the grounds as he gently padded nearer. "Perhaps I could have her, then."

My eyes shot open at the remark and heat leapt into my face, the shuffle-thump of his footsteps drawing nearer to me, and I could only stay as still as humanly possible. What was he doing?

"…Such a pretty little thing," He goaded the other assassin quietly, and I prayed that Malik was joking, really. Sure, I thought he was handsome, but… must he be so forward? And while I sleep for that matter? Does no man seem to realise, or simply ignore the fact that I have a husband?

Oh… Mundhir… what has become of you I wonder.

"Wait…" So quiet I could barely hear the plea from the wall.

I could feel the heat of Malik's outstretched hand near my right shoulder. His sandaled feet were right behind my back, I had clenched my eyes shut seconds before he bent down towards me, making-believe I was just sleeping. God, please do not let him see me blushing, please make him leave me be.

But it would certainly show Altair how easily it could happen

"… Ah, so you do care."

He left, and my breathing slowed to a more normal pace. Was he just doing that to get a reaction from-

"Alright," Altair whispered lower as Malik resumed his position on the wall, and I strained my ears to hear him, "alright, you win brother, I do care for her. But only because it is my charge. I was put in the position as her guard, therefore I must care for her well being."

So… that was all then? It was just his job, was that it? Am I nothing more than paper and ink to him, nothing more than another bloodied blade, another shriek of pain, another-?

"Then you must really not care if I have her then." The darker assassin shrugged.

"Malik, she has a husband-"

"So? 'Tis a shame, to let all that beauty go to waste."

"No, Malik!"

"Admit it, Altair," he hissed, lower, "you are not doing this simply for another brand, are you?"

… Brand…?

"I was assigned to this!"

"So it is not by choice your eyes so worryingly hold her dear when you think no-one is looking?"

Silence then, before a snap as a belt was pulled on the new armour in irritation. My eyes strayed to a pebble a few feet away, unable to think about what they were saying properly. Was it… was it true? It is just his job, I am nothing more than that to him. But… the boat and… and the night he killed those men, surely he had to feel something then. Why did this have to be so complicated?

Did he really steal glances at me?

"What do you want me to say?" Altair breathed exasperatedly, "That for all the wrongness of my mission, she is more to me that just a brand, is that it? I shall not even receive another mark for this, Malik, you know that full well yourself. So what would you have me say?"

I heard the jostling of the belt as Malik took it from him, "I simply want you to admit it, brother. I know it, but you won't be able to help yourself until you say it out loud."

"Admit…? What is this foolishness? You talk nonsense," He spat.

"You are incorrigible, Altair." Bland, but just as hissingly low as it was before, "This attitude will only hurt the mission, you know this. And now she's gone and offered herself as bait for the very man who is trying to kill her husband! To prove you wrong!"

No… no that wasn't it. I might have been angry, but I am not callous, and I am most certainly not being idiotic enough to put myself in any real danger.

He will… he will protect me, won't he…? It is his charge, after all.

No… I was doing this to help in any way I could. To stop Mu'ayyad. They didn't see that room they held me in, with greasy walls and a bloodstained floor, the didn't have to bear witness to the disgusting mistreatment of women, of people. They didn't have to spend precious, precious minutes in that man's cold clutches, such dark, seductive eyes. Surely they thought more highly of me in that respect. I wanted to make sure no one would ever be in that position again, and if there was any way I could help, by God I would take it.

Not for revenge. How dare they, I will prove them wrong.

"You think I agreed with the Grand Master on this? I would much rather lock her in the Creed, if I knew it would make but a tiny difference to her safety-"

"There," Malik whispered triumphantly. "I knew you cared."

"Be silent!" Altair growled, "Enough of this foolishness."

The silence after that was long, and so thick with tension it is a wonder how I managed to keep myself from fidgeting or getting up to walk away. So I stayed put, as I am sure both assassins were glaring daggers at each other; or perhaps the ground since both Altair and Malik had a nasty tendency to never look people in the eyes when simply talking. Malik threw the belt back to his fellow brother, and shuffled inside the bureau.

"You… you wouldn't, would you, Malik?" And to think, the lightest edge of solicitation was held in that sentence could be heard through the barely audible break on the accentuated uld in wouldn't. I winced, having never heard him speak like that.

Black eyes raked over me for the briefest of seconds, the intensity of a gaze honed by years of training. "I never even considered the thought, brother."

So Malik left, a light breeze ruffled my hair pooled out on the cushion I was resting on, causing a shivering ripple in the ivy growing up the wall. Al Din was resting peacefully, turning every so often, and Altair continued quietly adjusting the belt.

More silence then, and a deep sigh from the last remaining brother, before uttering to the night in an almost impossibly defeated tone; "What is there to admit?"

My heart sank down further than it has since we left for Jerusalem.

Author's Notes: A bit belated, eh wha? :B