Author's Note: Sorry guys! Been Busy! R&R! Much Love!

"We are here. Climb off, hnesh." Altair busied himself with tying the horse to it's hitching post, disliking the feel of the English syllables on his tongue. The ride had been exhausting, but not as horrific as he had expected. The little snake had balance, but it was clear she hadn't ridden so far for many months at least.

"You should help her, Altair. Or she will fall, she is so stiff." Malik murmured from beside him, watching the templar sway dangerously and then grab the pommel to support herself. "At least remove the blindfold."

"She's fine-" He snapped, turning towards the novice with a furious expression on his face. Malik was saved from a quarrel as Hafiz and another assassin mounted the small incline. Altair's lip curled as he recognized his former rival, walking along beside Hafiz as though he owned all the holy land.

"Greetings Altair, Son of None. And to you as well, novice."

"Isam." The mutter was not as completely devoid of resentment as it could have been and the man raised an eyebrow at Altair before turning his gaze to where the woman seemed to be steeling herself to leap off the horses back.

"So this is your little souvenir from Acre? She hardly seems dangerous enough to have stormed the Bureau." Isam stroked his beard as tenderly as though it were a beloved pet. Out of the corner of his eye, Altair watched Malik and Hafiz purposely distancing themselves from the two of them; Malik bug-eyed and his Master looking grim.

"She didn't." Altair's teeth clicked as they ground together.

"Mhmm, I suppose she just batted her pretty eyelashes at you and you just couldn't refuse-"

"There were extenuating circumstances. It would have compromised the brotherhood to allow her to go free." The excuse sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

"Ah, just as well. She is comely looking, for a Templar." Altair clenched his fist and resisted the urge to strike Isam. He was merely baiting him, the woman's face and body were hidden by the robes they'd put her in to ferry her across the kingdom.

"Aren't you worried that your pretty extenuating circumstance might ride off? She's been on that horse a long while." The man did a poor job of hiding his disappointment at Altair's lack of response.

"She's blindfolded, saddle-sore, and her wrists are bound. She's not going-" There was a loud splash and the horses shied and reared backwards as a fountain of water rose up from their trough. The woman's head broke the surface, the black silk head piece and veil sticking to her nose and mouth. She let out a cry of frustration and slithered out of the trough, coughing up founts of water.

"I see what you mean: Blindfolded. And saddle-sore." Isam seemed barely able to control his mirth as Altair stormed over to his charge and hauled her to her feet, his face colouring with embarassment and anger. She swayed like a blade of grass and would have fallen into him if he hadn't elbowed her sharply in the ribs.

"On your feet, Templar." He snapped at her, releasing her arm and taking a step forward. There was a soft thump and he turned once more, infuriated. "Get up!"

"I'm trying, Assassin. I cant see, I cant use my hands to balance and I'm stiff. I need to rest-" She did sound tired, but Altair didn't have time for a tired hostage.

"You can rest when you're dead. Rise up, Cobra-" He knelt and loosened the sodden rope around her wrists. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and he hauled her up once more on the back of her tunic.

"Perhaps you are not speaking her language, Altair. Bonjour, ma petite fille." Isam. The idiot. There was a moment of silence and woman turned her head towards him, the blindfold still firmly in place over her eyes. Her nose wrinkled and her lip curled.

"I'm English, you French speaking twat. Toss off!" Altair barely had time to grab her as she spat in Isam's face. His respect for the woman increased tenfold even though she hung limply from his grasp.

"How dare you-" Isam's English was heavily accented and his beard quivered with outrage. Altair recalled with a sudden fondness how this assassin who thought so much of himself had never been able to fully master the complicated English grammar and tenses.

"How dare I? How dare you. I don't even look French, let alone sound it-"

"Enough. Altair, what could possibly be taking you so long? Isam, I believe you have guard duties to attend to, do you not?" Hafiz loomed behind Isam, whose whole body went rigid with fury.

"This little-! This woman spit at me!"

"Even more reason for you to return to the safety of Maysaf guard post, hmm? You never know, our little hnesh might be poisonous…" Hafiz glowered at the young assassin until he was forced to look away. Defeated, Isam shot one more furious glance in Altair's direction and strode off. Hafiz sighed and seemed to deflate, glancing tiredly over his shoulder. "Can she walk?"

Altair removed his hand from under her shoulders and she collapsed to her knees.

"Damn it all! Stop speaking in a language I cant understand!" Hafiz reached over and pulled off the blindfold and veil. She blinked up at him even in the dim light of dusk, her dark green eyes wide. The brows may have been furrowed in frustration, but Altair was surprised to see thinly veiled fear in her expression. Maybe it was the fact that she was soaking wet and covered in dirt and straw, but he felt a twinge of guilt when she winced as he cut the ropes binding her wrists behind her back.

"Come, Aisha, we are wasting time that could be spent speaking to the Master. Only after that can you rest." Firmly but with more care then Altair, Hafiz reached under one arm and supported her weight. Malik appeared from wherever he'd been lurking and supported her other side, leaving Altair feeling useless. He glanced up at the fortress on the peak of their small mountain home and felt his chest seize with dread. Al Mualim would not be pleased.

"Altair, enter. Bring the girl."

"If you are disrespectful, little hnesh, I will leave you on a windswept crag and the eagles can have you. Do you understand?" Altair shook her upper arm for emphasis. She winced and struggled to her feet like a newborn foal, trembling with effort and fear.

"And do not run, I will just catch you." He added as an after thought, feeling the familiar thrill of frustrated resentment and reverence that always accompanied his visits to Al Mualim. The woman gritted her teeth and he felt her muscles tense slightly under his fingers.

"I'm not going anywhere-" She began, with a tone as sharp as a cobra's fangs.

"Altair!" He hauled on her arm and practically dragged her inside the room. It was arid, circular chamber with bookcases on every wall, a tall domed ceiling that had been artfully carved. The air was pleasantly cool and perfumed with frankincense. It was just familiar enough to make him nervous. He released the woman's arm like she'd burned him and resisted the urge to snort as she collapsed to the floor.

"Master," He bowed respectfully, keeping his gaze downcast. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malik and Hafiz, the latter standing back against the wall and watching the proceedings emotionlessly. Al Mualim's steps were measured as he walked slowly from the window

"Stand with Malik, Altair. I'll deal with you later." Altair winced and stepped aside, leaving the woman sitting on the floor in a heap.

Astarte felt a slight chill run down her spine as Altair stepped aside with alarming obedience. She tried her best to look harmless as she squinted at the robed figure haloed in the brilliant sunlight. If this man had enough power to lead an entire mountain stronghold of extremely organized and efficient assassins, he was definitely a worthy adversary. She felt the almost overwhelming urge to stand up and face this threat on her feet. The more pressing thought was that she stay down, pretend a weakness she did not suffer from. Men, especially the kind she'd met in the holy land, did not like it when woman looked them in the eye. And being likable might mean a difference between life and death for her.

"Do you know why your blindfold was removed when you arrived at Maysaf, noblewoman?" The man sounded old, with a gravelly sort of growl to his speech. It was eerily familiar…

"I assumed it was so I wouldn't trip over things, but correct me if I am wrong." Not for the first time, she wanted desperately to rescind the foolishly bold statement.

"It was so that you could see. There is no escape from this place."

"I have trouble seeing why on earth you would want to keep me. I'm of no use to you and I've done your order no wrong." If I'm going to hoist myself on my own petard, I may as well do so properly. The old man stared down at her pensively. One of his eyes was filmed over and murky and it gave his gaze a menacing leer that made her insides squirm with nervous revulsion.

"Hafiz tells me you released Altair and Malik from the dungeon in Acre and fled with them. What logic dictates that you would so betray your own? Why aid an enemy?" The threat in the old mans voice was now paired with a sort of curiosity.

"I owe Robert de Sable no more allegiance than I owe you. I have no enemy but those who sought to keep me helpless and who mistook any healing not left in the hands of God as witchcraft." The man was now very close to her, looming almost.

"And you do not believe in God?"

"I…" Astarte hesitated for a millisecond to long. "I believe in God."

"Mhm, neither does Altair. But it is a rare woman indeed who faces a cobra and lives to pretend to cower in the heart of Maysaf. Surely some kind of divinity, some sort of twist in the strings of fate have brought you here before me." Al Mualim smiled, but in a way that made Astarte's empty stomach squirm. "Stand, Aisha."

"My name is…never mind." He was just going to kill her, run her through with the sword he was now unsheathing from where it lay on his writing desk. She heard Hafiz's breath catch from somewhere behind her. This was it, she shut her eyes and held her breath. A sliver of cold metal kissed her throat and she swallowed.

"Wait, Master! Surely you do not mean to kill her? We took great lengths to bring her here and she is no threat-"

"Does not the serpent seem a weak creature at first glance? But with one drop of it's poison it may kill ten men. Those who heal, may also kill. If any Templar wanted her, they would have already taken her. She is of no use." The coldness in the mans tone was almost too calculated and Astarte's heart jumped with foolish hope.

"But master-" Malik began to plead once more.

"Silence, Malik." Altair's voice, remote and emotionless. "It is as Al Mualim wills it."

Astarte almost let loose a hysterical laugh at Altair's impertinent defiance of both God and master. The old man, he must have noticed, must have recognized this jab at his decision to kill her. Astarte wanted to turn and thank Altair for that tiny gesture alone. Why wasn't she dead yet? She opened one eye to see Al Mualim preparing to swing and for the first time, she felt something other than meek submission. What was she doing? She could run! She could dodge the blow easily, why just stand her and be cut down? She hadn't let her father force her to marry Robert, she hadn't waited for the witch-hunters to come pounding on her door. She would not lay down and die, assassins or no.

The blade swung at her neck and she dropped to her knees and rammed her head into Al Mualim's stomach with all the remaining strength in her sore body. The blow should have sent him sprawling but instead he merely stumbled backwards. Driven by panicked adrenalin, Astarte twisted so that her right shoulder slammed into his ribcage and lunged for his left arm, trying to grab the sword.

"Stop!" She felt a rough yank on the back of her head and shrieked with pain, clawing at where the old mans fingers were wrapped around the sword. She brought her foot down on his own and twisted into his chest, jabbing one elbow into his stomach and latching onto his wrist with her teeth. If they were going to call her a serpent she may as well act like one. He dropped the sword and she felt something jab into her ribcage, like a tiny sting.

"AH!" She gasped and fell to her knees, scrambling crablike across the stone and grabbing for the painful point on her ribs, bringing her fingers back sticky with blood. She barely had time to register that the old man had stabbed her with a tiny stiletto when Altair landed on top of her, his hidden blade poised above her throat; his kneecaps grinding painfully into her shoulders.

"Master?" He asked through gritted teeth, tipping her head backwards by barely touching the skin of her throat with the razor sharp tip of the blade. Goddess forbid she even so much as sneeze.

"No, do not kill her. She has will yet to live. Malik, fetch a healer…if you would…" The old man collapsed into his chair, once again appearing deceptively harmless. He looked mildly amused as he beckoned Hafiz over to him and they spoke quietly to one another.

"Get off me." She coughed, gasping through the horrific feeling of recovering her breath. Altair stared at her dispassionately for a moment longer before he rocked his weight forward to his knees in an unnecessary shift that made her cry out in the pain from her still healing shoulder and stood, placing one foot on her breast bone just in case she tried to rise. As if she could bear to move at this point, everything ached with varying levels of pain.

"Ah, Malik returns. Jahed, just bandage her middle tightly for now, to stop the bleeding until a proper physic can treat her." Astarte turned her head and saw a middle aged man kneel beside her and give Altair a rather appraising look.

"Altair Ibn la'Ahad, take your foot off my patient." He declared, placing one rough hand against Altair's knee and giving it a gentle but firm push. "Malik, help me sit her up."

Astarte felt Malik grip her under the armpits and help her into a semi-recumbent position so that Jahed could wrap her middle in rough cloth so tightly she could barely stand to breathe. The only reason any level of pain went away was because she very literally could no longer feel anything but the unbearable tightness. Meanwhile, Al Mualim spoke:

"Altair."

"Yes, Master?" Altair dropped to one knee obediently, keeping his head down.

"Hafiz and I have decided the appropriate punishment for your…unorthodox situation. And, in turn, what to do with Aisha Hnesh, as she shall henceforth be called. The true test of a mans worth is his ability to not only learn, but to teach to others his craft." Al Mualim was smiling, that freakish, sly smile he used when explaining something very simple to those who should know better. Altair waited patiently for him to continue, glancing at Malik to see if the novice had any clue what the old man was trying to say. Al Mualim won the battle of patient waiting and Altair spoke:

"I have already earned my title, and Hafiz is Malik's mentor."

"I did not say you would be tutoring Malik. In fact, he shares the punishment-" it all dawned on Altair in a stunning, viscerally painful moment of horrifying realization.

"But she's a…she's a Templar!" And she's weak and a…not a ma-she wasn't born an assassin!" Malik fumbled over what he had to say, looking outraged. Astarte looked from Malik to Altair to Al Mualim and her face hardened.

"I am not a Templar. Neither am I soldier, I've never been able to wield any weapon with proficiency-"

"Master, it is impossible-" Altair began, his tone insulted and appalled at the same time. Al Mualim held up a hand and Altair and Malik clamped their mouths shut instantaneously. There would be no argument.

"Please, I'm a healer-"

"And also, by virtue of your craft, a posioner. You three can teach each other much." Al Mualim pulled a pigeon out of a small box by the window and stroked it lovingly.

"I do not possess the physical strength-"

"I am offering you your life, girl. Would you rather I challenged these two by having them put you to death?" Astarte quieted immediately, dropping her gaze and touching the wound in her side. The circumstances were impossible, she'd die in training. No one knew better than her that she lacked the skill, the dexterity and the strength. "There have been females in our order before, and there shall be again. You shall teach one another your strengths, and by God you shall humble yourselves! Out now, I have better things to do than trifle with three novices."

"Master, I-" Altair looked livid with fury and outrage.

"OUT!" Al Mualim roared in such a outward show of fury that Malik skittered out the door like a frightened alley cat. Altair retained enough pride and dignity to walk from the room. He'd just reached the threshold when Hafiz cleared his throat rather pointedly and jerked his head toward the center of the room where Astarte was clutching her side and wincing.

"Taalee hona! Come to heel, Novice. Besora'a! Hurry up!" Limping heavily and bent double with pain, she exited the room ahead of him.

"Are you certain it is wise to leave them to their own devices?" Hafiz murmured, listening to the sounds of squabbling in the corridor

"Altair needs the experience, perhaps it will teach him some small modicum of modesty. Malik needs to be well-free of Altair's competition if he expects to progress. The girl…fate did not bring her to us to be slaughtered. As far as whether or not it is wise, perhaps you should make sure he does not accidentally kill the little serpent. Altair is certainly capable of ending lives, whether or not he is any good at keeping others alive is less certain." Al Mualim gave a slightly gap-toothed grin and released the pigeon he'd been cradling. It flew up and out the missing window pane and into the light.