I'm sorry. I'm half horrible-person, half university-student-who-just-finished-finals.

And half horrible-at-fight-scenes-and-so-I-angsted-a-lot-about-this-one.

Also horrible at math.

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Chapter 8
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Altair took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He was angry, he recognized that, and he needed to be calm if he wanted to defeat Stephen. At first glance, he looked just like any other Englishman – tall and lanky – but Altair knew from experience that he was more than simply skilled.

A glance around the room – not that it was necessary, Altair knew this room nearly as well as his own – revealed a single exit, at Altair's back. And even should he manage to get past him the rest of the Brotherhood should realize and stop him, decked out in Templar armor as he was. He didn't want to rely on that, however – the fact that he'd gotten inside was proof enough that he had the skill to get past an entire fortress of assassins at least once, and he could probably do it again.

"Don't look so frantic, assassin." Stephen said smugly, slowly drawing his sword and letting it hang loosely from his hand, "I've no intention of leaving without your head."

Altair said nothing; he'd never been one to chat during a fight. His opponent was better equipped – he would have to make this quick if he wanted to make it out of this even relatively unscathed.

"It would be the perfect gift for Maria, don't you think? Sure, it will have rotted a bit during the journey, but that would really be a good thing. After all," He continued with a smirk, "A woman should never defy her husband, don't you think?"

"You really are scum." Altair snarled. Altair knew he was just riling him up, but this man was everything Altair fought against – and Maria, his spitfire Maria, had actually been married to him? No wonder she'd run off.

And Altair had very nearly pushed her back into his clutches.

He clenched his fist – he wouldn't. Not this time. He would kill this pustule, and catch Maria before she set off for England. That she would, he had no doubt, for if what Stephen said was true and she did have an inheritance waiting for her, that would provide her with power – and therefore, protection.

Altair slipped easily into a fighting stance, his blade no longer hidden, since such a pretense was useless at this point. Stephen, too, tightened his grip on his sword – he had no shield, for which Altair was thankful, but even his light chain mail afforded him a huge advantage.

They waited, sizing each other up for a heartbeat.

Eventually, it was Stephen who made the first move.

A vertical slash – an obvious move. Altair sidestepped it easily, before making a swipe for the Templar's unprotected head. The Templar, too, dodged easily, very nearly overbalancing the assassin, and reversed his slash, forcing Altair to scramble backwards to avoid.

Altair took a deep breath. Their positions were now reversed – Stephen with his back to the door, Altair in the room. If he didn't make this quick, there was still a possibility Stephen might run, despite his insistence to the contrary.

Stephen drew himself up from his crouch, smirking at his opponent as he repositioned his grip on his sword.

"You know," Altair began, "I really can't blame Maria for leaving you. A woman like her couldn't be…" He paused, "satisfied by someone like you."

"Trying to get me riled up, assassin? It won't work." Stephen returned.

"But I think it already has." Altair said with a smirk – he didn't like using this tactic, but he couldn't deny its effectiveness. "Otherwise, you would be on your way back to England, not here to take petty revenge on the man who stole your wife."

"It's not a matter of 'revenge'; it's a matter of making sure a proper Templar line inherits." He said sharply, "That estate could fund the Templars for years to come, and I'll be damned if some assassin bastard takes it."

"Then why are you still here?" Altair drawled.

"You've been a thorn in our side for years, Assassin. Killing you is just a bonus!" With a cry, Stephen charged – another overhead slash. Altair smirked; the man was angry, too much so to think clearly. He dodged to the right, his free hand snapping out and breaking the Templar's nose with the heel of his hand.

Stephen staggered backwards, trying to stem the blood flow. With practiced steps, Altair ran at the Templar, before taking a running leap, hidden blade poised for the kill.

With a grunt, the Templar fell as Altair landed both feet firmly on his chest. The pair fell through the door, the impact jostling the assassin and preventing a perfect kill. As they hit the ground, he made another attempt, but Stephen, though winded, expected it. His fist, stained with his own blood, flew out, catching the assassin with a strong blow to the jaw, knocking him off the Templar's chest.

Altair rolled, regaining his feet almost instantaneously, though no sooner than Stephen.

The two stood, panting, trying to stare each other down.

"Altair!"

A crowd had gathered. Altair recognized Malik's voice, but didn't dare take his eyes off his opponent.

"Stay back, Malik." He said, "I want to deal with him myself."

"A nice sentiment, assassin, but a useless one. After I kill you, this lot will surely slaughter me." Stephen replied, his eyes flicking nervously around the room.

"Well, you know what they say about cornered mice." Altair said dryly.

The Templar laughed harshly, "Should I be insulted you think me a mouse, or pleased you think I might become a lion?"

"You'll become a cadaver, soon enough." He growled.

"Altair!" Malik called again. This time, the assassin flicked his eyes briefly to his brother, and, seeing a sword in his hands, sheathed his hidden blade. "At least have the intelligence to fight him evenly, novice." Malik bit out, tossing the sword to Altair, who caught it easily.

"Thank you for your kind advice, master." He said sarcastically, falling into a sword stance.

Stephen glanced between the two, unsure what to make of their strange banter, before settling his eyes on the opponent in front of him.

This would be the final bout, and they both knew it.

The entire fortress seemed to hold its breath, none willing to break the silence between the two fighters.

Once more, it was Stephen who made the first move, charging on the assassin.

Altair, expecting another vertical slash, dodged to the side, but Stephen was not a man to be fooled twice, instead using the thrust, and adjusted his angle, catching Altair with a glancing blow to the side.

Altair gasped, but did not pause in his assault, spinning behind his opponent – breaking his sword arm on the way for good measure – before landing a solid slash across the man's back.

Stephen gave a strangled cry, falling to the ground. A soft cheer went up from the gathered assassins, but Altair silenced them with a motion.

Stephen gasped in pain, struggling to lift himself with his good hand. "I'll be damned if….some assassin…" He reached weakly for his sword.

Altair frowned, tossing his now-stained sword to a nearby novice, before none-too-gently flipping the Templar over with his boot. He gasped again, weaker now.

Grasping the collar of the Englishman's tunic, Altair pulled the main up, unsheathing his hidden blade.

"At least be content knowing Maria will be happier with you gone." He said gruffly.

" Content?" Stephen replied incredulously, "Why would I give a damn about her happiness?" He coughed, "It was an arranged marriage, you damn assassin. And she was a defiant bitch to the end." He smiled weakly, "If it weren't for that damned will of her father, I would have had her killed years ago and married some empty-headed, well-endowed---"

Altair slid his blade easily out from the man's throat.

"Malik," He said, clutching his side as he rose, "A horse. Now."

"Don't be a fool, Altair. You're wounded." The assassin replied, motioning to the growing stain in Altair's robes.

"A horse, Malik. Now." Altair paused, taking a deep breath, "I need to go after her."

Malik stared at Altair for a moment, considering. Finally, sighing, and muttering about suicide missions, he motioned to one of the novices, who scampered off.

"Don't blame me if you get yourself killed, Altair." He muttered, "Come. We'll at least wrap your wound while they ready the horse."