literature

Hawks and Eagles Ch5

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Literature Text

The Cries of an Eagle


Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad x Reader



Inside of the dark den was a coolness that the sun could not touch, could not squelter. You threw back your hood, raked hair hair out of its tangles. You lit a few oil lamps, allowed your eyes to adjust before working with the ingredients the doctor had provided. You would tend to the wound first, clean it of its infection and its festering, redress it with clean linens.

You gathered the mortar and pestle, remembering vaguely the teachings your master had instilled in you. You grounded the herbs into a fine paste then boiled the second vial of herbs in hot water, letting them seep into a darkened green. You searched through drawers and chests for a clean cloth, cutting them into strips to make proper bindings.

Returning to the bedroom, you could see that Altaïr's condition had worsened even more in your absence. His skin was sickly pale, sweat pooling across his body, his hair a matted mess. His body quaked, muscles trembling beneath skin. He groaned non-stop, the mutterings that spouted across his lips were audible but you hardly understood them, events that only he could see, people only he could speak to.

"Father," he pleaded, panting down a gasp. Of course he had a father but you hardly expected him to make a plea for him. You hardly expected the arrogant man before you could ever make a plea at all. But the fever had reduced him down to his truest feeling, shattered every careful wall that he had placed.

You set down the mortar and bandages then turned towards the bloodied cloth tied around his leg. A flick of your wrist, a taut pull of your fingers, and the hidden blade clicked free of its sheath. You carefully cut the tied knot, letting the linens loosen their grip around his thigh, the cold metal slidding back into your sleeve. You turned to work the wound free of its bindings, your hands steady until Altaïr groaned, shifting his weight uncomfortably. You hesitated and took down a steadying breath.

The wound smelled of infection, a sour smell of rotting meat coated with the lingering scent of metallic blood. You tossed the soaked cloth into the corner, turning instead to work the gritty paste into your fingers, ignoring the yellow-green of his open wound. You quickly pressed a large portion of the herbs into the exposed muscle.

Altaïr cried out, his voice strangled by the haze of fever. His body went taut, back arching off of the mat. He groaned through his teeth in agony. His fingers were claws, gripping at anything and everything, clutching fervently onto the pillows. He was in too much pain, his wound tender and swollen, now scorching beneath the searing touch of medicine.

Your whole body trembled, heart rapidly pounding in your chest, hardly ever hearing such a sound come from a man's throat. Assassinating had always been a silent ordeal. You worked through his agonized thrashing, relying on your training to remain calm, hurrying to gather the tea you had left on the counter. You poured the warm liquid into an old clay cup and set it down near Altaïr.

You kneeled down above his head, hoisting his upper torso until you could press his back against your chest, your legs moving to either side of him for support. His arm snagged hold of your leg, strong even in his weakened state, forcing it to bend upwards against him. His fingers dug into the softness of your inner knee, another cry of pain ripping through his chest.

"Drink," you begged, snatching the cup and pressing it to his lips.

His head was thrown back, another grimace, his sweat-drenched hair pressed against the bend of your neck. His hand tightened around your knee until you thought the bone would snap beneath his brutal assault.

"I'm so sorry," you muttered shamefully, "I'm sorry. Drink this, Altaïr, drink it." You pressed the cup more firmly, tipping it until the liquid lapped at his thinned lips. You managed to pour a few swallows into his mouth, throat bobbing as he gulped down the harsh liquid, encouraging him to take a few more drinks before placing the cup onto the ground.

His cries ceased but his muscles were still pulled taut, the heels of his feet shoveling into the ground with each wave of agony. His hand still grappled onto your knee, his other hand reaching for anything to provide comfort from the pain, grasping hold of your other leg, the softness of your thigh.

All you could do was cradle him against your lap, brush fingers through his hair, and whisper softly, "I'm sorry, Altaïr. Wait a little longer. Wait for the herbs to have their effect."

After what felt like hours, your body sighed when his muscles went slack, melting against you. You helped him swallow the last of the tea from the cup before setting it aside again. You rested back against the wall, Altaïr slumped lifelessly in your lap, the sickening events leaving you emotionally and physically drained.

You must have fallen asleep, neck sore from the awkward angle you woke up in. Altaïr was silent, his breathing raspy whispers. You slowly pried yourself out from underneath him, resting him comfortably back onto the pillows.

You began warming some of the thickening soup, softening it until the broth liquified. You poured another cup, helped Altaïr slowly swallow it down sip by sip. Once that was finished, you smeared more of the herbs into his wound and tied the bandages firmly into place.

From the den, you could see the soft glow of moonlight spilling into the parlor. You could feel the intense chill brought on by the night air, freezing the thin layer of sweat across your skin. You sat down into one of the chairs, roughly shoveling back your hair. You couldn't remember the last time your body felt relaxed, your mind felt at ease.

You were still trembling from Altaïr's screams. You had caused that pain. Even after all of your years of training, you were still shaken by the suffering of others. You pressed your face into your knees, body sighing against the hard wood of the chair.

A soft meow startled you from the chair. The alley cat strolled through the den, leaping up onto the counter where you usually left its meals. You rubbed hands across your face and went to work, shoveling the soup's chicken, lentils, and vegetables into a small bowl.

You made yourself some as well but found it difficult to find any appetite, taking to pushing around the food instead. The feline gave another meow and you decided to push that bowl to its feet as well. You stroked a hand across the cat's spine before returning to check on Altaïr.

You sat down against the wall, hunched over and waiting, listening to his struggled breathing. You muttered your pleading, hoping he would make it.

 

~:~

 

For days you nursed him back to health. You boiled the tea and dressed his wounds, constantly coating the open skin with herbal paste. You helped him drink down the cool broth, worried when he made no bitter comments about it being too cold. The infection was residing and the skin was no longer tenderly swollen.

You couldn't quite recall the last time you had slept or the last time you had eaten. Your thoughts were plagued with fear, the idea that Altaïr might die in your care. And so you tossed and turned each night, getting up to check to see if Altaïr was still breathing, and returning to your poor makeshift bed in the parlor.

The sunlight woke you, a heated glow against your skin. Your mind was still exhausted, likely only having slept for an hour. You pressed your hands across your face, rubbing away the weariness that still clung to you. You dropped your hand away, stretching each muscle and joint before finally catching sight of his form standing in the doorway.

"Altaïr." You sat up quickly, taking in his expression and then his bare chest, the blanket tied messily around his waist.

He was slumped against the doorframe, his expression expertly neutral, his brows however were drawn together. His eyes somewhat squinted against the harsh light of day. "What happened to me?" He walked into the room, crossing the small expanse to the fountain.

You drew in your legs, crossed-legged and rested your elbows against your knees. "Oh... Well, you had a fever so I went looking for your informant... He's a traitor..." It wasn't the most tactful way to put it but you were too tired to be tactful. You raked your nails through your hair, ruffling up the already messy strands. "I sought the help of a doctor, treated your wounds for the past few days..." You weakly shook your head, eyes sliding closed, thoughts dizzy with sleep. "A simple matter, really." You rolled your head, stretching the muscles of your achy neck.

He dipped his hands into the cool waters, splashed it across his dark skin, along his arms and shoulders. "You said my informant betrayed me?"

You nodded slightly, too busy admiring the way Altaïr's muscles rolled, the way his body moved as he cleaned off the sweat from his fever, the way his hands skimmed across his tan skin. He glanced over and you muttered quickly, "Yes! I caught him discussing his plans with the guard captain. Fayez. He's got quite a few hands dropping coins in his pocket." You released a sigh the moment Altaïr turned his back to you. You tried not to tilt your head, to enjoy the sight of his flexing back muscles, but it was damn near impossible.

He focused on cleaning off his chest, rubbing water along the tight mounds of flesh. "I will deal with him." He cupped water into his hands, pouring it onto his crown.

You huffed, a bitter laugh following close behind. "You just woke up from a fever that had you in bed for almost a week."

Altaïr turned around, both of his hands shaking the water from his hair. "Where is my gear?"

You shook your head but you weren't in the mood to argue. You hadn't slept in what felt like a lifetime. "I had to clean and mend your robes. Everything is in the den on the table."

Altaïr walked passed, his movements slow, an attempt to keep from limping.

You rolled your eyes, determined to prove him wrong. You threw out your leg the moment he stepped in front of you, kicking up towards the back of his knee which knocked him to the ground. He grunted and rolled onto his back to defend himself from your next attack. You were already on him, straddling his waist, hidden blade protruding from your sleeve.

Altaïr wasn't completely slow. He managed to grab your wrist before you could dip your blade towards his neck.

With a twist of your arm, you slipped out of his grasp. You snagged hold of his hands and pinned them above his head. "You are not strong enough to go out there hunting for a traitor."

He growled. In a quick move, Altaïr had his good leg tossing you backwards, throwing himself on top of you. "Do not tell me what I am!" His face was inches from your, rage in every single one of his features, especially his grimacing lips. Rage or pain, or perhaps both.

You sneered, tapping your hidden blade against his inner thigh, enjoying the scar that adorned those lips of his.

His eyes rolled down to peer at the glint of silver metal.

You happily followed the glance downwards, instead landing your sights on his firm chest above you. "You need more rest."

His shoulders stiffened, gaze refusing to meet with yours. Altaïr lifted off of you and slowly stalked back towards the den. You forced down your laugh, knowing that if you did Altaïr would have returned for a rematch in the sake of restoring his pride. You stood up and made your way to the small remainder of the herbs, boiling what was left and taking the tea to Altaïr. You had imagined him lying down to rest. Instead, he was cleaning his blades, each one laid out before him.

You kneeled down and placed the tea next to him. "Drink the rest of this to keep away the pain. You can leave tomorrow."

He scoffed, not even making a glance towards the cup. "I am used to pain."

You mumbled recklessly, "That's not what it sounded like a few days ago..."

"What?"

"Nothing." You stood up, straightening out your clothes, rubbing fingers into your eyes. "Since you're awake and perfectly capable... I'm going to sleep."

You heard the harsh slam of the safe house door thrown open which stilled your breath and strained your ears. Heavy steps landed into the parlor, your name being called, Master Saif's distinct voice. You threw your attention to Altaïr. "Stay here. Don't make a sound." You hurried out of the room, throwing the curtain door closed behind you. "Master Saif."

He threw down his satchel. "I rode here as quickly as I could. The Assassins are looking for this place. They plan to reclaim this city as one of their bases." He looked about the shelving behind the counter, searching amongst the rolled parchments. "Al Mualim has sent one of his best."

One of his best, you wanted to scoff. "What is our plan?" You swallowed your pulse, remaining neutral and calm.

"I will speak with one of our contacts in the city. We will find a temporary home for you until I can think of a more permanent plan." He straightened his back, shaking a scroll in his hand. "Ah, here we are. I will return this evening. Prepare to grab only your essentials." Saif paused, taking in the sight of you before placing a hand onto your shoulder. "My child..."

You forced a smile, trying to keep it from looking nervous. "Master?"

"You look worn. Did the city keep you busy?"

You sighed, fingers rubbing into your eyelids. "I've been busy, yes." It wasn't a lie... You had been busy but it wasn't exactly the city.

He squeezed the muscle and bone of your shoulder, a tender father to his daughter, a brief and rare moment when he showed affection. He had adopted you, taken you in, cared for you but he was always an Assassin first and a caregiver second. "Rest while I am away. Then we must leave before someone finds you here."

You gave a nod. "Of course, Master."

Saif plodded from the bureau, the breath you'd been holding, gushing from your lungs. You hated lying to him but you weren't entirely certain what else to do. Altaïr already knew of your existence but Masyaf had not yet received the news from him. Saif would likely have to make a choice: let Altaïr leave with the knowledge or kill him. And it scared you to not know which option Saif would choose.

You threw open the curtain, heart pounding in your ears.

"Master Saif trained you." Altaïr glowered at you, stern faced and weapons holstered. You were disappointed to see that he was dressed, belts already finding their way back onto his body.

"You know of him?"

"Vaguely." He stood up, checking his weapons and then used his hidden blade, discerning whether it still worked or not.

You stepped towards him then forced yourself in place, knowing that Altaïr wasn't one for compassion. "Go back to Masyaf and tell them this place is already gone. Tell them that this city would be a waste of resources."

Altaïr let the blade slide back into its sheath, metal scratching across metal. He faced you, his muscles tense and his eyes darkened in their stare, like those of a predator to its prey. "What are you afraid of?"

You screwed your lips down, seeing the arrogance spark in him again. "I am not afraid."

Altaïr stood stiffly, his wound still tender. "Then go to Masyaf yourself. For I will go to tell them about my informant's betrayal, the location of the Bureau, and the thief I found inside."

You nearly lunged at him, nearly threw a punch into him. But in his weakened state, there would have been no use in fighting with him. Even if you won, even if he died, someone would come to the city and look for the Bureau. And it wasn't in your nature to kill simply for killing. You could never take Altaïr's life. "I am not a thief!"

"You dare say such and yet, you stole our armor and claimed our safe house as your own. You know all of our secrets and tell us we can not enter this city because it is yours."

"I didn't steal anything. I worked for all of it."

One corner of his lips tugged upwards. He gripped his hood and pulled it over his head. "If you think yourself so worthy, prove it. Should you fail, I will have the pleasure of watching it."

You lifted your chin and turned out of the room. You scribbled down roughly on a note that you were leaving for Masyaf, apologizing for your deceit. Your mentor, your adopted-father, would find it eventually among the other scattered parchments. You gathered all of your weapons and secured them into place. You also strapped down the thick leather padding onto your right shoulder, covering the soft flesh near your neck and down your arm.

Altaïr was already climbing the wall, and failing quite miserably. His leg still strained to support most of his weight causing his arms to work harder than necessary. You hurried up onto the rooftop, snatching hold of his hand and hauling him upwards. Sweat already skimmed along his skin, his body still not fully healed.

You followed after Altaïr, his slow, silent walk through the city was almost hypnotic. The roll of his shoulders and the ambled way he swayed between the people hardly caused a ripple in the crowd. You copied his movements, analyzing how he slipped passed the scrutiny of patrolling guards and right out of the city gates.

You looked back towards the city, the subtle and dull shades of brown that made up the Poor District, rickety wooden structures of bazaars in the markets, and the blur of unfamiliar faces. You would miss this city, your childhood home, but you also felt eager to see the splendor that was Masyaf, to see the vast lands beyond.

Altaïr mounted the back of a horse, shifting his body until he was sitting tall in the saddle, cocky as usual. "Rethinking your decision? You would not turn into a coward so easily, would you?"

You glanced at the horse next to his, eyeing the large beast as it stomped hooves into the dirt. You had never ridden one, never having the need to. Master Saif forced you to walk on those rare training days out in the fields. "I wasn't rethinking," you finally assured him, approaching the horse with mock confidence. "I was..." Saying goodbye, but it sounded too sentimental to say aloud.

The horse before you grumbled, large body shifting suddenly and you jolted away from the beast. Thankfully, you didn't screech in fear. That would have certainly made Altaïr's day better and you were not going to make his day any better than it already was.

He hummed his disparagement. "You have not ridden one before."

You excused yourself haughtily, rather angrily, "I never needed to."

Altaïr pulled the reins of his horse, closing the space between the two large steeds. He reached out and took your horse's reigns, unclipping one end and tying it down onto the horn of his saddle. "There. Now get on so that we can finally be off."

You forced yourself to climb into the saddle, forced yourself not to flinch every time the horse rocked away from you or jolted beneath your weight. You sat down stiffly, the smell of must and dirt coating the horse's hair. High above an eagle gave out a cry, swooping down into one of the many guard towers, its eyes analytical of you. It was one of the many eagles that had grown used to your presence.

You looked back at the city once more. Master Saif would return to the Bureau and find you gone. It would take him time to realize you had left. He would think at first that a job kept you busy. And then he would think you were sick or dying. Perhaps he would find your note. Perhaps he wouldn't. It pained you to consider the effect this might have on him.

You straightened in the saddle, shrugged your shoulders and arms to shrug away the anxiety. You would go to Masyaf. You would prove your worth. You would fight for your place amongst them. You would not run and hide like Master Saif suggested. You could not hide forever. You wanted to see what lied beyond the massive city, what life was like elsewhere.

 

I'm so sorry for all the suffering I've put you through, Altaïr D.O : Please No Don't assassinate me? I'm too young to die!

Other Chapters

You were trained at a young age in the ways of the Assassins. However, all of your training had been done in secret without the knowledge of the Brotherhood. One of the Order, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, has discovered your existence and now you must take steps to decide where you want events to lead. (These first few chapters take place before the events of the first game but eventually lead into them.)
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avatarreiko's avatar
I (technically) beat the "Master Assassin"! My life is complete now.