Hawks and Eagles

The Nobility of a Hawk

You slept poorly, your hair a disheveled mess and even with your hood down, the Bureau felt like a thousand suns. It wasn't just the heat that kept you from sleeping. You wondered whether or not Altaïr was doing well and you were too timid to check on him.

However, morning confirmed your worst fears. Altaïr was suffering through the beginnings of a harsh fever. He still slept when you checked on him, gripped by the thralls of a nightmare. His entire body trembled beneath the thick blanket. His skin was coated in sweat, his hair drenched, and he muttered words too inaudible to understand.

You lifted the cover off of his leg and found his bandages reddened with blood. You placed a hand against his fiery forehead and another at the languid pulse in his throat. Your voice cracked, worry strangling your tone, "Altaïr?"

He groaned, eyes clenching tight and brows diving down together. His fingers dug into the blanket, grasping onto it weakly.

You would have to find his informant, to find the man that could treat his wounds far better than you ever could. But he lived somewhere outside of the city, amongst innumerable houses and rolling hills. It could take you the entire day to find him, even if you could remember vaguely what the man had looked like.

You stated more firmly, "Altaïr."

He turned his head away but finally his eyes slitted open, his vision bobbing across the room as if he couldn't quite focus on any one thing.

You leaned closer to him, a hand against his cheek so that he might look at you. "Altaïr, where is your informant?"

He breathed harshly, each breath staggered and unsteady as the next. "He was supposed to meet me at..." His gaze rolled away, thoughts dizzying. "Who are you? Where..."

You gently grabbed the damp cloth, patting it along his skin, pushing back his hair. You muttered to him your name, reminding him where he was and that he was safe. But whether or not he heard those words you were uncertain. His breathing began to increase and his brows began to bend beneath another wave of pain.

"My leg," he whimpered it, the headstrong Assassin reduced into a small child.

"Sh. It's alright." You turned his head, leaning forward until his eyes locked with yours. "Altaïr, listen to me."

He rolled his eyes across your face, taking in each of your features for the first time without your cowl to obscure his sights. "You are... beautiful..." His head rolled to the side, eyes slipping shut again.

You slid an arm beneath his head, supporting it so that you might get his attention once more. "Focus. Where is your informant supposed to meet you?"

He moaned, absentmindedly. "The market, near the gates."

You slowly went to stand but his shaky hand reached out and you took it.

"Do not leave me," he whispered it, his voice small and feeble.

You closed your eyes, taking down a deep breath to steady your rattled nerves. "Sleep, Altaïr. I will stay."

His eyes rolled closed, his hand falling lifelessly. If he didn't receive help soon...

You waited moments longer, taking in the dark stubble around his mouth, the thickness of his lips and the curvature of the scar that trailed through them. He muttered whispers, names you hardly recognized, and a few stuttered words from the Creed.

You slowly pulled your arm from beneath his head, replacing a pillow in your stead. Altaïr moaned through his bouts of heavy breathing and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back any desire that lingered in you to stay with him.