Hawks and Eagles

The Eagle Falls

The training grounds were filled with shouts, the harsh scent of musty sweat and blood, sand and dust coating your lungs with each breath. You leaned against the rickety wooden fence around the fighting pit just outside of Al Mualim's tower, waiting in plain sight in hopes that he would finally call on you. You watched two men spar with their best short sword techniques. And you were nearly ready to call it quits, realizing you had been there for most of the day.

"He's not guarding his left very well." He leaned against the ring next to you, his hood was thrown back and the sun was glistening off of his tan skin.

You eyed him, remembering vaguely his name. Aban? Adasi? "His parrying technique is far superior."

He grinned, turning until he could press his back into the railings, his shoulder closer than it had been before. "I am Abbas. I have heard... a great deal about you. All quite wonderful, in fact. Your actions earlier were quite brave, standing up for a fellow Assassin."

You rolled your eyes to him, glaring over his dark hair and beard, the glint in his eye as his gaze trailed across your face and downwards. You chuckled, knowing all too well what he was doing. He hadn't been the first of the Assassins to flirt with you, Nizar finding them more annoying than you did. "I've heard very little about you, I'm afraid."

He moaned his disapproval, a shake of his head. He smiled gently, showing off the whites of his teeth. "That is a shame. Perhaps, you and I could speak of our battles sometime. Get to know each other better."

"You have a great deal to say, I'm sure." You stood up, hands still firm on the railings, your shoulders enjoying the stretch of muscle after having been hunched over for so long.

"Or. Perhaps, we could simply enjoy each other's company." He turned his body fully, a hand falling softly upon yours as he moved closer. "A warrior of your caliber... Surely, you must enjoy an evening of fine drinks with good stories. This evening, in fact."

Before you had the chance to properly turn him down, a kind refusal that you were simply uninterested, another stepped between you, a wall of white robes.

"She will be busy." Altaïr picked up Abbas' hand, tossing it away callously.

"Altaïr." Your heart raced, a tumultuous rhythm at hearing his voice, to know that he truly was alive. You had been worried, had thought perhaps he wouldn't survive, after all. Al Mualim hadn't called for you and the guards had kept you at bay.

Abbas snorted. "Al Mualim finally tire of you licking his boots?"

"If you will excuse us." Altaïr gripped hold of your upper arm, pulling at you to follow him. "The Master has called for our presence." He walked with you towards the large stone steps of the tower, taking the stairs up towards the veranda.

"You're alive." You leaned forward, to peer beneath the shadow of his hood. "I was worried about what Al Mualim planned to do to you."

"Not worried enough, it would seem." He shoved your arm away once you were inside of the tower. "Or do you flirt with men to take your mind off of things?"

A breath of air staggered out of you. "I wasn't flirting. I was trying to watch--" Your lips curled into a lopsided smirk, a sudden burst of confidence. "What do you care if I was flirting? He seemed quite polite. Unless, of course, you're jealous of him."

Altaïr stopped at the end of the main hall. "Upstairs. The Master waits for you."

You wiggled your brows, beaming that you had won a victory against that arrogant ass. But as you made your way up the lavish steps towards the top of the tower it dawned on you... Altaïr had been jealous. Had his arrogance, his kiss back in the desert... Had they been his poor attempt at flirting? Surely, not...