Hawks and Eagles

A Flighty Decision

You left Masyaf in a hurry, Altaïr refusing to stop and rest the first day of the journey. The next few nights were quiet and brief rests, a few hours of sleep before riding off again. The further away the both of you were from the scrutiny of the Assassin's the better you started to feel. Altaïr even began to slouch a bit in his saddle, either from relief or from exhaustion. But you'd never seen him so relaxed, so pleased, as you did then.

You pulled taut the reins of your horse, slowing it to a stop and Altaïr quickly noticed. He looked over at you, turning his mount back down the path towards yours. You flicked your attention to the darkening sky, the mild chill in the air. "We should camp. The horses need a rest and so do we."

He took a few glances around, surveying the surrounding landscape. There were so few trees but there was plenty of coarse grass, a few high cliffs of sandy brown and rusty red. "There was an abandoned house. It would make for a decent spot."

You steered your horse back down the path, remembering the small abandoned little hovel. It looked as if it hadn't been used in years, the ceiling barely holding against the elements. It would work best against bandits or passing guards. And it would certainly hold back the wind, at least for the night.

Altaïr took care of the gear while you tied the horses out back. You made sure they had access to water and a bit of food before heading into the shambled home. Altaïr was just beginning to lay out the blankets when you sauntered over. You dropped down onto one of them, your knees hitting hard earth, before you fell dramatically backwards.

"Truly?" Altaïr rose a brow.

You grinned widely up at him. You couldn't even remember the last time you had smiled so freely. "It's been a long journey. I'm tired."

His eyes softened and his tone as well, "We will reach Jerusalem soon enough."

Your smile slowly faded away. There was something in his words that hinted at discomfort. Jerusalem held something he wasn't ready to face. "The mission... What is it that it would upset the great master assassin?"

His hand moved along the blanket, smoothing out the last of it before he laid out next to you. "It is not the mission that bothers me."

You turned on your side, pressed your cheek against his firm chest. "Something bothers you."

"Malik," he stated blankly. "He is the Rafiq."

Malik, you vaguely recalled the name. Then suddenly you remembered the Assassin who had stumbled into Masyaf long ago with a wounded arm. He had lost that arm and his brother. And all of it had been because of Altaïr. Of course he was nervous at seeing the man again. It shocked you that he even admitted it to you.

You shifted against him, hand careening over his chest. "If you speak..." No. You rolled your eyes shut. He wouldn't listen to Altaïr even if he spoke the truth. "Actions will speak louder to him. Show him that you've changed."

Altaïr moved his arms around you, pressing your to his side. "I shall do what I can. He will not see it but... I will know that I did what I could."

You chuckled, pressing your chin onto his chest as you admired him. "Were those words of wisdom? From you, Altaïr?"

"You are surprised?" He lifted up off the floor, rolling until his body shifted onto yours. His voice became a husky whisper. "I have more words if you wish to hear them." His touched glided downwards across your ribs, thumb barely caressing across the base of your breast.

You slowly licked your lips, lifting them towards his, hovering teasingly. "What sort of words will these be?"

His voice was so low that you were tempted to lean closer, "Silent ones." His eyes slipped shut as his lips parted and brushed over yours. He made contact ever so briefly, never committing to a full kiss. He was taunting you. It was enough to make you tug on the edge of hood. He chuckled, placing a slow kiss and pulling away just as slowly.