Disclaimer: Ubisoft own Assassins Creed.

Thanks to Ravenclaw Red for the style tips and great advice, this story was dead and waiting to be buried and she saved it.

More thanks to Kavek who made a real difference to how I approach things, he beta read a couple of chapters until real life stepped in (stupid dogs!)

A/N The section in Italics is my attempt to bring in a little back story

The Price of Failure

The dense, black clouds which had been hanging over her like an ill omen finally burst with a fury. The rain pelted against her, soaking her clothes making the material cling to her body like a second skin. The rider lowered her head, trying to shield her face from the downpour; her hood was sodden and afforded no protection from the deluge. Constantly swiping at her face, trying to remove the hair now plastered across her cheeks and the drops of water dripping from her hood into her eyes. Tightening her grip on the reins she offered a few hopeful words of encouragement to the mount.

His hooves were pounding the rain soaked earth, scattering mud in all directions but his gait was laboured. The powerful steed had been bred for stamina, but not for such long, fast runs over this vast expanse of countryside. The efforts of two days forced travel were beginning to show. Hunger and exhaustion took its toll on both the beasts pace and her patience.

With night looming and the rain showing no inclination to lessen its incessant battering of the earth and all things upon it she decided to take cover - or what scant cover they offered - under a small grouping of trees. Her only consolation was the notion that the assassin had to endure the same miserable conditions she was.

She had no doubt he was out there somewhere, their destination the same: Arsuf and Robert De Sable. Unfortunately this was also the site of the latest in a long line of bloody battles between the Saracen and The Crusader armies. She had to assume the assassin would sneak through the Saracen position - it was the most direct route – she however had no choice, going through enemy lines would be suicidal. Maria was taking the long way round and approaching her own troops from the rear. This was a race, pure and simple. One Maria had to win for her own sake and the sake of her lover. She owed him everything, her position, her happiness, even her life.

When her guise as a man had been uncovered Maria's fellow soldiers were so offended by her masquerade they wanted to kill her on the spot, fortunately for her she was taken into custody to be tried for all manner of things from treason to heresy, less fortunate was the fact that both these crimes carried the death penalty. Then as though emerging magically from the pages of her childhood books Robert De Sable had appeared - her Knight in shining armour - and saved her. Curiosity had led the Grandmaster of the Templar Knights to arrange a meeting with the now infamous woman soldier. Impressed by her courage and determination he took her into his private entourage eventually promoting her to the rank of Steward.

Once the plan to send a double to Madj Addin's funeral in Robert's stead had been formulated Maria had no hesitation, she offered herself as the decoy. She had proved herself many times on the field of battle and Robert's inner circle knew her to be tactically astute but Maria always felt her less public role, that of Robert's lover, overshadowed these things in the eyes of the other knights. This was the perfect opportunity to prove she was worthy of her position in the order. Aside from her own ambitions she wanted to this for Robert, she believed in him and she loved him,

Robert and his lieutenants had joked about how the assassin would be easy pickings if he dared show his face at the funeral, however once alone in their sleeping quarters Robert's mood became subdued. He was sitting on top of a large chest at the foot of the bed watching Maria remove herself from his armour.

"Remember you must be seen arriving in Jerusalem, then stay out of sight until the funeral. If the assassin shows don't confront him, leave him to my Knights I have no doubt they will handle him."

The soft, low timbre of his voice, usually confident and commanding, made her stop fussing with the armour. He was clearly worried.

She knelt in front of him, placing her hands on his thighs she said, "Don't worry. Once this is over your biggest concern will be whether to send the sand rats head to Rashid ad-Din Sinan or to mount it on your wall."

Robert, normally amused by Maria's refusal to give Al Mualim his proper title could only offer a soft smile in return. "Please Maria, do as I ask. If anything should happen to you I would never forgive myself." He took her upturned face in his huge hands and continued, "You are there only to lure him out, promise me you will take no part in the fight."

At that moment looking into his eyes, his voice soft, she would have agreed to anything, "I promise."

He smiled pulling her face closer to his and he kissed her deeply.

The blistering hot sun made wearing Robert's armour practically unbearable. There was a running joke among the knights which referred to long marches as making Crusader stew and she certainly felt like she was being slowly cooked during the long hours waiting for the funeral to begin. It was the armour she thought of now as she watched the Templar soldiers try to get the better of the assassin. It has to be slowing them down; there could be no other way to explain the almost inhuman speed with which the assassin moved. Her promise to Robert long forgotten, Maria drew her sword and joined the battle.

He moved among them with an ease and grace of movement which made them look clumsy and unskilled, but these were not common soldiers, they were some of Roberts own private body guard, the cream of the Knights Templar yet he struck them down one by one until only she remained. She was sure she would die when his blade tore its way into her body but she felt no relief that he had spared her, her mind was tortured with the knowledge that the blade had not been meant for her but for the man she loved. Robert was in real danger and she feared he had no idea just how deadly the callous bastard who now stalked him really was.

Miserable, cold and wet she lay on the driest piece of ground she could find and pulled her thin, damp blanket over her shoulders. She clenched her teeth at the explosion of pain these actions caused in her shoulder, still throbbing from the wound the assassin had inflicted during that disastrous conflict in Jerusalem. Of much more consequence to Maria was the pain she felt inside, failure and defeat cut her far deeper than any blade ever could.

Two long days later, exhausted and racked with pain and hunger Maria finally caught sight of the Crusader banners and the tops of the tents. Her spirits lifted tenfold at their appearance and for the first time in days she dared to allow hopeful thoughts to creep into her brain. She kicked at the horse spurring him on for one final push to get her to the cluster of tents which served as both head quarters and temporary home to Robert and his Knights.

She approached Roberts tent and practically dropped from the saddle to ground, her aching body howling protests at her. The two soldiers standing guard at Robert's tent saw her approach and looked at her with slack jawed astonishment. Maria barged paste them barely acknowledging their presence and threw open the flaps to go inside.

Once past the threshold the sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks.

Robert was laid out on his bed fully clothed in his armour with his sword placed along the length of his body and his hands positioned over it, almost as though he were holding it. His helmet was at his side and for a few seconds that was all Maria could focus on. She could hear shouts from outside but they seemed distant and unimportant, the actual words were lost on her.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, she had to shift her feet to keep her balance. She raised her hand to her mouth in an effort to hold back the agonised sounds she felt trying to escape her throat. Blackness began to creep into her vision and she blinked against it. She managed a few tentative steps towards the bed before her body betrayed her, her knees buckled completely beneath her and she slumped to the ground. She was vaguely aware of a hand on her shoulder and a voice speaking softly in her ear. Then the blackness engulfed her and Maria, instead of fighting it, welcomed its numbing embrace.

The young man bent down, the tail of his white robes spreading around his feet, and put his arms around her lifting her off the ground, he carried her out of the tent.

"You want to show him mercy? Have you taken too many blows to the head brother?" Malik found himself struggling not to raise his voice. "What possible good can come from allowing Abbas to remain in the order? Why are we even letting him live?"

Altair opened his mouth to answer but closed it again when Malik continued berating his decision.

"Do you know how dangerous he could be to us? I don't see how we can trust him now Altair. This was no minor misdemeanor! That he tried to usurp your position was bad enough but that he attempted it by using the apple shows how reckless he is."

"I know that Malik, I was there." finally able to talk the grand master continued. "What we need now is unity. If I am seen to be too severe with one of the Dai it will only make our goal that much harder."

Malik immediately countered: "If you are seen to be too lenient, too weak, where will that leave you?"

As he spoke the former rafiq of Jerusalem moved to the vacant chair in front of Altair's newly acquired desk and sat down never taking his eyes from his friends face. Altair sat behind said desk, the entire surface of which was covered with documents and books. He had been busy and Malik's return to assist him was most welcome, even if it did mean he had to suffer this outburst.

He knew Malik was right. Al Mualim would never have tolerated any form of insubordination but he was not Al Mualim. He was determined to be a different type of leader. He viewed his newly appointed right hand man for a few seconds before finally deciding on how best to voice his thoughts. "For months now my life has been steeped in blood and death. My leadership of the order arose from death, a death which came by my hand. I don't want to begin in the same way."

In an uncharacteristic sign of insecurity he bit his lower lip; the gesture was not lost on Malik.

"I know Abbas harbours ill will toward me. I can only hope my actions will bring him round but even if they don't, if he hates me until the end of his days I will not order his death and cause a greater rift between myself and the brothers who still don't fully trust me. I won't make a martyr out of Abbas."

Malik leaned back in his chair and threw his friend an ironic smile. "Had I known my first task upon returning would be to deal with Abbas Sofian I would have stayed in Jerusalem."

"That is the very reason my letter made no mention of the matter," Altair threw back at him.

"And now we find ourselves trying to lead a brotherhood still split over Al Mualim's death. The Templars have new leaders as yet unknown to us. How do you suggest we proceed?"

Altair had no doubts about how to respond to this question, "I need to go to Acre. That is their main seat of power and will be the best place to garner information about the new leadership. We know they won't allow their recent losses to stop them. We should attempt to find out their plans and I plan to leave in two days to do just that."

Malik rose from his seat slightly bowing his head, "If this is what you think best …. "

"If you have any better suggestions I would be happy to hear them brother."

"No! I think sending our new Mentor to eavesdrop on the Templars is the best possible use of our resources." The look on Malik's face mirrored the sarcasm in his voice.

Altair bit back his desire to meet this comment like for like, taking a deep breath he composed himself and replied, "Malik, I have no intention of spending the rest of my life behind this desk, handing out orders and getting fat. You have my complete confidence; you are as capable as I am. If you feel I was wrong in this assessment now would be a good time to let me know."

"I thank you for your confidence Altair; and I will endeavor to be worthy. However, I assume one of the reasons you choose me was that I will tell you when I think you are wrong and that being the case, I think you are wrong. You are needed here; we need to begin winning over the brothers still against us. We have stacks of Al Mualim's papers to go over," as he said this he swept his arm dramatically above the papers littering the desk. "We need to find out exactly how much he was keeping from us. In short, we need to get our order in order."

"All tasks perfectly suited to your skills as an organiser and as a communicator." Altair smirked, "Don't you agree?"

"Fine, you go off on an adventure and leave all the boring work to me. Maybe I'll get lucky and find a horribly dangerous assignment for Abbas." Now it was Malik's turn to offer a smirk. "Perhaps we could send him to pay a visit to Robert's stand in? By all accounts you had a very difficult time overcoming her sword skills."

Altair ignored the obvious implications in Malik's words. Malik hadn't seen her fight and couldn't be convinced that she was indeed a "worthy" opponent. Altair understood perfectly why his friend doubted her skill, he would have too had he not witnessed them first hand.

He had thought of her often since their encounter, she fascinated him. He had never met a woman like her so fierce and brave, she had stared death in the face with her head held high. The woman obviously had military training that alone made her stand out among her gender. Who had she been to Robert De Sable? What was her role within the Templars? Sometimes he wondered if his decision to spare her life had been a mistake, she was clearly sided with the Templars, had she been a man he would have killed her, of that he had no doubt.

He became aware Malik was waiting for him to say something, "I hardly think Abbas is guilty of anything deserving so severe a punishment."