AN: *Walks in wearing a pink tutu with a basket filled with flower crowns*

*gifts said flower crowns to her readers for their ever loving support*

*performs a little twirl*

*exits*

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! Wow, what year is it haha. HERE IT IS YOU GUYS!

Treat yo self!

What We Can't Have

Chapter Twenty-Eight

1191, Masyaf

He stared at the woman standing before him, the woman who has earned his hatred, his favour, his unwavering attention—all of them. All at once. He hated her; hated what she was making him feel, hated that he hated her. He couldn't help it.

He was fascinated. Utterly so.

He wished for distance, but desired far more to be in her company. She came into view, even with only the delicate round of her shoulder showing, and his skin prickled with anticipation. He felt that way when he was on the hunt, when he spotted his enemy, when their blood coated his blades and hands, but the sensation she inspired travelled far deeper. Darker. More... savage. It made his palms itch.

Itch for a touch. Itch to wrap that long hair of hers around his fist, jerk her head back and have his way with her.

Dangerous thoughts. Delicious sensations. He was torn; he didn't know which side of the rope to pull tighter.

The other morning, when she came to write a letter to her family, she'd looked so... beautiful. No, he thought now, not beautiful. It was too tame a word. Exquisite did it more justice. He had a strong urge to push Malik out the window and even a stronger urge to hell with his principles, throw her on the table and finish what they started with no care for the audience.

The wickedly challenging side of him had wanted the audience, had wanted everyone to know who exactly her cries of pleasure were being directed to. Such possessiveness had left him stunned for he had not felt anything of its like towards anybody. Not even his lovely Adha. While Adha made him feel calm, sweetened and far merciful to beings than he ever was, Farah made his insides shudder violently, his control on everything to slip, and his mind to whirl. She played with his demons so daringly, he wanted to rip out the hearts of her enemies and gift them to her.

With just one gleaming look in her eyes and a smile from her lips and he wanted to tell her all of his terrible secrets.

Foolish of him. But when the words of the greatest value spilled from her lips, when she stated she'd always see the good side of his actions, that she'd grant him the benefit of the doubt no matter the issue, yes, then he was utterly unmanned. Everything civil in him had been savagely ripped from his person, and he'd wanted to push her against the shelves of books—books he knew she'd love to read—jerk her pants down, hoist her up, and ravish her against the wooden columns.

Desire of the strongest kind had thrummed in his veins, heating his blood, making it molten-hot.

First, he'd start slow but grind in deep, witness her lips part to allow breathy sighs to escape, witness himself nip at her chin as she'd nipped at his. Get her worked up, flustered, her sighs to turn into impatient moans. Then he'd increase his pace, taking her hard and fast, her legs wrapped securely around his waist, and groan as the books would shuffle and buckle and one by one fall to the floor, their resounding thuds alike praising song. She'd tighten around him, her walls would milk him, and then she'd beg, beg, beg—

He now growled, cutting off the never-ending muse, but his abdominal muscles still quivered in delight at the image of them intertwined.

"Yes, please, yes."

He'd said her name, and in response, no matter how low the tone, she'd murmured these words. Did she know she said them aloud?

The mere pleasure of being in her presence, now filled his chest. And with it came the rock-hard desire. The two were never far off from each other. They pumped heavily and violently in his system, ready to cloud his mind with images strong enough to bring him to his knees.

He'd been practicing for hours before she came knocking on his door, was now dripping with sweat, and the reason was because the Apple of Eden had showed him new strategic ways to defeat one's enemy—especially body wise. Close and dirty. He'd written them down and drew some of the methods in his book, learning them himself before he taught them to his brethren. That was the first reason.

The second, after their morning together, he hadn't been able to get Farah out of his head. And he really had to get her out of his head. The attraction he was feeling towards her was boiling his mind, distracting him from work, and the only way to end them, he concluded, was to fully exert it out of his system through heavy training.

So far? Not going so well. Not when she now stood before him, the moan she released a moment ago still fresh in his esurient ears, and especially not when she harboured dark desire in eyes locked on him. No matter her holding his tray of food, she could not be here. Because God help him, he was still bloodily battling for an ounce of control and any wrong word or sound from her, and not even all the assassins combined together in this fortress would be able to stop him from reaching her.

Breathing raspy and deep, his chest heaving in and out, his heart still pumping blood through his body due to his extreme training, he asked, "What are you doing here?" And before he could command otherwise, his legs made their way to her, book and spear still in his hands.

Perhaps it was the scowl in his expression, perhaps the dark promises gleaming in his eyes or the provocative strides of his legs, because the moment he stole a step forth, she immediately took one back.

He tilted his face at the action, and the hunter, the predator, within him abruptly awoke, revealing razor-sharp teeth, and the drugging rush he felt in a chase now morphed and moulded with his desire, the outcome causing his body to respond with quivers and delicious shudders. He offered her a slow lopsided grin.

Let's see if she's good with prayer, he mused, because the darkest side of him was unravelling. It was a sight a few had witnessed—his targets when fleeing from the beast chasing them. And she should be afraid. Very... very afraid.

One step, two, he calmly backed her up against the massive table behind her, the tray in her clasp beginning to tremble. He noticed every diminutive detail in her person. Her eyes were wider, her lips were parted, her shoulders were tensed, and her slender throat was gradually caved inwards due to her holding her breath in a deathly grip. He enjoyed the sight immensely. It did... things to him. Bad things.

When her back hit the edge of the table, she gasped, tossing a frantic look behind as if to really check there was an obstacle in her way. When proven correct, she immediately snapped her attention back at him. Too late. He was already in her face, invading her personal space. His lower abdomen pressed against the edge of the tray when he dared to lean closer. Her sweet jasmine scent greeted his senses, further enticing him.

When she blinked up at him, her cheeks rosy-red, her eyes, even when there was a glimpse of fear in them, still dark and burning with fire, he rested the pointy, steely end of the spear against her cheek, causing the soft flesh to slightly curve in.

At that, she froze. Maybe even stopped breathing altogether.

"W-What..." she began only to halt, then nervously lick her lips. A mistake. When he spotted the pink tip of her tongue, the savageness accelerated sky-forth, and he growled deep, the sound reverberating the small distance of air between them.

Her eyes widened another fraction, and a low gasp escaped her throat. It wasn't one of fear, he now realized, but one of... excitement? For some odd reason, he reacted much stronger to that than to her tongue wetting her lips, and it left his insides curling with unmanageable anticipation.

He dragged the pointy end to her lips, leaving on her cheek a faint line of the daring deed committed, and watched with hooded eyes as a wispy sound escaped the steel when it glided against the plump, red flesh. Just a little more pressure, and he knew she'd bleed.

A small sound got strangled in her throat.

He lifted his lashes to meet her eyes, daring she voice her protest, but he instead witnessed her pupils dilate, arousal and a daring of her own swimming in her pools. There no longer was any trace of fear.

The silence between them crackled with hot energy, and the fire in his already ablaze abdomen flared, causing his member to twitch.

He held her gaze with his own, and the more they stared at each other's eyes, the bolder they became. A few heartbeats more, and he knew the tray between them would be tossed and forgotten. He would claim her.

Altair suddenly inhaled, stepping away from her. They couldn't have that. He grinded his morals together, and more so his teeth.

"You are right," he said abruptly, earning her puzzled look in the process. She blinked at him. "The food does smell delicious. Set it on the table to my back."

At his unexpected change of demeanour, Farah for a moment hesitated. Then, clearing her throat, she nodded, her cheeks slightly burning with colour. "Of course." She walked past him, and his eyes trailed after her, the tether to his control whining at the tightness he was gripping it with.

He latched onto it with all his strength, his grip on the spear turning his knuckles white. As the female set the tray on the small table, brushed her palms on her thighs, and trotted back to leave, he instinctively extended the spear in her direction, deliberately pressing it against her stomach and stopping her from stealing a further step.

Her long lashes fused together, and with a low voice, she said, "If you do not remove the weapon out of my way, you'll find it in a place you'd rather not find it in."

Amusement flickered to life in his chest. That couldn't be helped, but he did extract his weapon back. "Still threatening me." He tsked.

She wrapped her arms against her chest and lifted her chin. "Because you're that easily threatened."

This time, he offered a lazy, sensual smile, their words similar to the ones spoken a winter ago, and had to slightly bow his face to shield it.

"Stay," he then suddenly commanded, his voice stern, the smile gone. That word brought brown orbs to settle on his person, their depths swirling with confusion. "And you still did not answer my question."

She frowned. "What question?"

"What you are doing here," he reminded.

She spread her arms to her sides, all Hello-I-So-Answered-That. "I brought you food."

He leaned on his stick, caressing the curve of his lower lip with his thumb. "That you answered, alright. But what are you doing here? Why were you sent all the way up here and not the usual Cadet that goes by the name Abraham?"

She opened her mouth to speak and then slowly closed it. She blinked away from him. A sign of agitation, he knew. "I... Um, maybe he didn't want to do it this time? Maybe he had something else to do?" Her voice rose as she tried to give reasonable points. "Or, or, maybe he was tired of bringing food to you? Maybe he thought 'I don't want to see his nude body, this time I'd rather eat my own meal when it's still hot and steamy'? Did you ever think of that? If you didn't, you are a selfish person. But instead of telling you things you might already have knowledge of, I'd rather get busy leaving."

She attempted to depart but he stopped her mid-way, and this time with just the rigidness in his voice. "I'm not finished yet."

She sighed, then stared up at him from behind her lashes. "Yes?"

"I wish to... talk," he said, and was surprised at the words uttered.

"Talk?" She softly frowned. "About what?"

He merely shrugged. "About your life here. I realized I never really got to ask how you were faring."

She scrutinized him with her slightly narrowed eyes, as if wondering what the matter was with him. And he most honestly did not know. He simply desired... company. Hers, being the most. "Fine," she let out, arms crossed against her chest. "I'll stay. But only on one condition."

"And what may that be?"

"You will share your soup with me. I have yet to eat dinner, hence my agitation to leave. I'm so awfully famished, I could bite your fingers off if you smeared them with sweet sauce."

Fighting the smile that was threatening to stretch his lips, he nobly inclined his head down in agreement. "You have my word."

"Good."

This time, he permitted the smile to ghost over his lips before forcing it down again, then pointed at the sitting couch with the tip of his spear. "Await for me there, I shall join you in a few. I need to clean myself up a bit."

Eyeing him for just a moment, and then another, this time her lashes dropping a little lower, she nonchalantly shrugged and walked over to the cushions before plopping down on them. "If you take more time than necessary, don't whine when you see the bowl empty. Mind that I said the bowl and not your bowl."

He was walking over to the door, and tossed a "Behave" over his shoulder as he opened the barrier.

He strode to his chamber that was opposite to his study, washed himself clean with the hot water he'd heated beforehand in the hearth of his washroom, scrubbed himself dry, donned a pair of black slacks, white tunic, and fresh woollen socks, and returned to his study. He spotted the female calmly pacing before the shelves of books next to the sitting area, a gleaming sword in her hand. It seems she'd taken it down from the wall it was hanging from.

Leaving her examination of books, she gazed down on the sword and performed unmethodical attacks on imaginary villains. She even produced sounds as she acted so. Altair's chest suddenly ached at the scenery before him, and he rubbed the spot with two fingers. He frowned. Odd. It was not one of pain or sadness, but rather of... sentiment? His frown only deepened. He found her to be rather... adorable. Yes. That was it.

He suddenly straightened, scowling. Adorable? An assassin capable of finding another human being endearing? He has gone soft. He rebuffed the sensation and loudly cleared his throat, making himself known to the woman.

She gasped, the sword flying out of her hand and clattering down on the stony floor. "It totally fell by its own when you left. I definitely did not stretch to my utmost height to reach it on the wall."

"You were holding it wrong," he pointed out as he walked over to the sitting space. The sensation inspired a moment ago was still having trouble taking its demanded leave. "And the sounds you released were rather unreal. Swords don't talk."

She rolled her eyes, descending down on one of the fat sitting-mats on the floor stationed on the opposite side of the low table. He, on the other hand, sat on the couch facing her. The tray of food rested in the middle. "They do in my hand," she remarked.

Lifting the bread she used to cover the top of the soup bowl, he broke it in half and gave one to her. She took it with a smile, and munched down a big bite. She chewed it with relish, closing her eyes. There were two spoons, one for the soup and one for the small bowl of yoghurt and a plate of salad. She took the spoon for the soup as he took the one for the latter.

They were just about to dive in when both their spoons clashed in the middle. Their heads simultaneously lifted and they stared at each other.

"Ladies first," she said.

"Mentors first," he corrected.

"I'll be doing the soup more honour by tasting it first," she reasoned.

He snorted. "Please. By being the mentor, I'm sure I'm more deserving of its first taste."

This time, she snorted. "Please, by cleaning the three floors and keeping the horses groomed and dirt-free, I think we already know who the winner is here. The fortress you run would've been a mess without me playing a role in its upkeeping."

Altair suddenly stilled, then a dark expression befell his features, and more so his mood. The first taste be damned. He put down his spoon and laced his fingers together. "I thought you dropped the cleaning of those three floors in favour of working in the stable."

Farah was about to dip her spoon in when she heard those words, and abruptly halted. She pursed her lips, slowly facing him. "Whoops...?" she said, timidly lifting a shoulder.

He growled. "Why would you lie to me? If not that, keep this from me?"

She suddenly appeared shocked. "I didn't lie to you, Altair. I simply did not say anything. There's a difference. And I didn't keep this from you either; sure, I kept silent, but if you'd have asked, I would've replied in the affirmative."

"You disobeyed my very clear, very absolute commands."

"Commands that had no voice of justice in them," she shot back, dropping her own spoon on the table.

"No voice of justice? They are justifiable enough if it means saving your body and fingers from further abuse."

"Don't bring my fingers into this! Then what about the Cadets, who do the same labour as I do? Would you show them this care that you're showing me now?"

The muscle below his eye twitched. "The labours are a part of the Cadets' training. It is their duty to discipline themselves. You are bound to no such service, no such hardship. You can work elsewhere, and your efforts will be appreciated all the same."

She lifted her chin in stubbornness. "And I chose to stay, and my efforts are appreciated. That's that."

There was more to her adamant decision to outright disobey him, he was positive. And more so the orders he gave Maryam. She couldn't just be stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. "Why is it of such great importance that you not depart from that position, when I demanded otherwise? And do not state that I was favouring you; your status here is different than that of my disciples, and it is my duty to consider the welfare of everyone here and in that village below. Now answer my question."

She tossed him a sugar-sweet smile. "I kindly refuse to."

If he was a lesser man, he would've chosen anger and ignorance over understanding and perceptiveness at her lack of cooperation. But he was never a lesser man. Her answer proved his assumptions true—she was hiding the reason to her staying. It was something... personal. Personal meant emotional. And after everything that she went through, everything that he was partially responsible for, it didn't take long for Altair to realize the answer.

He sighed, some of his foul mood waning away. "You use it as an anchor." It was not a question but a blunt statement.

Her eyes widened, and she looked away, her lashes fluttering. "I guess you are more worthier of the first taste," she mumbled lowly. "Damn it."

"Alright," Altair said, locking his gaze with her face. "Continue your duty up there, and only resign when you feel ready to do so. I know you did not choose your circumstances, and I understand you are attempting to make the best of them, but also attempt your best to take care of yourself. Now that is an order I demand obeyed."

She lifted her head, her narrowed eyes focusing on him. "Finally, reason. And here I thought I'd lost you."

He narrowed his own eyes. "You gave nothing for me to not be lost. Now that is the aspect of a very selfish person." He tossed her earlier words right back at her.

She shrugged, and buffed her bandaged nails. "What can I say? I'm my utmost concern."

He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "Now that it's settled, let us eat. I'm famished myself."

Eager, the female picked up her spoon. But this time she did not reach first—she waited for him. Once again, his chest ached. This time far deeper and gnawingly. "The honour is yours," he said, softly pushing the bowl more to her side.

Her eyes blinked up at him, and then she smiled, revealing straight, gleaming teeth. It might as well have knocked him out of his seat as it managed to knock the breath right out of his lungs. "Sweet," she retorted. "Saved your fingers from being bitten off."

She dipped her spoon in, filled the hollow circle, brought it up to her parted lips, blew a little of the steam away, and drank it, her pretty petals closing in on the wooden object. And he watched all that, for a moment imagining those lips closing around something else. It didn't help when she moaned—deep.

Altair bit down on his tongue to stop his own moan from escaping, and felt his hardened length strain against his breeches. God help him, he had to get an iron grip on himself. She was merely eating; what was the matter with him?

She sighed, going for another round. She drank it with utter merriment, and he suddenly didn't care if she finished the entire bowl of soup. Watching her easily contented him. He frowned; not approving the thoughts of this like. Not approving any of his latest reactions, really.

She looked up at him, saw him just sitting there, and said, "What? Oh, were you waiting for my permission?" It was sarcastically uttered. "By all means." She gestured towards the food with her hand.

He picked up his spoon and drank the soup. "I was merely making sure it wasn't poisoned."

A mortified gasp. Then, "Bad, bad, Altair."

He didn't know why, but that tone of hers, chastising yet almost sultry, aroused him further. It made his mind reel. Perhaps they were words more suited for a different surrounding, more specifically his bedroom. And yet, he couldn't help but grin at her from behind his spoonful of hot soup.

Another gasp escaped her, but this time it was soft. Swallowing tenderly, she resumed her eating. As they ate in comfortable silence, finally feeding their whining bellies, at times even jokingly fighting each other's spoons inside the bowl to get pieces of the chicken, Altair felt serenity wash over him. It had been a long week, a long day, and ending it with such a note was not a terrible thing.

"So tell me," he started, leaning back against the couch. Even though Altair was nowhere near full, he left the rest of the soup to her. "How are you faring here? Has anybody been unkind to you?" His eyes slightly narrowed. "If someone has been, tell me their name and justice will be yours."

She tossed him a smile before picking up the bowl and draining the remaining contents down her throat. Then, placing the bowl back, she wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, and sighed. "That was a good meal. And, no, no one has been unkind or unjust to me. I love everyone here; they're wonderful people. Well, those whom I'm acquainted with."

He relaxed into his seat. "That is good to hear."

She tilted her face a little to the side, and peered at him from behind her lashes. "But you are an exception to that," she murmured out. "I cannot say you were not unkind to me, because you were. You almost never fail to break something in me."

Altair gazed at her for a long while. Then, "Do you wish to punish me?"

And why would he not offer such a thing? He had accused wrongfully and promised to give her Hell and was doing so in the best ways possible. He was more than willing to let her rot in the dungeons to break her spirit a little so as to make the upcoming interrogation truthful, was willing to mentally torture her to get the answers he needed, and was more than willing to deny her the taste of pure pleasure when she'd at last gotten to know it. He was a cruel and mad man, but both with a method.

After his question, silence befell them.

As they sat there, Altair suddenly wished to come clean about that certain decision he'd made a year ago, as he now knew it to be the right time, but before he could part his lips, she suddenly chuckled. It was light and melodious.

"Do you know of a young man that goes by the name Haroon, the one who works in the kitchen?"

Completely irrelevant, but he chose to indulge her. He nodded as he rubbed a thumb inside his palm. "A good man. His father, too."

She wiggled in her seat to straighten her spine a bit. "Apparently, it was his birthday today. I wished to bring him a gift of some sorts, but he refused, indicated that him knowing to write his own name because of me was the best gift he could've ever asked for. I... believe the relationships I'm building with the people here are indeed genuine and not out of survival or... or obligation. There is love there."

His brows furrowed. Knew how to write his own name because of her? Leaning forward and digging his elbows into his knees, he questioned. "Are you insisting that you should not be feeling in that manner in the first place? That it should indeed be of survival and obligation?"

Her eyes, unblinking, gazed straight at his. When she spoke, she spoke so softly, calmly, but mostly, assuredly. "No, because my circumstances are not out of my circle of control. You say I attempt to make the best out of my current situation, yes, but not because I have no other choice. I thought I didn't but soon came to the conclusion that if I wanted, I could've abandoned Masyaf. I could've escaped. Or tried to. I could've betrayed you... again. These choices were always present, but I did not. I refused to follow suit with those desires."

"Why, then, did you choose to stay?" Altair evenly asked, favouring where this conversation was heading to. It was a part of her mind he wished to unveil and discover, and her words were not disappointing.

"You know what I'm capable of doing for my freedom," she stated. "You are living proof of my determination to achieve it no matter the obstacles in my way. But you were right. Partially. If I left, if I, say, had to stab you again to escape, I would be running my entire life. I would be placing the welfare of my family at risk. The wisest choice was to stay." So, she'd done it in favour for others. The value of their lives anchored above hers. He would be lying if he said her sacrifice and bravado did not spark admiration in him.

He inclined his head to the side, this time peering at her. "Are you that confident in your achievements that you'd assume I would permit your blade to pierce my body once more?"

A small shrug. "My last time was a success."

Because of the decision he'd made, he'd let down his guard. A fatal mistake on his part.

"And yet here I still am, and here you still are. Nonetheless, I'm a changed man, Farah. Even if you were to rob me of my life, I'd never choose hatred. You," he suddenly chuckled at the upcoming thought, and more so at himself than at anything else, "You, I fear, I'd always understand."

Her expression softened, and a small pout tugged at the corners of her lips. "I know," she whispered. "I see it. The change in you, I mean." Licking her lips, she tilted her face down, suddenly finding her sleeves interesting. "But you don't see the change in me, do you?" Her head perked back up, and she stared at him through almost glossy eyes. "In your eyes, I'm still that betrayer."

Altair gently blinked. How falsely she believed; it was because of the change in them both that they're able to sit across one another in this fashion "I wasn't going to do it," he voiced instead, at last informing her of his past decision.

At his words, she frowned. "What?"

"After the mission, I wasn't going to end your life. I had decided against it, but decided too late. Despite everything, despite my Creed, I was ready to let you walk away a free woman."

As if punched in the chest, she slacked backwards. "You were not going to kill me?"

He shook his head.

Her frown only deepened, and her mouth opened, but no words came out. No sound. She stared at him in disbelief, and it slightly surprised him. "And when did you come to that conclusion?"

"The night before De Pablo's imminent death."

Her lashes flickering down, she wordlessly stared at the table between them. Then, flattening her palms on its wooden surface, she licked her lips and quietly rose to her feet. Altair regarded her with a slight frown, not being able to read her motives. Only when she was rounding the sofa did he realize that she was departing.

Realization dawned, and he growled. She was upset.

Without turning, Altair merely reached out and grabbed her wrist. The action caused her to stagger to a stop at his side. He craned his head to glance up at her. "Do not walk away."

She faced the open window instead of his face as she said, "Do not ask me to stay. I don't want to."

He growled deeper this time. "Farah."

She exhaled roughly through her mouth, and palmed her forehead as she tilted her head back to stare up at the stony ceiling. "Why," she then started. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He sternly clenched his jaw. "I'm informing you now; what difference does it make?"

She gasped in horror, and that further surprised him. Why such a reaction? "What difference does it make! How— You— How could you say that?" Finally choosing to meet his eyes, she grit out, "Don't you see?"

"Indulge me."

She slowly shook her head. "I know now," she croaked out. "I now know why you treated me like you did. Treat me like you do." Her glossed eyes shimmered in the fire-light, and he spotted the edges water. "You judge me because of that. You've sent me to the most darkest corner of your mind because of that!" Her tears, at last, spilled free, but she refused to blink or wipe them away. His grip on her wrist slightly loosened.

"All this t-time," she hoarsely continued. "All this time, I thought, what am I doing wrong? I thought, how can I own up to what I did? What was I missing? How could I heal the cut that was adamant on staying open? But now I see that I couldn't have done anything, because you... you refuse to give me that choice, despite stating you found no fault in me. Despite stating you understood why I did what I did. Despite stating that you even admired me for it! I see now the reason why you refuse to really let me in, and it's because you hold me accountable for a decision you made that I wasn't even aware of. Your spite, your apprehension, they all stem from that verdict. You forced me to pay for something that I didn't even know I possessed in the first place! There, I indulged you."

Releasing a bitter chuckle, she tugged her wrist free from his hold. "I'm done apologizing for my actions. I'm done trying to prove what has already been proven. I'm just," she scratched her forehead, taking a few steps away from him, "I'm done."

With a snarl that emerged from the depth of his chest, Altair stretched out and brutally snaked his arm around her waist. Before she knew it, before she could release a proper gasp, she was thrust onto his lap.

Releasing a short scream, she attempted to leap, attempted to escape his tight clutches, but he grabbed at her waist and caused her to fully spin. Her face smacked against his chest, and her hands grasped his shoulders at the impact. Blood boiled in his veins as he curled his fingers around her wrists and held them together against his chest, giving her no choice but to lift her face and stare at him.

Her brown orbs were wild and still gleaming of tears, her pink lips were parted wide in shock at their current predicament while a thin black strand hung loosely in-between her soft petals.

He brought his face closer to hers, and his voice was anything but kind. "Like I said: do not walk away."

She whimpered, and that provoked him to glide her hands up and rest them under his chin. "You deem you understand the measures I took to come to the end I did, deem to know the struggle, the war. But you understand nothing. I had to revolt against everything I stood for when I made that choice. You have no idea how viciously I had to beat my morals into a pulp, all so you could live. I placed the lives of my brethren in your hands, woman, and accepted to live with that reality for the rest of my days. I chose you above all else. Above the teachings of my Creed. I sacrificed, and I bled for it."

When she remained quiet, he continued. "I damned the consequences, damned them to Hell itself. I never made you pay for something undeserving. You did stab me, and you did nearly rob me of my life. There are no excuses. And being the daughter of a father who was deep in Templar business, you understand why I had my suspicions. For you, that must've been cruel, the measures I had to take to obtain the answers I did. But for me, that was as merciful as I could get with a Templar. But more than all, I had to know. I had to know that what you did was for survival and survival only. I falsely judged, I admit, but there was a high chance that my judgements could've been proven true. I did what was necessary. Do you now understand?"

She shook her head, her breath a tremble. "I never chose such an end for myself; you concluded off my fate, giving me no choice but to retaliate! I never wanted any of it!"

"The hell you didn't," he evenly let out.

She licked her lips, for a second guiding his gaze to them as they shimmered in the limelight. "You are right. I wanted to end De Pablo's life, but I also wanted a life for myself and my mother. Something I obviously would not have achieved with a death sentence looming over my head. I never meant to stab you, Altair. I just desired to flee. But you gave me no choice. I know there are no excuses, but I had to, don't you see?" She sniffled. "Will my word ever be enough for you?"

His clasp on her hands loosened, and she gently brought her knuckles to caress the underside of his jaw and chin. It felt like as if she couldn't help herself. Shutting his eyes and then reopening them, he said, "I'm going to say this for the last time: I do not fault you."

"Do you also then trust me?" she softly beseeched.

The muscle below his eye twitched, and he didn't respond.

"Altair," she then voiced, fidgeting in his lap. He started at the action, and more so as she spread her legs and cradled his thighs, making herself comfortable. She also wiggled her hands free from his clasp and gently cupped his cheeks.

His nostrils flared. "Farah," he warned.

"Don't worry," she reassured, and straightened slightly. Staring deep into his golden orbs, she almost breathlessly started. "Altair... We both did what we had to do; we cannot argue over it any longer. We both chose survival, both chose answers, and both paid a price for them. But we are in the present, and all of that is in the past. What I'm trying to say is that it is time we move on. Please, let us choose to move on, because if you refuse, I will have to walk out that door and we will never be the same again. And I don't want such a horrid outcome. I want to stay here... with you. You said to not walk away, so give me a reason to stay. Please."

He remained silent, his face devoid of any expression whereas hers was nearly combusting with different emotions flickering to life in her brown pools. There was determination, forgiveness, and hope. Oh, so much hope. But at his lack of response, moreover reaction, her expression soon fell, and pain contorted the fine lines of her face. Nodding, she withdrew her hands away from his cheeks. But before they could go any further, he clasped them, and exhaled. "How do you suggest we do that?"

Glancing at him with wide eyes, a sudden smile broke free from her lips. She beamed. "Well, let us start with a simple apology."

He arched a slashing brow. "For?"

She struggled to keep herself from rolling her eyes, and released an exasperated breath instead. "Fine, I'll start. Okay," she cleared her throat loudly, and gazed into his eyes, expression utterly sincere, "Altair Ibn La-Ahad, I apologize for all the pain and hurt I caused you in the past. I apologize for every wrong I committed against you, the knowing and the unknowing. I, Farah Dovaros, vow to never lift a weapon in your direction in means to hurt, betray, or end you. Unless, of course, you irritate me. Will you please forgive me?" she sweetly finished.

He scoffed lightly, but nonetheless considered her words in exhaustive seriousness. Her apology—despite her apologizing in the past—struck a different cord in him this time, and he rather found them earnest and favourable. It also felt unprecedented due to them both being willing, compromising participants. They were going to forge a solid agreement. It was for a new beginning; a fresh start. No more grudges; no more malice; no more...distance. They would once more be on good terms—if they ever were—they would be... close again. Was that an outcome he endorsed? He didn't wish to ponder any longer. He curtly nodded at her.

Her smile nearly split her face in half. "Your turn," she then softly uttered, her fingers unknowingly playing with the ends of his short strands. He didn't care to voice his objections—if there were any.

"You have my apologies," he started, voice even, "for ever marring you in any manner. I promise to never bargain with your life and freedom in any way ever again. I will uphold them with the value and importance they are deserving of. You have my word."

Something between them cracked, then completely crumbled. The pieces pattered down on the floor, and he heard every resounding clack. It was as if a barrier that was blocking them from absolutely reaching one another was at last shattered, and emotions and sensations of the truest, like a gush of wind, burst out. It enveloped them, and Altair felt unburdened. As light as a feather. Was he carrying such a weight on his shoulders this entire time? Looking at Farah, he knew she felt the same.

Her eyes filled with wonderment, and then she threw her arms around his neck. She tightly embraced him, as if fearing to let go now. "I forgive you," she whispered into his ear. "With all my heart. I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you."

Allowing himself this reprieve, Altair, brows furrowing in the middle, shut his eyes and slowly, almost hesitantly, wrapped his arms around her. Her body meshed with his, and a gasp escaped her. If it was even possible, she further tightened her grip on him.

Slashing brows still furrowed, Altair buried his face in her neck as she in his. She shakily sighed, and he felt the press of her lips as she gifted the crevice where his neck met his shoulder with the tenderest of kisses. Her fingers clutched at the strands ending at his nape. "Please know that I will not demand your trust. It is not that I don't wish for it, I do—most immensely. But it is yours, and so will time be yours."

Altair stayed silent, instead choosing to nuzzle his nose against her neck and inhale her rich jasmine scent. Despite the heady scent of her skin and hair, despite the ever crackling energy sizzling between their bodies, and despite the proximity of their flesh, there was something utterly ethereal about it. This... was a matter of the heart and soul. He did not know he possessed either, but doors of the richest were unlocked, and energy, in massive floods, travelled between their flushed chests with every beat of their hearts. He'd never felt anything of this like. It was... fulfilling.

And dangerous, he suddenly thought, scowling.

The sensations, he understood not. They were foreign, unknown. Vulnerable, he nearly gnashed his teeth, almost instantaneously loathing the feeling. They were lethal. He couldn't let this go on any longer. They'd started with a clean slate, friends—if one wills—once more. But nothing more. Dear God, they couldn't be anything more.

Altair clasped her arms and unchained them from around his neck. She immediately understood, and gradually retreated. Her petal-soft cheek brushed against his in the process, and the skin hotly burned with awareness. God dammit. He willed the accursed gates to whatever close, and they did, after much effort and emotional subduing. The floods ceased; the energy came to a fluttering halt. He sighed in relief. He was in his own flesh again, his right mind.

Something once more veiled the space between them—a wall of a different kind. It provided distance, something he truly needed at the moment. Was grateful for. She'd unlaced the strings knotting around his heart in mere seconds than anyone ever could in his lifetime. Lethal, the thought once more crossed his mind.

As if sensing the sudden barrier slicing between them despite residing in his lap, Farah frowned, and then shook her head. Offering him a small smile, she hopped to her feet, and for a moment he thought he spotted her limbs tremble. But with her departure, she also took the luscious cocoon that was her warmth, and Altair mourned for it. He grinded his teeth together in rising irritation. Enough.

She cleared her throat, anchoring her hands on her hips. "So, to celebrate this grand revival of our friendship, shall I sneak out a rich red one from the cellars or, for safety, put the guards to sleep and then sneak one out? I really think the latter is the most favourable to go about it. That way I can carry two or three out maximum."

Forming a lopsided smile, Altair, palming his knees, rose to his feet. Out of habit, he chucked her underneath the chin before turning away to his study. "Thank you for the meal, but I have urgent duties that I must foresee."

A pout, then a sigh. And then the quick shuffle of her feet as she came to his side, following him to his desk. "When's the last time you took a break, Altair?"

He shrugged, picking up the book he was reading before she came knocking on his door, and opening it. "Easy. Just now."

Another sigh, this one deep. "No, I meant, like, rest. Sleep kind of rest."

His eyes lifted from the pages of the book to glare straight forward, and then glided to the side to rest on the female. "Do not interfere with my work, Farah." It was passively uttered, yet still a warning. Malik was already giving him hell about it, he didn't need another addition to the list. This one, he knew, would bring hell itself to his door if he permitted such disturbance.

She smiled. "I'm not interfering," yet, he finished her thought, "I'm just asking a simple question."

"I thought I was clear in my answer," was his blunt retort.

Her smile vanished, and in its place was a frown. "The dark bags under your eyes are practically screaming for even a bit of rest. They're crying."

"They are not crying."

"Yes, they are. You can't see your eyes, so I know what I'm talking about. Very well, I've come to a decision." She smacked her palms together.

He arched a brow. "And what is that decision?"

Her smile returned, this one a little cheeky. "I will aid you."

"You will?"

"Yes. Has anybody ever read you a bedtime story?"

He frowned, then growled, understanding dawning. "No, and you will not read anything to me, is that understood?"

"Perfectly. Let us begin with this?" She snatched the book right out of his hand. That little...

Giving the pages a once over, she grimaced. "Eh, boring. Next." She dare insult my work? Tossing it on the table, she took hold of another thick volume. It was a written book on Alchemy—one he had finished reading, not to mention memorizing. It was the works of Jabir ibn Hayyan, the Father of Chemistry. By studying his work and the Apple of Eden, he was able to create a new set of metal. As she flipped through the pages, her eyes glimmered with enthusiasm. "Yes. This is outstanding; I shall read you this for a bedtime story. Also, can I borrow it afterwards? I think I saw the formula used to making gold in there."

He took the book from her hold, placing it back on the table. "No, you cannot. Are you finished?"

"Not even close." A sigh. "Listen, I don't want to strain this new friendship we've got going right now, but we are friends now. And friends care for each other; they look out for one another. I won't leave until I'm certain you've received at least an hour long rest. Looking at you, I know you haven't slept for about a week. Hell, maybe even weeks. All I know is that you are in dire need of one. If you keep this up, you will collapse, and that will definitely keep you from work. Oh, don't give me that look. If you can be concerned about my fingers, I can be of your sleep patterns."

He crossed his arms against his chest, grounding her in her place with just his gaze. Unblinking, they stared at each other in the tense silence. When her lashes fluttered, she cursed. "Dammit, I lost the eye contest. Anyways, when you actually think about it, I'm really doing you a favour. I'm making sure no unnecessary prolonged absences will stall the pace of your work. Now that the fact that you owe me is established, I request you lie down on the sofa and await for me. I will go grab us a book worth reading."

He narrowed his eyes. "My books are more than worth reading."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, they are, but if I'm going to do the reading, I will need something to keep me awake not put me dead out. But," she cheekily smiled again, almost batting her lashes at him, "If you ever wish to read me to sleep, you are more than welcome to use one of your books."

At the look and the words she projected at him, the muscles in his throat involuntary constricted. Altair then shook his head, knowing he would not be rid of her until she got what she wanted. "Very well; your request shall be granted—only if you never request such a thing in the future again."

A sad pout, then a shrug. "Alright."

He curtly nodded, and, after she tossed him a quick smile, watched her as she waltzed back to the sitting area to grab the tray of food and make haste to the exit.

That evening, Altair found himself uncurled on the sofa, his head resting on pillows, as Farah, reclining on a wide sitting mat on the floor, read him a story of two lovers. His mind drifted in and out, as he was not known to read romance volumes, but his gaze did linger on the female's face, never once diverting. He was involuntary drawn to the expressions and different types of sparks that contorted her features and lit her eyes as she read away. That, and also the fact that if he willed, with one twitch of his wrist, he would be able to caress her elbow resting at the edge of the sofa. Alas, he kept his hand to himself.

''—her eyes, like those of a gazelle, could have pierced a thousand hearts with a single unexpected glance, yes, with one flicker of her eyelashes she could have slain a whole world. To look at, she was like an Arabian moon, yet when it came to stealing hearts, she was a Persian page—''

''—And who would have thought that such overwhelming sweetness could flow from so small a mouth. Is it possible, then, to break whole armies with one small grain of sugar ? She really did not need rouge; even the milk she drank turned into the colour of roses on her lips and cheeks; and she was equipped with lustrous eyes and a mole on her cheek even when her mother brought her into the world—''

''—He was drowned in the ocean of love before he knew that there was such a thing. He had already given his heart to Layla before he understood what he was giving away... And Layla ? She fared no better. A fire had been lit in both—and each reflected the other—''

Unbeknownst to him, Altair's attention had been piqued, and he focused on what was being read to him. The story of Layla and Majnun was a very well-known tale of two lovers who only ever found peace and unity after their death. He's never picked up a book about it, but he has heard of them, as poems of tragic love stories tend to capture the most fickle of hearts of poets.

As Farah continued, he saw more of her than he's ever seen in that moment. He found her in her sweet, velvet-like tones when she was lost in-between the inky passageways. The more she spoke, the more he discovered, and soon, he was completely immersed.

The areas where their secret love is discovered by the people and their tribes, when they are separated from one another, when Majnun, the madman's, melancholy craze for Layla starts to spring from his mouth as verses—she read them all to him. What she read, she felt, and what he saw, he imbedded in his mind for safekeeping.

''—On his way to her he ran fast, like water pouring into a trough. On the way back he crawled, as if he had to make his way through a hundred crevasses thick with thorn-bushes. If fate had allowed him happiness, he would never have returned home, where he now felt a stranger. His heart had suffered shipwreck, drifting helplessly in a boundless ocean—''

For a few moments, she continued in her speech, once in a while tossing him quick glances from above her book to check if he was listening or when a certain endearing passage was read. The latter, though, found her offering him a very gentle yet deep gaze before her lashes fluttered and she returned her attention to her book. A look she gifted in a manner that only he could decipher. But she stopped now, gently shutting the book. "Let's take a break; my jaw is aching. So," she smiled up at him, resting the book at the edge of the sofa and her chin above it, "How do you like it? To be quite honest, I didn't think the main library would have this volume, but to my luck, a few days prior, I found it. Truly a treasure amongst treasures, don't you think?"

"Is it a tale you favour dearly?" he questioned instead.

Her smile stretched. "I lost count on how many times I read and reread this book. It always snags at my very heart." A frown. "It holds something...unattainable, almost. Like the buried secrets of Solomon. No map to guide a soul, just a tale to tell."

He frowned for the slightest moment. "What is it you speak of?"

"The love, of course," she offered. "It is so deep; so painfully deep, that it feels like they kept digging into the soil of their love to further bury it in their chests. It mattered little if the hole grew narrower, or if it possessed thorns of the sharpest; the only thing that mattered was that if they felt they could love harder, if they could summon a belief of that sort out of thin air, they didn't care if it ripped right down their chests and into their hearts. It's just so... pure. So beautifully pure. There's so much heart in it, so much emotion, that hate had no place in their passion. And that's what's unattainable. You just do not see that in the present. Or I don't."

"You speak like you almost believe it," he smoothly uttered, his eyes boring into hers. "It is but a tale."

"And yet I do. Perhaps I stray a little far from reality, but surely a mere tale could not touch hearts so. Only something real could ever make ones heart beat in the way it does. Feel in the way it does. Do you think our hearts are capable of such dynamic emotion?"

The brief image of Adha's face flashed through his mind, but his heart once more failed to beat in the manner it used to when he recalled her. It remained steady, but now something akin to a prayer wishing her a peaceful abode in her final resting place, swam through. "I do not know. At times, the heart is capable of carrying the world in it; other times, the universe. Perhaps the trick lies in how you wish to flex it."

"Perhaps," she agreed with a mumble, her gaze, for the shortest moment, flickering elsewhere before finding his again. "Say, Altair," she started, "What is the month and day you were born in?"

For a few heartbeats, he held her eyes with his own with a small frown, contemplating why she would ask such a question. Lifting his hands and resting them on his abdomen, he tilted his face a little to the side. "The eleventh day of the first full moon. Why do you wish to know?"

She released a breath, almost relieved. "For a moment, I thought you'd refuse to answer me. And," she then almost timidly shrugged, "I just wanted to know, that is all."

He tsked. "Do you think me stubborn in all matters?" Shifting his head, his hair rustling against the pillows, he found himself eyeing the ceiling. "What of you?" he then prompted.

Her head perked up, and she almost stuttered as she said, "Me?" A slight frown indicating quick ponderation. "Oh, me, I—" She then stilled, her mouth halfway open. Her frown only managed to deepen as she leisurely brought her face to crane away from his. "It... passed. I...no...I mean, yes, it passed. I think when I was in the dungeons, when I was still your prisoner. Yes, I remember." A frolic-like chuckle. "How odd. It never crossed my mind until now."

Blinking, Altair refocused on her, knowing not what to offer. Her birthday was spent in an utterly chilly, dark, and lonely cell with no one next to her? No one to bid her a good and prosperous life? No one to even offer her comfort? He briefly shut his eyes at the cruelty he'd unknowingly bestowed upon her. Perhaps amending it would ease the twisting of this sudden splinter that'd found a way to bury itself within his chest.

Reopening his eyes, he spoke, "Farah."

Her head turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"What is the one gift you've always wanted?"

Her lips gently parted at his line of questioning, and her lashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. And then she smiled, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. "Am I going to receive a...gift? From Altair Ibn La-Ahad?" Before he could offer a response or properly defend himself at the tone subjected to him, she quickly followed her words with, "A pony. As a little girl, I've always wanted a pony. My father never gifted one to me even when I begged him. I almost think he found pleasure in denying me my very dear wishes. I also wanted a loving family, but that was already asking for the moon and stars, so leave the wishful dreaming to the moon and stars I did."

His jaw clenched at the mention of her father, the man who managed to mar her even after his death. "Alright," he evenly let out, gaze austere. A pony she shall have.

She carried both the combination of a frown and a smile on her face as she inquired, "Alright what?"

Ignoring her question, he asked one of his own. "Earlier you stated how the man Haroon learned to write his name because of you. Tell me how that came about."

If she was disconcerted by his lack of response to her earlier question, she didn't show it. Instead, her eyes almost widened and a spark ignited her brown pools. "Oh! Haroon, yes. I taught him."

He arched a slashing brow. "You taught him?"

"Yes," she replied, still smiling.

Fascinating. "And how did you manage such a feat?"

"Well," she started, as if lost in a memory, "I first introduced him to the alphabet and the sounds of the letters with the movement of my lips. And then I taught him how write them, and then spell them, and then through the written sounds and the gestures of the lip, I taught him how to write his own name and voice his own name. I believe that if he keeps this up, he will be speaking in no time."

"I'm impressed," he offered, his lips forming a lop-sided grin. "I believe rounds of applause are in order."

She palmed her chest. "Really? I thought I was lacking since my own Arabic has not yet been perfected, but this is such wonderful rebuttal. Thank you."

He offered a nod, and she beamed. "Well, then, let us get back to reading, shall we?" Before she could reopen her book, his brows furrowed in the middle as thoughts, thoughts that'd been lurking in his subconscious, waiting to be acknowledged, suddenly filled his mind.

If I wanted, I could've abandoned Masyaf. I could've escaped. Or tried to. I could've betrayed you... again... I also wanted a loving family... I loved again, I was loved again...

"Farah," he voiced, and she tilted her face up.

"Yes?"

"Would you do it," he suddenly found himself asking, and scolded himself for even considering such attempt. But he found that he wouldn't be able to close his eyes tonight if he did not know the answer. "Would you leave, go back to the family you love, if I allowed it?"

Her own brows mirrored his as they, too, furrowed in the middle. "What... What are you talking about?"

"Your family in Jerusalem, would you leave to them if I allowed it?"

A short laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes, not even curved her lips, escaped the back of her throat. Seeing he was dead serious from the look he was presenting her, she parted her lips. And then her eyes enlarged. "Do you... actually mean it?"

"I do."

There was a quick intake of breath as she straightened. Swallowing, she then eagerly licked her lips. "Wh— Wha— Allow it. Allow it, right here... right now. I want to hear you say it."

At her words, he gradually rose and reclined against the sofa. A few heartbeats passed in the tense, gripping silence. He studied every inch and curve of her face. Studied her eyes, her black brows. Her beautiful pink, plump lips... Studied her slender neck; studied the black tips of her hair that tickled its sides; studied the three moles dotting the curve of her neck. He suddenly realized what he was doing, and was almost shocked at the revelation. He was memorizing everything about her, because he knew what his decision was the second she'd asked.

"Do you vow to take our existence to your very grave, female?"

Another sharp intake of breath. "I do."

"Vow to never speak of us to anything or anyone?"

"I do." This time it was breathlessly uttered. The muscle below his eye twitched at that. So feverishly did she wish for it.

"Swear to cut all relation with the people you came to love here? Swear to forget them, never speak of them, not even to the yellow pages holding the black letters of your innermost thoughts?"

"I..." She began, then paused. For a few seconds, she seemed torn. Then, she meekly nodded. "I swear it. It is for their own good as well as mine." Despite the conviction in her words, she swallowed hard.

He regarded her silently. Then, "Do you vow to forget me?"

At that, Farah's lips parted and her tongue made to move but nothing emerged. Her brown pools almost pained, she stared up at his face. The silence stretched and thickened between them before she finally said, "No." A deep frown contorted her delicate features. "You are too far imbedded in me, and the same... emotion that refuses to dispose of you is the same that'll not permit me to utter your name. That, I believe, you can trust."

He didn't give her the satisfaction of displaying his reaction, neither did he indulge himself with such an expression. He merely said, "You are free to go. Leave in the earliest of dates. Leave and do not come back; I'll ask the groom to prepare a horse for you. May you have a fulfilling life, Farah Dovaros."

She observed him for the longest of time, and Altair found that he could not put a name to her visage. He expected her to leap up and give chase the moment those words left his lips, but she surprised him by simply sitting there, not doing anything but wordlessly peering up at him. Just when he thought he spotted her eyes glass over, she tore her gaze away.

"Shall we?" Lifting the book, she briefly wiggled it in the air.

Admitting there was nothing further to discuss, he lay back down, her velvet-like voice and soul-felt looks once more garnering his attention.

Reopening the book to carry on from where they left off, she read the next passage, and he witnessed her warmly smile at the words. "—O, to see the beauty of Layla, the eyes of Majnun are needed—"

x

Altair awoke to the gentle howl of the wind outside his window, and he shifted in his position on the sofa. As the fire in the hearth crackled and sizzled away at the dry woods, he released a deep breath. He'd fallen asleep.

At the thought, he came fully awake, his gaze snapping downwards towards the—

There she lay.

Her dark head rested on her arm cushioned at the edge of the sofa while the book she so passionately read to him limply lay in a hand delicately twisted on her thigh. The fire illuminated her form, caressing over her smooth cheeks and neck with orange-red fingers.

Inhaling, Altair, summoning all the years of his training to this very moment, soundlessly rose and crouched down before her. Her shoulders deeply rose up and down as she continued to slumber, her even breaths causing the thin strand of hair that'd fallen over her face to quiver. As if drawn by an invisible force, with the tip of his index finger, he gently brushed it away. When his fingertip accidently grazed her cheekbone, her brows twitched, and he nearly cursed.

Retreating his hand, he instead made to remove the book from her rather loose clasp. With a feather-like tug, he extracted it and rested it on the floor. Then, shifting his weight, he leaned in and, snaking one arm around her back and the other below her knees, he quietly hefted her up from the floor.

She released a tiny sound, then a deep sigh indicating she'd been disturbed. "I got you," he whispered back, and her head lolled down on his shoulder. A heartbeat later, and her face buried itself on his neck. He felt her hot breath on his thumping vein, causing the blood to further increase in flow.

Turning, he lowered Farah onto the sofa, and as soon as her head hit the soft pillows, she lazily turned away, instead burying her face into the soft surfaces with a deep, content sigh. Straightening, Altair made his way to the open window.

Gazing outwards, feeling the chilly night air envelope his form, he thought deep.

He'd offered her another chance at life again. The kind she'd fought for as long as he'd known her. And now it was hers; she would depart, and he would never see her again.

Altair deeply inhaled, filling his lungs with the night's fresh air, and turned his attention to his studies. But as he stared at his desk and at the stacks of scrolls and volumes decorating it, he found himself lowering his gaze and once more looking out the window.

When the murky, foreboding clouds above gave a loud rumble, in the process causing the wide expanse of the lands below to shudder, he stoically watched the first drops of rain patter down. And when in the dark of the night he heard an eagle's cry, he wondered how the splinter in his chest managed to bury itself so deep in his chest.

-x-

AN: GUYSSS. GUYSSSSSS. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing this chapter. It was a rollercoaster of emotions. I was here and there and everywhere, but alas, here it is. Also, quick disclaimer, the words Farah reads from her book are not mine but from the actual story.

Anyhoo, I hope y'all enjoyed it! Until next time! (Let's hope it's not another a year and a sth long wait!) (Pls don't kill me!)