Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed [Fills]

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We're about to reach the posting limit on pt.1&2, this is for those who wish to continue/write on prompts on both these parts.

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There are no request in this part of the meme.

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Fill: Daughter of none [3/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Rauf, training master at Masyaf, found Altaïr where he had expected - in the courtyard with the al-Sayf brothers. She and Malik trained, while Kadar watched them both in admiration. Rauf liked Kadar, although he sometimes considered the boy too easily led. At least Malik led him well. In Altaïr's influence, Rauf had less faith.

Though Altaïr's left hand was bandaged and Rauf had not been able to fit her with her hidden blade, she could still practise many of the motions she would need to wield it. All Assassins were taught such techniques from childhood.

Rauf watched as the young woman engaged Malik in another round of sparring, the older al-Sayf brother's own newly-fitted hidden blade removed for fairness.

Malik began relaxed and slightly crouched. He did not need to wait for Altaïr to make the first move - lightning quick as always she darted forward. Altaïr feinted a punch at head-height with her right hand then twisted to aim a strike at Malik's ribs with her left, flicking her wrist to simulate the action of a hidden blade.

Malik ignored the feint, swept the blow aside and returned with a strike to Altaïr's throat. She ducked, sidestepped and danced back. The two students circled each other, looking for weaknesses, openings. Altaïr's aggressive style showed in her low crouched stance and tense readiness. Rauf was forever telling her that the tightness across her shoulders would slow her movements - a bad habit of which he hoped to cure her.

They sparred on, testing each other's reactions and timing. Rauf felt a stir of pride at the fluidity and grace of his students' motions. Both were holding back so as not to injure the other but their deadly precision was evident for all to see.

Rauf watched. Neither had the upper hand. Malik was heavier in the shoulders, stronger and taller than Altaïr, but strength mattered little with the hidden blade. Speed and accuracy were everything. With his longer arms Malik had the advantage of reach, but Altaïr was faster. All in all they were evenly matched.

The balance shifted when Malik swept Altaïr's knee, sending her into a roll. But she came up with a handful of dust, released it in Malik's face, and leapt on him while he coughed and spluttered, knocking him to the ground. Holding the front of his robes with her right hand she raised her left hand high, then tagged the dirt beside his throat to claim the kill.

Malik threw her off his chest in disgust and both stood, brushing off their robes.

"A dirty trick," Malik said, glowering.

Rauf caught sight of the gloating look on Altaïr's face and disapproved.

"You have much work to do, Altaïr," he called to her. "The hidden blade is not a weapon designed for brawling."

"I will use it as one," she said, shrugging, and he frowned.

"...Master," she added, bowing her head.

"You have many things to learn, my friend," he told her. "Respect and subtlety not least. In fact, it's for this reason Al Mualim has sent me to find you."

Rauf wasn't looking forward to what he had to do. It wasn't just the thought of beating a woman that made him uneasy; in fact Rauf had never approved of physically punishing any of his students. And he had no reason to think that beating Altaïr would have any positive effect on her.

But Al Mualim's word was law. "Come with me, Altaïr." He would at least do it in private. Ordinarily this sort of thing was done openly, in front of the other students, but Rauf wouldn't have it. That was the one concession he had wrung from Al Mualim.

Kadar paused to look at Altaïr with a hint of concern as she passed him, and Malik rewarded him for his efforts with a cuff on the side of his head. For his own part, Malik looked steadfastly in the other direction as Rauf led his friend away. The last thing Altaïr needed was for her friends to add to her humiliation by staring - even if she had just trounced one of them in the ring.

"Come out of the castle," Rauf said. "We'll go up that hill." He gestured east. "Behind those rocks. No-one will see."

Altaïr shrugged and followed him. Of course he had expected her to pretend the matter was of no consequence - that she didn't care where or even whether it happened. Still, her apathy annoyed him.

They walked in silence to the place he'd chosen.

"Here?" Altaïr asked, her voice determinedly uninterested.

He nodded.

Without hesitation Altaïr turned her back and unbuckled her robes with a series of quick practised motions. She dropped her belt and sash, shrugged her robes down to bare her back and knelt, holding the folds of dull white cotton to cover her breasts. Her hair fell free of the scarf binding it, and she shook her head to swing the long brown waves over one shoulder. Then she bowed her head and waited.

Rauf found himself completely unprepared for the sight of Altaïr like this. He froze for a moment, staring at the long, strong curve of her back, the glow of pale brown skin. Her body was unlike anything he had ever seen or even dreamed of. She was lean - too lean, he couldn't help but think - and her arms were hard as rope, her shoulders straight and square.

Rauf unfolded the strip of hard leather he'd brought with him, and began the lashes he'd been ordered to deliver. Altaïr, of course, was still and silent - even when the leather whip cut into her wealed skin, drawing stripes of blood. Rauf despised himself for this, but if he went lightly she would suffer worse for it from Al Mualim.

Near to the end he thought he heard her voice a moan, but he could have been mistaken. In any case she quickly stifled the sound.

Finally he was done with the odious task. He threw the whip aside - if only he never had to touch it again!

Altaïr remained kneeling, and now Rauf could hear that her breathing was ragged. She began to ease her slender body back into her robes, her movements now painfully restrained. Rauf knelt to help her, and to his amazement she didn't fend him off.

Once Altaïr had dressed, she stood, swaying, her back still to him. Rauf caught her arm, then picked up the scarf that had bound her hair. She took it with shaking hands, tucking her hair down and tying it in place. When finished, she drew her hood up once more and finally, turned to face him.

Rauf was shocked at what he saw. Altaïr's usually light brown face was pale and her eyes dull with pain. But worse was the humiliation in her downcast eyes. Her usual spirit of defiance was replaced by abject shame. It was that, Rauf knew, that Al Mualim had sought to instil. He hated that he had done it successfully.

"I'm sorry Altaïr," Rauf whispered. "I had to, you know. I didn't want to."

"I know," she said, but her eyes didn't stir to life.

Then - because he didn't know what else to do, and he couldn't stand her looking like that - Rauf took Altaïr by her shoulders and kissed her. Even as her lips parted under his, he knew everything about it was wrong. She was dazed and in shock - she needed Yazid's rough-edged care, not kissing. But instead of pushing Rauf away, Altaïr returned his kiss. Her chapped lips felt firm and full. The tip of her tongue met his, pressing ever so slightly into his mouth as his pushed into hers.

Then she stumbled, catching at Rauf's arms, and he cursed himself. What kind of a man was he? He drew her arm over his shoulders to support her, and did what he should have done in the first place - he took her to Yazid.

***

"Back again," Yazid grumped. "Just like I said. Off with these, then." He tugged at the sleeve of Altaïr's robes.

Already the kiss seemed to Altaïr like a fever dream in the face of Yazid's toughened practicality. Had it even happened? Thinking about it made her head spin.

Cotton had stuck to the cuts on her back, and it was a pained effort to peel it away.

"Foolish girl - you'll make it worse. Lie flat and let me do it. These robes are ruined, you know."

Yazid sounded like an old woman from the village, Altaïr thought dizzily. The old man's sigh of exasperation told her she had giggled aloud, more from confusion and light-headedness than from humour.

The robes came free and Altaïr felt the sting as Yazid cleaned her cuts, every huff of disapproval communicating to her his opinions of Assassin discipline and her foolishness for incurring it. But as always his thin old hands were careful and skilled as he treated her.

Altaïr's head spun. Why had Rauf kissed her? More to the point - why had she let him? She was an idiot. She should have pushed him off and slapped his face. Now he would want to marry her, and her father would probably agree to it. She would never be an Assassin now. Why had she been born a girl? It wasn't fair. She felt rage settle deep in her belly.

Why, why hadn't she pushed Rauf away? What right did he have to kiss her anyway, when she had been about to - but no, that couldn't be right. Altaïr had never fainted in her life, why would she start now? Then why had she let him do it?

She found herself wishing for Malik, for his curt sense and clear head. If only she could tell him. But that was impossible, of course.

There was no alternative - she would have to fight Rauf, and she would definitely lose. Either way, she would be thrown out of the Brotherhood. There had to be a way for her to retain her honour, while staying inside the Brotherhood. There had to be!

********** PSA from the author: Let me know if anyone's reading this and I'll see if I can finish it **************

Re: Fill: Daughter of none [3/?]

[(Anonymous)]

This is great! Please continue!