AN: This chapter just did not want to be written, its a filler, and I do hate fillers but I had to get it out of the way before any real action can take place. Again thank you for the reviews and alerts. :)

Desmond woke up to a hot sun and bloody bandages, and a massive headache and an equally parched throat.

He ignored it in lieu of paying attention to the bustling of activity that surrounded him.

There were groups of soldiers running around in full body armor, swords at their side.

Desmond was starting to get apprehensive; he was still bound and could barely move out of the way of any impeding stampede.

On the bright side Desmond's feet hurt like hell, so no nerve damage.

Desmond went to sit up, it was better than lying on the dirty sandy floor. Of course the moment he did this a swarm of guards surrounded him.

"Of course that would happen." Desmond muttered. "Abstergo was at least subtle."

The guards didn't say anything, one guard actually handed him a pouch full of water and a loaf of bread which Desmond was more than grateful for. It was a slow process of taking a bite of his bread and drinking his water, considering he was tied up. At the very least it made Desmond unable to chug, and eat the bread all in one gulp.

Once he was finished he settled back down, idling his time away by watching a lone cloud lazily passing by. The heat starting to rise up in temperature if that was even possible. Desmond wanted very badly to take off his sweater, but with his current predicament of being bound and aggressive captors he didn't think that would happen anytime soon. It didn't matter, at the moment Desmond was satisfied. He had a pleasantly filled stomach, his thirst was quenched and best of all he was still alive. Desmond was a firm believer of small victories.

It didn't last long for Desmond's good mood to be ruined.

"Assassin, so good of you to join us." Robert stated appearing right over Desmond seemingly out of nowhere.

Desmond glared, annoyed by the jovially tone. Robert remained unaffected, laughing.

"Ah yes, the defiance, but enough of that assassin, there is cause to celebrate. We are now ready to head out."

Desmond narrowed his eyes, anxiety seeping in. He remembered that during last night's interrogation he had given away information without his knowledge. Knowledge that Desmond didn't even know he had. Robert seemed more than content with the information he received last night, and now that Desmond's brain was at least more lucid than he was the night before, had more cause to worry about the implications of Roberts's new found advantage.

"Head out?" Desmond repeated slowly, not trusting his words.

"Didn't take you for slow assassin, but yes, we are"

The moment Robert said those words two guards took hold of Desmond arms forcing him upright, aggravating his wounds. Desmond let out a hiss of pain, not at all liking the rough treatment.

"Now as our esteemed guest assassin, I have arranged a horse for you as well as a private escort." Robert gave a quick nod; the guards cut the ropes bounding Desmond's feet together. "Don't ruin your good fortune; I was half tempted to drag you all the way to Masayaf."

Robert turned away from Desmond.

"Get his horse ready and try not to damage the prisoner beyond repair, he is still needed." With that last said, robbery galloped away barking out orders to a group of soldiers.

The guards pushed Desmond forward, pain shooting down Desmond's feet with each step he took. The rocks digging deeper into Desmond's wounds, fear of infection flashed through Desmond's mind.

They stopped in front of a large group of Crusaders all glaring daggers at Desmond. There was a Templar knight guiding a brown horse to Desmond's position. Once the horse was at a close enough distance the guards helped Desmond up. The horse didn't protest didn't even make a sound telling Desmond that it was a good horse, a war horse. If it was trained by Templars it had to be. It seemed good, the horse was made for battle it was less likely to scare and kick Desmond off, meaning no broken arms, or legs. However something in Desmond told him this was also a bad thing. If this horse was trained it was less likely to rebel and give Desmond a means to escape. It was something that would never have crossed his mind before.

He settled himself carefully, minding his abused burns, being thankful that they were covered.

The knight at the reins didn't pay any mind to Desmond, standing at attention and facing forward.

They began to march.

Desmond let out a sigh of relief when they stopped for camp. They had been traveling for hours and frankly Desmond didn't understand how the soldiers behind him could still stay in formation. Desmond felt a little sympathy for the lot but brushed it off. He had to focus.

The Templar guide started to lead Desmond to the side away from the hectic assembly of camp, where he was inevitably yanked off his horse and pushed roughly towards some random direction.

The Templar Guide, a large gruff looking man led Desmond by the neck, shortening their distance to each other.

"Captain the prisoner is here." The Templar Guard said simply, pushing Desmond forcibly on his knees when they were in the presence of Robert.

Robert seemed to be in the middle of talking to a few knights so he didn't immediately pay attention to Desmond until he dismissed them. He gave a few sharp commands in French towards Desmond's jailor and the next thing moment his hands are no longer bound.

"Now, now assassin you did not have to kneel to me. Stand, and keep me company in my quarters." He glanced at Desmond bandages and smiled. "I'll make sure the medic will take a look at that."

Desmond could seriously punch the guy, there wasn't anything holding him back other than the six foot something behind him, his sword unsheathed and ready to strike. Desmond would have at least have time for one good punch straight to the face. Best case scenario he broke Roberts nose with a sword piercing his heart. Altair certainly would have.

Roberts smile growing to epic proportions. Desmond gritted his teeth and didn't make a move, but it was also something Robert wanted. He wanted Desmond to see his options, and wanted him to come to the conclusion that the only way for his continued survival was to hunker down, the manipulative bastard.

Desmond stood slowly and placed his hands in his pockets, preferring self-preservation over rising to take the bait.

"Now if you would just follow me, my tent should be ready by now." Robert said walking away, Desmond following with his jailor in tow.

They reached the tent, a monstrous thing, with two guards standing at the entrance. They stayed as still as statues when Desmond and Robert passed through. Desmond's jailor came in, but was sent away with a wave from Robert. There was a large table at the center a steaming plate of food.

Robert sat down placing a napkin that was on the table onto his lap, and started eating. He didn't say anything, didn't even look at Desmond and just sat and chewed. Desmond's stomach growled betraying his hunger and causing Robert to chuckle.

"Where are my manners, please sit. We have much to discuss." He took another bite looking Desmond straight in the eyes as he sat down. There was no plate for Desmond, their probably wouldn't be one. This was just another show of dominance that Robert kept lording over him.

"For all this time that we have been together, I haven't once heard your name. Assassin seems a little impersonal, doesn't it?"

Desmond just glared. It didn't deter Robert.

"Perhaps makhaaneeth?"

Desmond bit his tongue, the insult that would have rolled out of his tongue stopped.

"Is it not to your liking?" Robert asked innocently, there's not much I can do until you tell me your name."

Desmond swallowed his pride and said nothing.

Robert took another slow bite analyzing Desmond with a critical eye. "You are very different than the assassin I came into contact with just a few days before. He was bold, so when I met you Id assumed you'd be the same. The two of you seem to come from the same blood, more than that twins, am I not correct."

Desmond frowned; he never really thought Altair looked anything like him. That it was just part of the Animus experience. His' body' being used and taking on the role as Altair. Besides he never really looked at a mirror when he was Altair, not that there were any mirrors, but that wasn't the point. The fact that Desmond looked like such a well-known assassin such as Altair was just another cross Desmond had to bear.

"You must be the resemblance is astonishing. Do you think your brother is worried about you, or does he not know that you have left the safety of the assassin stronghold?"

'He doesn't even know I exist.' Desmond thought, looking away from Roberts's meal and something less torturous, such as the floor.

There was the sound of clinking utensils and not much else.

"Well," Robert said after a long moment of silence. "It's getting late, and I have to start preparations for the morning, but before I go." Desmond turned when he heard Robert pushing the plate of semi-finished food towards Desmond. There wasn't much left on the plate, a chicken bone with unappetizing bits of meat at the ends, a tiny portion of rice and a morsel of bread.

It was leftovers, the kind that only a dog could truly appreciate.

"You shouldn't let good food go to waste. Who knows when you'll get your next meal?"

Desmond clenched his fists; he hadn't eaten since the morning and it didn't do anything to soothe Desmond's hunger throughout the day. He needed to eat, especially if he was injured. He needed all the strength he could get if he wanted to survive this ordeal. This thought did nothing to appease Desmond's damaged ego when he started eating.

When he was done all Desmond could feel was shame and more importantly contempt towards Roberts Cheshire cat smile.

Desmond's jailor walked in, doing the familiar routine of tying Desmond up and bringing him to his feet.

"Put him away for the night and make sure to let the medic know that if time permits to check the prisoner's injuries. Though let him know that it is not a priority."

The jailor simply nodded his head and pulled Desmond by the neck and walked out of the tent. He led him to a smaller more secure tent with twin guards, just like Roberts, at the entrance. The jailor threw Desmond on the floor and left without another word. Desmond looked around and found a bucket at the edge of the tent filled with dirty water. Not really wanting a repeat of earlier, Desmond left the bucket as it was, choosing to drink from it only when he was dangerously parched.

He needed to focus on more important things anyway, such as escaping from Roberts clutches. The most convenient time to escape would be when they would be near Masayaf, but knowing Robert he would be expecting such a transgression. So Desmond's only hope is to wait for an opening, the moment Roberts men loosened their security over him he should take it, find a horse and get the hell out of there. Minor details of where he should go or what he should do will have to wait.

makhaaneeth: an insult that means homosexual; correct me if im wrong the guy I usually go to for Arabic linguistics is not avaible to me so I might edit this word out and put another insult on monday or tuesday.

Also I have this irrational craving for some Robert/Desmond; not stipulating that it will be in the story just something I would like to read.

Unreleated subject: In memory of Twinkies 11/16/12