FF – Assassin's Creed
Ascend
Warnings: Possible spoilers for AC:R
Characters: Malik Al-Sayf, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Summary: Companion fic to "Descend". The Apple teaches. It takes the form of Malik in his mind, and Altaïr can't help but feel he's being taught by Malik.
A/N : Just extending on my "Descend" verse, and avoiding work in general.
'Malik' is relaxing in the study, feet propped up on the work desk and reading a book lazily, and Altaïr can't help but feel like he's intruded on a private moment, and resists the urge to apologise in surprise.
'Malik' doesn't look up, but gives him a light smile. "You have returned, unsurprisingly. Perhaps you are ready, this time?"
He swallows a lump in his throat. "I seek the knowledge that will benefit the Brotherhood."
"As you wish." 'Malik' closes the book and takes his feet off the table, arms folded neatly. "Ponder upon this – if you were standing on the street, where is the last place you would think to see?"
Altaïr blinks, because it isn't exactly what he had expected. He wonders if it was the Apple that revelled in the riddles, or if Malik had a penchant for it.
'Malik' smirks at the blank expression on his face. "Think about it, my brother, and you shall have your answer."
Altaïr awakes from the stupor with a jump of shock. He is unable to get over how realistic the images in the Apple were at times, but he has more pressing matters at hand to consider.
He takes a walk in the village to clear his head, formulating plausible scenarios when he passes by the recruits in the training circle. He chances upon Malik in the market, and goes up to meet him.
Malik talks about birds and rooftops, but Altaïr isn't listening. He thinks about all the places he looks at when he's walking, the people in the crowds corners around the street and dark alleyways that require a quick glance with the Eagle Vision before turning into.
"What do people last think to look at?" He says aloud, hoping that it would make more sense when it falls away from his head. Malik stares at him in bewilderment.
"Why, where Assassins choose to hide of course!" Malik has a raised eyebrow and his head cocked to the side. "Is this another strange riddle of yours?"
Altaïr wants to hit himself at the sheer obviousness of it. Of course. Haystacks and rooftop gardens were two of the places that guards frequently overlooked, making it a perfect assassination spot if a target were to draw by. And if anything, that meant that blind spots were highly viable options as well. Wall sides along the roofs, and roofs themselves – nobody ever bothers to look up.
He thanks Malik for his help, and sprints off, eager to return to the study.
Sometimes, 'Malik' doesn't appear when he consults the Apple. Instead, he gets history lessons about places he has never heard of, and other times they're of his Assassin predecessors.
Once in a while, he asks Malik about those countries and figures, and Malik looks at him with a sort of pride before handing him a book about it.
He sees 'Malik' lying languidly on a pile of rugs and cushions, a small pot of incense burning gently.
He's interrupted before he even gets a chance to speak.
"Assassins are trained to use both hands equally well, are they not?"
Altaïr wants to laugh, because it's quite absurd, honestly. He doesn't have to think of anything else, because suddenly he already understands, so he mutters his thanks, and 'Malik' smirks, and then he is back in Masyaf, awake and his palms clammy from holding the Apple too tightly.
He takes a cold shower to calm himself – one of the unfortunate effects of using the Apple is the immense strain it can put on his body - before heading to look for Malik, and relays his new found information.
Malik looks momentarily stricken with grief, and his arm twitches slightly towards the stump that had once been his left arm. Altaïr is hit with anguish and guilt again, but it must have shown on his face because Malik recovers before him and tells him that it's a brilliant idea.
He wants to smile in response and he wants to apologise again, but it has become so much easier to compartmentalise uncomfortable thoughts, so he does so and throws himself in to his work.
The next time he consults the Apple, it was for a personal matter.
He knows that he could never forgive himself for his arrogance, and for causing Malik the loss of his brother and his arm. He thinks that Malik could never forgive him fully, no matter what he may say, because he himself would shudder to think about having to go through a similar loss.
He does the only thing he knows to, and he tries to get an answer from the Apple, and he's almost afraid that even in such vast knowledge, he would not find a solution.
When he asks, it's a quiet appeal, full of underlying pleading and wish.
When 'Malik' replies, it's a sad smile and a simple request.
"Just do your best, my brother – it is all I would ever ask for."
Altaïr tells himself that that is not a true answer, because the Apple cannot answer for Malik, and that is not, and never will be Malik, but he's oddly gratified.
So he complies, willingly.
He catches Malik looking at him proudly on occasion, and thinks 'Malik' could possibly be right.
'Malik' is dressed in overly ornate silks and gowns, and Altaïr is transfixed by the image. The costume is too delicate, too expensive and so beautiful, and he knows that he would never see Malik dressed so indulgently.
He wonders momentarily if there was a lesson amidst all these, but pauses in thought when 'Malik' points a small, silver object at him.
"I know you've ever asked about the future." 'Malik' says gently, gliding across the stone floor to meet him. "Change is a constant, but there are things that will always come to be."
A warm pressure takes a hold of his hands, and the silver object is fit into them, his fingers pressed against the contours of it.
"What is this?"
'Malik' is around him, guiding him carefully and raising his arms to aim at the wall.
"This is a gun. A weapon used centuries later, by soldiers and men alike."
Altaïr can feel an odd instinct to the instrument, and attributes it to another of the Apple's tricks.
"Press the trigger, Altaïr."
He thinks that is the first time the Apple, or 'Malik', has referred to him by name, but his time is cut short when the pressure on his middle finger pushes against the cold metal, and a loud shot is fired from the gun.
He returns to reality in shock, the sound of the gun still echoing in his mind.
He hears the laughter of children in the background, and he glances out of the window, and thinks that it is probably time to return to Masyaf.
Altaïr is not a religious man, but he closes his eyes all the same and prays, that wherever Malik is now, he prays for his guidance.