Welcome to Silent Discourse. In this fic, I will take you through the trials and turmoil of the events of Assassin's Creed, staying as true to the canon events and timeline as possible, with the added Altmal pairing and everything that entails. There will be adventure, there will be death, but most of all there will be an exploration of the relationship between Altair and Malik as they venture through their eventful lives. (If you want to read the smutty bits, omitted crudely here because the rating of does not allow it, go to my profile for the links).


Chapter 1: Blood in Brotherhood


The savage and beautiful ring of steel kissing steel echoed off of the tall gray walls, raised from the hill by generations of Assassins past. It was a sound that they knew well, though not as well as those words that the inhabitants lived by. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Those words that were uttered as a mantra, to remind those in the Brotherhood of the fragility of humanity and to live by the consequences of one's own actions.

A man by years but still a boy in attitude played a jeering smirk across his lips, adorned by a still healing scar. Opposite was another man, more wise and disciplined than his superior. In stark contrast to his sparring partner, his own face was contorted into a snarl of frustration. Just one blow, he told himself. Just one hit. Altaїr Ibn-La'Ahad was besting him on every turn, countering each of his thrusts and slashes. They were each completely silent in this, the ringing of their long swords clashing the only noise that they created. All around them, their fellow brothers urged them on, standing around and leaning on the wooden fence surrounding the sparring ring.

Malik Al-Sayf ignored the din of voices, though he could pick out his brother, Kadar's voice as one of the loudest. He stepped and swung, and was not at all surprised to have his wrist caught. He had not anticipated in that moment that his foe would twist his arm. This caught him off balance and with a swift kick from Altaїr, his legs went from beneath him and he was once again in the dust. There was a brief rise in the volume of the combined voice of his brothers, and it grew louder still as he rose back to his feet, brushing off the fresh bruise he knew he had.

It went on for what felt like an hour, though it was probably only half of that. Malik was staggering and Altaїr was still standing strong. He had not managed to land one blow on the higher ranking assassin, while he knew his own appearance was ragged and dusty from falling to the ground. Sweat dripped from both of their brows, both from their exertion and from the heat of the midday sun.

A voice rose above the crowd. "Malik, yield or you will be useless to the Brotherhood for days!" That was his younger brother. "Why must you keep this up?" Why? Malik made no sign that he had heard his brother, his attention only for the cocky bastard with the sword swaying tauntingly before him. Because this man was his rival. Always had been. They were equally matched in all other studies of physical strength and agility, but Altaїr had always been his superior in sword fighting.

Altaїr gave him a challenging look and Malik lunged forward once more, his rage getting the best of his blade. He was knocked to the ground once again, a fist in his gut forcing the air from his lungs. He struggled to his feet, clutching his abdomen. Each blow had left him aching and threatening to buckle and each time it was harder and harder to stand.

Not yet. He would not yield just yet. There was one more move that he could pull.

He lunged forward, then feigned to the side, successfully catching Altaїr off his guard. He swung his sword around, catching the other assassin's ankle with his foot and brought him down to his knees, resting the flat of his blade on the back of Altar's drawn hood.

"Yield," Malik growled.

He could hear the cocky smirk in the other man's voice, the hood obscuring his features. "Been practicing that move, Malik?"

The assassin moved like liquid silk, his robes blurring in Malik's vision. He felt another fist in his gut, and then an elbow cracked down on his back. His vision went dark and when he came to, his cheek was pressed to the ground and a boot pressed to the small of his back. He tasted blood and a sharp pain in his mouth told him that he must have bit his tongue when he fell.

"You cheated," Malik cringed, a sharp pain in his side telling him that a rib had been bruised. He tried to push himself up, but the foot on his back pressed him back down.

"You had not defeated me." His chilly cockiness did not go unnoticed.

"That's enough, Altaїr. Let him up." The sword master called from outside the ring. Altaїr scoffed and stepped away, vaulting easily over the railing and disappearing into the crowd.

Kadar was instantly at Malik's shoulder, pulling him out of the dust. "Why do you let him do this to you, brother? It always ends the same." Admiration for the winner of the bout was plain in the younger brother's voice.

Malik brushed off the question and held his palm to his bruised rib. "Just get me to the healer." He hated this, being aided by others. He especially hated when his own younger brother was the one to do it. Ever since their father had passed away, he had taken it upon himself to look after Kadar. He ensured to keep him away from dangerous missions, making excuses and pulling strings to keep him at a low rank.

The brothers ducked into the fortress's lower level, seeking out the infirmary. Malik was eased onto a bench as he awaited the healer's attention. Kadar left his older brother, returning to his own studies. Malik continued to stew in his own thoughts, repeating the whole sparring match piece by piece in his mind. Altaїr just seemed to know exactly what move he was about to take. It was humiliating, to be beaten down every time even if he spent countless hours sneaking out of the house at night to practice.

"Al-Sayf, the elder brother," the healer said with a familiar air. "What trouble have you gotten into this time?"

"Not trouble, Mo'alej,"* Malik answered, reeling in his anger. "I just do not know when to yield, or I refuse to when I know I must."

The healer motioned for him to remove his robe and Malik gingerly complied. The healer spoke as he gently prodded the new bruising on Malik's sides. "Is this the work of Altaїr again?" Malik did not grace that question with an answer. "He is very precise in where he lands his blows. Always to cripple with temporary pain and shock, but never striking a vital point. You should be thankful for his expertise."

Malik scoffed, but remained silent. Be thankful for that selfish, arrogant perfectionist? He would rather dishonor the Creed than be grateful to that man, and he had been loyal to the Creed ever since he had been born into it some twenty two years ago. Unfortunately, so had his rival, born to a close comrade of his father. But Altaїr always had a loose interpretation of the Creed and only obeyed when it suited him best. It had been years since Malik had been sent on a mission with him, but the stories that he heard from others just reinforced this understanding.

"Your bruised rib will need time to heal," the healer brought Malik out of his thoughts. "Keep a tight bandage on it just in case it has been cracked. Other than that, I only see superficial bruising. Rest easy for a few days and-"

"-And stop getting into sparring matches with Altaїr, I know," Malik finished sharply. The healer only sighed and began wrapping a bandage around his torso. He knew that Malik would not comply with that little piece of advice, even if he followed the other care to the letter. He stood slowly, muscles complaining loudly, as the healer finished his work. Malik drew his robes on delicately, securing his belt that denoted him as an Assassin in the ninth rank of the Brotherhood. It was yet another bitter reminder that Altaїr was always one step ahead of him, having already been granted a place in the tenth rank, making him a full Assassin.

Malik took his time walking down the road into the town from the fortress, not taking his usual cliff leaping route. It would be a number of days until he was well enough to perform at that level. He soon found himself at the door to his family home, not surprised when he found it destitute of his younger brother. Kadar often stayed out until sunset training with his fellow third rank Assistants. He was always eager to learn, but was far too keen on the methods that Altaїr used. Malik was constantly trying to teach him stealth tactics and discretion, but his younger brother was too enthralled with the prospect of the chase.

Malik shook his head as he closed the door behind him, finally able to show how pained he was at his injuries in the privacy of his home. He hissed in a breath and pressed a palm to his side, limping to the chessboard set up in the corner of the room. He sat himself gently onto the cushions there and continued the game he had started with himself the night before.

It was not until after sunset that his brother slipped into the room, a sac of vegetables in his hand.

"I thought I would prepare dinner tonight," Kadar said, his cheerfulness a mask for his concern towards his brother. Malik knew his little brother well but did not call him out on his bluff.

"Thank you, Kadar. I do not think I could stand, let alone chop and stir in my condition." Malik fell under the scrutinizing gaze once more, but he ignored it in favor of replacing the game pieces to begin again. Kadar continued on into the kitchen and began building a fire under the stove. "Just do not cook the carrots too much this time."

There was a while of silence between them as Kadar prepared their meal. It continued until a bowl of curry was wafted under Malik's nose. He took it gratefully as his brother sat on the cushions beside him.

The silence burned on until Kadar quenched it. "Why do you always go up against Altaїr? You are good enough with a blade to win against anyone else in his rank."

"I would not expect you to understand, brother," Malik sighed. "He has always been my opposite. I am subtle while he is loud. I do not agree with his methods, as you know, and I feel the need to put him into his place. His arrogance makes that quite hard to do so."

"What do you have to prove, Malik? You have gone up in rank twice just in the past year."

That may have been true, but he still was one rank below the man and they were born in the same year. "Just because his father was a Master-"

"Our father was a Master as well, Malik," Kadar interjected softly. "You should remember that; you knew him longer than I."

Malik could not meet his brother's gaze. "I do remember our father, Kadar, but he still died when I was still newly a Novice. Altaїr was under his father's teachings far longer."

Silence reigned once more between the brothers as they ate. Talking of death was not uncommon among the Assassins, but they were not untouched by its cold reality and harsh repercussions.

When Kadar spoke again, it was in a lighter tone, trying to lift his brother's gray mood. "Perhaps you could challenge Altaїr to a trial of agility. We can put out the flags and see who can collect them fastest."

That prospect pulled a tentative smile to Malik's cheeks. Just the suggestion made the situation all the more outrageous. "I should resort to a Novice's training exercise to show my expertise to a man who bested me at swordplay?" His tone was dry and not without irony.

This struck Kadar and he reeled back. "No, no! I only meant-"

"I know what you meant, Kadar. You mean to play on my strengths. This is beyond childish winning and losing. I mean to prove a point to Altaїr, that his arrogance and manner of carrying out business are flawed and harmful to the Brotherhood." The bitterness set in once more, as it had been thawed by the warm meal. "You must not see him as a role model, Kadar. His methods are dangerous."

The younger's expression became stony. Malik knew it was a lot to ask, for his brother to stop looking up to that man. It still had to be done. Kadar was Malik's only remaining family and he would protect him from the poisonous ways of Altaїr.


End Notes: *Mo'alej - "healer" in arabic, as far as google told me. Oh hey, so I thought I would try my hand at some altmal since I recently succumbed to it. I don't expect it to be very long, but you never know when it comes to my writing. Expect some smut later on, but I won't give it away in case it is a surprise! So this is your fair warning that there will be smut. Tell me what you think so far! Sassy characters are my favorite to write, so I'm super excited to continue.