"The only reason we fall is so we can pick ourselves up again", Altair muttered as he knelt in front of Darim, his hand which seemed way too big rested on his son's small shoulder. Darim seemed small and lost in the big bed of infirmary. "There's no failure Darim, remember that." Because it had almost cost him his life and those of many others, the delusion of failure's existence when there wasn't none. "We try and if it doesn't work we try again as long as we're successful. Never give up, never let it break you down when it doesn't work the first time."
"But couldn't it kill us father? If my arrow doesn't hit right away, if my blade doesn't hit the right spot...", Darim sniffled and Altair thought for a 12-year old his thoughts sounded too much like those of an adult, too much of an assassin. But he'd been born into the Order and he was going to be one of them one day, a brother, a killer, a leader. Someday.
"Then you died trying. We're the best there is Darim – once you're done with your training, you won't try – you simply do." Because they were trained not to think, not to fear, not to hesitate. It's what made them survive for so long, to fight all human instincts and to become simply nothuman but something better. They were eagles.
Darim looked up at him, brown hair falling into his eyes. He needed a haircut again, the strands making it difficult for Altair to see those wide brown orbs – he clearly got his mother's eyes, there was no way of denying it. "Are you mad at me father?", he asked and now, now his voice sounded how it should for a 12-year old. All small and scared and Altair knew exactly what to do now. His fingers tightened around Darim's shoulder and he drew him close, into his arms and tight against his chest with his cheek resting on his son's head. "No I'm not", he told him in a quiet voice, almost too quiet for Darim to hear but he knew the words reached his son nevertheless. "Were you afraid I was?", he pondered although he already knew the answer to that.
Darim nodded into his shoulder. "Yes", his little voice said.
"Why?", Altair pondered with patience only a father possessed. Twelve years were enough time to grow him into one.
"You've told me I'm too small", Darim sniffled and Altair pulled away, his hand falling down the thin arm to his son's hand, holding it in his big one with his palm facing upwards. "I didn't listen."
"You were angry", Altair told him and Darim nodded, eyes turned too the cold stone floor. He was too ashamed to meet his father's gaze, a behavior he'd often witnessed on Darim and thought they were past this. "Maybe", Darim whispered.
"You were", he said again. "Because I've told you you can't do something which you thought you could."
"I've wanted to show you I can", Darim said stubbornly.
"You've showed me the opposite."
He could see how Darim pressed his lips tightly together and he knew that this exact moment hurt Darim more than the fall from the roof and his sprained ankle. To admit he was wrong -especially about his skills- and somebody else, his father, right was a deep sting to his pride but a lesson he needed to learn, rather sooner than later. "We're men, Darim but through all our life we train to become more and even though we are doesn't mean we don't have our limits."
Darim nodded. "I really thought I could do it...", he whispered again.
"It's not a bad thing to believe in yourself Darim", Altair said and now there was a hint of a smile on his face. "But just as much as you trust in your own skills, you need to trust the judgment of those who're more experienced than you." A lesson he'd learned the hard way. He rubbed his thumb over Darim's wrist. "So what do we do when we fall?", he asked again.
Darim looked up. "We pick ourselves up", he smiled weakly and now Altair could see the tracks of tears on his dirty cheeks.
"And sometimes we need help with that", Altair explained and brought his arm around his son's shoulders, the other underneath his knees and picked him up, cradling him against his chest. "You won't be able to use that ankle for a while, you know?", he said sternly as he walked towards the door of the infirmary. "It gives you more time to concentrate on your studies." In his arms, Darim whined loudly. "But father", he started, "it hurts... really badly. I don't think I can concentrate enough", he pouted and gnawed on his lower lip, something he aways did when lying.
"I'm sure you will manage, Malik is a patient mentor."
"He's mean..."
"He's fair", Altair told him, walking down the hall.
"But I'm sick", Darim told him again. "I can stay with mother when I'm sick."
"You have a sprained ankle, end of discussion."
Darim opened his mouth again, ready for another retort now that his first shock had fallen off of him. "I'm trusting you to make the right decision now", Altair said before a single word could left Darim's mouth and again, his son pressed his lips tightly together. "I'd be more worried about your mother", he said and had to fight against the smirk pulling his lips upwards.
"Why?", Darim asked, looking all curious.
"You still have to explain her what happened today", and he watched with small satisfaction how Darim's face got pale – that was the price he had to pay for his cockiness. "Can't... you do it?", Darim asked carefully.
Altair laughed, loud and clear and the sound reverberated from the cold walls. "Don't tell me you're more afraid to confess to your mother than jumping off that building?"
"Maybe...", Darim said in a small voice, reminding Altair once more that even though his son acted like a grown adult more often than not didn't mean he still was nothing but a little boy who sometimes liked to do dumb things.
"You will survive", he told him and pressed him tightly against his chest, taking the stairs towards the room he'd been sharing with Maria for so long now, looking towards meeting his wife while a quick look at Darim told him his son clearly thought they were heading towards his doom instead. The sight made him smile. Darim's fear was good. It was nice to see that the innocent child in him was still alive, even though his fate was sealed, he still had that little part left in him. Altair could only hope it'd stay like that for another couple of years even if it meant he had to pick him up again.