Author's Note: This is another Oneshot inspired by a DeviantArt picture. This particular drawing was inspired by Doubleleaf's picture 'Hello'.
My only wish is that you enjoy it and thank the artist who inspired such an idea.
Translations: I found these after a long search, but I have doubts that they truly mean what they say. Please if anyone sees a problem with my translations, please tell me. Even the ignorant can be taught. But as far as I know this is what the words I used mean and how they were intended to be used in this story.
Tuan - term of respect similiar to 'master' or 'sir'.
Walad - Boy or lad.
Hello
He wasn't even trying to stay hidden. He wanted them to see the man die. Ishad al-Hakim led his city of followers like lambs to the slaughter. The commander could just barely hint that a nearby village was committing some form of treachery and by the next day, the entire village was nothing but a pile of ash. The soldiers were marked as heroes behind closed doors and then executed for their 'crimes'. The traitorous leadership made Altair seethe.
The assassin waited until the elegantly dressed man was standing directly below him. He heard the familiar sound of metal against leather as his hidden blade glided out of its sheathe. Altair's face muscles twitched in the smallest form of a smile.
He was flying before he had time to think. Ishad's back accepted the blade with little force, as if the robes and skin could pose as a temporary sheathe for Altair's beloved weapon. People gasped as they watched their ruler fall. They all paused in shock as they waited. The screaming didn't start until the assassin pulled away from the body, blade dripping blood onto the stone.
A nearby beggar woman screamed first, her yell high pitched and shrill and just as effective as the alarm bells ringing. The people scattered, more screams joining into a cacophony that Altair enjoyed slightly. They knew what he could do. They would tell everyone to beware the white ghost. The Templar's would hear whispers of danger and then the fight would be worthwhile for the master assassin.
Altair was startled from his thoughts by a rash young guard who thought his sword was enough to protect him from this angel of death. The assassin grinned under his hood as he impaled the man. He didn't feel remorse, only disappointed in the boy's quick death. More guards appeared, yelling obscenities in a foreign language.
The bells were still ringing and the light was starting to fade from the sky. Altair sighed; he did not have the time to worry with this rabble. He still had two other assassinations to finish before dawn and they were in another city altogether.
The assassin stabbed one last guard with his hidden blade before pushing through his attackers. His feet made no sound as they hit the stone. Sure that he wasn't going to use it until later, Altair tried to retract his hidden blade. There was no familiar gliding of the blade, no gentle pressure as it returned to his sheathe. He stopped, trying again. The blade clicked angrily at him, but refused to return to its resting place.
Altair cursed. Behind him, the guards were yelling orders back and forth. The assassin started running, trying to push his way through the growing crowds of people. He knew that the rooftops would be an easier place to run, but climbing was too dangerous. Malik would never let him live down the mistake of stabbing himself with his own blade.
Instead, he picked up his pace until he was sure that he was out of the guards' line of sight. Altair darted into the first alley he came to. He sat down on the bench, heart beating against his ribcage. His blood was pumping, but he wasn't breathing heavily at all. The guards were approaching, their yells getting louder. Altair looked to his left and right suspiciously. The only other occupant of the bench was a young boy, swinging his legs back and forth aimlessly as he toyed with a wooden toy horse. Anxiously, the assassin tried to hide his dysfunctional blade, still covered in the blood of Ishad. He wasn't sure if he was trying to hide it from the boy or the guards.
"Don't worry, I won't say anything, Tuan," the little boy said, referring to Altair as 'master', "Father, told me about you...,"
Altair felt his muscles stiffen. The boy paid no attention, turning his fearless eyes on the assassin.
"He said you kill to save us,"
The assassin felt himself relax a little, no too much as he could hear the guards searching the streets. The boy grinned at him as he held out his prized toy horse as a gift for the man.
"Thank you for being our protector, Tuan,"
Altair felt the surprise hit him hard. No one had ever thanked him so openly. Even those he saved from the guards looked at him nervously, sure that at any time the assassin would turn his blade on them. This little boy faced him without a hint of fear in his eyes, giving him the best gift that anyone could ever give. Acceptance.
The assassin felt his face break as he smiled for real. "Keep it, walad," Altair replied, his voice softer than he had ever heard come from his lips, "Your courage is payment enough,"
The guards passed and Altair took his leave. Later, when his blade was cleaned, fixed and ready for use again, the assassin could not forget the face of the fearless boy. It stayed with him, soft warmth in his heart reminding him of his cause.