God, this is so short I don't even think I can upload it XD
But anyway, I liked it and it is like a spotlight of poor Altair and Malik.
Enjoy ^^
"Malik", he whispered. It seemed as if even he, the Grandmaster of the Assassins, Altair Ibn-la' Ahad, was sometimes frightened by his own voice.
The feverish man in front of him, lying on a soft bed blinked with his eyes and then a soft and relieving "Altair," left his lips.
Gently put the Grandmaster a cold hand on the hot forehead of his best friend. He did not know what to say. It seemed as if his tongue was bound. So he just stroke with his thumb over the sweat and feverish skin, to do at least something.
"Altair?," the sick asked low.
He nodded, not trusting his own voice.
"Do you remember...your mother?"
Both men looked at each other. Then Altair smiled slowly.
"Well," he said dry, striking through the soft, black hair. "I do yes."
"Do you..." A horrible cough interrupted the sick in his speech and the Grandmaster took a cup of water, that stood on the floor, holding it to the chapped lips and tried to sooth the older one. After the coughing bout Malik closed his eyes and his breathing had become heavier, though the sweaty chest barely moved. Carefully the younger one took the weak hand of the sick in his own and hold it tight to his forehead, begging to God, he, Altair, always declared as a poorly image for human kind to understand the world.
"Altair?," his best friend's voice was so low, he first thought of it as an hallucination.
"Do you remember what your mother's favourite song was?"
A dry chuckle left the Grandmaster's throat. And when he answered, his voice was rough, as if he hadn't used it for years.
"You mean she had sung when we were children?"
The sick man was too weak to answer, so he just nodded.
Altair put the warm hand back on the bed, but did not let go off it.
"You want to hear it?," the Assassin whispered.