The light in the assassins bureau fades and Malik can´t see his piece of writing properly anymore, though he squints and narrows his eyes while trying to get a sharper image. He finally groans and puts the quill away, moving his fingers through his graying hair absently. His vision has gotten worse during the last months, and he will soon have to use a magnifying glass if he wants to do his job properly.
Malik moves stiffly behind his counter, sighs and finally seats himself into his comfortable chair. The chair appeared some months ago together with an assistant. He suspects it had something to do with Altair overhearing his complaints about his back and not-so-young limbs while Malik tried to climb up to the highest shelf to place a map there.
Though Malik avoids to admit it aloud, he is getting older. There are days when Malik feels every year of his life weighing down on him heavily. He doesn´t like all the handicaps and indignities coming with age, but he does not complain. He knows very well most assassins never reach his age.
Malik sends the novice who is sorting maps for him away earlier today.
He knows that rain will come, can feel it in his bones.
The slight twitching in his nonexistent arm tells him that it won´t be that bad this time, but still awkward enough that he doesn´t want the novice to witness it.
Malik takes a clay jug from behind his counter and fills it with wine, adding a brown substance from a hidden pocket to the drink. The substance is opium, and Malik is thankful it exists. Altair purchases it for him regularly. Since Altair has found out about his fits of pain during rain, he has searched for a relief. The opium was the best solution he came up with.
It makes the rain bearable for Malik, and though he can handle the pain on his own now, Altair always tries to be with him when rain or storm are approaching. Malik had grumbled because of it at first, but secretly, he enjoys the company of his friend. Spending time with each other outside of their job has become rare over the years. Though both of them are old now, Malik still thinks there is never enough time.
Malik is waiting for the rain to bring Altair to his doorstep, settling into the cushions in the back room and sipping at his wine. But Altair is late this time. The drops are already pounding a steady rhythm on the roof and the window blinds, and so, before bringing Altair, the rain brings memories.
oOo
Malik, six years old, turning his head and the insides of his palms towards the sky, arms outstretched, welcoming and savoring every single drop of the cool liquid. Savoring the feeling of the water on his skin, knowing it will nourish the plants on his parents´ field, that the harvest will be good this year because of the rain.
Malik, dancing in the rain, laughing at his baby brother Kadar, who is watching from the doorway of their small house, afraid to come out because of the water falling from the sky.
o
Malik, ten years old, seeking shelter in a cave. Curling around his shivering brother and telling him everything is fine while a thunderstorm is howling outside, feeling the warmth of Kadar´s body.
o
Malik, digging through damp ashes desperately. The scent of smoke and blood is heavy in the air, despite the rain that has drowned the fire.
Malik, comprehending that the unrecognizable bodies in the courtyard are his parents. Malik, ashes on his face, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks, searching for survivors. But the Templars haven´t left a single person alive, a single house unburned when they raided their home.
Malik, an orphan now, going back to Kadar, relieved that he told his little brother to wait outside the village.
o
Malik, eleven years old. Droplets of water splashing around him as he shoves the arrogant kid with the cowl who has started their fight into the fountain on the marketplace for calling his brother a dirty street urchin.
Malik, still dripping. Glaring at the bearded man in front of him who compliments him for his fighting style, while a puddle forms around his feet.
Clutching Kadar and refusing to go a single step without him, no matter how impressing the fortress of Masyaf looks, how much the man in front of him is respected in town, how tempting the invitation to become a novice in the assassins order is.
o
Malik, thirteen years old, climbing the highest tower of Masyaf while the wind tears at his robes, his hair. Kadar is complaining from far beyond, while Malik hears the heavy breathing of Altair close.
Malik is the first to reach the top this time, rising to the full height of his body, laughing when the first raindrops hit his face.
Altair climbs over the edge silently, not able to hide his frown when the wind sweeps his cowl away. They stand for a moment, measuring each other, until Altair takes his familiar perching position next to him and Malik sits down, leaning against his friend-rival, watching the storm play out.
o
Malik, 16 years old, his clothes uncomfortably damp after having to jump into the river during their first mission, dragging a coughing Altair with him.
Altair doesn´t meet his eyes. Malik glares at him disapprovingly. He´d never imagined that the favorite pupil of Master Al Mualim is not able to swim.
o
Malik, 20 years old, wiping the rain from his face and laughing, the adrenaline from the accomplished mission still pounding through his veins.
Altair is facing him, rain dripping from a new white cowl made of fine fabric, different from Malik´s gray one. Altair is a master assassin now, and the cowl is a constant reminder that this friend-rival has climbed the ranks faster than Malik.
When they change into dry robes in their sleeping quarter, Altair takes the piece of cloth from his head and puts it on Malik´s. "It suits you well," he says calmly, his eyes and face earnest. "You will get one, too, after our next mission."
But it never happens. Their next mission is Solomon´s temple, the mission where nothing is gained and Malik loses everything.
oOo
The pain loses its edge thanks to the medicine, just like the more painful memories have lost their edge years ago. While the memories play out in his head, the good ones leave a warm glow, very similar to the feeling of the wine in his veins. Malik closes his eyes.
oOo
Altair enters the assassins bureau when the rain is nearly over, and is met by silence. He removes his cowl and makes his way to the back room quietly, like he has many times before.
He finds Malik with a faint smile on his face, his body relaxed into the cushions.
When he kneels down next to him, he sees that his friend is not breathing any more. He touches his neck, noticing that Malik´s skin begins to cool because there is no more life pounding through his veins.
Altair studies his friend´s face closely. Death has softened Malik´s features. Malik always claimed that the wrinkles on his face came from constantly frowning about Altair´s foolishness. Now, without the usual frown, he looks younger than Altair has ever seen him in life.
Gently, Altair runs his fingers over Malik´s face, ruffles through the salt-and-pepper curls. He keeps kneeling, gathering his friend´s body in his arms. Silent tears run down his face, while the rain is still pounding its steady rhythm on the roof.
a.n.. i just wanted malik to die a peaceful death. because he deserves it after all he´s been through. i also ignored some remarks made in Revelations for the sake of this goal.