disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters.
Malik. Altaïr. A misunderstanding that lasted from their childhood to young adults, two worlds that operated on different basis of understanding, and a skew sense of morality.
- Malik's POV.
- Altaïr's POV.
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Color Blind
The first time Malik noticed Altaïr, he was seven and brash... and he was five and hiding under the novice hood.
Sure their fathers were close friends, especially since they were the only Master Assassins of the Levantine Brotherhood during that time, but Altaïr had always been carefully kept away from those around his age.
Because he was the bastard child of a Christian mother, who believed in the God of the Crusaders, the very same heretics that left many in Masyaf parentless. And with Altaïr's too pale complexion and exotic golden eyes, many children and young teens were quick to jeer at his expense.
Malik, though, was more curious and open-minded. And upon seeing the mysterious kid first time appearing in the courtyard wielding an imaginary blade, he decided to try to make a new friend. But as he came closer, Malik realized he wasn't the only one with that thought in mind.
Another boy, Jasim, had already approached the younger kid, offering a smile and a polite greeting... which Altaïr ignored.
That caused Malik to stop at the sideline, a little confused. Because everybody like Jasim, and he didn't understand why Jasim was rejected as if he wasn't even there.
But Jasim didn't give up, and he tried to talk again. And again.
Until finally Altaïr paused and properly looked, narrowing his eyes like he was unimpressed for some unknown reason. "Why are you wasting both my time and yours?"
Malik labeled Altaïr as an arrogant prick almost immediately afterwards and promptly turned to walk away. A friendship with a person like that didn't worth the headache.
The first time Altaïr noticed Malik, he was five and lonely, peeking out a window from the castle... and he was seven and twinkling like a star.
His father had encouraged him countless times to leave the castle grounds and make some friends. But it was so difficult for him because everywhere he turned, there was only a differing degree of washed out grey.
And by instinct he knew it was meaningless to interact with any of them.
"But father, they are grey..." Altaïr said once, pointing out the obvious.
"Of course they are, son. They are wearing the robes of novices." Umar told him patiently. "Once you start your training, you can wear it as well."
Altaïr felt something was amiss with this answer, but he was young and simple then and he accepted anything his father told him. But still he stayed away, looking from afar hoping to find the color of someone that would really matter to him as a person.
He saw someone twinkle when he was five, and he ventured into the courtyard the next day.
He didn't know why he did wrong when he asked the grey person pestering him to leave. But the white star dimmed afterwards, and Altaïr was sad.
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Rumor had it that other than the training instructor Labib, Abbas was the first person who managed to get something other than a condescending remark out of Altaïr in the courtyard. At least, that's as far as what Malik cared to know.
Once, he overheard Rauf asking some other kid in their age group whether Abbas was Altaïr's best friend. And Malik couldn't help but snickered. Abbas was Altaïr's only friend.
Abbas was the second white person Altaïr saw.
Though it was a dull chalky white, Altaïr didn't want him to go grey as well due to missed chances. So he walked up to him and talked.
And finally, he painted another speck of color into his world. A hazy blue.
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Then the Siege of Masyaf happened.
Altaïr lost the only gold in his life that day.
Gold. Person of significance. And it hurt more than he could bear.
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Soon followed by Abbas almost killing Altaïr in the training ring.
He could counter then, but he also couldn't. Because Abbas was blue in his eyes...!
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And after them both being locked in separate cells for a full month as punishment, Malik believed Abbas and Altaïr were no longer friends.
But Altaïr wasn't angry.
He was more depressed that the only color in his world was fading fast.
And that madness had somehow rendered Abbas color blind.
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When Malik was fifteen, Rauf came to him quite suddenly one day and couldn't stop showering praise on Altaïr. And the whole thing was so surreal that Malik didn't know how to respond, because that was honestly the first time he heard anyone has anything good to say about that kid.
Rauf was the third white person Altaïr saw.
He was a warm glow. And though he never dimmed, he didn't turn blue either.
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Rauf certainly wasn't the last, however. And to Malik's dismay, Kadar was the next.
His adorable kid brother came up to him merely two weeks after, talking nonstop about how amazing and generous(?) Altaïr was at helping him find a stone pendant he lost some while ago. And how amazing Altaïr was.
Kadar really emphasized it twice.
Then Kadar told Malik that he was too embarrassed to thank Altaïr himself, and could his nice big brother accompany him? Please?
So courtesy of Kadar, Malik and Altaïr had their first actual conversation.
Unfortunately, Malik didn't remember the frustrating details apart from two things.
The whole time Altaïr refused to acknowledge Kadar's presence, instead focused those golden eyes on him.
A fist fight happened, because Altaïr might or might not have insinuated that he thought Kadar was deaf and blind.
Kadar, being not yet ten then, didn't understand. And Malik got angry.
Altaïr hasn't checked on Malik for a very long time, since he thought the chance with him had long passed and gone, but when he did the older boy was shining so brightly that Altaïr almost had to squint at the non-existent light.
He didn't dare to be too straightforward though since the last time he had failed spectacularly on the attempt, so he looked for another way. An answer immediately came in the form of Kadar, a temporary shimmering white.
Thus Altaïr helped the kid to retrieve the lost pendant that was half-buried under stone and sand. Of which he find strange that Kadar needed his help, because once focused, the pendant glow like a pale torch by the mountainside and sing like a bell.
A little worried the kid might be slightly deaf or blind, Altaïr voiced his concerns to Malik, only to get punched hard in the face for the trouble. And though once again he didn't know what he did wrong, Altaïr's pride wouldn't let any blow to his ego slide.
Of the incident, Altaïr learned two things.
Malik's color didn't fad this time, which was good.
Malik was strange, and painting him blue might not worth the effort, which was bad.
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They were sort-of rivals ever since.
But it wasn't until a few years later when Malik was past seventeen that he really felt threatened. Because he has always been the top of their age group, with Rauf occasionally gaining an upper hand. Then words got around that Altaïr– still barely a man– completely floored Rauf during practice.
Malik was unhappy to find that he cared about it more than he should.
Unfortunately(?), he was send away for an investigation mission in Damascus before they have a chance of crossing blades.
They were sort-of friends ever since.
With Altaïr determined on proving his worth to the older boy, because Malik has always been the person everybody looked up to in the training ring.
Altaïr couldn't pinpoint the exact time that started to change though, with everyone now turning to him for instructions. And it made him giddy and proud.
He waited for the time Malik would, too, request for his tutor, but it never happened.
Always the white star only existed at his peripheral vision, gazing at him from across the yard with a small scowl.
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Malik received his first assassination mission at the age of eighteen.
The target wasn't a particularly high ranking official, but still important enough to warrant the attention of the Brotherhood. For the young would-be assassins, it would amount to months of tailing and information gathering, though normally Malik would not complain.
He would this time however, because Malik's partner so happened to end up being no other than Altaïr. And the two weeks working together was as frustrating as he expected, if not more so.
They never walked together, no, that would be too conspicuous. In fact, the only time they were really in each other's company was during the night when they stayed in the Acre Bureau trading information, but that was almost more than Malik could stand.
Because every other night, Malik has to listen to Altaïr giving him information about their target that would usually take months for others to gather, while most of the time Malik himself had nothing to offer.
Made worst by the fact that he could swore Altaïr did nothing other than climb a random tall Acre tower and survey the city for eight hours everyday like an eagle, while Malik was the one who actually spent time stalking the streets covering in mud and sweat. But somehow, he was the one coming back empty-handed.
"Are you blind, brother?" Altaïr had insulted him. "Just look for the white people."
Malik had fight the urge to start another quarrel and lost. "Start talking sense, stupid." He glared back. "Acre had been crawling with white people since the First Crusade."
Altaïr received his first partnered mission at the age of sixteen.
With Malik, unfortunately, and it frustrated him to no end.
Since the older boy seemed dead set on making Altaïr's life difficult by dumping all the investigatory work on him, only feeding him some useless scraps every two days to put on a show for the gloomy Acre rafiq.
And Altaïr couldn't help but bristle with silent anger when the feather was offered to Malik instead, just because he was older and more experienced!
Altaïr, thinking since he did most of the tedious groundwork, was convinced he had more right to draw blood.
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The assassination was pulled off flawlessly.
The mission, however, was a complete disaster.
"You should not have killed them." Malik wanted to scream into the younger boy's ears, but was forced to lower his voice into a hoarse whisper to prevent the detection of nearby guards. "People have lives outside what you see, but you ended them so carelessly because you find them inconvenient!"
Because apparently when Malik asked for Altaïr to 'keep a lookout outside to avoid alerting anyone' translated to 'leave no witnesses' in that overtly simple head of his. And that's exactly what Malik found. Six bodies inside a nearby haystack with feet poking out, two of unsuspecting guards and four of civilians.
Altaïr just looked at him from under his hood. "Dead or alive, they will not affect our cause." He dared to argue.
Malik fumed.
The mission was successful. Nothing else should matter.
His partner, however, thought otherwise. And the whole way back to the Acre Bureau, Altaïr has to suffer Malik's endless scolding like some child.
"You are too full of yourself, Altaïr. Not to mention having no common sense." Malik has been saying. "What part of 'Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent' do you not understand?!"
"But I see no sign of innocence, only the marks of obstacle and insignificance."
"Or maybe because you are just too blind to see what's right in front of you!" Malik hissed, before disappearing under the rooftop trapdoor. "Some of those you killed are obviously mere peasants!"
Altaïr wanted to retaliate, but a sense of déjà vu made him held his tongue.
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It wasn't until later that Malik realize there was something really off about Altaïr's sense of morality.
And it wasn't until much much later that Altaïr realized Malik (and the rest of the world) did not see on the same basis of understanding as him. Not really.
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When Altaïr was thrown into prison the second time, it was for a much more serious crime. For under the witness of many, he had killed one of their own.
Malik was twenty-three, and he saw the incident occur just inside the Masyaf castle gate.
People said Altaïr was mad and must be put down. Many agreed, but still some didn't.
Mostly because by then Altaïr had started to make a name for himself, and he was becoming the feared Masyaf Eagle.
Mostly because with the threat of war, Al Mualim was hesitant to lose the most deadly weapon of the Brotherhood.
Malik... for maybe the first time, just wanted to understand.
Altaïr was twenty-one when he noticed a speck of red in the grey of Masyaf, and he acted on instinct. Yet he did not understand the justification for his punishment, even after being locked up for a week.
People asked him, again and again. "Why?"
His answer never changed. "He was red."
And Altaïr could not understand why the self-explanatory reason wasn't enough, why everyone just shook their heads and left him in confinement for another day.
But those inquiring people were grey. And since grey never lead to change, he should have just saved his breath.
Then to his great surprise Malik came to visit one day, like always, in a beacon of white. And he asked a question different to others.
A question that brought the world crashing down around Altaïr's mind.
"What does red mean?"
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Inside the sturdy prison bars, Malik saw a hint of emotion flitting across the stoic golden eyes. It was gone in an instant, but he thought it might be fear.
The Great Eagle of Masyaf was afraid.
"Can you not see... the blue, the red, and the grey?" Altaïr breathed. "Can you also not hear... the rings and the whispers?"
"I do not see nor hear the things you spoke of, brother." Malik answered after much thought. "Nobody does." He added. "And many think you mad."
"... Nobody does?" A harsh chuckle. "Malik, do you think me mad as well?"
"I cannot say." Malik replied truthfully, after a pause. "Talk to me and explain, so I can judge for myself."
How do you describe colors to a blind man? How do you describe sounds to the deaf?
But Altaïr tried, to the best of his ability.
Grey. Unchanging, static, insignificant. Neutral but unimportant, a backdrop.
White. Chance, opportunity, variant. An unstable equilibrium.
Blue. A sign, an aegis. A chance for the better.
Red. An omen, a warning. A variant that indicated a negative possibility.
They were all of those, yet not. For there was no word in any language Altaïr know that could fully depict each individual hue and shine.
Altaïr could only try.
"And gold?"
Altaïr looked at Malik.
"Gold is significance."
Whether for the better or the worse.
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Malik kept his expression composed, but the visit to the prison left him confused.
This madness reached deep into Altaïr's mind, yet the clarity in those beautiful golden eyes spoke of nothing but certainty.
A kind of Vision never before heard. A sixth sense?
Climbing a Masyaf castle tower would usually help clear his head, but not the case this time. Malik didn't know what to believe, what he wanted to believe. Only that the image of a caged eagle waiting pitifully for death would not leave.
If enough proof were found that the Assassin slain by Altaïr's hands might really mean the Brotherhood ill...
But how can one prove the existence of colors when the whole world is blind?
Four months of confinement.
Four months of solitude.
Four months of self-reflection.
Nothing made sense any more. Everything now incomprehensible.
The world that used to be so familiar suddenly all along blind and deaf, suddenly all so overtly complicated and too simple. The world skewed and wrong.
And within his mind, Altaïr had to reborn. To function. To survive. To live.
Four months. And the Masyaf Eagle was finally freed again to stretch his magnificent wings.
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"Safety and peace, Altaïr."
"Upon you as well."
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Nothing is true, everything is permitted.
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According to online sources the term Eagle Vision is coined by fellow Assassins that know of Altaïr's ability, leading me to believe that Altaïr is the first recorded user of the First Civilization sixth sense.
Also, it is said that he possesses the ability from an early age. So... if nobody told him that he was different, would he know it?
Synching View Points, the ability to 'hear' hidden objects (chests, feathers etc.), and the standard Eagle Vision are combined in the story.