It was not the first time that Malik had walked the halls late at night to find Altaïr's candles still lit. It was also not the first time he found his friend asleep on a desk littered with paperwork.
Ever since that strange episode where Altaïr had vanished for days, Malik had been keeping an eye on him. Despite his claims of being fine, but busy – which he was – Malik had the distinct feeling that something else was weighing on his mind.
He could never really explain where he had been. He would start, saying something about snow or a city's name Malik had never heard of – but then he would stop, dismissing the topic and saying that Malik wouldn't understand.
He was no fool though, he knew that whatever had happened to Altaïr still bothered him. And even though the Master Assassin's desk was cluttered with maps and reports about Templar movements and locations of the Pieces of Eden, Malik often saw a half hidden sheet of paper with an odd map peeking out beneath the rest.
He looked at Altaïr then, awkwardly slumped in his chair, and wondered when he would finally have the opportunity to hear the secret tale. In all honestly, Malik was more than slightly curious – and Altaïr's resistance to discuss it made him even more determined to find out.
Malik was so lost in thought, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Altair suddenly sat up, waking with a start. Gripping the armrests of the chair till his knuckles were white, Altaïr's face deathly pale.
"What ails you, Altaïr?" Malik asked quietly.
"I… Nothing," he replied, wiping a hand across his face.
"When will you stop this nonsense and admit that what ever happened to you is still bothering you? You say I will think you insane if you tell me – do you think yourself insane?"
"Yes," he said with a humorless laugh. "I must be."
"That coming from the man that showed me – all of us - the power of the Apple – now you really have my attention."
"I honestly don't think you would believe me, Malik. I sometimes don't believe it myself."
"I can't sleep, you might as well amuse me with a tale of fancy if nothing else," Malik suggested, taking a seat across the table.
"Where do I start? I think the Apple must have moved me, somehow, to another place. But not a different city or continent – more like another world." Altaïr stopped here to gauge his friend's expression. At the first sight that Malik might find it amusing, he was determined to stop. But Malik regarded him coolly, obviously not finding anything entirely insane just yet.
"The place is called Skyrim, it is part of some land unknown to me, in a world I know not where. Oh Malik, the things I saw and learned of that place – truly I feel as though it must have all been a dream, an illusion."
"Was it perhaps not?"
Taking the map, with the many lines of repeated folding, a water stain here and there, and a few specs of what he assumed to be blood, he laid it out on top of the other papers on his desk.
"This was not a dream – I have been to some of these places," he said, pointing out Whiterun, Riften and the Throat of the World.
"Was it truly so different from here? As in a world away, not just, like you mentioned another unknown country?"
Thinking back, Altaïr remembered the endless landscapes of snow, the night sky decorated with shades of purples and greens and the twin moons. He remembered the dragons – actual fire-breathing dragons; races of cat and lizard people; magic as real and readily available as the air. He remembered too that serious pale face with the penetrating blue stare, that he had learned to know so well during his time there. He sighed.
"Yes, it was so very different. The culture was notably different. One would as readily see a female blacksmith, as one would a male – and soldiers and warriors are common pursuits for any able bodied person."
"That sounds odd, but by no means unbelievable."
"Magic there was no illusion. People can heal themselves or others if taught how, and cause serious damage with fire or lighting, straight from their hands."
"Now that sounds dangerous, and more far-fetched," his friend observed.
"Could be – but since it was so common, no-one thought it odd. They are also having a slight dragon problem, currently."
"Dragons." Malik repeated.
Altaïr shrugged. "I told you I will sound insane."
"No no – please continue."
"They too have an assassins guild – called the Dark Brotherhood –"
"Sounds ominous…"
"It was a senior member of their order that I met on my first evening there. Apparently we had both been sent for the same location. She remained quite an interesting guide for the remainder of my time there."
Malik raised his brows at the word "she".
"The problem is," Altaïr continued regardless. "I have been having very vivid dreams about Skyrim since my return. I feel as if I am still there, like I am a shadow following her around, seeing what's happening there."
"Perhaps it is just that – dreams? Perhaps your mind is completing a story, so to speak?"
"I had thought so too, but it doesn't feel that way. I made a foolish promise – one I had no way of knowing whether I would be able to keep it or not – and it is almost as if that strange land of magic is somehow fulfilling it, even though I am not physically there."
"What promise could have been so important?"
"She has to prevent the end of their world at the hands of an ancient black dragon. And even though she is perhaps one of the most fearless people I've met – it terrified her to face the creature alone, to have the fate of her entire world in her hands. And in a moment when she felt alone and hopeless, I foolishly promised that she would not have to face the dragon alone. And now, when I sleep, I wake up in the snowy lands of Skyrim, where I involuntarily follow her like a wraith – I see the battles she fights, the insane things she does to try and fulfill her destiny."
Malik regarded Altaïr for a long while.
"See, I told you I was insane," Altaïr said with a snort. In truth, he had begun to wonder whether the place, and the people of Skyrim really existed. While he was there is felt so real, but in his familiar study, at his desk with his papers – if felt just too impossible. But then there was the map, and the cloak – items that came from there. Countless times when he had woken in a cold sweat, sure his mind was slipping – he would take comfort in looking at the white cloak neatly folded in the chest by his bed. It felt heavy and real, and the odd blue shimmer when the light caught it just right made him certain that it hadn't all just been an insane dream.
"Well," Malik replied quietly. "If you say the place is real, then I for one believe you. It does sound like an opium induced dream – but I do believe you."
"Really?" he replied, a bit skeptical.
"Altaïr, this is you we're talking about – you are not one for idle fancies. And I think your explanation of why you dream about it might also be accurate. What causes you to wake with such distress then?"
"Well, it is like being pulled back to a different world every time, quite disorientating. And I usually awake just as she is about to do something stupidly reckless."
Malik smiled, clearly his friend had become quite attached to the woman. He didn't doubt Altaïr's story – however unbelievable it might have sounded. If it had been anyone else, Malik would have laughed them off. But Altaïr was far too careful and guarded, and thus Malik was inclined to believe this outlandish tale.
"What was her most recent exploit?"
"She has managed to capture another dragon – to extract the whereabouts of the ancient black dragon. It has convinced her to let it fly her to the location, claiming she can reach it no other way. I woke up just after they released the creature's chains and she mounted it. Unbelievable, really," Altaïr said, shaking his head.
"That sounds like a bad idea, yes."
. . .
She had managed to capture his second in command. An arrogant dragon of great power – and he has agreed to take her to the land of the dead, where Alduin was replenishing his power after their previous encounter, by devouring the souls of the honored dead.
Heck, perhaps she'll just stay in Sovngarde once the battle is over.
She mounted the great dragon Odahviing's neck, and held her breath as he took her high up into the sky. The dragon had been right though – travelling on the ground would forever pale against the memory of soaring among the clouds. She could almost imagine hearing Altaïr's voice in her head, berating her for her reckless actions.
. . .