Drabble Song Fic Set #1
Note: I wrote most of these really late at night, and did very little read-through for grammatical errors before posting. If you find any, have patience, I will fix them.
Florence + The Machine – Hardest of Hearts
He ghosted his hand over the sleeping figure, careful not to let even the tip of a finger graze dusky flesh. There were no words, not in this hour of the night. The city slept, and he kept vigil over a man that had not woken from his slumber for the past two days. It was poison. They tipped their blades and arrows in a potent root and then buried them in the body of their opponents.
He had been lucky. He had survived the poison, and now fought off the raging fever.
Malik sighed, running a hand through his hair and sitting back on his haunches to watch the other breath. The great Eagle of Masyaf, felled by a mere sword blow.
His eagle.
But with ownership came admitting that he, in fact, could love again. And with that admission, he would be forced to feel the emotions that he had kept trapped for so many years. An aching want, deeply buried and tied down so tightly that it had suffocated in the dusty silence of his soul. There was a heart somewhere in his chest, beaten and bruised as it was.
Teaching it to feel was excruciating. But the reward, ragged and sweaty and blood-soaked, a horrible, brutal, shameless, beautiful killer, was well worth the pain.
Guns n' Roses – Patience
It had been close to a month since he had last seen the walls of Masyaf. Altair squinted into the sun, shading his eyes with one hand and letting a small smile grace his lips. When no-one saw, he could breathe a sigh of relief. He had made it home safely. He could return to those who cared for him. For the man who had shown the most patience of any being, mortal or otherwise, who walked this earth.
The letters had come with regularity, and each had described the comings and goings of Masyaf; the traders who bartered for goods, the shepherds and their flocks, the births, deaths, squabbles. All written on a single parchment leaf, in a slanting script that was too familiar to ignore.
He had saved them all, folded them carefully and stored them in a pouch, along with the few other essentials that he carried with him on long journeys. Where hope had been lost, he had found solace in the words of his friend, companion, lover in hard times.
Moved out of his silence by the tolling of the bells alerting the castle of a visitor, Altair clicked at his steed gently, urging it up the rocky path towards the main gates. Home.
Gladiator Original Soundtrack – Am I Not Merciful?
"And why is it that you carry your burden so proudly? Are you that thick, that you cannot realize the reasoning behind Al Mualim's words? He stripped you of your rank, Altair. You are nothing now. You are a filthy pig, destined to grovel in the mud before others."
"Silence your tongue, Malik. I have recognized my wrongs, and I intend to-"
"You intend to what? Bring my brother back from the dead? Weave an arm of sinew and flesh from your own body to replace the one that I lost? You are the one who should be silenced, permanently."
Malik's snarl rivaled that of the stray dogs who roamed the streets, and it was that violence that kept Altair from spitting the vile words that had already been concocted in the back of his throat. He instead shifted his gaze downward, finding patterns on the dusty floor that kept his interest. If he looked at those hard black eyes that he knew were glaring at him from across the room, he would bite back.
"You will redeem yourself or you will die. It is not my decision which you choose. May Allah have mercy on your wretched hide, Altair. You have no friends here any longer."
"If the god that you have so much faith in wills it, I will die the death that has been prescribed to me. Until then, our goals are the same."
He did not even see the movement, could not comprehend the speed at which the other man moved. His vision was suddenly filled with eyes colored with hatred, and a fist that held a knife in its white-knuckled grip. A blinding pain upon his cheek, and Altair stumbled back, his fingertips slick with his own blood.
"If there is any righteous deity that cares even a drop for the mortal world, you will die the way you have lived. As a coward, a liar, and a charlatan, intent on fulfilling your own goals to the bitter end. I will not have you soiling the air of my bureau. Get out."
It was with a barely contained roar that Altair launched himself from the wall where he had fallen, his hands outstretched, intent on maiming, crushing, killing. He did not expect the knife to his neck, and his rush was denied, arms falling limp at his sides when he realized that he looked a man determined to kill him straight in the eyes.
"You. Will. Die. By my hand or by another. I show mercy now. I will not show it again. Leave."
Altair barred his teeth, but the knife at his throat was as steady as any trained killer. He would not lose this battle. He was determined to see his own fate through. If he did not receive Malik's aid, then so be it.
"Safety and peace, brother."
"It will give me great joy to see you denied of both, pig."
The Killers – White Demon Love Song
"We need to leave, Altair."
"There is still time left. The night sky has barely deepened and you want to escape to your solitude once again?"
"It is not that I do not…" Eyes closing, a sigh through gritted teeth. "You frustrate me."
"It is a mutual feeling, to be sure." That foolish grin, the only remaining thing from a time that they had both forgotten.
Malik growled, shifting from his position beneath the Grand Master to kiss those insolent lips into silence. It was a rare night. There were no novices to train, no messages to be sent. They could possess this one evening, make it theirs, something to remember.
He intended on fulfilling every desire that his body had made known over the many long weeks apart.
Moonlight streamed in through the slatted windows, silhouetting their shadows in a gleam of brilliant silver. Almost grotesquely painted across the walls, a testament to their love-making that would evaporate with the morning sun.
They continued in silence, with their white backs to the moon.
The National – Mistaken for Strangers
He had aged.
Fine lines, like the cracks in a mirror, had found their way under his eyes, around his mouth. They collected in pools and hollows, droplets of wear and sorrow that had managed to hold on, through sand scorched days and cold endless nights.
He was sure that he looked like another man, with how many years had passed since he had last turned to compose himself over his features. He had never cared for vanity, had no time to gaze at his own reflection.
Now he cupped his chin in one palm, picking at the gray at his temples and scowling. That only made the lines worse.
It was a soft chuckle that broke him from his reverie. Malik stood in the doorway, a plate of olives in his remaining hand, eyebrows arched in good-natured surprise.
"I have not seen you without that damned Apple for so long, I forgot what it looked like for your eyes to be sharp and alive again." The words held a tinge of sorrow, but the da'I hid it well behind an expression of airy indifference. The neutrality did not touch his eyes. Altair decided to remain silent on this particular detail.
"You always were a mother." One last glance at the bowl of water that he had been using as a makeshift mirror, and the Grand Master turned to gaze at his friend, noticing the way the other limped considerably. Time had been harsh to him, where it had mostly spared Altair. For now.
"You need a mother if you are to get anything done around this place. Or would you have me assign you chores like the common novice?" This time a smile, genuine, stretched across Malik's features, and Altair found himself grinning as well, standing to take the plate out of the man's hand and place it on the nearest flat surface. "And I had never pegged you as one to look at yourself in a mirror and scowl at your own reflection."
So he had noticed.
"These years have not been kind. I have not looked at myself in so long… have I always been this stern around the mouth?"
"Yes." At the scoff that Altair directed his way, Malik managed a one-shouldered shrug. "You were handsome in your youth. So much scowling has turned you into an old man."
"At least I have not gone soft." The glare he received was well worth it, and Altair chuckled to himself before settling his weight against the desk in the middle of the room. "You worry about your appearance less than I do."
"It is not something I have ever cared to think upon. I lost the ability to ever maintain perfection when I lost my arm. There are few who would desire a man with such a deformity."
"They know not what they passed over, those women of the marketplaces." A callused hand, warm and dry on his cheek, and Malik raised an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth quirking slightly before he stepped away from the touch and moved towards the door.
"I might have gone soft physically, but you are the one who sounds like a doting grandmother."
The one-armed man was already out the door and down the stairs, cackling as a plate of olives was thrown down the stairwell after him.
Beats Antique – Beauty Hearts
They had come to the market for only a few things, Malik's desire to acquire inks from the traders who had just entered town overwhelming his sense of caution for the townsfolk and their wariness of men in white. It was amid the flurry of stalls, each hawking their own wares, that Altair felt a familiar hand rest on his shoulder, gripping the battle-hardened muscle beneath the dingy robes with an experience that no other could possibly possess. There had been an air about the rafiq, one that was rarely seen, and even rarer made public.
To any other beggar or merchant who had seen the move, they would have thought it an innocent clap on the shoulder, and the smile that graced the slightly shorter man's lips was a good-natured sign that the two were friends, simply enjoying the sights of the market in which they stood.
It was a gesture that demanded action. If Altair was to make his move, then he would have to slip them both into an area where probing eyes could not follow.
This turned out to be easier than planned.
It was amidst the tangles of a rug merchant's stall that they found their solace. In the brief moment of contact, Malik had slipped his hand under the other's hood, pulling it down with an experienced grace that spoke of many practiced nights and quick encounters.
The kiss was a brutal one, an angry clicking of teeth and lips as the two predators found where the other stood, words becoming useless as hands found hidden crevices to explore and take advantage of. The master assassin led a campaign against the rafiq's exposed neck, wiping away a light sheen of sweat and dust with his lips before attacking the sun-darkened flesh with his teeth, pressing hard enough to leave marks before moving further, pulling at the robes that hid his desired conquests.
The other responded in turn, his singular hand putting him at a distinct disadvantage when it came to the aggressive shows of affection that had become common between them. He would have to be clever.
An intake of breath, and Altair paused in his administration of bites along a muscular shoulder, burying his face in the robes of his partner as Malik palmed him through his breeches, the smile he wore going un-noticed. For now.
"Cheater." The words were hissed into his ear, and Malik turned his head to observe the other, gold eyes glaring at him from over a mountain of bunched cloth, his tongue working back and forth to moisten dry lips.
"It is not I who made the first move this day."
"And yet you desire to finish the game before it even ends."
"Honor me then by containing your lust. Keep me from cheating, novice."
A moment of confusion, and then the haze momentarily cleared from Altair's vision, accompanied by a smile that was more predator than human.
"As you wish." There was a moment of strenuous silence, and the master assassin made his move, pulling the arm of his partner behind his back and pinning him. It was a struggle.
The rafiq fought back against his arm, bites drawing blood as he snarled into Altair's chest, attempting to bring his knee up to put some distance between their bodies.
It was another kiss, this time open mouthed and curious, that brought the fight to an end, Malik surrendering his arm and will power to the taller man, but not without a few choice words, uttered into the heavy air and then forgotten.
It was not until they heard the brisk steps of the merchant returning from whatever task he had set upon himself that they broke apart, Malik pushing Altair out of the dusty row of Persian rugs and into the blinding sunlight, letting him make his indignant escape before following a few paces behind, his face still flushed with anticipation.
Perhaps they would have to purchase another pot of oil to go with the inks that now lay scattered and broken amongst the stall they had just vacated.
Andrew Bird – Dance of Death
A swing of the sword brought the soldier to his knees with a cry, his hands uselessly clasped around the rambling gash in his throat. He would die of blood loss in the amount of time it took Altair to dispatch several of his comrades.
He would watch his brothers die.
Had it been the same for Kadar?
A graceful dodge, and the man plunged his dagger through another opponent, standing still just long enough to see him fall to the dust before launching himself onto the oncoming group of soldiers, their armor gleaming in the sun, weapons clicking together like the beaks of angry falcons.
Malik could never forgive. It was not in his nature.
Therefore, he would never surrender himself in turn.
Their bond was one of blood and loss. To forget was to die.
Placebo – Sleeping With Ghosts
It was always an injury that set off the nightmares.
He had learned Malik well enough to understand how he functioned. A scuffle in the marketplace had brought a dagger through his shoulder, and even though the wound had been promptly covered in a layer of gauze and cloth, the pain remained.
And it was pain that seemed to regurgitate the memories, the terrible past that they both shared but refused to speak of.
Altair brought another rag over Malik's sweaty brow, peeling away the light robe that he wore to bed in order to inspect the gash further. The blade had been an old one, and the cut it left was jagged and raw. Not a wound that would normally slow him down, but infection was a beast that even the strongest man could not conquer with ease.
The assassin sighed, pinching a small amount of herbal mixture that had been prepared for this purpose from the box in his lap, shoving it into the wound with as much gentleness as his rough fingers could manage before quickly re-wrapping the shoulder with fresh gauze.
He would survive this minor skirmish. The injury was on the shoulder that ended in a scarred lump of muscle and bone. If the infection spread, there would be little for it to devour. Altair had almost sighed with relief when he had discovered where the dagger had landed, the few seconds that he had to realize that the soldier was aiming for the rafiq blinding him with panic and rage.
He could have been killed.
He could have lost him.
It was a mantra that he dared not linger too long on. Dark thoughts brought darker memories, and shadows that he would rather not entertain while he was this alone.
Malik would recover, and once again assault him with a litany of foul words and an even fouler mood. And then they would tangle together in a war of bodies and teeth and anger, and that silent understanding would begin again. It had never truly changed.
Predators could never truly love.
Loreena McKennitt – Night Ride Across the Caucasus
"You must hold on tighter."
"I only have one arm you blundering fool." The shiver of cold that ran through Malik's body could not be completely suppressed, and his teeth chattered even as he spoke. "We will die out in this wilderness if you do not dig your heels into this stupid beast and return us to camp with haste."
"Patience."
"I have none." Altair clucked his tongue in the general direction of his companion, turning the horse with a tug to the reigns in a way that was unfamiliar to the rafiq. He had never been a tamer of creatures, preferring flora to fauna when it came to preferred knowledge.
"If I give you the flask of wine will I sweeten your tongue?"
"Hardly. You stole that flask from a drunkard. We do not know where it has been or what illness the man might have harbored on his lips."
"He was a slave trader with quite the coin purse. He seemed clean enough."
"So do you when you wear your white robes. My mouth is filled with grime whenever I even attempt to put mouth to flesh." At the annoyed glance he was given, Malik backed off slightly, dipping his head to rest on the well-muscled back of the master assassin. "You were a welcome sight when I was caught in the courtyard, dirty or no."
"Your words wound me only but a little. Entertain your own thoughts in silence for a while. Drink." Altair leaned over, unlatching the flask from some hidden place amongst the saddle blankets and bristling weaponry, handing it to Malik before urging the horse into a brisk trot. "Perhaps spirits will calm what words cannot, da'i."
"Words are cobwebs where caresses are gold." The words went unremarked, and Malik grunted when his ploy for attention fell to deaf ears, pulling the stopper off with his teeth and taking a deep draught of the liquid inside. It had been a good while since he had tasted wine, but he could tell that the slave trader had preferences that far surpassed his own. After a few more drinks, he passed the now lighter flask back to Altair to hide once more.
"You are welcome." The words were soft, almost whipped away by the desert winds that sang around them. But Malik heard, and although his customary scowl was still firmly set in place, he let his arm pull a little tighter at the other's waist, letting the body heat soak into his aching joints and banish the chills that had before plagued him constantly. "It is a small wonder that the wine has not given you over to babbling like some poor drunkard, my brother."
"It is a wonder, oh great eagle of Masyaf, that I have not removed your head from your insolent shoulders."
"We will shall see whose wonder will come to pass by the end of this night." Malik grunted, pulling the scarf that had been wrapped around his head up to cover his mouth and hide the smile that he had failed to suppress. The rest of the journey was spent in blissful silence, with only the trotting of hooves to break across the empty dunes.