Just a little fanfic I wrote after playing through AC1 again after ages. I do love annoying Malik and I thoroughly enjoy the relationship between him and Altaïr. This is my first for this genre, so I hope its okay!
I do not own Assassin's creed, or its characters. I wish I did.
Five guards onto one man? That's hardly fair. Altaïr's sword danced, parrying and blocking blows from the sneering city guards, with shocking beauty. The guards were enclosing upon him, a common tactic, meant to cause panic and erratic risks, but this was nothing in the master assassin's eyes. One of the men in robes of crimson jumped back taunt him, hurling random insults with intent to provoke. Altaïr used this as an opening, smirking as he slashed the guard across the chest before jumping towards another, burying his hidden blade in his neck. The guard gurgled as his own blood flooded his lungs, spilling from his mouth, pooling beneath him after he fell to the ground.
Seeing the glint of a guard's sword stabbing towards him out of the corner of his eye, Altaïr retracted his hidden blade and dodged out of the way, barely missing the blow as it darted past him, nicking his side.
Altaïr gasped as an image rose in his mind. Malik and he training as children, when Malik had suddenly dashed at him, gashing his side with his dagger; Malik was distraught. He hadn't meant to hurt Altaïr, he thought he would dodge, but Altaïr promptly forgave him, brushing it off as a bout between friends.
Shaking the memories from his mind, he saw that the guard had realised his mistake in overconfidence and tried to retreat back in order to keep the assassin at bay, it was futile. Altaïr knocked the guard's blade from his hand and kicked him in the solar plexus, sending him flying in the opposite direction. Altaïr's attention returned to the remaining two guards, whose obvious fear lingered in their eyes, leaving them standing around the assassin, neither daring to make a move.
In a swift motion, Altaïr made forwards to stab the guard to his left. Altaïr mumbled in frustration but his sword fell short as the guard in silver armour jumped back, dodging the sharp attack. So he was going to be tricky was he? Altaïr smiled as the guard stepped forwards to attack. He slashed at Altaïr, who simply turned his body to the side, allowing the blade to arc next to him and using the motion he had created, stabbed the guard through the stomach. The guard's eyes glazed as Altaïr kicked the guard off his sword and flicked the blood onto the street, keeping his sword clean.
The remaining guard's resolve failed and he ran from the assassin. Sheathing his sword, Altaïr easily ran him down, jabbing his hidden blade through the back of his neck. Altaïr smiled, those stupid city guards, so easy. He slid his hidden blade back and ran into a nearby alleyway, the city's bells were still ringing but he knew with certainty that they would soon stop.
Finding an easy handhold in the alley wall, Altaïr scaled to the roof, revelling in the simple exercise. As he reached to pull himself onto the roof, he felt a twinge of pain in his side. Altaïr smirked,
'I suppose that damn guard got me after all.' Ignoring the pain, he heaved himself onto the rooftop, though Altaïr's smug humour was cut short.
"Attentäter!"
Seeing the white robes emblazoned with that crimson cross made Altaïr shudder with hatred; A Templar. Cursing his stupidity, Altaïr ran along the rooftops until the Templar caught up with him. Altaïr spun around to kick him down but the Templar was ready, he dodged the attack and made a slash for Altaïr, catching his shoulder as he pulled his sword out of its sheath. The blow made Altaïr stumble; Altaïr did not realise he was next to the edge, and fell into the street below, instilling panic into the civilians as they ran from his bloodied appearance. The Templar dropped down next to him as Altaïr jumped to his feet. Altaïr swore, he was hoping to avoid any more fights until he got back to the bureau. The Templar stabbed and slashed as Altaïr tried to parry and counter, each move becoming more laboured than the last when finally, he managed to get a slash across the Templar's neck, bleeding him out onto the street. Altaïr's breathing was heavy with exhaustion and adrenaline, and he knew he had to get back to the bureau.
Stepping from the pool of the Templar's blood, Altaïr climbed the wall before him as quick as he possibly could, feeling his wounds becoming more of a hindrance as time went by. As he ran, Altaïr pressed his hand to his side and felt the blood trickle through his fingers. Altaïr cursed the guard to hell; it seemed that the blade had cut him far deeper than he had originally thought; now he really had to get back before he himself bled out.
Seeing the grate to the bureau come into view, Altaïr breathed a short sigh of relief. Never in his life would he have thought he would be so glad to see Malik again. As Altaïr's hands grabbed the grate, they slipped with blood and he fell into the entrance of the bureau with a loud thud. Groaning in pain, Altaïr struggled to stand up and staggered to the wall, falling against it, coughing up blood. At least he made it.
Malik looked down at the map of Jerusalem that he had been drawing up for some novices and sighed, he was no longer finding interest in the smooth lines of ink he was creating and the bureau had become stuffy with the heat. Putting his quill aside after gently brushing off the ink on a spare piece of parchment, Malik began to wonder where Altaïr had gotten to. The city's alarm bells had long stopped ringing, but nagging sense of worry for his friend had tugged at his mind. Hearing a loud thump from the entrance, Malik assumed that someone had arrived for a mission.
'Probably another novice,' Malik scoffed as he brushed aside his concern and turned to survey his map. After waiting for a short period of time, Malik suddenly noticed that no one had come through the doorway, grabbing a small dagger from under the counter, Malik made his way around the desk, quietly edging towards the door. As he reached the doorway, Malik heard a ragged coughing, then a low groan and fearing for the worst, he rushed to see who it was, hoping for a novice. Malik gasped.
"Altaïr!" Malik ran to the injured man, slumped against the wall as he wearily lifted his head in response to his voice. "Altaïr, you novice, what have you done?" Seeing the bloody handprint on the wall above him, Malik used the dagger in his hand to cut away Altaïr's robes, searching for the source of the blood that had soaked his robes. There was an incredibly deep gash in Altaïr's side, which seemed to be the main source, as well as a cut in his shoulder, and many small scratches and bruises across his torso. Malik felt angry to think that Altaïr had allowed this to happen, but seeing the man gasping for air in agony made him disregard his anger while he ran to his desk to get the medical supplies.
Returning with a small bowl filled with bandages, salve and various other things he would require, Malik tipped the supplies gently to floor, and rushed to fill the bowl with water from the fountain. After soaking one of the rags with the water; Malik pressed it against Altaïr's side, trying to clean the wound. Altaïr cried out, clenching his fists in pain. Malik tried to hush him, for fear of alerting the guards and soon his cries turned to low grunts and groans. Malik sewed the wounds shut and bandaged his torso and shoulder tightly.
Malik's heart ached to see his friend in such agony, knowing he could only do so much. Malik removed Altaïr's weapons belt and boots then slowly helped him to stand, leading him to his own room behind the desk. Malik lowered Altaïr onto his bed, and sat in the chair beside it, intent on ensuring his friend's safety. Watching the fevered breathing and racking coughs, he wondered if Altaïr had fallen asleep yet.
"Who did this to you?" Malik whispered with malice, contented to damn those to hell who had caused the only man he loved to be in such a state. Malik soon felt his eyes droop and sunk deeper into the cushions of the chair, unwilling to fall asleep, but too weary to watch over his friend throughout the night.
As the dull haze of sleep overtook his body, Malik whispered "I love you Altaïr." Knowing that his friend probably wouldn't have heard him, but undaunted by the fact of if he had as he slipped into his dreams.