Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or anything else you may recognise, all of which belongs to Ubisoft.

Summary: Altaïr discovers the process of growing-up, is not challenging for Darim, but for him.

A/N: Two guess as to what I got delivered in the post this morning, spent the whole day reading and finished (personal record!) in a matter of hours. Yes…well it was The Secret Crusade for idiots and it's inspired this pulled up in a matter of minutes and although I didn't actually like everything within the book…some of it's all right although I felt as though I was reading a piece of fan fiction the entire time…

Libero; to set free.

As he had confessed many times before during his lifetime, Altaïr could face many a man, situation or battle with little to no fear. There was very little that he could find, in the world known to him which made his skin pale and blood run cold in that consuming, panicked anxiety that fear inspired.

Yet Darim seemed perfectly adapted in finding new ways to do just that.

Nearing two years of age, the boy was finding his feet, stumbling through the paths of Masyaf under watchful eyes, tripping over his own toes, falling and getting to his feet again as though his tumbles had never happened. The child amazed him, to Altaïr it seemed his son could not walk from one place to the other but felt the need to run, to gallop as a foal would on unsteady feet. Maria found it endearing, she could watch the boy with a fond smile as he got to his feet and danced about madly as he stood with baited breath, his fists clenched to stop himself from running and restraining the boy.

"You would be holding him back, Altaïr, caging him like a bird when he needs to be free and spreading his wings," Maria told him amused, watching his anxious gaze as Darim attempted to climb the stone steps leading into the Fortress. "He's just growing up, learning and doing well. You should be proud."

But…he was proud, very much so. Each step Darim took made him swell with pride yet…with each step he waited with his breath held, muscles tensing, for the fall that was surely to follow.

He should have been prepared of this stage. He had been fine when Darim had first learned to support himself so as to sit, he had watched admirably as the boy slowly taught himself to pull his small weight across the floor; he been overjoyed to find his son crawling towards him, laughing childishly as he grabbed onto his fathers robes and hid amongst the layers hanging by his legs.

Altaïr had known his first steps would soon follow, he had helped in the matter; ignorant to what such small steps would begin.

Maria would often tease that he had brought it upon himself; was it not he who had taken his son's small hands in his own, was it not him who had stood slowly easing the boy up with him, guided by his strong hold on his hands, wasn't it Altaïr who encouraged his son to take those first shaky, small steps.

Yes, he would state, remembering fondly. It had been him; he was Darim's father after all and was it not his duty to lead his child in his first steps in life, to be there to steady him from falling, to catch him.

"But of course," Maria answered, smiling gently at him, "Yet you can not always be there to help him to his feet, Altaïr, Darim must be able to pull himself up again, alone and without aid and continue on running."

And as though to further her point, from the corner of his eye, he watched the blur of gold that was his son, stumble and crash to his knees, his small body shaking with the force of the impact of skin against stone.

Yet the child didn't cry, a shout of alarm and cry of pain but no loud, echoing wails were emitted. Instead he remained still, shocked from his fall, watching his hands where they met the ground, his small chest heaving and Altaïr fought the urge to dash forward, his breath caught in his throat, heart pumping after a stand-still. The surrounding Brothers started at the small boy tripping and seeing their fallen little Brother, some made to help him up but a glance to the child's mother told them to stay their post.

Darim remained down as through assessing his damage, waiting for his small body to tell him if something was very wrong. With all his bones in check but with his limbs sore and scrapped, a little bloodied, he slowly pulled himself up to his knees and looked himself over before rising to his shaking legs and making his way over the his parents.

Only when the boy was before him could Altaïr breathe. He let out a breath of relief as he saw the boy had only cut his palms, the skin there tore away from scratching against the stone when he had threw them out the catch his fall.

Bending his knees to greet his son he was struck with a deep admiration for the boy; for all the age of him, he had skill and all of it was instinct, in his blood and bones. All this learning; to sit, stand, run, catch himself should he fall and assess himself for damage before making a commotion, all were built into him from the beginning, natural and flowing as water. Briefly, in the back of his mind, he wondered which skills Darim had been passed from both he and Maria, had he a trait, a taste, of his gift, his sight or…

"You see," Maria spoke again, teaching him on the role of being a father, and he listened gratefully, "Darim knows when his slips are worth knowing of and he knows exactly who to come to should he need a hand."

Darim, smiling shyly before him, held out his hands, palms rose to the sun, for his father to inspect.

The scratches were only skin deep and would be gone in a matter of days and judging from the lack of pain, he guessed Darim would have forgotten about them by the morning. Yet he still took his son's smaller hands in his own larger calloused ones, mindful once more of the size difference, he made a show of looking over the boys 'wounds'. Finally he nodded and looked his son in the eyes; Maria's dark iris's stared back at him, questioning and slightly teary.

"Yes," He told him darkly, all anxiety and fear from before melted to the back of his mind, "It is as I feared, they shall have to be removed."

Darim's light gasp of surprise soon turned to that of delight as his father grabbed him by the middle and threw him over his shoulder, rising again to his feet with him dangling over his back. Maria's laughter rang through the yard as he carried the giggling boy up the steps and into the shade of the fortress, leaving her by the training ring to await that evenings session alone.

The Brothers stationed close by watched perplexed as their Grand Master carried the boy further into the corridors to the gardens through on the other side. By now they knew the Master wished it to be that all fathers, Assassin's and village-men, showed their offspring such kindness, such love; a softer side to the harsh reality of life. Altaïr preached to set by example and this teaching was no different from any other; he openly showed his son love and fondness, through playful antics or more commonly through the amount of time he made for his son and wife. It had been taught before that as Assassin's family was pushed to the back, brothers in replacement for parents, Assassins were encouraged only to marry and have children later in life when they had settled and lowered their blade. However little chance there was of making it to such retirement, that was the way it had been for most. Yet Altaïr tried to show them different, encouraged them to raise a family when they felt the time was right, to spend time with loved ones and treasure such times so that they may have something precious to remember and hold on to when that final blow was stuck. Many brothers were turning to believe in his teachings and as Darim's laughter rang through the fortress each day it unknowingly encouraged his father's words.

Within the garden, Paradise as it had been deemed; Altaïr had set his laughing son down next to a small fountain, flowing with clean, crystal clear, water from the streams below.

"Here," He spoke gently taking the boys cut palms in his own once more and placing them under the flowing water, "Always clean your wounds, to stop infection. Or else we really will need to cut them off."

Like Malik…

"Cold." Darim stated in answer, wiggling his fingers under the light flow. Smiling at him, Altaïr brushed some of the light-sun touched hair from his forehead, thinking of the day when his son would fall and return to him with something more serious than scratched palms.

Again, that creeping, ice-cold fear rose within him, stealing the warmth from his bones and draining the colour from his cheeks. On impulse he reached forward and grabbed Darim, pulling him close and embracing him tightly to his chest.

Restraining him, holding him close so he could never run and fall, could never be hurt or afraid or…

…grow up.

"…Caging him like a bird when he needs to be free and spreading his wings…"

Maria was right. Why was Maria always right?

From his arms, Darim, ignorant to his fathers inter turmoil, murmured into his robed chest and wrapped his small arms around him tightly and at once that fear melted and turned to warmth and love for his small son. He only wanted the best for him, wanted him to grow up safe and knowing his father was there be it to catch him should he fall or to heal his wounds.

He remembered the boy's strength to push himself up after a fall, his determination during his first few steps, his eagerness to pull himself forward.

Darim was a born Assassin, given the skills from Master's-both Assassin and Templer- to survive and do well.

He would do fine.

"Gold…golden shiny warm…Papa…" Darim's low murmuring, muffled by his robes, reached his trained ears and he took the meaning of such childish words into account. So then, he had been right. He at least had the gift of sight…he would be taught well to treasure it and taught to use it to his advantage.

Plans for future lessons and teachings he would give Darim swam through his head but he pushed them aside and for now he held his child's small warm body close and for a moment thought of never letting go.

As it is my first piece of AC fanfiction, I'd be grateful for some feed-back...XP