A.N.: It's been a very, very long time since I've written anything. Mostly I've been occupied with school work, but there are also other projects I've been working on quite a lot. Most of them still aren't finished. That's just every day of my life. Come up with tons of ideas. Realize you don't have the time or are simply too lazy to finish them all. My idea list on deviantArt consists of over 30 pictures to draw, and I still haven't finished half of them.
However, in the meantime I got attached to yet another fandom which is Assassin's Creed. I started it off with AC Brotherhood, and then I just had to play the original, and... oh my God.
I just fell in love with the characters. Altair Ibn La'Ahad's stupidity sometimes knows no bounds. Malik Al-Sayf's cynicism is epic. And throughout the story I just couldn't help but to start bro-shipping them (also, by now I ship AltairxMaria with burning passion).
Altair is hard to write in my opinion. Malik is okay, he's quite hot-headed, he can get emotional and I can live with that. Altair on the other hand, being so emotionless... it's just too hard for me to believe he felt absolutely nothing when Kadar died. I think that he either really didn't shed a tear, or he just didn't let anyone else see him shed a tear. I can hardly believe that someone can take in this much hate directed at him, feel this much guilt and yet give away nothing, he's still human after all.
Everyone has a breaking point. Even Altair. So sorry if he ended up out of character in this one, but I was convinced that even though he is stronger than most people, no human being can go through so much remorse and guilt and not cry, at least a little bit.
Enough with my yapping - enjoy this crappy story if you can.
-Jody14
Live with It
1. Wounds that Never Healed
Malik shivered as soon as the meaning of the words finally managed to sink in.
"I am sorry."
How could he?
"I am so sorry for everything."
It was too soon. Ages too soon.
"You've lost your arm because of me. Lost your brother. I would do anything to repair the damage I have done. I would gladly give anything if it could bring him back to you."
If he thought he would forgive him, just like that, he was dead wrong.
"Please, forgive me."
Malik turned away. He couldn't look at Altair's face right now.
Didn't want to, in fact. Kadar's face when the Templar's sword ran him through was still imprinted in his memory, as clear as if it was just yesterday. And it still hurt.
He would never let anyone see this pain. Let alone Altair, of all people.
He couldn't hear a sound from Altair. He seemed to be standing completely still. Malik couldn't even hear him breathe. He knew Altair was still in the bureau only because he could still feel the tension between them hanging in the air. So much hurt and so many words left unspoken.
Something eventually had to snap.
"Leave."
Malik was the first to speak, his voice barely more than a whisper. He was afraid his voice would break as soon as he said the word.
"Malik..."
"Altair, leave!"
"But..."
Malik turned back to the fallen Eagle. He congratulated himself in his fit of anger. Whatever expression he had, it made Altair take a step back. He half wished he had a mirror in the bureau – he was a bit curious to see what the expression that made the most arrogant fool on the face of the Earth step back was like. When he spoke for the next time, the icy tone of his own voice made Malik himself almost shiver in fear.
"Altair Ibn La'Ahad, if you think that I will forgive you just like that anytime soon, then you are even more arrogant than I realised. You will never have my forgiveness. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in a year. Not in a decade. I will never forgive you for what you did in Solomon's Temple, Altair. I would trade your life for his in an instant, if that could bring him back. Do not doubt that for even a moment."
Malik could clearly see Altair shiver under the weight of his every word. Each word was like a punch to the face, over and over again. He could bear insults, cold dismissals every time he left for his missions, hateful glances.
He could take it all. He could, because he knew he deserved every single blow, from every last one of his brothers. Especially from Malik. There was one thing he was afraid of the most, however.
He knew he could not bear Malik never forgiving him for his mistakes.
"If you really wish for me to forgive you that badly..."
Altair braced himself for the worst. He had been expecting this blow for a while now. He anticipated it as soon as he spoke the words. And he also knew he deserved no less than this.
"... then why are you even still alive? You should have died back then, in his place. All alone and frightened in the dark, pierced by Robert's sword."
Even though he expected this long ago, the words alone hurt more than any blade ever could. Months and months he had been preparing, trying to muster up the courage and apologize. But even years of preparing for this blow could never prepare him for all the pain he felt right now.
Malik turned away again. Altair finally realized he had been slightly shivering for a while now. Months of whispers behind his back, cold looks following him everywhere and insults thrown at him from every direction finally crashed down on him like summer hail. But the worst, the absolute worst, was Malik's cold scornful look, clearly spelling out the message over and over again.
You have no place anymore. Not in my world.
When Altair finally spoke, Malik sensed the strangled tone of his voice.
"Is this really how you feel?"
His voice sounded weak, about to break down. A voice begging for one thing and one thing alone – please, just give me your hand and take me away from this dark and lonely place. A voice that wished to cry in pain, but merely broke down in silence. A voice filled with self-loathing. Yet Malik's answer remained cold and steadfast. An answer that sealed the Eagle's fate.
"Yes. It is."
Altair gave no response. Malik could hear the assassin turn around and walk away. His coattails fluttered in a slight breeze as he walked through the door.
Just like that, he was gone.
And finally, after months of anger building up in him, Malik broke down too. The weight of the world constantly threatening to cave in on him finally crushed him. He slipped to the ground behind his counter, leaned on it with his back, buried his face in his remaining hand and cried.
He cried for hours. He couldn't save his little brother back then. He could never forget his final apologetic smile as he died in front of him. He could never forget that Altair was simply not there, when they needed him most.
When he needed him most, stumbling back to Masyaf through tears, clenching the golden artefact in his left and holding on to his injured arm with his right.
He was never the one for self-pity. Even with a missing arm, he was just as agile, fast and deadly as any other assassin. But Altair always brought it all back. Physical phantom pain, as well as emotional wounds he was afraid will never heal.
And then it was all gone. The weight of the world threatening to crush him faded away like it never was. Reason slowly replaced emotion. Altair will come back eventually, just like he always does. He'll push the harsh words to the back of his thoughts, like any other day. He'll vent out his anger and sorrow on some misfortunate guards, just like Malik vented it out on him.
And when he comes back, he'll tell him he was sorry. He really will. He'll tell him that all those words were brash, said in a fit of anger. Foolish empty words without meaning.
Altair knows that, deep inside.
Doesn't he?
Even so, there was still this silent voice in the back of his head that wouldn't leave him alone.
And what if he doesn't come back?
"Assassin!"
Raheem, a young novice, silently whimpered and jumped behind a pile of crates piled up next to the wall in the market. Today was not his day. Since the time he laid his foot into this city guards' eyes have been following him with suspicion.
Malik, the dai of Jerusalem, was in especially foul mood.
And now this.
Will anything ever go his way?
He expected the guards to rush at him with full force, but heard the rattle of weapons instead. He peeked from behind the pile. He was convinced they were going straight at him, so what was the fuss all about?
And then he saw him, the famous Eagle of Masyaf in his white Assassin robes, with all his strength and elegance, locked in a deadly dance of swords, metal hitting metal.
Something seemed off though. Did they overestimate him when they spoke of his talent?
Altair, the Eagle of Masyaf, the best of the best, the master assassin seemed distracted. Judging from others' tales, he could fight the city guards twelve to one. Now he was up against five, yet the way he swung his sword seemed without strength or will. A deadly dance he used to enjoy in seemed empty, with no elegance and passion.
The guards sensed his indecision. They attacked like a pack of hungry wolves. Altair easily deflected their blades, but this time Raheem was convinced.
It was a routine movement. In the Eagle's eyes there was no spark, no will for battle. Only empty automatic movement, deflecting the swords and protecting himself from the worst.
And the guards knew he was nowhere near as deadly as he was anytime before. Altair's hand remained lowered when they weren't attacking. He wasn't standing in defensive stance, ready to defend or counter. Almost like he was merely waiting for death to come and claim him.
Like an eagle with his wings broken, without the will left to flap them and fight to fly.
Suddenly the upwards swing send his sword flying from his hand and rattling to the ground. The next blow hit his ribs and sent him down to the ground of Jersualem alley as well. He reached for his sword, but one of the guards kicked it far out of his reach. Another kick followed, this time aiming at his ribcage and knocked the air out of his lungs, but he didn't let out a sound. The next one landed on his head. And another to his side. They knew - an assassin like him won't be taken down by a couple of bruises, no. He was someone to neglect his injuries until the task was finished, or he would've died trying.
Not before they were convinced he wouldn't get up again they stopped. He was still alive. Barely conscious but alive. Why? He had expected them to be done with him fast. He expected them to kill an assassin on sight.
"You've been causing quite some fuss on Jerusalem streets for a while, haven't you?"
Another kick to his side flipped him onto his back.
"Pick him up. We have orders. We're taking him to Robert de Sable. He was clear he wasn't done with him. Most likely he'll want to have some fun before they execute him."
Altair didn't move a muscle when they dragged him to his feet. Every cell in his body protested against any attempts to move. He could barely stand. From what he could gather through the pain, he assumed his right leg was broken. Without a sound he limped away accompanied by guards. And even though the crowd gave way to the guards, the group soon disappeared from Raheem's sight.
He sat down behind the pile of crates a stared into space.
Altair. Masyaf's pride, the Eagle flying higher than the rest was downed. There was no doubt - as small a group of guards such as this should not be giving him much trouble. Something was definitely amiss. Why was he so distracted, how did he allow himself be beaten so easily?
He turned around and dashed towards the bureau. The Dai needed to hear about this.
When he finally reached the bureau and dropped trough the rooftop entrance, his day got even stranger.
He was convinced he could hear someone sniffle.
Raheem entered the bureau very carefully. There was no telling how angry Malik would be if he walked in on him to see him crying. Finally the boy mustered up the courage to silently greet the dai.
"Safety and peace, master Malik."
When he entered, the dai raised his head. His eyes were still bloodshot from crying. For a fleeting moment Raheem thought he had seen hope sparkle in his eyes, but the light faded as soon as his eyes landed on the boy.
"Safety and peace, little brother."
"Master, something is wrong... I am sure, should I tell you, you would not believe me."
Malik sighed. Novices. Always so keen on hearing any petty rumour in town. No doubt Raheem was still just a child.
"Be out with it, I do not have time to waste."
For a moment, novice stopped.
"It is... important, master."
"Then be out with it already."
"Master Altair, he was..."
Malik groaned.
That stupid, stupid novice. What has that idiot done this time? Was he in need of attention so badly?
"Master Altair was... he was taken away by city guards, master."
Then, Malik's heart skipped a beat.
"What?"
Raheem made a step back, but he soon composed himself. Malik had to know.
"They took him away, master. They captured him in the city market."
"You must have been mistaken. Altair knows how to stand on his two feet, there is no way for him to be taken down by a small group of simple-minded guards. I am sure, he could have..."
"He fought, master, but he was distracted for some reason. They had no trouble taking him prisoner."
Malik ran his hand over his face. He had to calm down. Panic won't do him any good.
"Stay here, Raheem. Mind the bureau. If anyone comes to see me, tell them to wait. Were you to hear fighting, close the bureau immediately. Is that clear?"
Raheem nodded and gave a respectful bow. For master Malik to put so much trust in someone, especially a novice was rare, and the biggest approval he could ever get.
In the meantime, Malik climbed up the wall of the bureau and made his way to the rooftops.
What were you thinking...
He was so distracted he often misjudged a jump. More than once he almost toppled off the roof.
Were you even thinking?
He stopped for a moment. He could already see the Templar fortress in the distance. Judging by Raheem's words, Altair was to be taken prisoner alive. It made sense. Killing him on the spot would do them no good. The master assassin was known far and wide in Jerusalem. Rumors spread like a wildfire in a drought among the people. If they wanted to assure their authority, they are going to execute him in public.
Then, he reached the cold walls of the fortress. He sat down on the roof, hidden in the shadows. He didn't have to wait long. Only a few minutes later a group of guards made their way around the corner, dragging the master assassin with him. Malik clenched his teeth. Just one look was enough for him to know the extent of his injuries. His right leg was clearly broken. Judging from his jerky movement, his ribs weren't intact either. The hidden blade on his left was destroyed beyond repair, metal was bent and the mechanism broken.
With a kick to the back, one of the guards knocked him to the ground. They pulled him to his knees and twisted his hands on his back. Moments later the doors of the fortress opened, and Robert the Sable walked to the square. The only person Malik hated more than he could ever hate Altair.
Robert smirked as he slowly walked to Altair.
"Behold. The master assassin."
He raised his hood, and whispers among the crowd could be heard all the way to the roof Malik was sitting on. They were surprised to see a man behind the cowl to be human. No demons, no ghosts, just a young man in his twenties.
Robert noticed his eyes staring into nowhere. His grin grew wider.
"Tomorrow you die in front of whole town, heretic. But do not for a moment think that I am finished with you. You have yet to see me before you die."
He hinted to the guards.
"Take him to the cells. And make sure he stays there until morning."
Another kick slammed into Altair's back. Malik averted his eyes. He had his grudges towards Altair, yes. But he never wanted to see him suffer. He leaned on the roof garden and rubbed his face with his hand.
"You stupid novice... what were you thinking, you fool..."
I am the fool.
Why had he said all those things? He should have stopped, thought for a moment before speaking. Just for a moment, he should have seen Altair for who he was. He should have heard his helpless pleads for help, his fears, his loneliness.
Why didn't he stop, to see the broken man in front of him, before it was too late?
Now, it really was too late.
It was clear Robert was nowhere near done with Altair. He said that they will hand Altair over to Majd Addin for public execution tomorrow. But Malik had no doubts that Altair didn't see Robert for the last time. He'll take the time to gloat, knowing that he held Altair's life in the palm of his hand to do with it whatever he pleased. If it were just about killing him, they'd have killed him long ago, when they captured him.
No, Robert liked to play with his prey.
And as unfortunate that was for Altair, it was also his luck. Malik was not going to stand around. While Robert has his fun, he'll hold a meeting with a couple of other Assassins in town. He'll need their help, and if they comply he can still save the Eagle from certain death.
He left his hiding place and returned to the bureau. Raheem noticed he wasn't in the mood for answers and didn't ask him questions out of respect. Silently, Malik was grateful for it. He sat down, to write five identical letters on five pieces of parchment. He handed all five to the boy.
"You know the names on these letters, and you know where to find them. Make sure they get these letters. This is really important."
The boy nodded, gave another respectful bow and left the bureau. Malik leaned on the counter, ran his hand across his face, sighed and tried to calm down.
They will not fail. They will save Altair. All he needed was a diversion.
He ran his hand through his hair once again – a nervous habit of his. Now it all depended on the other five.
Okay. Originally this was meant to be a one-shot. I'm changing it to three-shot, or maybe three-shot and an epilogue. I'll see how it turns out when I divide chapters in my notebook.
Hope you like it, read and review. Reviews make me work faster.
-Jody14
