I do not own Assassin's Creed

Nuisance

The first rays of sun bathed the small room of the bureau in a warm light. Deranged by this invader, the boy opened his eyes for a moment only to close them again quickly at the feeling of sharp needles stabbing his orbits. Once adjusted with the new light, Arsal examined his surroundings and immediately noticed that the man dressed in white, his saviour, was missing. He shrugged and then covered his growling stomach with one of his hands. After a few moments of thorough thinking, the child finally decided to face the scary, evil man dressed in black.

Malik lifted his gaze from the map that he was already working at and met the chocolate eyes of the little boy. It was something different about them this time. The fright they had held in the previous night, as little of it as it was, disappeared completely and now they were full of certainty and determination, something very unusual for a child of his age. One that wasn't born in the Brotherhood, of course. Maybe that stupid novice was right after all and this child, if he proved to be trustworthy, would be of great help to the Clan.

"What is that you want?" Finally the man asked.

The boy studied Malik for a few brief moments, trying to estimate the amount of hostility in his gaze. Reaching the conclusion that the man was a bit calmer than in the previous night, he opened his mouth to speak with confidence, "I'm hungry."

Malik sighed and glanced at the compass he was holding, before throwing it on the desk with a groan of frustration. He didn't have any extraordinary food. The only things he could offer were bread and water and that little devil would better not complain about it. He took the food and headed towards the other room, motioning the child to follow him. Once there, the Rafik sat on a soft pillow and crossed his legs, watching the kid copying his movements entirely.

"So you are hungry, too," stated the boy after hearing the growling stomach of the man before him. Malik said nothing, but the way he was eating was also an answer. He was often forgetting to eat, engrossed in his work as he was. That was his only escape: his books, his writings, his maps. They kept his mind busy, free of unpleasant memories. He shifted slightly on his pillow and continued eating, secretly studying the child with the corner of his eye.

While examining the child, Malik couldn't help but observe how skinny and miserably he looked. What the hell was the novice thinking? Even if Al Mualim accepted this boy into the Brotherhood, there was no way he could survive the rigorous training that children of his age received. Although partially covered by some loose pants, his legs still looked more like sticks than flesh and bone. It was as if that dirty, chocolate skin was attached directly to his bones. The Rafik then lifted his gaze towards the dark and greasy hair of the boy. He wasn't sure if that was its natural color or it was actually very dirty, but he decided not to ponder too much upon this mystery. What made him stop his examination was the sneaky glance the boy shot in his direction. Realizing that he was also analysed, the Rafik decided that it was better to play the role of the unknowing victim.

After the two stayed their hunger, the youngest of them finally broke the suspicious silence that had settled over them. "What happened to your arm?"

Malik stiffened for a moment, chaotic flashes of painful memories invading his brain at an alarming speed. He recovered quickly and answered sharply, "It's none of your business!"

Arsal struggled to seem unfazed by the sharp tone of the man and continued his little interrogatory, "My name is Arsal. What is yours?"

"It's none of your business," Malik repeated.

"I've told you my name, so it's only fair of you to tell me yours," responded the child in a slightly annoyed tone.

"I didn't ask for your name."

The insistent gaze of the child almost made the Rafik explode. "Malik! That is my name. Satisfied now?"

"Yes," Arsal responded with a big grin on his face. He then lifted from his pillow and hurried to the other room, where the man he was interrogating disappeared. When he arrived there, the man was already bent over his counter, looking over his maps with an angry expression on his face.

"Can you tell me more about Masyaf?"

"No."

"It's the stronghold of the Assassins, isn't it? Altair told me that, but nothing more."

"And what makes you think that I would be the one to tell you more?"

Malik felt grateful for the silence that followed his question. Altair would better come back soon and take this nuisance off his hands. In those moments the Rafik really hoped he will never see either of them again after this day.

Just when the silence became sweeter, it was interrupted again by the voice of the child.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing at a metal object on the counter.

"It's a compass," Malik spat. "It's used for measurement."

"And that?"

"It's also a compass." Malik furrowed his brow and added quickly, anticipating the next question of the boy, "This one is used for orientation."

"How does it work?"

The Rafik rubbed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. This will be a long day...

Altair waited until his chasers vanished behind the corner of a building and then he exited his hiding place, but not before assuring that there were no other guards on his tail. All the running from the past twenty minutes made his heart almost get out of his chest. The hot, dry air also didn't make things any better. The Assassin took a deep breath in order to calm himself. He was starting to feel better, but he couldn't ignore the unpleasant feeling of his dirty, bloody clothes sticking to his sweaty skin. Fortunately, the bureau was close and Altair felt more relieved than ever.

After a few minutes of jumping from one building to another while expertly avoiding a few guards, the Assassin finally found himself under the pleasant shelter of the bureau. Once there, he strode towards the running stream of water from the tap across the room and took a couple of greedy sips using only his hands. While washing the sweat off his face he noticed the loud laughter coming from the other room. What Altair saw there made him smile a little. The boy was jumping "just like Altair" on pillows spread all over the stone floor while an angry Malik was rubbing his temple, muttering swear words under his breath.

Altair crossed his arms and leaned against the cold wall, watching the child jumping from one pillow to another, pretending that they were buildings. In those moments, the Assassin felt grateful for the white hood that was covering his golden eyes so well...along with the sadness that had washed over them. The invasion of memories about his childhood, or the lack of it, to be precise, filled him with both sorrow and pride. Being born in the Brotherhood, he started his training at an early age. Too early to even remember it very well. He was already considered a man when he realised that he had actually never been a child and the thought brought him tons of regrets and questions. What was it to have no worries? To play the whole day with the other children, the only thing to care about being to win a game...or to make others losing it? To not give a damn on Crusades, Saracens, Templars or Assassins? What was it to be free?

The Assassin lifted his left hand and stared at his palm, contemplating the gap between the middle finger and the little one. On the other hand, he felt proud. How many children knew how to wield a short blade at the age of six, and actually be very good at it? How many of them had the privilege to learn how to read and write, learn history, philosophy, astronomy, foreign languages? How many of them learned how to fight for their lives? How to end a live...

"Why are you standing there like an idiot?"

The sharp words of the Rafik cut the air, interrupting the stream of thoughts that was running through Altair's mind. He pushed back all of them and headed towards the counter while pulling a bloodstained feather from his pouch. Holding it in the eyes of the Rafik as if to be sure that he sees it, Altair spoke with a hint of pride in his voice, "Tal'al is dead."

"I know." Malik made a pause and then added, "In fact, the whole city knows! Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety, Altair?" he spat, flinging his arm in the air.

"A skilled Assassin ensures his work is noticed by the many," Altair answered with arrogance. The reply only enraged the other man further.

"No! A skilled Assassin maintains control of his environment!" He wanted to say more, but the Assassin cut him, "We can argue the details all you'd like, Malik, but the fact remains I've accomplished the tasks set to me by Al Mualim."

The Rafik threw Altair an ice-cold look and bit his lower lip in an attempt to restrain his anger. "Go then, return to Al Mualim. And also take this devil with you! I don't want to see any of you anymore!" He pointed at the door and shut his eyes, trying to calm the blood that was boiling in his veins.

Only then Altair realized that the child had assisted to the whole scene. He turned to him and watched him standing in the middle of the room, stunned by the change of words he had just witnessed. The Assassin took Arsal's hand and dragged him off the room without saying a word, all kinds of thoughts haunting his mind. They had been so careless and their heated dialogue revealed things about the Assassins to the child. Normally, he would have to take the life of anyone who held those pieces of information, but giving the circumstances...he will just have to hope that the kid will only put them to good use.