AN: I am so sorry it took so long ;A; I suck. xD But my PA no longer has time for the fic so it might be a little...lacking without the beta read.

I already wrote chapter 8 and 11, the inspiration has NOT left me. Thanks for sticking with me

Chapter 4

Sweat was clinging to his skin, his hair, it was running into his eyes and mouth. A dry tongue moved out to lick across his salty, chapped lips.

Masyaf wasn't a pleasant place to be, he decided. Ezio tried to sweep his damp hair away from his face, focusing on the other man circling around him. He wondered briefly how he could manage to keep on all of his clothing, including the cowl covering his nose and mouth. Then again, he was probably used to this horrendously dry heat.

Ezio had stripped down to the waist, keeping on his twin hidden blades, though he had been forbidden to use them in this fight. His hand gripped a dulled practice sword. But even with blunt weapons, he couldn't afford to take this training lightly. The man who had agreed to practice with him was named Rauf and apparently he held responsibility for the novices that milled around now, watching with hawk-eyes to see how the strange, new Italian brother did in basic combat.

Rauf was good with that sword, but Ezio had seen better. He had fought many men back home with far more impressive strength, though without the agility that the trained Assassins possessed.

And their endurance!

Ezio could concede to the superiority of the other Assassins in dealing with the awful heat of this home of theirs. If he had been back in Italy right now, he would be running circles around his opponent. Actually, he had, at the beginning, when he was fresh and full of energy.

But he was starting to tire and if this had been a real fight, he would have been swift about dealing the final blow and then fleeing into anonymity.

Rauf was moving to attack again.

Ezio saw him shift his weight, calculating his steps, tensing the muscles of his arms as both of his hands went to the handle of his sword. He was doing very well at emulating a trained Templar knight wielding his broadsword.

Even if Altaïr had acted as if Rauf was beneath him, there was no mistaking this man's skill. The Assassin order really had high standards amongst their brothers.

There!

Rauf had made his decisive move, the sword in his hands moving closer to the ground, its wielder obviously intent on knocking Ezio's weapon straight out of his grip. The Italian switched hands at the last moment, using Rauf's own momentum to twist him over his shoulder, throwing the Syrian Assassin to the dusty ground behind him. Rauf landed flat on his back with a groan, eyes defiant and yet impressed.

"Enough, brother. You've proven yourself capable of wielding a blade."

Ezio relaxed his stance and offered the other a hand to get back to his feet and grinned slightly, but tried not show how much the training had worn him out.

Not when he was watching.

Altaïr was the one who had insisted on Ezio receiving the traditional training of Masyaf's Assassins, even though it was quite clear that the Italian was no mere novice. But no one had been able to sway the ex-master's mind on this, nor had anyone actually tried.

Ezio still slept in the same room as the man, but the foreign culture of his new brothers left him feeling alone and isolated. Not that it was something new to the young man, isolation had been his fate ever since that horrible day...No, he would not think of it now.

It only opened an all too familiar void in his chest to think of his dead family. A family that had not even been...born yet and wouldn't be for two hundred years. The prospect daunted Ezio's mind, his existence in this, this TIME inexplicable to him. He had never understood the apple terribly well. It hadn't been in his possession for long either. His first touch had been his last as he woke up, two hundred years in the past, sprawled on top of a man whose writings were the very foundations of a creed his own family lived by.

A family he wouldn't get to see again. He'd briefly considered if time travel was possible and if he could, somehow, through sheer will, alter his return. Just a couple of years. Even if it was just the night before his father and brothers were executed...

When he daydreamed, Ezio didn't see beautiful Italia and women, not even Cristina. He dreamed of being able to turn back the clock, he dreamed of saving his father and brothers...He wished for it so much he could feel it like a little anxious knot in his stomach, a mad hope he couldn't cure no matter how many times he told himself he would be stuck here for the rest of his life. Serving an Order alien to him and yet they were the only thing he could attach himself to.

"You have skill with a blade, brother."

He knew that voice well by now, though it seldom spoke words of praise towards him, so Ezio really took it to heart that his 'master' had been watching and judging his progress. Despite his own...sporadic training, mostly thanks to Uncle Mario, he was lacking and he knew so. Ezio was proud, but not stupid.

"Grazie."

Altaïr's mouth didn't open again, the compliment had been only a comment he let slip, nothing more and nothing less. He was still pretty damn sure he didn't like his newest burden, but at least he could begin to see that Ezio would not need to be herded like a calf and he could protect himself.

Good. A fledgling eagle was better to have at his side than a proud rooster.

"We're leaving at nightfall."

"Where to?"

"Jerusalem."

Ezio didn't need to question any further, he knew their mission, the eradication of Templar agents would be continuing until they had all fallen to the Assassins' blades. The Italian watched as Altaïr simply left him standing in the courtyard of Masyaf, expecting him to be fully prepared by the time he chose for their leaving.

At least he hadn't looked at him with contempt this time.

There was something odd in the air above Jerusalem. Ezio kept glancing at Altaïr, who seemed...off-put. Why had there been a chuckle when he'd been told to go seek out the Assassin's bureau in Jerusalem? What was funny about that?

Finally, the two white-clad shapes had spotted the symbol decorating the flat roof, just a few streets away. Of course they didn't need to drop down to the street-level, they were masters of climbing, swiftly and silently as cats, deadly as any raptor from above.

Ezio found a crossbeam connecting to the building which must have contained the bureau. There seemed to be no ground-level entrances and the rectangular slab looked no different than any other house here. Ezio considered the buildings ugly. They lacked structure, storeys and the magnificent character of his time. He remembered, with a sharp ache in his chest, how beautiful Florence had looked from atop her high rooftops.

Oh what he would give to be home again, where he knew every tile, every hand and foothold in walls, where nothing could slow him...

He was ripped from his musings by a familiar voice, which seemed anything but pleased.

"Novice. What business brings you here? Make it quick."

Malik?

Sure enough, once he had dropped in through the opening and walked inside the bureau, the dark-haired man stared at him with his bushy brows furrowed. But the glare wasn't intended for him and for a second, Malik's expression faltered.

"Oh, Ezio. I almost confused you with-"

"Your eyesight failing you from all those dusty maps, brother?"

The frown intensified again as Malik glared at Altaïr, who had walked into the office behind his apprentice.

"Your arrogance is as always, insufferable, Altaïr. What do you want?"

The Assassin paused in front of the desk, letting his eyes sweep over the map with little interest. Ezio positioned himself by the doorway where he could overhear the conversation but could also keep an eye on the open courtyard of the bureau. He didn't quite understand why no one here posted guards on the rooftops, what with Assassins being so well-known and widespread. It would have made sense to him, but then again, he wasn't complaining about a circumstance that made his 'job' easier.

"I am here for the marker."

"Not so fast. First tell me what you have learned of your target."

Altaïr gave an annoyed, tiny grunt. Malik's impertinence had always struck a nerve with him, always gave him the distinct impression that the man seemed to have wished for a harsher fate to be bestowed on Al Mualim's favourite pupil. Well, too bad for Malik that Altaïr was working his way back up.

"Talal, a slave-trader," Altaïr rattled off the facts he had gathered from overhearing conversations all around the city and Malik gave a slight nod of approval.

"I will give you Al Mualim's marker."

The Assassin paused before he picked up the feather that Malik had almost thrown at him from the counter.

"He is staying here."

Ezio looked up only to find a cold, golden gaze resting on him. His stomach churned in anger, almost like a snarling little beast, irritated by Altaïr's sudden change of mood.

Malik fixed Altaïr with a beady eye of disapproval.

"He is your responsibility, novice."

"And I am saying he will stay here. I can't afford to have him make a spectacle."

"What?"

Ezio bristled, leaving his post at the doorway and taking a few steps to stand in front of his 'mentor'. The two men were equal in height, but Altaïr exuded something that made Ezio feel as if he was looming over him from a great distance, judging every twitch, every breath, every movement he made. The argument lasted only for a silent minute, then Ezio turned away, giving a little irritated click of his teeth, but ultimately submitting to the man's will.

Altaïr's lips moved up a fraction into a condescending smirk.

"Good boy."

The Italian was close to punching that scarred mouth, knocking that smug expression right out of his face...But he said nothing and took a seat in corner covered in pillows.

"Try not to get killed, brother."

Altaïr left silently, leaving Malik glaring at Ezio and the Italian seething quietly in the corner.

"...That man's arrogance is unbelievable."

Malik blew out his breath, closing his eyes for a minute and touching his forehead, as if he could already feel the approaching headache this young man was bound to give him. So much for continuing to enjoy a peaceful afternoon.

Ezio stayed put in his corner, cleaning his impeccable equipment out of habit. He was not used to being 'parked' anywhere, he was always at the point of action, never away from a fray. Altaïr had crossed a line in his mind, had injured his pride in a way no one had ever done before. And Ezio found himself wondering why. The man he'd been following around for days, the one whom he even shared sleeping chambers with (though not by choice) obviously regarded him as nothing but a burden. Maybe it was just that, being treated as if he was not the one carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, maybe that was what grated on Ezio's nerves. It reminded him only too starkly that he did not belong here.

And it seemed Altaïr was intent on making him feel exactly that.

An hour or maybe even two later, Ezio had lost track of time musing his thoughts, someone interrupted the calm, quiet atmosphere of the bureau. The Italian looked up, ready to give a piece of his mind to Altaïr, but faltered when he noticed the grey hood, the slight build, the messy black hair revealed as the hood fell back.

"Kadar, that was fast."

Malik's voice softened as it always did for his little brother and those eternally furrowed brows actually relaxed a trifle. Kadar glanced around at the silent Ezio, who looked uncannily like Altaïr in those white robes. Even the scar on their lips...

Uncanny, definitely.

"It wasn't a hard task you gave me, brother."

"You shouldn't take any task I give you lightly Kadar."

"I know and I didn't."

Kadar handed something to Malik that looked like a simple ink-pot and then wandered over to the cushions where Ezio was reclining, looking a little lost and definitely dissatisfied with the world.

"I thought you were master Altaïr for a second, brother. Your resemblance to him is remarkable."

Ezio felt his lips quirk at the side of his mouth, holding back all the objections he had to being compared to the man who'd dumped him here like a child. But Kadar took no mind of his silence and continued speaking to him.

"I have been meaning to ask you about...that, brother. You said...well you seemed to know master Altaïr when you arrived. Like he wasn't a complete stranger to you. Forgive me my curiosity, but why is that so?"

Ezio let the words, still sounding a little strange in the language that was technically foreign to him, sink in, wondering what Kadar really wanted him to say. Was he greedy to know what happened in the future?

"He's a legend...in my time. Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad was our Order's greatest Mentor..."

"He was Mentor?" Malik gave a disapproving snort along a condescending sneer as he peered down his long nose at Ezio, "That novice?"

Ezio was inclined to defend his personal master, simply because despite of the way Altaïr treated him, he was still someone he looked up to. Ever since he'd laid eyes on the codex and that statue of his 'ancestor', he had felt...something. Connected, on a strange level he never really gave any thought to. Meeting Altaïr here and now in his own lifetime, that feeling had not left, but it had been shrouded by anger towards the man's personality. Cold, distant, arrogant...

"He is the greatest mentor the Assassins have ever known and he built the Order the way it exists in my time...his teachings have helped me, his words have guided me..."

"You speak like a woman in love," Malik grunted, cutting him short and tracing a compass over a map with a definitely disgruntled air about him. It was bad enough that Kadar looked up to Altaïr so much, he didn't need another young man revelling about the arrogant fool as if he was somehow, spectacular.

Sometimes he felt as if he was the only one to see what Altaïr really was. Talented, undeniably, but in his own way, blind. Blinded by a sense of pride he shouldn't have.

Malik had not forgotten Solomon's Temple. How could he? There was nothing but a stump where his left arm used to be. There was nothing but a crippled man left in the place of the talented Assassin whose downfall had been following Altaïr. No, Malik Al-Sayf would never be able to look at Altaïr with reverence. He was but a child who had yet to learn that the world was not his cradle and being an Assassin meant far more than being able to kill silently.

"And you speak like a lover scorned," Ezio retorted during Malik's reverie and earned himself a bemused glare.

Kadar gave a little choked bout of laughter, he was probably the only person in existence who could in fact giggle when his brother was giving out that glare that could murder a legion of Templars.

"Please, Ezio, tell me more. What has master Altaïr done? Has he saved the Order from a great evil? Has he wiped out the Templars? I am so curious to hear of your time!"

"Kadar..." a warning grumble from the rafiq, but he didn't continue.

"I do not know everything about his life, but be satisfied with the knowledge that Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad has achieved many great things and will be honoured timelessly. He and Masyaf were...are...will be the stuff of Assassin legends."

"That is enough. Maybe your time knew a different Altaïr, but there is absolutely no need to fill that empty head of his with more undeserved pride!"

The Italian who had been seated quite calmly on the pillows felt a surge of irrational anger well up in him at Malik's harsh words. Alright, he got the point, the rafiq did not like Altaïr in the slightest, whatever hatred lay between them a deep rift that did not allow for anything but a spiteful acceptance of the other's presence, but there was no justification in the way the man practically spat on Altaïr's name.

He opened his mouth and a flood of Italian curses left his lips, though he doubted Malik would misjudge the words' purpose even if he couldn't literally understand their meaning.

"You speak as if you hate him."

The rafiq was about to reply, but his dark eyes moved up to the courtyard's roof where a shadow passed by quickly as Altaïr dropped back into the office. The Assassin took a moment to wash his blood-stained face in the fountain and Malik shot Ezio a silent glance that spoke volumes.

Not a word of any of this to the man in question.

Ezio gave a grunt and got up to join Altaïr outside. His mentor turned and glanced down at the clenched fists, then to the angry set of Ezio's jaw.

"Brother, I did not leave you here to spite you. It was a delicate mission."

An eyebrow lifted as Altaïr noticed the anger in Ezio's gaze was not directed at him, as he expected. He gave a slow look to Malik and Kadar, the younger brother seemed to be melting into the shadows, a little shame-faced and silent. The rafiq met him with the usual disdainful look in his eyes.

"Ezio, what happened?"

"It doesn't matter. Can we leave, Altaïr, or do you need rest?"

"...No, we can go."

He would get an explanation on the way, or so he hoped. He had yet to witness Ezio being in a bad mood, the Italian had always seemed so...optimistic. Others might describe him as having a sunny disposition. Altaïr knew better than that, yet he had never seen any deeper layers to his exotic student.

The master Assassin felt himself grow curious. What on earth had managed to rattle at the bars of Ezio's temper?