Disclaimer: It's the same as always.
A/N:
Right okay! Hi!*waves shyly*
This whole story up to now was once wonderfully beta'd by 'saphira and shruikan' but due to my own stupidity I can't upload the redone version so I will have to painstakingly go through it all once more and compare it to beta'd version *sigh* So I will hopefully get 'round to that soon, but I wanted this up first to keep you all happy. *grins*
Awk, I've quite the AN here so the important bits are in italic's-please read these, the rest you can skip if you so please.
So, apparently "Abba" is not the correct term for 'father' in Hebrew as it relates only to God. Apparently the correct term is simply "Abi", said Av, meaning 'my father'…that is according to some guy from the internet and saying as the small slice of Hebrew that I know is from my religious classes at school…well…I've changed it so do not be confused.
Abba=Abi=father. MmmKay?
Sav=grandfather(from what I have so far found.)
Good! Now lets proceed.
I'm so very sorry this chapter as taken so long. Life's a bitch but a fine one. Like some purebred grey-hound or a prize poodle.
I will give you all a little warning here; despite loving History and taking a lovely interest in it, I truly know nothing about how people lived during the Crusades-ACI-time period; this chapter contains a birth(Yay Sef!)-so I have no clue as to how the hell they done it all back then so forgive my terminology for I just kept the flow going and what is, IS. Women back then had balls…seriously.
But yes, this story isn't being written for it's in-depth knowledge or amazingly detailed history; it's a story showing Altair as the father I see him as being.
I do hope you enjoy this…forgive me if it's a little different than before; I need to get back into writing AC FF…
Oh and one last important thing; Thank you to all my wonderful, glorious reviewer's and to those who fav'ed and followed; this is all for you and your amazingness. You guys make me smile and blush! Your all suupper awesome! Like chocolate.
Unbeta'd work ahead; Beware!
Small fingers lay still within the curve of his palm.
Tiny, tiny toes. Pink and soft and oh-so delicate. So small. All so small. Small feet, small toenails. A small pulse beneath his bloody fingertips. Small but there. No child of his, however little and fragile was going to die without a fight. Not his child. Not his son.
Too early, they said. Too weak, they said.
He had no right to be there in the room, they said.
It all went ignored. They were ignored, they were all wrong. Altaïr knew truth when he saw it and he had every right to be there; his right as a father, as a husband, as a protector to his family. To his child.
Within the crowded and poorly lit room the metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air along with an under taste of unease and dread. The night outside remained still, the stars still shining and inside the room women tended to Maria as she lay broken and exhausted, her last cries still resounding within the hushed and tense silence. Even with his every breath fixed on the warm bundle in his hands, Altaïr could see her tears in the candlelight. He could feel her fear. It was gripping his heart and making it hard to focus.
The pains had started that morning at dawn and with a trickle of red on the sheets, Maria's eyes had lost their warmth and shine. "No," She'd whispered furiously as she doubled in pain, her face a mask of disbelief. He was there to catch her yet he had no words to comfort her. "No, no, Altair." Her voice soft and childish in fear and he could only watch as the women took her from him, his heart twisting, "Yes," They told her, their eye's knowing, "Yes, come now, dear."
The curtain had been drawn and with the whisper of cloth against stone he had been left alone to wait in the corridor outside, knowing what was to come. He sat with his head in his hands, the picture of distress and worry as the screams and cries from the room beyond reached his ears. He'd grimaced as Maria's moans of pain and fearful whimpers grew slowly lower and more distraught; almost animalistic. Then, most painfully of all, he'd sat through the silence. Where were her swears and curses as with Darim, where was the lingering hope and excitement underneath all the gut twisting anxiety. The day passed in a blur and the sun set on it's own accord, unaffected by the tumour within him. It would rise and set no matter what happened even though he felt that it had no right to.
Malik had sat by his side at points yet he could not recall what words had been exchanged if any at all. Darim, he knew, was safely locked away within their rooms under watchful eyes. He'd felt alone, lost. The moon rose and her children shone with her well into the night as servants came and went, all telling him with blood stained hands that it would be over soon. With each bowl of red-tinted water and rose-soaked sheet his heart had beat painfully in his chest and the thought of what exactly he could lose by the end caught his breath and choked him.
There was no relief when the time came. There were no fresh cries from behind the curtain and for too long had he sat restless and useless, too long had he been waiting alone. It was with a sense of dread and pure determination that he had swept in, discarding the fussing women with their traditions, to the sight that awaited him.
Maria lay propped up from her place on the flooring with three women cleaning and tending to her needs as they whispered to her reassuringly, yet her arms lay empty by her sides. The overpowering smell of blood struck some deep instinct within him and his eyes quickly sought the small mass in the arms of a healer to the side of the room. He took the small warm body wrapped in swaddling from red hands and into his own. The child's breathing was shallow, a mere whisper of an exhale yet it was there and that was enough. Upon wrapping the child tighter in the thick cloth, Altaïr realised faintly that he had another son, another little boy. A little brother for Darim.
The room slowly faded as he focused on that tight, red and round face. The boy had a thin tuff of dark hair littering his pink head, a blunt nose and full lips, dark lashes resting against pale, bloody cheeks. His eyes were closed. Even with him being so new to the world, Altaïr could see himself and Maria in his face. Watching him struggle for breath and feeling his little ribcage fight to draw it, Altaïr felt tears threaten to rise. This couldn't happen, not too something-no someone-so innocent and new. Death befell sinners and the corrupt, the old and lived. Not to a infant, not to his son. Death was something to master and face in life when one was ready. Not during the first breath's of life.
And yet Altaïr knew just how cruel life could be and he was bound to accept that, he always had, yet watching his newborn son, he felt a harsh wash of anger rise from within him. He could picture all the boy had before him in life. He saw his first steps, saw him raise his first sword and heard his free laughter during his first leap of faith; he saw him married, with a family of his own, sons and daughters, his own legacy, he'd grow into a man much better than his old father. Some day he and Darim would stand before his weakened and greying form, both tall, strong and smiling, men with boys of their own…
"Sav…"
No, no, this one had too much to do yet before he could leave them.
Bending low he bought the small body close and tight to his chest, until his nose rested lightly against the child's soft cheek. He smelt as new and as fresh as Darim had. Soft and unique until life washed it all away. Short gasping breaths brushed his own rougher cheek and strangely he knew what to do,
"Please," he whispered for his son and he alone, "Breathe. Please, son. We have been waiting for you. Breathe with me, for me. For us."
He unwrapped his robes and tucked his small bundle inside, sharing his warmth and hoping the boy could feel the rise and fall of his chest, if only to know that he was not alone and safe. He paced as he whispered quietly to him, as the moon lowered and Maria slowly roused.
"Darim is very excited to meet you. He is your big brother and he has promised to look after you when I cannot. You'll love him, you'll see. He already loves you and he hasn't even met you yet."
A breath. A step.
"My Maria, your mother, cannot wait to meet you either. She is a glorious mother but you already know that. She's resting now and is very worried about you. Show her how strong we can be, hmm?"
Skin to skin. A small breath for another. Pace to the window and back. Stars and steps.
"We have so much to teach and show you. But you have to breathe and grow into yourself a little first. This world is not so bad, you'll see it's worth it."
Another deep breath. A wiggle and shift. A pace. A small step.
Maria watched thought heavy and teary eyes as Altaïr held the bundle close, his whispers hushed and slow. It was with a sense of awe that she watched the tiny being in his arms slowly begin to fuss and whimper. She was so tired, so weak and weary. Sleep called to her and yet she couldn't take her eyes from father and son.
"We can do this, little one..."
One small step at a time.
Thin tiny hands lay still within the curve of his own.
His lone thumb lightly traced the pale indents lining the child's soft palms.
The boys small knuckles twitched and with a flicker his fingers clamped down tight upon his fathers thumb and Maria's quiet laughter tickled Altaïr's cheek. His son's little chest rose and fell steady in the gentle rhythm of sleep. His eyes remained tightly closed with those dark lashes dusting his round cheeks. Together they had paced well into the morning and he had spoke to his son of many things from the great and important to the small and pointless. Altaïr had just felt that if he continued talking and telling the infant of the world that by some force the child would be encouraged to remain. It all seemed rather foolish now that the danger had passed. Like the calm after a storm, Maria and he had spent the evening admiring their latest creation and addition as he fed and slept, fussed and called to be changed. As the day washed over them, he coloured and settled into his new surroundings; becoming a new child from the one they had greeted earlier. Watching him now Altaïr suppressed a chuckle. How could that one impulsive, passionate roll in the hay atop a tower result in such strength and subtle beauty. He hadn't even meant to see Maria that day. In fact the whole thing was her fau-
"He's beautiful." Maris whispered disrupting his thoughts. Altaïr could only nod in agreement as he frowned a little at her. If he remembered correctly, he hadn't even fully taken his clothes off…
Deciding to keep quiet on the matter, he returned he gaze to his son and realized with a smile that he quite envied to boy as he lay tucked up snug against Maria's breast. At least now their newborn would not have to spend as much time in their bed as Darim had. He could now pass the duty on to Darim who would be more than pleased to watch over his younger brother in his own linens, as his father claimed his wife back.
Oh the joys of fatherhood.
He was musing on the now inaccessible joys of married life when a low voice from behind tore him from his thoughts,
"Abi?"
Both smiling tiredly, he and Maria turned towards the door to where their eldest stood, dressed in his bed-robe and looking quite bewildered and wide-eyed. Malik stood behind him, his hand on the boys shoulder, smiling and with a slight bow, he left Darim in the care of his parents. "Ema?"
Darim had spent most of the day very upset and angry with his parents and he had lots of questions for them; one of them being why he had to spend the whole day with Brother Malik. He liked Malik but he couldn't really play with him because he only had one arm and he couldn't really ask him questions because he got real mad and angry and red and he would -
"Darim," Altaïr murmured, a slight smile curling his lips as the cross scowl on Darim's face faded. He rose to a sitting position to welcome him and called, "Come here."
Nodding, Darim padded across the stone floor on bare feet, curiosity once again rising from within him like an old flame; he noticed the different room and the interesting smells; he knew this wasn't his parents room so he was confused as to why they were resting here. He had lots of questions. Nearing his parents as they lay together on the layered matting he curiously took in the wrapped bundle in his mothers arms. Was that…
"Darim," His attention was once again drawn to his father. He was smiling at him as he sat shoulder to shoulder with his standing form. He was so tall…
"Do you remember the important person I told you of before? The one you have been waiting for?"
Altaïr watched in amusement as the boy's eyes grew wide in excitement and he nodded eagerly. "Well, your patience has been rewarded." Reaching out, he took his newborn gently from Maria's arms and into his own, turning the infant to face his sibling, "This," he introduced quietly, mindful of the child's sleep, "Is your new brother. Your little brother."
Darim's bright eyes flickered briefly from his father's face to the strange little being wrapped up in cloth in his arms. "This is him?" He asked bluntly, looking at the round sleeping face. Altair nodded and watched as a small frown appeared between Darim's brows.
"He's small." The boy settled on finally after deep thought. Nothing like any other Brother he had seen. But then, a wonderful thought occurred to him and he smiled brightly, "But that's 'cause I'm the Big Brother. So he is small!"
Maria laughed from the pillows and drew Darim to her with a heavy arm, "Yes, that's right. It's your job to look out for him, Darim, for that's what big brothers do for their little brothers."
"Hmm." The boy merely replied as he crept in close to his mother's lying form. The little person in his father's arms, his little brother, didn't stir once has he was moved back into his mother's heat. "What's he called?" he asked curiously, taking in the dark hair.
"He doesn't have a name just yet." Altair answered him as he lay back down beside Maria with Darim on her other side. "He is a baby, so that means he is only new and we must wait a little until we name him."
"Why?"
Onwards with the questions.
"Because names are important. They define who we are as a person." Altair told him.
"How?"
"For each and every person we meet in life knows us by our name and the deeds we do, the good and bad, are all connected to our names. Names can be powerful, Darim." Maria supplied tiredly, nestling close to her husband and securely placing their newborn between them. They would sleep in shifts, she knew, and she was so very thankful to Altair for letting her rest first.
"Oh." Watching his brother, Darim let his mind wonder. The 'baby' remained asleep and he noticed that he had long lashes like his mothers and that he had lips like his father's too.
"What does he call him? Why is he sleepy? Busy day?"
"He cannot speak yet, Darim. He will learn all that soon, as you have. And yes, we all have had a busy day. Shh…" His mother sounded tired.
"He's got your hair." He told her as she closed her eyes. Dark lashes fluttering against rosy cheeks.
"Hush, Darim." Altair whispered. His hand was tracing patterns along Maria's neck, encouraging her to sleep and rest. "You can ask more questions tomorrow and properly introduce yourself to your brother then. It's late."
Nodding, Darim could only curl up next to his mother and wrap himself in the fresh sheets. They smelt like her. It was so nice to sleep next to his parents again, he had often missed it even when he only slept a little ways away. But this close he could feel his mother's chest as it rose and fell in sleep and he could hear his father's deep and even breathing as he watched over them. He felt safe and warm.
Closing his eyes tightly, he focused on his own breathing, trying to match it to his fathers. He found that he couldn't and soon turned his attention to another's. It was too soft and light to be his mothers and with a strange jolt he realized it was his brother's. His mind eased and settled as he listened to the little puffs of breath. His mind wondering as sleep slowly crept in.
"Abi…" he murmured tiredly, drifting off.
"Yes?"
"Where…did…he come from?"
"Sef."
"Sef? Are you certain?"
"Yes. It suits. I've had it in mind from the beginning. He's here today because he's taken each day as it comes. One small step at a time… He's proven his strength already. It may be simple but haven't you always said that it is our deeds that hold the power behind our name?"
"Yes…Small but powerful…yes, it's prefect. Sef…"
"Abi? He's doing it again."
Altaïr sighed and refrained from slumping forward against his desk. His head hurt. A lot. Sleep was a past pleasure as with many things that were taken when a child came along and slowly but surly, he was feeling the pressure. Mainly in his forehead.
"Darim, please. Just stop. Poking. Him! He's not even aware of himself never mind that he's eating his own foot. He doesn't even know it's his foot or that it's a foot."
"Why?"
Dark eye's watched him brightly from their place in the crib and Altaïr once again felt tears threaten to rise.
'Please,' He pleaded, exhausted, 'Please don't be half as curious as your brother. Be a nice and quiet little boy. Please, Sef.'
A/N: I know, I know. Ahhkk AN run away, run away!
On Sef-I believe I can remember reading somewhere quite a bit back that Sef meant 'small-steps'-perhaps this chapter makes a little more sense with that in mind…but the problem is, I'm really not sure if it's correct. I can't figure out where I got this information from or it was even apart of a fan fiction I'd read. If any of you know, could you please tell me for I'd like to give credit to the source…
(What is up with the page layout!X()