A/N- Sorry about the wait! But there's been a lot of stuff going on like vacation, medical stuff, and having to do school because of those medical reasons. But I'm back now! And with a longer chapter, to hopefully make up for it.
Enjoy!
Malik hated the streets. It wasn't a place for a cripple like him. Insults and pitying looks were all he received, and he had to take the discounts that some of the merchants would give him out of manners. Those who didn't try to trip him up asked if they could help carry his purchases. It was all rather annoying, and the dai wished to have his arm back, if for nothing else but this.
Once he had turned down help for the third time that day and had had to gather his things for the fifth, he decided he'd had enough. Besides, he didn't exactly trust Altaïr to be on his own in the bureau. Especially as a child.
So finally, he started back. Malik had managed to find not only some food and a few puzzles for Altaïr to mess with to pass the time, but he also had ink and paper for himself. He needed to restock in any case. The streets blended into one as he lost himself in thought, box of things tucked under his one arm. The return trip was automatic. He could do it in his sleep from almost any part of the city, he was sure.
His mind reeled with the possibilities of Altaïr staying this young, or having to grow up from that age all over again. He wasn't even exactly sure what age that was. Six, seven? No younger than five, and no older than eight, he knew, judging by how he acted and how he seemed to comprehend the world now. It was interesting how different the assassin had become just because of a few years. Altaïr had that glint back in his eyes as Malik remembered as a child- the curiosity, the adventurous nature, the need to know and explore as much as possible. It was refreshing to see that again instead of the hardened, masked young man he knew now.
So lost in thought was he that he didn't realize that there was a guard coming up to him. A group of them, in actuality. And for the sixth time, he was sent sprawling, a foot catching on his own ankle on purpose. Laughs erupted above him as he desperately tried to hold onto the crate filled with his things. It did him no good and he flinched as the pots of ink he had managed to buy hit the dirt and split open, spilling the dark liquid and staining the sand.
It goes without saying that he was sufficiently pissed.
Spitting curses in Arabic, Malik pulled himself to his feet. He ignored for the moment the dropped parcels, not caring if anyone took them. He was done being pushed around. On a regular day he could handle it. But it certainly was no regular day. And this just added to a cold, dead weight feeling that had settled in his stomach when he left.
Growling, he turned to face the culprits. He touched the knife on his belt, prepared to do anything he needed. "What's the matter, old man?" one of them jeered. It was a group of guards. His hand left the dagger. Malik knew he would be easily identified if he were to just out and kill them. And besides, technically, they had done nothing wrong. To kill them would be a violation of the Creed. Something he wasn't willing to do. "Can't keep your balance? I knew you were missing an arm, but you act as though you were missing a leg, too!"
...It was hard to keep his hand from his dagger.
But just because he couldn't kill the men, didn't mean that he couldn't use his mouth.
"You know," he drawled lowly, voice venomous. "I thought the city guard was here to protect us. Not mock us and push us away. I'm not sure how the people stand such vermin as you."
Just as he suspected, every face in the group turned furious. Sensing the intelligence in running, he did just that. The dai scooped up the puzzle he had bought for Altaïr as he went past, leaving the rest of the items behind. His feet made small clouds of dust rise, but they settled almost as soon as he lifted his foot. The sounds of the guards began to start as they gave chase, but he would not let it go so easily.
The dai weaved in and out of the crowds. He couldn't climb, not with the puzzle ball in his hand, but that didn't matter. It didn't take too long before he no longer heard the clinking of armor. Slowing, but not stopping, Malik walked through the streets for a bit, wanting to make sure that there was no trace of him for those brutes to follow.
Breathing a little harshly- he needed to up his training- he made it back to the bureau. Malik pushed through the door. Looking around, that memory that he had not want to finish, did not want to see… It was back again as he saw the spot on the stones, still lightly stained dark brown.
Eyes widening, I took in the appearance of it. It was Altaïr's favorite dagger. An eagle adorned the darkened hilt, stretching its wings up to become the guard. The terrible feeling in my gut grew, and steadily worse. I couldn't open my mouth in time before he spoke.
"Take it," he pleaded, voice gravel and harsh and grieved. "Take it. Take me."
The words slammed into me hard. Did he mean...? How could he think me able to do that? I shook my head furiously. "Altaïr, I can't-"
"Yes," he insisted. "You can and you will. I… I-I deserve it."
I jolted back in shock. He wasn't able to get very far, however, the grip on him tight as steel. "Altaïr, no! What- what are you thinking?!"
The man looked at him with wet, pained eyes. "Malik," he croaked out, his voice cracking. "Malik, please…"
I shook my head. I couldn't do what Altaïr was asking. It pained me to even think about the possibility of Altaiïr wishing for something so wrong… And from me, too. So I shook my head again.
The assassin let go of my wrist. He dropped his hand to the floor, slumping against the wall, looking absolutely drained. If asked to describe him, I have said he seemed to have lost all hope. It was a painful sight to see. And now that the danger seemed to be taken care of, I once again noticed the blood that was pooling on the floor. Setting aside the hawk dagger, I touched Altaïr's face gently.
"Come on," I murmured. "I don't know what you did, and I expect you to tell me, but you need to be cleaned up. ...And probably stitched up as well." The assassin numbly let me pull him to his feet. Standing, we made their way to Malik's retreat in the back. I gathered medical supplies and cut away Altaïr's shirt. He could get new robes easily, and I didn't think it wise to try and lift it off.
The wound was terrible. It made my stomach turn, and I realized why the sight of Altaïr like this had made me so distraught. I recognized it. It was almost identical to the one I had had, after emerging from Soloman's Temple. But there was one difference- and one I was most glad of. It wasn't as deep. In fact, it was a good inch or inch and a half shallower than mine had been. My head dropped and I let out a shaky breath, clenching my eyes shut for a moment. Altaïr had barely escaped the same fate as my left arm, and it was added in even more that there wasn't any signs of infection, unlike mine had been.
"Altaïr…" I murmured. "What… What happened to you?"
He shook his head. I found myself growing to hate that action from him. It told of nothing, and did not allow me any type of clues as to what I wanted to know. Thankfully, however, I was saved scolding him for it as he finally answered. "I… I felt guilty. I have felt guilty for many months, but… It was worse. I had to do something."
I felt my lips tug down into an even deeper frown than had been there before. "What do you mean by that? What are you guilty of?" I saw it in his eyes in the moments prior to his words.
"Of everything you have suffered. It has all been my fault. Kadar…" He stopped dead here. Rightly so, I thought, but mentally shook my head. Altaïr was different now. He didn't deserve the burden to weigh so heavily on his shoulders, especially this long after it had happened. The Altaïr I knew ever since he had become top student wouldn't have let this bother him. He would have dismissed it as a respectable loss for a chance at killing Robert de Sable. But how he was speaking now…"
"Altaïr," I said, as softly as I could. It was still a little gruff- but I am an Assassin after all. We are not used to showing emotion such as this. That was why I felt off about Altaïr showing his. "Keep going."
He took a deep breath. "I… I didn't want this guilt any more." He scoffed. "I still don't. But I won't be like Abbas' father." Other than Abbas himself, and Al Mualim, I was one of the few to know what happened to the man. In fact, I had been the one to urge Altaïr to go to the Grandmaster and reveal it to him. I frowned, the sudden image of Altaïr ending his own life filling my head. I shook them off and focused back on the man in front of me. Those thoughts could wait until I was alone and had proper time to think. "So… So I…"
Again, he stopped. I had never seen Altaïr this reluctant, about anything. Most things he took in stride. I did not count his childhood; he had been a different person then. "Go on."
"So I thought of the only ways I could possibly atone for what I have done. I attacked guards. But… I left my side open."
I felt my eyes grow to be what must have been the size of the bottom of my ink bottles. Altaïr, Master Assassin, leave his side ungaurded? And on purpose? "Why in Allah's name would you do that?" I almost screeched at him. I wanted to take it back when he flinched and turned his gaze to the floor somewhere to my right.
"I… Was intending to be injured severely. So that I would be left with one arm, as you are. I caused this. I should endure it as well." My mind was reeling almost too fast for me to hear as he went on. "It didn't work. I thought it had, so I ran. I didn't kill them., and I didn't lead them anywhere that might cause for them to realize where we are stationed. I… Malik, I did not break the tenants."
For some reason, that sentence hit hard. I knew Altaïr had taken to cautious ways, but I did not before hand understood just how closely he was trying to stick to those tenants that, having disobeyed, had caused such great tragedy.
"But when I was on my own, safe, I looked at my arm. I am no doctor like you, and I have little medical training bar for what I specifically need. But that was enough. The blow the guard landed did not go deep enough. This can be washed and stitched and I will heal in time. And someone would have found me had I tried to cause an infection to spread. ...So I came back."
That explained his arm. Yet it didn't explain it all. I had to know. I had to understand this Altaïr. This Altaïr was foreign to me, something I didn't get. Something I was afraid to get to know, but also something I had to. "Then why would you come and try to have me… Take your life?" Saying it aloud felt like it was breaking some sort of pane of glass. A veil of pretend had suddenly shattered, and our moments ignoring his actions were over. He felt it as well and I watched as a shudder ran up his back.
"I failed. I failed in my mission. I killed Kadar, and I did this to you. Because of me, you will not see your brother in this live. Because of me, you are no longer the Assassin you wanted to be. I have done evil by you, Malik, and I could not bear it. I am so foolish, so selfish. I didn't... I still don't want to do this any more. I want peace, Malik. But I didn't want to be like Abbas' father. I didn't want to be disgraced any further and possibly cause disgrace to you as well, for it would have been in this city. But if you killed me... You could give a story of how I had gone mad, or evil, or I came with this wound already. Then nothing bad would come to you, and you would have the chance to take what is rightfully yours."
Rightfully mine...? "Altaïr, your life doesn't belong to me. It is your own."
"No. The moment I broke the tenants and caused such suffering to you put my life in your possession. At any time, you may kill me, and I will not reject your judgement. I am at your mercy."
His words cut through me and left shock in its wake. I didn't understand- how could such a strong man be felled by something such as this? Something I had believed he didn't truly care about? In the months past Kadar's death, never once did he apologize to me. Not once. He had changed, yes, but he never spoke of regret. To hear it now, and to such an extent... It was difficult to say the very least.
Nevertheless, I knew what I had to say.
"Altaïr," I began. "You are right. The life of the man who caused the murder of my brother should die as well." I saw him slouch, the acceptance alongside guilt and fear. "But." I reached out and touched his shoulder. Altaïr looked up, confused, not seeing why there would be a 'but'. He thought I was going to end him. He was wrong. "I cannot kill a man who is already dead." The confusion tripled. "You have changed, brother. You are no longer the man you used to be. That man is dead. It was killed after Soloman's Temple. It withered and starved in the months after. You began to not feed it. That man that used to be you died, in worse of a way than Kadar faced. To die is one thing. You, my friend, died, and was reborn into this. A man who cares about the people, who asks questions, who thinks and feels and searches. You are a different man. So I cannot kill you, for you are not the same person who left us to die at de Sable's hand. You say you are at my mercy, and it is so- you will not die tonight, nor ever by my hand. You are my brother once again, Altaïr. Never forget that."
I watched the change come over him. It was amazing, to say the least. His slumped shoulders straightened, his eyes widened. Disbelief replaced the grief in his eyes, and I could see it- a glimmer of forgiveness. Not forgiveness to me, no. I had nothing to apologize to him for. It was forgiveness to himself. Something that he wouldn't have been able to live much longer without. I felt very glad to know that this new Altaïr would be given a chance to flourish. I had shown him, if partially, that he was more than just his mistakes. That was all I could ask for.
I turned my attention back to his wound. I shook my head and dabbed a bit more wine on it, ignoring his drawing in of breath. "That is going to scar," I warned him.
Altaïr's lips tugged up just the tiniest bit. I knew I would never forget that smile. I had not seen one on him for years. No, I would never forget it.
"That's fine," he replied. "I would want to remember this, just in case. Thank you, Malik. I could never ask for a better brother."
I snorted softly and punched his uninjured arm lightly. "Just don't do this again, novice."
His short laughter was the thing that made me smile for the first time since Kadar's death.
Malik sighed. He was glad that Altaïr had stayed true to his word and hadn't come back like that again. It had been almost traumatic. He couldn't stand a second or a third time
"Altaïr!" The dai called, heading to the back room. He was glad his anger to the guards had faded. He wasn't sure yet how this child version of the master assassin would react to being yelled at like he had wanted to. "I have something for you." Malik expected the boy to come running before he got to the door. But… Strangely, he didn't.
That's odd… he thought. The dai pushed open the door to the back room. There was not a person in sight. But that was only part of what he saw. The pillows and blankets were strewn about, one ripped open with feathers settled about. A plant was knocked over, spilling dirt, the leave looking stepped upon. Anger was the first emotion that registered in Malik's mind. Yet there was something else off. Something… More. It came to him at sight of a cloth. It appeared damp, just slightly. Malik didn't recognize it as one of his own. He picked it up and lightly sniffed it.
The dai immediately thrust it away from him. He made a soft noise, swaying on his feet, the sickly sweet smell overpowering him. The scent was sharp, biting through his nose. He'd had enough training to know what that was. Ether. It was a substance that not many people knew of, one that had been kept secret from the population since the Assassins discovered it and its use. They knew of its capabilities and how it worked.
Malik dropped the rag. His stomach was filled with cold fear. "Altaïr!" he yelled. "Altaïr, where are you?" He turned and went back to the main room. Looking for any sign of the boy or his attacker. In doing that, he looked to the shelves.
The Apple was missing. Altaïr and the Apple were missing.
Well, he thought, grabbing his weapons from under the counter and rushing out the door. To hell with the buruea, I've got a kidnapper to kill!
A/N- A few notes for this. I know that this isn't how Altaïr and Malik made up. But I thought this up before I played through it. So I had to keep it. It's just a little AU xD
And I also know that ether wasn't discovered until the 1247 by a Spaniard, but they're Assassins. They have advanced technology.
Please review!
~L~
