Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik

A/N #1 – What really happened to Malik's arm? What secrets are Altaïr hiding about the incidents of Solomon's Temple?

A/N #2 – And this is what happens when I am sitting in a doctor's for four hours waiting to hear if i need surgery on my wing or not. (good news is no I do not)


Malik and Altaïr stared each other in the eyes briefly before Altaïr turned away, hood hiding his face as he mumbled his own formal greeting. Malik sighed and rested his hand on the boy's head to lead him out, "Safety and peace, Altaïr. Get some sleep. I'm locking the door on my way out."

Altaïr watched from the shadow of his hood as Malik left the Bureau and locked the door with a key from the outside. It was somewhat ingenious to have a key lock embedded in a door. Altaïr thought Malik was innovative. He always did, except when it came to the Brotherhood where Malik seemed to be so traditionally rooted that exploring new tactics were almost a crime. It was Altaïr's creativity in that area that made him the best, and also made him arrogant... enough to make a mistake that ended Kadar's life, crushing and trust he might have had with Malik. He winced internally. I was a fool... an arrogant fool. But I had no choice. I tried, Malik. I tried so hard to protect you from him.

Once he was sure Malik was gone, he set foot in the main room of the Bureau. He strode to the supply trunk and opened it. He removed only two throwing knives and set them in his shoulder sheaths. That would do him fine till he can pickpocket more. I'll collect a bunch to resupply your trunk, Malik. He then inspected the strange lock he had never really realized was there before. You needed the key whether you were on the inside or the outside. Clever! Remember when we used to pretend that you were the Master of the order? I take it back, you are brilliant, Malik. I think you are right, novice really should learn lock-picking.

He explored around the room a bit more and stopped at the chess table. The pieces were neatly arrange with the blacks on one side and the whites on the other on their proper starting squares. Altaïr reached down and hesitated. A tiny smirk flicked on his lips as he moved a white pawn from the far corner two squares forward. It was a traditional starting move. Malik would never suspect it was Altaïr who was anything but traditional in his moves. The slight grin faded. It was perhaps a bit truer to his currently feelings. It was a cautious move, a safe one. Anno0yed with himself he turned from the game sharply and explored more of the Bureau. He found the box of feathers, but it was locked. He shook it to hear maybe two feathers within. I'll get you more feathers too when I climb my next eagle point. This is how I will seek your forgiveness. I will provide for you what you need, when you need it, serve you as best I can. I wish you were the Master.

Altaïr then found the log book. He opened it to find it written in several languages. The first page was the Creed. He recalled having to write the Creed out as a punishment once. He had to write it one hundred time in all six languages and their sub-dialects. It took him almost three days and much begging for Malik to help him at least write it properly the first time. He flipped the pages randomly. Then he flipped to the back of the book where Malik traditionally kept his personal side notes. As carefully as he could, Altaïr added the note to teach novices lock-picking. Then he slid it back into the exact position he had found it.

A few steps brought him to the fake wall that was just a heavily painted curtain into the private back room. He lifted the edge and peered inside as he had several nights ago. He then took a hesitant step within, letting the curtain fall behind him. The smell of incense had lingered in the main room and permeated into this one with the soft scent of sandalwood.

"Altaïr, why must you always tip my incense pot?" complained Malik while Kadar stifled his snickering with his book.

"Why must you always burn that one?" Altaïr queried while watching with amusement as Malik cleaned up the ashes.

"Altaïr, myrrh is one of the three sacred treasures that the wise kings brought the Christ child. Myrrh is sacred." Malik explained for what he thought was the zillionth time to Altaïr. "If you READ your lessons in Christian philosophy, you would know this."

"Can't you burn something... less heavy?" Altaïr complained.

"I have some sandalwood," Kadar offered.

Malik had burned sandalwood ever since. Altaïr wondered if the change was because of his request or Kadar's offer. Likely now Malik was burning it in memory of Kadar. It was soft and light. Altaïr frowned analyzing the scent and he realized it was not wholly sandalwood. There was this delicate sweetness to it. He struggled for a long while trying to recall the smell but he could not. It was like a gap in his mind. So he abandoned the puzzling odour. He knelt by Malik's sleeping mat and pressed his hand to the bed.

"What are you doing?!" Altaïr yelled at the doctor. "Where is Faruq? That isn't so bad as to cut it off!"

"Faruq will not be back in Masyaf," explained a doctor in coolly. "Now get out and let me work. I have my orders."

Several people had to forcibly haul Altaïr from the healing room as people strapped the fevered and delirious Malik down, making him drink an elixir that made him only more delirious. A tight belt bound his bleeding arm below the shoulder as the saw was lined up above the long gash that was angry and red, but not infected as far as Altaïr was concerned. He did not get to see Malik again till the next day when he nearly assassinated the caregiver in order to gain entry. They were not caring for Malik as Altaïr felt they should. He warned them that if they entered, he'd kill them himself. He was dead serious.

"Oh Malik. I am so sorry for my part in this." Altaïr recalled all the time Malik had care for him and did his vey best to return that care now. He washed his friend, fed him broths, bandaged and rebandaged the severed nub of his arm. Malik's fevers and shock were terrible. He cried out often in his troubled sleep. He also wept and wept for Kadar. Altaïr wanted to die, wished it was he and not Kadar. He wished they had never been ordered along on this mission. He wondered, wondered and wondered why. It made him angry with the Master, but he did not have the courage to disobey the master. The Master had his reasons and they had to be just. Didn't they?

A novice peeked in, "Altaïr?"

"Get out or die!" snarled Altaïr warningly.

The novice took a deep breath. "The Master insists on seeing you."

It was the only reason Altaïr would leave Malik's side. And the last time he saw Malik before his first Jerusalem mission.

Altaïr lightly brushed his finger tips over the blanket remembering. He sank down to his knees and leaned over to bury his face there. I did die. The Master killed me. And by some skill, I live yet. But he holds my life in his hand. It ends if I do not do his bidding and take these nine lives. I'm no longer sure I am doing the right thing, Malik. I don't understand why I am doing these tasks. Save me... save me from myself...

With a shaking and shuddering breath, Altaïr stood. He clenched his fists and unclenched them. He flicked out his wrist dagger and snapped it back as he regained his composure. Malik always seemed to unravel him in some way, sometimes in every way. Altaïr made his way out to the carpets and cushions. He decided he was overtired and thus was the reason for this... this... weakness of mind. The Master would be furious with him for giving in. He carefully removed his weaponry and armour so as to lie as comfortably as he could. He needed real sleep to start that mission. When Malik comes back, I will start. Sleep stole his thoughts almost immediately.


A/N #3 – Malik gets his wing cut. See MIYOart's picture. (remove the spaces)
http:// miyoart. deviantart .com/art/Wing-cut-158474250

A/N #4 – I've been admiring this picture from doubleleaf for a long while for a fanfiction option. It is one of the very first that inspired me with the pairing of Malik and Altaïr. (remove the spaces to see it)
http:// doubleleaf. deviantart .com/art/while-you-were-sleeping-144961142