Living Despite It All
A Word: Much of the dialogue from here out is lifted straight from the game. Small changes will be made to better fit the fic.
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They separate at the gates of Damascus. Hamid will go North to Masyaf to report their findings, and Malik will continue South to Jerusalem. The very fact that they found nothing -no reason to doubt, not even so much as a bad thing to say- does not ease the discomfort she still feels at the mission. The fact that she leaves with several of Zafir's well crafted pots as gifts, and a promise to send a detailed map of the city to him do not help at all.
"Safety and peace," Hamid says before they part. His hand warm on her left shoulder through the stiffer cloth of her robes. "Do not think overly harsh on the Master. He has his reasons, and we are all better for knowing for sure."
"On you as well," Malik says and does not address his last words.
She thinks instead. Long and hard as she travels back to her Bureau. Maneuvering around caravans, and dodging the increasing number of Crusader patrols. Their eyes more wary and alert the longer the war drags on. Her mind inevitably goes to the part that bothers her most; who had been sent to spy on her. Who had been sent to be sure her loyalty to the Brotherhood was true. As if the sacrifice of her arm and brother weren't enough to show her faith in the Order.
Her thoughts circle darker and darker until she reaches Jerusalem. No closer to a conclusion than when she started, and forced to put the matter aside. Forced to stop thinking before she starts to jump at shadows too. It's an uneasy decision but suspecting each Brother that comes through her city of spying on her will do her no good. Hamid's words are a faint comfort but she tries to hold fast to them nonetheless.
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Altair gains his rank back slowly. One mission at a time, the results spoken of with varying degrees of glowing praise, but it's not until she receives a letter from Jabal that speaks well of him that Malik thinks on the matter she's been avoiding since Damascus. Jabal has never been shy in sharing his honest opinion with anyone, and his candid remarks of Altair have always brought Malik no small amount of amusement. To read the praise and humble admittance of being wrong is a shock that forces her to think again.
Damascus sticks out in her mind, his actions still bothering her. The man Malik had known would never have taken the time from his mission to save anyone -not even a child- from the dubious mercy of the guards. The child could have fallen in his arms, begging for mercy, and the Altair she knew would have tossed him aside without a second thought. His mission and the status it would gain him all that mattered.
Malik goes through her correspondences again. The letters she's received from other Rafiqs, Hamid, and even the few that Aban tends to deliver himself because the concept of sending a missive off is foreign to him. She looks through her own reports as well. Reading for the things she's deliberately not paid any attention to. The things she knew were happening but consciously chose to forget for the anger that filled her at the mention of Altair's name.
Altair has been saving more than just children. In Jerusalem alone, Malik's informant network has swelled with people grateful to the Brotherhood. Their loyalty bought with the act of saving a sister or younger brother, a child rescued, and even a few patriarchs of large families defended. Their gratefulness to the Order and faceless man who saved them. The scar on his lip the only identifying feature they know to tell him apart from the other Assassins.
Similar things appear to have happened in other cities as well, though she has no exact numbers. Zafir's glowing praise of his work with the community makes more sense now even as Malik's mind cannot comprehend the reasoning behind it. There's a picture in the letters and records. One that paints the outline of a man who Malik does not know at all, and that thought disturbs her.
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It feels, somedays, like the mission that had led her to Solomon's Temple happened a life time ago. At others it feels like she is only a single step away from fleeing it.
Malik feels that last most the nights she wakes from nightmares so real she can smell the blood Kadar bled out mixing with the scent of de Sable's armor. Can feel his gauntlet clad fingers digging into her screaming wounds. It's a fight to wake from them, and they leave her cold and unable to sleep the rest of the night through.
It's this alone that has her awake when Asif tumbles down into the courtyard. Haste making him clumsy as he blurts out his news breathlessly, "Robert de Sable has returned to Jerusalem!"
Nightmares are reflections of reality, and Malik grimly wonders if she'll be able to fight her way out of this one too.
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The secret room in the old Bureau is tight and stifling even after the tight tunnels she'd followed from the cistern. Malik feels her way up the ladder by touch, unwilling to use even the faint light that will not show through at this time of day. Beyond the room she sees frantic movement. The larger room on one side of the wall has been converted into a training arena for the Crusaders. Useful for observing their battle tactics to a certain extent, but far more useful for the way their tongues loosen with the exercise. Now it's filled with more men than the ones she knows are usually there. Bedrolls and blankets are laid out and it's obvious the newcomers will be bedding down there.
The room that Mufid had conducted the Order's business in is on the other side, and Malik finds the confirmation she did not want there. The room was turned into a meeting area that has given them most of the information she has sent to Masyaf. Presiding over the large table kept there now is a man that Malik will never forget even if she has a long life ahead of her to do so.
Robert de Sable looks unchanged, no surprise as it's only been a year, but it feels wrong to her that she is so very different while this man is the same. Almost an exact image of what he was that night.
Malik had thought she knew the meaning of anger and rage. Thought she knew it every time Altair crossed her path. She now knows she was wrong, because what she felt then is nothing more than a guttering candle to the blinding heat that fills her now. The fingers of her hand ache from where she's pressing them to the stone wall. Sharp pains that don't do much to help her mind as she stares at the easy smile of de Sable as he laughs at something said too low for her to hear. He gestures out something with a fine goblet of wine, and the rest of the men around him laugh as well.
Malik doesn't learn much from the French she can hear loudly enough to understand. She closes her eyes and concentrates on the language to better pull details from the talk. As much for information gathering as for calming the urge she has to throw open the secret door and make a suicidal try for de Sable's life. It would fail, she knows this, but the thought is strong and it's a good long time before she can trust herself to let go of the stone wall and make her way back down the ladder.
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The air shifts and Malik doesn't need to look up to know she's not alone, or know who is standing in the shadows of the doorway. Always waiting there as if afraid to intrude past some invisible line without invitation. "Safety and peace, Altair."
"Upon you as well, brother," Altair steps into sight, and there's hesitation written all over him. In every action he does. Malik notes it helplessly, and it goes to add to all of the things she has already noted. A pile that doesn't seem as important or surprising with the firm reality of de Sable being in her city.
"Seems fate has a funny way with things," Malik says eventually, her words far more careless than she feels as she looks up from the map of Damascus she's been inking.
"So it's true then," Altair's voice is dark and his lips are thin. Anger, maybe a bit of distaste. "Robert de Sable is in Jerusalem."
Malik nods, and wonders at the lack of outright anger in Altair. Just the mere mention of de Sable should have invoked rage in him. It used to when they both wore white and talked big about the enemies they would end for the Brotherhood. Was this another thing that's changed in him? "I've seen the knight myself."
"Only misfortune follows that man. If he's here, it's because he intends ill," "I won't give him the chance to act."
"Do not let vengeance cloud your thoughts, brother!" Malik says quickly, alarm singing through her because she knows all too well what comes about when anger clouds his mind. "We both know no good can come of that."
"I have not forgotten. You have nothing to fear," Altair bows his head before her. Accepting the rebuke without protest. Without trying to defend or excuse himself. Simply taking it. "I do not seek revenge, but knowledge."
Malik believes him. Not even a month ago she would have scoffed at the thought. Three months before she would have laughed herself hoarse at the the thought and spent the remainder of her day counting all that she lost. "Then truly," Malik says and admits aloud what she has only thought before, "you are not the man I once knew."
Altair is silent and Malik wonders if his head, once the highest point in Masyaf she'd thought, could get any lower. When the man speaks it's an offering of information, one Zafir had told her often happens after his missions complete. "My work has taught me many things, revealed secrets to me. But there are still pieces of this puzzle I do not possess."
"What do you mean?" The Altair of old would have never have bothered with secrets or puzzles. The blood on his feather all he needed to take from his mission. More facts she gathers but doesn't need.
"All the men I've laid to rest have worked together, united by this man. Robert has designs upon the land, this much I know for certain. But how and why, when, and where," Altair paces a little before her, frustration showing in his body more than his words and face, "these things remain out of reach."
"Crusaders and Saracens working together?" Malik asks even as she cannot fathom it. The goals of both sides too different to mesh well, but Talal and Garnier stick out in her mind. The slaver sending the Crusader people to experiment on for what could not have been half the price he would have gotten for them elsewhere.
"They are none of these things, but something else," Altair says with a shake of his head. He pauses then and the last word he speaks is dragged out of him. As if he isn't sure he should be sharing it. "Templars."
"The Templars are part of the Crusader army," Malik reminds him. The order under de Sable's command, but otherwise indistinguishable from the others as far as Malik can tell. They all act the same and fight for Richard with no care to the innocents that get trampled in the process of their religious fervor.
"So they'd like King Richard to believe," Altair turns to her and lifts his head up enough for her to make out the details of his face in the shadows. "No, their only allegiance is to Robert de Sable in some mad idea that they will stop the war."
For all the certainty Altair speaks with, none of his words make sense. None of the actions of the men Altair has been tasked to assassinate were those of people seeking peace. Nothing that would stop the war. Malik frowns as she tries to fit this in with the facts she knows. That Altair believes what he's saying is obvious, and Malik would call him a liar if the whole idea weren't so ludicrous. Too unbelievable to not be true. "You spin a strange tale."
"You have no idea, Malik," Altair says and there's exhaustion there. Thick and speaking volumes about how much this must have been weighing on him. Another oddity to add to the pile she already has. "But tell me where they've been seen; I should be after him before he slips away."
"Three places I can say for certain," Malik carefully sets the Damascus map aside and unrolls her map of Jerusalem. She wonders when exactly it was that Altair had stopped demanding all information given to him, and accepted he would have to gather it on his own. She points out the hospital, guard tower, and church that the man has been seen to frequent the few days he's been in the city. "See what you can learn. I will do the same."
"I'll be quick as I can," Altair promises after studying her map carefully. Fingers hovering over the lines as he traces routes before bowing his head again and turning to leave.
"Stay safe, my friend," Malik calls out to his back and she dredges up a smile when his hand slips in his climb up the wall at the words.
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