Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik
A/N #1 – Those epiphanies you hoped to start seeing Malik have... they are here... little by little... the puzzle it taking form and Malik does not like what he sees.
When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark. The light scent of orris permeated in the room. Malik was sitting along, propped by cushions and reading. The boy was nowhere to be seen. That awareness lasted but a few second and was gone again.
Malik napped with his book on his lap. He could not sleep well, though. Altaïr would yell in his sleep and try to attack imagined enemies. Malik did manage a good few hours that helped revive him. He moved near Altaïr so as to easily check on him frequently. It was both a long day and now will be a long night. He still had no idea what happened to Altaïr, why he was drunk or how he managed to get stabbed.
Other questions boiled in him too. Old questions from old secrets that Altaïr had kept. Questions that made Malik doubt Master Al Mualim more. Doubts that only strengthened his resolve about hiding the boy novice. He was grateful for the boy's extra hands and inwardly lamented about not having an apprentice or novice of his own here as the other Dai did. The Dai had other rafiq's and novices to assist him. When he took the position he was so stubborn to prove he could still function he refused any. He has managed so well, though, that now none would be sent and he could not swallow his pride enough to ask for one.
It had taken the remainder of the morning and part of the afternoon to get Altaïr undressed, bathed, stitched and medicated. The rest of the afternoon and early evening was watching Altaïr for fever and other problems. That stab had nicked his stomach causing internal bleeding. There were a couple moments where he nearly panicked. As miraculous a healer as Altaïr can be, this was too close. Way too close. The alcohol in his system thinned his blood. He nearly bled to death before Malik even found him.
Then there was the moment Altaïr spoke of the fog. That scared Malik more than when Altaïr stopped breathing a moment. When Altaïr squirmed from a rebelling stomach, Malik put a drop of peppermint oil on his finger and stuffed his finger into Altaïr's mouth. He tried over and over to sooth the delirious terrors in Altaïr's sleep.
Now it was quiet. Had been quiet for several hours. He dozed. When the oil lamp was almost out of fuel he got up and added more. He sat and read his book a while. Altaïr turned his head and looked over. Malik's heart jumped with excitement to see him awake. But it had not lasted. He tried to get Altaïr to drink a little. He was so weak.
In the morning, Altaïr managed to mumble about what happened. How he had been trapped by guards, archers, and templars. How he used the novice's idea of disguise and stole what he could from a dead drunkard. How he vomited all over a guard who obviously took offence. Malik had to laugh at that. He saw a flicker of a grin on Altaïr's lips that vanished again as though he were not permitted the mirth. The early morning alertness was gone an hour later.
Malik stepped into the doctor role of a Dai, one he was better suited for than most Dai considering his mentorship under his brother Faruq. He recleaned the wound and checked it carefully. He dealt with any bodily wastes. He kept Altaïr warm when he was cold and cool when he fevered. Like a mother with a baby, Malik chewed food into a mush and watered it down into a soup so Altaïr could get nourishment one small spoonful at a time. He fingered through Altaïr's soft hair dampened by sweat. It was always a way to soothe him. "Stupid novice," he whispered in a far more affectionate tone.
He had listened to the novice earlier before he sent the boy home. The novice was thrilled to see his mission in the log and watched as the details were written in as he gave them. He went home with his eagle feather and informed that he helped save the life of the man who provides those eagle feathers. The boy asked if Altaïr was going to become the next Master of the Order. Malik chuckled a moment at the arrogance he could see in Altaïr at that, then struck the boy firm across the cheek. "Remember never to voice that thought ever again... or we will all be killed for it," he told the boy seriously. He hugged the boy almost immediately after to reassure him he was not angry, he just wanted to really drive home the importance of his words. The boy left both humbled and proud of the trust he had been given this day. Thinking back on it, he wished Altaïr had been more aware of what was happening around him, to see this incredible small boy with an indomitable spirit.
Two days and Altaïr had yet to really rouse. He would barely long enough to be taken to relieve himself, but that was about it. Malik knew that Altaïr's body was taking up most of his energy healing. Already the cuts in his hand were healed. And the lingering older wounds were healed into fine scars. The cut in the leg he had stitched a few days ago looked like the stitches could be taken out maybe in another few days. Malik wondered if anyone other than himself and his older brother knew of Altaïr's ability to heal like this.
Pondering this and many other things, Malik worked on finishing the map of Acre for Tibah's father. As he blew on the last marks to dry them and then tested them with a finger it hit him. Testing... THAT is exactly what Al Mualim has been doing to Altaïr. Testing him. Seeing how much he can take before he breaks. Except Altaïr never broke. Not really. It was always shy of killing him, but maybe that kind of testing began after Altaïr and Malik were separated. Malik remembered another novice from a few months ago mentioning how the Master had demoted Altaïr as a traitor in public and then stabbed him to death. And by the magic of the golden ball, brought him back to life to live out his punishment.
Malik bolted back into the private room and searched the sleeping body for another stab, a heart stab. It had to have left a scar. His fingers smoothed over Altaïr's check naming the types of wounds that could cause the scars they found. Then he paused over Altaïr's heart. There it was. But not quite a true hit. The scar was so close to the heart that you would think it was a fatal blow. With swift proper care, Malik would heal in a couple weeks just as he will heal from his stomach stab. With swift and proper care. Al Mualim could grant that in secret. And then hold a lie over everyone.
Malik jumped out of his skin when Altaïr's hand suddenly gripped his wrist. "Easy Brother. You are safe." Altaïr released his hold and drifted back into slumber.
A/N #2 – no art... *pout*