Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik
A/N #1 – puzzling things out... and ah... youth... so annoying! *wink*
If they were boys again, Malik would have pulled Altaïr close to cuddle and sleep in order to keep the nightmares away. Altaïr knew that would not happen. But this... this was still nice. He closed his eyes to sleep and felt Malik's fingers almost shyly move through his hair. Altaïr tensed a little, but did not flinch this time. He wanted to move closer to Malik and hold him and be held by him, but didn't think that would be... appropriate anymore. This will do though. This will do.
Malik felt abandoned for the first time in his life when Altaïr had walked out. He had given him the choice and he left. He felt... he didn't want to admit it, but he felt rejected. Why did Tibah have to be so right? And what did she mean by he was like her brother? Was she suggesting that her brother the guard preferred boys to girls? Malik could not say men, because the brother was barely a year older than Tibah. He supposed that constituted a grown man... with peach fuzz for chin hair.
But Altaïr returned after several hours, journal in hand. In a way Malik was deeply relieved. Altaïr just needed to add to the journal in private. Malik could respect that. The cold comment, well, he still didn't know if Altaïr was joking. He wanted to see that smile on Altaïr's face or hear him laugh... when it was not at Malik's expense.
It was a relief to tell someone he was lonely, and to know that Altaïr was equally so. They didn't have to be lonely. That was Altaïr's message in shoving the bed mats together. The next words from Altaïr made him think too much about how different Altaïr was. These odd abilities reminded him of myths he had read of great heroes. Altaïr? A great hero? That was a little hard to swallow. Seeing colors was so strange. I am bright blue... to him it means a friend... someone that can be trusted. If that is how Allah will remind you, so be it. He hesitated only a moment. He didn't think he should do this while Altaïr was awake and aware. But then his hand betrayed him and did it anyways. His fingers found their way into Altaïr's hair with those golden eyes watching him.
Malik was woken a couple times in the night by Altaïr's thrashing, but found he could ease Altaïr back into sleep. There was a modicum of trust there now. Altaïr did not jump at the sound of his voice, nor did he attack like Malik was the enemy. In the morning, he woke to Altaïr snuggled in close to him shivering slightly as the blanket had been lost in the last fitfulness. Malik sat up and pulled the blankets, both his and Altaïr, to cover Altaïr before he vacated the spot on his bed. Altaïr mumbled something and inched drowsily into Malik's warmed spot.
Malik wondered how long this quiet would last. The doctor in him could logically deduce that the fights between him and Altaïr were just them needing to work out what was between them till it eventually was out of them and sorted... and forgiven. Not that Altaïr would EVER say he was sorry! Not that any amount of saying sorry would bring Kadar back. Malik, for all his logic, could not help being upset about the past with Altaïr there to remind him of it.
Then he also could not help thinking about how Altaïr revealed that it was he who was at Malik's side the entire time during the healing of his severed limb. Malik found himself sipping his tea and failing to resist opening Altaïr's journal while the assassin slept. The writing was horrible! He was right, Altaïr desperately needed the practice. Altaïr couldn't even write a single sentence using the same language. It had words and scripts mixed together to form fragments of sentences. It was like reading code. Messy almost illiterate code. Malik wondered if Altaïr thought in these chaotic codex forms. It would certainly account for Altaïr being confused all the time. There were even words in languages that Malik was not very familiar with. This would take too long to decipher. He flipped through the pages and stopped at the word elixir. That part he read more carefully. It explained why Altaïr knew Chinese. How did he pick it up so fast though? Was Altaïr a natural at understanding what he overheard in foreign languages? Just apparently writing them was not his forte. Nope, this was going to take too much time and Altaïr would wake soon.
Malik set the book down and stiffened. Altaïr's sharp golden eyes had been watching him for who knew how long. Malik had never really been the kind to snoop. Malik had to reconsider that, he was not the kind to snoop where he would remotely get caught. He was never caught snooping through forbidden sections of the library in Masyaf. He opened his mouth searching for the words to explain himself and not finding them.
Altaïr sat up and patted his shoulder, "I was hoping you would read it. Maybe it will make sense to you." Malik watched Altaïr slip through to the little kitchen to use the privy. Malik awkwardly set the journal down on the bed mat. He dressed and was about to make some breakfast for them both when two unskilled thuds were heard in the open souk. Altaïr met him face to face as they exchanged wary looks. "You are badly wounded," Malik hissed to him. "Too wounded to be out of bed."
Altaïr silently dropped himself back onto the bed mat and left the blankets off to expose his bandages and stitched. He dipped his hands into the jug of water nearby and patted his face to look like he was sweating with fever and closed his eyes. Malik nodded approval as he slid a knife into place on his hip and crept cautiously into the main room, just in case it was not others from their Brotherhood.
"Safety and peace rafiq!" called one trainee in uniformed greys. "Safety and peace!" called the second. Malik noted that they were not full assassins yet, they still had all ten fingers and no wrist daggers.
"Safety and peace brothers. What brings you two to Jerusalem?" Malik was almost relieved to see them.
"See," one prodded the other, "He is not such a heartless bastard."
Malik narrowed his eyes at them. "Well? Out with it. Why are you girls here?" he snapped.
The young men cringed to Malik's approval and sputtered, "On mission. We were to find the Bureau in each of the major cities. Acre, Damascus, and Jerusalem and return with proof that we did. Can we uhm... have some proof?"
Malik opened up one of his rolls of maps and poked at it letting the two youths wonder and wait. Without looking up he asked, "What kind of proof were you expected to get?" Then he let them sweat for many long slow minutes while they stressed about not having asked what they were supposed to get from Jerusalem.
"Rest in the souk and wash. You both smell. Maybe once you are clean, you will remember what you are here for."
The two youths concluded that Malik was indeed the heartless bastard they thought he was. They slunk into the souk to strip and wash. At least they had slightly better manners than Altaïr. They asked for basins and towels. Malik allowed one to come with him into the back to retrieve those items. The youth stared at the prone unwell looking Altaïr bandages and resting on a bed mat. "Woah... he is stitched... everywhere..." the youth breathed before Malik shoved him out. That would suit Malik just fine for when these boys babbled back in Masyaf. It would be shocking proof for them. As Malik prepared breakfast for ... four... he overheard them talking about Altaïr and how bandaged he was and how stitched up he was and wondering if he was going to live. Altaïr moaned loudly for good measure and Malik could not help rolling his eyes.
Once cleaned and fed the youths still had no idea what they had to get as proof. Malik solved that himself. "You have to earn your proof from me. Find for me three of the city flags. You may speak to any of the informants for advice. Expect them to test your resolve. Be gone as soon as you are done eating. And don't come back till the sun sets. If you are not here at sunset, I send another assassin after you to kill both you and the Templar you stupidly let catch you. They are hunting us here, so be careful. Sunset!"
They nodded emphatically and wolfed down their food. The longer they ate the less time they had to find three flags from and informant. They scrambled up the fountain and out the roof opening.
Malik sighed with annoyance and took a damp towel to clean the fountain they just dirtied from their scramble. Altaïr never messed the fountain. He was graceful unlike these clumsy colts. Once the front was cleaned to his satisfaction, he returned to Altaïr's side. "The moan was really unnecessary."
Altaïr shrugged. Malik shook his head. "I was going to take out some of those stitched, Altaïr. But now that you did such a wonderful job of making them think you are near death, I will have to leave them in till those trainees are finished their mission. He smirked pleased with himself as Altaïr groaned for real, lamenting his obliged state. "Here, write more. You need the practice." Malik slid the journal and writing supplied over to Altaïr.
"Maybe I should follow them and make sure they are..."
"No, Altaïr. It is their missions, they will succeed or not. And YOU... cannot be spotted. Don't make me think you are still a novice like them!"
Altaïr flumped back onto the bed mat.
A/N #2 – no art...
