Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik

A/N #1 – Mmmm... sweating men...


"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.

Throughout the day, Altaïr just grew irritable. Malik was busy out in the front room. He was stuck in the back playing "wounded" even though he WAS wounded, he wasn't THAT wounded. He grumbled and snarled through random writing in the journal. Now that he really HAD to stay in the back in the bed he desperately wanted to sneak out onto the roof. The two novices might see him though. He snarled and rolled over shoving the journal aside.

It was the deepest relief to have Malik come back in and make meat sandwiches. Malik even sat to eat with him and read from one of his own journals about things he learned about Those Who Came Before. It wasn't anything really special or anything really new to Altaïr. It was more myth and legend than fact about people who lived in a mythical city that was destroying by either water of volcanic fire. Either way, these people were mostly gone from the world and their city sunk deep in the seas.

All the stitches itched and irritated him. He picked at them and rubbed them. Malik would reach over and smack Altaïr every time without missing a beat in what he was reading, or looking over. Altaïr began to wonder who was different because it was as if Malik had eyes on the side of his head or in the back. "Fine! Stay still. I will take out the ones that are not so visible." Malik's words were like the sweetest music.

Altaïr flopped out spread eagle and relished the mild sense of internal amusement seeing Malik roll his eyes... again. He patiently stayed still and moved only as Malik bade him so that the annoying stitches were neatly snipped and plucked out. What was not so comfortable was Malik feeling along his still black and purple ribs. Bones heal slower than everything else. Malik rubbed a simple salve into all the wounds and over the stitches he was leaving in for show. Then he rebandaged Altaïr's chest.

The blessed sound of the over-eager youths dropping into the souk was followed by their excited voices. Altaïr relaxed back on the bed mat and listened to Malik berate them for their gracelessness and indiscretion. Altaïr grinned at the resounding THUMP the log book made on the counter and the yelps of surprise from the novices. They haltingly recounted their foray to find the flags and produced them proudly in the end. Malik was going to keep one and they each were to keep one of the others. It was like a souvenir they rolled tightly and tucked into their belt pouches. Malik wrote the mission in the log, explaining it to them as he did, along with proper protocol. Since it was only a few hours after noon, they had plenty of time to hurry themselves out of Jerusalem and off to their next city. He warned them about Acre's port and advised them to be especially careful because Acre was Templar owned. Promises were exchanged, along with the usual greeting.

When Malik returned to the back, Altaïr sat up hopeful. "Yes, they are gone now."

Altaïr could not be happier, "Great, get the rest of these out of me." He was plenty fed up of the stitches.

Stitches were all removed by the second day. Altaïr reveled in the feeling. His ribs ached, but he could easily ignore that, not that Malik would let him. Malik had him stretching and retraining those muscles. Malik watched him critically while he grunted through sit-ups and climbed up and down the souk wall maybe a hundred times till he was sweating and wished he could complain about how sore he was. He refused to give in though. In the middle of doing some push-up, he snarled at Malik. "Stop just sitting there and staring. Stop correcting me... you want a right to say something? You come down here and do them with me!"

Altaïr wanted to hit Malik when Malik laughed, "Alright golden boy... let's see who can do more." Altaïr sat and watched as Malik stripped himself down to just his pants like Altaïr. He was a little surprised to see Malik jump on the challenge. It was also refreshing.

They assumed their positions. Altaïr stared somewhat distracted as Malik actually accomplished push-up's one handed at the same pace he was going. Although Altaïr had been pushing himself all day and was already tired. He blamed his failing strength on that while Malik sneered back at him. The sweat dripped off them both. Altaïr had never been bested by Malik and had no intention of that happening now. After about eighty, Altaïr tried to shift to one hand to prove he could... and to give one hand a rest. That failed swiftly and he had to keep at it with both. When the exhaustion shifted to aching then to pain, so did his focus. He wavered a moment then shoved it all aside and kept going.


A/N #2 – I love doubleleaf... PUSHUPS! http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/pushups-160586065