Again, I don't own Altaïr or Assassin's Creed, Ubisoft does.
ALTAÏR IBN- LA'AHAD: Jerusalem, The Holy Land
For the better part of a week, Altaïr had been traveling, unable to make better time, as his injuries refused to accept any jostling caused by rapid speed. Raising his eyes to the horizon blanketed in the warmth and light of a new day, Altaïr was able to make out the gates to the Jewel of the Holy Land- "Not long now" he thought to himself.
With slow, plodding steps, Altaïr's horse walked down out of the mountain pass, and onto the path leading to the city gates. Altaïr hunched his shoulders, hiding his face beneath the shadow cast by his hood. He would have to be careful if he were to get in without being bothered, or arousing suspicion. "As long as those guards mind their own affairs-not mine- this will be no challenge." He approached the gate cautiously, matching the gait of fellow mounted travelers. He guided his horse over to a hitching area, and tied the reins to the rough wooden post. "A rest well earned my friend" Altaïr breathed to his horse, running a hand along its broad, warm nose. The horse softly exhaled in agreement. Having left his horse with hay and water near the hitching station, Altaïr slipped into a group of nearby scholars who were making their way into the city. Heads bowed in prayer, the Assassin slipped into their group unnoticed. As they approached the city's entrance, the Saracens regarded the scholars in white with mild suspicion- Altaïr lowered his head further, clasping his hands in imitated devotion and continued walking.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Altaïr exited the group, once a safe berth had been put between the guards and himself. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling the need to stretch his out the tightness in his back after a prolonged time spent "blending". Inhaling deeply the exotic scents wafting from nearby merchants and markets made Altaïr's stomach voice its opinion. Altaïr frowned, remembering that he had last eaten yesterday at midday- a meager meal of dried fruit, olives, and unleven bread. "There will be time for that after I investigate further my target" he reflected. Raising his eyes to the skyline, he found a high tower with a perch, "That will work", he smirked.
Climbing remained Altaïr's favourite task, aside from combat. The feeling of his muscles contracting, working in harmony to lift him higher and higher until at last, he could gaze upon the city as if it were his- an unrivaled feeling. He started from the rooftop of a building close to the tower. Planks lay across the rooftops made a makeshift bridge for gaps that couldn't be forged by jumping. He surveyed the distance between the edge of this roof, and the tower's lower section- 5 meters across. He smirked to himself as he stepped back, in a calculating manner, until he was at the edge of the house roof. He paused for a moment, and then in a surge of momentum, sprinted across the roof, launching himself into the air with a great push. He flew for a brief moment, then slammed into the wall of the building, fingers seeking, and finding, purchase onto the narrow edge of a window ledge. Wasting no time to revel in his accomplishment, he scampered up the wall, hands skillfully moving, constantly reaching, finding, until finally, he heaved himself up onto the tower's balcony. His climb was far from over; a greater picture of the city would require more altitude. His arms were beginning to protest as he continued to push ever upward until finally, chest surging with want for air, arms and legs aching, he pulled himself up onto the wooden perch located at the very top of the tower. He sunk low, one leg in front of the other, arms crossed over each other, holding onto the rough boards as he surveyed the vast city below. His eyes scanned for his target; something flickered in the back of his mind, and the world was plunged into a grayscale light. Around him, pixels of reds, blues, and white seemed to glow. However, one area stood out most; a gold glow to the northwest of his position. Blinking back the discoloration, the world returned to its proper shades as Altaïr focused on the spot, which still held a residual yellow glow. Sure enough, he could make out the Assassin's symbol on the roof- "Ah yes, my dear friend Malik. Best not keep him waiting" Altaïr simpered. He checked below him, and spying a cart of hay below his viewpoint, he leapt from his perch.
Emerging from the hay, Altaïr brushed the lingering strands from his robes, and those who had somehow found a way under his hood into his short, tousled, mocha hair. On his way to the bureau, he gave in to his hunger, and purchased some figs, which he could consume quickly before he arrived at Malik's bureau. Eating on the job was one lecture Altaïr did not want to hear from anyone- especially Malik.
Altaïr reached the bureau within the hour, his tardiness thanks to several civilians who were need of rescuing. "They just stand there, in the middle of it, refusing to move- the foolish peasants. Yet they also refuse to help, only to then contradict themselves by informing me that they 'had everything under control'". Altaïr shook his head, and made his way over to the ladder up to the roof of the bureau. Altaïr did a brief but thorough sweep of those within eyeshot, then, upon deeming it safe, scampered up the ladder.
"God save him! He's gone mad!"
"Why is he doing that? He's going to hurt himself! The fool!"
Apparently his actions had earned some comments from those who had seen him. Altaïr lowered himself into the bureau, feeling the mildly pleasant burning in his arms as he did so. Slowly, he lowered himself, until at last he dropped, landing deftly on the soft woven rugs that adorned the floor of Malik's bureau. Altaïr inaudibly rounded the corner, spying Malik examining, what Altaïr could only have guessed, to be a map of sorts on his counter. Sighing, Altaïr reminded himself to be… in the very least civil to Malik. After all, he held no discontent with the Rafiq. Putting on an indifferent expression, Altaïr swaggered into the bureau.
"Safety and peace, brother." Altaïr said, with what he hoped was a pleasant, or at least an apathetic tone.
Malik turned to stare at Altaïr, annoyance and outrage seeped into his expression the moment he recognized the hooded man.
"My how the mighty have fallen. Look how he struts about; proud as a lion, after how he has been shamed! All my pain has been caused by him, yet he still has the right to call me brother after what he did to me" Malik motioned to his left arm, which ended abruptly well above the elbow. "Not to mention what you did to my real brother!"
Altaïr's patience was rarely a thing to be trifled with- however after having it pushed so much already by Malik's anger, he could no longer speak with grace, nor with forethought.
"Yes, Malik", Altaïr snarled viciously, perhaps more so than he had intended. Malik flinched in surprise. "I do call you brother. However, it is not in mockery, nor do I feel you deserve to be my brother any more than I do yours. I am tired of being treated as inferior or as some damned dog, forced to walk on eggshells should I, God forbid, anger anyone! I have tried being civil with you, with the others; there is nothing I can do to make them forget, make them forgive. I do not want their forgiveness. I do not want yours either. The only reason I am here is to fulfill our Master's wishes. So if you have any respect left for him, you will put your anger and petty grudges behind you, and tell me what I need to know." Altaïr realized at this point, that Malik, for once, had let him fully explain his feelings. "Odd, since the man obviously took such pleasure in making my life hell…"
Malik regarded him warily, a cross between reproach and respect on his face. After a beat, he spoke, keeping his eyes on Altaïr's face.
" Admitting your faults, and begging my forgiveness was what I expected, even wanted you to say, Novice." Malik turned and pulled out the large tome kept by all Rafiqs out from a drawer. Altaïr turned to look away- livid. "However, I realize that devoting my energy to making your life a hell, is not the wisest thing to do." Altaïr, caught off guard, started to ask Malik what he was talking about.
"I know what I said, and I feel as though I should offer you a chance to earn my trust back. You should be able to have a second chance, Altaïr. That much I will give you. "
Altaïr mumbled a gruff thank-you, and then asked Malik if he would kindly explain where he should begin his search for information on Mamraj.
"So nice to hear you ask for my help, instead of demanding it. I would have thought that they would have given you a novice of your own by now… NOVICE!"
"Malik, please; I must demand that you stop calling me that." Altaïr growled, his voice low and threatening. "I am Novice no longer; I have earned my rank back honestly, and therefore-"
Malik laughed, interrupting him. "Oh Novice, I do not call you such out of spite or belittlement- it is merely a pet name I have for you. Although the fact that it annoys you is not entirely displeasing…"
Altaïr growled then, having decided he was tired of waiting for Malik's instructions, left the bureau.
Thinking back on what little Al Mualim had told him about his target, Altaïr decided on his best course of action. "I'll be able to find an informant in the market, this I am sure of. I can start my search in the Rich District; Mamraj no doubt resides there." Altaïr mused. "Perhaps I can even find one of his servants in a souk." Taking a quick glance around for any guards, he leapt from the roof, somersaulted over himself, and emerged, unscathed, disappearing into the crowds of people.
Altaïr was weary from spending all day on his feet, searching fruitlessly for any sign of an informant, so he decided that he would rest for a while under the shade of the nearby souk. He listened to the clamor of the market rising and falling from time to time; the bargaining of two equally stubborn men over the price of fish, the frustrated squawking of a mother reprimanding her two very disobedient children- all these could be heard from his bench. His attention was starting to wane, and he felt himself succumbing to the allure of sleep. He felt his eyelids relaxing, until something worth staring at caught his gaze.