Hello, this is my first fan fiction published here, and I would really appreciate feed back, but please try not to be mean. Thanks!
Age 5:
The two Master Assassins sat in an office, one open to anyone at Masyaf, shelves lined with books towering around them against the four walls if the small, rectangular room. Mostly, the two assassins did not use it very often; usually they were too busy to sit down and relax, and when they did have free time, they would spend it practicing fighting or entertaining their young sons.
One of the assassins, a man with messy black hair, charcoal eyes, and a long, hawk-like nose was sitting in one of the chairs with a small stack of books on the table separating him from the other man with his hidden blade sitting next to them, safely out of reach of grabbing hands, although he took no notice of either. Rather, his full attention was on the blue-eyed two-year-old sitting on his lap, who was attempting to shove his entire fist into his mouth.
The other man was lounging lazily in his own chair, the chair tipped back dangerously on its back two legs. The man's muddy, leather boots were propped up on the table, despite being constantly reprimanded as a Novice for doing so, and the right leg was crossed over the left. The man's arms were folded behind his head, and there was the trace of a smirk on his face, although he himself did not know what he found so amusing.
"I hope to go out on another mission soon." said the first man casually, bouncing his youngest son on his knees, who laughed joyously.
The second man, who had just come back from a week-long contract three days ago, chuckled a tiny bit. He looked over at the other assassin and said, "And I suppose you will want me to take care of Malik and Kadar for you, while you're gone, Faheem?"
"If you like, I shall be grateful." Faheem admitted, "I shouldn't be gone for long. Altaïr nearly went insane waiting for you to come home last week, and you were back earlier than expected." Faheem added, shooting a wry look at his friend, "I expect that Malik and Kadar would drive you insane, too, if I were out for much longer.
"It was a good kill, I trust?" Faheem said, after a moment's thought.
At this, the assassin laughed. "It was, and I don't doubt it." he replied, answering to both topics. Then he leaned forward and got his feet off of the table, resting his forearms on his legs as he peered over at Faheem seriously. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask; did Altaïr behave himself? I know he can be a little difficult to deal with at times..."
Faheem smirked again, before turning back towards Kadar. "No need to worry, Umar. Altaïr was fine. He was no trouble at all."
Umar smiled weakly, leaning back in his chair again, but not balancing it the way it was before. He didn't want to admit it, but he was worried that his only son was a nuisance to the other assassin while he was out on another murder.
Not that Altaïr was trouble for his father, most of the time. In fact, compared to most five year olds, he was unusually quiet and well behaved. Even compared to Malik, who too was unusually silent for his age, Altaïr seemed somewhat passive and deadpan, but headstrong. Umar had wondered if there was something wrong with him, even he himself could not recall being so quiet when he was his age, he could mostly just remember running around his parents' farm, scaring the sheep as he chased them, but every time he would ask the medics if his son was ill, they would just say he was fine, and look at him with sort of an amused expression. Whenever he asked Altaïr if he was okay he would get a similar response.
Faheem Al-Sayf's eldest son looked very similar to his father. They had the same facial features and build, although his skin tone was a couple shades lighter than that of his father, and his hair was much more similar to his mother's in shade and thickness. Kadar looked a lot like his elder brother, accept he had his father's messy hair, and his mother's cerulean blue eyes, hinting at her mixed heritage.
Altaïr, in the other hand, took after his mother. His skin was much paler than anyone else's at Masyaf, and instead of his hair being a thick black or dark brown, which was typical for people in the holy land, it was a warm brown. Not only that, but his golden eyes were exactly that of his mother. Sometimes it unnerved Umar to see his dead wife's eyes shining out of his young son's face, although he tried not to ever let it show, because Altaïr had always seemed to possess the uncanny ability to tell when something was troubling someone, especially when it came to his father or either if the Al-Sayf brothers. Due to his strange collection of features, the other children of Masyaf would often whisper about Altaïr lbn-La'Ahad when they thought that no one was around to listen, and they would sometimes avoid him. However, his strange appearance never seemed to bother Malik or his little brother.
Umar found himself thinking back to a conversation he and his son had had the previous year. The Al-Sayfs had invited Altaïr over for dinner at Malik's request, or rather Malik's request to play with their food while sitting with the family of four. It had gone well, despite the mess the children had made, accept for when Altaïr came running to his father, begging to know why Malik had a mother, and he didn't. It was an upsetting conversation for the both of them, and it made the grief for Maud's death fresh.
Jolting back to the present, Umar felt like he should say something else to Faheem, but just then there was the pattering sound of little feet from outside of the office and door burst open. Both assassins looked over at the door, Faheem looking expectant and Umar grinning. The latter leaned forward in his chair to greet the two children who had entered the door, and Faheem set Kadar gently onto the floor, who hugged his pants leg uncertainly.
"Well, speak if the devil, we were just ta-" Umar stopped short as he studied the two boys before him.
Their faces were streaked with grime and tears, their pale clothes covered in dirt and dust. Altaïr stood a little in font of Malik, something clasped in his tiny hands over his chest. Malik's lower lip was quivering, and both boys looked scared and deeply saddened.
Umar's eyebrows drew together as he frowned and exchanged a glance with Faheem to find his own emotions mirrored back at him on the other Master Assassin's face. Faheem stood, and Umar crouched down so that he was face-to-face with his son. Umar's hazel eyes met with with Altaïr's gold, and Umar put his right had gently on his shoulder, any thoughts of his most recent assassination or anything else other than making sure that his son was okay was banished from his mind.
"What happened? Are you okay? Are either if you hurt?" Umar asked urgently, looking the five-year-olds up and down, but neither he nor Malik seemed to have so much as a skinned knee.
"N-no." Altaïr stuttered reluctantly, suddenly looking shy and insecure.
Umar's hand squeezed Altaïr's shoulder involuntarily. "Then what is it?"
"What wrong, bro-dah?" Kadar asked, waddling over and tugging at Malik's clothes, looking pleased with himself for managing a mostly coherent sentence.
Altaïr looked over at Malik uncertainly, who, bottom lip still quivering, nodded. Altaïr turned back towards his father and held out his hands to reveal a clearly dead golden eagle chick.
"Fix it." said Altaïr, "Please."
Umar closed his eyes, his frown deepening for a moment, sighing silently through his nose before looking back at his son, who was watching his father fretfully, his brown eyebrows drawn together.
"May I?" Umar asked delicately, holding out his hands for the tiny creature.
Altaïr nodded and slid the bird into his father's hands, still looking worried, but more hopeful now. "Please fix the bird." he said again, plaintively, his eyes wide.
Umar straightened up and inspected the tiny form in his hand, poking it and prodding it gently to assess how long it had been dead. Judging by the amount and type of feathers, it was about a week or so old. Umar came to the conclusion that it had been dead for at least fifteen minutes.
As Altaïr's father inspected the bird, Malik frantically explained to Faheem what happened.
"We- we were playing out in the garden, when we heard a weird noise. We went to investigate, and we found a cat attacking it-" the boy explained, gesturing with his hands as he spoke.
"Attacking?" Umar thought, "More like trying to eat it, judging by the bite marks."
"And we brought it to you, so you can fix it." Altaïr added earnestly, his wide eyes turning towards his father once more.
Umar crouched down and placed the bird back in Altaïr's hands before he turned both of the boys towards him. He put his left hand on Malik's right shoulder, and his right hand on Altaïr's left.
"I'm sorry," said Umar, looking both boys in the eye. "But there's nothing I could do. It is already dead."
Malik immediately burst into tears. He balled his hands into fists and rubbed his eyes as big, blubbery tears rolled down his cheeks. Faheem leaned over and ruffled his eldest son's hair, while Kadar grabbed Malik's left arm from behind, wedging himself in between Altaïr and his elder brother.
"Don't be sad Ma-lik." said the two-year old, looking more confused than anything else.
Altaïr glared at his father defiantly. He, too, had tears running down his face, but they weren't as loud or noticeable as Malik's sobs. Altaïr crossed his arms over his chest, the dead bird gripped in one of his hands, it's body limp.
"But whyyy?" Altaïr whined, "Daddy, please, why won't you fix it? You can fix anything! Please..."
"Nothing can bring back the dead, and I am not God." Umar said gently.
"But... But..." Altaïr cried desperately, his tears running down his face more thickly, now, "There has to be something we can do..."
Umar paused for a moment to appreciate the irony of the situation, before he stood up and exchanged a helpless glance with Faheem, who's brow was furrowed. At their feet, seeing that both Altaïr and Malik were crying, Kadar began to cry, too, out of confusion. Faheem frowned, and looked down at the three of them.
"There is no magic on Earth that can bring back the dead." said Umar gently, "That bird's life has ended, an it can never come back."
At this, the children sobbed harder.
"We can't bring the bird back to life, but we can make him a grave." Faheem suggested, "Okay?"
The three children calmed down slowly, at the comfort of their fathers. Umar hugged Altaïr to his legs, and rubbing his brown, fledgling hair.
"O-okay." Altaïr said eventually, his voice muffled against Umar's legs.
Faheem gathered Kadar into his arms and Umar lead the two families down to the garden. Altaïr and Malik showed them where they had found the bird in the first place. To no one's surprise, there were tiny feathers everywhere, as a result of the tiny eagle's scuffle with the cat earlier.
Altaïr gently dug a tiny hole in the dirt next to the bush, while Malik held the bird with both hands standing behind him, and Faheem tried to stop Kadar from eating some of the feathers. Once the hole was deep enough, Malik slowly, reverently, put the bird into the tiny grave. Both of their faces etched with sorrow, Altaïr pushed the dirt back over the hole.
Altaïr moved over back by Umar, who held him close to his body, while Malik uttered a quick prayer in Arabic. Neither boys had been to a funeral that they could remember, so they weren't entirely sure what thy should an shouldn't do, but each had a basic grasp on the concept.
The two families stood there for about ten minutes, both fathers impressed with their sons for sitting so still and quiet for so long. The silence was broken when Altaïr's stomach growled. He shot a mortified glance at Malik and his father, his cheeks reddening slightly.
Faheem grinned slightly and Umar laughed. He clapped Altaïr on the back and said, "Why don't we get some lunch?"
Both Malik and Altaïr nodded enthusiastically, their faces breaking into wide grins, and Kadar bounced a little on his feet, clapping his hands together and saying, "Lunch! Lunch!"
The two families returned back to the main fortress of Masyaf and headed towards the mess hall, leaving the bird behind where it lay beneath the soil of the garden, quickly and forever forgotten.