Age 8:

Altaïr's body ached as he slowly hobbled his way back to the bedroom he shared with his father. He stuck close to the stone wall, staying in the shadows so nobody would notice him or ask him what was wrong.

The bruises on his arms from where they had grabbed him were an ugly brownish purple color and were throbbing painfully. He could taste the metallic tang of blood from where one of them had knocked one of his baby teeth out. His shins ached with each step, where another had kicked him, hard. His knuckles were sore from where he managed to punch them a couple of times.

This was the third day in a row that this had happened. There were three of them, all older than he, but not by too much. They had cornered him, two grabbing his arms and the third would beat him, demanding to know why Altaïr looked so different compared to everyone else at Masyaf. Questions Altaïr had no answer for.

Children, who did not yet understand the ways of the world, were often afraid of what they did not understand, which was why they targeted Altaïr. He would find himself wishing that they would be more like Malik who, when he didn't understand something, would seek out the answer, whether by asking someone or by book. However, the bullies were as stupid as they were cruel, and most likely did not even consider that as an option.

Today, however, Altaïr had managed to break free from his captors before the beating could get too bad, swing a couple of punches at the faces of his tormentors and run away, hiding in one of the haystacks beneath a tower while they hunted for him, before making his way slowly and carefully back to his room, lest they still be searching.

Once he had returned to his room, he locked the door, in case the bullies were still looking for him, and would think to look for him there. Although, Altaïr believed that the bullies were too stupid to actually look in there; maybe it was too obvious? Maybe they didn't know where he lived? He didn't know.

Altaïr sat down on his bed, hugging a pillow to his chest, his knees folded against it. He stayed that way for a long while, allowing himself to rest, his eyes subconsciously drooping. Eventually he allowed himself to tip over, and his consciousness to fade.

Altaïr dreamed of when he was older. He was one of the best assassins in the order, just as good as or even better than his father, along with Malik. The two of them would often go on missions together, and were an inspiration to many of the younger assassins. Al Mualim sent the two of them on the most dangerous missions, returning victorious and without incident each time. Eventually, Kadar joined Altaïr and his elder brother in the ranks of the Master Assassins. The best part of the dream, however, was the look of pride on his father's face, whenever Altaïr returned from another mission...

Altaïr jerked awake at the sound of the bedroom door being unlocked. He sat bolt upright, panicked; how long had he been out? Altaïr scowled at his own stupidity. How could he have fallen asleep!? His father would surely question him as to why the door was locked with him inside.

Altaïr watched as his father enter the room. The Master Assassin turned, when he saw his son sitting on the bed, hugging his pillow guiltily to himself. His father raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for Altaïr to explain himself.

"What are you doing?" he prompted, when his son did not speak.

"Nothing." Altaïr said too quickly.

Altaïr knew from a young age that his father was an assassin first and a father second, and that he probably didn't have time to deal with the problems that Altaïr may or may not have. Besides, Altaïr did not see fit to worry people he cared for when he didn't have to. That is why he gave Malik the same answer yesterday, when his dark, charcoal eyes looked at him questioningly after noticing the bruises on his arms.

Altaïr's father studied him, his arms crossed over his chest. "Stand up."

Altaïr obeyed nervously. He stood, shaking, as Umar lbn-La'Ahad studied him, taking in his bruises and black eye. From within his mouth, Altaïr's tongue poked at the gap where his tooth had been knocked out. Altaïr's hands fidgeted over his chest nervously.

"It's nothing!" Altaïr insisted.

His father glowered down at him, and Altaïr flinched, thinking that his father was angry at him. "Who did this to you?" he snarled.

"I- I don't know them." Altaïr muttered, his golden eyes flicking towards the floor nervously, "They're older than me."

His father sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair, irritated and somewhat exasperated. He looks down at his son, who shifted his toes inwards and bit his lip, studying the stone floor beneath his small leather shoes intently. His father pinched the bridge of his nose and paced back and forth for a moment or so before turning back towards Altaïr, scowling.

"You can't let them do this to you, Altaïr." he said roughly.

"I don't let them do anything." Altaïr said defensively, "In fact, I think I actually managed to injure a couple of them today." he added proudly, recalling how he gave one of them a black eye.

"I mean you can't let them think they can do this to you at all." said his father, agitated, running his hands through his hair again.

Altaïr paused. "How?" he whispered, distressed.

His father crouched down to look at his son. "Make them know they can't mess with you." he said seriously.

Altaïr fell silent, pondering what his father had said. Once again, his leather boots shifted against the floor, as if ashamed. His father straightened again and gave Altaïr an appraising look, looking him up and down to see if he was terribly injured.

"I must speak with Al Mualim." he said eventually, turning towards the door and opening it. He shot one last glance at his son before he left, opening his mouth to say something more, before abruptly closing it again and ducking out of the room.

Altaïr sat back down on his bed, turning his father's words over in his mind, wondering what he should do. Eventually a plan formed in his mind. Not a very good plan, but maybe, just maybe it would work. Altaïr sled off of his bed and slipped off into the hall, heading towards the kitchens of the fortress.

He crept through the doors silently. None of the cooks noticed him, all had their backs to him as they prepared that night's dinner. Altaïr's golden eyes swept the room, quickly locating what he wanted on a cutting board next to a bloody chunk of what he guessed was lamb. The eight year old grabbed it from next to the meat and quickly ducked out of the room. Of course he had access to better ones, but one from the kitchen was least likely to be noticed absent. Besides, He could always return it later.

Altaïr returned to his room and hid it beneath his bed, wrapped in a cloth to keep it clean. It laid there like that for the rest of the night, until Altaïr got dressed in the morning and tucked it into his pants where it remained most of the day, unseen. He went about his business as usual, which at his age mostly meant playing with Malik and spying on the training Novices with him.

It wasn't until Malik left to go play in his room with Kadar that the bullies cornered Altaïr once more. The ringleader of the group seemed angrier than usual because of the black eye Altaïr had given him the previous day, and seemed determined to make him suffer for it. However, as the three older boys advanced, Altaïr drew the kitchen knife. The three boys froze, eyeing its shiny metal blade apprehensively.

"I will use this, you know." Altaïr growled, hoping they didn't notice the slight quiver in his voice, "I am not afraid."

The latter was a lie. Any child would be, but if they did try to harm him, he would attack. Being too young to train with actual weapons in actual fights, Altaïr didn't quite know how to use it, but the three bullies were as untrained as their would be victim, not to mention the three of them were unarmed. Altaïr had the upper hand in their situation.

"I will use this on you," Altaïr repeated, feeling stronger now at the scared and shocked looks on his tormentors' faces. "if you do not leave me, or any of my friends, alone." he added, thinking of Malik and Kadar.

"Fine." the leader hissed, his eyes not leaving the blade, "We were just playing, you know. But you took it too far."

"Of course I did." Altaïr thought savagely.

The three bullies turned and left, leaving Altaïr alone. Feeling incredibly proud of himself and self confident, he strode back to the kitchen and returned the knife, once again without being caught. Afterward he went back to his room to wait for his father to tell him all about his success.

The three bullies never bothered Altaïr again.

I wasn't too pleased with the ending with this one, I thought it was kind of weak and cheesy. I hope you enjoyed it anyways.

Thank you all so much for the reviews! It really makes me happy to know that people are actually reading and, most importantly, actually enjoying my writing! Thank you all so much! :D