Age 10:

Altaïr could not understand why Malik enjoyed reading so much. In his eyes, it just seemed so boring and pointless. As a result, when he was sitting next to Malik at the dock next to the river while watching Kadar swim in the water, Altaïr kept poking Malik repeatedly on the shoulder.

"Malik, this is boring!" Altaïr groaned, kicking his legs over the water.

"For the love of... Shut up, Altaïr!" Malik growled, clenching his book.

"Why can't we do something fun for once?" complained Altaïr.

"You're welcome to get into the water if you want, and stop irritating me." Malik snapped.

Altaïr ignored him and continued to groan and grouse about how terribly boring it was to just sit there on the dock. Eventually, Malik got so fed up that he snapped his book shut and roughly shoved Altaïr into the water below, yelling at him to shut up.

Altaïr flew through the air and into the water below, and panic fluttered in his chest like a caged bird. He could hear the two Al-Sayfs snickering before his head went under water, for the two of them didn't seem to know that he couldn't swim. He looked up at Kadar, who was treading water at the surface, and tried to mimic his fluid, graceful movements, but Altaïr only managed to push himself further down.

Altaïr opened his mouth in panic, and his breath flew upwards in a stream of bubbles. He tried to scream but more bubbles just emptied out of his mouth. He accidentally inhaled water, coughing and sputtering, and a burning sensation started to creep into his body.

"No! Help! Please!" Altaïr tried to scream, only managing to draw more salt water into his already burning lungs.

Silence seemed to be closing in on him as he flailed around, trying to force himself upwards, but he couldn't; Altaïr only seemed to be moving downwards and away from the poles that were supporting the dock above. He kicked his feet, searching desperately for some traction, or quite possibly something to push up from, but finding nothing.

"No! Not like this!" he thought desperately.

Seconds felt like hours as Altaïr whipped his head around, trying to look for something to push off from, but the nearest pole supporting the dock he could possibly climb up was too far away; he couldn't possibly struggle fast enough to get there in time, let alone to climb it. Besides, even from that distance Altaïr could tell that it was slimy, and there were no good hand holds on it, so he probably wouldn't be able to climb it anyways.

Altaïr's vision was starting to darken, and what he could see was blurring. A horrible feeling of euphoria washed over him. His mind started to slow down, and he felt completely relaxed. Altaïr stopped struggling, and if he were able, he would have sighed in bliss. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what was happening, and it scared him.

Altaïr was dying, and there was nothing he could do. He was going to drown.

He pictured the faces of the other assassins; of his friends, of his family. His father. Faheem. Al Mualim. Kadar. Malik. Every single person Altaïr had ever known, in Masyaf. He pictured their faces, sad, but attempting to stay stoic, at his funeral. His funeral.

"Would they even bother to retrieve my body?" Altaïr found himself thinking dully, wondering how many people would bother coming to a foolish ten year old's funeral, barely conscious anymore. He wondered why he didn't just let go, and allow himself to die.

Altaïr looked up towards the surface, his eyelids half closed. He thought he see a dark shape moving towards him, a hand reaching out to grab his own. He reached out for the shape, in spite of himself. Altaïr didn't care that he was dead; not even a little bit.

The hand closed around Altaïr's wrist and the shape moved upwards, dragging him along with it. It took Altaïr a moment to realize that we were, indeed, heading towards the surface, and that the water around him seemed to be rushing downwards. However, he was confused; what was going on?

The two heads broke the surface, but still it seemed that Altaïr could not breath. But that did not seem to bother his body, which seemed to know what to do; it convulsed, and Altaïr vomited sea water and bits of food into the water around us. He could not see, but he could tell that his rescuer was dragging him ashore, his left hand still holding onto the wrist of Altaïr's right arm, which was now slung over his shoulders. He was dimly aware of people talking, but he couldn't make out the words.

Once Altaïr's stomach emptied itself of its contents, he gratefully drew the sweet, sweet oxygen into his lungs. It felt like heaven. As he laid on his back on the sandy shore, as the clear, azure blue sky slowly came into focus, Altaïr promised that he would never take air for granted again. Altaïr was still too exhausted and out of breath to laugh, but he felt almost giddy with amazement that he was still alive.

Slowly, the angry, disapproving face of Altaïr's rescuer came into focus. He looked down at him, soaking wet, his clothes and hair dripping onto Altaïr's face. His arms were crossed over his chest as he glared at him, and yet he had never been so happy to see someone in my entire, short, miserable life.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" Malik hissed.

"Oh, you know." Altaïr said weakly, once he found his voice again, "Just drowning."

"You moron." he snarled, starting to pace, "Can't you swim?"

"You think that'd be obvious." Altaïr said, ignoring the obvious jibe.

Malik glared at him, his charcoal eyes seeming to bore into Altaïr's soul, shaking his head in irritation, muttering to himself about how stupid he was.

"Can't your dad teach you or something?" asked Kadar timidly, suddenly coming into view.

"He's too busy." Altaïr muttered, "Why didn't you immediately go after me when I went under?"

"We thought you were just joking." Kadar mumbled, "Like you were trying to make Malik feel bad for pushing you in."

"After a couple moments we realized that you actually needed help." Malik added.

Altaïr suddenly became aware of how cold it was. The air was biting at his cold, wet skin, and when Altaïr shivered violently, and the two other boys noticed, watching him with careful eyes, Malik's dark brown, Kadar's bright blue.

"Can you stand?" Malik sighed, obviously still irritated, after a second or two.

"Maybe." he said, noticing that his voice was still weak and scratchy.

Malik held out his hand, and pulled him shakily to his feet. Leaning heavily on him for support, the three of them headed back up the hill to Masyaf.

"By the way," Malik said, shooting him a sideways glance as they walked. "do you want to learn how to swim? Our dad can teach you."

"Not in a million years." Altaïr said bitterly, "I am never doing that again."