Age 11:

Altaïr and Malik were in the bedroom that the former shared with his father. Altaïr was sprawled on his own bed, facing the ceiling, while Malik bounced on Umar's bed, giddy in his enthusiasm.

They had been told a couple of days ago that they would soon become novices to the order, and both boys were brimming with excitement and, despite the siege occurring, with an army attacking Masyaf, the two boys were without a care in the world.

They were old enough to understand that their home was under attack, and that they were in danger, but they didn't understand who was leading the siege, or why, and both boys were too absorbed in their own exhilaration that they didn't bother to ask. After all, it didn't particularly concern them, right?

"I hope it's soon." said Malik reverently, "I just can't wait to finally become a Novice!"

Altaïr sat bolt upright in his bed and turned towards his friend, his face broken into a huge grin. "We should ask Al Mualim!" he said excitedly.

Malik's head bobbed in agreement. "We should!" he agreed in equal enthusiasm.

"We should ask him, right now!" Altaïr said, leaping to his feet and grabbing Malik's arm to pull him into a standing position.

The two children ran through Masyaf towards Al Mualim's office, only to find it empty. They frowned, confused, before asking a random assassin where they could find him. The assassin seemed somewhat dazed, his eyes blank as he addressed the two boys.

"Oh... He's outside, addressing the enemy. I wouldn't go out there, though, if I were you." he said.

Altaïr nodded, and turned around, heading for the courtyard outside. Malik paused only to thank the man before heading out after his friend.

Out in the courtyard, it took Altaïr and Malik a couple moments to locate Al Mualim, who was standing on one of the highest towers of the fortress with two other men that the two children recognized as their fathers.

The main gate to the fortress was closed, and a small crowd of maybe about twenty assassins was standing directly in front of it, although the two boys could see a group of people from the opposing army standing on the other side.

"His Majesty Salah Al'din accepts your offer of peace." a man from the group of people outside of the gate, an envoy most likely, called up to Al Mualim.

Malik froze and grabbed Altaïr's arm. "That man was right, we shouldn't be here." he hissed, "We can ask Al Mualim later."

Altaïr jerked his arm away. "No, I want to see what's going on."

Malik scowled at him, before turning away and running back to the fortress without another word. Altaïr positioned himself so that he could have a clearer view of what was happening both within and outside the walls of Masyaf.

"Have we his assurance that our sect can operate without further hostilities, and no further interference with our activities?" asked Al Mualim.

"As long as interests allow, you have that assurance." said the envoy.

"Then I accept His Majesty's offer." came Al Mualim's reply, sounding pleased, "You may remove your men from Masyaf. Perhaps you would be good enough to restore our stockade before you go."

Through the crowd, Altaïr could see a man on a strong, white stallion lean over and whisper something to the envoy, who nodded as the man on horseback spoke to him.

The envoy shouted back up towards the tower, "During the delivery of the message, one of Salah Al'din's most trusted generals was killed. His Majesty requires reparation. The head of the culprit."

The entire courtyard went quiet. The only sounds were the sound of horses, the wind, and bird song.

Altaïr frowned; he knew that Malik was right, that this was probably something that he shouldn't be seeing, but at that point his curiosity had sparked, and he was extremely curious of who the "culprit" was. Odds were that it was someone he did not know, but he was curious anyways.

"You may tell the Sultan that I reject his demand." Al Mualim answered.

The man on horseback shrugged, an leaned over to speak to the envoy once more.

"His Excellency wishes to inform you that unless you agree to the demand a force will remain here at Masyaf, and that our patience is greater than your store of supplies." called the envoy, "Would you have the peace agreement count for nothing? Would you allow your villagers and your men to starve, all for the head of one assassin? His Excellency dearly hopes not."

From up on the tower, Altaïr could see his father shift and say something he could not hear to Al Mualim. The master ignored whatever Altaïr's father had to say, and addressed the invaders once more.

"I will not give up the life of one of my men." said the old man of the mountain.

"Then His Excellency regrets your decision, and asks that you bare witness to another matter in need of resolution. We have discovered the existence of a spy in our camp, and he must be executed." the envoy called up to the tower.

On the other side of the gate, Altaïr could see the men drag out another man in once- white assassin robes. His face was battered and bloody, and his eye lids were half closed, indicating that he was barely conscious. Altaïr recognized the man as Ahmad Sofian. Although he had never really spoken to the man, Altaïr knew that he had a son a little bit older than he called Abbas. Altaïr didn't really know Abbas, but at that point in time he hoped that, for his own sake, Abbas was inside the fortress of Masyaf, so he wouldn't have to witness what was about to happen.

Behind Ahmad came two men baring an executioner's block, who placed it on the ground before the important looking man's stallion. After them came the executioner, bearing a wickedly sharp, jeweled scimitar at his hip.

Ahmad was dragged to the executioner's block and was draped there, throat up. The executioner took his position, planting his feet wide and with both hands on his scimitar, raised it high in the air, angling it so that its blade caught the sunlight.

"Let your man take his place," the envoy drawled. "and his life will be spared, the peace treaty honored. If not, he dies, the siege begins, and your people starve."

The man on horseback raised his head to shout up at the tower, "Do you want that on your conscience, Umar lbn-La'Ahad?"

Altaïr froze as the other assassins within the courtyard in took their breath sharply. The world around him seemed to fall away around him as the man's words and what was happening came into sharper focus. They wanted to kill his father. They wanted to take him away from Altaïr. They wanted to orphan him.

But he wouldn't give himself up, right? Right?

Horror struck, Altaïr looked over through the gate at Ahmad. This was his fault. He was the one who gave up his father's name. Clearly under torture, of course, but he gave him up nonetheless.

From upon the tower, Altaïr could see his father shift from next to Al Mualim, who's shoulders were slumped. Faheem Al-Sayf stood a short distance behind them, spine stiff and face impassive.

"Last chance, assassin!" yelled the man on horseback.

"Stop!" Umar's voice rang about the courtyard. Altaïr's heart sank. He watched as his father moved to a platform of the tower and continued to address the man on horseback, "I am Umar lbn-La'Ahad. It is my life you should take."

On the other side if the gate, the men muttered excitedly to one another. The man on horseback smirked as Ahmad, still pressed against the executioner's block, moaned softly to himself. The man on horseback nodded at the executioner, who lowered the point of his blade to the ground and stepped back from Ahmad.

"Very well." said the man to Altaïr's father, "Come, take your place on the block."

Altaïr couldn't move; his legs seemed to have turned to lead, and were rooted to the spot as he watched his father look up and speak briefly to Al Mualim, once again sharing words that the eleven year old could not hear, before descending one of the many latters leading into the courtyard below, which seemed to have had an eerie, mournful silence cloaking it.

Altaïr's father walked through the clearing, his steps echoing against the stone and bouncing against the walls as he stepped. As Umar reached the crowd of assassins just on the inside of the gate, they parted for him like the sea, leaving his path to the gate clear. At the wicket gate, someone rushed forward to open it for him.

Altaïr forced himself into movement, and made his voice work. "FATHER!" he shouted, his strangled cry echoing as Umar's footsteps had done.

Altaïr ran forward to where the path through the assassins was already filling in. Several of them on the edge threw him piteous glances, but no one spoke.

"FATHER!" Altaïr yelled again.

He started to attempt to force his way through the crowd. Now the assassin's reacted, attempting to push him back, hissing at him that he should go back inside of the fortress, and that he shouldn't witness this. However, he ignored them and continued to try to get to his father.

Altaïr heard the sound of the wicket gate opening and then closing again after a moments pause, opening wide enough just for his father to slip outside beneath them, leaving Masyaf forever.

"No! No! No!" thought Altaïr desperately, "You can't kill him! He's the only family I have left!"

Altaïr could hear a groan from Ahmad on the other side of the gate as the invaders dumped him outside of the gate. The wicket gate opened once more as a couple of assassins dragged Ahmad inside and hauled him gently to his feet.

"I have to stop them!" Altaïr repeated these words over and over in his mind like a mantra, almost verging on madness.

He ran around the edge of the crowd and forced himself through the assassins next to the stone wall of the fortress. He grabbed the bars of the gate with his right hand while his left reached through, desperately grabbing at his father who's head was turned away from him as his neck was rested and exposed on the executioner's block. The executioner once again took his stance.

"FATHER!" Altaïr screamed once more before he was jerked backwards and folded into someone's arms.

From behind him, Altaïr could hear a swishing sound, and froze. Then, sickeningly, there was a dull thump as what Altaïr knew to be his father's head hitting the ground. Altaïr's face paled, and his golden eyes widened in horror, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Altaïr shrieked, thrashing harder than ever to escape the hands holding him, to escape Masyaf, to reach the other side of the gate to be with his father.

"No, child." said a rough, scratchy voice.

Altaïr looked up to see the battered and bloody face of Ahmad, the man whom his father had given up his life to save. He didn't care that Ahmad was so weak that he was barely able to stand, he had been tortured, and he was probably already terribly ashamed that he had given up Umar's name to the enemy. He only cared that his father had given himself up to die because of that man.

"IT'S YOUR FAULT!" Altaïrscreamed, twisting and pulling his body away from Ahmad, who's head was hung in shame. Ahmad's eyes were squeezed shut in acknowledgment of Altaïr's words. He absorbed each word like another blow to the stomach.

"It's your fault." Altaïr spat bitterly.

Altaïr's ankles lost feeling and he sank to his knees in the grass. He pressed his elbows to his knees and buried his face into the heels of his hands, crying brokenly, sobs racking his tiny body as he tried to block out the world, and trying desperately to convince himself that what had just happened didn't.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually he became aware that the crowd had retrieved his father's body and taken it back to the main fortress along with Ahmad, who had collapsed from exhaustion.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Altaïr could hear his father speaking, telling him a story from when he was little. "Of course, I had a different last name when I lived with my parents, your grandparents, on their sheep farm, but that's not important. I was always bored with that life, and so I left. I left, changed my last name to lbn-La'Ahad, and found the fabled fortress of assassins that my father would tell me and my three older brothers tales of when we were younger."

lbn'La-Ahad; son of none. Altaïr truly belonged to his name now. He had no one left in the world. He was all alone. He had never had a mother, and now his father was gone too. He was orphaned.

These thoughts brought on another wave of grief, and Altaïr released another strangled sob. His fingers ran through his brown hair, making it messier than it was before.

The sky above turned orange and yellow as the sun dipped below into the mountains surrounding the fortress. Altaïr's shadow lengthened and his limbs became stiff for sitting curled up there for so long. Eventually the eleven-year-old heard the sound of approaching footsteps, but he was too miserable and depressed to look up to see who it was. The person crouched down next to him and put his hand on Altaïr's back, who took another shaking breath and hiccuped slightly.

When the person spoke, he spoke with the voice of Faheem Al-Sayf. "Come on." he said gruffly, "You must be tired. Why don't we head back to the fortress? Don't you want some dinner?"

Altaïr hesitated and mutely shook his head, which was still buried into his hands.

Faheem released a sigh through his nose. "Well, you shouldn't stay here. Why don't you at least go back to your room? You aught to rest."

Altaïr looked up slowly with tear-stained cheeks. Faheem's face was drawn, and he was tired and haggard. Most of all, however, Faheem looked concerned for the child before him, which Altaïr found surprising, for some reason.

"O-okay." Altaïr whispered, his voice hoarse.

Slowly, with Faheem's help, Altaïr got to his feet. Faheem led the distraught child back to the castle, and all the way to in front of the door to the room he shared, or used to share, with his father. Altaïr was about to open the door and go inside, but Faheem stopped him. He put his hands gently on Altaïr's shoulders and crouched down so that he was eye-level with him.

"If you ever need anything, anything at all, feel free to ask." said Faheem seriously.

He straightened, looking like he wanted to say something else, but shook his head and headed off in the direction of his own room. Altaïr took a deep breath and attempted to gather his courage before opening the door to the small bedroom. He took one look at his own, smaller bed before turning towards the larger one that had belonged to his father before laying face down in the latter, tears running down the orphan's face once more.

Dialogue from "The Secret Crusade" by Oliver Bowden.

This may make me a horrible person, but I was really looking forward to this chapter. I find it easy and fun to write about extreme emotions such as fury or grief. There are just so many words you can use, provided you have a good vocabulary, and for some reason it just seems to flow a little smoother.