I wanted to do a chapter on how Altair got the scar across his mouth, and this is it. I was torn, because I wanted to do something where he saves someone from something, and gets the scar that way, but I also liked the idea of Al Mualim giving him the scar, too, so I tried to find some way to combine the two, and this was the result. :)

I have a question for my readers; should I end the series when Altair and Malik are still young (I was thinking of ending it around age twenty seven), or end it later on, when they're older (i.e, stories from both The Secret Crusade, and Revelations, including both of their deaths). What do you think? I want your opinion.

Age 12:

Malik and Altaïr rarely had time to study and train with one another, what between Altaïr's frequent trainings with Abbas and Al Mualim, and the daily chaos that was a part of being a novice assassin, but the two always attempted to make time for each other.

One hot summer afternoon, with the sun beating down on them, Malik and Altaïr trained in sword fighting in the ring. The other Novices near their age, Al Mualim, and Labib, the group's mentor, stood at the edge of the ring, watching them.

Altaïr planted his feet wide and angled his wooden sword at Malik, who did the same, both shifting their weight on the back foot, each expecting the other to strike first. When neither of them did, Altaïr decided to attack. He lunged forward and arced his sword high in a strike that would have caught Malik on his head if he hadn't blocked it. Malik attempted to strike at Altaïr's side, but he too blocked, before twisting his wooden blade against Malik's, sending it flying out of his hand. Altaïr kicked his leg behind Malik's ankles, sending him tumbling to the ground. Altaïr pointed his wooden sword directly at Malik's neck.

"Knock him out, Altaïr." called Al Mualim blatantly.

Altaïr frowned. "What was the point? I've already won." he thought.

Altaïr recalled last week when one of the Novices had knocked another out, the one who had been knocked out said that, when he had woken up about a day later, his vision was blurry, he had a pounding headache, and he had trouble speaking. Altaïr looked down at Malik, who's dark eyes stared up at the former challengingly, and he couldn't imagine doing that to him.

So Altaïr ignored Al Mualim and lowered his sword. With his free hand, he pulled Malik to his feet. Malik stared at him in surprise, his eyebrows raised, but he nodded his thanks. Altaïr could tell that he was thinking about the Novice from last week, too.

The two looked over at the other assassins. The other Novices looked confused, and Labib looked annoyed. Al Mualim looked surprised, but his expression was slowly transforming into fury. Altaïr, subconsciously bit his lip.

"Malik, get out of the ring." said the master coldly.

Altaïr, a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, watched Malik cross the training ring to pick up his fallen sword before clambering out of the side, as Al Mualim climbed inside, and pulled out his own steel sword.

As soon as Altaïr had helped Malik to his feet, he knew that he would have to be punished. He disobeyed a direct order from Al Mualim, and he must be made an example of. He knew that Al Mualim needed to maintain control over the order, and that those who disobeyed his orders would need to be punished, especially if they disobeyed him publicly. Was it worth it? Altaïr wondered silently, as Al Mualim strode towards him, his robes billowing behind him.

"Yes." the more righteous part of him insisted.

"Stand still." Al Mualim commanded.

Altaïr braced, as Al Mualim slashed and cut at Altaïr's skin. The cuts weren't deep enough to do any actual damage, but they still stung. Although as time progressed, Altaïr's wounds became more and more painful, until it was all he could do not to cry out in pain, because he knew that if he cried out, he would have to stay up there for even longer.

This sort of thing happened on occasion in Al Mualim's private study, whether the master was training him to withstand pain, or he actually had defied him somehow. Like most teachers, Al Mualim picked favorites, which meant that Altaïr got beaten more often than Abbas. Al Mualim had chosen Altaïr as his favorite, which meant that he was tougher on him. Privately, at that moment in the training ring, Altaïr was grateful that the master was going so easy on him.

Eventually, Altaïr couldn't keep it in any longer, and released a quiet sigh if pain. Al Mualim raised the eyebrow over his bad eye, and rammed the flat of his blade against Altaïr's hand, making the wooden sword fly out of his hand, before slashing his blade down across his face.

A large gash opened up across his mouth, opening his lips grotesquely, revealing his teeth every time he moved his face. Altaïr gasped in surprise, clapping his hands to his face, smearing them with blood, which oozed from the wound out between his fingers. Al Mualim nodded like he was satisfied, before ramming his fist into Altaïr's temple.

The world jerked out from beneath him, and Altaïr fell forward onto the ground. The world continued to spin sickeningly, and the twelve-year-old's vision blurred, black spots popping on his vision. He was vaguely aware of someone saying something, most likely Al Mualim, and there was a couple moments pause before Altaïr felt two sets of hands haul him to his feet and start to drag him somewhere. Next thing he knew the worried faces of Malik and Abbas were staring down at him from next to the ring.

"Are you okay?" Abbas asked roughly as the two helped him sit up after a moment or so or rest.

Altaïr opened his mouth to speak, but the skin around the mutilated wound on his mouth flapped ghoulishly, so Altaïr fell silent, and put one hand over his mouth before nodding.

Malik sighed, exasperated, and said, "No you're not."

Altaïr didn't move, because he knew that Malik was right. Every part if his body ached, his head throbbed painfully, and his multiple cuts stung. Altaïr sighed from behind his hand an leaned against the side of the training ring, where he could hear two other Novices now fighting inside.

The three sat there mutely for a little while, Abbas's lips pinched together in worry, and Malik staring at Altaïr searchingly for a while, subconsciously cleaning his wounds with a cloth, until the sounds of combat from within the ring abruptly ceased.

"Abbas! Rauf!" Al Mualim called, "You two are next!"

Abbas nodded, shot a glance at Altaïr, before standing up and scurrying away, leaving Altaïr alone with Malik.

"Come on." Malik said, "We need to get you some medical attention."

Altaïr hesitated, and shook his head without really knowing why.

Malik scowled at him. "Don't be stupid." he snapped.

Malik grabbed Altaïr's arm in a way Altaïr was sure was meant to be gentle, and pulled him to his feet. Altaïr released a small cry of pain, muffled behind his hand. Malik practically dragged Altaïr before the master.

"Master," Malik said, his head bowed respectfully. "may I have permission to take Altaïr to the infirmary?"

Al Mualim paused, tearing his eyes away from Abbas and Rauf in the ring to study the two boys before him.

"Fine." he said eventually, "And let this be a warning, Altaïr." he added.

Malik lead Altaïr through the halls of Masyaf. Even though he knew exactly where the infirmary was, Altaïr allowed his friend to half-drag him by his free arm, his right hand still clapped over his mouth.

Once they reached the infirmary, a medic immediately swooped down on them. "What can I do for you, boys?" he asked kindly.

"We had a training accident." said Malik smoothly, pulling Altaïr's hand away from his mouth.

The medic inspected him for a moment before smiling lightly and sitting Altaïr down in a chair.

"Nothing to worry about, dear." he said kindly, "You just need some stitches."

After the medic cleaned up the blood and stitched Altaïr's face back together, a procedure that would have made a normal child his age cry, the medic informed him that he would make a full recovery and that he'll have a lisp for a little while while it healed, and reminding him blatantly to be more careful next time, the medic sent the two boys on their way.

They were about to head back when, just outside of the infirmary when Altaïr grabbed Malik's shoulder, stopping him. Malik paused and turned around, an eyebrow quirked questioningly.

Altaïr shifted on his feet uncomfortably before muttering, "Thanks."

Malik allowed a small smile to grace his lips. "No need to thank me. Besides, I should be thanking you. You didn't knock me out."

Altaïr shrugged nonchalantly. "We should probably head back."