Now, it's been a while since I've read "The Secret Crusade," and I seem to recall that it was only several years after the fact that Altaïr told Abbas of his father's suicide. If I am incorrect about this, I'm changing it around a bit because I also remember that Altaïr became a full member of the order after the fight shared between the two and their punishment, and eleven or twelve is a little early to become a full member of the order.

Oh, and Altaïr, don't worry; it'll get easier. ;)

Age 16:

Five years previously, two days after Altaïr's own father's execution Ahmad Sofian came into Altaïr's bedroom, blaming himself for Umar lbn-La'Ahad's death, and slit his own throat after begging desperately for forgiveness. Eleven year old Altaïr had immediately gone to Al Mualim and told him what happened and the master proceeded to clean up the corpse and dispose of it, advising Altaïr to never tell Abbas, Ahmad's only child and remaining family member, what happened.

However, in a moment of weakness, in May of his seventeenth year, Altaïr told him. Abbas had not reacted at the time, but the very next day he attacked Altaïr in training, shouting to everyone that he was a liar. The two spent the rest of the month in solitary confinement, before being released. Abbas was sentenced to a whole year of additional training. However, Al Mualim tested Altaïr on various things he had learned throughout his training, everything from different languages to sword fighting forms.

On June thirteenth, three days before Malik's seventeenth birthday, Al Mualim called Altaïr into his office. The old man of the mountain paced behind his desk, his hands folded behind his back, while Altaïr stood on the other side of the desk, his spine ridged, his face passive.

"It is time for one of your final chances to show me that you are ready to become a full member of our order." Al Mualim said eventually, "If you complete this task by July tenth, you will become a full member of our order on that day."

Altaïr's heartbeat quickened in excitement. July tenth was his seventeenth birthday, and that was about a month away. The corners of Altaïr's mouth twitched, as if he were about to grin, but he did not allow himself to break into a full smile, for the sake of remaining stoic before his master. He could do it, it didn't matter what the task was. After all, he was one if the best.

"You are to travel to Damascus and inquire to the Bureau leader, Basir, about a man called Talaat. You are to find information on this man, and then end his life. Do you understand?"

Altaïr nodded, determined, a flame of excitement beginning to burn in his stomach. In training, he had learned how and where to strike on the human body using a corpse, and he had been made to practice taking a life on animals, usually on dogs or mountain goats, but he had yet to actually take a human life. In spite of himself, a cold, determined grin crept up his face.

"Absolutely." said Altaïr.

Altaïr dropped into the Bureau of Damascus, remembering it's location from a trip to each of the Bureaus in the three major cities in the vicinity, Damascus, Jerusalem, and Acre, meeting the Rafiqs in charge of each one, and shadowing another assassin on one of his missions.

Altaïr stepped into the office area, suddenly feeling anxious, his eyes scanning about the room until he found a man facing away from him, painting a pot.

"Um, Basir?" he asked.

The man looked up at him, and Altaïr could see that he was not the Rafiq. Basir had been an older man, around his late forties with graying hair. The man behind the counter was younger, about twenty three, and he had black hair that was beginning to form a beard on his chin.

"I am Rahim." he said slowly, "Basir is my master, and he is out right now. Are you the Novice sent by Al Mualim?" he added, his tone brightening considerably.

Altaïr nodded. "My name is Altaïr."

Rahim broke into a wide grin. "Welcome to Damascus' Assassin Bureau, Altaïr."

"What can you tell me of the man called Talaat?" Altaïr asked, an unintentional note of impatience in his voice, as he moved further across the room so that he was opposite the man.

Rahim's enthusiasm did not waver in the slightest. "Ah, I am glad that Al Mualim chose him for you. He's been causing a bit of trouble, here, in Damascus.

"Now, as a reminder of how the Bureaus operate. You are to learn everything you can about your target. Normally, an assassin would speak to Informants about the city, but as this is your first human target, you are to collect the information yourself. Once you have figured out all you need to know, return here, and either my master or I will give you a feather. You are to bring it back here and use that feather as proof of your successful kill."

"Where do I start?" Altaïr said.

"I would recommend beginning your search at the Souk al-Silaah, in the Poor District." he said, rummaging around in his counter and drawing out a map of Damascus, pointing out the location of which he spoke, "Unfortunately, I cannot give you any other information than this. You'll have to find him on your own from there."

Altaïr nodded his thanks and headed back to the open area under the wooden lattice, just as a man, whom Altaïr recognized as Basir, dropped down from the roof. Altaïr paused, and the two momentarily made eye contact.

"Safety and peace, Novice." said Basir, moving past him into the office area. As Altaïr climbed out of the Bureau, he could hear the Rafiq discussing the teen's arrival with his apprentice.

Altaïr jumped from rooftop to rooftop, heading for the Souk al-Silaah. He took note that there were guards at the entrances of the souk, so he found a hole in the roof, and dropped down onto a platform from there, and then into the crowded bazaar. He easily melted into the crowd, eyes and ears open for any hint of his target.

It wasn't too long until he found a man conversing with a merchant called Talaat. Altaïr eavesdropped from a near by bench as the man and his target discussed an order of rugs and cloth that he had. Once the two men had finished discussing the order, Talaat sat back behind the counter on his stall, his hazel eyes jumping from person to person on the street, as if determined to memorize each person. However, he did not seem to take any notice of Altaïr.

For the next five days, Altaïr watched the man, learning of his habits, his schedule, and the places he frequented. For a while he could not figure out why the agents of Damascus had sent a request to Al Mualim to have this man be killed, for, in all aspects, he seemed to just be a normal merchant.

By the end of his first week, however, Altaïr his reason for being a target figured out; Talaat had been training himself to recognize the uniform of Informants, and would report them to the guard. This happened twice while Altaïr was gathering information on the man; the first Informant had caught wind of what Talaat was doing, and gathered his family and left Damascus before he could get caught. The second wasn't so lucky. The second Informant Talaat reported had resisted arrest and as a result was shot down by rooftop archers. He would spend the money he got from doing this at brothels, despite having a wife.

On Altaïr's eleventh day in Damascus, he deemed that he was ready to strike. Normally the information gathering for such an easy target did not last that long, but Altaïr wanted to be thorough. This was his first real mission, after all. He practically had his target's daily schedule memorized. He knew that around sunset he would walk back home alone, taking short, mostly disused alleyways to get back home faster. In fact, at that time of day, the only people in those alleyways besides Talaat and Altaïr were some drunks, who were too intoxicated to be aware of anything other than their alcohol addled brains.

Altaïr dropped into the Bureau around noon to find Basir behind the counter this time.

"Safety and peace, Novice Altaïr." he said. Rahim must have told him about Altaïr, which was to be expected, for Altaïr had not returned to the Bureau since his first day there, other than to mutely eat a meal once a day before rushing out again. He would sleep in the rooftop gardens near his target's house, so that he could keep a close eye on him.

"I am ready to kill my target." Altaïr declared.

"Oh?" said Basir, "Would you care to enlighten me as to why you know this?"

Altaïr went off, explaining literally everything he had learned of his target, even the things that were unimportant, and further explaining his plan to ambush him as he walked home for the night. As he spoke, Basir scratched his chin thoughtfully, nodding here and there.

Once Altaïr had finished, Basir said, "Your plan seems solid enough. I give you leave to go."

Altaïr nodded his thanks before climbing out of the Bureau and heading back to the market. He drifted in and out of the crowds staying within ten feet of his target at all times. Eventually, as the day dragged on, the crowd thinned enough so that Altaïr had to take refuge on the ceiling support beams to stay hidden from his target as he packed up his stall for the last time.

As Talaat walked home, Altaïr followed him from the rooftops. The shadows from the buildings in the setting sun cast the streets in darkness, along with both of the men. About a block away from Talaat's house, Altaïr dropped down into the street behind his target. Talaat must have heard the rustle of fabric as Altaïr landed or felt the rush of air as he did so, because he whipped around and drew a short knife. Altaïr drew his sword.

"Well, well." Talaat mused, not sounding remotely frightened, "I figured that they would send one of you bastards after me eventually."

Altaïr leveled his sword and lunged. Talaat jumped aside and jabbed at the teen with his knife. Altaïr noticed that he moved and struck with such precision that he must have been trained as a guard before he became a merchant.

Blade clashed against blade as the two fought. Any who may have heard them fighting would have steered clear of the area, and the guards for whatever reason did not interfere either, for which Altaïr was grateful. It made his attack on Talaat a lot easier.

Eventually, after the sun had fully set, Talaat's blade caught on Altaïr's hood, tearing it off. Altaïr scowled at the man, aiming a slash at Talaat's side.

"Look at you." Talaat sneered, mockingly, "You're still just a child!"

"I am not a child!" Altaïr yelled, his voice cracking horribly at the last word.

Talaat laughed cruelly, which stopped abruptly. His eyes seemed to bug out of his head, and a trickle of blood spurted from his mouth. His eyes looked down at the handle of Altaïr's blade, which was against his stomach, its blade protruding out of his back on the other side. Talaat's eyes slid back up to Altaïr's golden ones, and his mouth formed a single word.

"Why?" Talaat whispered.

Altaïr put his free hand against Talaat's chest and pulled his sword out of the man. His target collapsed on the street, a large pool of blood forming around him, lapping at Altaïr's leather boots. Talaat's eyes were still wide open, but they were dull and glazed where as moments before they had been so full of life. His expression was frozen in that at the time of his face, leering, but with growing shock.

As Altaïr looked down at his first victim, he felt something he did not expect. He had been surrounded by death his whole life. Not only that, but he had been training to do this very thing for a very long time. He had seen corpses before, he had even seen a man take his own life in a very violent way when he was just eleven. He had gone as a shadow on other assassin's mission, to watch them on a murder. He had been prepared for almost every reaction after his very first human murder, but Altaïr had not been prepared for feeling ill.

Altaïr clapped his hand over his mouth, for fear that he would vomit all over Talaat's corpse. He tugged his hood back up, put his sword away, and ran the white feather in the blood before Altaïr ran around the corner and jumped into a cart of hay to sit for a while and clear his mind and calm his stomach.

Thoughts raced through his mind, and the world around him seemed to tilt and whirl. He needed to get under control. He needed to get used to murder. He would be doing this for the rest of his life, and he can't freak out about it every time. Besides, if he let how freaked out he was show, Al Mualim may delay his ceremony of becoming a full member of the order. It was best to just let it out now, and not let it show later.

Altaïr held the bloodied, once-white feather before his eyes, his right hand shaking horribly. He put his left back over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut as he heard a woman, Talaat's wife probably, call out for him near by.

"Talaaaaaat!" she called, "Talaaaa-"

The woman's voice broke out into a scream. Altaïr could hear the sobs of the woman from around the corner, along with her yelling, "No!" repeatedly. Then, most terrible of all, Altaïr heard the voice of a little girl, who couldn't have been more than four.

"Daddy! Daddy, no! Daddy!" the child screamed.

Altaïr couldn't hold it in any longer, and vomited in the hay. He stayed there for a long time, listening to the crying of Talaat's family, the stench of his own sick starting to get to him. Eventually, Altaïr managed to regain his composure and slid fluidly out of the hay. He crushed the feather in his hand as he ran through the streets back towards the Bureau.

Altaïr was lucky enough to find Rafiq Basir still awake. He was painting complicated designs on a pot by light of an oil lamp when the teen entered. Wordlessly, Altaïr presented the Rafiq with the bloody feather as he walked through the doorway to the office area.

"Excellent." said Basir, pulling out his log book along with a pot of ink and a quill, "Tell me what happened."

"I- I followed Talaat home from his stall at the Souk al-Silaah at sunset." Altaïr began, stifling the quiver in his voice, "I ambushed him, and we... fought. Then I killed him."

The Rafiq studied Altaïr. "Is that all?"

"Yes." said the Novice.

"And are you... okay?" Basir added.

Altaïr stiffened. "I am not injured." he said.

"I can see that, but I did not mean physically." said Basir dryly.

"I'm fine." Altaïr insisted stubbornly.

Basir finished recording the success of Altaïr's mission in the book, muttering, "If you say so." After a pause, he added, "Just so you know, it is perfectly natural to feel sickened or scared after your first murder."

Altaïr stood stiffly a couple feet away from the Dai, waiting to be dismissed, as he set the book aside for the ink to dry and turned back towards the pot he was painting. Through a closed mouth, Altaïr yawned, suddenly taking notice of how tired he was. From behind the desk, the Rafiq smirked.

"Get some sleep." he ordered, without looking up, "You will begin your journey back to Masyaf in the morning."