Age 18:
Altaïr leaped across the rooftops of Jerusalem, heading for the bazaar where one of the Informers suggested he eavesdrop and search for information on his target. Although he was doubtful, it was better than nothing. He found his target a little difficult to acquire information on, but this didn't bother him; as long as his mission was completed.
He strode into the market place, his eyes quickly coming to rest on a bench that was partially hidden between two stalls. Perfect. He sat down between the two people on the bench, the man on his left dozing lightly, the woman on his right so wrapped in veils that Altaïr didn't know what she was doing. The young assassin's eyes swept around the area and his ears listened to the cheerful babble of the people around him, searching for anything that could be of any use to him.
Eventually a young man about his age caught Altaïr's eyes. He was fidgeting nervously near by, his hands held behind his back. Altaïr frowned, staring at him. Why was he so nervous? Was he planning to do something?
The woman sitting next to Altaïr seemed to notice him too. Her hands reached up and adjusted her veil, revealing two large, brown eyes, and warm cheeks. She stood up abruptly, and busied herself with organizing some apples at the fruit stall across from the bench in an almost too inconspicuous manner.
As Altaïr watched, the man shuffled forward towards the woman, his hands still held behind his back. The assassin watched them, interested. What are they doing?
"Um, Aludra?" the man asked timidly.
The woman turned, her eyes flashing false surprise. From beneath her veil, Altaïr could tell that she was smiling. "Oh, hello, Dirar." she said brightly, "What brings you here today?"
Still fidgeting with whatever he hand behind his back, Dirar said, "I wanted to see you."
"Oh!" Aludra said, sounding happy, "It's good to see you. How is your father?"
"Still a bit ill, I'm afraid." Dirar said, his expression darkening, before looking up to make eye contact with Aludra again, his cheeks reddening.
"I'm sorry to hear that." she said sympathetically. Her right arm moved as if to place her hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but it fell at her side, as she must have remembered to keep her place, as they were in public.
"It's okay." said Dirar, before stuttering, "Um, I brought you these."
From behind his back, Dirar brought out a large bouquet of white jasmine flowers. From Aludra's body language, Altaïr could tell that she was as embarrassed and nervous as Dirar as she took the flowers from the man's trembling hands. She inhaled them deeply, and smiled from beneath her veil again.
"Thank you so much." she said sincerely, "How did you know that jasmine was my favorite?"
"I guessed." Dirar admitted shyly, twisting the toe of his boot into the dirt and staring at it determinedly as he did so.
"Thank you." Aludra said again, "I love them."
"I-I'll be back with another gift tomorrow!" blurted Dirar anxiously, looking Aludra in the eye again.
"That's very sweet of you." she said.
"Um, I'll see you tomorrow?" he said.
"Absolutely." Aludra agreed.
Dirar turned away and waded back into the crowd, a slight spring in his step, looking much happier than he had before, as Aludra went into her stall, momentarily out of sight, and returning with a vase in which she put her new bouquet of jasmine and set it upon the counter.
Altaïr looked away, mixed emotions swirling in his mind. He would never get to do that. He wouldn't have a normal life, never have and never would. He would never have a life that would be perceived as a normal one. He would never court a woman, or get married, have children, or fall in love.
Of course, there was no specific rule put in place preventing the assassins from marriage and having children, Altaïr himself being the product of one such union, but Altaïr had already decided a long time ago that he wouldn't. The life of an assassin was dangerous, and there was always the possibility that he would die on mission, or get caught by the enemies, and leave his wife and children alone, much like his father did to him so many years ago. He couldn't do that to his family, as much as he wanted one. No one should experience what he felt seven years ago.
Altaïr stood up from the bench, deciding that he wouldn't get any useful information from that part of the market, a heavy feeling of accepted loneliness settling on his shoulders as he went.
Once again, I am trying to plan a few chapters ahead, so I'm already trying to decide what I want to do for age twenty six. Obviously that is the age they are in the game, and I already know that I want it to have something to do with the events of Solomon's Temple. I have two ideas in mind for this, the first being Al Mualim calling them to his office and telling them of the mission, the other being not too long after the amputation of Malik's arm. Just tell me what you would rather read, and that's the one I'll publish. :)