Age 25:

Life as a Master Assassin was good. He went on the most dangerous missions, he didn't have to deal with the Informers, who would do all of the work for him and report back to the Bureau there, and the Novices of Masyaf were all looking up to him. A day did not go by when he wasn't on mission that the younger generation of would-be assassins did not pester him to tell them all about his latest mission, or gawk openly as he practiced fighting with Rauf in the training ring. He got paid the most, and he also got a lot of time to complete his missions too, unlike the other, "normal assassins," who almost always had a time limit. He also got to speak to Al Mualim when ever he liked in the Master's private office, provided he wasn't busy. The Master would talk to him and a couple of the other Master Assassins to help him make decisions, lacking a second-in-command man.

Still, to Altaïr, something didn't seem right. Whenever he looked at Malik he felt the unfamiliar feeling of guilt stir and pinch at his stomach and would quickly look away before the other man would notice, or at least he would attempt to. On occasion they caught each other's gaze, but Altaïr would always look away quickly to avoid embarrassment.

These were the thoughts that were swirling around in Altaïr's mind one evening in Masyaf, in the dining hall. The words of their promise to one another as children echoed in his mind.

"And we'll become Master Assassins together, right?" Malik's seven year old voice would ask, sounding uncertain, maybe even pleading.

His voice would always respond in an almost patronizing way, his tone reprimanding his friend for asking about something that should have been obvious all along. "Of course! We always do everything together, and we always will! I don't see why that should change when we're adults."

How naïve they had been! The world around them was changing and shifting as they grew and changed themselves. The two, without either of them really realizing it, had branched apart in their most recent years, as childhood friends often did, and Altaïr doubted that they or their friendship would ever be the same again. They had grown up. They had become killers. They were no longer the innocent little children who had begged their fathers to save the life of an already dead bird, an event that neither could really remember, but just a story that Faheem Al-Sayf had told them a few weeks before his death, so many years ago.

Altaïr watched his former friend across the dining hall, his eyes glazed as he remembered the better times until he blinked several times and realized that Malik had caught Altaïr watching him as well. The latter was surprised to see a look of utter contempt and jealousy in the other assassin's eyes. Altaïr had looked away, golden eyes flickering downwards guiltily, and he stabbed moodily at his dinner of roast lamb, pita bread, and hummus.

Does Malik really despise me that much? Altaïr wondered, staring determinedly at his plate, not wanting to look up again.

What Altaïr really wanted was to rekindle their friendship and have everything go back to the way it was previously, when they were Novices, or maybe even before, but, once again, that was impossible. There was just too much that was different, and clearly what was different no one could do anything about. It was just... life. Altaïr wanted to talk to Malik again, to see if they could figure out why they had grown apart, but Altaïr was too busy now, and even if he wasn't, he couldn't figure out how to speak to him anymore.

Altaïr wondered what he did to Malik to deserve such anger. Sure he broke their mutual promise of becoming Master Assassins together, but in Altaïr's mind it wasn't that bad. Besides, they were children when they had made that promise to one another, and Malik shouldn't hold him to something stupid he said when he was little. It was likely that Malik didn't even remember their agreement. Not only that, but Malik would probably be a Master Assassin soon, anyways, as he was just one rank behind him. Altaïr couldn't recall getting into a fight with the man, nor could he recall wronging Kadar in any way, which would have made Malik just as mad if it had been to him. Altaïr was left to conclude what he had previously figured, that they had simply grown apart.

Altaïr could still feel eyes on him and looked up once more to see that Malik's charcoal eyes were still watching him, giving him a glare that could have burned a hole in the Master Assassin's head. Altaïr, before he could stop himself, sneered at the other assassin as if to say, "What do you want?"

Malik scowled at him and turned away, saying something to Kadar. Altaïr turned away too, back towards his own plate of food, which now seemed bitter and tasteless.

The next two will be longer, I promise! :D