I groan softly, burying my face deeper into my pillow. A small sigh of annoyance comes from the person above me, and I feel another sharp prod in my side, causing me to turn over on my back. I open my blurry eyes, glaring blindly at the figure who dared to disturb my slumber. "What?" I snap, sitting up on the straw mat, groping out in the darkness to pull the smaller body close to my own.
Kadar punches me lightly on the shoulder, and as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting, I can see a small frown resting on his mouth. "Finally you're awake!" His frown doesn't remain long on his mouth, and he smiles at me. "It took me hours-"
"Brother, tell me why you woke me up, or I will hurt you." The younger boy sighs and sits back on the mat. He crosses his lanky legs and rests his hands in his lap, staring at me with wide blue eyes. I frown and run a hand through my bed-messed hair; a loud yawn works its way from my mouth, and my curiosity prods my tired mind until I ask. "Really, what is it?"
Kadar giggles and pulls a short scroll from the sleeve of his sleeping shirt. He hands me the paper, jumping off the bed to light a candle so I can read the message; looking over his shoulder while quickly bringing me a light, Kadar has an expression I haven't seen since Hassan's funeral. Excitement.
He plops next to me on the mat, careful not to drip wax on my blankets, watching with bated as I unroll the parchment. I quickly read the message, sighing while crumpling the paper in my hands. Kadar looks at me, teeth worrying his bottom lip while I stand, pulling on my assassin robes. "What did it say? A-are you going on a mission, brother?" I catch the underlying tone of worry in my younger brother's voice, but I turn and give him a large grin.
"I'll be back before you know it."
Kadar's fingers pick at the blanket, and his blue eyes are down turned. I pause at the doorway before turning and wrapping my arms tightly around the fourteen year-old; Kadar loosely wraps his arms around my waist before pulling back to give me a watery smile. "When you get back, tell me all about it!"
My footsteps echo off of the stone floor; the dark shadows still coating the corners of the fortress' winding hallways cause my nerves to jump, and my heart to pound loudly in my ears. I fiddle with the edge of my robe, eyes falling to my boot-covered feet. What does the Master want? I think perhaps this is just a short mission to Damascus; perhaps all I have to do is gather information for the Dai...
"...Malik, what are you doing here?" My head snaps up at the softly phrased question; a light flush overtakes my face when my eyes lock with Altair's. We are standing outside of the grand library; Altair's hand his posed above the knob of one of the large doors, but he shifts awkwardly, letting his arm flop back to his side.
A frown drags down the corners of my mouth, and I feel the embarrassed flush turn to one of anger. We hadn't talked since that night, and I still haven't forgotten that he had left me alone either. "I should ask you the same." I murmur, shoving past him to reach for the door.
Altair scowls and pulls a paper identical to the one Kadar had given to me. "I was asked for." I give him a sidelong glare before rolling my eyes, pushing open the door to walk into the library.
Al Mualim stands hunched over his desk; a gnarled hand combs through his gray and black beard while the dark hood covering his head casts a shadow over the older man's face. "Come in, come in." Altair roughly shoves past me, and I mentally curse his larger frame in my head. A pair of mismatched eyes lift from whatever lays on the desk, locking on me. "Both of you." I walk quickly past the annoyance, waiting patiently while Altair fidgeted.
Older scarred hands take up a weather beaten parchment, and it is then that I notice the foreign looking eagle sleeping behind the ornately carved lattice birdcage. "You have completed nearly all of your trials to becoming Master Assassins; both of you have shown great potential." He looks pointedly at Altair, and I can't help but notice the smug smirk gracing my 'brother's' mouth.
The man swiftly rolls up the parchment, stuffing it into a leather pouch before holding it out for one of us to take. I snatch it up, giving the other assassin a quick smirk. "The details for this trial are inside; look over them carefully while you travel to your destination. When you return, you will be given the title of Master Assassin."
Our ride is silent, the only sound being the heavy footsteps of the horses falling on the dewy covered road. My eyes scan over the parchment, memorizing and filing away details for later. Altair sighs beside me; I can feel his eyes tracing the side of my face, the gaze burning into my skin. I look up and turn, an irritated frown covering my face. "What is it, Altair?" His staring continues, which only causes a blush to heat the tips of my ears. I scoff and turn away from the other male, burying my mind in details of our trial.
The small city of Adana meets our fatigued eyes like a beacon promising rest. I let out a long sigh, thanking Allah that finally I could be away from the annoyance known as Altair for a few moments, at least. I chance a look in his direction and grunt softly when his eyes meet mine. The staring is starting to disturb me...
People mill about the bazaar outside of the city gates; they shove things upwards at us, speaking quickly in Greek, Turkish and Arabic. Altair looks confused by the Turkish and Greek, shaking his head in their direction before riding a bit more quickly to the stables. People scoff at his rude behaviour, turning to me to offer 'fine' food and fabrics from the far East; I mutter no in their tongue, keeping my eyes trained on my companion because Allah knows that man is a handful.
We give our horses away, blending easily with the crowds filing past the city guards. I loosely grab Altair's wrist, pulling him aside and out of the mass of people; we duck into a small alley, and I can't help but notice how close we are. I mentally scowl, shoving down those sorts of thoughts, and look up, searching for a view point that may help us find Adana's Bureau.
"There." I'm shoved away, blinking while white robes obscure my vision for a few moments. "Come on, I'd like to get some rest." I scowl upwards at the fleeting figure of Altair disappearing over the edge of the building.
"Moron." I murmur, sucking in a deep breath and following.
Emre is...a strange man to say the least.
Clay covers his hands in specks, and glaze mars the once inky black fabric of his Dai robes. Dark hair stands on all ends, and scars zigzag over one side of his face; the man is constantly smiling, and I notice that he only has a few teeth remaining. He smells of hashish, though his eyes are clear. Novices and Master Assassins file from his bureau, and the man greets them as if they were long-lost relatives coming for a visit, nothing like the rather cold Dai of Jerusalem...
Emre sits beside Altair and I, chatting pleasantly behind his food, and puffing away on a long pipe. "I'm very glad that Al Mualim received my letter in such short notice!" He laughs, pale gray smoke tumbling from his mouth in curls. "But Hülya is such a wonderful bird; she's very reliable-" Altair groans softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. I laugh to myself, knowing that he can't stand incessant babbling.
I turn to Emre, folding my hands in my lap. "Dai, perhaps you should show us our room? We've been traveling and would like some rest." Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Altair give me a look of appreciation.
The Turkish Dai takes another hit of his pipe, letting go of the smoke with a long, content sigh. He stands, dusting away any ash from his robes and gestures for us to follow. He leads us to a small room connecting to his own chambers; plush carpets and pillows litter the floor, while greenery gives the room a slight earthy scent. Emre smiles largely, pipe wiggling between his teeth as he talks. "Sleep well, little brothers. Tomorrow we'll go over your mission." The thin cover over the doorway falls closed, leaving Altair and I alone.
The male sinks to the floor, sighing loudly while hugging a pillow close to his chest. I sit far away from him, removing my sweat-sticky robes, my top lip curling at the sour smell of the road clinging to my skin. I lay on my side, facing away from Altair, hugging my own pillow to me; my mind drifts from the world of wake and sleep before I feel someone curl closer to my body. My shoulders tense, and my fingers twitch while I wonder if this person is a threat or not.
I feel something lightly touch the shoulder that still houses my brand; my breath is caught in my throat as fingers trace around the crocus shaped scar. I stare at the wall across from me, feeling the hand lift away, and the body move quickly from my own.
For a few moments, I wait for anymore movement before turning quickly around.
Altair is curled on his side, back meeting my accusing gaze. His breath is even and deep, but I bite on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood; my brows furrow while a flush of shame paints over my cheeks. He knows.
And thus this is the reason why I wanted to write this fic.
Adana is a city in Turkey not that far away from Syria BUT...the travel there would still be long. This (as you guys could probably tell) is the last trial in which Malik and Altair have to complete in order to become Master Assassins. They're like seventeen.
Emre is a Turkish name that means 'Friend or Big Brother'; he's kind of a spaz.
ALSO, this is what I imagine Malik's brand to look like: http: / / www . srgc . org . uk /discus/messages/ 5012/40765 . jpg