This is a much longer snippet, but it did not fit in anywhere with what I'm writing. Usually anything I write about with Altair I put into a massive document and ignore it, cuz I prefer writing about Ezio and his silliness. _ In any case, enjoy and review~~!


Orange

Altair was not asleep, Malik could see from his desk. The man was still sitting up, leaning against the wall of the garden. Golden eyes were turned up to the latticed ceiling, and he was absentmindedly peeling an orange. It was one of the first things Malik had seen him eat- the man seemed to run on the energy of wind and nothing else. Any food he ate was merely for pleasure.

Malik looked back down at his maps, scowling. He had no information on the roads he wanted, and despite Altair's swiftness between cities, he had arrived late because of it. They needed knowledge of all the Templar encampments on the roads, or someone could eventually be injured or killed. He scratched his chin. He supposed he could go out and do it himself- he was the best cartographer in the order, after all. But he would need an escort, or two. A one-armed assassin against a potential ambush of Templars were not good odds.

"Malik."

Malik looked up with a scowl, focussing on his constant source of irritation in the garden. Altair had not looked over at him, and was holding the freshly peeled orange close to his mouth, but was not eating it.

"What do you want now?" he growled, putting his single hand on his hip and leaning. By all rights, he was glad for the distraction, for he had been staring at maps and papers all day, but he would not let Altair know this. "Well? Speak up novice, I do not have all day."

Altair waited a beat, then lowered the orange from his mouth. Part of Malik was disappointed, but he smothered that thought immediately.

"I came across a scene today that I did not know how to handle," Altair finally said, golden eyes leaving the sky and looking over at Malik. "...I wanted to ask for your advice on the matter."

It would be so easy for Malik to rebuff him, to ignore the bastard and go back to his business. Whatever it was could be put aside in favor of more important things. But Malik halted himself from dismissing the assassin. Altair had asked, humbly, for his advice, instead of demanding it like he typically did. The arrogant brat was learning, and Malik would not be the one to ruin the lesson learned. He picked up an orange from the bowl and went to the door.

"Peel that for me," he ordered, tossing it to Altair. The man caught it easily, setting his own orange in his lap as he obediently began to cut away the outer skin with his knife. "What happened today?"

Altair tilted his head for a moment, as though to organize his thoughts. If he was an expert with weapons, then words were his utter failing. Malik could throw a word like a dagger, but Altair would always stumble and falter.

"It was in the middle district, in the marketplace," he began slowly, "...I was searching for information on a target. A man began to beat his wife for some imagined offense that she could not have forseen."

Malik wrinkled his nose. He knew the sort.

"...I went to interfere," Altair continued, "He was beating her so hard she was bleeding, but another man stopped me before I could get there. A merchant. He said... he said that there was nothing that I could do. The woman had a choice between her husband and her family. Once married, she was his to do with as he pleased. If I killed him, she would return to her family a widow that could not remarry for four months. A burden to her family."

Altair held out the peeled orange, and Malik crossed the garden and accepted it. After a heavy moment, he eased himself down onto the rug beside Altair.

"It is a sad thing, that women are considered to be property in this time and age," he began slowly, "...I imagine the husband is dead now anyways."

"...I may have followed him down an alley."

Malik let himself smile a little, hiding it behind his orange. Altair's scarred lips quirked.

"Novice, handling things and then asking for advice about it after the fact," Malik scolded half-heartedly, "In any case, it is but four months. The woman can remarry, and she may take care to find a kinder husband. That is all one can hope for."

Altair was silent, looking at his orange. He picked it up and gave it a close examination.

"If I take a wife, I would treat her like the finest silver," he said, finally taking a bite out of the orange. Malik raised an eyebrow at him. "And any children like the purest gold."

"...Al Mualim instructs distance," Malik said quietly, although he put no edge in his voice. It was one of the few things he disagreed with about their wise leader. "It prevents a sense of loss should one of you be killed."

"Then I will feel loss," Altair asserted, teeth flashing as he bit into the orange again. He was suddenly not Altair, but an eagle staring at Malik. Golden eyes saw everything, missing no small detail. "...And if my children lose me, they will understand the feeling of loss. And they will grow to be better men than I can ever hope to be."

Malik couldn't think of anything to say to that. So he shook his head.

"Well, it is good you will not take a wife," he said simply, and Altair looked at him incredulously. Malik smirked. "Novices cannot marry. And the idea of your children puts my poor soul at unease."

Altair sighed loudly at this, and Malik chuckled in spite of himself.

The eagle was gone and Altair in all his frustrating glory was back. He could not ask for more than this.


Thanks by the way, for the last three reviews. I'm glad that my little half-snippets that crowd my mind can still function as something enjoyable to read. -_-

aaaaaand rest.