This could probably be a stand alone one-shot. But uh. Meh. I may rework it a little to post it as it's own, but for now I'm ambivalent about it. -_-
Freefall
The silence inside the small office was stifling. The cloying smell of incense, once a pleasure to Malik, was now frustrating and heavy. He tossed aside his quill and glared at his map. As pleased as he was to be rid of Jerusalem and once more stationed within Masyaf; he rather wished he had a garden still to step out into for fresh air.
But no. Altair wished for his counsel to always be close at hand, now that Al Mualim- the traitorous bastard- had fallen, and Altair now the Grand Master. Malik clicked his tongue loudly as he put the stick of incense out, then looked up when his door swung open.
Altair, in all his annoying glory, stood there, a pouch slung around his shoulder. There was a look on his face that Malik had never seen before, and it made him nervous.
"Altair- Altair, what are you-"
Altair did not hesitate a second, sweeping in and knocking Malik off his feet before bodily throwing the man over his shoulder. He made for the door, and Malik thumped angrily on his back with his one arm. He could not reach the throwing knives he kept in his robes, or Altair would be feeling sharp justice at that very moment.
"Altair, you novice! You son of a camel, put me down-"
"I have spent the last month doing nothing but administrative paperwork," Altair rumbled finally, and Malik fell still to listen to him as the man took him outside of the office, shutting the door firmly behind him. "I am going mad. I thought: "I need some air" and then I thought: "Malik has been forced to do this all day, every day. How does he handle this?"
Malik scowled. "I have to."
"Well. Now we are getting air." Altair said firmly as he headed down the street, "We are getting away from dust and foul ink for even just a moment. We are going to enjoy a blue sky today, Brother."
Malik sighed loudly. "Novice. How am I to enjoy a blue sky while hanging from your shoulder? Why do you still carry me anyways...?"
"...I had assumed you would fight me a little harder," Altair said sagely, and when Malik looked up, there was a slight smile on the man's scarred lips. They had arrived at the base of one of Masyaf's tallest watchtowers, and guards gave them both odd looks as they traveled upwards. None stopped them however- who would stop Altair, the Grand Master? Even though he refused to don the black robes Al Mualim once wore, not being one for traditions, everyone recognized the man that seemed to be the epitome of an assassin. He was an eagle in human skin.
Malik thumped Altair's back impassively.
"Novice," he growled, for the sake of saying it. Altair seemed to realize his acceptance of what was happening and put him down on his feet. "I am not a child's rag doll, for you to pick up and carry about where ever you wish."
"But it does amuse me," Alair pointed out rakishly, and Malik distantly wondered what the penalty was for shoving a drawing compass up the Grand Master's nose. He had one tucked away in his pocket, and it would be so easy...
They had reached the top of the tower, and Altair's smooth strides broke into a small trot as he moved to one of the archways, where a wooden ledge was built. Malik watched anxiously as Altair walked to the end of it, standing over what Malik knew to be piles of hay, but they were so far down. The slightest miscalculation in a jump would result in broken bones or death; the freefalling leap down the mountain side was not one to be taken lightly.
"Altair..." Malik began unsurely, standing at the ledge but not walking out. The sky was indeed blue, and the wind was something Malik craved, but his uncertainty was getting the best of him. Altair turned and looked at him, then sat, letting his legs swing off the side of the ledge.
"Come," Altair beckoned, and sat the pouch he was carrying down beside him. He flipped it open to reveal several oranges and pomegranates. "...I will even peel your oranges for you. Come out here and sit with me."
Well. An offer like that, Malik could not refuse. He hated anybody doing anything for him, despised it with a fierce sort of passion, but he hated peeling oranges with his teeth more. The bitter taste of the peel nearly outweighed the sweetness of the orange inside.
Slowly, he stepped out on creaking wood; then berated himself internally. Assassins had no fear, and here he was trembling in terror of something he used to do naturally. Altair was right; he had been cooped up inside for far too long.
Malik walked casually the rest of the way out, then eased himself down behind Altair, letting his legs swing off the other side. Malik looked down and his stomach clenched tightly at the sight of the ground so far below them, and the fog that hid the terrible descent down the rest of the mountainside.
"You pick terrible places for your rest," he scolded Altair, who snorted as he casually peeled the first orange. Malik shook his head and looked up at the sky. It seemed bluer than usual that day, azure expanse disappearing behind rolling hills and yellow-brown mountains. It was beautiful, and more than Malik would have ever gotten to see if he had been forced to stay at the Jerusalem bureau. As much as he liked taking care of and advising the younger assassins, being held inside a prison of four walls and a caged garden had nearly driven him mad. The sky he could see through the latticed walls of the garden was not nearly enough for him.
Something pushed against his back a little, and Malik reached around with his one hand to take the orange Altair had peeled for him. He watched as Altair tossed the spiral of orange peel off the ledge, letting it fall and disappear into the fog.
He looked back at the sky and bit into his orange.
"This is good," Malik found himself saying, for no particular reason. He did not like speaking pointlessly, so quickly tried to find something else to say. "...to get out. Perhaps the novice is right for once. A rarity to behold."
Altair did not respond- he never responded to compliments, even back-handed ones like Malik gave. No, he only rose to catch the bait of insults, and Malik half-expected he did it for the fun of it.
"I am glad you are here," Altair suddenly said. Malik did not look behind him, but could feel the wind whip away Altair's cowl. He never wore it down, but now he made no move to fix it. "...I believe I would run this Order into the ground, if I did not have you here. I hardly understand what it is I'm doing, only that for some reason, every single scrap of paper that passes my desk needs to be read and signed urgently."
"That is responsibility," Malik sneered, although he preened a little on the inside that Altair had admitted his need of him. "...Something that you are not used to, I imagine."
A canyon of silence opened up between them.
"...No, I am not," Altair said softly after a long time. Malik finished his orange and reached for a pomegranate. There was already a slit cut into it, and Malik was able to tear it open more with his teeth and fingers, indulging in the sweet seeds inside of it.
"I..."
Malik waited, and Altair shook his head, immediately dismissing what he was going to say. Malik's curiosity was piqued though, and he turned to look at the back of Altair's head. His brown hair was messy from the hood, sticking up haphazardly. His broad shoulders hunched low.
"What is it, Altair?" Malik prodded, "...You do not begin a sentence and then cut it off, novice."
"...It is not my right to speak of him."
So this had something to do with Kadar. Malik's throat tightened and suddenly the pomegranate did not taste so sweet anymore. He turned back to look out at the horizon.
"...Speak, Altair. Speak what you will." he finally sighed tiredly, and it is exhaustion of carrying the pain that lets him do it. Altair shifted, discomfited, but continued to speak.
"It is my responsibility now, to watch over and care for the novices," Altair sighed deeply, "I think it could be in better hands though. Before... a half year ago, I could not have given a damn whether or not the novices died. I did not care."
Malik felt bitter anger twist inside of him, bile in his throat. Altair shifted again, lifting a hand to his mouth as though to hide his expression from all of Masyaf below them.
"...I understand now... what it means to take care of them. And now I fear their deaths, I fear their suffering. I fear sending them on the smallest of errands, because if they die, it is more blood that I have caused. I cannot even- I cannot send them to fetch me water from the kitchens without wondering what sort of great battle they may get caught up in halfway there."
Malik killed his anger. The Altair that sat at his back was not the Altair whose carelessness had killed Kadar.
"It is noble of you, novice, to keep the young ones so safe," he said after a moment, "But they are assassins. How will they learn the things they need to withoutexperience? You cannot always stop death."
"I could have stopped his."
Anger again. Malik did well to shelve it.
"...Yes. The Altair that was a cold-blooded, arrogant bastard could have stopped Kadar's death," he said slowly, "...But he did not. And now that Altair is gone from this world, replaced by an equally annoying, but wiser one. I have told you this. You are the worst sort of novice, always needing things to be repeated."
Altair let out a laugh that didn't sound like a laugh, and when Malik tossed down the remains of the pomegranate, Altair closed the small pouch and strung it back over his shoulder.
"...I did not know him. I did not try to," he said slowly, getting to his feet and still not looking at Malik. "...Is it...within my right to miss his presence...?"
Malik gave Altair's back an incredulous look when he realized the other man was asking for the right to mourn Kadar.
"...Yes," he said, and although Altair's stature did not change, there was a subtle change in the atmosphere. Relief flooded the gaping canyon between them.
"...I miss him, too."
Altair nodded, stepping to the edge of the wooden platform they sat on, and to Malik's horror, the man leapt. He vanished in a whirl of white, too fast for the eye to see, and Malik looked over just in time to see Altair land heavily in the huge pile of hay at the bottom of the cliff. A moment later, he climbed out, then waved casually up at Malik.
"ALTAIR, YOU DAMNED IDIOT NOVICE," Malik roared, and he saw Altair duck his head, obviously hiding a smile even from so far away. Malik cursed and spat over the edge of the platform, hoping that maybe his aim was good and it would hit Altair, to show him exactly what he thought of the eagle's attempts to break free from the man's skin.
And the edge of the platform waited for him in silence. Malik stopped dead in his anger. Wind snapped at his white robes like rectrices around his knees, and his hair shifted with the wind. He looked up at the blue sky.
At the bottom of the cliff, Altair waited and watched.
Altair's jump only made sense to Malik now- it was the quickest way down, and if there had been an emergency, the leap would have been perfectly justified. Malik had even made the jump before, but he had not done that since-
-he looked at the stump that remained of his arm and swallowed.
Altair watched, golden eyes turned up to the sky.
Malik ran- he could not with good sense just jump from a casual walk. Running meant to wipe his mind clear of everything, and it meant that he dropped the heavy weight of panic and fear, and even Kadar and-
Malik jumped.
Blue sky and brown earth became one as he flew through the air, too fast to make a distinction between the two.
It was the same as he always remembered.
aaaaaaand rest.
