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For the longest time, he wished he could say it was his well-trained instinct that led him that day to resign from going after Genghis Khan and putting an end to whatever plans said conqueror had set to make true. For years after he’s lied not only to everyone around him but also himself, far from willing to admit that the idea came from an outer origin. One that had already proved on multiple occasions to be miraculous and incredibly dangerous, both at the same time. Yet despite the guilt, he felt about his untruthfulness and the acceptance with which he followed the cue of this strange source, he’s never regretted the decisions he’d come to make that day. Many of which, he came to believe, reassured the safety of the people who always mattered to him the most.
“Mentor?” Altaïr’s head snaps up at the sound of a familiar voice. He waits a mere second for his eyes to readjust to the semi-darkness that envelops the chamber, before smiling brightly at the figure standing in the doorway.
“There’s no reason for you to use this title, dear friend,” he says warmly. “By those whom I’ve known for most of my life, I much rather my name to be spoken, rather than title.”The assassin nods, a small smile playing on his lips now as well. He lets himself step in, unbothered to wait for the Grandmaster’s permission.“I’ve assumed so. Still, I wouldn’t wish for my actions to come out as inappropriate,” Rauf explains quickly.
“What’s the news?”“Everything is ready. You may leave whenever you please.”Altaïr leans back on his chair, his gaze wandering towards the ceiling in a sort of wonder; a sensation he’s grown accustomed to experiencing ever since the Apple came into his possession.
The preparations for the next mission he’s made up his mind to complete had been generally omnipresent in Masyaf for weeks now. Even though the chain of thought regarding this specific problem appeared in Altaïr’s mind a long time ago, he wanted to make sure this time he’ll be ready for any possibility. This is why he’s taken his time, assuring all the necessary tools and supplies are gathered, and all their trusted contacts informed before he leaves the Assassins’ headquarters.
Feeling Rauf’s cautious gaze on himself, the Grandmaster snaps back to reality. Only now does he realise he’s unaware of the time for which he’s been quiet. Were these just seconds or already minutes?“Are you having doubts?” He hears the fellow assassin ask.At first, he didn’t. Fighting against the revolutions taking place in the far east seemed like the right thing to perform. The plan was near perfect but even then Altaïr was keeping himself on alert, knowing that being too confident in things too dependent on outer factors and not only his own actions may quickly bring doom upon not only him but the entire Brotherhood. But there was no doubt within him, as every bone in his body screamed to use all the available instruments and nib this fledgling empire in the bud. Until…“Do not worry yourself with that,” Altaïr answers instead, his old self revealing itself for a mere moment. “Were my orders received by our brothers?”Truth is, ever since he could remember, his unwillingness to admit when something was bothering him was too huge to be healthy. And even though he’s now aware of that concerning asset of his, he’s not about to change his habits, at least not before Rauf. If he chooses to share his worries with anyone, he’ll involve only the people who he sees as essential to be aware. Nothing to do with trust; just the danger that comes with many knowing.
“Everyone acknowledged the nearing of your trip and the substitute for yourself you’ve chosen,” Rauf confirms, once again putting the end to the chaos developing in the Grandmaster’s head. “Malik will see you soon enough to discuss the details.”“Thank you, friend.” Altaïr gives him one more smile; this one more strangled, however. “Your help is greatly appreciated.”It happened the night before, just as he was studying the Apple. Normally relatively cautious and sceptical towards the visions the Fragment of Eden showed him, this time his guard was slightly down, his thoughts torn between his analysis and the travel awaiting him the upcoming afternoon.
Maybe the Apple sensed it somehow. Maybe catching Altaïr while his attention was elsewhere was the exact moment the mystical tool awaited.Suddenly, it lit up brightly and before the assassin could do anything, several images flashed before his very eyes. Almost as quickly as it started, everything was gone and the inhuman instrument laid back in its place, on the desk, sedated. Asleep.Distinguishing whether it was an actual vision or just a creation of Altaïr's wearied mind proved to be more than difficult. The only thing he could’ve been certain of was that he saw a lot of death, loss and suffering of those whom he regarded as the closest. He felt a horrid pain in his chest, one that could only be compared to that one may experience upon losing a child. He witnessed much distress; a how-familiar figure laying on the floor of a dirty cell, another person being slowly drained in their own blood, while life escapes their grip.Never in his life has he felt this horrified. Which may be why the decision was made immediately; no matter where the truth lay, he couldn’t take any chances of bringing harm to his loved ones.
One of the greatest mysteries never solved by the Grandmaster was; which one of his actions keeps implying to Malik that something is wrong with Altaïr.
The Grandmaster is not given nearly enough time to even greet his friend, before being cut off by the sharp voice of the former Dai of Jerusalem.
“What seems to be the crisis the Great Grandmaster Altaïr is facing now?”
His usually sarcastic tone brings warmth to the younger man’s heart. One of the assets he’s grown to love about this man is his constant attitude of readiness to fight anyone who gets in his way. Still haunted by the visions he’s witnessed the previous night, Altaïr fights the urge to approach the latter and pull him into his arms in an embrace.
“Has Rauf told you?” he questions instead, determined to keep his composure.
“No one has to tell me anything,” Malik hisses, yet there’s no real anger behind his words. “I would sense your uncertainty all the way from Jerusalem.”
Altaïr doesn’t reply. Instead, he lets himself feel some comfort in the normality with which his dear friend treats the factor visibly distressing the younger man. Malik rarely shows signs of endearment but when he does, they appear in this exact way; the small acknowledgements of his wonderings about Altaïr’s peace of mind.
Having calmed down a bit, the Grandmaster’s right-hand man continues to speak, the volume of his voice dropping significantly. “You’re right, however,” he admits reluctantly, as if despite his better judgement. “Rauf might have shared with me his thoughts about your… rather strange behaviour.”
Altaïr nods haven’t expected any other answer to this inquiry.
“So tell me,” Malik prompts.
They both fall silent for several seconds, the older man letting the latter take the time to prepare himself for whatever they’re about to discuss.
Eventually, Altaïr speaks up again, all too aware that his statement may cause not only confusion but also perhaps some anger.
“I believe it’d be better for me to stay in Masyaf,” he says, his tone unwavering.
To his surprise, the only reaction he receives is a sceptical smirk that grows on the older man’s face. “Does Altaïr Ibn-LaʼAhad finally admit to getting older, just like the rest of us, mortal creatures?”
He realises the question is meant to lighten the mood and possibly ease the concerns taking control over the Grandmaster’s perception. However, without meaning to, he sincerely considers the ask.“Perhaps,” he replies softly, only now realising that this might be what it was all along — this feeling that had him lost ever since the last night.
While younger, he’d always accept the possibility of losing people around him; whether it would happen due to his own arrogance or some of their enemies succeeding to reach their goals, the end of each one of them was inevitable. And Altaïr seemed to be more than content with that. From the very early years of his life, he’s known Death. Later on, he continued to work with Death. He witnessed Death, he caused Death, both on regular basis.
But then came the stage when he finally started settling in. One that earned him a family and a real home. Suddenly, losing any of these people didn’t appear as acceptable as he would’ve anticipated. Suddenly, he wasn’t as willing to die alone.“Altaïr,” Malik’s voice forces him back to here and now; the citadel of Masyaf. It shocks him to hear such softness in his own name as it leaves the Dai’s lips.
“Apologies,” he stutters.
Malik just shakes his head. “Whatever’s bothering you so much?”
It takes another second of the Grandmaster battling with his thoughts to eventually decide on his next course of action. However, seeing his dearest friend being this gentle and sincere with him erases any hesitation he’s previously had in his head.
“May I be truthful with you?” he asks still as if needing confirmation that the man in front of him is willing to listen.
“Always.”And so Altaïr begins to explain. He tells him about his recent research. He talks about Apple’s ability to sometimes show the future. Finally, he puts into words all the terrible predicaments that the cursed orb has presented; though, he leaves out most of the details. Like the fact that the fragile figure he saw in that rotting cell under the citadel was Malik himself, or what faith awaited him next. The Grandmaster also proceeds to avoid naming the one responsible, as he fears a lynching that may endure.
Upon reaching the end of his revelations, he waits patiently for a reaction. He’s prepared for irritation, disbelief, more sarcasm or even anger. He’s too well aware of his friend’s attitude toward the Apple, one how-so similar to Maria’s. But neither of mentioned outcomes ever comes, as instead the older man only sighs deeply, then takes a sit opposite Altaïr.
“Are you sure this is for the best?” he asks quietly.The younger frowns slightly. “I can’t ever be sure of anything. You were the one to teach me that,” he replies, observing a small smile of fondness appearing on Malik’s features. “I do have, however, the confidence in my decision. I’ll stay.”The Dai nods reluctantly, some shade of scepticism climbing into his gaze. “I feel like you’re not telling me everything,” he admits after a while of silence. “But I bear the trust in your judgement. I will inform our brothers of your change of heart.”“Thank you, dear friend.”The man lets the words slide, unused to accepting any sort of displays of thankfulness.
“I would imagine you’ll need to prepare new plans regarding Genghis Khan’s empire. You know as well as I do that this issue cannot go untreated—”Altaïr is no longer listening, though, as the urge growing within him for hours finally takes the better of him. The assassin stands up abruptly, then approaches the older man who, seeing the latter’s proceedings, stops talking in order to understand the situation. The younger one ignores completely the faint squeak Malik lets out as he gets a grip on his wrist. He pays no mind to the resistance he feels Al-Sayf is putting on. And he surely doesn’t bother perceiving the fist striking his chest as the older man finds himself pressed against the Grandmaster’s chest, in a tight embrace. All of these reactions are led purely by instinct, a habit — no doubt, the fight Al-Sayf puts up isn’t meant to harm the assassin, but rather startle or scare him away. That is something that Malik taught himself to draw comfort from.
“Novice!” Malik exclaims, trying to get free. The title he uses makes Altaïr chuckle softly, the warmth growing within him at the sound of the nickname he hadn’t heard for so long. Still, he doesn’t let go.
After a few more attempts, the Dai gives up at last, frustrated and confused. His fist keeps clenching and unclenching the younger man’s robes, in a nervous manner. He’s at a loss and that scares him; Altaïr is aware.
Despite still deeming it a bad decision on his part, the Grandmaster risks murmuring a soft message. “No more harm will come to you. I will not allow it.”At the sound of the promise, tension seems to leak out of Malik’s body. His head snaps up, trying to catch Altaïr’s eye, no closer to understanding his friend’s strange behaviour or his sudden need for such closeness. He doesn’t seek to find one anymore, though — the swear made is enough to convince him, at least for now. He lets himself relax fully, the right arm coming to wrap itself around the latter’s waist, his palm gently patting the lower back of the assassin in a soothing motion.“Of course, you won’t,” he responds simply.
That day, the one leaving Masyaf’s citadel would end up being Altaïr’s older son; Darim set off with his fellow brothers. Their mission was to head east in search of a man known as Qulan Galem. The Grandmaster thought him to be the most promising factor in their complicated strategy for Genghis Khan’s demise. Whether they alone would be enough to complete the assassination, only time would tell.
Years later, Altaïr Ibn-LaʼAhad finds himself sitting in the very same chair, the documents, designs, notes, projects and maps sprawled all around the desk in front of him.
A strong knock comes at the side of the bookcase nearby, causing his eyes to snap up in search of the source.
“Is there anything I can do for you today, Malik?” he asks, partially returning to his previous work.
He can feel the shift of the air and the footsteps sounding on the stone floor, as his right-hand man approaches without a word. The silence stretches and Altaïr finds himself looking up yet again, in an effort to read the real purpose of this visit somewhere in his friend’s features.“You’ve never told me,” Malik speaks up eventually, his tone far from accusatory, purely curious.
Altaïr leans back in his chair, a practice he’s developed over a long time of working within the citadels’ walls. “What would you like to know?”
“The decision you’ve made all these years back, the one related to our mission against the Mongolian Empire…” the older man hesitates, even if just for a mere second, as if unsure of how to put his query into words. “Was it worth it after all?”The Grandmaster smiles at him. “We are both still here, aren’t we?”