Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Just like life on earth, no one could really explain where exactly these powers had come from.

As long as humans had invented pictures and writing, there is evidence that these powers must have existed since the beginning of time.

Pictures on the dusty cave walls showed people who could create a large hole in a wall made out of solid and hard rock with simple, quick movements.

They showed people who could bring fire into the cave with just a wave of their hands.

Also, people playing with the water from nearby rivers and lakes.

And people who, with a movement of their arms, created a strong wind that drove the big storm clouds away.

From these simple cave paintings, it is known today that people have always been blessed by these powers.

However, it is still unclear how these powers came about and why only some people possessed them.

Thousands of years later and through many experiments and studies, these powers can now be divided into four categories.

The first category are the waterbenders. Powered by the power of the moon, these people play with the water as if they were the moon itself. They can influence the ebb and flow of the tide. They have the ability to move large amounts of water with one fluid motion. Entire rivers and lakes can be moved quickly with just a few people. From silly water forms and hard ice figures, to healing abilities, this power was definitely a powerful one. Surrounded by water, waterbenders can become the rulers of the seas.

People who have this gift of water often seem emotional because they have a very empathetic and emotional connection with those around them. So despite the strength and power waterbenders possess, they are often seen as weak because of their empathy.

The second category are the earthbenders. These people have a profound connection to their environment, or rather, to the earth on which they live on. They have the gift of controlling the earth beneath their feet. Learned from the great badgermoles, they can steadfastly move entire mountains. With controlled movement and a steady stance, they become one with their surroundings, allowing them to build – and destroy - entire cities of stone with ease.

People with this gift are often unshakable and honest. Due to their steadfastness in their gift and themselves, these people possess a focused and calm nature.

The third category are the firebenders. The opposite of waterbenders, these people feel a deep connection to the sun. Learned from the graceful dragons, these humans have the gift, unlike the other categories, of creating their own element. Through concentration and breathing, they are able to create fire themselves. Whether fire breathing or fire daggers, too unteable fire beams and walls of fire, they possess the ability to create a lot with their power.

These people are often passionate and stubborn; often willing to do anything to be at the top. They possess the ability to lead others, which is why they are considered the strongest and most aggressive element.

The final category are the airbenders. Learned from the flying bisons, these humans value their freedom. The opposite of the earthbenders, the airbenders are the rulers of the skies. They are often pragmatic and defensive, which is why they are often seen as the weakest element. However, many forget the fact that the airbenders, due to their pragmatic nature, are often better thinkers and fighters than the other elements. Through their ability to control the wind, they are able to hold their breath longer, walk up walls, and glide through the air.

Finally, there are also people who do not possess such a gift, the so-called non-benders. Although they had no such power, they often lived peacefully alongside the benders.

Over the millennia, there have been many battles between benders and non-benders alike. Many kingdoms were built, and many were destroyed. Sometimes the earthbenders won, sometimes the firebenders and sometimes the non-benders. Entire nations arose, fighting one another in a war; at the top the firebenders.

However, by the time of the Third Crusade, both benders and non-benders around the world lived together in harmony.

The question, however, was, how long this peace would last.

Chapter Text

"Wait! There must be another way. This one need not die.”

Hearing the whispered words, the man ignored them and in one quick movement thrust the blade strapped to his wrist into the old man's neck.

A soft shnick echoed through the quiet corridor of the ancient temple, followed by the dying man's desperate gasps before finally falling silent.

The white-robed man dropped the dead man uncaringly and turned to the two men behind him.

While the oldest of the group had his arms crossed over his chest and his face pulled into a grimace, the youngest smiled in admiration.

“An excellent kill. Fortune favors your blade.” he said, tilting his head slightly forward in a show of respect. His grey hood slipped a little over his eyes with the movement. His hands, partially hidden by fingerless leather gloves, were clasped together in front of his body. The handle of his small sword on his back, peered over his shoulder.

The third man turned his head to the younger one and lifted his chin. "Not fortune. Skill. Watch a while longer and you might learn something.”

Now the oldest spoke up, who had previously just looked back and forth between the other two in silence. He also turned to the youngest and looked him in the eyes: “Indeed. He'll teach you how to disregard everything the Master's taught us."

Now the man's sharp gaze turned to the oldest. "And how would you have done it?", his tone was mocking.

“I would not have drawn attention to us. I would not have taken the life of an innocent.", he emphasized his words with a gesture of his hands. "What I would have done is follow the Creed."

The youngest and the oldest looked at the third man.

"'Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.' Understand these words." The youngest nodded in to show he listened and understood. "It matters not how we complete our task. Only how it's done."

The oldest shook his head. "But this is not the way of-"

He was interrupted by an arrogant "My way is better.”

A brief pause passed over the group.

The oldest shook his head disapprovingly and tried to swallow the biting remarks that were on his tongue, ready to hurt the idiotic man before him.

The third man had his chin lifted and was staring coldly in the older's direction – challenging him with his eyes to disagree with him.

The youngest just looked back and forth between the two older men uncertainly. His blue eyes, uncommon in these lands, darted to the corridor which should lead them to their target and back towards the two men before him, a hard tension between them.

Eventually the oldest spoke up again.

"I will scout ahead." He turned his back on the other men and continued down the corridor. "Try not to dishonor us further."

Now that the oldest of the group was gone, the tension disappeared with him and the youngest turned back towards the other man.

He was really quite young, only just in the beginning of his second decade. His face was smooth, which made him seem quite younger.

While his older brother had a rounder face, with a big nose and big eyebrows, his face and nose were slimmer; the eyebrows however, run apparently in the family.

He took a step towards the older man.

"What is our mission? My brother would say nothing to me. Only that I should be honored to have been invited." During his speech he tilted his head slightly forward - as if to show how honored he was.

"The Master believes the Templars have found something beneath the Temple mount."

"Treasure?" the younger one asked curiously.

"I do not know. All that matters is that the master considers it important, else he would not have asked me to retrieve it."

The younger one nodded in agreement and noticing the conversation was over, took a few steps back to make room for the other man.

Golden eyes locked on the dimly lit corridor the group was in, and in a heartbeat, the man brgan to run.

Across wet rocks made slippery by water dripping from the ceiling. Across old creaking beams and solid pillars of rock built by the earthbender before him, he darted down the corridor and overtook the older one before he came to a ladder.

With the help of his gift, he found it easy to quickly climb the ladder with a small puff of air.

Once at the top, another Templar was waiting for them. With his back to the group, he wasn't much of a hindrance to the talented man.

With quick but silent steps, he ran towards the unknowing man, put his right hand over his mouth to stifle the startled sound and drove the blade through the man's heart before letting him too fall uncaringly.

The other two men walked past him and stepped onto the small platform to get a better look at the next room.

The room wasn't big, but it had a high ceiling. While three of the four walls were just plain white stone, the last wall was adorned with various stone carvings and carved ornaments. The various ornaments and sculptures formed a stone temple carved out of the wall.

When the third man entered the room, he immediately froze in his walking and stood still. His eyes, hidden by the peak of his hood pulled over his head, darted quickly around the room.

His body tingled.

Something was in that room.

Something very important.

What no one knew, was that the man had had another special gift since he was a child.

The gift of Sight.

While the normal world was cast in a dark gray, special objects and people were marked with different colours.

This sight has grown stronger over the years.

Now it was so strong that he could feel a tingling all over his body when a very important object was near him.

However, this ability was rather weak and he could only use it when he was really focused.

Just as he was about to activate his second sight and explore what was so important in this nondescript room, his concentration was broken.

"There!", the oldest said and pointed down.

In the center of the sculptured temple was a small opening, a few feet off the floor but also a few feet away from the ceiling.

Within reach, however far enough away that the opening and its contents could not be reached unaided.

A wide golden chest decorated with carved images and ornaments stood in the small opening, surrounded by stone carvings and torches that lit the chest.

On top of the chest was a rather odd-looking box - the shape was more like a large golden egg surrounded by four large leaves, formed as if to protect the egg.

Protecting it from the greed of the humans; of their will to possess everything that is good and to exploit it until only the useless remains are left, which can then uncaringly be thrown away.

The egg itself was decorated with small rubies forming a line around the center of the egg. A small golden cross sprouted from the top of it.

Below the opening in the wall was a large hole that served as a passage and probably led to an exit.

"That must be the Ark!"

"The Ark... of the Covenant?" the youngest asked.

Now the third man stepped forward to them and looked down into the room also. "Don't be silly. There's no such thing. It's just a story."

"Then what is it?"

The oldest interrupted before the man could answer: "Quiet! Someone's coming!"

Five men came through the passage. Four common men, dressed in white tunics, with a red cross on their chests and swords at their waists, led by a tall, bald man. In contrast to the other men, he wore silver chain mail armor, which also revealed a red cross on a white tunic. A long white cloak, the ends soiled by the dusty floor of the ancient temple, completed his armor. He too wore a sword at his hip.

The five men took a few steps inside, turned and looked up at the opening and the golden chest.

The bald man, clearly the leader of the small group, pointed to the chest and turned his head to the four men at his side:

"I want this through this gate by sunrise! The sooner we possess it, the sooner we can turn our attention to those jackals at Masyaf!"

The three men, hidden on the platform, looked at each other.

"Robert de Sablé. His life is mine," the third man growled.

"No!", the oldest objected. "We would want to retrieve the treasure and deal with Robert only if necessary."

"He stands between us and it. I would say it's necessary."

"Discretion, Altaïr!" the eldest admonished.

"You mean cowardice," Altaïr replied, looking down at the enemy men. "That man is our greatest enemy. And here we have a chance to be rid of him!"

The older one pointed to Altaïr: "You have already broken two tenets of our Creed. Now you would break the third. Do not compromise the Brotherhood!"

"I am your superior, in both title and ability. You should know better than to question me."

With that, Altaïr ended the conversation and, not caring that the platform ended just a few steps from him, walked forward and stepped off the platform.

He fell, feet first, for a few seconds before he spun around his own axis in the air, creating a small tornado beneath his feet. This little tornado caught him before he slammed to the ground, setting him down gently.

With confident steps that he didn't even try to silence, he walked towards Robert de Sablé and his four soldiers.

Only in passing did he notice Malik and Kadar following him. Malik through his earthbending and Kadar over the old ladder that stood at the side of the platform.

"Hold Templars!", the five men turned to him. "You are not the only ones with business here."

Robert also took a few confident steps towards Altaïr.

"Ah! Well, this explains my missing man."

He looked at his men who had spread out across the room. Three of them stood, in the fighting style typical of their element, while the last had one hand on his sword.

Three benders and a non-bender, Altaïr thought, but he didn't study the other three men further, so he didn’t know which element they possessed exactly.

It will not be of any importance, Altaïr thought confidently. They will not get a chance to fight.

De Sablé looked back at the three men in front of him. "And what is it you want?" he asked with a grin, crossing his arms. A sign of confidence; a sign that he was not afraid of the men in front of him.

"Blood."

The word barely fell from his lips, before Altaïr lunged at the taller man in front of him.

"No!" Malik, who was standing next to Altaïr, tried in vain to grab Altaïr's arm and stop him that way, but he failed.

De Sablé had expected the attack from Altaïr and, with a quick movement of his hand, pushed Altair’s outstretched arm and Hidden Blade aside. Altaïr, who had not seen this defense coming, had to reluctantly follow the swing of his arm, and got a fist in the face for it.

Before Altaïr could stagger back because of the punch to his face, de Sablé grabbed him by the collar of his robes and pulled him toward him.

Altaïr quickly righted himself and tried again to slam his Hidden Blade into de Sablé's neck, but his attempt was once more stopped by the Frenchman.

Just before Altaïr's blade struck de Sablé's sensitive neck, he grabbed Altaïr's hand and held it in a tight grip.

Malik and Kadar could only watch in despair as the best Assassin of their Brotherhood was defeated before their eyes in a matter of mere seconds.

"You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin," de Sablé said disdainfully.

He slowly began to turn, forcing Altaïr to do the same.

The hand that held Altaïr's arm and blade grew hotter and hotter.

A firebender.

"I spare you only that you may return to your master and deliver a message. The Holy Land is lost to him and his. He should flee now while he has the chance," de Sablé now had his back to the other Assassins, while Altaïr now had his back to the passage.

"Stay, and all of you will die."

With these words, de Sablé threw Altaïr with full force out of the room, where he crashed with his back through a wooden scaffolding, destroying it.

The scaffolding, which had previously held a few rocks across the passage, shattered, and Altaïr could only watch helplessly as the rocks separated him from his two brothers.

He could vaguely hear de Sablé's voice ordering his men to kill Malik and Kadar.

The familiar sounds of metal on metal and screaming followed.

From time to time, there was the hiss of fire, the bubbling of water and the rumble of shifting earth, to be heard.

Although he had a hard time letting de Sablé go, he turned and walked down the corridor he was thrown in, looking for a way out of the temple.

The rocks were too big and heavy for him, he couldn’t movebthem; not even with his airbending

Malik and Kadar would have to do without him.

A sudden, familiar cry startled him; however, the oppressive silence that followed, made his blood run cold in his veins.

Startled, he stopped.

A suffocating atmosphere settled over the old corridor for a few seconds before he quickly turned and, with the help of the wind, ran back to the blocked passage as fast as his feet, and the wind, allowed him.

He held his breath, put his ear to the stones and hoped.

A second passed.

Two.

Then Three.

Even after ten, long seconds he couldn't hear anything.

Not one. single. thing.

Just a crushing, awful silence.

He exhaled - it came out trembling and squeezed out because it felt like someone had grabbed his neck and squeezed it tight.

As if someone would pinch his windpipe and he would try to gasp desperately for air, knowing full well that he would not be able to get it. No matter how hard he fought against the invisible hand slowly trying to kill him.

Kadar and Malik were dead.

And it was his fault (albeit unintentionally).

He stayed there for a few more seconds, frozen; he took his time giving his fallen brothers the last respelt they deserved before turning stiffly and reluctantly starting to walk again.

He hadn't been able to get the treasure for Al Mualim.

He had let Malik and Kadar die.

And he had let Robert de Sablé escape.

He will pay for this, Altaïr vowed.

Until the time for that came, however, he had to get ready to tell the Master that he had failed.

His mission, his brothers as well as the Master.

Chapter Text

Five days seemed like a long time for many people to think of a right answer to tell the Master why they failed.

However, this was not the case with Altair.

With a growl, he placed his horse's harness in the appropriate place and surveyed the two Ostich Horses that were in the two stables next to his horse.

Kadar's and Malik's Ostich Horses.

At least they were.

One of the large flightless birds, Malik's, lifted its head from its feeding bowl and stared at him. It tilted its head to one side and, unconsciously, Altaïr's head tilted slightly as well.

For a brief moment, the two held silent eye contact.

The animal almost seemed to be smiling at him.

But then Altaïr snapped out of his stupor, blinked once, and turned around.

With quick steps he walked out of the stable.

There were days when he wished the journey by horse didn't last for days, but now he wished the journey had lasted longer.

He wasn't ready to face Al Mualim.

Altair reluctantly stepped through the large wooden gate that led to the village in front of the Assassin's fortress and took a deep, forceful breath.

It still annoyed him that he was defeated by someone, it annoyed him even more that he was humiliated and defeated by a Templar in front of two of his brothers.

At the thoughts of Kadar and Malik, he glanced over his shoulder and out the gate. Although he could see nothing but a sandy path and steep cliffs, he didn't really take them in because he was too deep in his thoughts.



Ever since he got thrown out of the room and fled the Temple, his mind has been plagued by guilt. Even if he didn't have a particularly close relationship with the Al-Sayf brothers (while the younger of the brothers always tried to get tips from the more experienced assassin, the older brother had always been rather bad-tempered towards him), it did always hurt to lose brothers. Especially if you're the reason they died.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a gentle weight settling on his shoulder.

He stopped and turned his head to the right to get a better look at his shoulder.

Big golden eyes looked at him.

A Winged Lemur.

Briefly Altaïr eyed the small animal on his shoulder.

Quite small, but no longer a cub - probably just beginning its adulthood.

The fur was mostly white except for the paws, all four of which were a light gray. On the paws the gray was a little darker, but on the ankles and forearms the gray became lighter and lighter, so that it then mixed with the white on the thighs and upper arms.

It almost looked like the animal was wearing gray boots and gloves.

From what Altaïr could see from his close position, the Lemur had brown wings, a brown tail, and a brown face.

On its belly, the animal had bright red fur, in the shape of a large circle.

The bat-like ears were also white on the outside; however, they were red on the inside. Or rather, they were red striped. A dark red stripe started at the top of the ear, followed by a light red one - this pattern continued to the bottom of the ear.

The colours of an Assassin.

A slight smile appeared on Altaïr's lips at the thought.

For a brief moment, the two just stared at each other.

Curiosity was in the intelligent animal's eyes, while the man stared back somewhat skeptically (and if he was being honest, slightly confused).


Slowly, one of the Lemur's paws rose.

Altaïr's eyebrows slowly drew together and the corners of his mouth dropped as the hand drew closer and closer to his face.

For a few seconds the small paw hovered over Altaïr's cheek, then the animal gently grasped Altaïr's chin.

Altaïr's eyebrows rose as the animal gently pulled its arm back toward itself, bringing Altaïr's head with it.

Altaïr's face slowly came close to that of the Lemur.

For a brief moment, the animal stopped moving, causing Altaïr's face to hover in front of the smaller one, and a few seconds passed before the Lemur leaned forward slightly and pressed its tiny nose against Altaïr's.

Altaïr's eyes widened while the Lemur's closed and it leaned its ears against the back of its head.

A faint noise could be heard.

... Purring?

Was the Lemur purring?

What is happening?, Altaïr thought confused.

The animal's ears snapped up as it opened its eyes again.

It let go of Altaïr's face and he drew his face back to himself.

Briefly his gaze darted down to the animal's little nose.

He had felt something.

Indeed, difficult to see, but still there; a pale scar ran horizontally across the small nose of the lemur.

Upon discovery, Altaïr, without thinking about it, licked his lips briefly, feeling his own scar running vertically through his upper and lower lip.

Then he looked back into the Lemur's golden eyes.

After a few seconds, the Lemur made a small, happy sound, then pushed off Altaïr's shoulder,  throwing its arms at its sides, and flew away.

For a brief moment, Altaïr watched the animal and tried to process the situation that had just happened.

He sighed and forced himself to keep walking.



After a few steps, however, he was stopped by someone.

"Altaïr! You've returned!"



Rauf pushed himself off the fountain he was leaning against and came towards Altaïr, arms outstretched and a delighted grin on his face.

"Rauf."

Rauf was one of the few men Altaïr could talk to, whom he was on good terms with.

The non-bender was a respected swordmaster who tried, and succeeded, to get along with all the men of the Brotherhood.

Although slowly and with many attempts, he has managed to break down Altaïr's walls, which he had built around himself and his heart over the years, and now the two are bound by a deep friendship.

It will hurt him to hear what happened, Altaïr thought, wondering how much longer Rauf would be his friend once he found out what had happened.


"It is good to see you unharmed. I trust your mission was a success?"

Altaïr had to hold back a grimace and didn't answer. “Is the Master in his tower?”

If Rauf was annoyed at not getting an answer to his question, he didn't show it. "Yes, yes. Buried in his books as always. No doubt he expects you."

Altaïr bowed his head slightly. "My thanks, brother."

Rauf smiled softly; crow's feet hugging his eyes. "Safety and peace Altaïr."

"On you as well."

With a nervous feeling in his stomach and a heart as heavy as a stone, he parted from Rauf and walked on.

Meeting Rauf as the first person in Masyaf lifted his spirits a bit, but the guilt and the constant thought in the back of his mind that the Master will be very disappointed and angry stayed the whole time.

The last person he wanted to see was Abbas, so of course meeting him second was a given.



"Ah. He returns at last."

Abbas pushed himself away from the wall and eyed Altaïr disapprovingly.

"Abbas," Altaïr replied dryly and tried to continue walking, but the other man blocked his way.

"Where are the others?" he asked, peering behind Altaïr as if the two brothers would suddenly appear just because he had mentioned them. Altaïr wished they would.

"Did you ride ahead hoping to be the first one back? I know you are loathe to share the glory," Abbas sneered, a spiteful grin on his lips.

Silence fell between the two for a brief moment before Abbas started talking again.

"Silence is just another form of assent."

Altaïr had had enough. "Have you nothing better to do?"

"I bring word from the Master. He waits for you in the library." He punctuated his words with his thumb, which was pointed over his shoulder.

He leaned slightly towards Altaïr.

"Best hurry. No doubt you're eager to put your tongue to his boot." The mockery in his voice was unmistakable.

"Another word and I'll put my blade to your throat."


Abbas was not intimidated, however, and to show how little the threat meant to him, he turned his back on Altaïr, walked back to the wall he was initially standing against and leaned against it again, his arms crossed on his chest.

"There'll be plenty of time for that later, brother."


Satisfied that Abbas would finally leave him alone, Altaïr began to walk again.

As he walked up the stone slope leading up to the fortress, he tried not to look at the training ring where he had often trained with the Al-Sayf brothers and watched them train.

It was cooler in the fortress itself; the thick stone walls isolated the warm air on the outside.

Even though there were scholars everywhere, his soft footsteps could be heard in the great hall.

He felt the men's gazes on him as if they were arrows penetrating his back and once again he was grateful for his hood.

Even if the conversations with his two brothers, but especially with Abbas, were not necessarily positive for him, Altaïr suddenly wished he had talked a little longer with the two men.

His Master's piercing eyes studied him.

"Altaïr."

"Master," he bowed respectfully and looked at the floor.

Rising from the bow, he met the eyes of Waqi, Al Mualims pet. The Cat Owl had its own place next to the Master's desk - an old, dried up tree was leaning against a wall, on which the animal built a nest. With the black fur on its back, the white fur on its belly, and the black and white fur on its head that made it look like the animal was also hooded, it looked a lot like its owner. Clutching its owl's wings tightly against itself, it appeared to be wearing a coat as well. Its green eyes looked down on Altaïr.

Altaïr didn't know why, but he had always disliked the animal. It was as if the animal was always judging him, as if he could never do anything right - as if the animal was just waiting for him to make a mistake and then would pounce on him with a scream of delight and sharp claws, as if he was nothing more than a small, vulnerable animal. Prey to play with, nothing more.

He blinked to interrupt the staring contest he had unknowingly been doing with the animal and looked back at his Master.

Al Mualim came around his desk and raised an arm.

"Come forward. Tell me of your mission. I trust you have recovered the Templar's treasure."


Altaïr took a few more steps forward but remained a respectful distance from the Master.

He swallowed and automatically assumed the position he had been taught since childhood. Straight back, legs shoulder-width apart and hands behind your back.

"There was some trouble, Master," he admitted.

"Robert de Sablé was not alone."

Al Mualim took a step closer and was now standing directly in front, and a little above, Altaïr because of the slight elevation his table was on.

"When does our work ever go as expected?" he said. "It's our ability to adapt that makes us who we are."


"This time it was not enough..." Altaïr admitted embarrassed.


Al Mualim's expression turned serious. "What do you mean?"


"I have failed you...", Altaïr said and looked at the ground.

"The treasure?"

"Lost to us."

"And Robert?"

"Escaped."

A short pause.

It was like everyone in the fortress had stopped breathing. Waiting to see how the Master will react.


Then-

"I send you, my best man, to complete a mission more important than any that has come before. And you return to me with nothing but apologies and excuses!"

"I did-" Altaïr began, but was interrupted by the Master.

Eyebrows furrowed and an angry glint in his eyes, Al Mualim raised his hand, silencing the younger man in front of him.

The flags painted with their Brotherhood's crest, hanging on either side of the desk, fluttered, as if shaking from the older man's anger.

Waqi continued to look down silently; the pricked cat ears and the cat tail flickering back and forth were the only signs that the animal was just as agitated as its master.

"Do not speak! Not another word!", he said seriously.

He turned and walked to a corner of his desk.

"This is not what I expected. We'll need to mount another force."

He walked to the other side of his desk. The long end of his black cloak dragged across the floor.

"I swear to you I'll find him. I'll go and-"

Once more Altaïr was interrupted by Al Mualim, who had just made his way to the other side of his desk again and now stopped in the middle.

"No! You'll do nothing! You've done enough!"

For a brief moment, Master and Assassin just looked at each other in silence.


One angry, the other the same. However, both for different reasons.

Al Mualim looked around. It had only now struck him that there should actually be three men standing in front of him and not just one.

"Where are Malik and Kadar?" he asked, in a tone that already indicated he already knew the answer.

He just wanted them confirmed by Altaïr.

Altaïr gritted his teeth briefly, the bones in his jaw tensing, but he said nothing of the many negative comments that were swirling around in his head, but gave the master a clear answer.

"Dead."

"No!"

Before Al Mualim could reply, another voice spoke up from the hallway behind Altaïr.

Both Al Mualim and Altaïr looked in shock to the direction the voice was coming from.

In the hallway stood Malik, his right arm clutching his left; his entire left side covered in blood.

Leaning against him was Kadar, covering his right hand. Judging from the amount of blood that peaked out from under the hand, there was probably not much left of it.

"We're not dead."

"Malik," Al Mualim said softly, unbelieving that the two brothers were still alive after Altaïr had just admitted the mission had failed.


How did the two escape?


Malik didn't respond to Al Mualim, pointing at Altaïr with the blood-smeared index finger of his right hand, "No thanks to you!"


"Robert threw me from the room! There was no way back, nothing I could do. Even with my airbending I would not have been able to move those rocks," Altaïr tried to justify himself, still shocked at the two brothers alive.


He hadn't killed them.


"Don't try to make up excuses! You were thrown out of the room because you wouldn't heed my warning! All of this could have been avoided!" He pointed to himself and Kadar, visibly hurt.


The younger brother, looking pale and tired, seemed neither angry like his brother nor somehow sad or disappointed that Altaïr had apparently left them for dead; he seemed more...ashamed. But why?


Releasing his hand, showing the bloody stub that was left of his hand, he grabbed his brother's outstretched arm and pulled it back to Malik's other arm so he could clutch it again.


However, still no word passed his lips.


"Your arrogance nearly costs us victory today!" Malik finished, visibly pulling himself together in front of his little brother.


"Nearly?" Al Mualim repeated.


"We brought what your favourite-", that word was said with so much venom, Altaïr wouldn't be surprised it would drip out of Malik's mouth, "failed to find. Here, take it."


Another brother, dressed in the robes of an informant, walked past the two brothers with the treasure in his hands.


The golden shape shone in the sunlight streaming through the window, and Altaïr shuddered. For what reason, he did not know himself.


Al Mualim pointed to the side of the desk and the hooded man bowed his head and stood on the spot just pointed at.


Now Malik spoke up again: "Though it seems we have returned with more than just their treasure..."


Another Assassin came down the hallway that led to Al Mualim's desk.

"Master! We are under attack! Robert de Sablé lays siege to Masyaf's village!"

Chapter Text

The battle for the village felt like a blur for Altaïr.

The knowledge that the mission had not completely failed after all and that the brothers were still alive, relieved him.

At the same time, however, a deep frustration and anger filled him. They wrapped themselves around his heart, stabbing into it as if they had sharp thorns, not unlike roses, until finally his heart was completely engulfed by his bad emotions. His heart, bleeding from the sharp thorns, felt heavy.

Frustration that Malik and Kadar, whom he had believed to be dead, whom he had left behind, whom he had mourned, so weakly and groundlessly, could get the treasure.

That they were better than him.

That they could make the Master proud.

Rage at Robert de Sablé, the man who so foolishly dared to attack the village of the Assassins, without taking any consequences himself.

He stabbed his sword through the stomach of one soldier in front of him, turned to the side and in one swift movement, a small knife flew through the air and landed unerringly in the heart of another.

He pulled his sword back out again, blood spurted and a body landed heavily on the ground, and he turned to the two villagers he had just saved.


He walked past them and retrieved his throwing knife - the mother made a disgusted face at the liquid-sounding noise that rang out as he pulled metal from the cooling body.

He eyed the two briefly, noting their trembling bodies and how the child's fingers were practically digging into the mother's clothes while the child pressed herself against the mother's back, so that she basically disappeared behind her mother, and turned back around.

"Thank you, Sir."

He stopped and moved his head just a little to the side, looking back at the two out of the corner of his eye.

The mother looked back and tried to smile at him, trembling and weak as it was.

He simply nodded once and kept walking.

Time passed. Blood was shed, screams were punctuated by metal, tears flowed unstoppably. Walls of houses were burned everywhere, the ground was all wet and slippery here and there, and lumps of rock of various sizes laid scattered everywhere. The cooling bodies of enemies and friends alike, as well as their swords and knives, laid scattered throughout the village.

It was as if more and more enemy soldiers kept coming, with no end in sight.

And then all of a sudden they were gone and it got quiet.

Altaïr stood behind the great gate that separated the village from the outside world. His brow furrowed in suspicion as his eyes intently surveyed his surroundings; his body tense and ready to defend his people.

He had a feeling in his gut - the fight was not over yet.

Footsteps approached from behind.

"Break off the attack and return to Masyaf! Al Mualim commands it!"

As quickly as Abbas came, he disappeared again.

Even though the bad feeling in his stomach had not disappeared yet, Altaïr took one last look around before he turned around and followed Abbas.

One does not disobey the orders of the Master after all.

Once at the top of the mountain, inside the fortress, as he was on his way to the Master, his name was called. He turned in the direction the voice was coming from and looked up.

Rauf was standing on a ledge that led to one of the two watchtowers.

Masyaf, the village of the Assassins, was far away from the other villages and towns of the Kingdom, surrounded by great mountains and mountain ranges; hidden and well protected from enemies. A large wooden gate, placed between two huge and unclimbable mountain walls, protected the villagers, and at the same time the Assassins, from possible enemy attacks.

The Assassins' fortress stood on the great mountain of Masyaf, just behind the village. To get there, one had to cross the village lying at the bottom and follow a narrow mountain path that got slowly steeper.

A large and thick stone wall and an iron gate separated the fortress from the path. There was a high watchtower to the right and left of the wall, from which one had a good view of the entire village and behind the protective wooden gate in front of the village.

However, to get to the towers, one had to climb a small ladder to reach a cylindrical like ledge protruding from the stone wall. On this ledge was on one hand a small path that led to the front wall so that you could attack from above when the gate was closed, and on the other hand a small room with a ladder, which then ultimately led to the small room high up in the tower.

Even from a distance, Altaïr could see Rauf's serious expression.

"Al Mualim's not done with us yet."

Without hesitation, Altaïr ran toward the ladder leaning against the wall of the stone ledge, ignored it, and leaped into the air.

With a little help from the air, he landed softly on the ledge of the fortress with ease.

Rauf nodded seriously at him and turned around. Altaïr followed him.

"Where are we going?"

They walked toward a small entrance in the wall - the entrance to the small room that held the ladder that led to the guard room at the top of the tower.

In the narrow room stood three more Assassins, two each by the ladder and another by the entrance Rauf and Altaïr were just walking through. They all had their hands on their swords and their muscles tensed and ready to fight, but Altaïr paid them no further attention.

Rauf pointed to the ladder, which stood in the middle of the small room, and pointed upward.

"Up there. We've a surprise planned for our guests."

Rauf began to climb up the ladder. Again Altaïr followed, this time also up the ladder.

Arriving at the raised platform inside of the tower, more Assassins were standing there, all ready to fight as well.

Another Assassin, a Rank six, identified by his better leather boots and ten throwing knives, five on his belt and the five others at his neck, was walking toward them.

Rauf turned to Altaïr.

"The three of us stand on the platforms-" he gestured toward the three wooden plates protruding from the tower, typically used for a Master Assassin's first Leap of Faith, "and wait for the Master's signal. When we get the signal, we jump together."

The other Assassin, his face hidden by his grey hood, nodded once while Altaïr, not acknowledging that he had been listening to Rauf, walked towards one of the three protruding plates.

Only out of the corner of his eye did he notice Rauf and the Assassin taking their respective places on the two other plates as well; Rauf in the middle, with the other man on the left and Altaïr on the right.

"Heretic!"

Robert de Sablé's voice echoed across the silent castle grounds.

Altaïr turned his head to the right.

A large force, with Robert de Sablé on horseback in front, stood before the closed gates of the fortress.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Al Mualim and other Assassins had gathered on the wall above the gate.

De Sablé pointed his drawn sword at the Master, eyebrows furrowed, corners of his mouth turned down, and a spiteful twinkle in his eyes. Hate was evident throughout his whole body and Altaïr briefly wondered if the Grand Master of the Templar Knights had any images in his mind of how he would most like to kill Al Mualim and if he would make his death slow and painful or grant him mercy, before quickly putting those thoughts out of his mind and concentrating on what the man was now shouting:


"Return what you have stolen from me!"

"You've no claim to it, Robert! Take yourself from here before I'm forced to thin your ranks further!"

"You play a dangerous game!" growled de Sablé.

"I assure you, this is no game."

The Master emphasized his words with a cutting hand gesture and a shake of his head.

De Sablé seemed to lose his (already thin) patience, "So be it! Bring forth the hostage!"

From the middle of the group, a novice is brought forward - hands bound together behind his back and his hood down, revealing his young face and fearful eyes.

The soldier, his face hidden by a helmet protecting his entire head, who has pushed him forward, grabbed him by the shoulder with one hand to hold him tight and keep him close, and with the other he stabbed a sword through the younger man's body.

White cloth turned red and blood stained the ground around him as he carelessly dropped the now dead Assassin. His chin lifted proudly, despite having just taken a young man's life.

"Your village lies in ruins and your stores are hardly endless!", de Sablé continued talking, not caring that a young life had just been taken before him.

"How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain, when the wells run dry and their food is gone?"

"My men do not fear death, Robert!", Al Mualim replied, not letting anything show on his face.

"They welcome it, and the rewards it brings!"

"Good! Then they shall have it all around!", growled de Sablé, while his men were getting ready to attack.

Now Rauf spoke again, only loud enough so the two men at his side could hear him: "Follow me, and do so without hesitation."

"Show these fool knights what it is to have no fear!" Al Mualim shouted, pointing his arm up at the three Assassins.

Both Robert and his force, as well as the remaining Assassins beside Al Mualim, turned towards the tower.

"Go to God!"

The sun shone down on them and the wind played with their clothing as all attention was focused on the three men in white and red robes standing high on the wooden platforms of the tall tower. The many flags, white at the top with red spikes at the bottom, with the black and red symbol of the Assassins in the white half, which hung distributed on the tower, flapped proudly with the wind.

Rauf jumped first and the other two followed at his sides.

In the distance the typical sound of a Winged Lemur could be heard.

Altaïr stretched his arms apart, toward the ground with palms turned backwards, and jumped, facing the ground and feet straight, legs pressed together.

For a brief moment everything seemed to stand still and only the excited tingling in his stomach and the fresh air around him mattered.

His failure was forgotten, as was the surprising survival of the two Al-Sayf brothers and the disappointment of Al Mualim. Even Robert de Sablé and his attack on the village and the fortress were forgotten for a brief moment.

Altaïr felt free and carefree.

And suddenly everything came back.

The wind tugged at his clothes and he could only faintly hear the startled noises of the soldiers over the roaring in his ears.

From the perspective of Robert and his men, it looked as if the Assassins would jump into a cliff and thus to their death. A small mountain range separated the path on which Robert and his men stood, the path that led to the fortress, with a small valley in which was a lake.

At the bottom of the fortress, there was a small ledge a few meters above the water, on which were three large haystacks. Whether they fell into the haystacks, as was intended, or in the water, they would survive the fall. (Unless one would expect them to hit one of the small mountains and big rooks sticking out of all around the lake.)

Altaïr remembered that jump all too well. Any man who wanted to become a Masters Assassin had to perform this Leap of Faith. After you've climbed all the ranks, you basically jump down from this tower as your last Leap of Faith as an Apprentice and your first Leap of Faith as a Master. The fall from the top of the tower to the haystacks was quite long and was intended to symbolize the long process that lays behind one when one reached the last rank. A ladder carved into the stone wall of the mountain of the fortress led back again.

Meanwhile, Altaïr fell headfirst toward the haystacks, arms outstretched at his side.

With a practiced twist of his body and a rolling motion of his arms, he twisted in mid-air so that he was now falling with his back to the ground. His robes fluttered around him, sounding like the flapping of wings for a brief moment.

His stomach tingled one last time before he landed in the familiar arms of the haystack.

For a brief moment he was surrounded by darkness and the tingling sensation of each straw, his heart slowly pounding.

He then jumped out of the haystack and was faced with screams.

"Ahhh! My foot! Urgh..."

The unknown Assassin who had jumped with them sat in front of his haystack and held his foot. Rauf knelt in front of him and talked to him.

Altaïr had to suppress an eye roll and an annoyed sigh and ran to them.

"Quiet or the Templars will hear us!"

Altaïr stopped next to Rauf and looked down.

The younger man, hood down and eyes wet with tears, even when he tried to suppress them, was holding his left foot and Altaïr could clearly see the way it was bent in a way it was not supposed to. At the side the boot was ripped and Altaïr thought he could see the white of his bone protruding from his skin and through the ripped leather of the boot.



Rauf turned to Altaïr.

"I'll stay behind and tend to him. You'll have to go ahead without us."

He twisted his body and pointed to a long rope stretched between the smaller mountains and rocks in the lake. Wherever the rope ran, there was a thick wooden beam that was stuck between the two mountains to form a kind of path.

"The ropes there will lead you to a trap we've set. Go and release it. Bring death upon our enemies!"

Altaïr walked away, once more without acknowledging Rauf.

As he walked, he slowly curled his fingers into fists and felt the air gather around him. If he had to explain, he would say that it felt like the air around him was solidifying, so that you could feel it; like a soft breath of the wind - still air, still untouchable, but somehow noticeable. It felt like a breeze clinging to his clothes but not pushing him away or stopping him in any way. Like a trusted friend, always by his side; ready to help him.

Arriving at the first beam, he didn't walk across it, but jumped and shot through the air head first, thanks to the air he had gathered around him.

Thanks to his momentum, he twisted in the air - his body bent, his knees drawn close to his chest while his hands, arms tight at his side, grabbed his knees - and did a roll in the air.

As his body straightened again, his back to the water and his head up, he stretched out his arms and legs, his eyes fixed on the ledge he intended to land on.

His feet landed on the hard ground, the tips of his toes first, then he curled his body back into a kneeling position and planted his hands on the ground - with the momentum his body still received from the jump and roll in the air, he continued to move forward and did a roll on the ground as well.

Then he quickly straightened up with the movement and stopped.

Instead of slowly creeping over the shaky wooden beam, his jump had taken him only a few seconds.

He repeated these jumps two more times before reaching the last ledge.

In front of the fortress, at the end of the steep path, there was also a small watchtower that could only be reached by exiting the fortress and walking a few steps along the path. At least he had thought so. There seemed to be another way, though. One, he did not know about. (Only the guards, two stationed there during day, three stationed there during night, and of course Al Mualim, knew about the other way. Why? Well, that only the Master knows.)

The mountain wall in front of which he stood resembled the tower walls. Carved stones, jutting stones and small wooden beams to climb up, single windows and an enclosure for pigeons at the top.

He quickly ran towards the first jutting stones at the bottom and started to climb. Every now and then he would jump and use the air to catapult himself up a little before continuing to climb quickly.

In just a few minutes he had reached the top and climbed through a large hole into the small room at the top of the tower.

He was now right behind de Sablé and his force, unbeknownst to them.

As soon as Altaïr entered the room, he could see which trap Rauf had been talking about. The room only had three walls, the fourth was missing so you could better see below - at the (missing) wall there were some logs, tied together with a rope that prevented the logs from falling down.

Altaïr drew his sword and cut the rope with ease.

The logs fell and Robert's men quickly grew fewer.

Screams of surprise and pain filled the air. Some men tried to stop the tree logs with their Gift, but many failed and had to pay with their lives, others tried to duck and run away; most, however, were crushed.

Robert steered his horse away from the logs, and if one did get too close, he shot out a fist, scorching the wood as he quickly dodged out of its path.

He looked up to where the logs had come from and noticed Altaïr. Even if it didn't seem possible before, his expression darkened even more. He drew his sword again, which he had sheathed in the surprise ambush, and was just opening his mouth when he stopped.

He looked around and saw that not many were left of his force; he growled, turned around and looked up at Al Mualim, who was looking indifferently down his nose at Robert, his arms behind his back.

"It's not over yet, vieil homme! You may have won today, but the game isn't over yet. You will regret what you have done! When you're lying and bleeding on the ground with my sword in your stomach, you will think of today. And let me tell you one thing: Je ne te montrerai aucune pitié, je le jure!"

With his speech over, de Sablé turned his horse around and galloped away - defeated.

Assassins of all Ranks alike started cheering.

Altaïr, who had been watching the silhouette of de Sablé retreat, to make sure the man really disappeared from Masyaf, turned his head back to the wall, and the men standing on it.

The Master's white and brown pair of eyes looked back at him.