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“It wasn’t your fault, brother.”
Malik chided the man sitting at his bedside. Altair resembled nothing of the confident, brash man that set off to confront the Mongol hordes 11 years prior. The man was but a hollow husk of his former visage, guilt-ridden and empty as he observed how his absence had led to the deterioration of the order and his second-in-command. Malik’s words escaped his cracked lips in quiet whispers, his voice hoarse from years of disuse. Altair didn’t acknowledge the words, his body was still as his amber eyes swept up and down the now unfamiliar body of the man he grew up with, fought with, loved with. The day he left the fortress with Maria and Darim, he was preoccupied by the threats from the East and the hisses from the Apple. He recalled the way he parted with Malik, sparkling eyes and promises of his return lauded with glory despite the soft unease that settled into his gut as the thought of leaving the man by his side for an indeterminate amount of time. The trust he had in the other man as a leader reassured him in his decision on lonely nights out in foreign lands, but now, with Malik’s thin, frail, body in front of him, he wondered if he had made a mistake after all.
“Sometimes, I wonder if I was a curse cast upon you. All the pain that befell you stemmed from me. And yet, I could not go on knowing you hate me as you rightly should.”
“Even when I should have, I never did hate you,” was the weak, muted response Malik offered.
Consumed as he was in his pain, Altair fell into a restless slumber as the other man provided quiet reassurances in an attempt to soothe him.
--
“You must eat, novice,” Malik huffed as a plate was set upon the table.
Altair ignored his words, his entire being swallowed by the grief of the loss he experienced upon his return to the fortress he once called home. “All those years away from Masyaf, I thought of our reunion every day, of the grand tales we would exchange as we made up for lost time.” Malik could only hum in response, knowing that any attempt to placate the usurped Grand Master would fall upon deaf ears. He could only watch as the man he loved destroy himself, refusing to feed himself, care for himself, as if paying penance for the suffering Malik experienced while imprisoned. “Starving will not bring back our Order, you need strength if we are to reclaim our home.” And yet, the food sat untouched as the man was lost in his own thoughts and memories.
--
As if shaken from a dream, Altair shook off the haze of self-loathing, hatred, and pain that shrouded his very being. He began to once again study the Apple, knowing that the damned artifact was the key in reclaiming the Order, despite being the very reason he lost it (and so much more) years ago. “As much as I despise the thing, I am glad that, if nothing else, it has allowed you to find reason and purpose once more,” Malik acknowledged. Altair’s lips quirked into a slight smirk, he let a slight chuckle pass his lips. “I am well aware of your loathing of the Apple. And yet, it is you that drags me away from the illusions the artifact shows me, you who grounds me in reality. With your help, I am able to study the Apple once more, taking only the knowledge I need from it while you disperse the hold it attempts to stake on my mind.”
Unlike in the days following the death of Al Mualim, Altair did not need to be dragged away from his desk while under the influence of the Piece of Eden. Older and wiser now, Malik knew he did not need to worry that the man would wither to nothing as he gleaned all the information he could from the golden orb. However, Malik would still hover over the man as he hunched over his desk, inscribing the weapons and medicines the artifact revealed to him onto parchment to be preserved and passed through the ages. Occasionally, though, it seemed the man would be consumed by the artifact as he was when they were younger. “Eat, your meal is sitting untouched right in front of you,” Malik would exclaim. “The drawings can wait while you take a meal, or has your old age addled your memory so? Will the images slip your mind if you set down your quill?” He still held the teasing bite to his words, though softened by endearment and age. Every time, Altair would retreat from the daze the Apple entranced him in, pausing to rest or eat and ponder his newly acquired knowledge.
--
Malik smiled as Altair made preparations to set off for Masyaf once more. “Finally, the Grand Master is making his return,” Malik smirked. They began their ride to the old fortress, a feeling of trepidation and relief settling like a well-worn cloak as they rode along on the path home, so familiar to them both. Arriving at the village sitting at the foot of Masyaf, they settled near the well to clean off the dust from travel. Malik stayed vigilant as Altair slipped into a shallow rest, alert and ready for trouble should it find them. “Wake up, we have company,” Malik hissed, noticing the figure lurking in one of the squat building surrounding the well. A bandit pounced upon the assassins, easily dispatched but quickly replaced like a swarm of locusts. “It seems our we are no longer the young men we once were,” Malik stated as they tired while fighting off this group of simple bandits. “Even the man who fought through two armies is no match for time.” Altair only grunted, sword clashing against the blade of the bandits surrounding them.
--
As the two surveyed the village, Altair aided those in need and blended into the people, gathering information from the crowds as he did when he was a novice. “Truly, you are not the person you once were, you have grown well into your role as Grand Master.” Malik was proud of the man’s growth since his fall from grace in Jerusalem all those years ago. Altair suddenly changed course, walking on a path that led towards a secluded clearing away from the crowds. “So you’ve noticed him too,” Malik murmured, “worry not, he means no harm.” They approached an empty alley surrounded on three sides by empty buildings, safe from prying eyes and greedy ears. “Safety and peace,” the stranger greeted, focusing on Altair. “I am Tazim Al-Sayf.” Overwhelmed with emotion, Altair could not speak, his eyes welled with tears as he grasped the younger man in a tight embrace. Malik stepped aside and as he watched the two, pride swelled in his chest as he witnessed his son work with their Grand Master to reclaim the Order from the traitors, just as he himself had done when they uncovered Al Mualim’s treason.
--
“I did not know you had a son, though I am glad that he lived.” Altair paused to voice this thought. Malik laughed with a wry grin, “As am I. His mother cared for him after our...exile.” They continued to ready themselves for yet another battle to reclaim Masyaf. “He truly is your blood. Years after his father rescued me as we fought our way to defeat a master-turned-traitor, here his son emerges to follow in his steps.” Bemused, Malik simply laughed, indeed their fates were so entangled that even his son’s was captured in the web their destinies spun.
--
The gates of Masyaf opened without much resistance in the face of Altair’s approach. “We always knew the weasel was a fool,” Malik joked, “but to neglect combat training, to think he managed to overthrow us both.” Altair did not respond. He silently lead his band of assassins into Masyaf, this homecoming far from the grand entrance he imagined years back after his triumph over the Mongols. Once they entered the castle, his eyes focused on Abbas. “Kill him! Kill him now!” Abbas was fervent in his orders, exposing the fear he still held of Altair and the power of the artifact. Malik held back, watching the two men--one filled with hatred, the other filled with pity--face each other in their final stand. Altair regarded Abbas a final time, he lifted his arm. Malik could not suppress the grim joy he felt, spite is a bitter thing, he thought. With a single shot, in a single moment, the traitor’s rule was brought to an end.
--
Mentor once again, Altair eventually began constructing a vault as he restored the Order to glory. “I see you are finally taking my advice and sealing that infernal thing away for good,” Malik quipped. Altair grinned as he hid the Apple in its final resting place.
“My work is finally done. With this, we can finally meet once more.” He sat down, and with solitary sigh to disturb the stillness of the empty room, closed his eyes for last time.
--
“It would not have happened to a stronger leader.”
Malik’s broken voice cracked the oppressive silence of the dark. During his years as captive, he was tortured by the knowledge of his own failures as a leader and protector of his friend’s son. As he sat in the dark, damp dungeons, his mind replayed the moments leading up to the coup, twisting in his thoughts as he wondered what Altair would have done, knowing that such a thing would not have happened under the other man’s leadership. “Hush, save your strength,” Altair hummed, focused solely on the task of sneaking the man from the cell to the safety of his own home.
As they lie in bed, Malik was comforted by the gentle ministrations Altair provided. After a decade apart, they fell into place in the other’s side despite the changes both had undergone. Gone were the muscles that once rested just under his skin, he had grown emaciated while he was restrained in his cell. And yet, with the appearance of the man that haunted his dreams, he could forget the past two years if only for a moment. Here, in Altair’s arms, Malik was lulled into a relieved sleep, the deepest he slept since the man’s departure long ago.
Altair left Malik’s side after the man fell asleep, hesitating for just a moment to watch his breaths and trail a loving hand against the man’s hollowed cheeks. Fury fueled his need to confront the traitor that killed his son and imprisoned his best friend, his lover, his other half. So engulfed in his rage, he did not notice the rat scurrying about just beyond the walls.
When he confronted Abbas that fateful day, he was presented with the sack.
--
Malik sat idly on an empty field of green, watching the clouds float about as he awaited the arrival of his other half. After all that has happened, he mused, here we are where it began once again. He was just beyond Masyaf’s gates, sitting in a surprisingly green clearing, the very place he first met the other boy that occupied so much of his life. He felt, rather than heard, hesitant footsteps approach him. Even in death he can’t forsake our training, forever silent in footfall, he chuckled. Spirits lightened, he turned, smiling as he laid eyes once more on the man that caused him so much pain, gave him so much comfort, throughout his existence. Altair looked at him, eyes shining with mirth and questioning with confusion simultaneously. They stared at the other, taking in all they could as if unbelieving. The two were free of the wrinkles and scars that decorated them in life, their souls shining and clean despite the sins that weighed down their corporeal forms. The two boys embraced, holding the other as if afraid one would vanish into smoke and leave naught a trace.
“Safety and peace, Malik.”
“Your presence has delivered us both.”