When Altair and Malik first met, they were far too young to walk and had to be carried on the shoulders of their fathers. By the time they became recruits, they were twelve years old and neither of them had fathers to carry them. They lived in Masyaf’s fortress and trained there- weapons, geography, warfare, ideology, language, maths and sciences… Nothing was barred to the young men except perhaps friendship.
The recruits held their heads down and worked to carve their own daggers out of horn and wood. Their instructor watched over them, ensuring that each boy knew the procedure proper. These weapons were not to be used for assassination of course, but simply to teach the boys to respect their real blades which they would get years later. These would be practice blades for training. “Who is your best friend, Altair? Me or Abbas?”
“You.”
“That simple?”
“Yes. Abbas hates me now, you know that. You are all I have.” Not once did Altair even look up from his work. “Who is your best friend? Me or Kadar?”
“Kadar is my brother! Obviously I like you more.”
Their muffled chuckles drew the attention of their instructor, who shouted at them to be quiet. Altair made a low whistling sound. Malik sniffled to show he was listening. Altair whispered, “you want to go explore the fortress dungeon afterwards? While I was locked up there with Abbas I found a secret passageway.”
“Is Abbas coming?” Malik mouthed back.
“Not asking him. What about Kadar and Amad?”
“Not asking any of them.” The message was clear. “Let’s go to the village after and find the Holy Tree in your yard, too.”
The memory sparked a light in Altair’s eyes, and he nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
The boys, now nearly young men, smiled conspiratorially at each other and turned away as soon as they felt their instructor’s gaze on them. For now, they looked on the half-formed and mutilated daggers in their laps and felt as though they had all the time in the world. If forever had a form, it would be a brass goblet. Altair and Malik decided to keep the goblet. They had wrapped it up in cloth and stowed it away in a secret cache in Al Mualim’s sitting room. It was the only place where it could be safe, since those of the Order could keep no possessions. It was their secret. And as long as they knew it was there, they held eternity in their hands.
~ x ~
About ten years later, the Grand Master of the Assassin Order delivered a gift to the Dai of Jerusalem. Malik undid the pouch with nimble but impatient fingers, and promptly erupted into tears. He reached in and held eternity in his one remaining hand and cried and cried and cried. How silly. When he woke up this morning, he would not have guessed something so absurd such as this could befall upon him. By this one moment, his calm and collected morning was ruined, as was the promise of a blissfully uneventful day.
“Will you come to Masyaf and be my advisor?” Altair lowered his eyes out of respect at the blatant display of raw emotion. He had expected something like this. That goblet was a relic of yesterday, of a time when they were young and aimless and stupid with all the hopes and dreams of the world. Altair had a similar reaction when he came across it while clearing out Al Mualim’s old sitting room.
“W-what about Abdul? Or Sarim?” Malik wiped his tears on the back of his sleeve, overcome with both joy and profound nostalgia. He’d forgotten all about this goblet. They were no longer children. They stood on their own two feet (even though one of them had but one arm), and knew exactly how they were put on this earth. Now the question was not “how was I born?” but “how will I die?” and “why am I here?”. Now after all the trials Altair and Malik had endured, this worthless piece of brass was absolutely everything. Malik was going to treasure it forever, but for now… “Abdul a-and Sarim are certainly more capable t-than I.”
Altair only smiled sweetly and offered Malik a kerchief on which to blow his nose. “Not asking any of them. Let’s go to the village after and find the Holy Tree in my yard, too.”
The adjacent memories slammed into Malik like a punch to the face. He was torn between the need to cry harder and the overwhelming desire to laugh.
“Okay,” he said, taking the cloth and wiping away the liquid remnants of yesterday. “Let’s do it.”
~ x ~
End
~ x ~
I'd appreciate any thoughts or feedback. I wanted to show pieces of Altair and Malik's childhood, whether it be funny or embarrassing or just plain deep. And a lot of people forget that they had parents at one point, so I sort of wanted to bring them out too. I didn't include any slashy implications at all like the other writer!anon did (even though slash is totally my thing hehe), and hopefully OP still likes. :)
Eternity in the Hands (4) [End]
When Altair and Malik first met, they were far too young to walk and had to be carried on the shoulders of their fathers. By the time they became recruits, they were twelve years old and neither of them had fathers to carry them. They lived in Masyaf’s fortress and trained there- weapons, geography, warfare, ideology, language, maths and sciences… Nothing was barred to the young men except perhaps friendship.
The recruits held their heads down and worked to carve their own daggers out of horn and wood. Their instructor watched over them, ensuring that each boy knew the procedure proper. These weapons were not to be used for assassination of course, but simply to teach the boys to respect their real blades which they would get years later. These would be practice blades for training. “Who is your best friend, Altair? Me or Abbas?”
“You.”
“That simple?”
“Yes. Abbas hates me now, you know that. You are all I have.” Not once did Altair even look up from his work. “Who is your best friend? Me or Kadar?”
“Kadar is my brother! Obviously I like you more.”
Their muffled chuckles drew the attention of their instructor, who shouted at them to be quiet. Altair made a low whistling sound. Malik sniffled to show he was listening. Altair whispered, “you want to go explore the fortress dungeon afterwards? While I was locked up there with Abbas I found a secret passageway.”
“Is Abbas coming?” Malik mouthed back.
“Not asking him. What about Kadar and Amad?”
“Not asking any of them.” The message was clear. “Let’s go to the village after and find the Holy Tree in your yard, too.”
The memory sparked a light in Altair’s eyes, and he nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
The boys, now nearly young men, smiled conspiratorially at each other and turned away as soon as they felt their instructor’s gaze on them. For now, they looked on the half-formed and mutilated daggers in their laps and felt as though they had all the time in the world. If forever had a form, it would be a brass goblet. Altair and Malik decided to keep the goblet. They had wrapped it up in cloth and stowed it away in a secret cache in Al Mualim’s sitting room. It was the only place where it could be safe, since those of the Order could keep no possessions. It was their secret. And as long as they knew it was there, they held eternity in their hands.
~ x ~
About ten years later, the Grand Master of the Assassin Order delivered a gift to the Dai of Jerusalem. Malik undid the pouch with nimble but impatient fingers, and promptly erupted into tears. He reached in and held eternity in his one remaining hand and cried and cried and cried. How silly. When he woke up this morning, he would not have guessed something so absurd such as this could befall upon him. By this one moment, his calm and collected morning was ruined, as was the promise of a blissfully uneventful day.
“Will you come to Masyaf and be my advisor?” Altair lowered his eyes out of respect at the blatant display of raw emotion. He had expected something like this. That goblet was a relic of yesterday, of a time when they were young and aimless and stupid with all the hopes and dreams of the world. Altair had a similar reaction when he came across it while clearing out Al Mualim’s old sitting room.
“W-what about Abdul? Or Sarim?” Malik wiped his tears on the back of his sleeve, overcome with both joy and profound nostalgia. He’d forgotten all about this goblet. They were no longer children. They stood on their own two feet (even though one of them had but one arm), and knew exactly how they were put on this earth. Now the question was not “how was I born?” but “how will I die?” and “why am I here?”. Now after all the trials Altair and Malik had endured, this worthless piece of brass was absolutely everything. Malik was going to treasure it forever, but for now… “Abdul a-and Sarim are certainly more capable t-than I.”
Altair only smiled sweetly and offered Malik a kerchief on which to blow his nose. “Not asking any of them. Let’s go to the village after and find the Holy Tree in my yard, too.”
The adjacent memories slammed into Malik like a punch to the face. He was torn between the need to cry harder and the overwhelming desire to laugh.
“Okay,” he said, taking the cloth and wiping away the liquid remnants of yesterday. “Let’s do it.”
~ x ~
End
~ x ~
I'd appreciate any thoughts or feedback. I wanted to show pieces of Altair and Malik's childhood, whether it be funny or embarrassing or just plain deep. And a lot of people forget that they had parents at one point, so I sort of wanted to bring them out too. I didn't include any slashy implications at all like the other writer!anon did (even though slash is totally my thing hehe), and hopefully OP still likes. :)