[I'm sorry that it's so short today... I'm just effing tired :( ]
For us to live, you had to die.
His father died when he'd been elven. Altair had watched as they executed him – his father's life to save a traitor's. His life to pay for a mistake – but it only left one suffering in the end. An elven year old boy who watched his father's beheading, blood staining the grounds as his head fell with empty wide eyes staring up the gray sky. A few years later it happened all over again. The man who'd been as dear to him as his own father died through his blade. Some thought of Al Mualim as a demon, corrupted by the Apple's power, his mind poisoned. For Altair, it wasn't that easy. He couldn't see evil now as he looked at the old man's broken body. All he saw was a man who taught him so much as a child a youth and later as an adult. The worst part was that Altair knew – in his twisted mind, Al Mualim didn't mean harm. He thought what he did was good, he thought he delivered peace. And Altair understood which made it even harder for him to breath now as he carried the corpse towards the pyre. He couldn't hate him and he didn't see a demon when he looked at him, just a man who wanted to do good with terrible methods.
He was eyed skeptical by several members of the Order, some of them still trapped within the artifact's magic, its invisible threads looped around their bodies and playing them like little puppets. Most of them were simply confused, scared maybe, as their Grandmaster had died and everything was at chaos. Others though believed Altair being the real traitor, corrupting their Master's mind and lulling him into doom, killing him in the end as if he'd been planing everything right from the beginning. Only a few knew the truth as they had fought by Altair's side, helping him to get into the fortress so he could meet his fate as he stood in front of Al Mualim, ready to find his death if he should fail. No one stopped him as he walked towards, laying their Master down onto the piled wood, his fingers brushing across the black robes and for a moment he thought he was only sleeping. Nobody was attending the funeral as it wasn't really one, his Brothers holding their distance - most didn't approve with burning him. As the sun slowly died and with the moon rising it was just him standing their, his Grandmaster's ashes still glowing a soft orange its heat reaching his skin, warming him.
He didn't turn around when he heard him slowly walking up to him. Malik stopped just shortly behind Altair – even he didn't dare to get any closer. He was silent for the longest of moments, the fire still cracking. "Sad are only those who understand", Malik said eventually. Altair's head felt just a bit heavier, his muscles tired and heart cold. He had his hood up, shielding him from the soft breeze blowing and from everybody's eyes watching him. He wondered how it was possible for Malik to be so spot on and his shoulders slumped down as he curled the fingers of his left hand into a tight fist. "You know what he always said? We're using lies to tell the truth while the Templars use them to cover the truth up", Altair murmured softly, his words carried away by the wind and sparks were dancing in front of him. He looked up into the dark sky, the wind bringing tears to his eyes. "It makes me wonder now which of those he did."
"Don't confuse yourself Altair. He was fooling us, betraying and compromising our Creed. You did the right thing in the right moment."
"And when the moment ends?"
"When the moment ends it's in the past. The past shouldn't weight you down."
They were quiet after that, both lost in their own memories, fighting their own inner battles. While Altair often enjoyed the silence, today it was just too loud for him to bear. "What are you doing here anyway?", he asked Malik in a raspy voice.
"We are one, Altair", and he thought he could hear the smile in his voice. "As we share the glory of victory-"
"-so too should we share the pain of defeat", Altair finished as it was the same Malik told him back in Jerusalem when he'd told him he was sorry.
"It seems today it's both. Victory and defeat", Malik murmured, placing one hand on Altair's shoulder, squeezing gently. It was actually nice not being alone also Altair was torn between shoving the other man away or relaxing underneath his touch. His muscles went tense anyway and for a split second he trembled, fearing for a moment that he wouldn't be able to control his emotions any longer. He swallowed it all down then and they stood there for a long time until it was deep in the night, the fire had long died and its warmth was gone. Malik had left eventually, leaving Altair by himself and when the ash had cooled down he took a fistful of it, stretching his arm out and then letting go, all of it, the gray flakes flying away with the wind just like the memory he had of a man that no longer existed.
Re: Fill: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again 7/?
For us to live, you had to die.
His father died when he'd been elven. Altair had watched as they executed him – his father's life to save a traitor's. His life to pay for a mistake – but it only left one suffering in the end. An elven year old boy who watched his father's beheading, blood staining the grounds as his head fell with empty wide eyes staring up the gray sky. A few years later it happened all over again. The man who'd been as dear to him as his own father died through his blade. Some thought of Al Mualim as a demon, corrupted by the Apple's power, his mind poisoned. For Altair, it wasn't that easy. He couldn't see evil now as he looked at the old man's broken body. All he saw was a man who taught him so much as a child a youth and later as an adult. The worst part was that Altair knew – in his twisted mind, Al Mualim didn't mean harm. He thought what he did was good, he thought he delivered peace. And Altair understood which made it even harder for him to breath now as he carried the corpse towards the pyre. He couldn't hate him and he didn't see a demon when he looked at him, just a man who wanted to do good with terrible methods.
He was eyed skeptical by several members of the Order, some of them still trapped within the artifact's magic, its invisible threads looped around their bodies and playing them like little puppets. Most of them were simply confused, scared maybe, as their Grandmaster had died and everything was at chaos. Others though believed Altair being the real traitor, corrupting their Master's mind and lulling him into doom, killing him in the end as if he'd been planing everything right from the beginning. Only a few knew the truth as they had fought by Altair's side, helping him to get into the fortress so he could meet his fate as he stood in front of Al Mualim, ready to find his death if he should fail. No one stopped him as he walked towards, laying their Master down onto the piled wood, his fingers brushing across the black robes and for a moment he thought he was only sleeping. Nobody was attending the funeral as it wasn't really one, his Brothers holding their distance - most didn't approve with burning him. As the sun slowly died and with the moon rising it was just him standing their, his Grandmaster's ashes still glowing a soft orange its heat reaching his skin, warming him.
He didn't turn around when he heard him slowly walking up to him. Malik stopped just shortly behind Altair – even he didn't dare to get any closer. He was silent for the longest of moments, the fire still cracking. "Sad are only those who understand", Malik said eventually. Altair's head felt just a bit heavier, his muscles tired and heart cold. He had his hood up, shielding him from the soft breeze blowing and from everybody's eyes watching him. He wondered how it was possible for Malik to be so spot on and his shoulders slumped down as he curled the fingers of his left hand into a tight fist. "You know what he always said? We're using lies to tell the truth while the Templars use them to cover the truth up", Altair murmured softly, his words carried away by the wind and sparks were dancing in front of him. He looked up into the dark sky, the wind bringing tears to his eyes. "It makes me wonder now which of those he did."
"Don't confuse yourself Altair. He was fooling us, betraying and compromising our Creed. You did the right thing in the right moment."
"And when the moment ends?"
"When the moment ends it's in the past. The past shouldn't weight you down."
They were quiet after that, both lost in their own memories, fighting their own inner battles. While Altair often enjoyed the silence, today it was just too loud for him to bear. "What are you doing here anyway?", he asked Malik in a raspy voice.
"We are one, Altair", and he thought he could hear the smile in his voice. "As we share the glory of victory-"
"-so too should we share the pain of defeat", Altair finished as it was the same Malik told him back in Jerusalem when he'd told him he was sorry.
"It seems today it's both. Victory and defeat", Malik murmured, placing one hand on Altair's shoulder, squeezing gently. It was actually nice not being alone also Altair was torn between shoving the other man away or relaxing underneath his touch. His muscles went tense anyway and for a split second he trembled, fearing for a moment that he wouldn't be able to control his emotions any longer. He swallowed it all down then and they stood there for a long time until it was deep in the night, the fire had long died and its warmth was gone. Malik had left eventually, leaving Altair by himself and when the ash had cooled down he took a fistful of it, stretching his arm out and then letting go, all of it, the gray flakes flying away with the wind just like the memory he had of a man that no longer existed.