Well, he thinks, Altaïr’s robes are here. Actually, Altaïr’s robes are everywhere, and the Apple is stuffed in the folds of them. So, too, is a squirming and irritable what-Malik-supposes-is-a-baby stuffed into the folds beside the Apple. This is very disheartening.
As he stares, Malik can feel a sudden clench to his chest right around where his lungs should be, a rippling and icy chill that loops down his spine and makes him rigid. The baby looks frighteningly familiar, he knows. The baby, with its bright hair curled over its forehead and sharp, amber eyes—it is terrifyingly familiar.
What has Altaïr done? he whispers in his mind.
Unsure of what exactly to do, Malik falters in resolve and turns away, but he is no more turned around before the baby heaves two choked gasps, and then it begins a tantrum of crying and kicking. Quickly, Malik spins right back around. The baby quiets, but its face is still twisted and pinched as if it’s blackmailing Malik to stay by look alone.
Malik stays.
Soon, he finds himself huddling a baby wrapped in Grand Master robes to his chest, and the Apple has since been placed on the table out of reach. Altaïr (since Malik assumes this is, in fact, Altaïr-turned-baby) seems partial to some attention after being in the room alone. Malik, on the other hand, can feel his volcano of irritation moving slowly from dormant to active, and his sympathy pool is hastily drying up. Though Malik is fond of spending time with Darim, he is not fond of babysitting a stubborn and turd-headed old man transformed into a screaming child. (Especially when he told the stubborn and turd-headed old man to stop messing around with ancient artifacts they had no knowledge of in the first place!)
(Fitting, he thinks afterward.)
The next course of action is for Malik to hand Altaïr off to a few of the apprentices running around Masyaf. It’s two of the most unlucky ones, and they look befuddled, naturally. They are given a baby who looks strangely like Darim wrapped in the Grand Master’s clothes, but no Grand Master, and Malik is all but rambling on to them about staying right here near the Grand Master’s room.
“Don’t stray out of Masyaf,” Malik instructs them, sounding both tired and antsy all at once. He is idly tucking the robes around Altaïr, but the baby is beginning to fidget in growing annoyance. “I will get Maria.” The apprentices aren’t sure who Malik is trying to console more, them or himself. “Just stay with…” continues Malik. “Just keep the baby quiet, and don’t wander. I’ll be back.”
Not even five footsteps later, Malik is halfway down the hall when he hears an explosion of wailing echo from behind. The noise isn’t even a sad or upset kind of crying, not even a hungry kind of plea-crying, but instead, a skin-crawling siren of fear that comes without tears at all.
Damn it, he thinks, he will never let that fool live down shrieking like a banshee for this aggravation!
Still, Malik pauses momentarily to see if Altaïr will cease such infernal howling, but the baby Grand Master does nothing of the sort, and he is forced to back-track to make sure the apprentices aren’t slamming their master against the stone wall.
When the dai appears again, the Assassins swiftly and gratefully hand over Altaïr. The golden-eyed baby instantaneously becomes docile in Malik’s arms, and the three adults spend an awkward minute looking back and forth between each other. Malik isn’t sure whether he is more irritated or more relieved by these turn of events. Keeping Altaïr calm is good, but at his own expense is… well, not good. For him.
Finally, Malik begrudgingly says, “You both… Go get Maria for me.”
Turnabout in the East [1.2]
As he stares, Malik can feel a sudden clench to his chest right around where his lungs should be, a rippling and icy chill that loops down his spine and makes him rigid. The baby looks frighteningly familiar, he knows. The baby, with its bright hair curled over its forehead and sharp, amber eyes—it is terrifyingly familiar.
What has Altaïr done? he whispers in his mind.
Unsure of what exactly to do, Malik falters in resolve and turns away, but he is no more turned around before the baby heaves two choked gasps, and then it begins a tantrum of crying and kicking. Quickly, Malik spins right back around. The baby quiets, but its face is still twisted and pinched as if it’s blackmailing Malik to stay by look alone.
Malik stays.
Soon, he finds himself huddling a baby wrapped in Grand Master robes to his chest, and the Apple has since been placed on the table out of reach. Altaïr (since Malik assumes this is, in fact, Altaïr-turned-baby) seems partial to some attention after being in the room alone. Malik, on the other hand, can feel his volcano of irritation moving slowly from dormant to active, and his sympathy pool is hastily drying up. Though Malik is fond of spending time with Darim, he is not fond of babysitting a stubborn and turd-headed old man transformed into a screaming child. (Especially when he told the stubborn and turd-headed old man to stop messing around with ancient artifacts they had no knowledge of in the first place!)
(Fitting, he thinks afterward.)
The next course of action is for Malik to hand Altaïr off to a few of the apprentices running around Masyaf. It’s two of the most unlucky ones, and they look befuddled, naturally. They are given a baby who looks strangely like Darim wrapped in the Grand Master’s clothes, but no Grand Master, and Malik is all but rambling on to them about staying right here near the Grand Master’s room.
“Don’t stray out of Masyaf,” Malik instructs them, sounding both tired and antsy all at once. He is idly tucking the robes around Altaïr, but the baby is beginning to fidget in growing annoyance. “I will get Maria.” The apprentices aren’t sure who Malik is trying to console more, them or himself. “Just stay with…” continues Malik. “Just keep the baby quiet, and don’t wander. I’ll be back.”
Not even five footsteps later, Malik is halfway down the hall when he hears an explosion of wailing echo from behind. The noise isn’t even a sad or upset kind of crying, not even a hungry kind of plea-crying, but instead, a skin-crawling siren of fear that comes without tears at all.
Damn it, he thinks, he will never let that fool live down shrieking like a banshee for this aggravation!
Still, Malik pauses momentarily to see if Altaïr will cease such infernal howling, but the baby Grand Master does nothing of the sort, and he is forced to back-track to make sure the apprentices aren’t slamming their master against the stone wall.
When the dai appears again, the Assassins swiftly and gratefully hand over Altaïr. The golden-eyed baby instantaneously becomes docile in Malik’s arms, and the three adults spend an awkward minute looking back and forth between each other. Malik isn’t sure whether he is more irritated or more relieved by these turn of events. Keeping Altaïr calm is good, but at his own expense is… well, not good. For him.
Finally, Malik begrudgingly says, “You both… Go get Maria for me.”