#Tazim as in like Malik’s son

[teecupangel]

Submitted by @saberamane

Saw this artwork by astarcis and my mind immediately went ‘what would the ancestors do if they found this, and it was actually Desmond reincarnated after the eye?’ Like the various animal Desmond’s people have submitted.

Altair would probably find it fascinating, and Maria would not want it around the kids at all, it’s at least partly snake, what if it bit the children? Jokes on Maria though, the children love this strange abomination, and Desmond in kind loves kids. And with his knowledge, he’d be able to stay behind and protect Malik and Sef when the others leave to kill Genghis Khan. Give Abbas an agonizing death with his venom or something.

I feel Ezio would probably find him somewhere and take him to Leonardo. He’d maybe say something stupid to Leo like 'what kind of dog is this? I’ve never seen such a thing before.’ And Leo, bless his soul, would be like 'you can’t be that stupid Ezio. Thats not a dog. I don’t know what that is. Where did you find it?’ 'I’m going to keep him. He’s kinda cute.’ Desmond is very sweet to Maria and Claudia, which just cements Ezio’s thoughts that he is some kind of weird dog. It wags it’s tail and everything like a dog. Even if it does swallow it’s food whole…

Ratonhnhaké:ton and his tribe probably think of him as a forest spirit or something. They’d definitely know he wasn’t 'natural’ and therefore would try to honor him so as to not bring misfortune on the tribe by being disrespectful.  Desmond would hang around the temple a lot, trying to find a way to destroy Juno, or at least make it so she can’t communicate with Ratonhnhaké:ton. And Charles Lee would definitely die horribly by his poison bite before he could kill the tribe. Once Ratonhnhaké:ton was older, Desmond would probably start following him around more, leaving the temple more often. Helping with hunts and such. Of course, the tribe would then think Ratonhnhaké:ton was the 'chosen one’ or something by the spirit and would start to ask him what Desmond wanted for tribute or something lol.

(The creature is called a 'nightstalker’ from fallout new vegas, i’ve never played that series myself, but it seems to have a lot of interesting creatures from the nuclear fallout that occurred.)

Any additional thoughts or head-cannon’s?

==============

(Additions from teecup)

Well, first and foremost... don’t look at the actual nightstalker from Fallout New Vegas. They don’t... look as cute as the one above. XD

Also, here’s the tumblr post of that artwork

As for additional headcanons and thoughts:

I like to think that Desmond is one of those nightstalkers that can turn invisible and the first time he does it, everybody panicked because they thought he flatout disappeared.

Sef definitely loves Desmond the most as he grew up with Desmond being both his guard dog and babysitter. Sef’s daughters also love Desmond and likes to hug him. Unlike Maria who had been worried, Sef absolutely encourages his daughters to play with Desmond.

Malik’s son, Tazim, was once dared to tug Desmond’s tail. Just to be a jerk, Desmond howled loudly and pretended to die for dramatic effect. It traumatized Tazim so badly because he honestly believed he killed Desmond. Desmond felt super bad especially since no one could stop Tazim from crying even after Desmond showed that he’s alive and well.

Desmond didn’t think it would be a big deal since Darim’s preferred method of stopping him from doing something stupid was to tug his tail anyway.

Leonardo would definitely draw sketches of Desmond which would baffle historians in later years. Leonardo is also the only person to wonder how Desmond reproduces (Nightstalkers lay eggs… and… uuuhhh… every nightstalker has a chance to drop eggs if you kill them so… I’m not saying Desmond can lay eggs… I’m just saying… the possibility exists?)

Desmond mostly communicates with growls and whimpers but whenever it’s time to poison someone, he hisses and rattles.

The preferred poison of the Assassins was based on his venom thanks to Altaïr’s studies. This means that old Assassin families are immune to his venom. This includes Haytham.

Desmond definitely destroyed the crystal skull that Juno uses to communicate with Ratonhnhaké:ton’s tribe by playing with it like it’s a ball of yarn. The villagers just assumed it was the will of the spirits.

Whenever anyone asks Ratonhnhaké:ton what Desmond wants for tribute, Ratonhnhaké:ton always answers that the best tribute is a kill by their hunters that will be shared with the tribes as some kind of festivity. It took months for Desmond to be able to explain it to Ratonhnhaké:ton using charades and Desmond was actually just saying ‘a meal together’.

George Washington cannot get near Ratonhnhaké:ton because Desmond hisses and rattle any time he tries... Haytham also gets the hissing and rattling treatment.

[acgames]

Woke up to these tags and first of all got mixed amount of emotions, starting with annoyance (get pissy in the mornings, forgive me)

But then curiosity took over me and I started to think: does arabic have same case as my native language defying surnames of differently gendered family members?

Long read below:

Now in english everyone in the family will have same last name: if dad's a Smith, mother will also be a Smith, so will be son and daughter. In english last name doesn't change depending on gender.

In russian (and many other slavic languages), male surname will differ only between males and females. For example if husband is Dyatlov, wife will be Dyatlova. Children would follow same pattern, with son being Dyatlov and daughter being Dyatlova.

Now in my native Lithuanian true unhinged fun start. Let's say husband's last name is Jonaitis, then his wife will be Jonaitienė. Their son would also be Jonaitis, but with the daughter, the surname completely changes to Jonaitytė. And there are also different endings to maiden version of girls' surnames based on fathers' ones, but I spare you the pain.

So now the question, if Altaïr and Sef were Ibn-La'Ahads, would Mira and Amani be Bint-La'Ahads?

(ps. Everything I found is from quick google search, so there's always a chance I am wrong in that case I do apologise)

Now the way Arabic surnames are constructed is nothing like we have in western world. What I found online is either they pretty much construct the surname from name and name of the father or name and name of the place of origin (this is what google gave me and it differs between different countries and clans)

Now bringing this to context of assassin surnames, Ibn-La'Ahad roughly translates to "son of no one". Now I am not sure if this surname was given to Altaïr or Umar first, but that indicates the first one to wear was considered an orphan by Brotherhood. I prefer to headcanon Umar was first given this surname by Al Mualim because he was an orphan. But in a sense it would apply to Altaïr too, if we consider Al Mualim wanted to severe Altaïr's connection to Umar.

In the naming case I found online, Altaïr's true last name should be Altaïr ibn-Umar (or something similiar). In that case both Darim and Sef would follow same naming pattern and would be Ibn-Altaïr (Son of Altaïr) or Ibn-Altaïr-Ibn-Umar (Son of Altaïr, Son of Umar)

In true case however, Mira and Amani both would be Bint-Sef-Ibn-Altaïr (Daughter of Sef, Son of Altaïr) or just Bint-Sef (Daughter of Sef)

This is what I found after search online (because I do not know arabic)

Now another thing is Roshan from Mirage. She is known as Roshan Bint-La'Ahad, which translates to "Roshan the daughter of no one" and it might seem that this is how Altaïr's (gran)daughters should be called but this is false.

Roshan is orphan too (or treats herself as orphan just as Umar does in my headcanons). If Roshan had kids however they would be Ibn/Bint-(her husband's name)

Another interesting thing I found and had no idea about is wives' surnames.

So after marriage in arabic naming norms, wives do not take husband's surnames and stay with their maiden name (that explains why Maria is always Thorpe), but after extensive search I found how arabs can call someone as Maria: in Mesyaf she most likely would be known as Maria Zawget Altaïr (or Maria, wife of Altaïr).

In this same case Mira wouldn't become Al-Sayf after marrying Tazim (my bad - I was wrong), but she would be known as either Mira bint Sef or Mira Zawget Malik.

So in conclusion: we both are wrong my buddy... 😂 Mira would be neither Ibn-La'Ahad neither Bint-La'Ahad... Anyhow I still prefer to tag and name her as Ibn-La'Ahad just for clearance in fandom spaces: naming her Ibn-La'Ahad makes it clear she and Altaïr are related for the audience, so I will stick with this (similiarly how I tag Maud as Ibn-La'Ahad for clearance)

[mocosa-media]

my AC1 rant

Okay but Malik had a son duh, Tazim. Yes, but imagine Tazim going to Masyaf as a mid-teen (like 16 or 17 whatever) right? Right, so he’s recruited easily because he’s a scrappy kid who knows how to fight dirty (note: dirty, not as an assassin yet) and the order’s standards have fallen since Altair left. Not much is done. I personally think of a frat house, lot’s of pretty buff looking dudes but only a small handful actually have brains while the rest just want to party. 

Anyway, Tazim who gains friendships and finds out about his father’s death the hard way. Through this all, Tazim keeps his background a secret. No one knows he is Malik’s son. He first came to Masyaf to find answers. He found them. Dead dad. Possibly revenge? No, he has lost any energy to do that because Abbas’ power seems ridiculously big. Tazim mourns for his father alone while still training in secret with his new friends.

Tazim gets cocky years later because he’s a pretty darn good fighter now. He still trains in secret but it’s sorta like an afterschool club. After his job at the stables, he goes to hangout at their hidden training grounds, etc. etc. He betrays his friends, but when he gains them back they give him a major ass kicking he absolutely deserved. 

They get their hidden blades. 

The gang have their own “bureau” which is just an abandoned home on the edged of the city where they hangout; It’s their clubhouse where they plan and drink and gossip. They are like 17-20 year olds come on. 

Abbas searches for another piece of Eden. Tazim and his gang join in on this race. Bad stuff happens. Death. Depression. Reminiscent to AC1 opening scene/mission. In turn, Tazim is sad (maybe hurt in a similar fashion as his father; history repeats itself) and it seems that the only reason he was staying in the brotherhood has died.

Tazim says, “Fuck the loyalists. Fuck Altair and fuck Abbas.” He hates everything and everyone so his ‘traitor’ begins to show. So much so that he’s sent to Abbas and when Abbas is like “Are you a traitor as so and so claims?” Tazim is like, “Fuck you, maybe. I miss my home.” (Home as in the OG old Masyaf of when Altair was there. 

Tazim is stripped of his title and sent back home. No- like he’s sent back to Jerusalem where he grew up. Inspiring things happen and he hears the rumors of Altair returning. He’s like “Not these bullshit rumors again.” 

But guess what? Not a rumor. 

He goes back! 

He is like “Yeah I gotta finish the shit I started and help an old man out.” so he does! When he goes back, his old crew is extremely happy and they give him all updated info. He’s like omg me too I have updated info, my dad is badass Malik and I have Altair behind me now too.

Yes, they all freak (in a good way)

They take over Masyaf again. All is well. Sorta. Okay thanks.

[thou-babbling-brook]

after making a list of animation/animatic ideas I’ve had for various ac characters I’ve realized I’ve a) projected way too fucking much b) given too much character to bitches with 20 min of screen time and c) have way too many ideas for said characters with limited screen time

[freshstartfromscratch]

So some time ago I was playing my the sims 4 save where Assassins are some of the townies (I replaced every random sim in this save and edited every outfit. It's my main save that I start every new game from)

So recently I had to redo all the outfits because some NPC kids grew up, new townies spawned ect.

So I checked what the AC sims have been doing with their free will.

Well...

Altaïr and Maria besides having Darim and Sef ended up having two daughters and Maria is absolutely dominating the top of the politician career. Altaïr is a stay at home dad and apparently a bit famous YouTube star? Like what is this guy even vlogging about?!

Ezio and Sofia are still going strong together. Flavia is a teenager now and besides Marcello she has another younger brother - Giovanni. Sofia has left her job as a scientists recently and decided that she always wanted to be a comedian. She's quite frequently calling my sim (because they're friends) to ask if she and Ezio should have more children. Lol. Ezio is working at the gym as a personal trainer (because NPC job) and I think he enjoys this.

I think that Connor fate is my favorite because I have no idea what happened with his sims life but somehow it fits his character perfectly. Connor lives with his teen daughter (I have no idea who is the mother) and a bunch of dogs. I have no idea what he does for living but maybe he works as a vet. I have to check the clinic. I didn't really see him doing NPC job

Edward is dead. Rest in pepperoni.

Now Arno and Elise relationship is a whole new drama (why am I not surprised?!)

So they were engaged but for some reason Elise left Arno for a dude from Selvadora. She and this dude had two kids but recently she got back with Arno and they're living together with her children from the previous relationship. Elise is a bartender and I have no idea what Arno is doing.

Evie and Henry got married and have two daughters. Green family is living their best life in Sulani in their beach house.

Jacob for some reason lives with a bunch of random sims and Johny Zest in a trailer house.

Malik got together with Altaïr's old roommate - Adha, they have three children (son Tazim and two daughters) and a cat together.

I have no idea what just happened.

[safetyandpeacenovice]

Ma'amoul

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29752491

Sequel to Anything for You

“Wait up!” Tazim called after his brothers.

“If you can’t keep up then stay behind!” Sef shouted without stopping or looking back.

“I’m telling Babas you were mean to me!” Tazim came to a stop and squeezed his eyes to keep himself  from crying. His brothers didn’t stop. He watched as they disappeared through the gateway and ran down towards the village. He reached down and picked up a rock and then hurled it as hard as he could against the wall nearby. The rock clanked off the wall and fell just about a foot from its base. Tazim knew there would be no dent or chip but watching how little his outburst had done broke his resolve. He started to cry.

He knew he shouldn’t. He was the son of the grandmaster and his second in command. He, along with his brothers, was the future leadership of the Brotherhood. Someday when they were fully trained and Altair and Malik were tired they would decide which one of them would be the leader. The other two would assist their brother or bed the leader of another sect of the Brotherhood. But at that moment Tazim wasn’t a fully trained assassin. He was a seven year old left behind in the dust by his older brothers.

Several of the assassins in the yard turned to look at him as he cried, which only made him cry more. He wasn’t a baby anymore. He shouldn’t be crying.

A gentle hand on his shoulder pulled Tazim back to reality. He turned to see his Baba, Altair. Tazim wrapped his arms around his father and cried into him. It took Altair a moment but he returned the hug, squeezing his youngest son gently.

“What has you so upset, little one? I heard you cry and rushed out.” Altair asked gently.

“Sef...and...and...and...Dar...they...they...they…” Tazim sobbed.

Altair looked up and saw that his older sons were nowhere to be found. He sighed and nodded his head. “They left you behind didn’t they?”

Tazim nodded, still crying.

Altair knelt so he could look his son in the face. “How about this? I need to go to a nearby village today. Do you want to come with me?”

Tazim nodded furiously and wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Run and get your traveling cloak. I’ll let Malik know.” Tazim nodded again and took off running.

_-_-_-_-_

“Baba look, the village!” Tazim pointed from his seat in front of Altair on the horse they were riding at the tops of roofs that had just begun to come into view.

“I see it.” Altair assured his son.

The village was small, barely more than a handful of farms but it supplied much of the food that was eaten by the assassins in Masyaf. The villagers were not assassins, though many were related to assassins. The Brotherhood paid them well for the food they provided and protected the village from attack. In exchange the villagers sent a warning if they saw anything suspicious.

Early on, shortly after Rashid had been defeated, Malik recommended that Altair visit in person to reassure the village that despite the dramatic change in leadership the Brotherhood would continue to honor it’s deals. He had been back a few times over the years. Usually to bring gifts or well wishes.

“Grandmaster!” An older man shouted with joy as they dismounted in the village center. He spread his arms wide for a moment before bringing them back to his side. Altair bowed his head and the man did the same.

“It is good to see you Taaj. Especially on such a joyous occasion.” Altair’s face betrayed no emotion but the old man didn’t seem perturbed.

“Yes! Yes! It’s not everyday a man becomes a grandfather!” Taaj laughed joyfully.  “And who might this young thing be?”

Altair laid his hand on Tazim’s shoulder. “This is my youngest, Tazim.”

“Has that much time passed? Truly?” Taaj asked, but he didn’t seem to expect an answer as he turned to Tazim immediately after asking and said. “You were this high last time I was in Masyaf.”

“Baba! Baba!” A young girl came running out of the house. She came to a stop when she spotted Altair. “Oh.”

“It’s alright Eisa. Do you remember Grandmaster Altair?” Taaj asked. The girl shook her head. “No I suppose you wouldn't, it's been a while and you were quite young. What were you so excited about that you had to come shouting for me?”

“Mama says the ma'amoul are finally cool enough to eat.” Eisa smiled holding out one of the cookies to her father.

Taaj Chuckled and accepted the sweet. “Thank you, my dear, for making sure an old man such as myself didn't miss out on the treat.”

“You're not old, Baba.” Eisa giggled.

Tazim lightly tugged on Altair’s tunic and looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“If you want one you'll have to ask yourself.” Altair told him.

Tazim nodded and turned to look at Taaj. “May I please have a ma'amoul, sir?”

“Of course!” Taaj laughed.

_-_-_-_-_

“I heard you left your brother behind today.” Darim and Sef nearly jumped when they heard Malik’s voice from the shadows. “You are the older brothers, it is your job to look out for him and show him how to behave.”

“But he’s so slow!” Darim protested.

“And he cries like a baby!” Sef added.

“He’s seven years old.” Malik reminded them. “You were not always as fast as you are now. Besides there will come a day you will miss having to slow down for your little brother.”

“We’re sorry.” The boys mumbled in unison.

“Please don’t tell, Mama.” Sef begged.

“Please! We told her we’d be good while she was away.” Darim added.

“We will see whether or not your mother needs to know about this by how you act for the remainder of her time away.”

“Thank you!”

“Thanks, Baba Malik!”

“Now go get cleaned up Altair and Tazim will be back soon and then we will all have dinner together.”

“Tazim got to go with Baba Altair? No fair!” Sef pouted.

“Maybe if you hadn’t run off so fast you could have gone too. Now get washed up.”

At dinner Tazim could barely get a bite in between telling his brothers about his trip to the village nearby. Malik couldn’t stop smiling and  he affectionately squeezed Altair’s hand as he listened to his son’s excitement.

“...and I met a girl called Eisa and her mother had made ma'amoul and I got to eat a whole bunch! All because her brother’s wife had a baby! I can’t wait for Darim to get married so we can get ma'amoul all the time…”

Darim and Sef listened smiling as they munched on the ma'amoul Altair and Tazim had brought back with them. Altair gently laid his head on Malik’s shoulder. After a moment Malik gently raised Altair’s head and guided their lips together for a brief kiss.

“Blech! Gross!” Sef covered his eyes. His brothers joined in his cries of embarrassment.

“I think it’s time the three of you head off to bed.” Malik suggested not breaking eye contact with Altair.

“Goodnight!” Tazim shouted as Darim guided him and Sef down the hall to their room. Altair and Malik waited to hear the door shut and the latch click before kissing again, more passionately.

“Bed. Now.” Altair growled after a few moments. Malik happily complied.

[storytimefromthecreed]

I’ll Make a Man Out of You

“What are they doing?” Kassandra asked. Maria handed her a glass of lemonade just as Elise pulled out a seat. “Is there a battle? Should we not join?”

Before Maria could reply, Elise leaned over to rest her chin on Kassandra’s shoulder and said, “Oh, trust me, you’re going to want to see this.”

In the backyard stood the guys. Darim, Sef, Tazim, Yusuf, Jacob, Edward, Haytham, Altair, Shay, and Liam. Connor walked to and fro before them, like a lion in a cage, and he examined them closely, “Let’s get down to business, to defeat, the Huns. Did they send me daughters when I asked for sons?”

“He wishes.” Shao Jun sipped on her drink, and the table laughed. Around the table where Maria, Kassandra, Elise, Aveline, Malik, Shao Jun, and Aya. 

As Connor walked, he looked each man up and down, catching their eye. “You're the saddest bunch I ever met.” Then he began nodding ominously, “But you can bet before we're through. Mister, I'll make a man out of you.” Heading for the center of the backyard, he turned around and placed his hands up, palming touching. Then, slowly raising one foot and keeping it at his knee, Connor continued, “Tranquil as a forest, but on fire within. Once you find your center, you are sure to win.” The row of guys attempted, poorly, to copy his stance. Jacob wiggled, Yusuf sway side to side, and Edward kept his foot by his ankle. Spying their progress, Connor nodded and returned to his normal stance. “You're a spineless, pale, pathetic lot, and you haven't got a clue.”

Shay whispered to his side, “I’m scared. I don’t like how he said pale. Is he talking about me? Am I the weak link?”

“Shut up, Shay.” Sef cracked open an eye to glare at the Templar. He, Altair, and Darim were holding the pose to perfection.

“Somehow I'll make a man out of you.” Connor continued as if he’d heard nothing. The course in the backyard was made to test their limits, physically and mentally. A run to an agility course, climbing up a wall to monkey bars, crossing, and landing on the other side.

As they ran the course, Edward sang, “I'm never gonna catch my breath.”

Shay sang, “Say goodbye to those who knew me!”

Jacob huffed, closing his eyes are he ran, “Boy, was I a fool in school for cutting gym.”

Cupping her hand and raising from her chair, Aya yelled, “This guy's got 'em scared to death!”

And Yusuf tripped over the rope course, “Hope he doesn't see right through me.”

Leaping over the fallen Turk, Altair landed noiselessly to the second part of the training. Then froze when he saw the monkey bars were over the pool. “Now I really wish that I knew how to swim!”

Together they sang, “Be a man!”

Connor, watching their progress with a stony expression sang, “We must be swift as the coursing river!”

Without halting their stride, Darim and Sef leapt, their fingers gripping the bars, and crossed. “Be a man.”

Encouraged, Connor raised a hit, and sang, “With all the force of a great typhoon!”

Seeing that there was nothing to it, Liam and Haytham went next. Followed by Yusuf and Edward, Then, finally, Shay, Tazim, and Altair. Tazim and Shay took the monkey bars normally, but Altair deemed it safe to climb to over the bars and just ran across as to minimize his proximity to the water. “Be a man!”

“With all the strength of a raging fire, mysterious as the dark side of the moon!” Connor threw a fist in the air and jumped in excitement. “Time is racing toward us till the Huns arrive! Heed my every order and you might survive!” Jacob was the last to cross the bars, and landed right as Connor sang the last word. Perhaps it was because the area was crowded, or maybe his strength had given out at the last second. Whatever the reason, his toes landed on the other side of the pool but his heels didn’t. Falling into the water, Jacob splashed about. The shouts and groans of his teammates were mangled by the water in his ears. There was a large splash, and Jacob fought hard against the hand that wrapped around his arm. It was then that he realized he could stand in the pool. Staring up at Connor disapproving face, Jacob gulped. Connor pointed out of the pool, and Jacob nodded. “You're unsuited for the rage of war, so pack up, go home, you're through.” Jacob climbed out of the pool as Connor followed, dripping water everywhere and singing softly to himself, disappointed, “How could I make a man out of you?”

Head hanging low, Jacob slowly made his way across the backyard with hopes that lemonade and sandwiches would lift his heavy heart. That or Elise or Maria would give him a hug. The guys behind him finished the course and were celebrating. Then, his name was called. For a moment, his spirits raised. “Jacob!” Tazim raised a hand to wave. Then, Jacob’s mood fell as Tazim asked, “Can you toss the ball this way?”

Looking down to hide his frown, Jacob grabbed the volleyball and served it to Tazim. The ball spun in the air with a whizz, and smacked Tazim in the chest, nearly making him lose his grip on it. The backyard went silent as Connor stared. Then, the light returned to his eyes and he smiled, “Jacob, get over here!”

“Hurray!” The guys cheered as Jacob ran across the fields, arms out behind him like how he’d seen football players do. They clapped him on the back and they leapt up and down, singing in unison, “Be a man, we must be swift as the coursing river!” They ran the course again. This time, Edward, Shay, and Jacob were pushed by their brothers with words of encouragement!

“You got this! We’re so close!” Sef coached Shay.

“Come on! Can’t lose to me, Father!” Haytham chucked at his dad.

“Jacob! I believe in you!” Liam slowed down his pace to match Jacob’s.

“Be a man! With all the force of a great typhoon.”

As they reached the obstacle course, Altair coached Yusuf, “Watch your toes! Don’t let your heels hit the ground.”

“Keep light, keep light!” Edward, to show off, twisted and turned in front of his son like he was dancing. “You’re being too stiff, Haytham, have some fun, will ya?”

“Be a man! With all the strength of a raging fire! Mysterious as the dark side of the moon!”

Finally, the dreaded finale. Running without stop, Darim and Sef crossed as they had done before. Haytham and Edward followed, but before they reached the other side, they pulled themselves up as Altair had, and rested on the top. Yusuf instructed Jacob how to warm up his wrists, and Liam, as he crossed, showed Jacob how to use his momentum.  Quickly now, they all sang, “Be a man! We must be swift as the coursing river!” Jacob and Altair swung, and then preceded to cross!

“Jacob! We can do this! Together!” Altair called, hurrying.

Jacob nodded as his friends sang, “Be a man! With all the force of a great typhoon!” They were almost there. Altair landed, and his sons grabbed his forearms and pulled him towards them and safely away from the water. Now, Jacob had to do the same. His arms began to wobble, and his panic set in. This made his hands slippery, and Jacob crossed as quickly as he could.

He was nearly there, so nearly there! Crossing Edward and Haytham, hearing them cheer above them, Jacob wished he could do this, but he couldn’t! Tazim and Shay cheering on behind him, Jacob tried not to look at their faces as he was at the last bar and fell. The cool metal left his hands, and he waited for the cold water to submerge him once more.

However, he wasn’t prepared for this.

Strong arms grabbed his forearms, and Jacob opened his eyes to confirm that through the bars, Edward grabbed his left forearm, and Haytham was holding his right! Edward’s bright blue eyes stared down at him as he grinned, “Didn’t think we’d let you down again, did you?”

“Now, swing your legs!” Haytham tried to keep a straight face, but his smile twitched his lips. Being part of a team wasn’t as bad as he thought he would be.

Doing as they asked, Jacob swung. Once. Twice. The third time, he leapt. His feet hit the other side, and before he could wonder if he’d hit the pool once more, Darim and Sef grabbed him and pulled him to land. Shay and Tazim finished the course as the Kenways leapt from the bars.

Once the entire team was safe, the guys formed a large circle and began to cheer, hug, and jump! From the sidelines, the gals all melted. “Aw, ok, that was cute.” Shao Jun admitted.

“I’m just glad they’ve found some way to get their energy out without breaking the house.” Malik added, pretending not to enjoy the show. 

The backyard gate opened and in strolled the remaining members of the house. Upon looking at the scene behind them, Demetri rose a brow. “Tell me, did we miss their warm up?”

“I do wish they wouldn’t take team sports so seriously.” Aveline replied and Kassandra sat upright.

“Wait, this is for a game?” Kassandra asked and the table chuckled.

“Don’t say that in front of them.” Elise sipped her drink, “But yes.”

“I suppose now we must take our time defeating them.” Aya propped her cheek on her fist. Bayek took his place beside her and nodded.

“Can’t let all that team building all to waste. Ok ladies,” Maria rose and the table followed suit. Some cracked their necks, other rolled their wrists. “Let’s get in formation. Elise, you’re our setter?” Elise nodded. “Great, Aya, how are you spikes?”

“Between Shao Jun and I, those guys won’t know what hit them.”

“I’ll take back with Kassandra.” Aveline winked at Kassandra. “I’ve a wicked serve.”

“Then it’s settled.” Maria put her hand in the middle. They all followed suit. “Let’s teach the Brotherhood about the Sisterhood.”

[reddeaddamnation]

Imagine their reaction to someone hitting on your daughter/ When they find out your daughter has a boyfriend: [preference] pt. 2

Alexios

You didn't even realize when Alexios stopped walking beside you and had started walking rather angrily towards a young couple in the distance. "Okay, just one more thing I need over ther- Alexios?" You looked behind yourself only to realize he was going to get himself in trouble again... "Alexios!" You yelled after him, but he didn't turn around, so you had to follow him and try to stop him. When you got closer, you finally realized what made him this mad. Your daughter was holding hands and giggling with an unknown to you boy and didn't tell you that she was even seeing someone. "Who do you think you are?!" Alexios yelled, startling the both of them. Your daughter quickly managed to get over the surprise and boldly stepped up to her father "Dad, meet my boyfriend." She told him, her attitude in such a situation, leaving him wonder-stricken. "Alexios, what the hell?" You caught up to him and your eyes scanned the situation until they landed on the unknown boy. "Who is this, D/N?" You asked. "My boyfriend." Your daughter answered with the same expression. You raised your eyebrows in surprise and looked at your husband who was still in the same shock he was the first time he heard that statement. "We are going to have a long talk later, D/N..." He muttered.

Malik al'Sayf

Malik promised to behave during the dinner with his daughter's boyfriend. But there was always that thought in the back of your mind that things might go wrong. "So. How long have you and D/N been together?" Malik asked expectantly, a stoic expression on his face. The boy gulped before answering "Um... Three months now." He answered. “What are your intentions with her?” Malik continued asking, as if he was the policeman and the boyfriend - the suspect. “I-I...I hope to take our relationship to the next level.” the boy answered again, fear in his voice. Malik’s eye twitched slightly and in that moment you knew he was going to say something weird. “If I ever find out you got her pregnant, you can expect to be dead in the next several days! I may have only one arm, but that won’t stop me from killing you!”

La Volpe

“What the hell is wrong with you?!“ you yelled at your husband angrily “You can’t just break into the boy’s house because you decided to!“ As soon as you found out Volpe was going to break into your daughter’s boyfriend’s house in search of who knows what or catch him doing whatever just so he can have something to accuse the boy of, even though you thought he was a pretty good and respectful candidate for your daughter. You patiently waited for Gilberto to come home, arms and legs crossed and the most furious expression you could muster up. “My love, I’d say that is my everyday job.“ He answered with a cheeky smirk, taking off his hood and cape. “Don’t play around with me right now! What were you even looking for?“ you kept yelling, now angrily gesticulating with your hands. “Anything that could prove he isn’t worthy. Letters, books, diaries...“ Gilberto said, suspicion in his voice “Oh my gosh, you read his diary?!“ you slapped your forehead, disbelief screaming in your mind and soul that he could have gotten so far. “I had to know.“ Volpe shrugged his shoulders. “And?“ you raised your eyebrow expectantly “Did you find anything incriminating?“ The thief bit his lower lip, obviously guilty, but too proud to admit it. “Well...no.“ he murmured. “What was that?“ you mocked, leaning closer to hear him say it again. “He’s clean...“ Oh, what a lecture was waiting for him...

Yusuf Tazim

“She has a what?!“ Yusuf asked loudly, more because he didn’t hear it the first time rather than out of disbelief or anger. “[D/N] has a boyfriend. I saw them together the other day.“ you repeated nervously, wondering what his next reaction was going to be. Luckily, you caught him in a good mood, lying back on a pile of pillows and wanting nothing more than some rest after a long day. “A boyfriend?“ he furrowed his brows, letting the information sink in. For a moment you thought he was going to get angry and start ranting about how it isn’t her time and how he isn’t ready to let go of his little girl yet, but his next words sent a wave of shock through you. “Aah, good for her, good for her! We should invite him some time to talk then! I’ll sit down, have a drink with him! Tell him I even invite him to share a hookah with me!“ (A/N: It was a tradition in the Ottoman empire that when someone invites someone to smoke hookah with them, the other person can’t refuse, because it’s a sign of great respect and trust) It was your turn to be baffled and silent, because you didn’t expect such an outcome, but still relief washed over you. “A-alright, I’ll...“ you spoke slowly, eyebrow raised “I’ll make sure to tell them both.“

Adewale

You could tell a lot of thoughts were going through your husband’s mind the moment you mentioned [D/N] having a boyfriend. And it was true. The man was angry, because his daughter didn’t tell him personally; distrusting towards the boyfriend; anxious for their future and afraid his little bird will fly away from the nest too soon. And when Edward was telling him about the same fears he has for his own daughter, Ade merely brushed him off and told him he has to get used to it sooner or later. Now, the next time they go out for a drink, he will be the one talking about those things and Edward will comfort him that everything will be alright. Ultimately, he decided he wasn’t going to make it too much of a big deal. “You know what, [Y/N]?” he sighed heavily “I’ll give him a chance. As long as she’s happy, I’m happy too.” a smile stretched across his lips, but quickly faded and a serious, menacing expression replaced it, which could have scared any potential candidate for his daughter’s hand. “But if I see him doing anything suspicious, I’m afraid he won’t be seen again.” You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, giving his cheek a peck “Whatever you say, darling.”

Christopher Gist

“I say, my good lad, it’s a pleasure to meet you.“ Gist extended his hand to shake his apparently new potential son-in-law’s. A seemingly friendly smile was on his face and you thought everything was going to be alright during this dinner. The boy took the bait and shook his hand with a smile of his own and all the nervousness from [D/N] vanished as soon as she witnessed this. “Come, have a glass of whiskey. And my personal favorite, as well! You drink whiskey don’t you?“ Your husband asked, already pouring him a glass without waiting for an answer. “Of course, sir.“ The boy took the glass from Gist, still oblivious of the trap. “Often?“ Christopher tried to keep the friendly smile on his lips, but you saw he was getting irked already. “No, sir. Only on occassion.“ The answer seemed to please him, but he wasn’t ready to let go yet. “How about a smoke?“ The older man pulled out a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, which he especially bought for this, even though he himself doesn’t smoke. “No thank you, sir, I don’t smoke.“ The politeness of this boy charmed you, but your husband wasn’t so easy trusting. That answer pleased him as well and he put the cigarettes back in his pocket. “You know, you remind me of my own youthful days, son. I used to be outside more than inside, myself. Always going somewhere with someone or even just walking down a street to count how many steps it took until I reach the end of it. I can even recall my mother, my own mother, asking who I was when I entered my house one day.“ Gist laughed loudly, making everyone around him uncomfortable, but you still let out a small giggle so he doesn’t laugh alone. “Must have been quite a moment.“ [D/N]’s boyfriend chuckled awkwardly. “And you, lad? Seems to me [D/N] is almost never home when she’s with you.“ the young couple blushed furiously and your daughter yelled “Dad!“ You sighed and pulled him out of the room to whisper “Don’t embarass yourself to look for things that aren’t even there!“

Pierre Bellec

One evening, when Pierre burst through the door of your apartment, you swore you have never seen him this scared even in the most dire of situations he has gotten himself into. “[Y/N], you are not gonna believe this!” he panted heavily. Apparently he had been running for awhile just to get these surreal news to you before he is killed along the way. You raised your eyebrow expectantly. “It’s [D/N]... I just saw her with a...a...” he bit his lip, not even wanting to say the word because it would taint his very soul. “A what, cherie?” you insisted, interest peaked. “She has a boyfriend!” Your laugh wasn’t something he expected or anticipated, because he stared at you, baffled. “So? She’s at that age, Pierre. There’s nothing wrong going on.” you kept giggling in his direction. “How can you laugh in a time like this! She’s still too young!” he insisted. “Dear, however old [D/N] is, she will always seem like a child to you. Don’t worry. Even if she has a boyfriend, it doesn’t change the fact that you are her father and she loves you for it.” Your words seemed to touch his heart, because his expression softened and he didn’t utter another word, but merely walked over to the couch and slumped down on it, almost like he was defeated. “I don’t trust him.” were his next words and you knew for the rest of the evening he was going to talk only about that.

Henry Green

You didn’t doubt him for a second. Henry was very open minded about the situation and surprisingly, he found many topics to talk about with his potential son-in-law and soon found out the two have a lot in common. You knew he wasn’t going to get jealous or anything and didn’t have to worry about your husband acting weird and suspicious towards the boy. [D/N] was confident as well and even happy she and her boyfriend were at such a point where they were meeting each other’s parents. Conversation was easy going, you were laughing and smiling... Henry even offered to the boy to invite his parents next time to join them as well. “I only hope to see [D/N] in a wedding dress. I’m sure she will be beautiful.” Henry told the boy, watching him expectantly, but the only answer he received was a loud “Dad!” from [D/N] and her boyfriend blushing like a tomato, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

[bewareofchris]

How about making snowmen with altmal and kids from sassverse for the Christmas prompt?

Pg-13 | Altair/Malik | Sass Verse | Whiny kids | The triplets, Jaida and Peyton in the snow.

“Dad! Dad!” Sef was shouting from just beyond the hallway.  “Dad!  Dad!”

“No,” was his beloved oldest son standing just in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, comically short legs sticking out from the bottom of his coat.  He was half-dressed for the weather with no sign that he was going to willingly put on his snow pants.  “I don’t want to!”

Altair blamed Malik, exclusively, for teaching their children to use the phrase with such regularity.  While Malik had the patience, and the mental reserve to argue out facts with toddlers until they were so confused they submitted to the inevitable, everyone else was left clenching their teeth.  Altair said, “you have to wear the pants if you want to go out.”

And Darim did what any toddler in his position might have done, he threw himself backward on the ground and started screaming.  

Over the chorus of screaming denial, there was Sef still shouting: “Dad!  Dad!  Dad!”

“Darim!” Jaida screamed from the top of the stairs.  She bounded downward with her hair flying in scattered tangles behind her, clutching her coat under one arm.  She was wearing her snow pants (at least).  Once she reached the bottom of the steps, she shouted: “Darim, you stop it right now!”

“Dad!” Sef shouted.

“Darim!” Jaida screamed.

“Ow, stop it, ow!” Darim screamed at his sister that was pulling at his coat.

And then, the very quietest sound of the backdoor closing.  The gentle breeze of Malik’s voice from down he hall, he said: “Sef, why are you shouting?”

Jaida’s anger melted into perfect, petty glee as she hissed: “Father’s back,” at Darim.

And Darim, who had shown no signs of fatigue, rolled onto his stomach with a whining stop to his screaming.  

“I can’t find my boot!” Sef shouted, “I was trying to get Dad to help.  I can’t find my boot!  I only have one boot.”

Altair cleared his throat from behind Darim and shook the snow pants again.  “We’re going to build snowmen.  Did you want to go?”

Jaida abandoned them both to hop down the hallway with her coat, toward the sound of her Father gently reprimanding Sef for yelling instead of looking himself or going closer to be heard better.  “I got dressed by myself,” Jaida announced as soon as she found her Father.

Darim sat up with a miserable sniffle.  He glared at the pants.  “I don’t like them,” he announced, but he got up anyway and let Altair put them on.  They were half-through getting his mittens on his chubby little hands when Tazim came slithering down the hallway like a snake. 

Tazim had gotten dressed first, in some unseen corner of the house, and had started off the chain reaction of temper-tantrums by being allowed to go outside first with his Father.  It was an insult to every other child who had ignored the offers to help them get dressed and outright turned down all attempts to entice them with promises of snowmen.

Ten minutes ago, Sef had been a wailing disaster of baby limbs pounding on the sliding door in the kitchen because he’d been left behind.  But Malik had explained to him that being left inside was a consequence of his choices.

“You ready?” Tazim asked when he finally reached his brother.  “We’ve got carrots, and rocks and a scarf and I found a big stick.”

“It’s my big stick,” Darim announced.

“I found it,” Tazim said, he pushed himself off his stomach to grab Darim by the hand.  “Come on, I’ll show you.  It’s a big stick.” 

In the kitchen, Sef was still wiping tears off his face as he pulled his boots on.  Jaida was completely dressed and leaning half-out the partially opened door to ‘smell the snow’.  Malik was very patiently standing by the counter with the rest of Sef’s snow gear waiting.

“Dad, can we go?” Tazim asked, “can we go?”

“Wait for me!” Sef shouted back.  He finished shoving his foot into his boot and dragged himself off the floor by grabbing a chair.  It was just a matter of his coat and mittens and hat and then the stir-crazy mess of them were unleashed on brilliant white snow paradise of the back yard.

“I thought we’d never make it,” Altair said.

Malik snorted, “neither did I.  They better take a nap today.”

All four of them were screaming as they launched themselves into the piles of snow.  The layers of snow gear made them look like little blobs.  Darim was the shortest of them all, with his arms and legs stuck straight out from his chest like pieces of a star.  

“Jaida look!” Sef was shouting from the stairs to the slide he was dusting off.  “Jaida look!  Look what I found.”

“I’m making a snowman, Sef,” Jaida shouted back.  

Sef and Darim were sitting together by a stack of sticks, snacking on snow stuck to their mittens.  

“Dad!” Jaida shouted, “I need help.”  She had, thus far, only managed to make a lump of snow on the ground, but she was giving it her all.  Sef was jumping his way over to her and that wouldn’t end without the pair of them trying to prove that the other didn’t know what to do.

“I’m here!” was the sound of Peyton screaming her way from her house.  “I want to make a snowman!”

Altair met her at the sad lump of snow before a situation developed that would need to be de-escalated.  He showed them how to make snowballs and roll them to make them bigger.  They split themselves into unofficial teams, and built a snow colony of lumpy, sideways snowmen.  

They went in when Darim started to whine about his nose, and Malik promised them something warm and tasty for lunch.  Altair shook out all their snowy clothes and made sure the were all dressed in warm, dry clothes.  They ate their lunch with long yawns and happy stories of snowmen.

And then, like a miracle, they took a fucking nap.

[xazz]

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Worship 

Summery: Malik is in southern Turkey researching the former practice of white smithing, a now dead practice involving "magic" white rock. He's got a lead and more than he could hope for in there being a still intact white rock forge that's since been forgotten and neglected over the generations as the world moved away from magic.

Then he finds an old sword in the decrepit forge and brings it back home with him.

Chapter 1: The White Rock Forge

Malik had been in Dörtyol for three weeks so far. A small city all things considered with a great view of the Mediterranean in the west and Taurus Mountains in the east. It was a nice place, not as crowded as somewhere like Istanbul or Adana where he’d flown in. There were beautiful mosques older than anything back home dotted around every neighborhood and he was still getting used to waking up at the crack of dawn to go to them with his homestay family. At the very least he knew that the little storefront half a block away from the mosque they visited made such a strong cup of coffee it could strip paint. Malik had one of those every morning and he was set for the day. That woke him up to go to prayer and then go back home for breakfast before he went to work.

He was in Dörtyol as part of his anthropology research. His focus was on ‘dying’ metalworking practices in the Middle East. It was his second research trip and homestay out here but last time he’d been on the other side of the mountains in Aleppo. Now he was in Turkey for this trip.

He'd found the Tazim family by just surfing the internet and finding them on a happy accident. Well he’d found the younger son and through him had found his father, one of the last whitesmiths in the Middle East. Whitesmithing was mostly a dying art. Many people confused them with silver smiths but the two weren't anything alike.

White smithing had been around before the rise of Islam but after Islam it slowly grew out of favor. The white rock whitesmiths used was difficult to use and almost impossible to find unless you were very rich or had a so-called ‘stone caller’. But the last of the stone callers were said to have died out with the final sacking of Rome in the fifth century so they'd had to rely on what resources and veins of white rock that had been found up until then. But with the rise of Islam, the magical properties attributed to white rock (none of which were ever confirmed) didn't mesh well with the rise of the new religion.

It had taken about three dozen emails for Malik to get into proper phone contact with Ubaid Tazim, the aging whitesmith, and five weeks to set up the homestay. Which was how Malik landed here, in Dörtyol, learning what the old man knew for the duration of his homestay which was seven weeks.

There was no smithy at the Tazim’s. Malik knew well enough white rock didn't need to be heated and molded like metal. He kept asking Ubaid to show him how he did whitesmithing but the old man never did. The only reason Malik didn't think Ubaid wasn't pulling his leg was because of the amount of white rock artifacts all over their home.

Like the one shaped like a delicate flower that hung over Malik’s guest bed he was obsessed with. He was looking up at it while a Turkish podcast played in his ears. The white rock shimmered even in the dull light from the setting sun outside. He'd love to know how it was made and it certainly wasn't carved. Every ounce of research he made on whitesmithing showed that white rock was never carved but the exact way it was made was something no one could quite agree on.

He started when someone knocked on his door. “Malik,” Yusuf called, “dinner is ready.”

“Yes, coming,” Malik called back and got off his bed. He put his phone on the bedside table and went to go wash his hands.

Jawna, Ubaid’s wife, had made another lovely meal when he sat at the table with them. She didn't look at Malik even after two weeks but she'd talk to him when spoken to and answer his questions. Malik liked her very much and she was very kind and gentle. Yusuf was their youngest son and Malik’s age. He'd come home from Adana after some interpersonal relationship had fallen through after he’d finished school. Malik didn't ask about that. Their other three children all had left home, had their own families and lives.

Jawna asked Yusuf about his day and he was chipper as he talked to Jawna about his job down at the seaport. Yusuf was the most cheerful guy Malik knew. It was nice.

After dinner he, Yusuf, and Ubaid watched TV on the old tube TV they still had. Football was on and Yusuf and Ubaid were very invested in the game against Egypt. Malik didn't understand football. He didn't understand American football either for that matter. But he was glad they had fun and cheered along when there was a score. Which there was one score the entire game, from Turkey.

After the football game Yusuf excused himself for the night. Malik was alone with Ubaid in the living room while the news was on. “Ubaid,” he said, “I've been very patient so far since I came here. You said you'd actually show me how whitesmithing worked since you can, you know, do it. I really would like to see. If I don't have anything to show for my trip out here it’ll be a lot harder for me to get grant money in the future.”

Ubaid sighed and stroked his beard with troubled thoughtfulness. “I know,” he said.

“So you’ll show me?” Malik asked hopefully.

Ubaid’s face pulled down. “There is no more white rock, Malik,” he said, meeting Malik’s eyes. “You’ve been such a nice addition here I didn't want to upset you and tell you there isn't any.”

Malik frowned. “But— but there’s a forge, right?” he prodded, desperate.

“There is,” Ubaid nodded slowly.

“You… do know how to whitesmith, don't you?”

“In theory I suppose. My father told me the way it was supposed to be done but even when he was young there was no more white rock in our forge,” Ubaid said apologetically.

Malik tried not to be sour. But he felt like he'd been had. Sure he was here on a grant but he felt like he'd wasted his time! He could have spent the time he’d been trying to contact the Tazims looking for another whitesmith who maybe did have white rock still.

But still. A forge. That was more than his last research venture. That had ended early because the whitesmith hadn't been a whitesmith at all but a keeper of white rock and the translation into Urdu had been bad. They'd had items of all sorts made of white rock but no notes, no books, nothing that said how it was made or the practices behind it. They'd at least given Malik a piece of unrefined white rock for his trouble and apology for wasting his time. At least the Tazims had a forge. He'd take a forge over the rock any day.

“Can I still see it?” he asked.

Ubaid nodded, “Yes. Yes of course. It’s a drive out of the city but I can take you.”

“I wish you had told me earlier,” he tried not to be angry but it was hard. He felt so slighted by Ubaid who he thought was a good man with a nice family.

“I know. It was difficult to explain over the phone when you were just very enthusiastic about meeting a whitesmith and I didn't want to disappoint you.”

Malik felt some of his anger dissipate. It was hard to be angry when Ubaid sounded so genuinely apologetic. “It’s okay. I can get a bit over-enthused about things. But we will go tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Thank you so much, Ubaid, this is really important to me.”

“I know. That's why I've been reluctant to show you. I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

“Anything is better than nothing. The last ‘whitesmith’ I spoke to didn't even have a forge anymore. But there is one?”

“There is a forge, yes,” Ubaid nodded.

“Okay. Great. I’m going to get to bed then. I’ll see you in the morning Ubaid,” he said respectfully and got up.

He returned to his bedroom and changed into his sleep clothes. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and set up his lap desk on the bed to do some work before he went to sleep. Just a bit of journaling about the day and his excitement about what was happening tomorrow. It was more field notes and less a journal about his thoughts but it was important to document everything as a scientist.

Once he'd finished his notes he closed his laptop, put away the lap desk and laid down. It was warm this time of year, even with the old window unit grinding on the other side of the room. He slept without even a sheet. As he closed his eyes the white rock rose twinkled in the yellow light of the streetlamp outside.

—

Malik was up early as usual. As he was getting dressed there was a soft knock on the door. He opened it and saw Ubaid and Yusuf in sturdy clothing for hiking. “Uh, everything alright?” he asked.

“Yes. It is a long drive out to the forge. We’re leaving now,” Ubaid said.

Malik blinked, “Before prayer?”

“Yes. The road only goes so high so bring some boots. We’re leaving as soon as you’re ready,” Ubaid said.

“R-right. Okay, give me a second,” and he closed the door to change his clothes. Thankfully he did have boots with him and hopped around his room on one foot to get them tied up. He stuffed his camera, two journals, some charcoal for etchings, and his phone all into a satchel before leaving the guest room.

Jawna had made coffee and a light breakfast for them before they left. A modest affair of some bread, cheese, and sucuk all just barely warmed. Malik gulped it all down with his coffee and the three men left the house and piled into the old sedan the Tazims owned. Yusuf usually drove a moped around the city but he could drive a car too.

“You sure it’s alright we skip morning prayer? I wouldn't want you to do anything against your beliefs for me,” Malik said from the backseat as they drove down the quiet morning roads. It was still dark out but getting lighter. Lights were on in most of the homes they passed.

“Allah won’t be angry if we miss a prayer or two,” Yusuf said brightly. “And you shouldn’t pray if you have trouble doing so or if something physically prevents you. Allah knows we will be back.”

“Oh. I see. Have you been to the forge before Yusuf?”

“Eh, once or twice when I was little,” his blue eyes looked back at Malik in the rearview mirror as he spoke.

“How long is the drive? Are we going into the mountains?”

“It is a ways,” Ubaid said, “And yes.”

Yusuf turned on some music and the three of them sat in a comfortable silence for the most part. They drove all morning out of the city and up into the winding mountain roads, most of which were dirt and looked like they saw very little car traffic.

Then Yusuf seemed to pull off to the side at random and parked the car. “Alright, we're here,” he said.

“We are?” Malik asked, looking out the window, all he saw was trees.

“Well, we're at the furthest the roads go. Now it’s a hike and we should go before it gets too hot,” Yusuf got out of the car and Malik quickly followed suit. He made sure he had his satchel as he followed Yusuf to what looked like a deer trail.

“How often do you come here?” Malik asked Ubaid. He had a walking stick with him to help him move around but he wasn't so old that he couldn’t keep up a good pace with them.

“Not often.”

“How far is the hike?”

“About an hour.”

“Really? So far away from the city?”

“My father said his grandfather told him there used to be a town up in these areas. But it was gone before my great grandfather was born too. All that remains are these animal trains and the white rock forge. It doesn't make sense to maintain it anymore all the way up here.”

“I see,” Malik nodded and took out his phone to at least get the GPS coordinates for the area. That was the only part of his phone that worked at the moment too. He had no service out here. They were out in the wilderness.

Malik wasn't in the best shape and he wished he was. He was exhausted quickly from climbing and was glad Ubaid needed to stop every few minutes to catch his breath. Malik wasn't fat but he wasn't in shape either. He resolved to be better if he wanted to come out here more.

It took over an hour to get to a dilapidated building nestled against naked stone on the mountain. “Here we are,” Yusuf said. Prick was winded but not about to die like Malik was and he was carrying a heavy backpack with their water and lunch in it. If Yusuf wasn't so nice Malik would hate him. He put the backpack down and unzipped it, handing a fresh bottle of water to his father and then to Malik. Malik chugged it. He was sweating through his clothes in the growing heat of the day and felt awful. “Let’s go sit inside where there’s some shade,” Yusuf said and ushered them both inside. Malik didn't argue, some shade sounded fantastic.

Inside the building he saw it was a facade. The face of the building led to a large carved room. Malik looked as he sat and rested his calves. The walls were covered in some sort of hieroglyphs and what wasn't were heavily decorated frescos. Parts of the fresco plaster had fallen over the centuries but he could still see images. He wanted a closer look for sure.

Once he felt better he got up and took out his camera and went to investigate the frescos. One side depicted the mountains; men holding white rock, and a woman with a glowing aura with white rock floating around her. Parts had fallen and crumbled away with time but they were so beautiful. On the other side was what looked like an ancient whitesmith tale Malik had read about in several cultures who had whitesmiths. The binding of white rock to metal to infuse it with magic and the metal shaped into weapons. The weapons were used as sacrificial items and bathed in blood.

Malik started when Yusuf came up behind him and turned on his flashlight, bathing the rest of the room in light. There were old tables and stone benches in the big room, scraps of wood from crates and various human detritus and animal waste and beyond a black doorway into another room. “The forge is through there,” Yusuf said, motioning with the beam of light. He chuckled when Malik practically ran in.

Whatever Malik was expecting it wasn't what he saw.

The new room had a pit in the middle filled with white rock dust that glittered from the flashlight illuminating it. Against one wall was some strange looking brick oven with no chimney. Next to the oven was a shattered crate. The walls were covered in the same hieroglyphs as the entrance. “This is it?” Malik asked as Ubaid came into the back room.

“Yes. This is how it looked when my father showed it to me. He said that when he was younger it had a bench and table in it and a strange anvil. Then one day he came up here and the anvil was gone.”

Malik looked around in dismay. “This is… really all there is?”

“I’m afraid so. This is why I didn’t want to show you the forge. I knew you'd be disappointed.”

Malik was too. He was so disappointed and not a little heartbroken. He'd been so excited to see the forge but seeing it now… there was nothing here. It was empty and had been looted over the generations.

He tried to look on the bright side. There was still all the hieroglyphs! And there were the frescos and the oven. He still had plenty to look at here. “Did your father ever see the forge used?” Malik asked, turning to Ubaid.

“No,” Ubaid shook his head.

“So do you know how it works?”

“Sort of,” Ubaid said. “You put the white rock into the pit and add a catalyst to it. The catalyst has something to do with the oven. That reduces the white rock into a workable shape and you can work it from there. You needed special tools infused with white rock to work the white rock, or so I was told.”

“Which makes no sense. You’d need the tools to make the tools,” Malik said.

“That is just what I was told. And you would work it on the anvil. Though what the tools were I can't remember anymore,” he frowned.

“Do you remember what your father said about the anvil?”

Ubaid was quiet in thought. “He said his grandfather hit it with a hammer and it sang.”

“It was hollow?” How odd.

“Yes.”

“Hmmm. Well, regardless of anything else this is still the most intact white rock forge we’ve seen in a long while. Only the one in Alexandria is more intact. So if nothing else the site will be worth it,” he said, trying to be upbeat. But still, he knew nothing of the forge really.

“I’m glad we could have been of some help,” Ubaid said solemnly.

“I’m going to take a bunch of pictures. Yusuf, can I borrow the flashlight? You two don't have to hang out back here if you don't want.”

“Sure, bud,” and Yusuf handed it to him. “We’ll be in the entrance room. I brought some cards, dad, want to play?”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” and the father and son left Malik alone in the forge room.

Once they were gone Malik felt like he could really show as depressed and disheartened as he felt. He sighed looking around. He put the flashlight on the oven aimed at the ceiling to better illuminate everything and started taking pictures. After carefully documenting the walls he poked around the oven. It looked a lot like a classic brick pizza oven but there was no chimney. There was a white residue inside and it was powdery when he touched it. He took about ten thousand pictures of the oven too. The crate remains next to it were nothing of great interest either. Just wood splinters.

That just left the pit to poke around next. But before he could Yusuf called him out to the entrance for lunch, more bread, and cheese but this time with lamb and a cold cucumber salad from a lunch box Yusuf pulled out of his pack.

“Have you found anything in there?” Yusuf asked.

“No. But its still very interesting,” Malik said. “I’ve seen some of the same symbols on other whitesmith forges we've found and I’ll be eager to go home and do some cross-referencing.”

“Great. How much longer do you need?”

“Today? Another hour or so probably. I’d like to come back in a few days, take some more pictures, bring some more equipment.”

“I think we can accommodate that,” Yusuf nodded eagerly.

Malik finished off his lunch, “Alright. Time to get back to it,” he wiped his hands on his shorts and got up, going back into the forge. He still needed to investigate that pit.

The pit itself was a bowl shape made of stone edged in what looked like metal. The metal rim had more hieroglyphs around it. He stepped down into it and yelped when he found the white rock dust was a lot deeper than he expected.

“Everything alright, Malik?” Yusuf called from the entrance room.

“Yes! I’m fine, just startled myself,” he called back reassuringly. Yusuf didn't respond.

He leaned down and picked up some of the white rock dust. It was as fine as dried clay dust and sparkled like glitter in his hand. It was about four inches deep at the bottom of the pit. White rock dust wasn't useful for anything since it couldn't be fused or melted down into itself again. But there was quite a bit here. Far more white rock than Malik had ever seen outside of a museum or a whitesmithing family home. He dug around in the pit just for giggles and was surprised when he found something.

He stood up, pulling out an old sword still in its scabbard. It was covered in dirt with a fine coating of white rock all over it. Well, that was unexpected. With a grunt he tried to take the blade out of the scabbard. He managed to wrench it out a few inches. The blade was rusted to hell and back but not in the same way ancient swords were. Meaning this was probably a contemporary sword that had been left here. Or maybe the white rock had preserved it. Malik was going to go with it being contemporary. He could make out dark iron colored colors through the dirt and grime like it was covered in blood. A century or two old murder weapon left in an unused whitesmith forge. You were guaranteed to never find it. Except Malik had found it.

Malik hefted it and climbed out of the pit. He put it in the oven before going back and looking for anything else in the pit, finding nothing he climbed back out and took a bunch of pictures of the pit and the area surrounding it. He squatted and took out a notebook to make about three pages of notes. Then he took some rubbings of the hieroglyphs on the rim of the pit and the walls.

He could have easily spent another six hours here getting rubbings and taking more photos but he recognized that it was a hike back to the car and another few hours drive back to the city and other than last night Ubaid tended to go to sleep pretty early. He was sure Yusuf didn’t want to carry his father either down the trail or even from the car to the house.

He checked the time on his phone. It was three. The worst of the days' heat and sun were over now. It would still be an awful hike back to the car but at least it was downhill.

Before going back out to the Tazims he went back over to the oven and picked up the old sword. Because of his last name Malik found himself into swords. It definitely had helped him get into history by being obsessed with swords as a kid. Especially because his name literally meant ‘king of the sword’ which even at his age he thought was pretty tight. It looked a lot like a mameluke because of the less defined curve you'd see on a scimitar. But the design looked maybe 18th or 19th century. So it was old sure but it wasn't an old sword. Might be worth a few hundred bucks back home but nothing especially special about the piece really.

Yusuf was playing on his phone and Ubaid was taking a nap when he came out of the forge with the sword and flashlight. “Okay, I think I'm done for the day,” he said.

“Really? Great,” Yusuf groaned as he stood up and stretched. “Next time I'll make sure to download some movies or something.”

Malik chuckled. “Yeah, its pretty boring waiting. Sorry,” Malik said.

“Ah, it's no worries,” and Yusuf slapped Ubaid’s knee. “Hey, old man, wake up, we're going.”

Ubaid woke with a start, grumbled but got up. “Also, I found this in the pit,” Malik motioned with the sword once Ubaid was awake.

Ubaid rubbed an eye, “Oh? A sword? Is it special?”

“Doesn't look like it. Might be a mid 19th or even 20th century mameluke… erm, saber, scimitar thing,” he said to over explain. “Probably isn’t worth anything.”

“Ah. A shame. For a moment I thought you had found some ancient relic to make up for the state of the forge,” Ubaid said with a slightly pained smile.

Malik shook his head with a slight smile. “Yeah, not this time unfortunately. But is it cool if I have it? I’m kinda into swords.”

“With the name al-Sayf I’d hope,” Yusuf teased him.

“No that’s literally why I like swords,” Malik said plain-faced and they both laughed. “See if I can't clean it up a bit. Make a good souvenir from Dörtyol if nothing else.”

“Of course you can have it,” Ubaid said.

“Great,” Malik said.

“Alright, everyone have some water and then let’s get back to the car,” Yusuf handed them both water bottles. Malik drank gratefully. Once everyone was hydrated and they made sure they left no garbage behind they headed back down the mountain trail to the sedan.

[tellcardtowrite]

Ive just finished rereading immovable unbreakable(&its comment fic sequel)for the uptenth time after going through all the altmal pages ao3 has(for another uptenth time)& it occurred to me while reading the 2nd chapter of the comment fic that I want 2 see more of the children when theyre older (like teenish?) & how Alt & Mal handle them. When and how does Tazim realize his sister is better than him? Does he realize it with grace or bitter jealousy? Is Jaida the best of her age group like Altaïr?

R for violence/blood/etc | Altmal | Jaida and Tazim have that fight

History had a way of repeating itself.  No matter the changing of the seasons, no matter the age of old men and old grudges, they always came again.  Mother had stood across this ring from Father and they had looked at one another with no less hostility and hatred than Tazim spared for her now.  

It would always have come to this and better that it happen now, that it happen here when there was still time left to heal the wounds before they were grown.  Tazim was a festering wound, filled up with his own ignorance and pride, boasting to anyone that would listen how he had inherited all of his parent’s greatness.  But his words were hollow as ugly bells, clanging uselessly, interrupting themselves as they went.  “This will be the last time you embarrass me!” was the scream that brought the yard to a standstill. 

“You embarrass yourself,” Jaida had answered moments ago, “you do not need my help.”

Her brother, the first living son of their mother, had smacked her so sharply and so suddenly that it had thrown her off balance.  It had knocked her back into the old wood of the training ring, it had startled a shriek from the pink-faced-novices gathering for their agility training.  Their wide-wide eyes were like a cluster of owls, their round little mouths hanging open in sudden shock.  It was a ripple that rose like a wave, it passed from face to face as Jaida levered herself back to standing with the flat of her palm against the knotted railing.  

“I’ll kill you,” Tazim hissed at her when there was only just enough space for the two of them to hear the words.  

“Gather an army, Tazim.  It’ll take more than you.”  She straightened her back, slid sideways so she could face him fully.  They weren’t equals, now, in the training ring.  They hadn’t been equals in their parent’s bed as children.  They would not be equals tomorrow when this fight was a constellation of bruises spread out between them.  

“Bitch,” Tazim hissed at her.

Jaida’s grin was a slick pink slice across her face, her voice was low in her throat, resonating out of the deepest part of her belly when she leaned in to whisper, “omega,” at her brother.  And his scream of fury was a rush of fists that fell without finesse against her shoulders and arms and head.  

“Stop it!” was Sef.  Sef was thin as a weed, younger than either Jaida or Tazim could ever have imagined being, filled up with indifference about the mission of assassins or the importance of legacy.  But Sef was Mother’s son, made of muscle and speed, he grabbed Tazim by the chest and dragged him away.  He put himself between them, arms up, palms out, calling for an end to the fight.

Jaida wiped the blood off the corner of her mouth.  She smeared it down the gray of her training uniform.  She considered the ugly red smudge, the way she’d been considering her brother all these years.  She’d weighed his worth against her own anger.  She’d weighed his ignorance against her own accomplishment.  She had separated herself from him as fully as she could, to spare him, and it hadn’t mattered in the end.  It would always have come to this moment.  As she ducked down to pick up the stick she’d dropped, as her hand slid across the smooth hilt of it, she felt nothing and it was a welcome relief.

Tazim had dogged her from the first moment she could remember.  He had poured his self-doubt and his failures on her as long since they were infants.  He had blamed her for misfortune from stubbed toes to lost friendships.  He had labeled her a woman, he had narrowed her dreams, he had denied her aspirations and her accomplishments.  Tazim had made a lifetime out of proving himself better by virtue of never fairly comparing.  His rage was impotence.

Jaida’s rage was injustice.

Rauf had been an old man as long as Jaida had been alive, but hewas withering with age now.  His strong back was bent and his thick armswere sagging at his sides.  His eyes were bright behind a forest of gray hairas he turned his head to snap at the nearest novice awaiting orders: “goand fetch the Mentor.”

“That’s their Mother!” thechild shouted.

“Go!”

Jaida flexed her grip around the hilt of her weapon, tested the familiar weapon.  Father had trained her in the proper use of a sword since she was truly a child.  Mother had shown her the fine art of short blades, he had sat with her in the dirt, watching the world go cold and he had said: they will always expect little of you.  They will never stop asking you to prove yourself.  They will assume the least of you and they will demand you answer for it.

But Jaida liked a stick best for moments like this, when she was faced up against an opponent that thought so little of her.  She liked the sound of it hitting flesh better than the satisfaction of a quick death.  With blood in her mouth, and tears gathering in her eyes, she could think of no reason to deny Tazim the fight he wanted.  Her steps were short, and steady, she inched forward.  “Sef,” she said.  Her fingers touched his, folded down the back of his hand, slid up to his wrist.  “You need to go now, Sef.  All will be well.”  Her grip tightened as Sef’s stance faltered.

Sef looked at her with the agony of indecision.  His loyalty had never been tested, and the way he looked at her now screamed of how deeply he wished it never would have been.  But he said, “please Jaida,” to her, “please wait for Mother.”

No. 

Rauf was there in a moment, dragging Sef backward by the shirt.  His retreat was as quick as his age and bulk allowed.  Sef shouted only once, a wordless objection to being treated roughly, and then he was gone again, swallowed into the thickening crowd.

Jaida raised her weapon.  Tazim lifted his sword.  

–

The novice skidded into the desk that Altair had taken to occupying in the early afternoon.  He hit it hard enough to knock all the breath from his body and collapsed backward in a heap.  “Come,” the boy gasped, “fight,” was his next word.  His face was spotted with pink marks as he struggled to make words out of the pain.  His attempts were fruitless but there was a stampede of feet that all came rushing through the castle shouting the same thing.

Jaida.

Tazim.

Altair raised his hand, the assembly of anxious boys fell quiet.  “Thank you,” he said.  And he considered how he should proceed.  He considered the value of a decent fight.  He considered either possible outcome.  And then he sighed, “go the library, fetch Malik.  Bring him to the training ring.”  

Outside was a mob, a great swell of noise and bodies.  Every age from the youngest novice to the oldest assassin was forming a thickening clot around the training ring.  There were faces peeking out from the windows, watching to see how the fight would end.  Every blow earned a scream, and every counterattack a cheer.

Altair elbowed his way through, he made it to the front of the crowd, he leaned his forearms against the splintering wood.  His beautiful, stubborn, arrogant daughter had disarmed her brother.  She had him pinned on the ground.  In that moment–with her hair as wild as a lion mane–with her face red with effort, and blood and shimmering with sweat, she was the perfect rebirth of all of Altair’s rage.

Tazim was thrashing on the ground, flopping and twisting to regain his freedom.  

“Mother!” Sef screamed from around the curve.

Jaida paused, with her arm raised over her head, the length of her favorite weapon highlighted in sunlight, she turned to scan the crowd for Altair, and when she found him–  

(Just for a moment,

he could see the fear, and the saddness, and the anger

that had brought her here.)

She turned back to Tazim as quick as she had looked away and she hit him just as hard as she had intended to.  The blow landed on his arm, and his side, and his back as he turned in the dirt, as he tried to curl to protect himself.  Jaida screamed with the fall of the blows and Tazim screamed with the landing of them.

“Altair,” was Malik just at his back.

“Jaida!” Altair shouted over the dying noise.  And his daughter, his beautiful, inconsolable child, dropped the weapon before it could strike again.  She retreated back a step, her shoulders sagged and her chest heaved with effort.  She looked at her brother lying in a heap on the ground, covering his face, making no effort to move.  “Rauf,” he said, “disperse the crowd.  I’m certain we have better lessons to observe.”

–

Mother did not speak first, when the crowd had gone.  It was Father, looking at his children with weariness but not surprise.  He looked at the sword in the dirt, at the slash across Jaida’s arm and Tazim’s curled body.  Father said, “the easiest part is over now; what remains is harder.  Get your brother to the surgery, tend to his wounds.”

“No!” Tazim screamed.  He jerked out of the fetal position, all red in the face with tears streaking the filth on his cheeks.  “You embarrass me!”

“I embarrass you?” Father repeated, “my son!  My oldest son, the finest of his class, you have attacked your sister!  You have violated the rules of the training ring twice over, engaging a student of a younger class and bearing an unauthorized weapon!  You have embarrassed me.  I did not raise a shrieking idiot.”

Mother frowned at Father and Father answered it with an agitated tilt of his head.  They argued without speaking, and when it was through, Mother said, “get up, you will tend to each other’s wounds.”

Jaida held out her hand and Tazim knocked it away.  He struggled to his feet, hissing at the pain in his ribs until he was fully standing.  Tazim regarded her, but he said nothing until their parents were too far away to hear.  When he spoke he said only, “we are no longer brother and sister.  You should remember this if we face one another again.”

“You are stupid,” Jaida said.  She hit him again, with her hands, the way he had started the fight.  Her hand smarted where she smacked his face, and he called out in shock.  He moved to hit her but she blocked him and smacked him again.  “You cannot deny our parents,” and he tried again, to be met with a fresh slap against his face.  “You cannot deny me!”  She knocked him back, followed him to the rocky ground.  Her elbows dug into the soft spots on his chest, pinned him in place with enough pain that it contorted his face.  “I am not the cause of your unhappiness!  I am not the reason you are adequate and miserable!”

“Jaida,” Tazim gasped.  He shoved her back and she fell half back and was back again before he could do more than sit up.  They were idiots in the dirt, gripping each other’s shoulders to try to stall the other.  “Don’t you ever know when to quit!” he shouted.  “It is enough!  You do not belong!”

“Neither do you!” 

“I am not an omega,” Tazim hissed at her.

“I’ve seen the proof of it, and you are stupid to think that you have gone unnoticed.  The heats will get stronger and the men you call your friends will see no reason not to–”

Tazim shoved her but her grip on his clothes kept her from moving.  There was the tears on his face again, the ugliness of his dissatisfaction.  “Stop!”

“We are the same!” Jaida shouted at him.  “We have always been!  We are the children of a Mother who wanted no children.  We are unwanted, we are outcast.  We will never be the men that laugh at us and call us names.  Why can you not admit this?  Why must you blame me for what I did not do?”

Tazim had no answer for her.  Jaida had no answer for her brother.  

“We must do what Mother and Father said,” Jaida said when the silence grew too loud.  “Get up.”

–

Tazim was uncomfortable in the surgery, being inspected by the old men with wrinkled fingers.  He stood without a shirt, being gently poked until they could be sure that no bones had been broken.  Every touch made his skin shrink and crawl, every careful glance made his heart race in his chest.  

But Jaida sat carelessly, she grit her teeth against the ordeal of having her wound cleaned and tended to.  When it was done, she sat in boredom, waiting.  No surgeon would touch her further without the express permission of her Father.  That was the fate that awaited Tazim.  

When they were finished, and it was only the two of them taking a moment to recover (so said the surgeons as they closed the doors behind them), Tazim said: “I would have preferred to be one of the children Mother did not see fit to carry.  Who would want this life I have inherited?  Who would want to be compared to a goal they can never reach?  Mother may have proven himself, but his victory does not secure a safe world for either of us.”

Jaida had Mother’s face with softer lines.  She looked as dispassionate as him, always disinterested in whatever she heard.  “I would kill any man that laid an unwanted hand on you, Tazim.  If you would do the same for me, we will make our own security.”

“Today I am free,” Tazim said.  He looked at her, “you cannot understand what that is, Jaida.  I know this, I have used your sex against you since you were a baby.  Whatever liberties our parents have raised you with, they are not the same as freedom.  The day I name what I am, the day I can no longer deny it, I will forfeit my freedom.”

Jaida was quiet.  She sighed, she said, “hating me won’t change what will happen.  It will cost us both a valuable ally in the war that lies before us.  Our parents are not immortal.  Won’t it be easier to have an ally?”

Tazim (was tired, was so very tired), said: “we are not the same, Jaida.  I do not wish to fight a war.  I wish that a war was not necessary.”

“There has always been a war,” she said, “you simply discovered you’re on the losing side.”  Then she got up and yanked the door open.  “I will wait for you.”

[emzysimagines]

Being Altair's Twin Sister Would Include...

Warnings - Slight angst because, Altair.

=======================

• Always playfully sparring with toy swords as kids.

• You being a tomboy, yet a sweet girl, nonetheless.

• Being ridiculed and picked on by boys your age in your childhood for being a tomboy.

• Altair intervening to stand up for you.

• You stopping him before proving them wrong.

• Proving them wrong, usually included punching the poor kids or kicking them in the stomach.

• Which is why you were the problematic one.

• Only because you were ridiculed.

• Your father starting to introduce you, two to the ways of an Assassin - the fighting, the life, the beliefs, the morals, the history, etc.

• Training together.

• Him having strength in body while you had agility.

• Being pushed harder than him so, you’d get stronger.

• Then, Altair making a snide comment so, your father pushed him just as hard, too.

• You making up for your body strength with mind strength over the years.

• Him getting accepted in the brotherhood, unlike you.

• You being annoyed you weren’t accepted.

• Him trying to comfort you but, it ended up with a huge fight.

• It was practically a street fight - fists, punches, kicks and rude comments included.

• You pinning him to the ground with your arm, putting all your body weight on it, pushing it against his chest.

• “Stop pitying me!”

• Him pushing you off with his body strength and holding you in place with his arm around your neck.

• “Stop being so petty, then!”

• The fight going on until you, two get tired and end up lying on the ground beside each others.

• You starting to laugh together.

• “Forgive me, brother.”

• Him just smiling warmly at your guilty eyes before lightly giving you a small push to your cheek with his fist, affectionately.

• “They’d be stupid not to accept you.”

• Getting your acceptance letter a week later.

• Your father getting killed a week after.

• Sitting alone on the steps of the palace in your newbie robes with a blank look.

• Al Mualim coming to sit with you.

• Him comforting you with his words.

• Rushing to find your solitary brother as you finally react to your father’s death.

• Finding him sitting atop a tower, his legs dangling.

• Sparing each others a look before you sit beside him.

• Resting your head atop his shoulder and just sitting together.

• The two of you being there for each others.

• You being the strategic agile quiet twin.

• Him being the reckless strong solitary twin.

• Not being as close to Malik and his brother as Altair was.

• Training together.

• Going on missions together.

• Al Mualim only sending the two of you to invade full cities.

• Being an army of two.

• Races on rooftops.

• Races on horsebacks.

• Races between bureaus.

• Discreet races between Templar soldiers.

• Wrecking havoc in Masyaf with all your races.

• Overall, you being the wise, calm, sweet and beautiful twin.

• Him being the cocky, temper driven, cocky and really handsome twin.

• Well, in the beginning, that is.

• Being Altair’s strength.

• Altair being your rock.

• Joining him in that one mission with the Sayfs.

• Trying to prevent his cocky interventions.

• You getting a deep lethal injury from a poisoned blade.

• Falling in a coma for months.

• When you finally wake up, Altair is almost done with the nine.

• Him catching you up with his new found information.

• You trying to push that one thought out of your mind.

• Him being unsure whether to confirm the corruption of Al Mualim.

• Altair not finding you at Malik’s side when he goes to fight the old man.

• “Where are you?…”

• Finding you by Al Mualim’s side as he controls your mind.

• “No..”

• Him forcing you to fight Altair until death.

• Having always had mind strength, you manage to push Al Mualim out of your mind.

• Killing Al Mualim together.

• Being by Altair’s side as the apple opens for him.

• Snapping him out of his trance by speaking his name.

• Meeting Maria after Altair’s little.. scandal with her atop that certain tower in Jerusalem.

• You being the coolest aunt in the world.

• Being single.

• Living for your small family.

• Darim being your new Altair, due to Altair being busy with the brotherhood.

• Sef being your little boy.

• Only going to Altair’s for small visits inbetween missions.

• Informing him of the corruption of Abbas.

• Ignoring your accusations.

• Abbas discovering you know.

• Not wanting to disturb Altair or cause him trouble, you stand your ground.

• Abbas going after you first.

• Him chasing you out of Masyaf.

• Living in the shadows in Jerusalem.

• Not being able to send any pigeons to Altair.

• However, after you killing a man, whom you saw selling and abusing slaves due to your justice instinct, that attracts attention to you.

• Abbas accusing the “mysterious” killer to be a ruthless murderer, who killed a man “helping” people.

• Abbas chasing you out of the Levant area.

• Finding sanctuary in a beautiful historic city in Turkey.

• Finally finding love with a dashing Turkish man.

• Being able to contact Malik.

• Staying in Turkey with your son and husband until suddenly, you were not able to message Malik.

• Going back to Masyaf in time to witness your little boy’s death.

• Having an angry fit.

• “Tell me, (Y/N).. After leaving your brother, do you think he’ll forgive you?”

• Being put more in mental pain than physical pain.

• Altair and Maria being manipulated by Abbas, using you.

• Maria’s last word to you being,“Strength… T-Together..”

• Altair and you working together and fighting Abbas’ mind controlled men, just like you fought Templars in your youth.

• Running away with Altair and Darim.

• Hugging Darim to you once you find somewhere to stay in.

• Sitting alone atop a tower, mourning Sef’s death.

• “It’s not your fault.”

• Altair joining you.

• “I wasn’t there, was I?”

• Him just pushing your head to rest on his shoulder as you mourn the death of the beautiful boy together.

• Telling you that there are other pieces besides the apple.

• “I think I heard some merchants going to Constantine’s castle, talking of a strange artifact found in a mine.”

• Altair telling you that he was only a messenger to a man named Desmond.

• Travelling around the world with Altair to find pieces.

• Listening to the voices, telling Altair of his grandchildren.

• Him being annoyed at first at the players.

• “That.. Is my legacy?”

• “Well, at least they inherited some of your traits.”

• Sharing some of your playful jokes and sometimes Darim joins in.

• “You have a son?!”

• “You have a husband?!”

• Forty year old Darim being the jealous nephew as an almost seventy year old Altair becomes a protective mess.

• “I’d like to think of my son as a miracle, I had in an old age.”

• Sibling artifact hunts.

• At the last piece, the voices turn to speak to you.

• “Your grandchildren seem as they will always be there to help save the day.”

• Them showing you your grandchildren.

• Your grandchildren crossing paths with Altair’s.

• Leonardo da Vinci, Yusuf Tazim, Aveline de Grandpre and the list goes on until a certain smart girl named Rebecca.

• After hiding the codex, you start discussing where to go next.

• “We go home.”

• Shortly, after getting back Masyaf, you catch the plague.

• Altair’s sorrowful eyes.

• “Why don’t you go back home? To your family, sister?”

• “I am home. I am with my family.”

• “You should not stay here, only because of Maria’s-”

• “I am not. I am here because, I want to.. Brother, the thirty years, I was away, were the hardest. My place is by your side.”

• “Then, send for them to come.”

• You sitting in your room in the castle, trying to think of what to write.

• “My son, I cannot apologize enough for having not been there.. I cannot apologize enough for missing out on so much. But, I need you. I need to see you and your family. Please.”

• A party filled with kids and a woman greets your nephew, three months later.

• Your family staying in Masyaf with you.

• Not telling any of your grandchildren or your son about your sickness.

• Making your own codex pages and hiding them as you disappear for four months.

• Coming back with nearly two weeks left to live.

• Working with Altair as hard as you can.

• Coughing up so much blood, two weeks later as you stand in Altair’s office alone, thinking of everything.

• Him coming in, in time to see you crumbling to the ground, weakly.

• “Sister..”

• Shushing him as he kneels beside you.

• “Just.. Hold me.. Brother.”

• Calling him brother with more affection than you ever have.

• “I love you.. I’m here.”

• Reminding him of Maria’s will.

• “Strength..” being your last word.

• Using your last bit of strength to raise your fist to push Altair’s cheek affectionately before your eyes glaze over.

• Dying in his arms as his silent tears drop on your smiling face.

[mocosa-media]

My hc, ngl was that Tazim would have 2 kids. A girl and a boy, right? 

Anyway so, through stories told by Altair, Tazim names his son Kadar because I damn well said so. His daughter would be such a treasure to him and she (coincidentally) looks a lot more like Tazim’s forgotten uncle but no one really knows this. It’s an “if you know, you know” moment. She would be named after Tazim’s grandmother who he never met but knows of because Altair tries his best to inform and tell Tazim as many stories as he possibly can about Tazim’s family from Malik’s side.

[safetyandpeacenovice]

Anything for You

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26185567

“Our husband has returned.” Maria opened the door to Malik’s study without knocking, as she often did.

“I’m not Altair’s wife.” Malik restrained himself from grumbling. He and Maria had been having this argument ever since she’d arrived in Masyaf heavily pregnant six years before and, upon meeting Malik, commented on how nice it was to finally meet Altair’s ‘first wife’. Over the years their resentment and rivalry had largely disappeared, but Maria still liked to make comments that got under Malik’s skin from time to time.

“No he’s yours.” She smirked. Malik rolled his eyes and chose not to comment. How Maria had discovered the exact dynamics of his and Altair’s relationship was a mystery. It was an open secret that the Grandmaster of the assassins was involved with his second in command, but Maria knew more than was just what was whispered and speculated about. At first Malik had assumed Altair had told her, but he denied doing so and could not figure out how she had learned so much about them either.

It didn’t matter; Maria was largely uninterested in being a wife. There had only been one span of time when she and Altair had shared a bed in Masyaf: right before she fell pregnant with their second son. She took no issue with her husband's relationship with Malik. After a tense period when she first arrived the three of them had settled into a comfortable and powerful triad at the top of the order. Malik helped Altair run the order from Masyaf. Maria was his reliable arrow, sent out to eliminate targets and manage the slowly growing number of women in their order. Altair was Grandmaster, overseeing them both and the order as a whole.

“You should go see him in your rooms.” Malik could tell Maria wasn’t telling him something. She was much too pleased with herself.

“I am working.” Malik turned his eyes back to the message for the Rafiq in Acre he was writing regarding a shipment that would be arriving in the port soon. “Altair can wait until tonight.”

“He’s brought you a gift.”

“Whatever it is can wait until I’m done for the day. Tell him to go see his sons. I’m sure they would love to tell their father all about what they’ve learned since he left. Sef can show him how he can write his name now.” Malik knew Maria was smiling even though he did not look up from his letter.

Darim and Sef were the pride of their parents. Altair adored his sons more than anything in the world. It was not unusual to find one or both of them in his study as he worked. He took them on trips to the cities when it was safe. He made it a point to see them everyday when he was in Masyaf. Maria loved her boys as well. She taught them to speak English and French and was planning to teach them to read and write in those languages as well over the next few years. She told them stories before they went to bed each night, some true, others most decidedly not. Sef in particular would ask for more stories about dragons.

Malik too had a strong bond with the boys. When Darim was born Altair had asked him what he wanted to be called by the boy. Maria had suggested uncle, but it hadn’t felt right. He wasn’t Altair’s brother. Their relationship was not brotherly. Perhaps that title might have fit Kadar if he still lived. Eventually Malik had decided he would simply go by his name.

However, children being as they are, Darim made his own decision, and so Malik became Baba Malik. Sef had followed his brother’s lead and also called him Baba Malik. The brothers had three parents Mama, Baba Altair, and Baba Malik. At first Malik had been uncomfortable with the title. He wasn’t their father after all, not really. He was just the man their father slept with. But of course children don’t understand what makes someone family. All they knew was when they crawled into their father’s bed at night after a bad dream Malik was there too to stoke their hair and whisper that it would all be ok in the morning. One night, when Altair was away Darim had crawled into bed with Malik and in that moment he knew that blood or not he was a father.

“Go to him Malik. You won’t regret it.” Maria urged, all of her usual teasing gone from her voice.

“Is he hurt?” Malik looked up.

“No.” She smiled. “Go and you will understand.”

“Fine.”

Malik passed many members of the brotherhood as he made his way from his study to his chambers. Most simply bowed their heads slightly as he passed, but some of the younger boys stared at where his arm used to be. Everyone knew the story of how he’d lost it. The novices were told it to prove that no man was above the creed and to show the consequences of disobeying the creed, of believing they knew better. No man was perfect, not even the Grandmaster so they all must rely on the creed.

Altair had not taken the chambers traditionally assigned to the Grandmaster as his own. Instead he had outfitted those rooms for Maria to use. One of the rooms had become her office, the second her bed chamber, and the third had been a nursery when Darim and Sef were infants but now was where Maria could practice her skills. Altair had taken instead the rooms meant for the order’s second in command.

“We share a bed every night anyways.” Altair had argued when Malik pointed out that those rooms rightfully belonged to him. Malik had rolled his eyes and was about to continue arguing when Altair kissed him and all the fight in him had melted away.

When Malik arrived at their rooms he was ready to scold Altair for interrupting his work just to give him a present. Altair had his back to Malik as he entered. When he turned around Malik was speechless. In his arms was a sleeping baby. Altair was beaming.

“Who’s child is that?” Malik spoke quietly, so as to not wake the child.

“Ours.”

“What?”

“Well, I mean, if you want him to be.” Altair looked a little hurt, but mostly hopeful.

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ve always wanted a child, Malik.”  Altair was right. Malik had sometimes floated the idea of wanting a wife, not because he actually wanted a wife, but because he wanted a child. He always felt a bit guilty saying that. He was happy with Altair and he loved Darim and Sef like they were his own but he also wanted someone to carry on his name.

“If I could give you one naturally I would.” Altair had said as such many times and Malik would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined a child with Altair’s golden eyes and his nose.

“Where did you find him?”

“Jerusalem.”

Malik sighed. “Where are his parents?”

“Both dead. Their neighbor, one of our informers, brought him to the bureau, so he could be sent to Masyaf instead of growing up a street orphan. I happened to be there when the informer arrived. I took one look at him and I knew I could never let him go. Look Malik.”

Altair passed the child to Malik. Malik had to admit the baby was cute. He’d often held Darim and Sef when they were babies and, holding this little one felt the same. He knew exactly what Altair meant, every instinct in him cried out that it was his child in his arms.

“What’s his name?” Malik asked, not taking his eyes off the baby.

“You pick. I named Darim and Maria named Sef. It’s your turn.” At that Malik did look up.

“Tazim.” He decided after a moment.

“Tazim Al-Sayf.” Altair smiled, as he moved behind Malik, wrapping his arms around him and gazing over his shoulder at their son.

“He’ll need a wetnurse.” Malik said, mentally putting together a checklist.

“I sent word a head to have one found. Her name is Amaya. She is from a village near here. Her husband left her when her child was stillborn. She has been promised a good life in the village in exchange for nursing our child.” Altair assured him.

“You knew I’d say yes.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Altair answered anyways.

Not much later Amaya came to take the child for the night. Malik thanked her extensively. Once she was gone he stalked toward Altair, cupping his face with his hand and kissing him firmly.

“Get undressed.” Malik growled as soon as he released Altair’s lips. Altair happily complied, stripping so quickly he tripped over his own pants. Malik also undressed and pushed Altair down onto their bed before straddling his lap and kissing him again.

Once they were exhausted and had cleaned themselves off, Malik kissed Altair again. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

Notes:

I somehow wrote over 1500 words of Altmal fic with out using the word Novice to describe Altair.

Tazim has no canonical mother and Malik has no canonical wife so I asked myself why can't he be adopted by Altair and Malik together. Maybe I'll write a follow up fic about Tazim growing up with his older brothers.

[storytimefromthecreed]

Assassins as Roommates: The Christmas Miracle of 2019

Altair made a mental note to thank Maria for her insistance on the red suit. It kept him warm, and thus gave him an advantage over the snow Shay and Liam were hurling at him. Bumping into someone, he tensed for battle on all sides, but found it to be Malik. After curt nods, they dueled back to back. Arno stepped out from behind a tree, recognizeable from his new cowboy hat, and pulling nerf pistols from his new hoisters. 

“Where’s Darim?” 

“Malik, now?” Altair felt his friend shrug, and cut a snowball in half before it hit him. “Travelling.”

“Again?”

“Malik!” Malik rolled over Altair’s shoulder and slashed at Arno’s foam bullets. They landed soundlessly in the snow. Altair was faced with Kassandra, and focused his frustrations on her. “We made him travel with us for work for so long when he was young.” He slashed at her sword, but she was strong and held fast. Creating a circle, she’d hoped to loosen his hold on his, but Altair was smart. He allowed her to do the motion, then sidestepped, pushing her until she ran into Connor, who was fleeing from Aveline and his mother. Kassanda landed in the snow, laughing, and Altair helped her up.

Shaking the snow from her legs and backside, she said, “I don’t fall in battle so easily.”

“Just out of your element, is all.” Altair assured her, and pointed to her brother. “Do you think Alexios would fair as well?” A mischevious grin on her face, Kassandra ran to her brother and Altair returned his attention to Malik who was, no pun intended, single handedly fighting Aya and Elise. 

“He’s a good boy, Malik. I’m not going to force him home. If he wants to travel the world endlessly with his friends,” Altair encrouched on Malik’s battle, fighting through Elise’s guard, tossing her sword into his hand, and handing it back. “Then who am I to stop him?”

“It’s the holidays, Altair.” Malik watched his friend chase off Elise and Aya, and readied himself for Gerard and Adewale. Far away, Connor roared,

“Who gave my mother a hidden blade?!”

Haytham brushed snow from his son’s shoulders and assured him. “Think nothing of it, Connor. She can’t take us both.” Ziio undid her other blade and Haytham gulped, “On second thought...”

Adewale welded an axe, Gerard with duel cutlasses. “This explains so much.” Malik defended, sidestepping Adewale and shoving him into Jacob. The pair fell into a bank of snow. 

Altair kicked Gerard down, then used him as a ramp to leap off, throwing a snowball at Evie’s face. “What does that mean?”

The snow made a wet slapping noise, and made Evie’s hair cling to her face. Jacob’s laughter filled the yard. Malik pushed Gerard away, and he and Altair headed to defend their fort. “This is why you’re like that this time of year.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean, Malik.” Altair said, when in fact he knew exactly what his friend meant. “Darim is welcome home whenever he’d like.” Altair handed Aya a sword and now it was she who ran into battle. Altair leaned against the fort, deep in thought. “Whenever he wants.” A shelf of snow was dropped on his head, and Maria danced away, laughing. Shaking the snow was his body, it already absorbing through the suit, Altair chased. “Maria!”

When the battle ended and everyone was cold, they all went inside for the fireplace and hot chocolate. When the night wore long and they were ready for bed, all that remained were Maria, Altair, and Malik. Each man had a head on one of Maria’s shoulders, and they talked and watched the fire. Neither aware of how their Christmas had only just begun.

Darim had been travelling, as he’d told his father, but that wasn’t all he was up to. You see, Darim had figured if the rest of his loved ones had found their way home, then there had to be some who’d gotten lost along the way. And, when his parents had called and asked him home for the holidays, Darim suddenly knew what he had to do. It broke his heart to hear his mother sad over his not visiting, but he hoped this would make it up to her. And he knew their family was not the only one hurting.

It took time, almost the whole year, but he’d done it. Now to execute the plan. Knocking on the Auditore door, Darim bid Happy Holidays to Ezio, and, when Ezio asked what he was there for, Darim asked him to step outside. There, hidden just out of sight, was the rest of the Auditore family. Ezio staggered, disbelief on his face, tears in his eyes as his father took him in his arms, and his brothers hugged him. Claudia, upon wondering what was taking him so long, screamed at the sight, and ran into her mother’s arms. Yusuf and Desmond watched with huge smiles at the door. Darim headed to the next house.

Demetri, one of Arno’s friends, opened the door, and Darim asked for both Arno and Elise. “What a beautiful, strong woman you’ve turned into.” Her father said, and Elise dropped Arno’s hand to leap into her father’s embrace. Burying her face in his neck. 

“I knew you’d figure it out, Arno.” Charles Dorian took his silent son’s hand, and pulled him into a hug. “I am so sorry I wasn’t there to guide you, but I see you did just right without me.”

“Papa!” Arno cried.

Aya and Bayek were the scariest to face as Darim was nervous of how they’d take it. Aya pushed her husband out of the way when Darim knocked the door with her son. Bayek leapt to his feet, holding his wife and child. Darim had never seen him dance before.

Myrrine was a wonderful woman and kept calling Darim ‘lamb’. His own mother called him little sheep, on account of his curly hair, so the words were sweet to hear. Her husband said little, just shifted side to side, and Stentor entertained Darium was jokes and snide remarks. Upon opening the door, Kassandra and Alexios wrapped their mother in a hug, holding hands, then begged Darim to stay with their family for the night. Unfortunately, he had more work to do, he’d told them, and off he went.

This one wanted to do it their way. Knocking on the Kenway door, Edward answered. “What? Not going to invite me in, Kenway?” Edward stared, the blood drained from his face, his mouth agap. “After all I’ve done for you, you’re gonna muck up my sassy lines.” Mary Read’s voice carried amusement and Edward’s face went red as the tears began. Taking her into his arms, Edward lifted her off the ground and gave her a whirl. Connor, his parents, and Adewale peeked from the door, and then Connor ran down the steps. 

Kanen’to:kon had barely time to brace himself before Connor tackled him into a hug. “Put me down, Kenway!” Mary complained, but Darim didn’t see her fight him off. “Put me down before I box ya ears!”

“Ratonhkhake:ton!” Kanen’to:kon was lifted a foot off the ground, and looked queasy. “You know how I feel about heights!”

The last house gave him the most pause. “Are you sure?” The young boy beside him asked, and Darim knocked. The glow of the fireplace told him someone was awake, but he couldn’t image who it could be until his father stood before him. “Darim?” A smile brightened his face when he saw his eldest, “Little Sheep, you came home?” Darim sidestepped, and Altair’s smile dropped. 

Darim had never seen his father cry, couldn’t even picture it, so when tears ran like rivers down his face as Altair slowly descended the steps, Darim didn’t know what to do. “Sef?” Altair’s voice barely above a whisper, like if he spoke too loud the image would evaporate and his heart would be broken again. The boy looked awkwardly down, like a boy in trouble. “Sef?!” Altair collapsed at his youngest son’s feet and hugged him, held him close, and sobbed. His body racked, and Sef wrapped his arms around his dad, crying too. “Sef!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home right away. I thought you’d be mad at me.”

“I could never...” Altair couldn’t form the words. Sensing something amiss, Malik was next at the door and his face went from shocked to crying like Altair. “Sef? Tazim?!” Malik’s son rushed to him and Malik took him in, crying. “My son! My son!”

Maria had now appeared, and upon seeing Altair, ran, screaming, and threw her arms around Sef. Tears rolling down Darim’s face only fell harder as Altair pulled him down, bringing Malik and Tazim in with them. The family finally whole. It was a Merry Christmas indeed.

[mocosa-media]

A Father’s Son

Assassin’s Creed Fanfic- 

Chapters: 1/1

Characters: Tazim, Malik, Altair (for a moment)

Genre: Family, hurt/comfort, father/son relationship, family feels.

Words: 2,624

Summary: Tazim strived to make his father proud, to live up to his legacy. A desperate attempt of a heart broken son who just wishes for his father to return.

"I'm proud of you, my boy."

Those were the words Tazim would never tire of. He'd be blessed if he ever did get to hear them.

The young man lost his father when he was but a child. An infant. Tazim knew very little of the man beside the few stories he was so rarely given as a boy, the image he drew within his mind of his father would be cherished. Looked after very closely. Malik was strong, ruthless, Tazim imagined, yet kind hearted to only those dearest to him. His brother in arms, nephews in all but blood, his lover, and his son.

The young assassin found himself wandering in his room with very little to do. For the past few minutes he relaxed, sitting at his desk and reading through a book. Seeming to be busy. Too busy.

"Tazim." He heard from his door.

The voice was faint. A strangers' voice yet familiar all the same, full of warmth and the slightest bit of amusement.

Looking away from his book, a few stray hairs falling in front of his eyes, the young man turned in his chair. He saw his father by the door. Just as he had always imagined.

It couldn't be.

But it was. Malik stood, a tired and calm face yet he held his chin up with pride.

Tazim could only verify the mindful image he created of his father as a younger boy now that his fathers living embodiment stood before him. The blackest, thickest of hair Tazim had imagined became scattered with gray and white strands. Tazim noted his jaw, the structure of his nose, all like his own. But what stood out the most were his fathers' eyes, almost as if taking a peek into the future, Tazim saw himself. Or perhaps only a mirror of his fathers image which he could only hope to have become in both physical form and legacy. Malik's eyes were alert, as they should be but were tired, not as lively as they once were before.

Eye's radiating with the passion of his younger years. Filled with pain, wisdom and strength, Tazim.

"Father," he said in a mere whisper.

Malik nodded his head towards his sons book, "If you are busy, I'm sure this can wait."

The younger man shook his head quickly. He shot straight up, making his chair almost topple over with the sudden movement and closed his book.

"No," he spoke out rather harshly, then clearing his throat in fear of his voice revealing how bewildered he truly was, "I'm never to busy for my family."

Tazim walked over to his father after wiping his hand of imaginary dirt. Running a hand through his sloppy hair, he took long strides as his robes swayed with him.

He stopped only once he was right in front of his father. Tazim's mouth was slightly parted, he took in a short breath before pursing his lips.

Malik, tilted his head,giving him a strange look as he held up a brow. Was his son going crazy? Had something bothered him? The younger man was acting far too strange and jittery than he would have approved.

Tazim felt his eyes grow watery at the sight of his father but looked away and cleared his throat. Malik's presence before him was enough to ignite the fire in his chest, the desire of having his father in his life. The tears that tried to seep out eventually disappeared at the young man's force. Tazim would not let his father see him cry. He must take control of his emotions. He would not seem week before his father.

After composing himself, Tazim held his chin high, turning his head, and looked to his father once more.

Malik was a just a half inch shorter than his boy. The other man also looked slightly taller because of his untidy hair, he'd need to cut it, and soon. Perhaps Tazim could ask one of the wives when they weren't too busy.

"What do you need help with?" Tazim finally asked.

Malik scoffed. "Help? What makes you think I need help? You are the one who needs help." His father told him with a wave of his hand.

Tazim sighed and chuckled, "Fine, what is it that you need?"

Just like the rare stories of his youth, Malik was much too prideful. His father wouldn't want anyone's help anymore. He said that even in his old age, even with his one good arm, he was still capable of many things. Fighting, Tazim imagined, may not be an easy feat as it once had been but Malik's quick tongue could strike with just as much precision and force.

He refused help simply because he was handicapped, proving to be twice as strong as before.

"I'd like to simply talk with my son today." The older man said in such a quiet voice, Tazim was unsure if he'd caught every word.

Was his father truly whispering? The same warrior who Tazim idolized as a young boy and still was in awe of. Was Malik embarrassed of showing some true emotion apart from sarcasm and pride? He must've been.

Tazim held back a chuckle but unable to keep a smile from spreading across his lips. They each went back into the young man's room. Malik sat on the bed while Tazim went back to his desk and sat in his chair, facing his father.

Both felt comfort with the silence between them but Tazim soon felt an inescapable itch rise from his core. He had so many questions for his father. So much he needed to say. So much he wished to hear, the words which would sound only right once Malik spoke them. Tazim hoped, he prayed that he would be given enough valor to speak his mind.

He let out a soft breath, "I always thought I'd go on assignments with you," Tazim admitted, his head hung low as he spoke,"When I was a child I always fantasized of the day I would stand by your side and fight."

Tazim held his father in such high regard. It was his father after all. Malik was a hero, a god even. As a boy, the young man craved for his father's presence.

All that had been cut short as Malik had been killed. Beheaded. Now was the time to change things, to admit his true feelings and show his father that he only wanted to make him proud. As a child, he always craved story after story of his father before him. His family. The reason of which his mother fled Masyaf. Tazim believed his father a prideful man, perhaps that same pride was the key.

Malik was alive now and Tazim feared that this would be the only time to fix things.

"You knew I was pulled from field work. I wouldn't have been able to fight alongside you," Malik told him truthfully. He sighed before looking his son over, the corners of his lips twitched upward, "You've grown into a fine man, Tazim."

The younger man felt the words pound into his soul. His father meant so much to him, as did his words. How he longed for his father, for Malik to simply be there. Tazim was still slightly in shock. His father was in front of him, they were having a conversation as adults. It was surreal. Was his father truly alive or just a ghost, a fragment of his own imagination. Was his mind playing tricks on him as it did when he was a boy, wishing for his father to return? Illusion, hallucination, dream or nightmare Tazim cared very little at that point.

"I can't believe you're here." He breathed out.

Tazim looked up timidly, his brows knitted together and gave his father a sad smile. Malik returned the gesture, unsure of what to do other than comfort his son in such a small way. His eyes were calm and loving, fingers interlaced together as a sudden peace fell upon them. His eye's, Tazim could not get enough of, filled with knowledge and strength, pain and love.

Just like mother described.

The only time Malik would ever let himself become vulnerable was in front of his family. His son. He'd let his defense go down just for this boy. His boy. His Tazim. The same boy who laughed at the idea of failure. Who pushed himself beyond his limit to bring honor to his family, his father. To be deserving of his fathers name. To become an Assassin, strong like his father before.

"After fleeing Masyaf, mother always waited by the door at dusk. I never knew why at the time. I was only a boy." Tazim started to say.

He remembered well. Before the stories began. Before, when his mother feared to even utter his father's name. He was but a child but it was not something Tazim could forget. It took him courage to finally ask about his father.

"I began to ask questions, wondered why you never came home."

The stories began. First in secret, as he went to sleep, his mother scared to speak of the Assassin's before the rule of Abbas. Slowly, the tales became full of anger. Tazim's mother told them fondly and proudly to her son, of what his father was like in life.

"I'd play in the dirt while she sat, looking up into Masyaf with worry in her eyes," he explained, his hands ran cold as he held them atop his lap, "She cried sometimes, in secret so I would not hear. She missed you."

"I have missed you, father."

That's when he broke, Tazim's voice cracked and he held back a sob. Holding his breath for a moment, light whimpers escaped his throat. He composed himself short moments at a time before the gasp of a cry escaped once again.

"I've spent every waking hour of each day in training, I just wanted to make you proud," his bottom lip quivered and his brows met together as his face held pain, " To make you proud so you would come back to me."

Malik gave his son a look with pure love. He always did and always would care for him. He loved his son, he only wished that all the pain Tazim felt hadn't been because of him. There was little he could have done apart from making sure his family was safe

Tazim's mother always said Malik was a prideful man. Tazim believed, he sincerely believed, if only he did something, anything worthy enough of his father's pride, Malik would surely return.

"I thought that maybe if I did something right, you would come back to us. To me and mother, but you never did," he said as he stifled a sob and brought his head down.

Malik came over and put a hand to his son's shoulder. It wasn't much but it would reassure him that his father was there. With a light squeeze, Malik faintly shook his head, closing his eyes. How could he ever bring such pain to his son. Malik made sure to not let a single tear escape, he would be strong for them both. He would be the strength Tazim needed.

"Can't you just be proud of me and come home?" he whispered between gasps, his face now buried in his hands.

Tazim was now choking on his own tears, he gasped for air as he tried holding back his sobs. Wiping away his tears did very little as they soon appeared once again to wet his cheeks.

"I've needed you all my life. You were never there. I just want you to come home, baba." he managed to say through the tears.

Malik sighed, he helped his boy up. Tilting his head to wipe a stray tear from Tazim's cheek, Malik spoke softly, "I cannot come home. You know that."

The older man held his sons chin up. Things happen, all you can do is adapt. Tazim had wiped his face as clean as he possibly could yet the hot sticky tears refused to stop completely. He pursed his lips, trying to even his breathing as his father's words attempted to calm him.

"Cruel things will happen for unknown reasons, Tazim." Malik said in the softest voice he could muster.

Seeing his son this way tore him, it hurt him deeply. Watching your loved ones be in pain is the worst kind of punishment.

"But why, why must this hurt so much? I just want you back." Tazim said as he wiped away the trail of tears left on his face. He felt so vulnerable, he did not want his father to witness him in such a weak state.

Malik shook his head, "There are many people who will put you down. Don't be one of them." he told his son.

Tazim couldn't hold it back for much longer, he pulled his father into a hug. Malik was caught by surprise but wrapped his own arm around the younger man.

"I am proud of you, my boy, and of all that you have accomplished."

Tazim felt himself engulfed by the familiar warmth of his childhood. The stories his mother would tell him under the safety of the night sky. Of the Assassin's, and how Malik had grown up in such an environment. How he yearned to spend time with Malik. Wished for him to appear, to follow him and try to be like him in any way possible.

Malik would be proud to say that Tazim had grown up to be a fine man. One who would make any father proud. His Tazim. His son. The independent, the brave. He still had so much to live for.

A hard hit to his head brought him out of his dream as Tazim jerked awake. He'd fallen asleep with his head resting on his hand, gravity thought otherwise as his head slipped and hit the desk he was sitting by.

"Pleasant nap?" he heard a voice beside him.

As he rubbed his sore head, Tazim looked to the source of the voice and saw Altair who was sitting beside him, reading on his desk.

"I'm sorry." Tazim mumbled as he looked around the darkened room before his eyes fell on Altair once again.

The older man was reading through scrolls and writing on parchment.

"You mumble when you sleep." Altair said, his eyes never leaving the writing. "Your father would not approve. Although, he also mumbled in his sleep as a young man."

Tazim shook his head to wake up. His brows furrowed and the young man ran a hand through his hair in thought. Why the sudden talk of his father?

He dared to ask. "Why suddenly bring up my father, master?"

Altair chuckled as he kept writing on pieces of parchment and reading through his scrolls.

"Like I said, you mumble," he said smoothly, "He's proud of you. I know it. As am I." the older man said with a smile on his scarred lips.

And Tazim believed him. It was time to say goodbye to his father. Perhaps not a permanent goodbye as Malik would forever be with him but an 'Until we meet again'.  He'd made him proud and that was that. He smiled and helped Altair up.

"It's late, time to rest." he told Altair.

They each held a strength within them and Altair couldn't help but think that Tazim was a clone of his old friend. A reincarnation of the man.

As Tazim walked, he now felt at home, here with his family. His father would always be with him, through thick and thin, and he would be proud.