#big eyes basim>>>>>>>>

[feyndothur]

nooo cuntified sim hytham who i gave brown contacts bcs the blue eyes freaked me out too much to look at get down get down sir your swag too strong n your weed too good they'll kill the both of us for it all

[your-local-hyperfixater]

when roshan was fighting basim did she realize this was literally who she was fighting

[plaguemourne]

if basim ever looked up at me like this, i'd fold like a god damn lawn chair

[nejackdaw]

Been playing AC Mirage and I absolutely love Basim but. Basim. Please. Please stop telling strangers your name. BASIM SHE WORKS WITH THE CALIPH. EDWARD WOULD NEVER DO THIS

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Basim Ibn Ishaq headcanons

Basim Ibn Ishaq x GN!reader

Word count: 1003

Basim is an “actions speak louder than words” man. He’s kind of reserved by nature and has spent many years mastering the art of controlling his emotions during his time in Alamut.

That being said, his love language is definitely acts of service.

It starts off small – you both have a passion for literature, a common ground he has yet to realize. He’s talking to Fuladh about a recent poem he’s just read, reciting his favorite lines, when he hesitates at the end. He’s trying to remember the final verse when you jump in and quote it for him, and Basim shoots you an amused look.

“Since when do you enjoy poetry? ”

He tries to surprise you sometimes – he likes to lend you his favorite books, and if you indulge the man, he’ll even rant about his favorite poets/poetesses and their works. It becomes a bonding mechanism between the two of you, and it might look corny to an outsider; but you see how excited Basim gets when you say you liked the book he gave you, and suddenly, it’s like their opinion doesn’t even matter.

When the life of a Hidden One keeps you up at night –whether that be because of a nightmare or a stress-induced fever– Basim keeps you company. He knows the feeling all too well and refuses to leave you alone, unless that’s something you want. He will sneak into your room with a bowl of fruit and a book in hand.

“May I offer you a poem in these trying times”

Boom you’re sold

It’s a secret of his, but he likes writing poetry, too. He’ll die before admitting it though – and anyone who dares read his work will have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.

That being said, he might let you read something here and there (only the poems he’s revised a hundred times), but you have to swear that you won’t tell anyone.

You don’t mind. It’s like your little secret anyway.

Despite his preference for acts of service, he’s going to try to compliment you every now and then. You can always tell he’s being genuine, and when you thank him, he grants you a warm smile and a courteous nod.

He’s a very good listener. You could be talking about anything and he’d be listening intently, nodding along and asking questions. And nothing escapes him, really – he’s got an amazing memory and will remember your birthday, your favorite food, the friendly camel you met two weeks ago, or even the day you first saw fireworks. 

He remembers that day well. The bright lights were sizzling and popping in the sky as you watched them, transfixed. You’d turned to face him with a big grin on your face, and in your excitement, asked him an obvious question: “Did you see that?”

He smiled and nodded, because of course he did.

He didn’t. He was looking at you.

But besides that, nothing escapes him!

He has a habit of shielding you from the elements. When it’s scorching hot, he hovers his hand over your face to keep the sun from your eyes. When it’s windy, he likes to use his stature to shelter you from the breeze. And on rainy days, he cocoons you in scarves and cloaks to keep you from getting wet.

Basim starts laughing more around you, and you both become incredibly closer. You have so many inside jokes that it’s hard to keep track of them, and perhaps it’s starting to get to the other Hidden Ones too. Roshan just sighs as she watches the two of you because you’re both oblivious fools.

He definitely starts coming out of his shell with time, even dropping a pick up line here and there. The first time it happened it caught you so off guard he panicked and lost all sense of his training in three seconds.

“Well, – Nehal is calling me. I’ll see you around.” and he tailed it out of there, tripping over a vase before regaining his footing and scrambling away.

He wouldn’t approach the subject again, and if you were in his proximity he would be as stiff as a board – until you made a move too. You flirted with him out of the blue and he just widened his eyes and pointed at you.

😳🫵🏽

Things change from there and he tries to flirt more (and he’s so dorky he makes everyone within audible distance groan and leave). You’re organizing the books at the bureau, the one place you probably frequent more than your own home, when he comes in.

“You come around here often?”

You give him a deadpan expression, because he can obviously do better than that, and he grimaces.

“Yeah. No more of that.”

Biggest supporter ever. If you speak another language other than Arabic, he wants to know all about it. He’s a smart man, he can learn a couple of expressions quickly, and pretty soon you’re having simple conversations in your tongue. 

That being said, if you cuss someone out in said language he’ll probably try to remove you from the situation. He’s not keen on confrontation, especially with civilians, but if they wronged you in any way, he’d be all like “Yeah, what they said!” “And you better remember it!”

An absolute sucker for forehead kisses. He’s not very fond of PDA but he always kisses your temple when he has to leave or walk past you. It’s a ghostly touch, you almost don’t notice it, but it makes your cheeks flush every time.

Likes to hold your face in his hands and just look at you. It can end with him either smiling and kissing the corner of your mouth (on a good day) or pulling your hood down to blind you and ruin the moment (when he’s feeling a little silly). You call out his name and he just barks out a laugh as he climbs onto the rooftops.

He’s actually a little shit (affectionate) (derogatory)

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

HIII :3 you know my ass would ask for more hytham cuz u write him so good.

can u do something about him reuniting with his lover that was in Baghdad when he left with basim? Now he’s older and has few gray hairs . u can make it into a wholesome fluffy fanfic or nsfw(if ur not comfortable with nsfw its okay :3)

Whispers of Yesterday pt.1

Pairing: Hytham x reader

Genre: angst for now

Warnings: None, maybe thar reader is a widow????

Note: I HAVE BEEN SUMMONED FROM THE GRAVE AND IF I COME BACK, I COME BACK BIG. EXPECT A FEW MORE CHAPTERS LMFAO Part Two

Leaning back on the folded blanket, you closed your eyes with a sigh. Late afternoon brought a lazy breeze from the east, bending the cedar branches above you. Small, bright spots lit up on the ground and on your face as the sunlight filtered through the leaves, gently caressing your skin. It was a perfect day; after distributing the fish for lunch, there was nothing better than taking a nap in the shade of the trees with full bellies. Your team - a handful of street children, although for you they meant the sanctity of the family, they lay in a circle under the protection of the tree trunk, some were already sleeping loudly snoring, some were talking, and leaning to the side you saw that two were still adjusting their beds.

Nestled into the soft blanket, you stretched out on the floor, sliding your arms under your head.

"There won't be dinner that way." You heard the sound of giggling from above, and without even opening your eyes, you snapped at the sound. Your palm found skin, and with a thump you pushed the person you were confused to the ground.

The voice laughed loudly as you opened your eyes with a gasp.

"Hytham, I'm about to sleep..." You mumbled, puckering your lips against the boy lying next to you. Grinning, Hytham turned to you and shrugged.

"Are you a cat that you have to sleep after eating?"

Turning your nose up, you tongued your companion and nudged his shoulder as you snuggled closer to his side. Hytham let go, making room for you, and when you were both comfortably seated, he reached his right arm up as if to catch the leaves.

"Guess what I have, and if you guess it's yours." He said, twisting his wrist.

Huffing, you turned to look at him from the side, then back to his hand.

"I don't want a cricket jumping on me….again." You snarled at the boy, but he just smiled at you, his eyes sparkling as if he wanted to show you some magic.

"I brought you a present." He answered more quietly so as not to disturb the other sleeping children.

Raising your eyebrows, you turned onto your stomach so you could look up at his face, leaning on your elbows.

"A gift? What kind of gift? Where did you get it from?” You waved excitedly, your previous annoyance lost in the mist.

The boy chuckled again, then shook his still raised fist with a knowing smile. "You just have to answer and you'll find out."

Sleep and tiredness fade away from you like a faint smoke, replaced by an excitement of anticipation and curiosity.

"Well! Tell me! Please Hythem please!” You urged, tugging on his shoulder now with full alertness.

Hythem scoffed with a smile, then sat up himself, lowering his palm to your face.

"Guess it." He teased again, gently pushing your shoulders.

"Food? Money? Oh! You found a cake, right? Isn't that a cake?" You asked, watching the mark

Ignoring your guess, he continued. "Close your eyes and give me your hand." He reached for yours with his free hand and gently opened your palm, then turned it over.

"But if there's a bug, I'll really throw it at you!" You warned, closing your eyes.

"You won't, you certainly won't." He said and placing his palm on yours, he released the surprise lurking in his grip.

At first you only felt the warmth that the clenched fist gave to the object. Then, folding your fingers over it, you rolled it in your palm.

There were three round things, maybe the size of an olive seed.

"What are these…?" You morphed, closing your fingers as a test, but the orbs didn't compress, they stood the test firmly.

You almost gave up on opening your eyes and asking the boy for help, when a solution occurred to you.

"Glass balls?!" You shouted cheerfully as Hythem started to hush you.

“You can look at them.” He assured me cheerfully.

In your hand lay three sky-blue balls, the light shining on them made their whole insides shine. You hissed in surprise and between your squeals of joy you closed them in your palm and turned towards the boy and jumped on his neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you very much Hythem! Oh, they are wonderful! I love it, everyone!” You giggled as you jumped, happily hugging the boy who put his arms around your shoulders in response.

"When I saw them I thought you would like them. That way we'll have something to play with."

"Shall we try them?" Letting go, you snapped his neck and he followed with equal enthusiasm.

Your daughter woke you up from your dream, gently stroking your arm.

"Mama, mama, get up! can we go mom? The sun is about to rise.”

You yawned as you blinked the sleep from under your eyelids, turning onto your back with a grunt. You squinted at your daughter, seeing one of your childhood friends in her for the first time, as you remembered who you were and where you were.

Have you ever dreamed of your childhood? Or was it your daughter you were talking to? You saw the blue glass balls.

This thought woke you up completely, and while your daughter went to the table to pour water, you sat up and grabbed your neck.

Your fingers slid along the chain, and you felt the weight of the small spheres on your skin with relief.

"Wh- where do we want to go Ameera?" You frowned, trying to remember your conversation last night.

"To the bazaar mother!" Your daughter answered, emphasizing the words. "You said we could look at the scarves today."

“Oh, yes. You are right.” You smiled, nodding. The images of your dream at night moved further and further away from your mind, the details faded into obscurity, and by the time you got dressed, all you remembered was that you felt carefree and happy in your dream. Happier than you've ever felt lately.

"Let's hurry, because they will buy the best from us!" Your child urged, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the door.

You obeyed with a laugh, holding your hand and letting your daughter lead you wherever her heart desires.

Let her be as carefree as you have never been.

The desert sun hung low over Baghdad, casting a warm, golden glow across the city Hytham once called home. Years had passed since he left with Basim, and although he had ventured across lands and seas, the city's familiar scent of spices and sand filled him with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia.

A few gray hairs had begun to weave through his dark locks, and the lines around his eyes told stories of battles fought and missions completed.

As he made his way through the bustling crowd, Hytham sniffed the air deeply, letting the swirling hurricane of spices, oils, skins, and food fill his senses. The sounds, the colors, the smells all brought up long-forgotten, obscured memories in his heart.

He well remembered the day when he and his master had first met Sigurd, when the tall prince had initiated them into the wonders and secrets of his country, so that he too would have the opportunity to inquire about Basim's secrets.

Twenty years have passed since then, Hyhtam has already seen half the world in that time. From the icy peaks of the North, through the rain-soaked fields of England to the sunny gardens of Iberia. And wherever he went, with whatever people he made lifelong alliances and friendships, even though he felt like one with the Crow Clan - he was still a child of the East, his heart longed for his long-left home.

So, leaving the fraternity he had built up in England to his student, and saying goodbye to Sigurd, he set off to the south, and then, reaching Poszportus, to the east, so that he could finally see his native land again.

Not that you have to worry about returning in a hurry.

At home, the Brotherhood network was in good hands, the clan was enjoying the most peaceful times since its sojourn on Saxon soil, and Eivor set off for Vinland, trying to further spread northern influence.

It was time for him to live a little to himself, to finally do what his heart demanded of him.

He stopped at a perfume seller, lingering to examine the bottles that held the scented oils. The man was devotedly examining the contents of all the bottles lined up, where they came from, what the ingredients were, how they were made, what wonderful powers they can have if someone applies them to himself, while Hytham turned the bottles with more and more beautiful motifs in his hands, with so many colors and sizes. Amidst the murmur of the crowd and the man's crude narration, Hytham noticed a voice that somehow stood out from among the chaotic sounds.

A child's loud laughter rang out from behind the perfume stand opposite him. A girl was shaking, clutching her stomach among the fabrics and silks, clutching the hand of an older woman, while the mustached vendor jokingly tied a scarf around her stout waist, pretending to be a woman.

Hytham watched the scene with a soft smile. He was somehow captured by this happy moment taken from the life of this family, as the child hugs his mother so tightly, as they laugh together, carefree.

The woman's shoulders also shook, and her scarf resting on her hair slipped back from her hair due to the movement.

The blood froze in Hytham's veins at that moment, his fingers pressed against the bottle in his grip.

The woman's scarf slid down, revealing her rich crown of hair and the glittering jewelry in her ear. A small, shiny, sky-blue sphere bobbed forward - back, right - left in the woman's ear.

Suddenly a strange image popped into Hytham's mind.

A bittersweet joy, seeing the face of a familiar friend; the interruption of the cloudless life of childhood; and as if he had found a relic he believed to be lost.

Something began to form in his mind; feverishly trying to break out from behind the thick gray fog.

Stopping everything - even breathing - Hytham tried to catch that something in his thoughts, and for some reason he felt that watching this mother-daughter duo, he would succeed in it faster.

Her torment was interrupted when the girl, turning her back to her mother, turned to face the perfume stand to show her parent the back of her scarf.

Hyhtam seemed to have been struck by lightning, dropping the bottle from his hand onto the table, he staggered back, blinking widely and watching the girl with his mouth open.

She bore an eerie resemblance to a childhood face, a little girl who was dear to Hytham's heart and who could have meant an awful lot to him if their paths had not diverged so far apart.

And then something snapped, exploded in Hyhtam, flooding him with a numbing, terrifying heat. He knew this face, he knew this girl. Or rather, the woman standing next to the child.

He knew those blue glass balls.

And she knew there had to be a third one in addition to the two earrings.

After your daughter had chosen with great difficulty the scarf she liked best, you turned to the nice seller.

"I think I finally have what I want to buy." You smiled, trying to fish out your wallet. The man gave you a pleasant freshness with his funny stories and even more clownish acting. You appreciated that he was so attentive to your little girl. "How much will the silk scarf be?"

The man's eyes widened, then he frowned with feigned seriousness.

"Yes, yes! I don't want to disappoint the dear child, since he was so kind to me. Our conversation between these disgusting people made my day! Here, take it. My gift!” The man smiled, pushing back your fist with the coins in it.

"Oh, I can't." You objected. "It's a valuable commodity, I don't want to shorten your business."

The man shook his head and bent down to wink at your daughter.

"That's how it goes between good friends, isn't it? You will honor me by accepting my gift! And your mother should consider that her husband blamed you for your debts.It is paid.”

You smiled in gratitude, gently shaking your head. "Unfortunately, we can't. My husband is dead, so he can't repay you for this kind gesture."

The bucket raised his hands at this, not allowing you to hand him the money.

"Then I am all the more certain that I will not accept the money. A mother needs as much as possible to support her child. Please. Let this be my thanks for your kindness.”

Your eyes filled with tears from what you heard, you were so touched. You nodded with a bright smile and let your daughter take the cloth offered to her.

"We are terribly grateful for it." You nodded. "Isn't it, Ameera?"

Your daughter hugged the chosen piece amid intense nods and giggles.

“Yes, yes! Thank you very much for your uncle's generosity!" Your happy daughter.

"And if you've been here another time, please come here! I hope we will have many more such great conversations.” The man waved goodbye to you with a wide smile as you stood there, heading for your next destination.

During the day you visited the huge bazaars of Baghdad. You bought lunch and dinner, talked to a couple of weaving women about when you could work for them again, and handed over the pieces you had made so far to your customers. The day passed quickly, and navigating through the anthill of people, you felt as if you were walking in vain among a thousand and one pairs of eyes, one was following you continuously, drilling a burning hole in your back.

The sensation of being observed was difficult to ignore. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, especially in the bustling bazaars where people's gazes tend to linger. The question now was whether the staring was merely happenstance or deliberate.

Slightly adjusting your path as if casually browsing, you subtly veered towards a shop window that seemed to provide a suitable view of the path behind you. While pretending to admire the wares, you carefully observed the area through the reflection, keeping an eye out for those seemingly endless eyes on your back.

Your eyes darted to every passing face, scanning the bustling crowd for any signs of interest. A man loitering near a food stall, a woman browsing jewelry next to you, children playing an impromptu ball game in the distance – all appeared to be engrossed in their own activities. However, despite the numerous people in your line of sight, none seemed to exhibit any particular interest in you; if they were the ones following you, they were adept at feigning nonchalance.

For a moment, you felt a flicker of uncertainty, doubting your earlier intuition.

"Maybe I'm just imagining things..." You sigh rubbing your face before you turn to your daughter, now leading her a bit quicker out of the bustle of the crowd.

Before long, the crowd thinned out, and the stalls in the streets were replaced by yellow walls and doorways. The crowd of people dwindled until finally you only met scattered residents who greeted you cordially.

"Mom, why are we running like this?" Ameera asked with raised eyebrows, clutching the loaf of bread you had entrusted to her, accompanied by a basket of figs.

As if you only realized it now, your anxiety got the better of you, you slowed down.

"Forgive me dear. I'm just tired, I want to get home as soon as possible. By the way, you have to help with the cooking too.” You smiled sweetly at him, then stealthily glanced behind you. She nodded, adjusting the basket in her grip, but followed your gaze back.

"Did you see something?" He was interested.

“Nothing. Let's go, we're almost home."

She walked past you with a doubtful look, leading the way.

Hytham turned the corner slowly, noting with a sigh that he hadn't lost sight of you. A big lump rose in his throat, and he felt guilty that he had resorted to such vile tricks, just so he could keep watching. The sight of his old childhood friend had a stronger effect on his homesick heart than the calmness of any medicinal potion. As he followed her, from house to house, from ledge to roof, he wondered if he had lost his mind. I wonder what he will say to you when he finally faces you someday? I wonder what you will say? Do you still recognize your old friend at all? How should he approach you, how should he introduce himself, what should he do?

He clenched his fists. Act first; reveal your identity and only then worry about the following.

And yet, Hyhtam's legs struggled forward, he would have wanted to step out of the shadows at any time to reveal himself to you. Instead, like a nimble cat, he darted from one street to another, up to the roofs on one ledge, down to the ground again on another tarpaulin, as the road took him without having to stop. That way, he can at least keep an eye on you and your daughter better, watching your ways from the vantage point of the heights, sometimes scanning your surroundings with a zigzag eye, against possible danger. Fortunately, he was the only one who wanted to follow you that day, so he calmly rested his knives on his waist belt and his hidden blade on his arm.

After a short wait, a more spacious building appeared at the next street corner. The square house, built of red brick and clay, provided a sharp contrast to the small garden in the middle, with a peacefully bubbling fountain, an orange tree and a rose bush in their colorful glory. Hytham watched as you let your daughter go ahead, then, looking behind you one last time, scanned the area and followed you to the safety of your home.

The man stopped, hands on hips.

He can't just walk up to you and introduce himself. However, he didn't think it was a good idea to knock on the front door either. What should he say if you open the door for him? I followed you all the way from the bazaar, do you remember me? And he didn't know what to say if he met your daughter for the first time.

So Hytham sighed heavily and sat down on the corner of the roof with pursed lips, his elbows resting on his knees. He needed some time to think.

Sitting on the edge of the roof, he continued to observe as the evening began to settle. He leaned back, propping himself up against the wall, his eyes firmly fixed on your home.

He wrestled with his thoughts in his head, weighing the options. Would it be best to wait until you were alone to talk to you? How could he approach you without raising alarm or concern? Was he overthinking this whole thing?

He let out another sigh, a mix of frustration and uncertainty, as he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The evening breeze tugged at his hair, and the sound of distant conversation and laughter from the neighborhood filled his ears. It seemed like the entire world was carrying on as usual, oblivious to his inner turmoil. He knew he had to make a decision soon, but the right course of action continued to elude him.

With a deep breath, and after contemplating for a few moments, Hytham slowly got up from the rooftop and began his journey to your home. The time had come. He had chosen to confront you head-on. There was no more waiting; he thought there was no use delaying the inevitable.

[teecupangel]

Hey, I’m back again with another idea. I know we already have Desmond in Alamut during the third crusades, but what if he went further back in time to the events of Mirage and trained with Basim and Roshan?

Desmond has no other plans whatsoever.

He has no idea why he had been thrown in this specific time period, so far from any of the people he knew.

Centuries apart from any of them.

It seemed like a cruel joke.

Or perhaps an attempt to save him gone horribly wrong.

Regardless, he had no other plans.

He had nothing.

He has nothing.

Coming to Alamut had simply been… a sorta ‘pit stop’.

His final destination had been Masyaf.

Even if he knew that the Brotherhood wasn’t there, wouldn’t exist for centuries…

He figured it would be better to stay somewhere he was familiar with.

Alamut had simply been on the way.

He needed a place to rest for the night and he was sorta-kinda familiar with Alamut thanks to what remains of his Bleed of Altaïr.

And then he saw the Assassin insignia.

No.

They call themselves Hidden Ones.

No one told him about the full history of the Assassins.

As much as Shaun enjoyed to talk, he never bothered to talk about the predecessors of the Assassins.

Even back in the Farm, history lessons were sparse.

His lessons had always been focused on the present and any information he might need to survive.

So he was caught off guard by the Hidden Ones’ presence in Alamut.

To learn that they were in charge of creating what would later be known as Alamut Castle?

Desmond was invited to join as a recruit since he showed promise and he did admit to having no real goal in life.

Desmond was sure their mentor was also trying to keep an eye on him.

The ‘promise’ he showed did involve Desmond being able to pin one of the Hidden Ones and pressing a dagger on his throat when he tried to sneak behind Desmond.

But Desmond humored them.

It was as he said…

He had no real goals.

So why not just…

Find out what else he didn’t know about the predecessors of the Brotherhood?

.

.

A year since he had been recruited…

Roshan returned to Alamut with a young man.

He introduces himself as Basim Ibn Ishaq.

Basim looked like he had seen hell at first and Desmond…

Well…

Desmond felt like the man could use a hand getting used to training and all that so he befriended him.

He ignored Nur telling him that both Basim and him needed a friend too with that big smile on his face.

Before long, he and Basim were… Desmond supposed they could be called close friends.

Basim was easy to get along with, after all.

And he was also a quick learner.

Soon enough, he and Basim were inducted to the Brotherhood and gifted eagles of their own.

Desmond knew, sooner or later, he would be ordered to go on a mission away from Alamut.

It was a bit annoying how he still couldn’t find a way to the temple underneath Alamut to leave a memory seal for Altaïr to find but there was time.

He didn’t expect Rayhan to order him to accompany Basim, Roshan and Fuladh to Baghdad though but he has no reason to say no.

So Desmond joins the three to find out what was happening in Baghdad.

(sidebar: Desmond’s eagle will be just as spoiled as Aquila is in EoA, that’s just a given XD)

[bansheeoftheforest]

A Leap (Into Your Arms) [AC Basim & Hytham]

A/N: So I unintentionally lied in my written-in-8-hours-in-one-sitting fic from two days ago and I proceeded to unintentionally write another fic. That I have learned my lesson about and won't claim to be my last fic of the year even though the odds are very big.

I am also keeping their relationship vague for the sole reason of me not having finished any media that they are in so I simply Do Not Know Enough. So this could potentially be either platonic (like intended) or a shipfic if you squint <3

Summary: After being left behind by his mentor for weeks, Hytham gets fed up and refuses to speak to him upon his return. Basim realizes that, above all, he doesn't want to lose his little eagle.

CW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff. And also most likely OOC depictions and general inaccuracies.

Wordcount: 3,486

The bureau was... Quiet. 

  It was the middle of the day, the settlement of Ravensthorpe was as busy and active as ever as the villagers worked their trades, yet his apprentice was nowhere to be seen. Ever since the little green building had been built, the Raven Clan could be sure to find him tinkering away with his scrolls within its walls. Yet today, he could not find him.

  He had arrived with Sigurd a few hours earlier. Their return had been welcomed, the Wolf-Kissed seemed especially happy to have their brother by their side once more, however briefly, yet by the small crowd that had gathered, Basim had not seen Hytham among the friendly faces. He had, therefore, concluded that he was not aware of their return, or that he was waiting for him in the bureau. Yet, as the assassin peeked inside, he had seen neither hide nor hair of him. He couldn’t say he knew where to look, either. 

  Yet, look he did. In the longhouse, by the stables, and now he stood by the little square between the docks and the merchant-child’s tent, and while he began to grow a little worried, he refused to ask any of the Norsemen for the acolyte’s whereabouts. He could not let them believe that he had simply let Hytham run off, that he could not keep track of him, even if that is precisely what had happened. In all honesty, he began to feel frustrated. Yet he knew that it was unfair for him to assume that Hytham had been made aware of their arrival, and that his mentor’s struggle to find him was no fault of his own.

  A flutter of white fabric passed the corner of his eyes. As he turned, he saw the tail-end of Hytham’s robes disappearing behind the corner, up the path between the trader and the bureau. It was undeniably him, he could recognise him anywhere. He called out for him, successfully gathering the attention of the villagers, but Hytham did not stop. 

  He hurried after him. While Hytham still limped, he was fast. He called his name again, he saw the acolyte’s head turn only slightly, purely by instinct, showing that he heard him, yet he continued. Basim would have to jog to catch up with him. Momentarily, he wondered if this was some sort of game, cat and mouse, yet as Hytham hurried his pace, the master assassin quickly realized that he was trying to lose him. It was harder in the small settlement of Ravensthorpe than it had been in the bustling city of Baghdad, yet he did his valiant attempt at moving between the buildings and keeping his calm, as if to not alert anyone or anything. Basim knew better than to take to sprint for exactly the same reason.

  Perhaps he was lucky that Hytham was injured, even if that thought tasted bitter, as the younger one had no choice but to slow down once he came to the red-leaved tree in front of the stables. His steps haltered, slowed, and his laboured breaths echoed throughout the air. He seemed to have no choice but to stop fully, lean his side against a tree by the road, and wait for Basim to catch up. 

  “Hytham-” Still, his apprentice did not look at him, “what on earth has gotten into you?” 

  Hytham took a deep breath. Finally, when Basim cornered him against the tree, he had no choice but to look at him. For the first time, or perhaps the first time Basim could remember, the acolyte’s blue eyes felt like spikes of ice. As he spoke, aware of the interested eyes of the Raven Clan, he switched to their arabic mother-tongue.

  “So now you wish to speak to me?” Was all he said, voice coming out in short wheezes while he still steadied his breathing. 

  “Am I not allowed to speak to my apprentice?” Basim replied, effortlessly so in the language only they knew. There was no denying that he was frustrated, to some degree mad. What right had Hytham to run from him, to look at him, to speak to him like that? “Have you forgotten that I am your mentor?” 

  “No.” He said simply. “Have you?”

  He might as well have stabbed him clean with the blade on his wrist, and thrusted the cold metal between his ribs. Hytham seemed to recognise the momentary slip of expression, the way Basim’s eyes widened only slightly, the way his breathing hitched, the way his confusion became evident through the small changes only his own apprentice could recognise so close up. 

  “You take me to Norway,” he continued, “to kill Kjotve. Yet when I fail, you speak no word to me, you take me across another ocean to England, just to leave me with yet more silence. You do not speak to me, you do not look at me-”

  He took another deep breath, a pause. And when Basim did not interject, he continued.

  “-you leave me in my bureau as if I am an object to leave behind or a hindrance that will only slow you down. You run from me like a coward. If you wish to speak to me, then speak to me what is already on your mind. Tell me to my face that I am a disappointment, that I am your failure, and that the very sight of me disgusts you.” 

  In all their years together, he could never remember a time where he had heard the other’s voice drip with so much venom, seething with a quiet rage he could barely hold in, a vicious dog, cornered. Yet, of all the things Basim had imagined his silence to be caused by, his words surprised him. For the better part of a moment, he could do little else but to merely stare wordlessly at the other. Finally, he swallowed dryly.

  “I cannot tell you that,” He said, “because it is not true.” 

  Wrong answer. 

  Hytham let out a frustrated growl, and used his last bit of energy to push Basim away from him. He did not run away, but he refused to let that man corner him and lie straight to his face. Basim was quick, skilled, silver-tongued, yet he felt helpless against the watchful gaze of his apprentice. 

  “Then what is true? Hmm ? You tell me nothing . How am I to know what is true when my very own mentor will not speak to me?” 

  “Hytham-” 

  “You run away. Every time, you run away. For such a blood-thristy man, you have done nothing but run away from me ever since Norway. You say it is for the Order, for our Creed, yet you leave me to pick up those pieces and hand them off to someone else. Instead, you run away with barely as much as a goodbye, an acknowledgement that you are leaving your very own apprentice behind.” 

  “I am not leaving you behind-” 

  “Then what are you doing?”

  He wanted to sigh. He wanted to tell him that he was being ridiculous. He wanted to tell him that he cannot talk to him when he is like this, yet he knew very well that such words would only set the young one off even further. 

  He... He wasn’t sure what to say. And finally, as his thoughts ran away from him, attempting to find the words that would reel the other in, calm him, assure him, time ran out. His apprentice sighed. 

  “You will have an answer before you leave.” He said. “Or I will return to Alamut alone.” 

  With that, he stalked off. He seemed to care not for the pain it caused him, hurrying his steps, away from the conversation, away from Basim, who could do nothing but watch, as the observant villagers began to scatter. 

--

Sigurd had decided that they would be staying in Ravensthorpe for a few days, until they next departed. 

  Somewhere, Basim was... Split. He refused to admit it, he swallowed the angry, bitter feeling within him, the admittance that he wished to leave immediately, dare Hytham to leave and return to the Brotherhood in Alamut, in disbelief that he would ever dare to abandon his mission. The other part of him, the softer part, the weaker part, ached. Yet his reasoning won over both his anger and his grief, he knew that, logically, Hytham’s departure would be a stick in the wheel for the destruction of the Order in England, and it would reflect poorly on him as a mentor if his apprentice returned home alone, injured, speaking of abandonment. 

  Cold. Calloused, perhaps, though he didn’t know if it was him or Hytham. 

  So, for the rest of the day, he attempted to... Figure something out. Hytham had, logically, burrowed in the bureau, he had closed and locked the doors and the shutters to the windows, clearly he did not wish to be disturbed, and Basim knew that angering the normally level-headed one further would only insite more violence. So he wandered. Away from Ravensthorpe, where he had no doubt that their conversation was and would remain the gossip of the week. 

  And as he wandered, he... Ached. 

  Hytham’s words, his insults, his threats, rang as clear in his head as if he was still there with him, spitting them out over and over. It was not like him. Hytham had always been soft-spoken and eager and gentle. He looked up to the Brotherhood, to Basim, as a worshipper would their god, with an everlasting faithfulness and the loyalty of a lapdog. Yet he had wronged him so majorly that he ran away from him, despised the site of him, and seethed in his very presence. He wanted to excuse it. He wanted to convince himself that it was not his wrongdoing, no, it had to be something else- did he perhaps not like Ravensthorpe? Or had one of the Norsemen wronged him? 

  He knew the answer. At the very least he did when he returned for the evening, exhausted and tired and weary, entering the longhouse for food, and saw how Hytham went from laughing in the clan’s company to quickly excusing himself and stalking off the moment he sensed Basim’s presence. As he walked past him by the entrance, he did not even look at him. 

  He had, against his better judgement, attempted to speak to the Wolf-Kissed. Yet they had merely looked at him strangely, almost suspiciously, surely having heard about their public argument, and stated that Hytham got along well and seemed to thrive with the Raven Clan. Further than so, they did not say, and Basim felt no need to ask more. 

  For two days, he haunted the settlement. When he was close by, Hytham practically barricaded himself within the bureau, and when he had deemed Basim far away enough, he easily slipped out and socialized with the Raven Clan, trained on the dummies placed outside the bureau, or merely cuddled the cats that roamed the settlement, even when he knew that Basim was watching. If he was far away enough, he did not seem to care. And so Basim extended him the grace of being the one to leave the premises during the evenings when the clan gathered to eat, so that Hytham would not feel the need to hide away and starve within his little cabin. In the end, as infuriating as that man was, a thorn in his side and an ache in his heart, he did not wish for him to hurt more. 

  That, he could not deny. He did care. He always had, in some way, even if he had to admit that it was true that he had not shown it lately. They were not in Constantinople or Baghdad anymore, where they could be side-by-side, fight shoulder-to-shoulder, jump from the same ledge and land in the same haypile. They were older, if only slightly. Perhaps that Hytham, that Basim, were long gone already. Perhaps this Basim was risking losing this Hytham, slipping through his fingers like soft sand. 

  Sigurd had announced their departure for the following day. If he would speak to Hytham, he had to do so now. 

  --

  He jumped from the cliff ledge at which he had been perched, landing soft as always, and continued towards the bureau. It was dark, late into the night when the feast had died down, the glow of firelight in the windows of the various cabins already extinguished, but the light in the bureau slipped through the cracks of the closed doors and the shuttered windows. He knew Hytham well enough to know that he would never sleep with fire still burning. 

  He attempted to knock. No answer. And so he attempted to open the door, and found it unlocked. Perhaps Hytham had expected him tonight.

  The apprentice in question was seated by a desk, his back turned to him, writing something. He knew he heard him, yet he did not acknowledge him, not even as Basim stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His writing, however, stopped for a very brief moment. 

  “Am I interrupting something?” 

  Basim did not need to see Hytham’s full face to see that he was trying to not roll his eyes. An ‘of course you were’ echoed in both of their minds, yet Hytham merely sighed, laid down the quill with which he had been writing, and stood up. He turned, and leaned the back of his hips against the desk, and crossed his arms. He said nothing, clearly waiting for Basim to start. 

  While he had spent the better part of three days attempting to decipher his own mind and formulate what to say, now, standing face to face with his apprentice, he could not help but feel mute. Was it shame? Guilt? Anger? He had never been one for emotions, and now they were nothing but a tangled mess of audacity and fear, and for every moment that passed in silence, Hytham’s expression soured. Finally, Basim stood straight, clasping his hands behind his back, a familiar position he had yet to tell who had gotten from who.

  “Hytham, I...” Dear God, he could not begin to stutter now. He took a deep breath, and started over. “I apologise.” 

  This was clearly not what Hytham had expected. His eyes widened, his eyebrows rose, almost comically expressive with how they had been knit together just a moment prior. 

  “You are right. I have been a poor excuse of a mentor as of late. I should have communicated with you. For that, I am sorry.” 

  It felt... Strange, with how their dynamic had always been. While they got along like a wildfire prior to Norway, Basim did not apologise, he had little regrets in the life that he had lived, it was Hytham that made mistakes and apologised and was forgiven, but now... 

  Hytham moved to speak, but Basim continued.

  “And I do not want you to think that I think of you as a failure. It is true I have treated you less than well since Kjotve, but not because I was disappointed in you. I will admit, I was mad, but above all, I was...” He hesitated. A mental lock that he did not wish to unlock, but Hytham’s mere presence held a key. “...Scared.” 

  “...Scared?”

  “Absolutely terrified.” 

  His apprentice, his Hytham, looked at him with such confusion, like a lost puppy. Basim dared to take a step closer, and Hytham did not attempt to flee. 

  “When he threw you towards the cliff wall,” he continued, “I could have sworn that I heard your spine snap. And when you laid lifeless against the ground, I thought I had lost you for good within a few seconds. I thought I had watched you leap to your own death.” 

  Hytham... He did not know what to say. Not when his mentor was mere steps away from him, a distance not closed since Basim had returned, and cornered him against that tree.

  “I...” Hytham swallowed, nervous, or perhaps merely shocked. Perhaps faced with a possibility he had not yet considered. “I apologise.” 

  “No.” The forceful tone almost got the apprentice to flinch. “I should not have encouraged you. You were following my orders, and for that, I punished you.” 

  He did, undeniably. He had barely spoken to him, and when he did, he had snapped, forced the poor boy to cower from both pain and the fear of his very own mentor’s anger. It was downright shameful. Hytham did not deserve that, he never did. 

  Basim took another deep breath. A short moment to gather his thoughts, swallow the inherent shame of the situation, the memories, and the conversation, down. 

  “I cannot claim that I can fully grasp why I have behaved the way I have,” he continued. “But I think I have... Underestimated the situation. You, as a skilled assassin, and my own fears that I might one day lead you to your death.” 

  “I know what I got myself into-” 

  “I know that you do. I know that you know that the life of an assassin is dangerous, and that the path I track is no different. But where my own self-preservation falters, it searches for you.” 

  Basim had never been an affectionate person. He was undeniably aloof in many ways, actively so in his mentoring, yet what he might have wished for as an apprentice himself was not what an apprentice like Hytham needed. Neither of them needed the secrecy, Hytham did not need a superior to simply watch over and judge him. He needed a mentor. 

  “I hope,” Basim continued, “that you can forgive me. And I promise you that I will do my very best to keep this from happening again, should you wish to stay. But I will also understand if you wish to go home.” 

  “...Promise?” 

  A voice so small, so soft. For a moment, Hytham was once more the little boy on the tower, trying to leap. Basim could not help but feel his lips twist into a small, reminiscent smile.

  “I promise.” 

  The apprentice seemed... Shaken. And while he tried to brush it off, attempted to calm his breathing, Basim leaped. He closed the last distance, and with Hytham’s questioning words silenced, he wrapped his arms around him. A hug. Holding him close, as if afraid that he would disappear if he let go. An arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head.

  The ever faithful acolyte tensed. Both were ready to flee, yet, before Basim could let go, Hytham’s own arms wrapped around the taller one’s middle, burying his face into the crook of his neck. There, they stayed for multiple moments, until the smaller one began to dig his fingers into the older one’s robes, breath rasping, knees buckling. His body was exhausted, and he could hold on no longer. 

  “Basim- I-” 

  “Shhh,” He could not claim to know Hytham as well as he wished he did, yet he knew what was ailing him. He tightened his grip, and gently lowered the both of them, until Hytham was safe on the floor, legs no longer giving in under him, and the hug never parted from. Basim positioned them, he rested his own back against the leg of the desk, parted his own legs, and let his apprentice’s meager frame rest between them, against his chest, arms still holding him tight. He did not want to let him go, and Hytham let him. “I got you.” 

  They were grown. They were grown men, deadly assassins, with the blood of thousands upon their hands, yet now, as he held him, it did not feel strange. It felt like returning home, as he nuzzled against the top of his head, felt his soft hair against his cheek, felt the weight of Hytham within his very soul. And as Hytham finally allowed himself to relax, untense, and close his eyes...

  “...I forgive you,” he murmured, somewhere against the fabric of Basim’s hood and his shoulder. “And I wish to stay, if you will have me.” 

  The mentor’s grip tightened. For the first time since Norway, it felt as if a burden was eased off of his shoulder, a grip loosening around his heart. 

  “I will have you.” He whispered, placing a soft kiss to the top of his acolyte’s forehead. Hytham let out a soft, content sigh. “We will make this right.” 

  Perhaps he could convince Sigurd that he could join the new expedition later. For now, his priority lay with Hytham. For the first time since Norway, they felt... Content. Even as Hytham’s exhausted body lulled him to sleep, even as Basim stayed, unmoving, savouring the moment for as long as he could. 

  He did not know for how long he would have Hytham by his side, but for now, he was content. 

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/61767994

[atarathegreat]

Scared for Nothing. Hytham AC Valhalla

Joining the vikings was a large transition for Hytham. He had to adapt so he didn't accidently offend someone for fear of losing his head. No matter how much Basim reassured him, Hytham always feared for his life in his sleep.

"Excuse me!"

Hytham jolted out of his cot at the disgruntled voice. He had never heard such anger on the night of a viking feast, but Basim didn't seem the least bit bothered.

"Apologies!" A sweet giggle was followed by a half-naked viking woman falling through the curtain to the little hut. She was shorter than the typical viking Hytham had become used to, but she could be just as dangerous if he wasn't careful. Her laughter woke Basim, who slept on the other side of the hut, and he approached her fluidly, as if he didn't fear her.

Basim chuckled and lifted her as a bear lifts a tree branch, "Up you get, before you catch a cold." The older man was more generous than Hytham seemed to be, carefully cooing at the drunken giggler as he settled her in his cot. "You can't be serious?" Hytham protested quietly, "What if she wakes and kills us?" And all Basim could do was chuckle, "This tiny girl? Why, she can hardly swing an axe." Basim covered her and sat beside the bed, "Get sleep, Hytham. You will feel better in the morning, and we can help her get through Fornburg without being immodest."

Long ago Hytham had learned that Basim would put him in any uncomfortable position, as a form of "training," in the man's words. It was the worst training Hytham had ever been subject to. But he carried the woman through the little village, hidden only by his hood and her covered only in a large fur. "Over there..." She sounded sickly, like she might throw up from all the things she ate and drank the night before, "Svend will...Svend will help..."

Whoever that was. Hytham called through the cloth, flinching back when a big and burly man came through. "She's greatly exposed...said you would help her..." Hytham mumbled, passing the woman over to him. "Idiot girl, your father will have someone's head for this." Svend sighed, taking her inside.

After the initial encounter, Hytham noticed his mentor keeping an eye on the woman at feasts. It wasn't uncommon for Basim to watch out for others, especially women, but he was dragging Hytham to each and every feast to keep an eye on her.

Gods, she was like a flower in the breeze, dancing as if it were her last day to dance. There was a smile that was brighter than a thousand suns upon her face and, before he knew it Hytham was admitting to himself that this strange viking was...attractive. He loved how freely she did her hair, how loud she spoke in the late hours, and how crazy she was to dive naked into the cold Norway waters. Hytham was hooked by the odd occurrences, captivated by her soul.

"Go and talk to her." Basim chuckled; arms crossed as he leaned against the nearest pillar in the longhouse.

"Talk to her? You must be out of your mind!" Hytham turned away from the man, "I am only here because you have made me come. I would much rather be tucked away in the warmth of the furs."

"You prefer a cot to the festivities? How strange. Considering you always have a drink or two." The smirk on Basim's face was enough to drive Hytham crazy. The man thought he knew everything, never mind that he was right, and Hytham truly did enjoy the feast. But this woman...she was different. She wasn't some tankard of ale or horn of mead, no, she was...Gods, she was something.

She was perfect timing in a terrible hunt. Even as Hytham stayed still, Basim's ideals reached her, and she stumbled over. "Come! Come! You must dance!" the viking lady dragged Hytham into the crowd, moving around in what was anything but dancing. Yet, Hytham let her excitable energy reach him as he attempted to do whatever she did. He even drank himself under the table, a table that was flipped sideways to shield him and the woman from prying eyes as they slept.

[jaziplier]

Basim Ibn Ishaq - Oneshots

• Basim is a shithead. As the assassin tasked to protect you from harm, it seems like he continuously gets you in trouble instead.

• You could be walking down the market, the ripe, golden sheen of the sun battering down on the fresh fruit that you want to eat so badly. Basim catches your eye, and soon enough you’re holding a delicious apple in your hands.

• “What? You looked like you wanted it, who am I to deny you hm?”

• The next minute he has your hand clasped in his, running through the dense city, his laughter echoing in your ears.

• He takes his job very seriously, weaving in and out of the Round City, appearing in front of you in narrow alleys, often times without warning.

• His dusty brown hair littered with sand, drapes over his eyes as he pushes you gently against the stone alley wall. “Did you miss me?” He smiles softly.

• He is close to you, but he still manages to keep a respectable distance.

• Your heart beats like crazy for Basim. You cannot ever fake that, and he knows.

• Oh does he know.

• He adores to take advantage of your shyness, and slips in some gentle Arabic petnames in his speech.

• “Be careful, albi, it’s a dangerous road ahead.”

• “The moon is big and bright tonight hayati, tonight is the night we go.”

• “Oh I’m fine habibti, don’t worry about me.”

• He also knows arabic isn’t your first language, and he loves to watch you struggle with certain words, the way your mouth moves, the way he wishes to catch his lips against yours.

• You both enjoy sitting on the rooftops of Baghdad, spreading out on the persian rug under you, the stars swimming over your head.

• You love telling Basim about the different constellations in the sky, astronomy that you had learned at the House of Wisdom.

• And he loves to watch you. He loves as the moonlight strokes your features, dancing upon the highs and lows of your face. Your voice is like the sweetest birdsong in his ears. He adores you. You may not understand, but he would do anything to keep you safe from harm.

• In moments of danger he turns into a different person. Pushing you behind him, he is a quick and efficient fighter, rarely loosing his battles.

• Basim is clumsy however, and he is not exempt from a few bruises and cuts.

• But he doesn’t care, it just means that you will dote over him more.

• When you come home you fuss over his wounds, making him take his shirt off so you can assess the situation better.

• His lean, muscular yet battered body catches your breath, and you’re stuck staring at him for a while, which makes him smile.

• Basim loves you, and he’s unable to wait any longer. He closes the distance between the both of you, pulling you into him with a hand on the small of your back. He yanks you close, his breath dancing on your lips. It’s almost as if he’s nervous about something, perhaps he can hear your heart beating out of your chest.

• You put your hands on his chest to steady him, to help him understand that you love him just as much as he loves you. His warm skin feels soft, yet rugged under your hands, as you run your hands over his torso.

• A singular glance from you, looking up to him through your eyelashes, is more than enough to send him over the edge.

——

ok this one is fluffy and kinda simple cuz im just testing the waters with Basim to write more… ahem… 18+ stuff in the future. ANYWAY I HOPE ITS OKAY!!!

[crownomancer]

The way this man and his big brown eyes have bewitched me entirely.

Just a little warmup sketch of Basim before I continue my Temeraire Tarot series.

[a-simp-named-slickback]

Star-Crossed | Basim x OC | Part 4

As strange things happen at the House of Wisdom, Nashira begins to wonder what Basim has been up to the last four years…and what he’s up to now.

Nashira was never one to hold her tongue.

Perhaps being raised by her father had something to do with that.

Khalid ibn Mohammed was many things: a respected astronomer, a loving father, and above all else, a spirited debater. She’d seen him confidently share his theories and findings to rooms filled with the world's most celebrated scholars from Baghdad to Greece to Timbuktu. She’d also seen the many lengthy instances where he was asked to defend such findings, which he always did, with ample evidence to boot.

Anytime Nashira wanted something, she and her father had a little game where she’d have to defend her reasons as to why she should have it, while Khalid would argue against it. In fact, such a game is how she got Halah.

“A cat will keep the mice away,” A young Nashira stated.

“They are a big responsibility azizati” he’d say.

“I’m very responsible,” She persisted, “I study very hard, and I complete my chores without being asked.”

Khalid raised a brow, pointing to her study area, “Then why is your desk still a mess?”

“Because if it was clean, Baba, I wouldn't have any way to show you how responsible I am.”

Khalid let out a roar of a laugh. He could not argue with that logic. The next day he presented his daughter with a fluffy white cat.

She never held back in any conversation, especially an intellectual one. She’d learned the art of having tact, but that tact could only do so much in the face of outright foolishness. It was no surprise then when she openly criticized the House of Wisdom’s head scholar, Fazil Fahim.

The man was a charlatan, at least Nashira thought so. He spoke of people who came before, how they would come again one day, how his so-called “great work” proved as much.

Nashira read his research, she attended his lectures, and saw absolutely no basis for this claim. Fazil Fahim had no place as first scholar of the House of Wisdom if intended to spout the musings of a fool. Worse yet, he was spending an unthinkable amount of money on a pointless dig sight out in the wilderness. That part angered Nashira the most.

“To make such claims without any solid evidence is moronic!” Nashira exclaimed after one of his symposiums, “I expect better from a man as intelligent as Fazil Fahim, especially when he is the head scholar of the House of Wisdom. With the money he spends on that dig site, we could fund stipends for more scholars and pay school fees for students who cannot afford it otherwise. A terrible waste!”

What Nashira had not considered was that unlike her father, who was understanding and encouraged her to speak freely around him, other men did not take such talk as well from a woman.

Lately, she swore someone was following her. Around the House of Wisdom, around the markets, outside her home. She couldn’t explain it but she felt a presence near her at all times, starting around the time she made the comment about Fazil.

Perhaps it was him following her around? To confront her on what she said? If that were the case he knew where her observatory was. Nothing stopped him from simply strolling right in and giving her a piece of his mind.

Nashira sighed, drumming her fingers on the open book in front of her. After some contemplation, she let her thoughts drift to where she tried so hard no to let them go.

Could it be Basim?

Her mind filled with the image of his round eyes, his dark brows, his full bottom lip he bit when he was nervous….

She let out a frustrated huff, “Stop it Nashira….” She made herself clear the last time they spoke. That was all in the past. She was married to Omar and he was a good husband to her. This was just her wishful thinking again. The residuals of reckless teenaged passion.

She glanced at the open window. Why did she even bother keeping it open anymore when the only person who ever used it was him?

Nashira walked over to it, taking hold of the window panes and froze. Keeping it open just a little bit wouldn’t hurt? Right? It was quite hot today and the draft would be nice.

She dropped her arms by her side with a heavy sigh, resigning to her desk as she gazed at the window she was too cowardly to close.

Halah jumped into her lap, meowing at her.

She let out a laugh, “You’re right Halah, I need to forget about Basim,” She petted the cat, “Especially before Omar comes back…he’ll notice something is wrong with me and I wouldn’t have the heart to be honest as to why…”

The cat purred into her hand.

Suddenly, Basim leaped through the window. It wasn't in his usual way, he barreled his way in like he was in a rush, or rather a panic.

She gasped, “Basim?”

She paused upon seeing his expression. Basim looked distraught, “You need to get out of here. Now.” He walked over and grabbed her by the arm.

She resisted, “Excuse me? You can’t just barge in here and demand I go anywhere with you, not without an explanation!” She barked at him, and he backed a little in response.

Suddenly the doors of the observator burst open, revealing a group of heavily armed guards. Many of them holding weapons that seemed too coarse for a building full of scholars.

Nashira let out a scream, “What in the world?” She muttered under her breath. The guards drew their swords, filling the entrance. Basim stepped in front of her and Halah, a deadly look in eyes. It didn’t seem to match the face of the sweet boy she used to know, but she considered herself lucky to not be on the receiving end of it.

The biggest guard pointed his sword directly at Nashira, “There she is. Get her!” He ordered.

Basim drew his scimitar from his hilt, a deadly focus growing on his face, “Nashira, Halah, stay behind me.”

_______________________________________________

Basim panted, returning his scimitar to its hilt on his side. Around them lay the dead bodies of the assailants. Taking them out was light work, though he hated making a mess of the observatory.

Nashira stood in place clutching Halah, whose fur stood on ends. They both trembled after witnessing such carnage.

He walked over to her, “Are you alright?” He asked. His voice sounded gently and sweet, a total contrast to the ferocity he displayed in the earlier fight.

Nashira nodded slowly, eyes still focusing on the bodies in front of her. She had never seen so much blood before. She shivered thinking how It would have been her blood had Basim not arrived in time.

He sighed with relief, “Now you see why I need you to come with me?” He asked.

Nashira let out a shaky breath, “Why on earth would these men try to kill me?” She asked, clutching Halah tightly against her.

Basim stepped towards her, “Many people in The House of Wisdom have been going missing, some of them have even been killed. I decided to look into this and spoke with a man who said someone by the name of Al Rabisu was targeting scholars getting involved with a mysterious dig site out in the wilderness. Your name came up and I rushed over here.”

He let out a sigh, “I am just glad I wasn’t too late.” He said just above a whisper.

Nashira swallowed hard, “Me too.” She thought for a moment, “Who is this Al Rabisu?”

“That is what I am trying to find out,” Basim said, “Think, is there anyone you could have angered in the last few days? Anyone at all?”

Nashira thought for a moment, “Well…I may have said some critical things about Fazil Fazim?” She bit her lip nervously. Looking back on it, maybe openly criticizing the most powerful man in the House of Wisdom was a bad idea.

Basim’s eyes widened, “The head scholar?”

She nodded.

He exhaled, “Well I can’t say I’m surprised you'd do something like that.” He said, placing his hands on his hips. This pointed to motive for Fazim in regards to Nashira’s criticism, and further connected him to the order. Still, he needed to be absolutely sure before acting.

She frowned, “I know I said some harsh things, but what would killing me do? I don’t understand.” Nashira asked.

“I have my suspicions as to what Al Rabisu is up to, but first I need to get you somewhere safe.” Basim explained.

Nashira furrowed her brows as Basim guided her towards the window, “Basim what are you-” She was cut off by Basim blindfolding her.

She yelped when he picked her up. She tightened her hold on Halah as Basim carried them both out of the window. To where, she had no idea.

______________________________________________

Nashira sat in a strange room holding Halah in her arms, listening to the muffled voices below. Basim had been speaking with a hooded gray haired woman for some time now. Most of it sounded like her reprimanding him.

“What do you think you’re doing bringing an outsider here?” An older woman with a raspy voice asked angrily.

“I know, Master Roshan, but she was in danger. This was the only place I knew that would be safe.” He pleaded.

Roshan huffed, “You know the rules. No compromising the brotherhood.”

“She won’t,” He added, “I trust her with my life. We’ll keep her here as soon as I can figure out who’s behind the mask in the House of Wisdom.”

Nashira felt a sense of relief hearing him vouch for her to stay. She definitely didn’t feel safe enough to go home, especially with her husband gone.

Downstairs, Roshan didn’t budge, instead crossing her arms and hardening her stare.

Basim pressed his hands together, “Please master,” He lowered his voice, leaning in a bit, “This is important for the success of my mission.”

His mentor raised a brow, “Is all this important for your mission, or is she important to you?” she asked at full volume.

Basim opened his mouth to negate that, but couldn’t.

Nashira listened intently to the conversation, feeling her face growing red at what Roshan insinuated. She quickly shook the feeling away.

“That’s in the past.” she insisted to herself. She kept listening.

Roshan let out a deep sigh, “Alright. But make haste on finding out the truth behind Al Rabisu and this dig site. We do not have time to waste.”

Nashira let out a sigh of relief and heard footsteps walking up the stairs. She quickly busied herself, making it seem like she hadn’t been listening to that conversation.

Basim entered the space looking indignant after the harsh talking-to he just received, but quickly fixed his face once he saw Nashira.

“You can stay here as long as you need.” He said, “It is safe here.”

She sighed in relief, “Thank you, Basim…I really appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

He gave her a soft smile, “Of course, ya sayidati.”

She let Halah jump down from her arms, smiling when she saw her snuggle up against Basim’s boot, “If I might ask, where exactly am I?”

Basim let out a deep sigh, “I’m afraid I cannot tell you.”

Nashira raised a brow at him, but continued with her questions, “Then, can I ask what you are going to do now?” She hesitated, “Do you intend to…fix this issue the way you did in my observatory?”

Basim crossed his arms, “I will do what needs to be done to ensure your safety.”

She made an irritable noise at that, and Basim tried not to laugh. She hated not knowing things.

“What is with all these secrets? He’s never been this secretive…” she thought to herself, no doubt her face showing how irritated she was.

Basim gently patted her shoulder, “Try to relax while I’m gone.”

She rolled her eyes, “Easier said than done. You’re not the one with a target on their back.”

“True.” He shrugged, “At least not today.”

Basim turned around before he could see the look of wide eyed shock on Nashira’s face. Just what on earth does he do for a living?!

The steely look in his face returned as he glanced behind him, “I must go now. If you need anything, Master Roshan and Tabid will help you. I’ll be back soon.” He turned to leave the room, headed for the House of Wisdom to continue his investigation.

Just as Basim was about to turn the corner, he heard her voice behind him.

“Be careful.”

She said it softly, nearly a whisper. He smiled to himself, then turned just enough to nod at her, and left.

When he disappeared from her sight, Nashira let out a long breath, trying to shake off the feeling in her chest. She thought back to the fight that broke out in her observatory. As scary as the situation was, Basim skillfully subdued her attackers with ease.

If she hadn’t already known him, she’d swear he was a hero from an epic tale that leaped off the page and into real life. He could protect anyone from anything, no longer the defenseless boy from the streets she once knew. This Basim was a different beast entirely.

She shook her head when she realized she was thinking about him for too long, “Stop it Nashira!” she said to herself.

Her eyes drifted to Halah, who sat on the floor and looked up at her, tilting her head.

Nashira shrugged, “What?”

Halah simply meowed, walking toward one of the cushions on the floor to take a nap.

______________________________________________

Nashira knew she was supposed to stay in the room and out of the way of everyone else in the bureau, but her curiosity couldn’t stay away. It had been at least a day since Basim brought her here, and the only fresh air she got in that time was from the small enclosed courtyard just outside the bureau. She crept out of the room Basim left her in and made her way down the hall.

There weren’t many people at all in the bureau. The few people there were too occupied with their own studies to notice her. Or rather, she suspected, they did notice her and decided she was such a non threat they didn’t have to acknowledge her presence. She figured that was for the best all things considered.

She made her way down the stairs, taking note of her surroundings: there was a desk, a bookshelf filled with reference books and maps of the city hanging on the walls. Near the door was a board with several papers pinned to it.

Nashira got close to the desk in an attempt to read the papers on it, having to strain her eyes just to make out a few letters at a time.

“What are you doing?”

She whipped her head around at the sound of the raspy voice from earlier. There stood the woman in similar robes to Basim, only she had a red sash instead of the blue one he wore. Her hood was up, unlike the other hidden ones in the bureau, and Nashira could only make out the bottom half of her face. She must have been the woman Basim was speaking with earlier, Master Roshan.

“Nothing,” she sputtered, “I was just-“

“You were just looking at confidential documents?” Roshon finished for her as she stalked up to Nashira, towering over the younger woman.

“My apologies, I didn’t know they were confidential, they were out in the open,” Nashira clarified, “I don’t even have my magnifying glass on me so I could hardly read any of it.”

“A likely story,” said Roshan, “Or a clever lie.”

Nashira frowned, “I am no liar. And unlike you and Basim I do not keep secrets either.” She crossed her arms.

Roshan hummed, “Then perhaps you’re not so clever after all.”

Nahsira scoffed in response.

Roshan examined the woman in front of her. She didn’t peg this woman as a member of the order, but she could never be too careful. By the looks of her, she had zero fighting prowess about her. She was young, about twenty if she had to guess, olive skinned, shaped like a pear with a soft tummy, and lacking in muscle. Nashira didn’t possess any weapons on her person and definitely dressed like a woman could afford to hire people to fight for her judging by her elegant robes and jewlery.

It was clear she wasn’t a threat, at least not physically.

No doubt she was beautiful enough to compel the hearts of men and women around her. Men like Basim, who despite having grown from the scared boy he was when Roshan first met him, was still a man. A young one at that, making him an easy target for seduction.

She decided she wouldn’t let up until she had a better understanding of who this young woman was and what she was doing with her student.

Roshon narrowed her eyes, “Who are you?”

“Nashira bint Khalid ibn Mohammed.” She answered quickly, “I’m an astronomer at the House of Wisdom.”

“A woman astronomer,” Roshan thought, not hiding her intrigue in her face, “Being a woman in your position must make you quite vulnerable. Especially to men with fragile egos in the House of Wisdom I imagine.” She said aloud.

Nashira sighed, “Perhaps…I’ve been made quite aware of that recently…”

Roshan tilted her head. Clearly she was intelligent considering she was a scholar. Though intelligence does little to help naïveté it seems. Any woman in a lower class knew a man’s ego was a threat, as Roshan herself was well aware. However women of higher class lived in a world sheltered by the men around them. Those women had the protection of their well to do male relatives and whoever served them. Perhaps the events leading to Nashira staying here were a rude awakening on that fact.

Roshan continued, “How do you know Basim?”

Nashira rubbed her hand up and down her arm, “We were…friends.” She said, trying to keep her gaze locked on Roshan but couldn’t help but to shift her eyes to the ground.

“Friends?” Roshan raised a brow, sensing she was withholding information. Still, her hesitation to answer her questions regarding Basim did not seem to come from a place of deception, at least not with the goal of deceiving Roshan in this very moment.

Nashira shifted her eyes from the floor to Roshan’s, “Perhaps more than that.”

Now it was coming together for Roshan. Like his friend Nehal, she was just another piece of the past Basim had to reckon with, “I see…And are you still more than that?”

“No.” Nashira answered quickly.

“Why not?”

The young woman shrugged her shoulders, “He disappeared,” she looked Roshon up and down, “I suspect you know the rest.”

“The rest?”

Nashira rolled her eyes, “The parts I don’t know…or aren’t allowed to know it seems.”

Roshan clasped her hands behind her back, “Basim took an oath, to leave his past behind him and walk our path. To walk the shadows and serve the light.” She held Nashia’s gaze, “He has no room for anything else. I’m sure you understand Nashira.”

Nashira nodded. So then this was the reason he stayed away so long. This oath of his to leave his past behind, her included. After all the time they spent together, had he really intended to forget about her just like that? It took her years to make peace with his sudden disappearance. Was it really so easy for him? If he wasn’t required to come back to Baghdad, would he have even bothered seeking her out at all?

She swallowed hard. Why did the thought of that upset her so much?

Her somber expression didn’t go unnoticed by Roshan, “I do not say this to be cruel. I just do not want you to get you to get your hopes up.”

She met Roshan’s gaze with her own, “That will not be a problem. What we had is in the past.”

“Is it?” The hidden one tilted her head.

“It is.” Nashira answered sternly, “And once this is all over and I can go back to my observatory and we can forget all about this.”

Roshon paused for a moment, then let out a sigh. This woman was smart, but a terrible liar.

“Very well.” She said, turning on her heel toward the door, “I enjoyed our chat, Nashira bint Khalid.” She put her hand on the doorknob, “there are some books on the shelf behind you. I suggest you read those to keep your boredom at bay.”

Without another word she walked out the bureau, leaving a stunned Nashira behind.

Nashira held her gaze on the door, letting her feelings sink into her. Despite the presence of others in the office, she suddenly felt more confused and alone than ever.

What path did Basim walk that led him so far from her?

_______________________________________________

Hours later, Basim walked into the upstairs room, startling both Nashira and Halah out of their sleep.

Sleeping on the floor was not her preferred method, but at least the Hidden One’s hideout was mostly quiet, save for the sound of footsteps. She stretched her sore muscles and Halah followed suit.

Nashira noticed Basim seemed…off? Like he had grown weary since she last saw him hours ago. She wondered what made him so.

Given what happened at the observatory, perhaps it was best if she didn’t know any details.

“It’s done,” He said, “Come morning you’ll be able to return to the House of Wisdom with no danger.”

She let out a sigh of relief, “That is good to hear,” She relaxed her shoulders, “So, was it Fazil Fahim then?”

Basim figured she’d find out he was dead anyway once she returned to the House of Wisdom. so he nodded.

She raised a brow, “Are you going to tell me what was going on with all those disappearances?” She asked.

He sighed, “I cannot reveal-”

“Right, more secrets.” She rolled her eyes, getting a bit fed up with all this secrecy.

“Trust me Nashira,” Basim put a hand over his heart, “If I could tell you, you’d be the first to know.”

Her eyes soften, remembering her conversation with Roshan earlier about Basim’s oath, “It’s fine. Thank you ya sadiqi.” She smiled warmly at him, showing her sincere thanks.

Basim felt a warmth spread in his chest seeing her smile at him, “I can escort you home if you’d like? So you do not have to stay in…here.” He gestured around the room, beautiful but quite small and simple compared to the observatory.

She grinned, “I’d love that.”

_______________________________________________

Basim marveled at the estate in front of him.

Nashira’s home was beautifully decorated with sun, moon and star designs etching the walls and arches. The private courtyard he stepped into was filled with a lush garden and a fountain where the moon’s reflection shone in the water.

“This house is beautiful.” Basim touched the etchings in the archways. His own father would be speechless if he saw this place.

Nashira smiled, “Thank you.” She took a seat on the edge of the fountain, “Omar is always away with the merchant caravans so he figured he’d have the house built to suit my tastes.”

Basim clasped his hands behind his back, “That is good. You deserve a gorgeous home.” His eyes softened at her.

She smiled back, and then looked up at the sky. A skwak rang out, catching her attention. Moments later an eagle flew down onto Basim’s outstretched arm.

“You’ve been flying all day,” he fed the bird a snack, “Do you ever tire?”

Nashira tilted her head as Basim brought the creature closer to her, “This is Enkidu, my animal companion.”

The bird was beautiful, and quite alert, seeming to take notice of the woman in front of him. She carefully reached out a hand to pet the top of Enkidu’s head.

The bird clicked with delight at the action.

“It’s very nice to meet you Enkidu.” Nashira smiled at the creature.

Basim let out a chuckle, “I can tell he likes you.”

Nashira blew the bird a few kisses, not noticing her cat stalking up the winged creature. With one swipe of the paw, Halah hissed at the bird, causing it to fly back in the sky with a loud screech.

“Bad Halah!” Nashira picked up the cat, placing it in her lap, “you mustn’t hiss at our friend Enkidu.” She sent an apologetic glance at Basim.

He chuckled again, “Enkidu is a lot tougher than he seems.”

Nashira let Halah jump out of her lap. She patted a spot next to her on the fountain, “Please, sit with me.”

Without hesitation, Basim did as she asked. Stars filled the night above them, twinkling up above Nashira’s courtyard garden.

He sighed, “This reminds me of those times we’d sit on the roofs in Anbar.” He said, gazing above them.

Nashira smiled fondly, “Yeah, it does.”

A silence hung over them for some time.

She looked at Basim, taking in his new choice of dress. He wore a hood now, though it was down at the moment. His clothing was simple and plain, like a peasant or monk’s clothing. The only thing that stood out was the bright sash, and if you looked closely, you could see an array of thinly veiled weapons all over his person.

She gave him a long look, raising an eyebrow at him. Slowly the corner her mouth raised up in a smirk.

He noticed her gaze, “What?”

Nashira let out a small laugh, “I couldn’t help but notice how you choose the dress lately : hoods, concealed weapons…or should I say hidden? Much like those elusive hooded liberators you used to talk about all the time. What were they called?” She tapped her cheek with her finger as she circled around him, “The Hidden-”

Basim covered her mouth to stop her from talking.

His face turned serious, “Do not mention them, ever, understood?” He said in a hushed tone.

She nodded.

He took his hand away and she smacked him hard on the shoulder, “And stop shushing me!”

Basim grunted out a laugh at the smack and rubbed his shoulder, feigning pain. Nashira nearly hit him again but he caught her hand before she could.

“Nice try.” He smirked. He and Nashira laughed for a moment before realizing how close to each other they were, and that Basim currently held her hand in his. They both thought back to the times they used to play these kinds of games together in the observatory.

They were so close to each other. Close enough to feel each other's breaths on their noses.

He let go, clearing his throat and she tucked some hair back into her head scarf.

Nashira let out a little laugh, “To be honest I wouldn’t have figured it out had I not spoken to Master Roshan.” She mentioned.

Basim’s eyes widened, “You spoke with Roshan?”

She nodded, “She may have caught me looking at some confidential documents while you were away.”

Basim blinked, “I am surprised you lived to tell the tale.”

“As am I.” Nashira thought for a moment and then laughed, “I am surprised you took out those mercenaries so easily. I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

Basim raised a brow, “What do you mean?”

“Well thieves aren’t exactly known for fighting.” She shrugged, “You were more so the ‘avoid a fight and run away as fast as you can’ type.”

“Hey now, I used to put up a good fight back then!” He protested.

She chuckled, “You certainly gave them what for…from the ground.” She winked.

Basim huffed in annoyance and rolled his eyes as she laughed thinking about all the times she saw Basim scrambling from the guards in the House of Wisdom.

She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, “I know I was a bit…harsh the night you returned to Baghdad,” She almost whispered, “I still stand by what I said, but, It is good to have you back. I missed having a friend to talk to.”

Basim smiled softly at the word friend. They had started out as friends, and he cherished that friendship just as much, if not more, than their romance for he would have never known he loved her without it. The love he had for Nashira never left, but perhaps it could change.

“I am glad to be back too. Even more so knowing we can still be friends.”

After a moment, she cleared her throat, “Roshan mentioned the reason you hadn’t come back to Baghdad was because of your Hidden One’s training.”

Basim nodded, “That is true. I needed to train hard and remain focused to reach my goal,” he explained, “and in order to do that I needed to take an oath to leave my old life behind.”

It grew quiet between them. He realized what he implied when he saw Nashira frown. Her face remained still, thought he swore he could see the slightest bend in her eye brow like something bothered her.

“Hold on, I didn’t mean- “

“No, do not apologize, I understand.” She assured him, “I’m happy for you. Becoming a Hidden One has always been your dream. Don’t apologize for following that path.” She gave him a small smile.

“You were my dream too.” He wanted to tell her, but remembered how she shut him down when they first reconnected.

Nashira couldn’t help but notice how tired Basim’s eyes looked. The dark circles pooled under them, growing darker since the last time.

“You are happy right? You look so weary,” She said.

Basim didn’t look at her, “I’m fine,” he lied. After killing Fazil Fahim, he saw another vision of the jinni. What used to only haunt him in his sleep now tormented him in his wake as well. He lacked the answers as to why, but it always happened when he slayed one of his targets.

Nashira placed a hand on his shoulder, “Are you sure?” Her eyes grew more concerned as she tried to get him to look at her but he wouldn't. He couldn’t.

Instead he asked her, “Are you happy Nashira?”

Nashira removed her hand from his shoulder. She looked far ahead of her, gazing at the beautiful archway of her home, built for her by a devoted husband who loved her.

“I should be…” She muttered out loud.

Basim looked her way, seeing the forlorn look in her eyes as she stared ahead of her. What did she mean? She had to be happy, right? She had her observatory, this house, a kind and wealthy husband, everything she’d need to live a secure and comfortable life. What was missing from it?

He brought his gaze back up towards the stars. If this was how things were meant to be, how could she be unhappy? How could he be expected to let what they had go if he knew she was unhappy with this life?

He shook his head. No, no, he couldn’t think like that. He was harping on feelings from the past, not focusing on the reality of the present.

He stood up, “I have to go. Master Roshan is expecting me.”

He needed to go. He couldn’t stay a moment longer or he’d say something he’d regret and ruin any chance of them being friends.

Nashira opened her mouth to say something, to tell him to come back, tell him to stay with her, even for just a moment longer.

Instead, all she said was “Goodnight, Basim.”

Basim swallowed hard, “Goodnight, Nashira.” He disappeared into the night.

_____________________________________________

The sun was shining high over Baghdad as Basim leaped across the rooftops to get to the House of Wisdom. Weeks had passed since he assassinated Fazil Fahim and by the looks of things, the House of Wisdom was bouncing back from corruption.

No signs of burning books, people freely walking about, freely discussing their findings and philosophies amongst themselves and their students.

He smiled to himself. It was nice to see the results of his work for once.

He made it to the ledge just above the window into Nashira’s observatory. He grabbed a hold of it and swung himself into the building, landing effortlessly on the floor.

As he stood, he dusted himself off, “Nashira, I have some work for you from Master Rosha-“

He stopped talking when he saw not only Nashira’s wide eyes staring back at him, but about 10 other pairs of eyes as well. All them were young girls, anywhere from thirteen to sixteen years old. They sat together at their desks as Nashira stood in the front with a board showing complicated math equations.

She cleared her throat, “Basim, this is my class.” She turned to her class, “Class, this is my old friend Basim. What do we say to our guests?”

“Assalamu alaikum.” They said in unison.

Basim put a hand to his heart, bowing his head, “Walaikum Assalam. My apologies for interrupting your class, children.” He said, “Perhaps I should come back later.”

One of the younger girls perked up, “Ustadah, why does he dress like a peasant?” She asked

“Fatima!” Nashira used a warning tone in her voice, the kind Basim recognized as the one her father used to let her know she was crossing a boundary.

Basim shook his head, “It is fine ya sayidati,” Basim looked at Fatima, “That is a fine question, young lady. When I was not much older than you, I grew up in Anbar, one of the poorer districts in Baghdad. Because of this, I saw many people and children like yourself go without the things they need and treated poorly by others, myself included,” he explained, clasping his hands behind his back as he spoke, “My clothes are a reminder of the oath I made to help those less fortunate.”

Most of that was true, though the simple answer was that the clothes concealed his identity. These girls didn’t need to know for what reason though.

He continued, “Like all of you, I spent a lot of time in this very room learning as much as I could, thanks to your teacher.” He said, looking over at Nashira.

Nashira smiled softly at him and he returned the gesture. This action did not go unnoticed by her students, who unfortunately for her were growing more and more observant everyday.

One of the girls raised her hand and Nashira called on her, “Yes, Reem?”

Reem smirked, “Is he the reason you tell us not to talk to boys from Anbar?” She teased.

Nashira clapped her hands, “Class dismissed!” She said, completely side tracking that question.

Immediately the girls scurried from their desks and out the doors to the rest of the House of Wisdom, carrying their books with them, breaking off into smaller groups to chat and giggle amongst themselves, stealing glances at their teacher and this mysterious bearded man from Anbar.

When all the students were out of the room, Nashira slowly turned around to face Basim, cringing when she saw his hands on his hips and a cheeky expression on his face.

“And what’s wrong with boys from Anbar?” He asked with a playful tone.

“Nothing! Nothing,” Nashira giggled, “I just wanted to make sure my girls know to look out for their-”

“Sticky fingers?” Basim answered, holding up both hands and wiggling his fingers.

“No,” Nashira pointed to her mouth, “Their slick tongues.” She said before they both burst out into a laugh.

Basim chuckled, “Do your students know what a bad influence you were on me?” He asked.

In their youth, Nashira often dragged him along to parts of the library they weren’t allowed in, or would convince him to use his “sticky fingers” to swipe books about topics her father wouldn’t allow her to read. If they ever got caught, Nashira would distract the guards and stewards so Basim could sneak away with their bounty.

Nashira smirked, “You were a worst one.”

At some point in the middle of their banter they had migrated very close to each other, leaving only a few inches of space between them. They cleared their throats and put more space between them.

“So, what did you come by for?” Nashira asked.

He grinned, “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve come to see my good friend.”

Nashira cracked a smile, only to scoff when he crouched down to pick up the fluffy white cat.

“Halah!” He said in a joyous tone, holding up the chubby cat who purred from the attention.

Nashira thumped his forehead with her finger, “You interrupted my class for that?”

Basim shook his head with a laugh, letting Halah jump out of his arms, “Master Roshan needs to know which stars to follow to get to these locations.” He handed her a parchment with Roshan’s request on it.

Nashira read the parchment. Many of the locations extended out of Baghdad, into areas like Greece, Constantinople, even the Norse lands, “Why does she need to go here?” She asked.

Basim shrugged his shoulders, “I can not tell you what I don't know.”

Nashira tilted her head, “You mean you didn’t ask?” That was so unlike the Basim she knew, who like her, was always nosy to fault. Though it seemed this Basim didn’t question his master on anything.

Basim shook his head.

She rolled her eyes, “More secrets.” She placed the parchment on the table, “Very well, I’ll figure it out in a few hours. Right now I need to go.”

Basim looked confused, “Go where?”

“To Anbar,” She explained, filling a bag with books, “One of my students, Maha, hasn’t been coming to class lately because her mother is sick and she has to watch her younger siblings. So I’m going over there to teach her in her home.”

“Really,” Basim hummed thoughtfully, “I never thought someone from Anbar could afford such a class.”

“Of course she can’t afford it. That’s why I don’t charge her, or any of my students for that matter.” Nashira clarified as she continued packing, “Maha is too bright for me to let her fall through the cracks.”

Basim wasn’t sure what he felt just then, but he found himself smiling at her while she wasn’t looking. He suddenly remembered how she said teaching was how she wanted to better the world around her. It was nice to see her following that call to purpose.

“It is a good thing you are doing, ya sayidati,” he said, “Though I wish we had more time to share a snack of dates and tea.”

Nashira smirked, “Consider yourself lucky. Since you are so eager to spend time with Halah, you can cat sit while I’m gone.” She winked at him, before heading out of the observatory.

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Cogito, ergo sum

from Latin "I think, therefore I am"

Basim Ibn Ishaq x GN!reader

Prompt: Basim survives the temple

Warnings: Implied NSFW at the end

Word count: around 4k (big boi)

The cliff is his safe space.

It has been ever since he first arrived at Alamut. You remember meeting the young man he used to be, a clumsy thief with a shy stubble that paled in comparison to the beard he’d grown throughout his training. It made him look wiser, you supposed. And wise he was, for he was educated by none other than the silence of the mountains and the sword of Roshan.

He was a smart man, but going into the temple was not a smart choice at all. Roshan had tried to stop him and failed. She walked out of the temple with a limp, holding her shoulder and her side as her head hung low in shame – defeated by her own student, her son, in a way. She couldn’t bear to look you and the other novices in the eye. 

But that was okay, because you couldn’t look at her either. You couldn’t look away from the mountain that stood tall before you all, the grinning cave that held Basim’s life over your heads.

He wasn’t coming back, Roshan said. You didn’t listen. Didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the novice who tried to pull you away from the cave. You heard your mentor’s footsteps grow distant as the murmurs of the hidden ones mourned a new loss. You’d almost joined in their whispered prayer when you saw it – a wheezing figure stepping out of the cavern, hand pressed against the rock as they kept their gaze low. You rushed to meet them halfway.

It was him. Basim. The matted jet black hair was hard to miss, along with his beige and blue robes. His brown doe eyes flickered and met yours, but before you could reach him, he put his hand up and yelled at you to stay away. His stance had become defensive, a shaky hand resting on the handle of his sword, as his eyes watched you and your friends with wariness.

You frowned; called out his name and watched as the grip on his sword tightened. Those eyes of his didn’t regard you with the same warmth they used to. They were scared, angry, and untrusting. His lips that would smile so often were pulled down into a snarl and his brows were etched into a scowl. His body, once so sure and confident in his walk, trembled under your gaze. 

Before you could say anything, he ran. He climbed up the cliff with the expertise of a man who had endured years of training, or with the velocity of a lizard who feared for his life. The tails of his robes whipped in the wind when he reached the summit and disappeared from your view.

But he hadn’t run away. He lingered in his trusted spot by the cliffside. Rayhan would watch him from his tent and study his behavior. In the mornings, Basim would sit to meditate. It wouldn’t last long before he’d start to pace, hands in his hair before he’d yell up at the sky, fall to his knees, and throw rocks against the floor. After his fit, he’d try to sit still again, fail, and do it all over again.

When night fell, he’d crawl down the cliffside and rummage through the baskets of food you and the other novices had purposely prepared for him. He avoided you like the plague – whatever had happened inside that temple, whatever he’d seen, had shook him to his core. It was enough to haunt his mind even when one of his old friends attempted a conversation with him during one of his nightly visits, and he’d only granted them a glare. You kept your distance, watching from your seat near the fire, when he looked at you, frowned, and left to return to his cliff again.

It broke your heart. He loved that cliff, he’d found peace there during his troubled past, but now it only seemed to isolate him. But that was the point of meditation, wasn’t it? Keeping the world out, silencing your mind? If it worked for him then, why couldn’t it work now?

He needs time, Rayhan told you one day. You both watched from his tent as Basim had finally settled down after pacing for hours – he sat criss-crossed, hands resting on his lap as he breathed out. He lasted 3 hours like that. You found yourself smiling at the sight.

Maybe meditation did work.

Months go by. Winter greets Alamut with a snowstorm that would put the Gods to shame, but the canyon protects your stalls, tents, and beds from the howling wind above. You think the harsh temperatures will lure Basim down from his lair, but you grow concerned when the snow starts to pelt down on you and there is no sign of him anywhere. The spare pelts and blankets in your tent call out to you, and without thinking it much, you strap them to your back and go look for him.

You find him halfway through your climb. He was smart enough to flee from the icy winds in the mountains, and found shelter in a little panhole on the side of the cliff. He’s setting up his own tent when you call out his name. He turns to face you with a bewildered look, like it’s his first time seeing another human in his life, when you give him the folded blankets and pelts.

“You’re going to need these.”

He takes them from you, eyes flickering over your face, and whispers a soft thank you.

You give him a small smile, because those two words are enough to make your heart soar and jump around – but you don’t want to scare him. You’re about to leave when he says your name.

“How are you still here?”

You shrug.

“I never left.”

He frowns at that, although it’s not the same frown he wore when he first came out of the cave. It’s the kind of frown that tells you he’s thinking, mulling over your words, wanting to believe them. You believe them, because you know the Hidden Ones would never leave him behind like that; and without saying much more, you part ways again.

The snow melts and gives way to the blooming flowers. You’re helping Rebekah fix the handle of a sword when someone taps your shoulder – Basim stands behind you, giving you a quick smile that barely peeks out of his blue scarf. It disappears just as quick as it comes, but it leaves you breathless nonetheless.

He asks about Rayhan’s whereabouts, and you can only point him in the right direction as words fail you. It’s the first time you see him talking to others of his own volition; and when he leaves after voicing his gratitude, you turn to look at your blacksmith friend. She’s looking at you slack-jawed.

Basim starts coming down more often since then. Just a month ago, he’d joined you by the campfire while Nur told a story. You’d patted the empty seat next to you, and when his lips stretched into his usual warm smile, your heart squeezed.

You’d missed him.

Speaking of Nur, you saw him talking to Basim on the cliff just this morning. They were rekindling their friendship as Nur showed him the tapestry he’d been working on all winter. If he’d gone up there unannounced, maybe you could try talking to Basim too, right?

That’s exactly what you do. I’m in control of the story.

He’s sitting close to the edge, looking at the setting sun, when you stop behind him. He spares you a glance, as if he’d been expecting you, before patting the empty spot next to him, just like you had done with him. You carefully sit down when he speaks.

“It looks beautiful from here, does it not?”

You hum and nod. “I  can see why you like it so much.”

“It is very freeing to experience life from these heights. Down there, we’re so small.”

Your lips stretch into a smile – he’s starting to sound like himself again, with his wise and philosophical words. It itches at the thorn that’s been stuck in your heart since he grew distant from you all, and you find your words leaving you before you can register them.

“I missed you.”

His expression falters at that, and a saddened tint floods his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. I was not myself when I left that cave.” he whispers, grimacing. “I was never myself, it seems.”

You stretch your legs out, nudging his boot with yours. He smiles wryly at your attempt to comfort him.

“What makes you think that?”

“What was revealed to me at the temple…” he gestures with his hand, but no words come out, and he promptly drops it. “My life was not meant for me to live.”

“I do not understand.”

“You must think me mad. Even now, I do not quite believe it myself.” he scoffs, eyes glazing over. “I was just a vessel, a fool fighting against nature.”

There is not much you can do for him, you think. Not much you can understand, either. Until Basim doesn’t fully capture what troubles his mind, you doubt you’ll be able to get through his defenses. But with him, it’s different. Basim sows and reaps, builds and destroys – the walls he’s built around himself stand tall before you, but they’re no match for him. They’re like overgrown weeds he needs to pull out. In his novice years, he used to speak of the power and danger of one’s own mind; and he seemed to be heeding his advice even after all this time, for he continued to speak despite your silence.

“There was this… machinery inside the temple. Nehal told me to open it, and when I did–” he swallows. “It was pain after pain, memories that threatened to claim me, fears that broke my very soul. And then, when I was begging for it all to end, praying to be let out– Nehal wasn’t there anymore.”

You frown. “Your friend?” he nods in response.

“She was never there.”

“She was gone?”

“She wasn’t real.”

He rakes his hand through his hair as he hisses through his teeth, like the revelation itself burdens his heart soul. You watch in awe at the raw display of emotions as he frowns and his hoarse voice speaks up once more.

“I lived a lie. It was all my fault. I killed the Caliph, I dug my own grave, led myself into the very trap fate had woven for me.” 

A tentative hand rests on his forearm, and you squeeze to break him out of his trance. Basim turns to look at you, bearing the look of a man drowning in despair and needing it all without knowing what he yearns for. 

“And yet, you live.” you whisper.

He sighs in return. “I live.”

“I understand why you were so defensive when you left the cave.”

He shakes his head, looking at the setting sun that paints the sky in a purple hue.

“I thought I was imagining you all. Sometimes, I fear I still do.” he looks at you, frowning. “If I believed Nehal was real my entire life, what was stopping me from believing you were real, too?”

“I don’t recall ever meeting your friend.” you think out loud. “Did she ever interact with anyone other than you?”

“She was a very private person.” he speaks like he misses her. “Nehal didn’t like meeting new people.”

You give him a sad smile. Even in the face of reality, it’s hard letting go of a beautiful lie.

“But you see us talking to other people. I talk to you, but also to Fuladh, or the merchants in Baghdad. They’re real - and I’m real too.”

“For the longest time, I thought maybe I was imagining it all. That you were all a fragment of my imagination.” he shakes his head. “I failed to see the line that separated reality from fiction. When I was in that temple, I thought my entire life was a lie. I was trapped in a void, but then I saw this light - and I ran and ran, thinking I could escape from it all.”

Basim is ranting now as the words come more naturally to him. His gestures become more frantic as he turns to look at you, eyes wide like the day you saw him stumble out of the cave.

“But then I saw you, and I thought I was still trapped. Eventually with time, I came to think you would all disappear.” he stops, and his gaze softens. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You whisper. “I’m here.”

His eyes linger on you for a moment, before he nods and looks at the horizon again. The sky is dark by now, and you smile at the memory of Basim teaching you and your friends about astronomy. He’d learnt it all when he taught himself to read in the House of Wisdom, but unlike the scholars that demanded an audience to witness their greatness, Basim taught for the pleasure of teaching. Whatever he’d read during his time in Baghdad or witnessed in his past lives had definitely made him wiser beyond his years. If there is a God, he’s been generous with Basim – all that knowledge has fallen into the right hands.

But his usual passion for the stars is dormant now. You glance at him, taking note of his silence as he resumes his meditation, and take that as your sign to give him some space again. You’re sitting up when you feel his hand grasping your forearm, but when you look at him again, he doesn’t react. But the hand doesn’t relent either, and so, you decide to settle down again.

It’s quiet between you, and it makes his whispered words so much louder. They’re a promise of a better future.

I missed you, too.

Summer comes and goes, and trees start to shed their yellowed cloaks again when Basim decides to move out of the cliff. It’s a misty morning, courtesy of the rainy weather in autumn, when you see him walking down the slope towards your tent. He’s carrying his rolled-up mattress and tent with him, sparing you a smile when you approach him with a big grin of your own. Perhaps your excitement is a bit too palpable, because his brows raise in amusement when you ask to help him carry his things – but you’re too distracted to notice, ranting about an oh-so convenient spot right next to your tent, and he promptly follows after you.

But the muddy slope demands a sacrifice, and your foot slips in front of you. Years of training abandon you as you reach for the slippery boulder next to you, but you miss once more. A hand holds you by your cloak, but it’s too late, you’re falling forward and hoping the mattress in your arms will break your fall, and then – the mattress grunts?

You look up, feeling the familiar fabric of robes under your cheek. Basim has taken the brunt of the fall, cupping the back of your head with his hand as his other arm wraps around you. It’s almost comical when you both look at each other, slowly sliding down the last inches of the slope as your robes get caked with mud. And then, he laughs.

It’s a low chuckle, but it makes his chest shake nonetheless – you can feel it reverberating beneath you, and you find yourself grinning at the sound. You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard it in over a year.

So much for a Hidden One, he says. You huff in response, shifting in his embrace when you feel the hoop of your belt digging into you, but not leaning too far away from him either.

His eyes are lidded now, and his smile has softened. You can’t look away. Basim’s hand reaches up and his thumb brushes the corner of your brow, removing dirt from your face, you assume – but all he manages to do is smear it even more.

You don’t really care about the mud, anyway. Something has changed between you two, and you’re sure he can feel it, too. It’s obvious in the way he refuses to let go of you, the way he looks at you. You tell yourself that the mud is heavy on your back, that it weighs you down and pulls you closer to him – and he doesn’t resist it either, especially not when his lips barely brush against yours. You’re about to press closer when Rebekah’s voice speaks behind you two.

“Is the floor comfortable?”

Winter is relentless once more. You’ve all hitched your tents closer to one another to preserve warmth, even knitted some more scarves to protect yourselves from the chilling bite of the wind. The bonfire is bigger than ever, it could easily give your location away to your enemies, but only fools would venture all the way to Alamut during wintertime and expect to survive – both the weather and a clan of trained assassins. 

You’re more than safe, both from outsiders and the elements. Your hidden blade is always strapped to your forearm, and as for the elements? There 's Basim.

He makes sure to save you a spot by the fire, and has a woolen blanket for those particularly colder nights. Sometimes, when he’s feeling extra nice, he offers you a cup of tea, too.

His tent is right next to yours and you always catch him reading a book late at night or early in the morning, swaddled under the bundle of blankets. He can always tell someone is watching him, and when he makes eye contact with you, he never fails to give you a wink.

It’s an ongoing thing. You really don’t know what’s happening – but you get your answers soon enough.

The fire that keeps Alamut warm needs to be fed, and Rayhan refuses to have people venturing out into the snowstorm alone to collect firewood. Thus, he sends you in pairs, for two people can look out for each other and carry more wood back to the tents. 

You’re used to the ruthless weather in Alamut – sandstorms are no match for you, nor the heaviest of rains. But there is something about snow that weakens and tires your body without even trying. You’re shoving the wood into your robes and arms before the cold catches up to you, but your movements become slower with each second, and Basim notices. He grabs your bicep and raises his voice over the hissing gale, signaling that it’s time to go back.

You don’t remember how much time you’ve spent outside, but when you return to the shelter, your damp robes are weighing down on you. The cold has seeped in, stiffening your limbs, and you promptly drop the wood close to the fire to dry for tomorrow.

The warmth in your tent has never been so inviting. The small torch lit by your mattress is the only source of light, bathing the space in a dim orange hue as you change out of your robes and put on some dry ones. It’s still cold, and the goosebumps on your skin make you hiss when the sensation of a hundred needles pricks your skin.

Someone clears their throat outside your tent before the tent flap is lifted – Basim is standing there, now wearing dry robes too. He smiles at you when you greet him and he nods at your damp clothes.

“I put mine by the fire to dry. Do you want to give me yours?”

You nod and he leaves with your robes in hand, but returns soon after with a bronze cauldron in hand and a towel on his shoulder. You eye him, confused, and it’s only when he sets it down before you that you notice the steam coming from the water inside.

“Nur thought we could use it to get warm.” he explains as he sits down next to you. He grabs the towel and dips it into the cauldron before wringing it out, getting rid of the excess water. 

“That’s nice of him.” you smile.

“It certainly is.”

He holds the damp towel out to you, but you frown.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You don’t have a towel?”

He huffs out a laugh at that, shrugging.

“He only gave me one. You take it.”

“No, no – you take it, Basim.”

“I have not come here to argue with you.” he whispers, and presses the towel closer. “Besides, you need to get warm more than I do. You seemed to be struggling out there.”

He 's right. The needles on your skin dig deeper when the hot steam dances before your eyes, so close yet so far away. You’re about to take the towel from him when you feel a soft warmth blooming on your temple.

Basim gently presses the towel onto your skin, eyeing your locks, now damp from the melted snow. Your body immediately reacts to the touch – the needles ease, your fingertips tingle, and against your better judgment, you lean into his touch. 

The cotton moves down your face, where Basim softly caresses your cold cheeks. Warm droplets roll down, but they soothe and feed the bumps on your skin, like flowers craving water after a dry summer day.

This isn’t something that the other paired novices did for each other when they went out looking for wood. 

But Basim isn't like the others, is he? He stands out from them in the way he thinks, speaks, cares for others, looks at you, touches you. 

The heat from the towel tickles your skin, or perhaps it’s your own cheeks burning at the revelation. He moves down to carefully rub the silky cotton around your neck, easing the cold that has nestled there and weakened your voice. His body leans slightly closer to gain better access, and his other hand rests on your knee for support. Without thinking it twice, you nestle his hand between yours.

It’s cold, much colder than you expected, but you feel it relax in your hold when your fingers intertwine with his. He continues to bathe your skin with the warm towel, eyes following every motion as your gaze is trained in your conjoined hands. It’s been minutes now, and you can’t feel him warming up yet, but your body is burning under his touch and attention. Your mind is foggy, your tongue loose, and your words tumble out before you can stop them.

“You should get warm, too.”

The towel pauses, but then you hear him hum. His eyes are on you now, lidded, you notice – and they slowly trail down the peak of your nose, down the cupid’s bow, all the way to your lips. They remain fixed there, fluttering when he notices you lean closer, and he whispers back.

“Maybe I should.”

Your lips brush against each other, just like that day at the muddy slope. But there is no one around to interrupt the two of you, no storm to keep you apart; and with a shaky exhale, Basim’s lips lock with yours.

He is a patient man by nature, but this kiss – it cries of overdue affection. You’re kissing like this is the only thing that can satiate your hunger, a hunger beyond the carnal dimension. It’s the kind of need that has been boiling up to this point for months, years, even – long before he’d stepped foot in that cave. It was always there, dormant.

The towel drops to the ground with a thump. His hands find your hips and cup your cheek as your breathing quickens, and he only spares you a second to breathe before he starts to pepper kisses along your jaw. Your hands find his scalp and you gently massage it with your nails, making him groan against your skin; and when his hand sneaks under your blouse, you smile at the warmth his touch now radiates.

The next time he kisses you, he tastes like glass. Like there are broken shards that cut his tongue and make his words bleed while he sings you praises. The illusion is broken, the mirror destroyed; for his touch is real, he is real, and so are you, and so are the kisses that you keep stealing from each other.

Your arms wrap together and bring you closer to each other as he pushes you back against your mattress. The cauldron is long forgotten, the warm water no longer needed as you both breathe the same hot air and look at each other like you’re drunk on wine. Soon, your clothes come off, strewn somewhere on the floor. You lose yourself in the embrace of love, lips swollen and unrelenting; and in the privacy of a flimsy tent, you and Basim become whole again.

[sonnygirl99]

One shot - worthy of a man ( hytham ×female eivor)

📍hi there, a note before you start :

English is not my first language & this was written for fun. SOOOOOoo, I'd appreciate ignoring any mistakes.

"Am I not worthy of being a man?"

Hytham confronts all of sudden, eyes as sharp as a hidden blade.

" Huh? By Odin's beard hytham, Who would say such things?.."

Eivor replies in her usual smooth voice, not understanding what the man meant

A moment of silence passes between the two, the hidden one's bureau was quiet in the early morning hours, so quiet that one was able to hear the birds tweeting's peacefully outside .

A Lott of warriors babbled with laughter while heading to the river's shore, a scent of fresh baked bread spread in the air, announcing the start of a new day for the raven clan .

Eivor here had just returned from lundon last night full of valuable resources about the order of ancients, so technically when she awoke this morning, first thing she had in mind was to visit hytham. she knew this was supposed to be his own mission yet depending on his condition, he couldn't have gone to lundon.

Before the day eivor departed , she saw the sorrow gleaming in his eyes as if he was a lad being told that he wasn't able to use his own dagger anymore, hytham was so much of an innocent sweetling if she would say so, he sure can be selfish sometimes or even a big headed fool like that time when he was showing her how to do the leap of faith, how did he think that he can just do it carelessly with such injury? Foolish, he was, but with a good heart.

she couldn't help but to be gentle towards the man, whenever she saw him she would smile joyfully , tease him . Oh, how she loved teasing him! He would just smile at her even if it annoys him at Times ,she even makes herself comfortable enough to beat him on the shoulder or to pat on his head gently as some any other kid in her clan, they were really good friends.

______________________________

Here she is, standing...tall&proud as ever. her icy orbs looking at his ...smiling & joking with joy, He admired every bit of her, a strong woman she was,one who cares about her people as much as she cares about herself.

when they first met, he did not understand what basim saw in her that made her worthy of a hidden blade.

a selfish Dane , he thought her to be.

This impression increased as she boldly refused to wear their sacred weapon correctly. However, when he betrayed her and tried to kill her long-lasting enemy, the killer of her parents. she should've been angry, furious... but yet she looked him deep in the eye and said, " I forgive you,hytham. "It was only then that he realised that all this time, he was the only selfish being.

And yet, the way he saw her look at other men,how she took care when speaking to them, even his mentor Basim. , but when it comes to him for some reason, he finds that she smiles softly , touches him .. as if he wasn't an assassin....a murderer! as if he wasn't a grown man who was capable of many things , she treated him as some child, and it did hurt , for he always showed her how much capability he had , he was clever! No, really! His former mentors always told him that! Doesn't she like clever men? And so it was today that after her return from Lundun , he stole the chance to speak about his feelings.

"Well," he took a deep breath. " it seems like you think of me as a child, eivor.."

with a raised brow and a tilted head , she looked as if she's solving a puzzle of some kind ,eivor Wolf kissed was perplexed

." I'm afraid that I do not follow ?"

" What I mean is to stop patting my head like that , I am really am a grown man, you know." He spoke very calmly compared to his inner mind.

"Oh,"

It finally seemed to click.

" So our young eagle here desperately wants to be an adult?"

Or not.She immediately starts joking about his words , a smile on her lips.

Haytham sighed helplessly , putting whatever scroll he's currently carrying down on a table.

"Oi ! What's wrong, my friend? Did anything bad happen ? You seem a bit out of place today."

Eivor wondered, yet she decided it was better for her to go on joking .

"Am I required to prove it ?, perhaps for you to understand me? because I can show you."

He said , stepping a bit closer so he could reach her arm, a sober look on his face.

"Fine then . go on and show me, young eagle."She replied, chin as high as ever

It happened so fast ,the man suddenly sweeps her by the waist, pulling her closer to him.

her  body bumped into his , which obviously did put her off guard only to make her hold into hytham's nick like there was no tomorrow. Eivor gasped softly, He was too close, so close that she clearly saw her own self reflected in those crystal eyes, she can even smell his unique scent of clean jasmine stemming from his own skin

Hytham's breathing grows heavy along with his cheeks getting redder & redder, yet he shows no sense of hesitation, but keeps his gaze focused on her instead, Seeing her face expression, his lips twitched slowly. the smile of Loki ,she thought.

Eivor didn't feel like letting go, there was something about him,something that made her feel as if everyone else didn't matter at that moment, nothing mattered at all as long as she stayed between his arms .

Adjusting his grip, hytham lowers his head, reaching her right side . Her heart skipped a beat as she felt his own breath tickling her right ear before he uttered gently, " You see ? I am a man capable of many things, wolf-kissed~"

Chills ran through her spines, is he going to take things further?

But no , for he scans her face for the last time, before Letting go, his hands drifting away slowly.

leaving her, stunned.

"...."

" I.., I think that I have to go. "

______________

How was his heart still pounding in place? He had no idea. ,but He can not be the only one getting his heart to scream loudly whenever she's around anymore . She's bond to know. She has to.

You know, perhaps this was a bad idea...

Hytham thought as seeing her face being that close.

I..I have to let go ,that's enough , she may hate me for that.

But look, Her eyes are of beauty....her skin so soft...

Enough.

" I.., I think that I have to go ..."

She backs away slowly towards the door behind her , still holding his gaze though , with the same stunned expression,

her ears a reddish flame.

Seeming to be sick of it all, the woman turns her back on him as to leave , silent.

Goodness have I sinned to be looked at with such face?

You Foolish man , foolish hytham .

" w..wait!"

Oh He's the one trembling now

Her boots stopped on the wooden floor , her back still turned , the sound of singing birds still tweeting from the outside.

"forgive me eivor, forget that it even happened, I did not intend to—"

But then , He swore of catching a glimpse of somewhat a smile forming down her cheeks.

"No, for you just proved to me that you are a man of many things , hytham,"

"And that young eagles become eagles after all."

And with that she takes leave, not only leaving the bureau but also leaving the hidden one amazed.

_______________________________________

Later on that day when the sun sank deep into the horizon , announcing its farewell for the day.

eivor wolf kissed layed on her huge bed in the darkness , it's feather tickling her face.

keen to take a warrior's rest, but full of thoughts skimming into her head, the soft touch of hytham flashed through Eivor's memory ,along with those warm eyes of his, the sweet tone of gilt that reached her ears, "forgive me " he had said.

Again, she couldn't help but feel a smile forcing its way into her lips .

You surprised me today , young eagle.

& strangely I find myself looking  forward for somewhat other surprises of yours, so be sure to let that eagle rise inside of you to become one yourself, young one.

Ending

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

saw your requests are open. If its not ignore this .

can u do AC Valhalla hytham x reader ? Maybe reader is evior sibling? And hytham is falling for them but is shy to confess . They fall in love and basim is like :

Amongst hidden ruins

I am so sorry for the long wait I was havig life and death situation with uni I didn't consider that would be there but I hope I can make it up to you by offering a 3 part slow burn?? Ya girl is trying I promise🙈🙉🙊

Pairing: Hytham x reader

Genre: fluff, awkward fluff, idiots in love

Warnings: none, except if you count me not knowing what im doing???

Note: Shy Hytham is canon to me, let he be nervous and giddy with his crush🤌❤️. Also, Basim with his wolf dad energy 100% supports his adopted son like "i teach you how to be an assassin, now i teach you how to rizz, boy" and Eivor finally can live through what Sigurd needed to, aka being the older sibling and they will quickly find out why Siggy has eyebags lmfaoo

Here's part 2

Being related to the leaders of the Raven Clan was not easy. Especially when it came to two battle-hardened brothers. From the dawn of your life, you had to have someone by your side to keep you from being "hurt." First came the cautionary orders of your father Styrbjörn, which you cannot remember unless it is from Tekla's evening stories. Taking in and raising a newborn baby with two troublemaker squirrels aged a lot on your fathers, even during the early winters of your lives. Then, as you were growing, Prince Sigurd's sense of duty began to surface, and who else could he begin directing, rebuking, and protecting than his youngest sibling. Most of your childhood thus consisted of tramping in your eldest brother's heels, holding his hand, and obeying when he forbade you something. And just when you thought your troubled years would cease to exist as you grew up, Eivor's pestration began.

"I'm just saying it doesn't hurt to call Randvi next time. More eyes see more, more blades cut more." Eivor continued as he dodged those who came across him, trying to catch up with you, who was trying to get rid of his brother with wide steps. You rolled your eyes grumbling as you picked up a bucket from the riverbank, heading towards the stables.

"Eivor, last time, I just went riding for an hour. To the neighboring fields. If you climbed up the top of the Longhouse you would have seen it!" You patted it over your shoulder as you trampled up the path of the settlement.

"Yes, but Tove reported that Saxon bandits are passing nearby lately and-" "Eivor, I don't need a nanny! I can defend myself. I might as well show you how good I am." You raised your voice a little harder than you wanted as you spun back, defiantly shouting into his face. Eivor backed up with wide open eyes, raising his arms to the surrender. 

"Hey, hey, you have no reason to yell at your brother, little one. I just want the best for you." Eivor's voice sounded suspiciously metallic, sarcastic. You knew he was almost certainly  taking your words half-heartedly.

"And if you want any good for yourself, you'd better shut your mouth before I stuff it with Gunnar's footcloth!" Your fingers and fists almost turned white from the effort you used to hold the bucket close to your chest – you had to concentrate very hard not to hit your brother's head with it.

"You talk like you have a chance to beat me." Eivor chuckled to himself in a pitiful grin.

"Listen here, you smartass, Sigurd entrusted you with the leadership of the Clan, not that some blister-headed—"

"I think it will be enough of spreading curses for today. Otherwise, Valka won't be able to make enough talismans for all of us if you keep going like this." In your big arguments, you didn't even notice that Randvi walked next to you. She looked at the two of you with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe a retreat would be good.”

"But Randvi, don't you hear that Eivor runs to me at the slightest crack of a stick to see if I'm still alive? Can't you see that even though I've had the same training as him in our childhood, he acts like I'm a defenseless baby? " You turned to Randvi in desperation, not even paying attention to the water, whether it would stay in your bucket or not.

Your sister in law looked back at you with a pursed mouth. Please, be the more mature one. Reflected in her gaze.

Why do you always have to take the shortcut, for the sake of peace?

You nodded with an annoyed sigh.

"Alright." You grunted in agreement turning back to Eivor, but your flaming stare could have almost scorched him. "Next time I'll tell someone to come with me when I leave home. Okay?"

Eivor's face softened, his eyes sparkling with joy as he grinned in satisfaction.

"Perfect, little sister." He almost sang it as he straightened his back and walked off as if he had done his job well.

"I'll drown him in Tekla's beer one day, you'll see." You fumed at Randvi as you watched with narrowed eyes your brother’s leave.

Randvi laughed hearing this, and patted your shoulder. "Don't be so angry with him, he really only wants good for you." She said apologetically, voice full with kindness.

"His desire for good crushes me. He suffocates me with his fear. No one could live that way." You answered defiantly, speaking from your heart. When will the moment finally come when you can live your life for yourself and no one else?

You sighed dejectedly, then lifted the wooden bucket to your side again. "..I'd better reload this." You muttered, then waved goodbye to Randvi and turned back towards the water.

It seemed to be a long day ahead of you. 

That night you felt like all the joy had been drained from you. Despite the feast, time passed grimly. Despite the music, singing and celebration, you couldn't cheer up - the meat felt tasteless in your mouth.

Since what happened in the morning, you didn't even want to see your brother, specifically for that reason you went to the other side of the longhouse, where you won't even accidentally come under Eivor's watchful eye.

You wondered what you should do to make your brother's overbearing subside.

"Is this seat up to take?" A question came to you behind your back. At first it crossed your mind that it could just be Eivor, that he can't even leave you alone while eating, but then you realized that the voice asking the question sounded much softer than your brother's thunderous one. 

You turned around and found yourself facing Hytham's slender figure. ​He wore his usual white caftan, but now the hood did not cover his lush brown curls. In the darkness, the light of the fire showed a deep brown iris of warm honey, his skin golden from the dancing embers.

It was as if the summer night itself was standing before you.

"For you I am gladly saying yes." You smiled with relief, motioning for him to take the seat beside you.

With a chuckle Hytham took a seat beside you and as he was settling, his shoulder and elbow rubbed against yours.

"Oh, sorry!" He gasped in fright, immediately pulling away from you, offering a decent distance.

"Ah, don't even  worry about it." You waved it away, turning to him. "And what's new in the office? Have you found anything recently with… Eivor, that would advance your research?" You asked, leaning on your elbows.

Hytham shone a timid smile towards you, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid I can't give you exciting news, there haven't been any new leads for weeks. Eivor has been too busy lately, taking care of the clan's affairs with the surrounding allies, to be thinking about that right now."

Pursing your lips, you pondered; your attention falling on the beer mug in your hand, you didn't even have time to notice the warm, longing look with which Hytham stole a glance at you. 

You couldn't notice it - but Basim did; from across, beside the fire. 

"And if I helped instead of Eivor? Trust me, I'm just as good at tracking as he is!" It came out of your mouth suddenly. The thought that you could finally break away from the prohibitions of your brother, from the small life of the settlement, had an invigorating effect on your soul.

"Uh…well…I don't know." Hytham was suddenly speechless, fidgeting shyly, glancing around the hall. "I don't think your brother would be happy if I took you."

"Eivor would only be happy if I was sitting on the shelf in his room until Ragnarök." You rolled your eyes, poking at your brother in annoyance. "Please Hytham! I promise I'll be of use to you!" Leaning closer to him, you betted your eyelashes so sweetly, gazing up at him in the hope that his heart softens for your request. 

But Hytham's heart no longer needed cunning tricks to seduce him.

An indescribable force has drawn him to you since his arrival in the North. The man stood mesmerized by your beauty and as the months went by, as he got to know your pure soul, bright mind, and sharp tongue more and more, he grew a great passion for your person.

Young fierce love or it was a heart-wrenching, bittersweet yearning;  he didn't know yet – Hytham was only certain of this: that your nearness filled him with hope and happiness.

And that was enough for him.

"I— I can  Basim when he might not need my help, and if he releases me, we can go…if you really want to, of course." He agreed with a warm smile on his face.

Sheepishness filled you under his penetrating gaze –  your heart pounded, and slowly the heat of the fire seemed cold compared to the warmth of your skin, as you could only look at your mug while blushing.

When did the young man from the far east start to interest you? When did you notice his charming smile and delightful gaze? How many times have you melted by his eloquence, gentle speech, patience or care? Why did you feel you could never tell Hytham this, because of Eivor? That your brother would definitely stand in your way, even if only for a spark of happiness.

Perhaps better at rest; to live unchanged; as in shame and regret.

"So be it, Hytham." You agreed, now in a much more subdued tone. "If you have come to an agreement with Basim, please tell me immediately!" You promised him as he bowed in agreement.

Maybe you were given a chance for a way out after all. Maybe you'll finally manage to break free from your brother's wings. Maybe if you start on this unknown path, you can find yourself in someone else's arms.

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Stories of a Norse Daughter (2)

Eivor Varinsdóttir, Eivor & Basim Ibn Ishaq

Little mid-story fics, mainly focused on Eivor. No big spoilers (so far).

Rating: Teen/Gen

Word Count: 600

Previous Chapter (1)

“You want to bargain again?” the young boy in charge of his father’s shop in Ravensthorpe asked.

“No, no. You misunderstood.” Eivor responded.

“You drive a hard bargain” the boy insisted. “It must be because you let us stay here so kindly.”

“I’m not talking prices today, I just came to ask what it was that you nee--”

In her peripheral vision the Norse woman saw the man that she had looked for walk by casually, yet determined in his step. She looked over to the boy again who awaited the end of the sentence with hope in his eyes.

“I, uh, have to go, we’ll have to talk another time” she parted quickly, chasing after the man who walked like a ghost. All day she had looked for him across the settlement.

“Eivor, good to see you” Basim said as she had followed him up to his step.

“Good to see you too, I was looking for you” she replied. Both stopped at the crossing before the docks.

“One can never stay in one place for too long. It invites danger”

“You mean you can never stay in one place for too long.” Eivor corrected him, “What danger would there be awaiting you here?”

“Too many key figures in one place invite all kinds of unwelcome guests. Not to speak of the trouble too many headstrong minds can bring each other” he explained swiftly, “No matter, what was it that you needed me for?”

The Norse woman gave him a look of doubt and judgement at his talk, naturally, as she usually did before continuing.

“Hytham showed me that trick you do. With the jumping.”

“Ah, the leap. Did you try it?”

“I did” she confessed with slight ecstasy, “You know, now that you spoke of danger. And that thing with your hand there.”

She gestured vaguely towards him without pointing.

Basim followed her glance to his arm, then looked back at her with discernment.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No” she confessed with a slight smirk. “Just wanted to point out that you might be the one inviting the danger here.”

Basim’s brow raised for a moment before he focused on her calmly and in a collected manner.

“All of us are, in our own ways, possibly.”

“Hah, yeah, that sounds about right. Valka makes a mean drink. Spits in it, too.” Eivor chuckled before she waved it off, “I wanted to ask you whether you had any leads on the person we are looking for in Wincestre.”

“That you must ask Hytham, not me.”

“Why not you?”

“I am on a different matter entirely right now in another area.”

“What kind of matter? Where?” Eivor asked quickly.

“That is for me and my circles to know.”

“Oh so you can live here with my people and hear all about what I am doing but you won’t tell me what you’re up to?”

“Not all our paths can be in the open. Some require discretion. But do not worry, if your brother is right about his beliefs and visions, you will come to know this sooner than you wish anyway.”

“You and Sigurd, seriously” Eivor snarled, “It’s like your little boys club”

Basim’s brow was raised once more.

“Argh, you with your hidden agenda, you won’t tell me anything anyway” she said and walked off to the docks, then with her back towards him spoke loud and clear over her shoulder, “But we’re sailing at dawn and you’re coming with us. Better have some story to tell, and if it’s made up, I don’t care”