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Ibn-La'Ahad and Miles (847, 26)

Desmond hated feeling lonely and helpless. These feelings had been suffocating him when he was on the Farm and it took an impulsive decision to leave after getting the cut on his lips for him to finally be able to breathe. He didn’t feel helpless after he left the Farm. Being outside for the first time in his life had made his heart beat fast, both from fear and from excitement but he used the lessons he learned from the Farm to keep himself alive and to stay away from trouble. He had always been alone. Whether it was on the Farm or in New York, Desmond had never believed he was close to anyone. Not his parents, not the other children on the Farm, not his coworkers or his boss in Bad Weather, not even the people he had a sexual relationship with. Then again, that last one was pretty much given considering all of them had either been one-night stands or short-lived sex buddy arrangements. Desmond had never really connected with anyone.

Until Abstergo kidnapped him.

The helplessness had been the one that took hold of him first, slowly choking him the more days he spent in the white room of Abstergo’s Rome facility. He wasn’t even sure what he had been thinking back then. He used barbed jokes and snarky comments as a form of protest but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to escape such a highly secured facility. Even when he tried to show more of his vulnerable weak side to Vidic and Lucy, he knew that the doctor would never fall for it and would never lower his guard down. The little breadcrumbs that Lucy left him and the hints of her Assassin affiliation had worked like a charm and had hooked into Desmond’s skin without any problem, considering Desmond’s helpless situation. 

Was it Stockholm Syndrome?

Desmond could never be sure.

It was Abstergo that made him feel helpless once more.

Yet it was because of Abstergo that he finally connected with someone.

The irony of it all was that he connected to Altaïr, not to Lucy.

After Lucy ‘saved’ him, he joined the Assassins and he felt a connection not to Shaun and Rebecca but to Ezio.

And now, he had a deeper connection with Ratonhnhaké:ton than he ever had with his own father. 

It was because of his connection with them (okay, it was because of the Bleeding Effect but Desmond preferred to think of it as an actual connection than something the Animus forced into him) that, sometimes, Desmond dreamed of their childhood. It was always disorientating whenever he woke up after having such a dream. Even after reaching a Synch Nexus with Altaïr and Ezio, a few hours spent in their childhood always made Desmond need a few minutes to organize his thoughts and remember what kind of childhood Desmond Miles had. It took longer with Ratonhnhaké:ton as his bleed of his Kenway ancestor was still a bit unstable unlike the other two but it was still preferable compared to dreaming of Altaïr’s childhood…

Dreaming of Altaïr’s childhood had always been the worst.

Ezio’s childhood had been a peaceful one, full of laughter and love. It was a bittersweet experience, knowing the tragedy that would befall the Auditores later on, but Desmond was able to console himself with the fact that Ezio had found peace and happiness in the end. 

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s childhood had been similar and, as long as he didn’t dream about the day Charles Lee came to his village, Desmond would be able to deal with the feeling of loss that came once he woke up. Dreaming of the fire and Charles Lee was a rare occurrence when he would dream of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s childhood and he preferred the carefree childhood of Ratonhnhaké:ton over a grown-ass man beating and threatening a child, thanks.

Altaïr’s childhood though…

Well. 

Masyaf wasn’t the warmest place to grow up in, both literally and figuratively, but Altaïr had never questioned it. Why would he? It was, as he said to Al Mualim before, the only life he ever knew. But Desmond knew of three other lives that he could compare to the isolated and lonely childhood Altaïr had. Hell, out of the four of them, Desmond’s own childhood was the closest to Altaïr’s.

If he was to ignore the fact that Altaïr’s mother died giving birth to him, his father was executed in front of his eyes then he had to watch as Abbas’ father killed himself in front of him for some kind of fucked up ‘atonement’ bullshit after he was taken in by Al Mualim, isolating him even further from the rest of the Brotherhood.

… Okay. Desmond may have said that his childhood was the closest to Altaïr but that was compared to Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton. Even then, the distance between their childhoods was so large, that it was like they were an ocean away from one another. 

What Desmond was trying to say was that dreaming of Altaïr’s childhood always left him feeling lonely and helpless. And, once Desmond got a hold of himself, all of that would change into sadness because of one thought that would persist inside him.

Altaïr didn’t realize just how lonely his childhood had been. To him, it was simply… the way it was meant to be.

It seemed ironic that he would be remembering it now as he stared at the device that would kill him but save the world. He could see from the expression on Minerva’s face that she was still desperately hoping that Desmond would change his mind. That he would let the world burn just to keep Juno imprisoned in this place. 

Had Desmond felt even just a bit of trust, maybe he would have found some solace in the fact that Minerva cared for him enough to let the world burn.

But he wasn’t stupid.

The only reason why Minerva was stopping him now was because it would mean Juno’s freedom from this prison.

Or perhaps this device had not been the last resort. Maybe there had been a different plan that Minerva and Tinia had left for Desmond but that one had been destroyed by Juno during her imprisonment. Shaun did mention that there was something underneath them that Juno didn’t want them checking out.

Who could say?

Desmond surely couldn’t.

And he didn’t even care enough to ask.

Because all he could feel, all that mattered right now, was the feeling of loneliness and helplessness he had come to associate with the memory of Altaïr’s childhood. 

It seemed like some kind of ironic poetry that he would remember Altaïr as he walked to his death. 

The ancestor who started Desmond’s journey to accepting his lineage.

The Assassin who gave him the foundation that he honed with Ezio’s and Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories to become an Assassin of his own right.

The man who Desmond wished had a happier ending than taking his last breath in a lonely and dark library, tired and alone.

Even as the device burned him from the inside, even as he screamed out in pain, he couldn’t help but think.

He was also going to take his final breath in a lonely and dark place, tired and alone.

In the end, he was just as lonely as Altaïr had been.

Ibn-La'Ahad and ??? (3, 0)

Desmond wasn’t sure what had happened but he knew that he had just, strangely enough, been born again. 

That weird feeling of being born was something Desmond would never forget even if he wanted to (and he absolutely wanted to). 

But the weirdness only grew when he recognized that the people around him were speaking in Arabic. The kind of archaic Levant Arabic that he knew because of Altaïr. When one of them proclaimed that ‘she’ had died, Desmond wondered if he was reliving Altaïr’s birth. 

Was this some kind of self-defense Bleeding Effect to stop Desmond from feeling the immense pain that he was currently in back in the Grand Temple?

Or was this that event that people say when someone was about to die? That their entire life would flash just before their death? 

And because Desmond had memories of three more people, he was going to have to watch their entire life flash before his eyes before he died?

At this point, Desmond wouldn’t be surprised if he was just that unlucky.

That was when the woman who had been carrying him transferred him to another person’s arms as she said solemnly, “I am terribly sorry, Faheem. She did not survive. But she was able to give birth to a strong boy.”

… Who the hell was Faheem?

Desmond didn’t remember any Faheem from Altaïr’s memories but… he smelled familiar.

Which was a strange thing to think about but, at this point, with his eyes being impaired because he was apparently a baby right now (what the fuck), he needed all the information he could get using his other senses.

Because the longer Faheem carried him to god knows where, the more he could say that this was definitely not his ‘life’ flashing before his eyes before he died.

This was… 

Oh god.

He felt like throwing up at the idea that perhaps he had been reborn somewhere in the past (in Levant!) began to sound more and more plausible.

Oh fuck.

He didn’t know the name of Altaïr’s grandfather, right?

What if…

What if Faheem was his grandfather?

Did that mean he had been reborn as Altaïr’s…

“Baby?” A cute child’s voice asked and Desmond felt Faheem move like he was either kneeling or sitting down.

“Yes. This is your brother.” Faheem introduced Desmond in a gentle voice.

What? That can’t be right. Altaïr didn’t have any uncles…

“He’s small.” The child said as he poked Desmond’s cheek, making Desmond scrunch his face. 

“He is, isn’t he?” The fondness in Faheem’s gentle voice was clear before his tone became hard as he ordered, “He will be our responsibility now, Malik-”

Wait. What?

“It will be up to us to make sure he grows up as a proud member of the Al-Sayf family.”

WHAT.

“Do you understand?” 

“Yes, father.” The child replied seriously.

“Good.” The gentleness returned as Faheem ordered, “Now, say hello to your little brother.”

“Hello, Kadar.” The child… no… Malik whispered softly and Desmond felt his little hands gently wrap around him as Faheem guided him into holding him.

Well.

Fuck.

Desmond had always found his bleed of Altaïr… lacking. Abstergo’s Animus wasn’t really immersive (the whole using his face instead of reading and recreating Altaïr’s actual face and using a preloaded voice with an accent that sounded absolutely out of place really didn’t help) and, even after reaching a Synch Nexus with him, their connection still felt… less than what he had with Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton. And it showed in what he could remember from Altaïr’s life. Ratonhnhaké:ton’s life was like an ongoing TV show that Desmond was marathoning. There were gaps in between episodes but Desmond was able to clearly remember each important memory. Ezio’s life was the most vivid of the three. He had been reliving Ezio’s life in the Animus for far too long that Ezio’s memories were sometimes clearer than some of his own. 

Altaïr though… 

His memories felt like a book series that Desmond read as a child and he had only been able to read the third part and the last part. Anything before that or anything in between part 3 and the final volume was left in summarized paragraphs that Desmond had just skimmed through.

Not to mention, he knew jack-shit about what the hell was happening in Levant during Altaïr’s childhood.

No one in Abstergo bothered to explain to him anything about the places Altaïr went to, about the political and historical significance of what he had done, about anything. Abstergo and the Templars only cared that they got what they wanted and immersion (and freaking safety) had never been a priority to them. 

All the knowledge he had about Levant and the Third Crusades was from Altaïr’s memories and they, as Desmond said before, weren’t exactly clear.

Which only made it all the more frustrating that his bleeds were gone and the unclear memories of what he had from Altaïr had now become engulfed in this fog that Desmond could barely see in. He had to think really hard to try and recollect anything from Altaïr’s memories and each time he tried, it was like wading into the fog with a flashlight that had dying batteries. He would be able to remember it if it was a memory that made an impact on Altaïr but the details would be fuzzy, making it feel like he was reading a summary of the memory instead of remembering the actual memory. He didn’t even have time to grieve over the loss of his bleed of not only Altaïr but Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton as well.

Because he was in Levant.

As Kadar Al-Sayf.

The doomed younger brother of Malik Al-Sayf who was fated to die because of Altaïr’s arrogance.

Well, fuck that shit.

Desmond wasn’t going to just roll over and die because that was what Minerva and her people expected from their calculations (whatever the hell that meant).

He was going to survive and he was going to make sure Altaïr didn’t fuck shit up.

Like, get him killed in Jerusalem.

To do that, he needed information. 

And, as a baby, that information came from a very strange place.

Faheem Al-Sayf was… well. He was a contradictory man. From what Desmond could remember, during Al Mualim’s time, the old man had made everyone believe that loving their spouse or their children was a weakness and he pretty much unofficially ordered them to not love them and to focus on the Creed.

Total bullshit, of course. It was just one of his many manipulations to keep the Levantine Brotherhood under his control and almost all of them fell for it.

One of the few exceptions was Faheem Al-Sayf.

Sorta.

While Al Mualim favored calmness and rationality, Faheem might as well be the black sheep of the Masyaf council as he was the type that liked to advocate for ‘kill first, ask questions later’ and, Desmond’s favorite, ‘kill this dude to make everyone else afraid of us’.

How did he know? 

Well, Faheem liked to talk to him whenever he held him and he always held him at night, when he was about to go to sleep. It seemed to be an uncommon practice considering the women in charge of him always tried to remind Faheem that he wasn’t required to be with his own son until he was two years old.

What. The. Fuck.

Desmond couldn’t even feel annoyed by the dismissive way Faheem treated the women in charge of his own son because this entire setup was just fucking weird. 

Desmond had initially assumed that the women had been friends with his ‘mother’ or something but, thank god for gossipers who liked to babble around babies, Desmond learned that he was in Al Mualim’s ‘Paradise’.

Now, Desmond barely remembered what Paradise had been. Altaïr had never been interested in it so Desmond only knew it as the garden where women stayed. Apparently, Paradise was a loose term to describe a certain part of the fortress where women affiliated with the Assassins stayed. The garden was the entrance to their domain and they took care of certain duties in exchange for food, shelter, and some kind of fucked up freedom.

Their primary duties were to ‘service’ the Assassins who visit the garden (even Al Mualim which was, first of all, NOT something Desmond wanted to learn ever, and, second of all, ew) and to take care of the babies until they were two years old. Normally, the ‘flower’ who gave birth to the baby would be in charge of that baby but, since Desmond’s mother died, he was given to one of the other women who was breastfeeding. 

Or…

At least, they tried to get him to drink. Desmond refused because there was no way he was going to suck some unsuspecting woman’s nipples and drink her breast milk.

That was just too weird.

Thankfully, one of the older women that everybody else called Mama , knew what to do and gave Desmond goat milk. It seemed that the older women in Paradise were considered like some kind of council that was in charge of all the women in Paradise and they were the ones who made sure everybody did their duties.

Paradise was a haven for women, in some weird way that Desmond was pretty sure he couldn’t fully understand because he didn’t know enough about the Levant. They had duties to perform but they were also free to choose. Any Assassin who entered the garden had to wait by the entrance and the women liked to whisper to one another about who would greet them. The Assassins weren’t allowed to choose the woman who would ‘service’ them (except Al Mualim and, again, ew) and, while the Assassins could request a woman to bear his child, he couldn’t choose who would bear it. That choice was left to the women who usually decide who would bear the child by either asking the woman who liked to service that specific Assassin (they usually said yes) or, and Desmond wasn’t even kidding, there would be some kind of presentation (or, more accurately, a freaking auction) where someone would list the accomplishments of the Assassin who had requested as well as a reminder of how anyone pregnant would be exempted from all their duties until the baby turns two years old and sent to their father and that the Assassin was required to pay tribute to the woman carrying his child for the next five years. One of the Mamas reminded everyone that half of the tribute they would receive would be given to Al Mualim and would be used for the maintenance of Paradise. If the unladylike snorts and eye-rolls were any indication, most of the women didn’t believe that it was being used for ‘maintenance’ and again…

What. The. Fuck.

‘What the fuck’ seemed like an understatement at this point and the women here seemed to enjoy teasing the Assassins who enter the garden for their own personal amusement.

Desmond was even unfortunate enough to be in the arms of one of the younger ones who had a crush on the Assassin who had visited one day and Desmond had to suffer through being in close proximity to two young adults awkwardly flirting.

The line ‘I would be honored to be gifted a child from you’ was both too mushy and too awkward that Desmond groaned. Unfortunately, the two assumed he was cooing and their happy family fantasy only grew.

Was this a kink?

Was Desmond being used as a kink prop?!

The women in Paradise were free to leave anytime but it seemed they never do because they were mostly either daughters of Assassins who decided to stay in Masyaf as a flower to support the Brotherhood (again, fucked up) or those who had nowhere else to go. Many of them also married the Assassin they bore a child to, mainly because that seemed like the logical option at that point according to them or, as some of the more pessimistic of them would say ‘they were fools enough to fall in love with their man’. It seemed that, while marriage was not forbidden, it was rare for an Assassin to marry out of love. 

Faheem and Desmond’s mother certainly did not, if he was to believe the whispers of the other women. Apparently, Faheem’s wife bore two sons as part of a contract she had with Faheem. In exchange for two sons, Faheem would marry her and take care of her. By marrying an Assassin, they would no longer be able to stay in Paradise nor receive any help from the flowers but the Assassin no longer had to give any tributes which meant that, if the Assassin was to give their wife any money, half of it was certainly not going to be given to Al Mualim.

Desmond was barely one year old and this was the kind of fucked up inner working of the Levantine Brotherhood that he shouldn’t be exposed to. What the fuck, Levantine Brotherhood?

Actually…

What the fuck, Al Mualim?

There was even a rumor going on that Faheem promised that their sons will take care of her even if he was to die. Unfortunately, she died of complications and one of the older women said to the younger ones that it was punishment for her falling in love with the war hawk but no one took that seriously as everyone agreed that there was no love lost between Desmond’s mother and the war hawk. 

Which was the title Al Mualim had given Faheem. Any other time, such a title would have been a clear indication that someone was being regarded highly but the tone the women used whenever they called Faheem the ‘war hawk’ made it sound like an insult.

It would take some time for Desmond to learn it was because Faheem was known in the Brotherhood and the women in Paradise as a fool who always advocated for violence and death.  

That was why the women let him see Desmond every day. None of them wished to face the wrath of the bloodthirsty war hawk.

It was a miracle that Malik grew up to be the level-headed rational man that he was in Altaïr’s memories, all things considered.

Or maybe it was because Malik knew how the Brotherhood saw the Al-Sayf family that he became such a man.

Faheem definitely knew about how they were seen and how they talked behind his back if the way he whispered to Desmond as he tried to get him to fall asleep one night was any indication.

“You will hear many things, asfoor . Many unfaltering things about our family and about me. But you must never show any weakness. Those who whisper behind our backs are cowards and those who keep silent but show judgment in their eyes are weaklings. Ignore them and keep honing your skills. Show them that we deserve to have our voices heard through our minds and our blades.”

Okay. First of all, who the fuck expects a baby to fall asleep while having to hear about that kind of shitty pep talk?

And second of all… 

Desmond was absolutely confused if Faheem was just brash and bloodthirsty as the gossips say or if he was just shortsighted and incapable of seeing the bigger picture.

Either way, he was kept in the council for a reason and Desmond was pretty sure it wasn’t because he liked advocating violence. Even Al Mualim wasn’t that stupid. 

Which meant he had to have the skills that, as he said, made people unable to pretend not to hear him. 

He wasn’t sure about his relationship with his late wife but it seemed to be becoming more and more possible that the rumor it was a contractual marriage to continue the Al-Sayf bloodline was true. He definitely did not bother to tell Desmond anything about the woman who gave birth to him and Desmond never saw him grieve for her death. 

Or maybe he grieved when he was alone, who knows? 

Still, Faheem never missed a day visiting him for the next two years. Sometimes, he would even take Malik with him and he would remain silent as he watched his oldest son try to play with his younger brother. 

And Desmond didn’t mind playing with the boy as Malik as a child was an adorable little child who always smiled brightly whenever he got his brother to play with him.

Faheem was curt and rude to most of the women but he was respectful to the older ones. He never raised his voice when he was talking to Desmond and his touch was always gentle and careful.

Faheem was a man that contradicted Al Mualim’s views of family and Desmond wasn’t sure what to feel about the man.

Ibn-La'Ahad and Al-Sayf (5, 2)

The day he turned two, Desmond woke up at the crack of dawn because of the loud commotion just outside the room he slept in together with the other children.

He recognized Faheem’s voice immediately and Desmond yawned as he sat up, rubbing his left eye. He could see that a few of the children were waking up because of the noise and got off his cot. He opened the door slightly and peeked outside as he listened in.

“The sun has risen,” Faheem argued as he glared at the small woman standing between him and the door leading to the children’s bedroom.

“It’s still hours before the start of the day!” The small woman argued back in an irritated tone, “Please, go home and come back after breakfast. We promise we will have Kadar ready-”

“No.” The larger man cut her off and stepped towards her, towering over her as he said in a controlled tone that did not hide his growing anger, “I will take my son now and we will celebrate the day he was born by having breakfast together with his older brother.”

Desmond sighed and quietly closed the door. He ignored the curious sleepy stare of the other children and went to his small cot. They had already prepared the small sack he would be taking with him and had placed it right next to his cot so he simply grabbed that and walked back to the door. 

“Be healthy every year, Kadar.” One of the children, a young boy who was born a few months earlier than him, mumbled sleepily as he watched Desmond grab the door handle.

A chorus of sleepy greetings similar to that resounded all over the room and Desmond couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his face. 

He wasn’t sure why the other children in Paradise gathered around him a lot but he tried his best to be patient with them and maybe he had fallen into what he remembered of how Ezio had acted around his recruits and how Ratonhnhaké:ton had acted around young children from his village and Ellen’s daughter as well as baby Hunter. That seemed to make the children like him so he counted it as a win. 

Still, it was nice being told happy birthday even if the normal birthday greeting in Levant took some time getting used to. Desmond had never been greeted before, as far as he could remember. None of the children on the Farm interacted with Desmond unless it was during training and he always gave a different date whenever someone asked when his birthday was back when he was a bartender, mostly to distance himself from his past but also because it was fun messing with other people.

The fact that his birthday was December 21, the same day that he activated the device back in the Grand Temple, didn’t even sour the slight happiness he felt over being greeted for the first time in his entire life. 

“Thanks, guys.” Desmond grinned at the sleepy children and waved his hand, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Some of them waved back and Desmond opened the door loudly just in time to stop the screaming match that was certainly about to happen between Faheem and the poor woman in charge of keeping an eye on the children for the night (and early morning).

The moment Faheem saw him, the anger on his face changed into a gentle smile and he ignored the woman as he took Desmond in his arms. He pressed a soft kiss on Desmond’s cheek before he whispered, “May you be healthy for each coming year, son.”

Desmond couldn’t help but return his embrace, pressing his cheek against his father’s scratchy beard as he whispered, “Let’s go home, father.”

Desmond’s first official day as a member of the Al-Sayf family was mostly a quiet affair. Malik was still asleep when they got home and Desmond knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he had a child’s body now. He’d probably crash during his afternoon nap though.

Surprisingly, it was easy to adapt to having a child’s body. He knew that the women in Paradise thought he was a bit strange but they mainly just thought he was a quiet child who didn’t make any trouble which they were grateful about since there were a few troublemakers they needed to focus on.

Hopefully, Faheem wouldn’t mind having a strange son.

Desmond still didn’t understand his father enough to know if his ‘strangeness’ would be a source of scrutiny or not. He’d probably have to play it by ear but the eldest Al-Sayf didn’t seem to mind that Desmond was mostly quiet and preferred to listen to his stories every time he visited.

And Faheem was being quiet right now, watching as Desmond looked around the small house they were currently in. Their home was apparently in the village below Masyaf fortress, but it was in what Desmond liked to think of as an imaginary boundary between the village and the road leading to the fortress. He knew that many Assassins had their own rooms in Masyaf as that had been where Altaïr had stayed for the majority of his life.

No matter how hard Desmond thought about it, he couldn’t remember if Altaïr lived in a house like this when his father was still alive. Actually, he didn’t even know if Altaïr was in Masyaf at the moment. He knew from the flowers in Paradise that many Assassins had homes outside of Masyaf, especially those with children. It was mainly a precaution as Masyaf was a prime target for enemies of the Assassins so it seemed more logical to keep their ‘weaknesses’ away from Masyaf.

It seemed Faheem didn’t agree to that considering the house they were living in looked quite lived in. It was a small house composed of one main area and three doors leading to small rooms. Faheem let him see an empty room first and Desmond assumed that was going to be his room when his father didn’t say anything after he dropped the small sack he brought with him. The second room he saw was another small room where Malik was sleeping in so Desmond closed that one without making any noise. The last room was clearly Faheem’s and he just took a peek before closing it, not wanting to anger the older man. 

That seemed to be the wrong move because said older man raised an eyebrow at him, probably finding it unusual for a small child to not be curious about the many strange things (they were weapons, there were enough weapons to arm the entire village inside his room, why???) inside. Desmond ignored it and placed his hands on his stomach. Trying to make his already big eyes bigger and pouting slightly, Desmond said, “Hungry…”

Faheem’s hand was gentle as he ruffled Desmond’s curling short hair and his smile was soft as he took his son’s hand.

“Let’s get something to cook for breakfast then, shall we?”

Desmond nodded and grinned at his father as they walked out of their little home. 

The village had always been a foggy memory to Desmond and it had become nonexistent after he no longer had the Bleeding Effect. But the village as the sun dawned was a quiet place and Faheem seemed to know where to go as he knocked on the door of one of the many houses littering the biggest part of the village. A wizened man with a messy white beard opened the window next to the door and groaned when he saw Faheem, “Why are you waking me this early, boy?”

“I’m here for four yams and whatever fresh vegetables you have for today,” Faheem said in a respectful tone that actually surprised Desmond.

“I’ll open my stall later. You can come get whatever you need there.” The old man said with a sigh.

“I wish to procure them now.” 

The old man glared at him as he retorted, “And I wish to not be bothered by an idiot before breakfast. Unfortunately, it seems we won’t be able to get what we want for today.”

“Have a heart.” Faheem picked Desmond up and rested him on his arm while placing his other hand on Desmond’s back to keep him balanced, making the older man turn to stare at the young child in Faheem’s arms, as his father explained, “Today is the first time Malik and I get to spend the entire day with our asfoor and celebrate his birthday.”

Holy shit.

Was he actually using his son to guilt-trip a freaking merchant?

Well…

Desmond could get behind that.

Desmond wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and pressed his cheek against the older man’s cheek, ignoring the scratchy feeling of his beard. He blinked at the merchant a few times before shyly ducking his head underneath his father’s chin and pressing his closed hand over his lips.

The old man’s left eye twitched before he let out a big tired sigh and shook his head. He stepped away from the window and the morally questionable father and son duo waited for a few minutes before the old man returned and handed a small sack over the window. Faheem stepped closer and gently patted Desmond’s back. Taking that as his cue to take the small sack, Desmond grabbed it with both his hands and held it close to his chest, feeling the vegetables inside it move slightly. Faheem let out a small bow as he said, “Thank you, brother.”

“Yes, yes. Now, get out of my sight, novice.” The old man waved his hand in a shooing manner.

“Thank you!” Desmond said with a grin.

Better to try and build a positive relationship with the merchants now while he was still cute and adorable.

The old man stared at him for a moment before saying in a gentle voice, “May you be healthy for each coming year.”

Before Desmond could reply and thank him again, the old man slammed the window shut. Seeing his son pout as he stared at the closed window, Faheem chuckled and began to walk away as he continued to hold his son in his arms, reassuring the pouting boy, “Do not take it to heart, asfoor . That old man is always grumpy this early in the morning.”

Yeah? And whose fault was that?

They passed by another house and Faheem knocked once more. This time, a man who looked a decade older than Faheem opened the window and didn’t seem to mind when Faheem asked for bread. They were given another small sack and Faheem held it as it was quite hot. Desmond did wonder why it seemed like Faheem didn’t pay for anything but he kept his mouth shut, knowing it would look weird if a young child was to ask why they were getting free stuff. They returned to their small home and Desmond watched as Faheem prepared a simple meal while he munched on the warm small piece of freshly baked bread that his father handed him.

The small fire pit in the middle of the main room seemed to also be used for cooking and Desmond watched as his father filled a pot with water from a jug and added various dried herbs that Desmond wasn’t familiar with. He added an entire clove of garlic that he crushed and one onion that he quickly cut into sixteen equal parts. All of these came from a nearby basket filled with dried herbs, garlic, onions, and… ginger? There were even a few bottles of oil in it. He picked three small onions from the sack that the merchant had given them, giving them a quick rinse with the water from the jug. He skinned them and cut them into four smaller pieces before throwing them into the pot as well. Faheem walked towards a large sack in the corner with the pot in his hands and used some kind of cup to scoop out whatever was in the sack into the pot. From the sounds Desmond heard, it was probably some kind of grain? Faheem walked back into the fire pit as he used his other hand to mix whatever was in the pot.    

Four yams were placed on the fire pit before Faheem lit it. Once the fire was large enough, Faheem placed the pot on top of the fire. A circular metal structure between the fire and the pot made sure the pot wasn’t going to fall on the fire itself.

Even with the lid on, a mouth-watering fragrance soon enveloped the room and Desmond’s stomach growled. He had lied about being hungry before but the smell was definitely telling his child body that, yes, he was actually hungry now and would like more food than the piece of bread he had just finished eating (not that the bread wasn’t delicious). Faheem chuckled softly and patted Desmond’s head before breaking another piece of bread in half and giving it to his young son.

“Endure it for a little while, asfoor . It will be ready soon.” Faheem said with a small smile and Desmond nodded, taking the bread from his father and eating it much slower than the last one. About ten minutes later, Desmond turned around when he heard some kind of creaking sound.

“Again,” Faheem ordered without looking away from the fire pit where he was using an iron rod to poke at the yams that were looking quite burned.

“Yes, father.” The young high-pitched tone of Malik’s child voice said quietly and he went back to his room and closed it. Desmond watched curiously as the door opened once more and, this time, Malik opened it slowly. He stopped when the gap was just large enough for him to slip through and he slowly closed it as well. The entire time, the door did not make a creaking sound.

Desmond turned to stare at their father with wide eyes. Holy shit. Was this a Levantine Brotherhood thing? Teaching young kids how to sneak around their own home?

Hell. Malik’s footsteps were even quieter than Desmond’s own footsteps when he had been walking around the house!

Speaking of…

“May you be healthy for each coming year, Kadar!” Malik greeted and Desmond was surprised when he was suddenly hugged from behind. Desmond stood frozen for a moment as he stopped himself from throwing Malik over his shoulder which had been what his instincts were telling him. Months of paranoia and stress compounded by bleeding three justified paranoid Assassins would do that to a person. 

A moment passed and he relaxed in his brother’s arms. He turned around and grinned at the older boy as he said, “Thanks, Malik!”

“Breakfast is ready,” Faheem announced as he took off the pot from the fire pit. He placed it on the ground before placing a kettle he had filled with water from the jug earlier and a few pieces of dried leaves that Desmond was pretty sure were tea leaves into the fire pit. As he poked the burned yams and dragged them away from the fire, he ordered, “Malik, get the cutleries.”

“Yes, father,” Malik replied as he quickly got up. He went towards another end of the room and opened a small box. Desmond watched as Faheem took out a cloth from his satchel and used it to hold one of the burned yams. Malik returned with the cutleries and placed a bowl and spoon near the pot before placing cups near the fire pit. As Malik opened the lid and started to scoop out the content with a ladle into each bowl, Desmond watched as Faheem broke the yam in half, revealing the steamy cooked yam inside. He grabbed one of the oil bottles from the basket and drizzled a generous amount onto the yam before handing it to Desmond. 

“Do not eat the skin,” Faheem instructed as Desmond took the yam. Desmond blew on the steaming yam and Faheem watched as his youngest son took a bite. Desmond’s cheeks puffed and he kept his mouth open as he blew repeatedly. The yam was hot in his mouth but the rich garlic-based flavor of the oil made it all the more delicious that Desmond didn’t want to throw it up even if it was burning his mouth at the moment. Faheem chuckled and let out a small grin as he warned, “Be careful. It’s still hot.” 

No shit.

Knowing that his father was teasing him, Desmond glared at him but that only made the older man chuckle once more. He watched as Desmond aggressively blew on the yam before taking a smaller bite, lips curving into a pleased smile as he chewed on the more bearable piece. Faheem grabbed another yam with his metal rod and took out a similar piece of cloth from his satchel. He broke the yam in half and drizzled it generously with the same oil as he had done with Desmond’s yam and placed it next to Malik’s bowl. He took a third yam and broke it in half as well but stopped when Malik had finished preparing each bowl. He stared at Desmond and said gently, “Welcome home, son.”

Desmond was unsure of how to reply to that so he said the first thing he thought of, “It’s good to be home.”

Unfortunately, his yam had cooled enough that he was able to take a big bite beforehand and he had been chewing on it when Faheem spoke. This meant his reply was rendered incomprehensible and his cheeks were puffed with the amount of yam crammed inside. Both Faheem and Malik chuckled and Malik ruffled his younger brother’s hair, making Desmond lean to his touch. 

Desmond’s second birthday as an Al-Sayf was celebrated with a simple breakfast of bread, yam, and porridge. The fourth yam was shared between the two brothers and the porridge was quite delicious that Desmond had asked for a second serving. After breakfast, all three of them walked to the part of the village where stalls had been set up. The same man that Faheem had requested bread from waved at them and gave both Desmond and Malik a piece of flower-shaped citrus-flavored sweetbread each. By the end of their short walk, Desmond was half-asleep in his father’s arms.

It was the happiest birthday he ever had.

Ibn-La'Ahad and Al-Sayf (6, 3)

A year passed by peacefully. Desmond learned more about his new family and cemented his place as the younger child of the Al-Sayf family. During this time, he learned that the Al-Sayf family was… well… they were quite known all over Masyaf.

It seemed that Desmond’s grandfather was one of the original members of the Levantine Brotherhood who followed Al Mualim and supported him when he built the new headquarters of their Brotherhood, away from the guidance of those in Alamut. Faheem followed his father’s footsteps and took his place in the council after his death, five years before Desmond’s birth (or rebirth, whatever). 

According to the records inside Faheem’s room (which he allowed his sons to enter as long as they promise not to touch any of the weapons), the Al-Sayf family was probably one of the oldest Assassin families in Levant and there were even records dating as far back as 870 when a member of the Al-Sayf family journeyed to England to create and manage a bureau in a settlement south of a place called Leicestershire. 

It seemed that their grandfather had been like Faheem and records showed he had been one of the more active members of the Levantine Brotherhood, having been noted to have assassinated many Syrian rulers that were against the Brotherhood, including an atabeg of Mosul. Faheem took over his father’s role after his father became part of the court in Masyaf and there were so many reports of Faheem’s missions inside the room that it took Desmond two days just going through them. In summary, Faheem’s place in the council was definitely because of his skills. 

Hell, at this point, Desmond was just reeling over the fact that the Levantine Brotherhood had done so much assassinating, sabotaging, and spying all over Levant that he wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him that Al Mualim was actually the real ruler of Levant. 

Although, it was interesting that Faheem was taken out of the field to be part of the council when it was clear that his strength lies in fieldwork. 

Malik had been curious why his little brother seemed so interested in reports and, trying not to arouse suspicion, Desmond lied and told him that he liked the pretty lines with a big grin. This, in turn, made Malik assume that his little brother wanted to learn how to read so he started to teach him how to read and write. 

To be completely honest, Desmond still remembered how to read and write in English, Arabic, Italian, and even the Kanien'kehá:ka’s language. It took more time for him to remember the words in a specific language if it wasn’t English (his primary language as Desmond Miles) or Arabic (the language that he’d been hearing and using ever since he was reborn as Kadar Al-Sayf) but, otherwise, he was still fluent in them. His French was a mix of okay and barely passable thanks to Altaïr and Ezio while his Latin was also quite good thanks to the foundation from Altaïr and the more religious-based Italian nobleman knowledge from Ezio. 

Still, seeing Malik’s entire face brighten whenever he tried to get him to sit with him and teach him how to write and read was enough reason for Desmond to enjoy their lessons. Malik was patient with him and he always looked so excited and proud when Desmond got it immediately. 

He also gave the best head pats. 

Malik Al-Sayf.

He was one of the most memorable persons during Desmond’s time reliving Altaïr’s memories, second only to Altaïr himself. But Desmond had always thought of him as more of a… side-character. A reasonable person who was hard on Altaïr yet was also one of the more trustworthy members of the Levantine Brotherhood and one of the key persons integral to Altaïr’s development. Because of the less immersive Animus of Abstergo and his less than clear connection with Altaïr, everyone in Altaïr’s life were… they were people, yes, but Desmond didn’t feel that close to any of them. Not like the Auditores or even Achilles. Hell, George Washington felt closer to him than Malik.

But that only made it easier for Desmond to form a connection with this Malik.

His Malik.

His older brother.  

Only a year had passed yet Desmond’s thoughts of who Malik Al-Sayf was had been replaced from the distant memories from Altaïr to his personal memories of his brother. 

The similarity was uncanny, of course. For one, even though he was still young, Malik had already shown great promise as an Assassin. It didn’t show that much yet but there were times when Desmond caught a glimpse of Malik’s sharp tongue and it was mostly directed at the other children. Malik and Desmond didn’t play with the other children as they all knew of their father and maybe they were warned by their parents or they saw how their parents treated their father. Either way, they stayed away from the Al-Sayf boys. This reminded Desmond too much of the Farm that he couldn’t help but sigh tiredly at having to deal with this kind of bullshit again.

“It’s okay, asfoor .” 

He leaned at his brother’s hand on his head, listening to him as he gently said, “We have each other. That’s all that matters.”

And that was the contradiction of the Al-Sayf men. Malik and Faheem held little patience for other people and the people they even bothered to respect could be counted on one hand but they both treated Desmond with a gentleness that he didn’t remember ever receiving from Desmond Miles’ parents at all.

It made him feel warm all over and maybe he used their softness on him to his advantage. Any time he slipped or he did something strange (like accidentally cursing in Italian when he touched a hot pot), he just looked at them while pouting or giving them an innocent-looking grin, and neither his father nor brother would question his strange actions.

Desmond knew it wouldn’t last long. His innocent-looking face would stop working if there were just too many incidents that only an idiot would not ask questions and none of the Al-Sayfs were idiots. That meant he needed to build a foundation he could use as an excuse once his family or someone else decided that he was acting too strange. 

And he started to build his foundation on his third birthday when he requested if he could read more books. At this point, Desmond and Malik were already proficient enough in reading and writing. He also knew that their father knew about it as he had been giving them books every so often to keep them busy while they stayed in their home while Faheem went to the fortress (like some kind of screwed-up eight-to-five job). Desmond wasn’t sure if it was a Levantine Brotherhood thing or a Faheem thing but he never bothered to get them any babysitter. He always returned home for lunch though but, otherwise, Faheem seemed to trust that they would take care of themselves or something. Desmond also knew that the books Faheem brought were all from the library in the fortress and that he always returned them before bringing home more. He also knew that the two of them were getting better at reading so much that the number of books Faheem had to keep bringing and returning was growing rapidly.

Which meant that…

“Alright. Starting tomorrow, the two of you will accompany me to the fortress.”

It would only be natural for their father to take them to the great library of Masyaf fortress. 

Ibn-La'Ahad and Al-Sayf (7, 4)

The fortress library in Masyaf was one of the largest libraries ever to be used by the Assassins. It held not only books and parchments of various subjects but also records of past missions of the Levantine Brotherhood as well as journals and writings that talked about the history of the Brotherhood itself as a whole. Desmond even heard that some of the scholars, usually members of the Levantine Brotherhood not fit for fieldwork for one reason or another, were also in charge of writing down old parchments into journals to preserve the knowledge they contain. 

The fortress library was, in other words, a show of the glorious history of the Assassin Brotherhood.

And the very antithesis of the Brotherhood’s tenet of ‘Hide in Plain Sight’.

Also, kinda hard to work in the shadows when records of past missions were being kept in a well-known location.

Perhaps it was cynical to think of such a wonderful library like that but Desmond couldn’t help it. He knew the main reason why the Levantine Brotherhood had so many deaths was because everyone in Levant had heard of them. Everyone in Levant knew that Masyaf was their main headquarters.

Regardless of Desmond’s personal feelings about the library and its contents, he still used it to lay the foundation of a plausible explanation for his weirdness. The scholars either respected or feared Faheem so no one stopped his children from reading the books from the library. They did try to stir them into a small corner where books more suitable for children were kept. Mostly folktales and basic subjects like arithmetics. Why they had them in the first place was a mystery all by itself but Desmond didn’t care enough to find out.

Malik enjoyed reading them and Desmond made sure to always bring home one of the books from that corner but, the moment his brother was too focused on his current book, Desmond quietly left their little corner and checked the other shelves. He made sure to not get spotted by the scholars and he never tried to do this whenever Al Mualim was in his office on the second floor but, any other time, he would pick a random shelf with no scholars nearby and pick a book that looked interesting. He made sure to pick books that were written in what may or may not be the kind of Latin that the Italian language would evolve from or in this century’s current English if he ever saw them and there were even books that were written in Old French or other forms of Latin that he picked just to be sure. He would sit on the ground near the shelf and read the book he chose for today until Malik came looking for him. He ignored any of the scholars who saw him and pretended to be engrossed in whatever book he was reading. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the scholars started to whisper about the strange Al-Sayf boy who liked to read books that were too difficult for his age. It would raise some questions, of course, but, now, he could use these books as an excuse for any slips he would make in the future.

Hopefully, that would be enough. 

The daily lives of the Al-Sayf family were predictable and quite monotonous. They would have breakfast together, walk towards the fortress together, and their father would escort them to the library where the two boys would stay until it was time for their lunch. Then they would return home and the boys would help their father prepare lunch (or, if they were feeling lazy, they would just get bread from the village’s baker) then the three of them would return to the fortress where their father would continue his work as a member of the council and the boys would stay in the library and read while waiting for their father to finish his work. After that, they would return home, prepare and eat dinner then go to bed.

Rinse and repeat.

It was a monotonous life but Desmond liked the peacefulness of it. 

It was on their way home for lunch that Desmond saw him for the first time since he had been reborn as Kadar Al-Sayf. 

Faheem and Malik were walking side by side as Faheem was explaining to Malik that he was going to start his basic training next year. Malik had been excited and had been asking their father a lot of questions concerning the training and such but Desmond had barely paid them any attention as he walked behind them. He had been lost in thought over the book he had been reading before Faheem came to get them. It had been a journal written with a mix of a more archaic Arabic script and Greek letters. It was older than any of the journals he had seen in the library and it was possible that it had been misplaced or forgotten. Either way, Desmond had a hard time reading it as his Greek was shitty at best, nonexistent at worst, but, if he had been able to read the first few pages correctly, the journal seemed to be talking about the creation of the Assassin Brotherhood itself. 

Either way, Desmond was definitely not paying attention as they were passing by the balcony that overlooked the training ring below. Yet, when he heard a man’s voice Desmond felt like he should know but couldn’t place where he had heard it from, he stopped immediately. His father and brother didn’t notice him stopping and the distance between them was quickly growing but Desmond paid it no mind. Something about the man’s voice had cut through the haze his thoughts had been as he continued to mull over the journal he read. With his interest peaked, he walked toward the balcony. The gap between the posts was large enough for Desmond’s small body that he was able to easily lean forward until he could see the training ring below.

There were a lot of people below and Desmond frowned as he tried to see if anyone looked familiar at all. 

Then he looked at the training dummy nearest to where he was and he saw a boy staring back at him with golden eyes.

Desmond blinked.

And the whole world turned gray. The only color he could see was the two blue forms, a small one and a tall one, both of which were running towards him from his left side, and the golden form of the boy below him.

Desmond was more surprised by the fact that his Eagle Vision had activated for the first time since he had been reborn that it took him a second to realize who the boy who glowed gold was. That surprised him so much that he leaned forward further to try and get a better look at the boy just to be sure.

That was when his grip on the two posts between him slipped.

And he fell off the balcony.

“KADAR!”

He heard his father and brother shout as he began to fall.

For a brief moment, he was reminded of how it felt to take a leap of faith.

Then he heard the screams all around him as he quickly fell.

Just as he neared the ground, he saw the golden boy run towards the place he was going to land and open his arms. Desmond’s eyes widened and his world burst into colors once more as the boy tackled him before he hit the ground. The boy rolled them over and held Desmond tightly as they landed on the haystack with the older boy underneath him, hands holding him tightly and only releasing his grip so that Desmond could sit up. Desmond could only stare at him as he looked back at him.

“Are you alright?”

His voice was higher and his face was soft but it was him.

It was Altaïr.

There was no doubt about it.

Desmond had wondered when he would finally meet Altaïr and he had thought about how he would act around him.

But all of those plans, all of those thoughts fell into a dark abyss when he saw Altaïr grin at him.

“Did you jump? That was a beautiful leap. You looked like an angel taking flight.”

The excitement in his voice, the carefreeness in his grin…

The innocence in his eyes… 

Tears began to fall from his eyes and Desmond couldn’t help but cry in Altaïr’s arms, surprising the boy and making him worry as he asked, “A-are you hurt? Di-did I hurt you?”

Desmond barely noticed his brother running towards them. He didn’t even notice his father stop next to the older man standing nearby who looked so much like Altaïr.

All that mattered was Altaïr who didn’t push him away when he wrapped his arms around him and cried on his shoulder. 

All that mattered was Altaïr who awkwardly returned his embrace and patted his back as he tried to console the crying boy in his arms, “You’re okay. There, there. Don’t cry.”

All that mattered was this was the very first time he had ever seen Altaïr’s golden eyes look unburdened and unguarded. 

Ibn-La'Ahad and Al-Sayf (8, 5)

Desmond’s life as a member of the Al-Sayf family didn’t really change after meeting Altaïr. Compared to the ‘illustrious’ history of their family, the Ibn-La'Ahad family wasn’t really that well known. Not yet, anyway.

Umar Ibn-La'Ahad was an orphan who found his way to Masyaf as a child. He was one of the many children that Al Mualim had fed, clothed, and sheltered. These children grew up to be Assassins loyal to him which was probably what Al Mualim had planned from the very beginning. As far as the rest of the Levantine Brotherhood was concerned, Umar Ibn-La'Ahad was simply one of the many Master Assassins that have proven their skills in the field. He was one of the best at the moment, for sure, but the Brotherhood’s eyes were mostly on his son, not him.

His son, Altaïr Ibn-Umar… or Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad as he preferred to be called (“Father said mother liked being called by his last name so I want to be called the same way too.”), showed promise early on with his uncanny proficiency in Eagle Vision at such a young age. That was why he was starting his basic training a year earlier than normal with the approval of Al Mualim and the council. Basic training didn’t mean they would become an Assassin and was actually a misleading term that the Levantine Brotherhood used. Basic training, if Desmond was to give it a modern equivalent, was like primary school. It lasted half a day every day and the children were taught basic math, reading, and writing, as well as the history and current geopolitical situation of Levant and its neighboring countries. 

It had been a coincidence that Altaïr and Desmond had met as Altaïr mainly stayed on the other side of the fortress where the lessons for basic training were being held. The other side of the fortress was also where the living quarters of most Assassins stationed in Masyaf were, including the small quarters given to Umar Ibn-La'Ahad and his son as well as the large dining room that any Assassins could use during their stay in Masyaf. The day they had first met had been the day that Altaïr first stepped out of the fortress’ inner walls as his father had decided he was ready to be taught a few basic forms and movements. Something that the boy had admitted to Desmond when he had asked and the surprise Desmond felt was overshadowed by how his heart melted when he saw the bashful smile Altaïr was giving him.

And that was the crux of Desmond’s current problem.  

Altaïr had always been in Desmond’s mind ever since he had been reborn as Kadar. It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed and Desmond had a plan in place for that inevitability.

He had planned to be Altaïr’s own Jiminy Cricket, the moral compass and guide to an arrogant and impatient dumbass.

But Altaïr as a child was neither of that.

To be fair, Desmond did know that Altaïr had not always been the arrogant and impatient asshole that he first met in the Animus.

But, if Desmond didn’t want to end up dead in a ditch in Jerusalem (which he absolutely didn’t want to), he needed to be sure that Altaïr didn’t fuck shit up in Jerusalem. 

Also… he had always had a soft spot for Altaïr. He was Desmond’s first ancestor and his heart would always ache whenever he remembered the tragic end Altaïr would have decades from now. Wanting to keep him from fucking up was half because Desmond didn’t want to die and half because he truly wanted to help him, wanted to find some way to make his life better than it was supposed to be.

That was why Desmond’s original plan had been to be the nagging voice of conscience to Altaïr.

However…

“Kadar! Have you had lunch yet?”

“Is that book any good, Kadar?”

“Do you like pomegranates, Kadar? Father brought some back from his last mission and I wanted to share them with you.” 

A year has passed since he met Altaïr and, for some reason, Altaïr never missed a day to be the one nagging him instead of the other way around. 

Desmond was absolutely confused by this. The Altaïr Desmond knew had never been close to anyone. His closest friend had been Abbas and that ended so badly that Altaïr had further isolated himself from the rest of the Brotherhood. His friendship with Malik only started to form after Jerusalem and Desmond was hoping he would be able to push Malik into taking Abbas’ place as Altaïr’s ‘BFF’ before Abbas even enters the picture but he and Malik weren’t close and they barely talked with one another. 

Hell, the longest conversation the two had was about who Desmond was having lunch with. Malik had been adamant that Desmond should return home to eat lunch with him and their father. Altaïr had argued that they would have dinner together anyway so Desmond should have lunch with him instead in the fortress’ dining room. Desmond had just glared at the scholars who found the entire argument amusing and were shamelessly watching them instead of reading or doing their tasks. It took Faheem inviting Altaïr to eat with them instead for that argument to finally come to an end and Desmond had just been glad that their father came to get them before Malik and Altaïr started throwing punches. 

No matter how young they were or how adorable they were, it seemed Malik still thought of Altaïr as an annoying fly he couldn’t swat while Altaïr’s impatience and growl-and-glare combo always came out around Malik. 

Leaving Desmond as their referee, much to his resigned annoyance.

Ever since that day, Altaïr always joined the daily Al-Sayf lunches, and, even when his father was in Masyaf, he would still join them. Sometimes, Umar even joined as well and the first time the Master Assassin joined them had been an awkward lunch as it was clear that Umar didn’t think highly of Faheem’s natural inclination to advocate ‘stabbing someone’ as a primary solution to whatever problem the Levantine Brotherhood had while Faheem thought of Umar as a blind dog loyal to Al Mualim. Desmond had been the one to try and keep things from escalating by talking about how Altaïr and Malik had been doing so well in their lessons and asking Umar if he liked the food they made. 

Desmond wasn’t picky. Any topic was fine as long as it was as far away from the topic of Al Mualim and the Assassins as possible.

Strangely enough, Faheem and Umar seemed to have come to some kind of strange quiet friendship that reminded Desmond of the start of Altaïr and Malik’s friendship after a few months. The ones from his memories, not the ‘I-will-punch-you-if-you-keep-talking’ situation his brother and Altaïr had at the moment. 

Thankfully, neither boys have yet to trade blows but that was, to be completely honest, mainly because Desmond had been there to break their argument up before it got to that point. Why they keep having arguments around Desmond was beyond him and, at this point, he was just hoping that, if they start punching each other, it wasn’t anywhere near Desmond as he didn’t want to deal with that at all.

Going back to Altaïr’s father… Umar was a kind, quiet man who wasn’t all that bad. He patted Desmond’s head a lot (Malik still gave the best head pats though) and he brought back souvenirs and food for him too. It was strange that he rarely gave Malik anything but his older brother looked so insulted when Desmond asked and snapped that he was not going to be bribed by Altaïr’s father. 

It really said something about the screwed-up way they were being raised here in Masyaf that Malik, an eight-year-old boy, knew what ‘bribery’ meant. 

Still, free stuff was free stuff and Altaïr always looked so happy giving Desmond the souvenirs and food that Umar had brought back for them that Desmond never had the courage (nor the inclination) to refuse any of them.

Also, Umar brought back interesting books. Desmond had been using this whole book-reading thing as a cover for his slips but everyone assumed he liked to read and even the scholars have started suggesting books for him to read. At this point, Desmond had started to read them seriously because he didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Even Altaïr had started to read the books that Desmond had read and he just knew that this entire thing was going to propel Altaïr into becoming more of an overachiever than he had been before Desmond messed up this timeline. When Desmond asked why Altaïr wanted to read such difficult books, Altaïr had simply grinned at him and replied that it was because Desmond read them.

Desmond didn’t understand why Altaïr seemed to have decided that they should be ‘BFF’s and, at this point, Desmond didn’t even bother to try and push him to have a more amicable friendship with Malik. 

Because Altaïr as a child was adorable and Desmond was powerless against his bright smiles. Desmond had lost count of how many times he had given Altaïr head pats (and ignore the fact that he had to go on his tiptoes to even just reach the top of Altaïr’s head) just because he was being cute and how many times he had smiled at Altaïr as he said to him that he did a good job after the older boy told him about how his lessons went. 

He also didn’t understand why Malik and Altaïr were competing over their lessons when Malik was a year lower in terms of lessons but the two of them seem to be growing close over their academic rivalry so Desmond kept out of it. 

This young Altaïr was not how Desmond expected Altaïr to be and he couldn’t help but like him for who he was.

He would always love the Altaïr from his time as Desmond Miles just as he loved Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton but this Altaïr was different.

This Altaïr was his Altaïr. His best friend and the sweetest most adorable boy he had ever met.

But Altaïr was still Altaïr even if he was an adorable child. His observation skills were unnerving even as a child and Desmond shouldn’t have been surprised when he asked something that Desmond tried so hard to ignore for so long.

Yet, Altaïr’s question still surprised him, much to his embarrassment.

“Do you not like your name?” Altaïr asked as he stared at Desmond with his head tilted slightly. They had been sitting in one corner of the library, far away from the prying eyes of the scholars. Malik was a few shelves away from them, reading about some kind of topic connected to his lessons earlier and Umar was away on another mission so Altaïr didn’t have anything else to do. Normally, Umar would find some time to train Altaïr after his son’s lessons but, during the days when he would be away, Altaïr would stay with Desmond until Faheem went to get his sons. Sometimes Altaïr would join them for dinner before Faheem escorted him back to the fortress.

Desmond always hated watching him leave and there were times that he managed to get their father to agree to let Altaïr sleep in his room for the night.  

“Kadar?”

Desmond blinked as he noticed the hesitation in Altaïr’s voice.

“Sorry. I was…” Desmond rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to explain how he felt about the name he had been given.

Desmond had tried to ignore it for a long time now. It had been easy to ignore it before because his family preferred to call him asfoor instead of that name. Perhaps they noticed he didn’t like being called by that name as well and that was why they preferred to call him by a term of endearment instead. 

But Altaïr had always been a curious boy and he was the only person who always called Desmond ‘Kadar’ every single day.

It was really just a matter of time before Altaïr’s curiosity would be peaked by Desmond’s reaction to the name.

Because Kadar Al-Sayf had always been the young man who died because of Altaïr in Desmond’s eyes.

It wasn’t…

“It’s… not the name I want…” Desmond tried to explain.

“Then what’s the name you want?” Altaïr asked curiously.

Desmond stared at him, quietly wondering how fucked the timeline would be if he was to answer the question truthfully.

What the hell.

Fuck it.

He was already fucking shit up just by talking to Altaïr anyway.

“Desmond.” He stated solemnly, “My name is Desmond.”

“Desmond.” Altaïr repeated and Desmond’s lips curved into a small smile at the slight accent that Altaïr had as he tried to pronounce his name, “Desmond.”

Altaïr’s eyes were brimming with determination as he nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Desmond repeated as he tilted his head.

“Yes. If that’s the name you want then that’s the name I’ll use for you.” Altaïr’s smile was bright and Desmond’s heart soared at the easy acceptance he received from the older boy.

“Thanks, Altaïr.” Desmond’s lips curved into a soft smile, trying to convey just how happy he was hearing someone call him by his real name.

That it was Altaïr who called him by his real name… 

That was when Malik walked towards them and asked, “Father is outside. Will you be joining us for dinner, Altaïr?”

Altaïr and Desmond stood as Desmond returned the book he had been reading back to its proper place on the shelf behind them while Altaïr shook his head, “I will be eating dinner with Al Mualim tonight.”

Desmond didn’t bother to hide his frown at that. He didn’t know if, at this point, Al Mualim was already a Templar but, regardless of his current affiliation, he didn’t like Altaïr becoming close to the old man. Just because he wasn’t a Templar right now, didn’t mean he wasn’t doing something shady and using the Brotherhood for his own gain.

Not like Desmond could do anything at the moment, considering he was a child. And, even if Faheem was a member of the council and Desmond could quietly push him to investigate Al Mualim, his standing in the Levantine Brotherhood wasn’t good at the moment because of his… well… how he liked to advocate for death. Also, Al Mualim had spies everywhere and Desmond wasn’t going to risk his father’s life just for a chance to get Al Mualim off the mentor seat.

For now, all Desmond could do was keep his head down and bide his time. Once he was part of the Brotherhood and given missions away from Masyaf, he could start looking for actual documents and concrete pieces of evidence that would show Al Mualim’s Templar affiliations.

Malik nodded at Altaïr and turned to face his brother, “Let’s go, asfoor .”

“Okay.” Desmond nodded back and turned to face Altaïr as Malik walked away. He grinned and grasped both of Altaïr’s hands as he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Desmond…” 

Desmond’s grin curved into a bright smile at the sound of his real name, “Yeah?”

“Can…” The shy way Altaïr hesitated only made him all the cuter as he asked, “Can I be the only person to call you Desmond?”

Desmond blinked at the request.

Well, to be completely honest, he didn’t care if anybody else called him ‘Kadar’. His family preferred to call him asfoor and Umar liked to call him that as well. 

Also, the idea that it was Altaïr who was calling him Desmond made the name all the more… important.

Desmond smiled as he said, “I’d like that.”