Altaïr x Male!Reader

The Next Mission

The cool chill of Autumn had finally set in and presented itself in the form of a phoenix. Bright yellow and orange feathers popped out of the stiff trees in Masyaf. Clusters of red and brown merged together from the high viewpoint of the Assassin's Guild, ever perched on its hill. A small kingfisher glided close to the stone walls, trying to scavenge a suitable place to rest. It found a nice, sprawling tree branch near a window close to the ground. The bird turned its big blue head, chirping softly before pecking around it's small red feet. It chirped again, shrill this time, before flying off.

Much like the bird's wings, your eyes fluttered open, welcoming in the warm hues from outside. You groaned, sitting up from your slumped over position, stretching out the little kinks in your arms and back. You stared at the faint reflection of yourself in the glass, a pale ghost with tired eyes. You had fallen asleep again. It was inevitable, considering last night you had read until dawn. Still, you couldn't help but feel guilty. Looking behind you, your eyes fell on the resting figure of Altaïr. You frowned, lips pursing. It had been maybe a day or two, you couldn't remember clearly, since Solomon's Temple. Naturally, after the fact, you told Al Mualim everything you could remember from that day. About the gold light and the woman. The way Altaïr spoke with a stolen voice and nearly killed you with borrowed strength.

Oh, Altaïr. You walked over to his bedside, heaving a deep sigh.

"When are you going to wake up, mentor?" You asked the silence that filled the room. Since arriving back at Masyaf in such a hurry, the older man had barely even stirred. The doctors did as much as they could, giving him a limited supply of water and mushy food forced down his throat. It was hard to watch. You sighed again, picking up your books then leaving the room. You'd need to make a trip to the library, again. You still couldn't find what you needed. There was almost nothing among the shelves about Solomon's temple, or golden light, or about that mysterious woman. Nothing you hadn't heard before, that is. Just last night you were reading about the god of gold, useless, of course. How could the assassin's knowledge be so limited?

Reaching the upper library, you started skimming through the books that seemed relevant. From dusty tomes in scribbled writing to clean, printed, books with new covers and binding, you searched. There was nothing. Not even a smidge of information.

"Oh, I was wondering where you had run off to." You turned, Malik was standing a few feet away, a stack of books in his hands. "Altaïr seems lonely without you." He joked, half-heartedly.

"He's asleep, Malik. I don't think he is feeling anything." You replied bitterly, turning back to the shelves. The black haired assassin joined you, putting back various books he had borrowed.

"You know, I've known Altaïr since I was very little. Kadar has know him practically since he was born. I've always looked up to him, he's like my big brother." Malik suddenly stopped moving, as if the old memories were about to attack him. He shook his head and turned towards you. "I've known him for so long, I know what he's like. Stubborn, arrogant, and of course he has no lack of pride. However, he doesn't act that way around you. It's like he's a different person. Why?" He asked a little harshly. You shrugged.

"I wouldn't know about that. He acts the way he acts. Maybe it's because I trust him. Perhaps he trusts me, too." You pondered. Did Altaïr trust you? That was a question for another time. Malik watched you up and down, suspicious eyes roaming. He turned back to the shelf, putting away the last book.

"Wait." You said suddenly. The title had caught your eye. He stopped, looking unsure.

"May I see that?" Malik glanced back at the small book, confused, before handing it over to you. You ran your fingers over the tiny cover, taking in its name which was calligraphed in shiny gold ink. It said simply, 'Roman Gods'. Maybe this is what you had been searching for the whole time. And to think that Malik, of all people, had it. You safely tucked the book into your back pouch, promising to scrutinize it, later.