Hi! Long time no see!

People have actually asked for some additional chapters, and I thought to myself, why not. Give the people what they asked for! I'm not sure how I am going about this, so it may be very fragmented. In this chapter, Altaïr and Maria would be returning from Limassol—they would be married and Maria pregnant. Malik would be 30, as would Altaïr. Maria, surprisingly, is listed as older than Altaïr. Maria is listed as being born in 1161, four years before Altaïr and Malik…so. Kazhal is 24 years old. Onward!

Chapter 01: Birth and Rebirth

-Masyaf, 1195-

Allahu akbar, allahu akbar…

The call to prayer woke Malik. He withdrew his good arm from the knife underneath his pillow and rolled onto his back, still dazed from sleep.

Allahu akbar, allahu akbar…

"Kazhal," he rasped to the stationary form beside him. Her shoulder rose and fell in time with the rhythm of her breath, a slow one that affirmed her heavy slumber. "Joonam…"

She stirred, inhaling deeply before rolling onto her left side, her eyes closed but her mouth parted. "I cannot pray, Malik."

Malik had forgotten about her monthly bleeding. Had it been that long since she had her last bleeding? "Of course," he swallowed, swinging his legs from their bed and using his hand to push himself to his feet.

He bathed, prayed, and then made for the study, where he went over Altaïr's affairs like he had for the past three years. Eventually, either A'idah or Kazhal would bring him breakfast, complete with tea.

"Kazhal," A'idah opened the door to find Kazhal still in bed. "Come, come! The day has begun, and you are still in bed! The baths are getting busy—"

"I cannot go to the baths," murmured Kazhal from under her blanket.

A'idah understood within seconds. Like Muslims, Hindu women would not bathe or wash their menstrual clothing with the other clothing. It was considered impure. She could draw a bath for her in the room, but needed Kazhal to rise first.

Then, it hit her. She sat on Kazhal's side of the bed as she peeled back the blanket. Kazhal looked at her with blurry eyes, her hair splayed across her pillow. A'idah cooed, "You have to be easy on yourself in matters like these. We are not perfect beings, Kazhal."

"The one thing I am supposed to do as a woman. The very thing, that defines our strength against males, and I have yet to be successful." Kazhal buried her face into her pillow. "He must hate me now."

A'idah sighed. "He cannot hate you for something you have no control over."

"He has before, so I understand."

"That is cruel to say, Kazhal. If you do not remember it, you should not hold it against the man," A'idah snapped. "He has been good to you—he learned his lesson. Have faith in Malik, Kazhal."

The medic rose from the bed, throwing her long braid over her shoulder. "I'm going to get some of the men to bring you a tub, and we'll clean you in here, okay? Chin up."

Time passed before breakfast and tea made it to Malik's desk. He almost began to wonder if both A'idah and Kazhal overslept. When he left his desk and peered over the balcony for someone, anyone that may bring him sustenance, he saw Kazhal clambering up the stairs. Pieces of a tea sat rattled against one another on the tray she carried. She looked up, met Malik's eyes and smiled warmly.

"Salaam—I apologize for being late. The cooks kept the food warm for you."

Malik reseated himself as Kazhal set the tray down, setting a tea cup outside the tray as she poured tea into it.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked hurriedly. He nodded with a smile.

"Thank you," he answered, "We have news from Altaïr. It seems he and Maria have wed in Limassol and are returning to Masyaf."

"Mash Allah, God has willed it."

"Alhamdullilah. A letter from your younger sister has also arrived," Malik said, handing Kazhal an unopened missive before digging into his food.

Kazhal tore it open with force and gazed upon Shelan's running scrawls. A'idah had taken Kazhal to visit Jerusalem earlier in the year. They would watch Shelan and Leyla from the rooves. Rahim had passed from illness a few months after news of Kazhal's death. One night, Shelan had noticed Kazhal and A'idah on the roof and sought to rekindle their relationship. Leyla was apprehensive, but allowed the communication.

Kazhal,

I hope this finds you in good spirits. I am sorry to hear of the passing of your baby. It is unfortunate, but know that Allah SWT does everything for a reason. Perhaps your body was not ready.

Nawal and her two sons have moved into our home. The eldest is now twelve years of age, and has taken Saeed under his wing in place of his father. Leyla still refuses to remarry. She is more concerned of my failed matches. Perhaps there is an Assassin waiting for me in the heights of Masyaf? How I wish to visit you and see these strange scholars with which you associate.

With love and encouragement,

Shelan

Kazhal giggled when she read about Shelan's failed matches. The girl was headstrong, just like the rest of her sisters. Malik gave her a questioning look mid-chew, and she answered, "Shelan has not been successfully matched."

"If she is anything like you, then it will take a strong man to look after her."

"Are you flattering yourself?" Kazhal jabbed at him, earning a blush on Malik's face.

"O-of course not, I—"

The bell sounded from the walls of the fortress. Suddenly, the fortress buzzed with interest.

Malik and Kazhal shot to the window, looking for any contextual signs. In the distance, they faintly heard Altaïr's voice, then the cheering of the Order. The men grabbed Altaïr from his horse and carried him up the hill while the ululating women escorted Maria up the hill, singing praises of her love and beauty.

The closer they got, the rounder Maria looked, Kazhal noted with envy. "Why, Maria could almost pop! Mash Allah," Kazhal forced herself to mumble the last bit, not wanting Malik to pick up on her jealousy.

"Hm," Malik agreed. He ate a few more bites of his breakfast and took one gulp of tea. Then, he made his way for the entrance of the fortress, where the rest of the castle stood singing and celebrating.

A'idah and Kazhal stood with the women on one side. When they ululated, Kazhal followed along, but A'idah would and could not. She found the noise strange and therefore held little interest in learning it. In exchange, A'idah mumbled some of the lyrics of the folk songs she knew. She looked over to Kazhal periodically to make sure she was not crying from her misery, squeezing her hand in understanding, but wanting the moment to be wonderful for everyone else, especially Maria. Every other minute, her eyes met Malik's and she nodded, affirming Kazhal's relaxed behavior.

Once Maria and Altaïr made it into the castle, the cooks left in a rush to churn out a feast. The dancers and concubines threw some decorations together in the Garden. While some girls sang to Maria, the others threw on their best clothes and switched out with those who were not already dressed for the occasion.

The men cared little for what they wore. Men fetched their instruments and came together in front of the women to perform a dabke, a line dance. Many of the men high-stepped with vigor, never tiring. Those who were not in the line clapped along. Malik, not in the least a dancer, slapped his thigh as a substitute for clapping.

"Khanoom!" One of the girls tapped Kazhal on the back. She whirled around and saw a small group on women dressed in Kurdish wear. "Allow us the pleasure of performing Kurdish dance with you!"

"Oh, no," Kazhal shook her head. "I cannot. I am still sleepy—"

"Yalla!" A'idah dragged Kazhal to the middle with the girls dressed in Kurdish costume. One of the girls forced a handkerchief into her hand, signifying she led the chain of hand-holding dancers.

She wanted Malik to see her happy, so she relented and started twirling the handkerchief above her head. In return, the women ululated their praise.

The women would kick out and cross their other ankles, the line expanding and shrinking. Eventually Kazhal joined hands with the last girl in line and turned the group into a circle. Then all the dancers would bow their hands and traverse around the circle.

Not even the night could stop the festivities. A'idah could go all night eating and dancing; Malik and Kazhal on the other hand were exhausted in more ways than one. At one point in the day, Malik pulled Altaïr aside to congratulate him—it was as if they were more than brothers of the Order, the way Altaïr pulled Malik into a crushing hug and earning a novice-based insult. "It is good to have you back, Altaïr."

"It is good to have returned," Altaïr looked over the study balcony at the dancing masses. "Is Kazhal faring well?"

"She tries," Malik answered with a shrug. "I try to be comforting, but I still notice her preoccupation over the miscarriage. I am surprised A'idah has managed to keep her in good spirits for most of the day." Malik sat down in front of the desk. "There is has been peace since Abbas' foolish seizure of the Apple. But I fear, when I look at Abbas and his associates, that unrest is to come. Since then, I have slept with a knife under my pillow."

"My brother," Altaïr clasped Malik's armless shoulder—he was one of the few Malik allowed to do so. "You shall not live in fear. We shall forgive and trust Abbas just as you and the Order have forgiven and trust me. Fear is what fans the flames of unrest."

"Perhaps you are right, Altaïr," Malik sighed.

Malik retired for the evening, and opened his door to find Kazhal on the floor, hands out with her palms up, as if praying—no, begging in Kurdish to Allah. With his knowledge of Persian, he could pick out some of the words, but not all. Her shoulders shuddered with each gasp of breath as she rocked back and forth, weeping. Only when he heard her finish with, "Ameen," did he approach her.

"You are not enjoying the festivities?" She tried to still her voice, rubbing the tears from her face with her head bowed.

"How can I, when the women pester me, asking for their Khanoom," Malik sat beside her on the floor. He grabbed one of her hands and rubbed the top of it with his thumb. "Wallahi, you are too hard on yourself."

Kazhal sniffed. "I cannot give you the thing a woman is supposed to give her husband. Maria is not even a Muslim, yet she is round—I wish to be round! What is it?"

Malik's shoulders heaved is a silent laugh. "If you wish to be round, I can arrange for several meals throughout the day!" He pulled her hand up to his lips where he left a small kiss. "I had lost you and the world had lost you. The Apple brought you back, and since then I have little complaints for anything. You regained so much strength. Insha Allah, He will bring us a child. If is not meant to be, then I am content with you alone. Your health and return are more blessings than I could ever hope for."

The next day, A'idah noticed Kazhal in better spirits on her own. Maria lingered around her office, picking up random missives to annoy Kazhal. Unlike before, Kazhal accepted Maria's presence. She became family over time, in more ways than one.

Sometimes A'idah and Kazhal needed someone to break the tie on the decisions, and Kazhal found Maria to be very wise and straightforward. Her help contributed fame to the Order's women, for what were simply concubines before were now intelligent, beautiful spies sent all over the Holy Land.

A'idah brought Kazhal and Maria tea as they argued back and forth in Persian. Occasionally Maria would fall back into Arabic, a force of habit. Kazhal could follow most of the time, but still found Arabic difficult. Altaïr told her once that it was a blessing to at least understand Arabic even if she could not speak it, considering she had forgotten it upon revival.

"Have you picked names yet?" Kazhal interrupted a heated conversation to stare at Maria's large belly.

Maria leaned back in her chair which had been filled with pillows for comfort upon request. "Hm? Not yet. Altaïr and I have yet to make proper preparations, even though my instincts tell me the baby will be here soon."

"Are you scared?"

"No," she smiled to herself. "I am ready."

It was true. Within the week, Maria went into labor. She had not felt well all morning, and A'idah had known something was happening. Kazhal had only been around babies, but never saw one born. They divided the labor of taking Maria to her room and finding Malik and Altaïr. Kazhal ran as fast as she could from the east wing of the giant fortress to the Master's Study, where Malik updated Altaïr on current affairs.

Breathlessly, she gripped the wall, nearly crumpling from such exertion. Malik instantly knelt by her side, gripping her shoulders. "What? What is it?"

"Altaïr," Kazhal gasped. "Maria has started!"

Nor did Kazhal realize it would take so long, especially for the first birth. Maria never had any children before, so A'idah estimated many hours of crying and agony. Kazhal sent for a midwife to prepare for the baby's arrival while they waited.

"Malik," Kazhal called from inside the room, "Why are you standing outside?"

"…It is disconcerting, the chaos within. Perhaps I shall return soon." With that, he left.

Her face dropped. Was it because she was not in Maria's place? Altaïr dropped a comforting hand on her shoulder, a small smile to let her know she was okay. Maybe Malik was truly freaked out by all the excitement.

The sounds of a crying infant echoed through the halls several hours later, when Malik returned to check on progress. A'idah was helping the midwife clean the baby so Maria could hold it. All the women cried except for Kazhal—she tried too hard to let the baby not affect her.

"It is a boy," Altaïr told Malik.

"Will you name it today, or in a week?" He asked back, watching the boy passed between A'idah, the midwife, and Maria.

"I have named him Darim."

"Kazhal," Maria looked to the emotionless woman. "You have yet to hold Darim."

Kazhal replied honestly. "I am afraid I do not know how."

A'idah took the swaddled baby from Maria, who leaned back with a deep, comforting sigh. She told Kazhal to hold out her hands and showed her a way to comfortably hold Darim. "You must support his head. Ready?"

The gentle weight of the tiny baby increased in Kazhal's arms. He cried and cried, but it did not disturb Kazhal. "Oh, Darim," she said, and the baby stopped its crying. "Look. Your amme has enough courage to hold you."

She traced the outline of the baby's puffy cheeks and his pink cupid's bow. Without realizing it, her felt her face become wetter. Kazhal smiled as she cried over Darim, shifting back and forth as she held him. "Why, you make break this woman's heart. Alhamdullilah."

A'idah looked to Malik and found him grinning at the sight of Kazhal with a baby and decided they both needed this, even if it was not their own.

I'm back. Amme is the Persian term for an aunt, specifically the father's sister. In the Order, everyone is brother and sister, so I figured Kazhal would technically be Altaïr's sister, and therefore the term would be amme.

Allah SWT means "Allah, Glory to Him, the Exalted", in Arabic.

Ululating or ululation is the term for a high-pitched trill. It's also an onomatopoeia. In Arabic, it is called a zaghareet, meant to express happiness or grief.

A dabke is a popular Levant line dance. Look it up on Youtube, it's a blast! I thought an impromptu celebration would be nice, considering Malik and Kazhal both needed it.

Because Kazhal was resurrected by the Apple and is now close to "normal", I thought it best to have a new problem arise. Canonically, Malik is like, 60, when his first son is born. To be honest I can't imagine older women back then having children, because it would place Kazhal at 54 or something. It did not seem realistic, though canon. I have not decided whether I would break canon and pull it back a little bit, OR find a way to make it possible. Or I could simply model it after Jacob and Rachel, who did not have children until much later. And possibly add another woman. Who knows?! Mwa ha ha! Just kidding. I hope you enjoyed!