a/n: It's not my intention to offend any readers with gender identity issues and if I accidentally do, I sincerely apologize.

-/-

It comes over him suddenly, between one moment and the next, a single instant of change that pours into him like water pouring from a jug, filling him from top to bottom with a strange kind of energy. He feels suddenly on edge, like every piece of himself has been filled up with nervous, excited energy, and then a wave of dizziness and exhaustion sweeps over and through him, so abruptly that he stumbles. One hand reaches out and Altair catches himself on the bureau wall before he can fall. His vision is swimming and his chest feels suddenly tight, so that he's nearly gasping for breath.

Then his vision clears, and Altair finds himself staring, uncomprehending, at the hand in front of him. Disbelieving, because it is not his.

The hand clearly belongs to a woman. The fingers are long and narrow, not delicate by any stretch of the imagination, but too small to be his own. Except- there is the missing finger, with its ragged scar from when he reached the rank of full assassin. And there is the old burn mark from when he was a child, and fell too close to a cooking fire. Even the nails, bitten to the quick in the only nervous habit he allows himself, are familiar.

But this hand is not his own.

He feels like he's in a dream, and everything suddenly seems to move in slow motion. He moves first one finger, then the others, and watches the hand on his wall (not his hand, not his hand, that's impossible, hands don't just change for no reason) move in response. It scares him a little, and he draws his hands up to his face, staring at them as though he's never seen them before.

Because he hasn't- these hands aren't his, and all at once Altair becomes aware of other oddities of his body- the tightness in his chest suddenly seems unbearable, and there's something off balance around his hips and waist.

There are footsteps behind him, barely audible on the stone floor, and Altair turns sharply to see whose they are- his eyes are wide, and his mouth half open. He's shaking, and some dim, distant part of his mind tells him that this is panic. He does not normally panic, cannot actually remember the last time he did so, but this sudden change in his own body has him terrified.

Malik is there, halfway across the room with one eyebrow raised into a sort of question. There is no concern there- of course there isn't, why should there be, after Altair cost Malik his brother and his arm and his role as an assassin- and if anything he seems exasperated and angry. You've caused enough trouble, his look seems to say. Don't you dare cause any more.

"What headache have you brought for me now?" he snaps, and under any other circumstance Altair would have bristled, and his pride would have forced him to answer in kind. Only now- now, with everything else suddenly in question, Altair needs desperately for someone else to see him, to tell him whether he has simply lost his mind, or if- somehow…

There is an awful, choking vice around his throat, and Altair cannot force as much as a single word past the barrier. Instead, he stumbles forward and reaches out, forcing his hands into Malik's unwilling grasp.

"What-"

Then Malik stops, staring down at Altair's hands, really looking at them, an intense frown on his face. For a moment they stand there, frozen in a silent tableau, until Malik shakes Altair away and reaches for his hood, tugging it down so his face is visible. Altair scowls-Malik is a full head taller than him, and standing this close, Altair has to look almost straight up to see his face.

Finally, in a flat, clearly disbelieving tone, Malik says- "Altair, you are a woman."

And Altair nods, like this is no big surprise, like it isn't manifestly impossible, like the world still makes sense. His (her?) head feels like its stuffed full of cotton, making it impossible for him (her- no, him- he cannot think of himself as a woman) to think straight. Everything is suddenly upside down, and Altair isn't surprised when his knees buckle. Malik moves to grab him before he hits the ground, but Altair pushes him roughly away. Just because he is a… a she now, it doesn't mean he'll take help from a man that's made it perfectly clear he hates him. "Don't," he says, and the sound of his own voice is wrong in his ears. Too high, and too soft, not-

Altair stands and takes several steps back, shaking his head as if to deny everything. Then he turns, and he runs.

-/-

The rest of that day is a blur. Altair runs with a kind of terrified blindness, unconcerned with where he is going or what is around him. Or who, for that matter- it isn't until evening, Malik finds him on one of the tallest rooftops of the city that Altair realizes the dai has come looking for him.

"You fool," Malik tells him. "What good will running do?"

No good at all, Altair knows, and for the first time in hours his vision seems to clear, shame and embarrassment edging out the fear. "I have no idea what happened," he says bluntly.

Malik gives him a look that says plainly he has a hard time believing this- and had he been in his shoes, he would have assumed the… transformation to be his own fault. Things like this just didn't happen. But to his credit, Malik keeps his thoughts to himself. Instead, he asks, "Can you undo…" his eyes sweep over Altair, taking in the sight of him from head to foot. "… this?"

"No," Altair says, hopelessly. "I don't even know how it happened the first time."

Malik makes a disapproving noise. "Then stop running and hiding," he tells him. "What difference does it make, really?"

A lot of difference, Altair thinks. He keeps silent, though, and forces herself to think the question over critically. After all, there is nothing he can do to control the situation he's been put in- but he can control his own reactions.

"Do you have a mirror?" he asks. There are a few in Masyaf, but they are small, expensive objects, and he does not expect to find any in Malik's keeping. But to his surprise, he nods.

"At the bureau," he says.

They travel back together, mostly in silence until they are only a few minutes away. Finally, Altair swallows his pride enough to ask the question that has been gnawing at him since Malik first climbed the rooftops to come after him.

He has one arm. Climbing is difficult for him now- he can see him struggling now, but he says nothing and neither does he. And Altair hadn't exactly been moving slowly, so it must have taken a lot of effort for Malik to finally corner him. "Why did you come after me?" he asks.

He glances sideways at Malik and catches him half smiling. "Because you are a woman," he says, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Altair comes very close to hitting him at that moment. "Because I am a woman," he says. "You mean that just because I have-" his tongue stumbles on the biological details of his change, and he does his best to recover. "You think I need to be protected?"

"Of course not," Malik says. They come to the roof of the bureau and Malik drops through, showing a surprising amount of grace given his missing arm. Altair follows him, somewhat more awkwardly in his twisted body. Malik goes on speaking without looking at him. "I lost my arm and my brother because of you," he says. "Now you have lost your…" he disappears into a back room, reemerging a moment later with the promised mirror. "Manhood."

It is not an offer of forgiveness. Altair has long since accepted that he will have to earn Malik's friendship back. This is more of a promise- Altair has hurt Malik in a way he can never make up for, but now Malik knows something about Altair that no one else can ever learn. They are tied together, for better or for worse.

He accepts the mirror- a tiny thing, hardly larger than his hand, but it will do- and begins to undress. The other assassins that frequent Jerusalem are away from the night, running errands or missions, or simply busy with other plans. There is little chance that anyone will walk in on them, and modesty with this body that isn't his seems pointless.

Finally, he stands naked in the middle of the room, robes and underclothes folded neatly on the ground nearby. Malik sits on his desk, clearly not sure where to look. After nearly half an hour spent in silent contemplation, testing himself, seeing what he can do, Altair speaks. "It could have been worse," he says.

"Just what I was thinking," Malik says dryly.

Altair ignores him. Honestly, now that he is calm enough to be unbiased, Altair has to admit to himself that he has not changed as much as he'd assumed. True, there are certain undeniable differences between a man's body and a woman's that will take some getting used to. He'll have to find some way to bind his chest in future, and a growing tightness in his bladder reminds him that he will have to face that particular horror soon. Besides that, he feels smaller than he is used to. He has always been short, of course, but this body has a slightness to it that will take a while to get used to. He is not weak by any stretch of the imagination- he still has the strength and musculature he is used to, enough to perform his duties.

His fingers are smaller, his hips larger, and his face shifted in some indefinable way that makes it seem feminine without leaving it unrecognizable. When he looks at himself in Malik's mirror, he sees someone that could be his sister, had he ever had siblings. But the face in the mirror moves as his does, and Altair can't watch it for long. He puts the mirror facedown on Malik's counter and does not look into it again.

His skin is smoother than he is used to, as well. There is some hair on his legs and under his arms, but the rest of his hair is gone. Conversely, the hair on his head is as short as ever, a style that looks out of place on a woman. Altair notes, in a distracted sort of way, that he will have to let it grow or risk looking out of place, and being noticed.

"I don't look that different," Altair tells Malik.

"You look like a woman."

"I could pass as a man," Altair says. "No one has to know."

Malik stands, and walks slowly around Altair. For the first time, he seems to be truly considering Altair and his new body. With anyone else, being subjected to such an intense scrutiny would have left Altair uncomfortable and upset. But this is Malik- they've known each other for years, and seen each other without clothes more than once, when they were boys, sharing a room with the other novices of their year, and later, when one or the other would be injured and need immediate treatment. Malik's examination is strictly clinical, like a doctor looking over a patient, rather than a man looking at a woman.

"I remember that scar," he says at last. He gestures at a thin, red scar that runs across Altair's left knee. "You fell."

"I was twelve," Altair says. He'd been stupid and overeager, and fallen down a flight of stairs on the second floor of the keep. Of course Malik would remember this scar, out of the dozens that mar his body. It is by far the least impressive.

"This one's new, though," Malik adds, pointing to a half healed mark on Altair's shoulder. Altair only nods, and Malik doesn't press. That one is from Solomon's Temple, a minor injury that pales in comparison to what Malik lost that day.

"Do you have an opinion?" Altair asks, changing the subject.

"I'm not sure," Malik says, doubtfully. "It would obviously be easier for you to pass as a man than it would be for most women. You were one this morning."

"And?"

"You're not a particularly striking woman," Malik goes on, and for a second Altair is torn on whether or not to feel insulted by this. "Homely, I think."

Yes, Altair decides- this is definitely meant to be insulting.

"Which should help you hide your-" his eyes flick downward for half a second, then back up to Altair's face. "Changes. If anything gives you away, I assume it would be your voice. You don't look too different, but you definitely do not sound like a man."

Altair nods, satisfied with this, and begins to redress himself. He's never been one to speak more than he has to, so this is not as much of a sacrifice as it could have been. When he is finished, he nods at Malik, and says "thank you."

Malik says nothing, but he nods as well. The two of them have shared something today, a secret that will paint either of them as mad if anyone ever finds out.

Today has been a truly strange day.

-/-

Two weeks pass before Altair faces his first real challenge as a woman. By that point, he has adjusted to the changes in his body, so much so that he can go hours without thinking about the impossibility of it all. And then comes the bleeding.

For a moment, the first time he goes to relief himself and finds his underclothes stained with red, Altair thinks he is dying. Then he pulls himself together- there is no injury and no pain, only a certain heaviness in the area.

(Later there will be pain, a heavy, creeping pain that will be difficult to hide, but for now he has no idea of what is coming)

He's heard of this, of course, but only in the odd comment from women in the village, and once from a jaded boy Altair had spent his years as a novice with, who had five older sisters and a pair of female cousins in his house. But he has few hard facts to rely on, and no one to ask. So he struggles through that first month alone, bleeding and sick and scared. He hates the fear, but hates more than that the tears that seem to come at the drop of a hat. Altair hasn't cried since he was a child, but during the week of his bleeding, Altair feels raw and unhappy. Minor problems are suddenly insurmountable, and he hates losing control of his emotions like this.

He is in the middle of a mission when the bleeding begins, and the stress of the assassination do nothing to make anything less difficult. When it's over, instead of riding straight back to Masyaf, Altair rides to Jerusalem. It's stupid and pathetic and unbearably needy, but Altair needs badly to be with someone that will understand. Or if not understand, at least listen. That can only mean Malik, because after all no one else knows that Altair is now a woman.

He arrives on the dai's doorstep sometime around dawn. There is a troupe of seven journeymen nearby, chasing flags and in general doing a poor job of obeying the third tenant of the creed- still, hiding in plain sight is generally difficult for children, and in general they seem indistinguishable from any of the noisy, wild street rats that roam the city streets. Besides- keeping them in line seems like a Herculean task, more than any dai could be expected to shoulder.

And in fact, Malik seems more harried than usual that morning. He is obviously too busy to listen to Altair's problems, so he waits, watching the journeymen along with Malik.

"Some of them show promise," he says.

"Too few," Malik says, and then sighs. "Well, they're new to all this. Most of them were novices a few weeks ago. They'll learn, if they're lucky."

Altair watches them push and shove at each other, climbing after the flags but falling more often than not. One falls onto a cart carrying a bunch of squawking chickens, and he winces. "That one will learn," he says, as the journeyman in question jumps from the cart, covered in feathers and scratch marks. "He will not fall again."

"Hmm," Malik says. Then, changing the subject completely, says, "I've been thinking."

"Oh?"

"There should be more women in the order."

"You mean any at all," Altair corrects.

"I mean more than one," Malik says pointedly, and Altair heaves a sigh.

"You're not as funny as you think you are," he says.

Malik smiles in a self-satisfied manner, but only for a moment. It fades quickly into a serious expression. "Seriously, though," he says. "There's no reason to exclude them."

"I suppose not," Altair says, and frowned. It's the first time he's ever considered- seriously considered- that his position could be at risk if anyone were to find out his secret. "I'll be inside if you need me," he says, and vanishes before Malik can say another word.

The idea of being forced out because of his body, something he has no control over, haunts Altair for hours. His emotions are already running wild from his bleeding, and Malik's words- innocently meant- do nothing to help. He curls onto a bed in a disused room. The pain comes back again too, and when Malik finds him, hours later, it is all Altair can do to keep himself from crying and blurting out everything.

Instead, he describes his bleeding and the side effects as clinically as he can. When he's done, Malik offers- "You need a girlfriend."

Altair snorts. "That's the last thing I need right now."

"A boyfriend, then," Malik says, apparently perfectly serious.

"Are you volunteering yourself?" Altair asks, and watches with a certain amount of satisfaction as Malik quickly backpedals. He feels slightly better after that, and when the bleeding slows and then stops a few days later, Altair has no problem leaving.

-/-

He meets her- if 'meet' is the right word- at the funeral of Mard Addin.

When Altair finally beats de Sable to the ground and forces the helmet off his head, it is a woman there. A stranger, one Altair has never seen before. He does wonder for a moment if this woman could be de Sable, if he could have been cursed to share whatever strange fate has befallen Altair. But where Altair's face is nearly unchanged from the transformation, this woman looks nothing like de Sable. No- she is a different person completely, apparently a double that Robert has sent in his place.

He should be worried about where de Sable has gone, but he isn't. All Altair can think of is that woman. She can fight as well as he can, and when she speaks he knows that she has a strength that he can never hope to match. He was born a man, into a life that he was extremely well suited for. She must have fought tooth and nail for everything she has, and he admires her for that.

If he's honest with himself, it's more than admiration. He obsesses over her, thinks of her all the time, wonders about her name, her life, who she is as a person. For a long time he tries to find her, but without any luck. He doesn't even know her name, which makes his task much more difficult.

Of course, by the time he realizes how desperately he wants to speak to this woman, his life has changed completely for the second time. The mentor is dead, by Altair's own hand, and Altair has been chosen to take the man's place. There are a million things to do, and Altair has no time to do all of it, much less track down strange women. Especially women that are probably templars.

Then, something amazing happens.

He finds her again. Her name, it turns out, is Maria. She is a templar, as he suspected, but in the end that makes no difference. Altair falls in love with her, and no amount of logic can stop him. Not that they are on opposite sides of a war that seems like it will go on forever, and not that he is still technically a woman himself.

Except that he has never felt less like a woman than the day Maria agrees to come back to Masyaf with him. He feels like a man, a man in love, and all that seems to matter more than whatever impossible changes his body has gone through.

Maybe that is why he changes back. He never knows for certain, and in fact he was never afterward able to pinpoint the exact moment he shifted back from woman to man. He didn't complain- it was a relief not to keep a secret anymore, and as far as Altair could tell, there was no reason the change should not be permanent this time.

And if it were only another temporary change- well, he knows how to hide it now.

-/-

Years later, Altair will discover that he does not know how to hide his womanhood as well as he imagines. From time to time, sometimes for only a few hours, and once as long as a year, Altair wakes to find himself a woman again. He grows to accept that this is simply the way his life must be, and does his best to hide the truth from everyone around him. Malik remains his one confidante, and over time his shifting gender becomes as commonplace an occurrence as the changing of the seasons.

But nothing lasts forever. It's the middle of the night in the hottest month of the year, and Altair finds himself still awake, trying to calm his son. Darim is teething, crying and wailing like it's the end of the world, and so Altair takes him away from the rooms the three of them share, hoping to keep from waking Maria.

He's half naked, his chest bare in deference to the sweltering heat of the season. Normally this would make no difference, but tonight, when Altair finally manages to quiet Darim, he realizes that he has made the change from man to woman without even realizing. By now, both forms are so familiar to him that to be a woman feels as natural as a man. Altair has gotten used to the fact that he'll bleed once a month as a woman, and smell worse as a man. He is simply himself, no matter what he looks like at any given moment.

But that doesn't mean he wants anyone else to know, ever, and when he hears footsteps behind him, Altair can't help but freeze.

"Altair?"

It's Maria's voice, fuzzy from sleep, and he knows from her tone that she hasn't realized yet. It's dark, he has his back to her, and she is not fully awake. But the moment he turns around, she will know. She will see his face, his figure, and- most damning of all- breasts. And she will know.

He turns anyway, because she is his wife and he has lied to her for far too long. At first, she doesn't seem to notice anything is wrong, and Altair has a wild, selfish thought that maybe this isn't the end of everything after all. Then her eyes go wide, all traces of sleep vanishing abruptly. "Who-" she stops abruptly, unwilling or unable to go on. Altair stands in silence, wanting nothing more than to turn away. He doesn't, though, not even when Maria comes to stand right next to him. Her gaze, suddenly hard and unflinching, sweeps over him, studying him.

Then she brings up her hands, running them over his half naked body. Altair stands like a stone, and for a long moment Maria doesn't move either. Both of them are still and silent until Darim- pressed uncomfortably between his parents, begins to cry again. Maria takes him from Altair's unprotesting arms (you have lied to me, her face seems to say, you have lied and can no longer be trusted with our child). Then she leaves, without another word passing between them.

Altair considers running after her. He wants to explain- for a long time now, the need to tell Maria the truth has been eating Altair from the inside out. But he has been afraid, and delayed when he should have acted, and now it is too late. Running after Maria now will only anger her further, so Altair turns in another direction instead- he cannot go home, and he cannot wander the keep half dressed as he is. The only place he can safely go is to Malik, and so he does.

If his friend is surprised to see Altair arrive on his doorstep, miserable, nearly naked, and once again a woman, he hides it well. "So?" he says casually, stepping back to allow Altair inside. "It's late for a visit. What's gone wrong now?"

Altair tells him the story in quick, terse words. By the time he is dressed again in borrowed robes, Malik knows it all. Altair can see him itching to say how much of a fool he is, but for now at least he has the decency to wait. "What will you do?" he asks instead.

"Explain, I suppose," he says. "If she gives me a chance. Although it will be hard to explain what I don't understand myself." Even now, years later, he still has no idea what caused the original transformation, or why his body has seemed unable to decide on a gender ever since.

Malik nods- there is little else Altair can do, unless he wants to let Maria go. And he doesn't, because she is his wife, and he loves her too much to keep lying to her. If she wants to leave, there's nothing he can do to stop her. But he very much wants to try.

The day is taken up with matters of the order. Some things cannot be put on hold, no matter what may be going on in Altair's personal life, but he is too distracted to do his job well. The others around him seem to notice this, if nothing else, and leave him well alone. Then, a little before sundown, Maria comes to see him. She has been in this room, the office where Altair does most of his work, many times before. Still, there is an almost unbearable tension to the room now, and Altair watches her anxiously, waiting for her to speak.

She does not leave him waiting long. Maria's voice is almost desperate when she speaks, clearly as eager for answers as Altair is to give them. There are shadows under her eyes, and her face is pale. Altair doubts that she slept at all after finding him in the hall the night before.

"We have a child together," she says. "I know you are a man. I know this."

"Only sometimes," Altair says. He has grown used to disguising his voice during the times when he is a woman, pitching it low and speaking quietly. It is a hassle though, and yet another lie- he doesn't bother with it now, and Maria shakes her head disbelievingly. Whether because of his voice or because of his words, he does not know.

"Why?" she asks.

"I don't know."

"Well then, why didn't you tell me?" she asks.

"I was afraid," he says. "I still am afraid." This is something he has never admitted, not even to Malik. It's likely the man is not fooled, especially as he was there on the first day. They don't talk about it though.

"You are afraid of being a woman," Maria says, flatly.

"What?" Altair hesitates, surprised by the question. He is occasionally discomforted by being a woman, and often confused. Not afraid, though.

"Do you think you are too good to be a woman?"

"No-"

"You think-"

"Maria!" he does not yell, because he knows that will only spur her to shout in response. Once they are screaming at one another, there will be no chance at talking matters out, no chance at reconciliation. So he does not yell, but he speaks with force. "I am not afraid of being a woman. I am afraid of being both a woman and a man, and of being discovered as a freak of nature."

She hesitates, then nods, accepting this answer and calming a little. "You are not," she says.

Altair snorts. "I am," he says. "Everyone on Earth is born, either a man or a woman. How many others are cursed as I am? To be both- to change…" he manages a deep breath, and goes on. "I don't mind that part, not anymore, but I am afraid that others will find out and I will lose everything. That you will find out and I will lose you…"

Maria shakes her head and steps closer, shaking only slightly, to hold him. Their bodies fit together strangely, differently than the way he is used to. Then he stops focusing on the shape of his body and hers, drawing comfort instead from knowing that somehow, for some reason, she is still there and does not plan to leave.

"No more secrets," she tells him. "If you ever keep a secret like this from me again-"

He laughs. "What other secret could be as big as this one?"

She doesn't answer. "And you do not lie to our children," she says. "They deserve to know the truth."

He nods- then draws back from her slightly. "Children," he says. "We only have one son."

"For now," Maria says, and Altair's eyes are drawn downward, to where her hand rests on her stomach.

"You are-"

"I had planned to tell you in different circumstances than these," she says. "But I am pregnant again."

And she smiles- a beautiful, happy smile that makes Altair feel blessed just for seeing.

"I love you," he says.

"And I love you," she says. "But next time-" she nudges him teasingly. "I think it's your turn to carry the child."

"We would need another man for that," Altair says, keeping a straight face with effort.

"Perhaps Malik?" Maria suggests, her voice teasing. Altair would have marveled at her ability to swing so quickly from anger back to happiness, had he not already known how emotional a simple monthly bleeding could be- pregnancy had to be worse. "I assume he knows already."

"Only because he was there the first time," Altair says. "He's kept my secret, but I don't think-"

"I'm teasing, Altair," Maria says. "Come on, now- it's time to go home."

-/-

True to his word, Altair never hides his condition from their children. Darim and Sef grow up accepting their father and his changing body as normal. If anything, it is more difficult to convince them to keep it a secret. Sef especially seems to derive an endless amount of pleasure from telling everyone he meets, and eventually Altair has to sit down with him and explain that no, it's not alright to keep telling people that sometimes he has two mothers.

"Why?" Sef asks. He's five years old, tall for his age and still growing, shooting up too quickly for Altair and Maria to keep him in clothes- his legs hang out of whatever they put him in, and he seems to be mostly made out of knees and elbows.

"Because there are some things we don't need to tell people about," Altair says. "It's a secret, and it could be… dangerous if people were to find out."

"Why?" Sef asks. He looks genuinely confused, face crinkling up and eyebrows drawing together. Altair knows he must be aware that other families aren't like theirs, but he doesn't think Sef really understands why that's bad.

"It's not normal," Altair says.

"But I want to tell people," Sef says, in a voice like a whine. "You're the best dad ever and sometimes you're a girl and no one else can do that and I want everyone to know!"

"Oh," Altair says, before he can stop himself. He's never even considered that his son might be proud of him. In his own mind, his transformations have never been anything more than a hassle and a curse to him. He isn't really sure what to do with this unexpected reaction, so he just shakes his head and asks Sef again to keep himself quiet. Later, he'll ask Maria for advice, and she'll laugh and give him exactly the advice he needs, as usual. She'll make it seem like the most obvious thing in the world, also as usual.

He has no idea what he would do without her.

"Dad?" Sef asks, calling Altair back to himself. He'd been sidetracked, lost in his own thoughts, not aware of his son gradually growing nervous and more fidgety.

"Yes?"

"Can I learn to do what you do?" Sef asks.

"You want to be a girl," Altair says, and only years of training keeps his voice calm. "Why?"

"I dunno," Sef mutters, shrugging. "It kind of looks like fun."

"It's not," Altair says.

"It's not fun?"

"No."

"Then what does it feel like?"

"It…" Altair hesitates, because it's honestly not something he thinks about much anymore. It just happens, and then he moves on with his life. But Sef is still staring up at him with his expression of innocent curiosity, clearly eager to know more. Altair frowns, and tries to think of a way to explain it that will let Sef understand.

"At first," he says at last, "It feels like catching a cold. Sort of dizzy and off balance. But only for a second and then it's gone, and it just feels a little strange. Like… wearing a pair of clothes that don't fit. But after a few times back and forth it gets easier to ignore, and sometimes I don't even notice I've changed."

Sef giggles. "And then mom has to tell you."

"Right," Altair sighs. In the years since Maria discovered his secret, he's gotten more lax about keeping his secret in private. There are certain steps he needs to take every time his gender changes, small things usually, depending where he is and whether he's coming or going. If he's in Masyaf and a woman, he has to bind his chest, change his voice, and wear looser robes that better conceal his figure. Changing back to a man is an easier transition, but he does need to remove his bindings, if nothing else. Otherwise they tend to slip uncomfortably.

Outside of the keep, the issue becomes a little more complicated- there have been times before when it was simply easier to pass unnoticed as a woman than as a man, and that means taking special care not to be caught, and labelled a cross dresser or a lunatic.

More than once, Altair has let his guard down around his family and simply forgotten to change clothing until Maria came by to tell him off, much to their sons' amusement. "Yes," he says aloud, in answer to Sef's question. "And then your mother has to tell me."

"So it doesn't feel like anything?" Sef asks, obviously disappointed. "I always thought…"

"What?"

"Never mind," Sef mumbles. Then, apparently unable to stay quiet, he goes on again. "You're different. Sometimes. When you're a girl, I mean, you act funny."

Altair tilts his head slightly to the side, considering this. He's known for many years that he tends to feel things more strongly as a woman than as a man, especially around the times of his bleedings. And maybe he does lead to other differences- a tendency to be more open around the people he trusts, and at the same time more cautious with those that don't know his secret.

(When he mentions this revelation to Maria and Malik some weeks after, his wife will laugh and wonder why it took him so long to notice- and then she will scowl when he reminds her that she hadn't even noticed he was a woman for years. Malik will only sigh and call him a fool and a novice, insults which Altair has heard so many times he barely even hears them any longer)

"I hadn't noticed," he tells Sef, and then quickly changes the subject. "The point is- if you keep telling people that I am a woman, I will be disappointed, and something will have to change."

"It's the truth," Sef says.

"I know," Altair says. "And I don't want to have to punish you for telling the truth, but you need to learn that there is a time and a place for the truth. Some truths are secrets for a reason, and this is one of them. If there comes a time and a place when you think it is appropriate to share what you know, then do so by all means."

"But not all the time," Sef says slowly.

"And not to everyone," Altair adds.

"Okay," Sef says, and that's the end of that.

-/-

In the end, Altair is happy to die a man.

After years- decades- of fluctuating between one gender and the other, he happens to be a man on the day of his death. There is no particular reason to prefer one form over the other, not anymore. There have been times in his life when he could not seem to settle on one form or the other, when he would change from man to woman and back a dozen times before noon, and times when he has been locked into man- or womanhood for months at a time. In retrospect, Sef's lifelong fascination with his father's gender may have come from the fact that Altair had been a woman for the first two years of his life.

Still, he had been born male (oh so many years ago now), and it is something of a relief to know he will die a man as well. Or maybe it is just a relief to know that he will die. His life has been a hard one, and a long one. He is nothing but an old man now- although this morning, he had been an old woman- trapped inside a decrepit old body that no longer does what he expects it to do.

Yes…

Yes, he is ready.

Safely hidden within the walls of the library he has spent so much time and effort building, Altair lowers himself into a chair. Tired muscles relax, finally and fully. He has not let his guard down enough to rest this well since before Maria's death. It is a great relief to do so now, and when he breathes out for the last time, feeling the last of his energy leave him at last, well- that is a relief, too.

But as his heart ceases to beat, as his lungs refuse to take another breath, there are still regrets. Some of these are for the mistakes- the many, many mistakes- he has made in his lifetime. If Altair had the chance to do it all over again, he knows now that there are many choices he would have made differently.

And more than that, Altair regrets that he was never able to discover the reason for his changing body. He has tried, certainly. In his travels he has spent a considerable amount of time and effort searching through texts and listening to the most obscure legends and baseless rumors he can find. Only he hears nothing that can even come close to explaining his situation, and as the world fades finally to darkness, Altair accepts at last that there are some mysteries in life that he will simply never be able to solve.

But something… something makes him open his eyes as he dies, and what he sees there is strange enough to bring a little bit of life back to him, to force his tired lungs to breathe again, and jump start his heart. There is a shadowy figure standing just in front of him, barely visible, so that Altair can make out only a vague form. The person could be anyone, man or woman, stranger or enemy or friend. Possibly they are only a hallucination brought on by his oncoming death.

The person, whomever he or she may be, kneels down in front of Altair, taking his cold, wrinkled hand in both of their own.

"I'm sorry."

The words come from the phantom, but they arrive in Altair's mind without passing through his ears on the way. They echo in his mind, whispered words that plead for understanding.

"It's all my fault."

And with the words, the answer comes suddenly rushing from the figure and into Altair's mind. He knows, finally, why he has been cursed to spend so much of his life as a woman. Over the years, Altair has spent more time than he should have imagining increasingly ridiculous explanations for his condition. None of these guesses are as impossible as the truth that now presents itself to him. The whole thing is completely insane, and so very, very sad.

"It's alright," he manages to say. And then, because it seems important, he manages to add a few more words. "I forgive you," he says.

And then he dies.