A.N. - Okay, where to start? I will not be writing the summary or warnings, pairings, etc anymore because they will all be in the actual story summary itself. I will, however, be writing disclaimer in this chapter which applies throughout the entire story. Hope this is alright, and sorry for any confusion as this is not my usual writing style.

Also, I am really sorry for anyone who has been following Non Est Verum, I will be continuing that story but I've sort of lost interest in it lately so my updates are going to be a lot less frequent. The only reason I'm writing this story is because I read "The Story Of A Rafiq" and "And When the Earth Shall Claim Your Limbs" and I am not afraid to admit that I cried like a total baby at the latter. I wanted to write something similar because, let's be honest, there can never be too much Altmal. And I just don't think that there are enough tender love stories that show character progression and create scenes with powerful emotion and detail.

I won't lie, I'm not exactly the best writer in the world but I've decided that this story, this pairing, is worth spending hours correcting my grammar and cramming detail into chapters, showing not telling and all the other crap I've totally forgotten from English Language in High School lol.

I'm starting college in September where I'll be studying English Language so although I won't have as much time to write, hopefully what I do write will be my best work yet (not hard when you consider my other work lol)

Anyway, this is probably the longest author's note in FanFiction history so I'll wrap it up now, enjoy! :3

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, any of the character's or the plot of AC1. If I add any OC's, they will play minor roles and I will notify you.

Malik Al-Sayf was just like any other ten year old boy. He had bright eyes and a cheery smile, he was fit and healthy and loved to tease his younger brother. He laughed when he was happy and cried when he was sad, absolutely normal in every way. Except, unlike other ten year old boys, Malik was born into the brotherhood, which meant that he was destined to become an Assassin, whether he wanted to or not, and oh, did he want to.

He was determined to follow in his father's footsteps and become a Veteran Assassin, just like him. He was going to slay all of the Templars before they knew what had hit them and he was going to do it with style, just like his father.

Yes, his future was planned out for him, he had a destiny which he could not escape, but did he care? No, no he did not.

Tomorrow was to be his first day of Assassin training, he couldn't wait to be the one creating echoes that carry down the mountain to the village below with his sword in the training ring, to learn to fight with throwing knives and daggers, and most of all, to wield a hidden blade like his father and kill his first Templar.

The boy grinned at the thought, to fight and win against a Templar was the essence of what it was to be an Assassin, their goal, their purpose, and he, Malik Al-Sayf, was going to be a part of that starting tomorrow morning.

He looked up at the ceiling of his two story house - his father was a high ranking Assassin so he was able to provide for his family. He smiled to himself, counting down the seconds until morning, kept awake by the excitement of it all. An hour later and he had fallen asleep, smile still in place, with his fingers strategically placed infront of his face to count the seconds.

He led on his side now, as was his natural sleeping position, much unlike his father who slept on his back, shoulders tensed as if ready to strike at any second. Malik slept peacefully knowing that, if some idiotic Templar without a brain decided to break into their house at night and tried to attack him, his father would spring to action at the slightest sense of movement, hidden blade at the ready, and it would only take a second before that blade was buried in the attacker's neck.

The next morning, Malik was out of bed at the crack of dawn, dressed and ready for the day ahead. He ran to his father's room, thinking, not for the first time, how lucky he was that his father was so skilled that he could afford a house with multiple rooms, unlike most other houses in the village of Masyaf. He felt the urge to jump on his father's bed and shout for him to wake up but decided against it. He was a man now, or at least he would be soon.

He braced himself and shook his father's shoulder lightly. The man leapt out of bed and held his hidden blade where Malik's throat would have been if he hadn't ducked moments beforehand. Faheem Al-Sayf cleared his throat and apologised as he retracted his blade and offered a hand to his son who was cowering on the floor. Malik declined and pulled himself up, men didn't need help.

His father looked over at his mother's side of the bed. It was empty as it had been for some time now. The healers had done what they could with their herbs and their salves but his mother's condition had not improved so she slept away her final days in the comfort of their family home. Malik had been distraught when she had passed away, had re-considered his wish to be an Assassin, did he really want to deal the kind of pain and heartbreak he felt to the families of other men, Templar or not?

As the months after her death passed, he had decided that that was not his choice to make as it was required of him to put his faith in the brotherhood and the choices it made. Besides, who would be mad enough to marry and have children with a Templar? Malik doubted that anyone would really miss any of those monsters. But then again, couldn't the same be said for Assassins? He decided not to dwell on that, he knew that a lot of people had bad impressions of Assassins, an occupational hazard, but surely people realised that most Assassins were born into the brotherhood as Malik had been and that, therefore, it was not uncommon for them to have families.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and followed after his father who led him downstairs to the rug in their sitting room. He sat and gestured for Malik to do the same. The boy complied and stared intently at his father, waiting for what was surely going to be a piece of parting wisdom for his first day of training.

The man inhaled slowly through his nose, straightening his back, and exhaled through his mouth, slumping back down. He repeated this process several times, keeping his eyes on his son who began to grown impatient.

Finally, the man spoke, "I have seen a lot in my time upon this earth, I have seen life and death, have held each in my hand, and dealt the latter frequently to those who deserved it". He breathed again, easier this time, softer and bore his gaze into Malik. "However, if you were to ask me what the greatest thing I have witnessed in my life has been, I would not hesitate to answer the time I have spent watching you and your brother grow up. You are becoming a young man now and are to be given responsibility accordingly." Malik leant forward, hanging on to every word that fell from his father's mouth. "And so, I believe it is time that I pass on the responsibility of looking after Kadar to you. You are to begin your training today and soon you will grow to be strong, use that strength to protect your brother. No doubt he will also train as an Assassin but nevertheless, you will always be his brother and your loyalty is to him above all else. Promise me Malik, let no harm come to yourself or Kadar, this is your burden to bear now, as a man."

At these words, Malik fought the urge to jump out of his seat and hug his father for trusting him so but he knew that that was not proper so he settled for a polite smile when his father put his hand on his shoulder. But his eyes showed all the true pride he felt as they shone for all the world to see and his father smiled back to him.

"I promise, thank you father" he replied, not trusting himself to say anything more, knowing that that was enough.

As if on cue, his younger brother, Kadar, fell into the room, tripping over a basket by the doorway. His face coloured as he realised he'd been caught eavesdropping and he apologised, seeming genuinely ashamed of himself. Malik only smiled, knowing that this was what he had to put up with from now until his death, and it would be his death, he would keep his father's promise forever, he would not allow any harm to befall Kadar while he still lived.

He opened his mouth to scold Kadar, as was his duty now, but closed it upon hearing commotion in the street outside his house. He scrambled to get up and out of the door and fell over twice in his excitement, once tripping over the rug and again opening the door.

He fell out into the street and looked up with a scowl at the sound of laughter. A man in white was on a horse, chuckling to himself as he eyed Malik up and down. As Faheem came out of the house and picked his son up of the ground, he greeted the man as a brother and Malik immediately dropped the scowl, this man was an Assassin and deserved his utmost respect.

"So" began the man, "this is the best that the son of the great Faheem Al-Sayf has to offer?"

Malik bowed his head and apologised for his clumsiness before bidding his father and brother goodbye and following the man and several dozen or so other boys up the slope to Masyaf castle, home of the assassins.

They walked in silence, except for the odd comment made by the man on the horse about how many recruits there were this year and how much the boys were sure to enjoy training.

The trek up the mountain didn't last long, the sun hadn't moved noticeably in the sky by the time they reached the top, and yet the walk seemed to take the better part of an entire day. The anticipation was growing, each boy was glancing about nervously, fiddling with their thumbs or gawping at the sight of the huge castle before them. Every boy, except one. Malik looked over to see a boy in brown pants and a white, loose shirt who was walking confidently, shoulders back, chest out, towards the front of the castle.

Deciding that he was much more grown up than these other boys, he drifted over to the other boy who said nothing, only glanced at him as he continued walking. The man in front stopped and dismounted. He told the boys to stay where they were as he went to take his horse to the stables.

Malik took this moment to take a close-up look at the young boy next to him. He noticed that the boy had pale white skin which was strange, and he hadn't seen him before, clearly he wasn't from around here, and yet he seemed so confident and knowing. He eyed the boy and found himself staring at his eyes, they were a fierce golden colour, brimming with intensity and he found it hard to look away. It took him a moment to realise that said eyes were staring straight back at him.

Embarrassed, he looked away, craning his neck to look up at the castle, amazed at how tall it was but he wouldn't make the mistake of showing his amazement and looking like an awed child. He lowered his head and looked back at the boy who was still staring at him. He stared back, not sure whether he should blink or not. Just as his discomfort reached it's limit, their guide returned and gave him an excuse to look away. When he glanced back, the boy was looking at the man who was leading them inside the castle.

They entered the huge archway that was the door and climbed a set of stairs before they were led through a smaller doorway into what could only be described as the most beautiful place Malik had ever seen.

He was standing in a garden, although really, it deserved a better title than "garden", the word "paradise" leapt to mind and he decided on that, this place was paradise. He and the other boys were surrounded by women who lay about in leisure in this space filled with the greenest grass and the most beautiful and exotic flowers he had ever seen. In the center of the paradise garden was a fountain filled with clear, pure, flowing water, he didn't doubt it to be the cleanest water in existence. And in the middle of the fountain sat a statue of a beautiful woman, more beautiful even than the real women that surrounded him, he realised that this was the first time he'd seen a grown woman without a head scarf and that, for some reason, made him feel more unsure than anything else.

He turned to face the guide who seemed to be measuring the reaction on the young boy's faces with a certain degree of smugness, as if this was the norm for any high ranked Assassin and yet, his father had never spoken to him before of such a place as this. Then again, his father rarely spoke of work and even less so around Malik.

As Malik returned from his thoughts, he realised that they had been joined by someone else. He felt this man's presence before he saw him, felt the power that radiated off him and the respect felt in turn by their guide, the two men that had appeared to guard the doorway, and the women of the garden.

He looked over to see an old man, possibly in his 70's or 80's who had one green brown eye and one a misty grey-ish white colour. He wore Assassin robes with three large belts with a black cowl and a black, heavily decorated djellaba. He also had a short, black beard that was beginning to grey.

The man, the leader from what Malik could gather, looked over them each in turn, that one working eye glistening with knowledge and secrets.

Everything was silent for a moment before the man spoke, "I am Rashid ad-Din Sinan, but you will refer to me as 'Al Mualim'", he paused, gauging the reactions that were a mix of respect and awe, this was the Al Mualim, mentor of the assassins. He continued, "Assassins live by a certain creed, these are the rules that govern our lives and our actions. The creed has three tenets, three rules which an assassin must follow."

Malik thought back to what little he'd heard of his father's work and remembered hearing of the creed before but couldn't remember hearing of its tenets. He looked over at the pale boy with the intense eyes and watched him as Al Mualim, the mentor, spoke.

"The first tenet is: stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent", Malik nodded at this as if it was obvious and he'd known it all along. Surprisingly enough, he found the mysterious boy mouthing along to the mentor's words, clearly he knew the creed and its tenets well. "The second tenet is as follows: hide in plain sight". Again, Malik nodded, this made sense as assassins are supposed to be discreet, masters of disguise. Al Mualim continued, "And the third, and most important tenet, is: never compromise the brotherhood" Malik nodded for a third time as the boy mouthed the words of the creed once again.

The guide from before stepped forward and spoke, "Anyone who takes issue with the creed or any of its tenets should speak now and they will be spared training and will be escorted back to their home, they will have the option to train as an Assassin next year instead"

Some of the boys bristled and looked around at each other to see if anyone was going to back out. Malik just kept looking at the pale young boy who was the only person still paying attention to the master. Malik decided to follow his example and stood straight and looked at the mentor.

Al Mualim nodded at the guide who spoke for the final time, "Very well, as of now, each and every one of you are official Novice Assassins", he smiled at the sea of pre-teen grins and murmurs before him.

They were led out of the garden, down the stone steps and out into the courtyard where the air seemed imperceptibly clearer than it had done before. They were taken to the left of the castle and through a small, guarded door that led to a spiral staircase. They climbed it and followed their guide down a maze of corridors that Malik didn't bother trying to map out right now, he'd have plenty of chance to do so over the coming years.

Finally, they were shown to a simple brown door that looked much the same as the dozens of others that they had passed along the way and Malik hoped they weren't expected to remember the way here.

Inside was an old man with a short grey beard and lines on his stern face that betrayed every smile he'd ever shown. Clearly, he was just putting on a show for the new recruits. "Enter, enter, take a seat", Malik looked around to see a room lined with bookshelves with a long table in the center with cushioned stools strategically placed around it. As he stared at the room and pondered as to how much knowledge was contained in those hundreds of books, he realised he was the only person still standing. He quickly walked over to the only spare seat which happened to be quite near the door, next to the mysterious, pale boy.

The old, bearded man told them of his name, Marab Abdu - he was to be their teacher of everything but combat. At first, this confused the young Al-Sayf, wasn't the job of an Assassin to kill Templars, what else did they need to know besides combat? But he soon found out about all the other jobs and skills available to an assassin. There were scribes, potters, cartographers, informers, teachers and many more positions besides field assassin.

By the end of the lesson, he had learnt some of the history between the Templars and the Assassins and some of the reasons behind the war between them. He'd also learnt the name of the mysterious, pale boy when Syd Marab had asked each of the boys in turn what their names were. Admittedly, he hadn't paid much attention to any of the other names, but once their teacher turned his eyes onto the boy, it seemed that the whole room went quiet as the other boys noticed him for the first time.

His voice was quiet but clear and seemed to echo around the room, there was power in this voice and if asked, Malik was sure he would find himself doing whatever its owner commanded without thinking about it, "I am Altair Ibn-la'ahad, son of Umar".

All was silent for a moment longer before the room erupted into whispers and murmurs, Umar Ibn-la'ahad was perhaps, the greatest Assassin in all of Masyaf, perhaps all of the world. He had long ago reached the rank of Master Assassin - one of the youngest ever to reach it at the age of twenty-nine - and as such, commanded the greatest respect from all others. Could this skinny, pale-skinned boy really be the son of such a great Assassin?

Malik earned his own fair share of murmurs when he mentioned that he was the son of Faheem Al-Sayf. He glanced over at the boy, Altair, and was surprised to catch the hint of a smirk on the boy's face. He raised an eyebrow and looked back towards Syd Marab.

At the end of the lesson, their guide from before came back to escort them home. Many of the boys had acquainted themselves with one another or had already known each other before hand so they partnered up and chatted as they were led down to Masyaf village.

Malik felt like an outsider without someone to talk to so he looked around for anyone else who was walking on their own and wasn't really surprised to see the only person without a friend was Altair. He drifted over to him and attempted to strike up a conversation, "So, your the son of Umar?", he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Of course he was the son of Umar, he'd said so himself and he was probably sick of people asking him questions about his father. Malik should know this as he was fed up with the same thing and his father was no-where near as well known as Altair's.

He braced for some form of insult or to be told to go away but the boy only smiled and nodded politely. Malik still felt stupid for asking.

"Um, so" he struggled to think of something clever to ask, "did you enjoy today's lesson?", he supposed that would have to do.

The boy, Altair, simply shrugged and looked at him, "Did you?"

Malik fought the urge to shudder, a ten year old should not have a voice like that, it was too deep and authoritative and he found himself answering said voice before he'd even fully considered the question, "It was alright but I can't wait until we start combat training", he grinned and was relieved when Altair grinned back at him and was not surprised to see perfect, white teeth. It made sense, everything else about this boy was just too perfect, the way he walked, the way he spoke, why should his looks be any different?

He found himself staring now at the boys face, memorising its structure, his nose was bent downwards but it didn't look ugly at all, it gave him a defined face shape and made him look older somehow. His eyes were narrow and looking at him again but Malik didn't mind so much this time, it wasn't so uncomfortable the second time and he got the impression that Altair wasn't much for speaking anyway. He looked at the boy's hair and took in its dusty, light brown colour and the way it fell about his face in short locks, it suited him.

He continued to stare as he walked until Altair flung an arm in front of his chest to stop him from falling into a hay cart. He blushed and looked around, they were almost at his house. The young Al-Sayf remembered to thank the boy before bidding him farewell. It was awkward as they didn't hug or shake hands like any of the other boys, they just made eye contact and nodded at each other as Malik said, "See you tomorrow". And then he walked off in the direction of his house, tearing his eyes from the other boy and setting them on his brother who ran from their house into his arms.

"Brother! How was Assassin training? Did you kill any Templars?" he asked excitedly, bouncing up on down on the balls of his feet.

Malik laughed, "No, not yet but I'm sure we'll get to that first thing tomorrow", he chuckled at the wide eyed look on Kadar's face.

"But won't you get all bloody? And what if you're not good enough? I mean I know that you're ten now and you're a man and father said you have to look after me now but you don't really have to because you're busy with training and I can look after myself but not very well yet because those boys down the street stole my coins and I tried to fight them, I did, but they were really fast and they ran away and I chased them but I can't climb the buildings like they can and did you learn to climb buildings today because if you did then can you teach me, but only if you've got time and if you're allowed and what is Al Mualim like because father said-" Malik stopped listening at this point and just took his brother's hand and led him inside as he blabbered on.

He fetched them both a drink of water from and a loaf of bread and sat down with his brother in the sitting room, he finished his bread and looked over at his brother who hadn't touched his yet as he was still talking, "-don't you think, Malik?"

He paused and tried to focus on remembering what Kadar had said but it was no use, he hadn't been listening. His brother was still staring at him intently so he settled on a curt nod and a murmur of agreement, relieved when Kadar continued with "Yeah, I think so to, stupid village kids, just because they weren't born into the brotherhood"

Malik smiled and asked Kadar if he knew where their father was, surprised to find that he did not as Kadar usually knew everything that was going on, mainly because he eavesdropped on most conversations, with stealth like that, Malik was sure his brother would make a great Assassin in the coming years.

He decided his father was probably busy and that it would be best for him to stay and look after his brother until his father came back so he moved to the kitchen and started to prepare a basic stew for when his father returned, today he had become a man and he now had responsibility towards his family, or what was left of it.

That night, the two Al-Sayf sons ate the stew themselves - if the burnt vegetables and various chunks of meat floating in water could be called that. After Kadar had fallen asleep against his brother, Malik waited until the moon was at its highest point in the sky before deciding his father would not be back that night, and so he gathered his younger brother in his arms and laid him in his bed upstairs before settling into his own.

He knew his father would be back soon and didn't allow himself to worry, he curled up on his side before something clicked in his head, he was an Assassin now. He re-positioned himself so he lay on his back just as his father lay but relaxed his shoulders - he doubted he could get to sleep if he was tensing his muscles. He imagined the weight of a hidden blade on his arm and felt comforted, before he fell asleep, that pale face with light brown hair and intense golden eyes flashed infront of his closed eyes and he fell asleep with a smile on his face, looking forward to tomorrow.

Okay so that's chapter one done.

A few quick notes:

Syd means "Mister" in Arabic so you'll probably see that crop up quite a lot throughout this story.

Also, in case you couldn't tell, Marab Abdu is my own character and he'll probably appear quite a bit too. Marab is arabic for teacher/tutor. I think it shows up as "educator" in google translate if you really want to check (don't know why you would).

I got the title from a poem I stumbled across about hate sex and falling out of love, it's quite beautiful really, even if the first line is "We fuck so hard".
The poem is called "Peace of paper poetry - he's falling out of love with me" and yes I know they spelled "piece" wrong.

And I know that Rashid ad-Din Sinan was a title but I don't know Al Mualim's real name and besides, Rashid can be an Arabic name anyway so...yeah.

I'll start working on the next chapter tomorrow but I'm starting apprenticeship work on a farm soon so I'm not going to have as much time to work on this, sorry. But hey, I played AC1 for the first time about 2 years ago and I'm still obsessed with this pairing so it's not a question of if this gets finished, but when.

Nevertheless, I'll work on getting the next chapter out as soon as possible and for updates on this fic, you can follow my statuses on DeviantArt where I have the same username. I'm thinking of making a snapchat for this account, is that weird?

I think that's all for author's notes so I hope you enjoyed this chapter which, by the way, is the longest one I've ever written, the longest before this was 2,453 words and this is 5,118 words.

Let me know what you think of this chapter or any of the author's notes or what you're favourite breed of dog is, I don't care lol just acknowledge me please, my hands ache from writing this! (P.S. Loving the Czechoslovakian Wolfhounds :3)

Vale,

Vitacazzo