Title: Meat Market
Author: imaginary_witness

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story: living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. Assassin's Creed is owned by UBISOFT. These events never happened, according to history or as the original author (UBISOFT) intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

Chapter I: Acquaintances

He was watching him again, across the hall, with those soft brown eyes. The candlelight before him caused them to sparkle and reflect red, turning them a vivid crimson. Malik Al-Sayf cast his gaze downwards at the plate before him. He had barely touched the food this night, just as he hadn't all the other nights as well. Whenever those soft, earthen eyes were upon him, his stomach was full of winged-creatures fluttering about and causing him to tremble. He stole a peek quickly, glancing up through his short hair to find the eyes were in contact with another man's, twinkling with the delight of some unheard joke. They nervously flashed back in Malik's direction and he quickly lowered his own golden orbs once more.

For several nights now, both master assassins were present in Masyaf. Many thought it would be good experience for the juniors. Many others thought it would result in bad competition. But Master Malik Al-Sayf and Altair Ibn La Ahad were anything but. It was fair to say they must've been the most modest and shy assassins to ever be in the Syrian guild, at least to each other anyways. Or perhaps they were just both honourable enough to respect their levels and therefore each other. Whatever it was, Master Altair kept his distance from his golden-eyed equal.

But Malik had spent many sleepless nights recently pondering if there was another reason for Altair to avoid him. Malik had always been a cautious child, a quiet one. He had his fair share of envy, lust, sloth, and greed, but it had never been part of Malik to sin for the pleasure of simply sinning. Grown as a shield for his younger brother, the eldest Al-Sayf took it upon himself to protect his younger child, sharing the same room and staying close as they grew. To other lineages, this seemed utterly unnatural and whispers followed the brothers like shadows wherever they went. Had Altair heard these rumors? Was it disgust that kept him away?

Malik scowled at his plate before shoving it back. "I am not hungry." He whispered.

"Again?" one of his brothers-in-arms asked in disbelief.

"Perhaps you should be checked for fever at the temple?" another spoke.

"I am fine. Perhaps prayer will ease me." The golden-eyed man stated through his teeth, forcing himself to rise. He found himself angered by their voices, hostile over their opinions. His limbs were seized up with rage as he forced himself away from the warm hall, away from those luscious deep eyes. He pulled his dark gray cloak tight about himself, the winter nights bringing with them flurries of snowfall and chills. There were fires lit near the entrance but the King of the Sword did not bother with them. His feet made angry pits in the snow were he stepped, listening to the packing crunch of the elements beneath him. He wanted to smirk in response to the sound echoing his anger but a part of him begged forgiveness for such thoughts while another part of his consciousness fought over the thought of Altair. Even if he didn't know, Altair had lost his father very young. It was the only family he had even known. He of all people would understand why Malik was protective, why the brothers were so close. Altair would not close his mind to the Al-Sayf children, as so many others have.

He made his slow descent from the Assassins guild as a thief in the night, a black shadow against the snow. His breath was not appearing as the chilly cloud before him as he kept his hands in front of his mouth, his breath warming his fingers and neck. His yellow eyes blinked back tears over Altair, the assassin who he envied. It had taken Malik time to realize that his admiration of Altair was further than his skill in aiding their Syrian cause. He startled himself to wish Altair would set those delicate eyes on him and no other. To watch him during the dinners to memorize the way his lips would curve in delight at a companion or the way they narrowed as he spoke his foes. Malik found himself slowly slipping into fantasies before nightfall, pleasing himself quickly to fall to a dreamless slumber and an unsatisfying morning. He felt cold without Altair nearby, without his fantasized embraces.

He coughed as he walked along, turning his hands to fists to catch his ache. Annoyed with himself, the King of the Sword rolled his golden eyes and spat.

"It is quiet a chilly night to walk alone for confession."

The voice caused Malik to jump. He placed a hand against his heart and turned his to face his new companion, eyes gleaming from the depth of his hood. "A-Altair." He breathed, his eyes eagerly raping the sight of his affection's face.

"at your service." The monk placed his own hand over his heart and bowed slightly, in custom.

"Are you heading to the temple as well?" Malik stammered. It was a drab conversation starter, one that even sounded lame to his own ears, yet his shock had not yet cleared. Master Altair was finally speaking to him.

"Indeed. I always confess to my work. It...seems right to confess to robbing someone of their life, would you agree?"

Altair spoke with his teeth clenched and barred. He hands were folded in prayer before him but his words were accented to emphasize the odd spoken pattern. It gave off an aggressive feel to his statements, but the guild already rumored on his arrogance.

Malik continued starring at him as they walked. He found himself so caught in the soft dance Altair's lips made as he spoke, the intensity of his voice, that he simply nodded his head in agreement with whatever was being said. Upon Altair turning to face him, slightly annoyed by the lack of response, Malik gave a start and tumbled into an oral agreement.

"Yes. Yes, I would agree. It...seems justified." He blushed.

To his surprise, La Ahad smiled and blushed as well. It wasn't a rosy pink that painted the master's cheeks, however it was enough blood under them to give him a faint glow.

Malik felt himself grow in confidence slightly. The master had smiled. He enjoyed something in Malik to smile at his stupidity.

"And you?" Altair countered quickly, not allowing Malik the advantage of the conversation. "What are you confessing for?"

Malik turned to face Altair, opening his mouth to speak but then closing it as Altair threw his hand, palm up, in Malik's face. "No, do not say! I wish to guess."

Malik smiled. "Fair enough. I will give you to the temple to guess, if you wish."

"Completion of a mission?" Altair asked innocently.

"No." Malik frowned. Altair as well.

"Failure then." Altair declared.

"I am the King of the Sword." Malik declared, forgetting himself. "I do not fail at my tasks."

Upon seeing Altair smirk, Malik blushed.

"Oh, do not be modest for me, King of the Sword." Altair gloated. "Shall I continue scourging your ego?"

"As it please you." Malik whispered.

They had reached the central elevation of Masyaf now, the temple only a small road down yet another hill. Many doors were shut tight and soft fiery glows came from their windows. The snow that had been falling began to thin into a delicate sprinkle. Malik could feel the flakes settled into the fringe of his hair.

"You lied to someone?" Altair asked once more.

"No."

"Stole something?"

"No."

"Kissed someone?"

"No." Malik blushed. Altair caught on.

"You went farther than kissing someo-"

"No!" Malik protested, louder than necessary. He watched Altair's brown eyes grow in shock and then laughter. "No." he lowered his voice. "I didn't do any of that sort." He blushed.

"But something along those lines. Hmm,"

The temple was in sight and Altair was running out of time. "You want to, you have a crush, you fantasized?" He listed.

If Malik had been less cautious than he was, he would have wrapped his arms around Altair and kissed him right there. Every bone in his body was aching, screaming at him to announce loudly to Altair "Yes, and it is you!" It took every ounce of strength Malik had to fight back this over-whelming desire and keep the pain clear from his face.

Instead, he turned to Altair, golden-eyes sparkling mischievously in the flames from the temple windows. "You shall never know." He teased.

The two Master Assassins entered the temple together, throwing back their cloaks and unwrapping their scarves. Malik took his gloves off and held his fingers over the fire that was held in a metallic basin near the entrance, but it wasn't the heat from the fire that warmed his heart. For the first time outside of their training years ago, Altair son of Umar had spoken to him - and he had made him smile.

Chapter II: Disaster

Stepping into the holy grounds of the temple, Malik felt another of his headaches coming on. They hadn't happened in the past, but for the period of several recent weeks, Malik had been suffering from the gently throbbing pain at the sides of his head. He reached up and held his fingers across his forehead, attempting to massage each temple into subsiding the pain, but it did nothing. He scowled and shook his head slightly. He wouldn't allow a stupid headache to affect his time with Altair. Or with his God.

The pair walked towards the holy of holiest space, the place where they could confess their sins in solitude. For some reason unknown to him, it comforted Malik to have Altair there. They dipped their fingers in the water for cleansing and removed their boots before climbing the step to the altar and kneeling before it. Both bowed their heads in prayer and their lips both moved to form soundless words of praise and mercy for their gods.

Malik found it difficult to focus. His breath became irregular as a fever grew around his pounding head. He slumped forwards, catching himself with one hand to keep himself from hitting floor. Tears spilled from Malik's eyes, tears from the unbearable pain in his head. He felt as if a fire had started in his skull and burned him from the inside out. He hacked, gasping for air as his body fought the numbing pain. His mind became a frenzy, desperately fighting off the agony while struggling to understand the cause of it.

Caught in the sudden fit, Malik's attention was stolen from that of the physical world. He didn't realize the blood running down his lip from biting it to keep from screaming. He hadn't noticed how the fever had spread throughout his body to rage his temperature to a fiery degree. And in all that, he hadn't felt Altair's frost-bitten fingers gently stroking his face. He never heard his words begging him to fight the darkness.

Malik awoke with a jolt, felt the fever ripple through him once and be gone. It was a jarring feeling, a scary one, in which the fever chased itself from his crown to his feet before dissolving to nothingness. Malik stared up at the stone ceiling. He was lying on a cot of straw and pillows, on top of a thin sheet. His clothing had been stripped, save for his tunic woven thin of cotton and the pair of soft, baggy shorts he wore under his trousers. Malik lifted himself up with his elbows and shuffled so that he could lean his body back against the wall for support. He was alone in the room, with soft morning light filtering through the soft cloth hung as a makeshift curtain. Faint dust moats swirling through the chilly air and the room was bare of both wall and space. Only a tall potted plant stood in the corner, near the windows, and it rather bend its trunk towards them than he.

Malik closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He considered hitting it against the wall a few times but the thought of risking another headache scared him. He wondered what had caused him to tremble so suddenly? What had caused him to burn?

All Malik remembered was the pair of glorious brown eyes, like that of an angel's, starring deeply into his as he was carried away. The eyes never parted with his, following him as he was moved, until at last his own eyes closed. "Altair." he breathed, to himself.

He opened his eyes when he felt a warmth and stickiness between his legs caught his attention. It wasn't a feeling that Malik was foreign to, but it disturbed him this once. Typically his morning erections weren't sticky until after he had dealt with them. And he couldn't have managed that in his sleep, could he? Or was Altair simply that special to have caused him relief? Malik grinned cockishly to himself. The King of the Sword was tamed that easily?

His grin slipped off his face when he raised his hands to rub his face. The inside of his palms were splotchy, with red marks appearing within them. Malik pushed up a sleeve of his tunic in panic. The splotches carried up his arms but seemed less angry upon them. He followed them down his chest, across his sharp abdomen, until his face fell with horror as he mentally snapped together two abnormalities. Malik pulled his tunic up and hesitantly pushed the front of his shorts down. The red splotchiness had carried down his thighs as well, growing in brightness and appearing more dry around his groin. He moaned in horror as his eyes took in the ulcer across his manhood, the opening sticky with pus.

Malik kept his hand holding his shorts open as he leaned his head back against the wall and felt his hair fall into his closed eyes. He breathed heavily and his thoughts were screaming in his mind. It could only have been one thing that caused Malik this infection, one place. The markets were one of his favorite places since he was a boy because of all the attention he got. As he grew, they were the only place that Malik felt understood him and he became quite aware of shopping for more than just regular meats. But now in his early adulthood, Malik had been feeling less of the market buzz that got his high in his earlier years. His last visit had been months ago, several weeks in fact.

The timeline snapped something together in his head once more. Several weeks ago were when the headaches started. Less than a month ago both the Master Assassins began staying in their guild headquarters while the heavy months of Winter delayed their enemies. Malik released his boxers and brought his hands up to rub his face but stopped short upon seeing the markings. He felt like crying but no tears would come. It dawned on him that he could never show Altair his love, never give Altair what he had given to the others in the market streets. He had wasted his love on those that meant nothing when he should have waited for the one that mattered.

A soft knock upon the door jostled him out of his sorrow. He paused long enough to stare at the door before realizing they were awaiting an answer. He folded the thin blanket over his legs and called a soft "Come."

Word must've reached his brother by now. Word of his illness. Kadar must've been worried sick. Malik wondered vaguely if that was he who knocked so softly. When it was the soft hood of Altair however, Malik could no longer hold back his tears.

Please note if confused:

Author Note: Sorry if it seems a tad confusing. Spoiler: the STD Malik is suffering his illness from is called Syphilis. It is transmitted through the ulcer-ous wound on a person's privates. Typically, the wound clears up and the person can be treated. Sadly for Malik, he didn't realize he was infected and thus his wound and his disease went untreated and began to fester. At this point in the original time period, I wouldn't be sure if the disease becoming infectious would lead to him becoming infected with something rather nasty that would lead to side effects such as headaches and fevers. Although, once at the point of passing out, I would say he was infecting his nervous system and dying. Disclaimer that I am not a doctor but for the purpose of a realistic point of view on the topic, I would just say he is and thus he is dying.

Chapter III: Good Byes

Altair's soft figure came around the door. He hadn't opened it fully and instead crept around it before shutting it behind him. A closed door in the brotherhood could only mean few things but ultimately it stayed closed unless consented.

Altair's soft footfalls resonated quietly across the stone floor as he came closer. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke: "Malik."

Malik's lips grew into a small smile, the corners turning upwards fondly, his tears slipped silently past them. "Altair," He breathed heavily in return. Just speaking his name gave Malik courage.

"Malik, I was ...worried. I-"

"Hush, Altair. It will be alright."

Altair was silent for a moment, his bright eyes focused on the gray floor. "Will you be alright, Malik?" he asked.

It was Malik's turn to stare at the floor. He pulled at the threads of the blanket as he struggled for something positive to say. "Hey," he settled for, stealing Altair's gaze. "It will be alright."

Altair brought himself closer and seated himself beside Malik, his back against the wall. When Malik did not place his arm around Altair's shoulders, he lifted it and placed it there himself. Malik wanted to shy away, afraid to infect Altair, but then though otherwise. 'He wants my company.' Malik argued with himself. 'Let him have it, at least this once. Let him remember something of me.'

"Malik," Altair's voice grew thick, his throat felt tight. "Malik, do you remember when we would spar together?"

Malik smirked. "We were very young, Master Altair."

Altair smirk. His fingers pulled at the threads of the blanket. "I have been meeting your eyes at meals and not responding for quite some time. I have never been afraid of anything before Malik, but your eyes...they scare me."

Malik nodded, his face staring straight ahead. He chewed on his scabbed, lower lip and deliberated for a moment. "I met your eyes because I like you, Altair." It was the boldest Malik had ever been, even in the market places."I met your eyes because I wanted you to notice me. I wanted you to want me back. Because I long for you Altair. I longed to hold you but every time you met my eyes, I would lose my words."

Malik leaned his head against the wall once more, his bright-eyes closed. He inhaled and exhaled loudly, rubbing his face with one hand.

"Malik." Altair whispered.

Malik opened his eyes to find Altair was staring straight into his golden ones. He still had Malik's arm around him, holding it gently in one hand, yet he moved to gaze into the suns of his life.

"I knew you wanted to tell me something, Malik." He whispered. His breath was icy against Malik's lips, and he continued on, his lips a playful smirk. "But I couldn't figure out what. And to be honest, that scared me very much."

As Altair spoke, he brought his lips closer to Malik's until he had to stop speaking for them to meet. His were cool upon Malik's skin, soft and sweet, with a small imperfection where his scar dragged his lips down. Feeling the sensation of Altair against himself caused Malik to swoon. The King of the Sword reached upwards, pasted Altair's hood to run his fingers through his dark hair. He moaned into the virgin's kiss and seized the opportunity to shove his tongue into Altair's mouth.

Altair moaned in return, shocked and pleasured by the sudden experience. He wrapped both his arms around Malik's neck and pulled him closer. He gasped against the elder man's lips, sucking the saliva from the lower. He whimpered in his arms, pulling closer, eager for more.

Malik gently pushed him back, pressing his hand against the smaller man's chest. Altair moaned softly, his lips gently breaking away from Malik's, a string of saliva breaking off in distance.

"Malik," Altair breathed heavily. His eyes sparkled in wonder.

Malik wanted to scream. His heart was burning on fire and a sudden throbbing headache started up. His arousal was painful and his throat felt swollen.

"I would break my vows for you." Altair whispered, supporting himself against Malik's chest. He shrugged himself out of his hood, gazing into the orbs that had become his life.

"No, Altair. If things had been different..."

Altair's eyes filled with tears, the moisture clinging to his eyelashes and lightening his rich brown eyes. "Malik, what are you saying?"

Malik stroked his long fingers down the length of Altair's cheek. He admired his beauty, dark hair and sharp features. He admired his determination, his will. And he admired his love, strong and passionate and diminutive among the brotherhood. Malik blinked, forcing the tears in his eyes to creep back. "Altair," he whispered softly. "I am dying."

"No." Altair gasped. His tears flowed freely now. "No, not now. Not now. Malik, I just found you again."

Malik felt liquids in his throat, thick and rising. He forced himself to swallow, forced himself to behave. He smiled at Altair through his pain, held him when the monk fell against Malik's chest for an embrace. "No," the younger one begged against him. "No, not now. Not now. Why? God, why?"

"Shh." Malik rubbed his back. He could feel blackness slipping against the corners of his mind. His ignorance had given his infection time, time to bubble and fester. Now it cost him his life, which was slowly slipping away from him with each passing minute. "It's all going to be alright, Altair my sweet."

Altair cried against him, his sobs soft and weak. Malik feared the assassin would faint of exhaustion, having been through such shock. He rubbed his back gently and held him firmly against him, keeping him from his wounds. "Altair, my sweet Altair." he cooed.

"Malik, I don't want you to go so soon." Altair whispered. He hiccoughed through his words, his rich brown eyes dulled with pain.

"Take care of Kadar for me, alright? I'll watch over you both." He smiled.

Altair nodded but said nothing. He pressed his lips to Malik's and they shared in one last, heart-felt kiss.

At the feel of Altair's lips against his, Malik's heart raced. He closed his eyes and gave Altair all he could give him in the kiss, every bit of passion he held back from the whores in the market, in the streets that claimed his life. Their tears mixed together on their cheeks and Malik envisioned himself and Altair, recalled the memories of them as children. They ran through the streets and up the mountaintops, ignored their fathers' and elders' warnings, took whippings for each other and eventually separated for a short time. Malik's memories pulled events where Altair was glimpsed in the background, moments in the market where he'd pass Altair and never even realize it. Did Altair know? Had he seen?

He envisioned himself holding Altair against him, both shirtless and sweaty. He moaned as the kiss deepened and the vision changed to them tending to the other's wounds, to them sparring together, rolling about the grounds until they kissed and it turned into more. He gritted his teeth in pain of his arousal, forced himself to press his lips tighter to Altair. He watched in his mind as they grew old together, but never apart. Watched with such desperation that his chest ached with longing and regret. He watched in silent bitterness as their hair grew gray and their skin grew weak and their love grew stronger. He watched as Altair held a child, watched as they shared in his birth and growth, as he donned a rafiq's robe and watched over his lover from afar. He watched until it vanished into nothingness, into a throbbing longing that overtook all the pain of his disease. He moaned and pulled Altair against him fiercely, feeding off his moans and allowed him to pull himself closer. Malik bit Altair's marred lips, feeling the electricity that coursed through him from Altair's shivers and chills, his moans. He poured his desire into the one kiss before gently pulling away from the ravished assassin.

Altair was trembling with desire, his eyes clouded with lust. It worried Malik of the changed he had caused in his love, his beloved. Altair's lips were bloody but clean, and Malik swallowed the blood from his teeth, careful to have kept his fluids from Altair. He didn't risk kissing him again and simply kept a soft distance between them.

"Malik," Altair whispered. "I love you."

The King of the Sword smiled. He was tamed. And through his tears he opened his mouth to return to the declaration but all he choked up was blood. His eyes widened in fear and Altair watched as pain afflicted him. Altair's tears fell, he didn't need to hear the words. But he wanted to. Malik spat blood onto his tunic, darkened and purple in areas. It was clumped and parts held chunks of clotting. Malik shivered as he convulsed, his eyes searching for Altair's face.

Altair held him. Came closer until he could lift Malik and lower him down against the cot. Malik shivered, his body burning in pain. He smiled at Altair through his blood and tears, choking out the words "I love you, Altair."

Altair smiled, having got his wish. He would never forget Malik, would never replace him. He would keep his vows to both his order and his love, and he smiled bitterly at the thought. He kissed Malik's forehead and held placed the King of the Sword's hand onto his chest, folding them in prayer. Malik grimaced in pain as he pulled his hand away, pointing to Altair's master belt.

"Take mine." He whispered, he teeth covered in blood from the vomit. "Take mine so all will know of our union."

Altair nodded and smiled. "Shh." he caressed Malik's forehead, sweeping the hair from his eyes. "I will, my love. All will know of us." Malik smiled and Altair continued. "All will know I belong to you."

"And I to you." Malik whispered. He choked on his spit, gasped for air.

Altair leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss on Malik's warm forehead. He didn't say a word as he lifted the pillow across Malik, didn't sob through his tears as he pressed it over Malik's face. He wouldn't watch his lover choke to his death. Wouldn't stand dormant and useless and watch as Malik's last moments were lived in regret, and pain, and longing.

Malik had no objection to the end. He held himself still, his hands holding Altair wherever possible. He let out all his breath so his body wouldn't struggle or scream and pressed his face against the pillows, against Altair's hands above him. "I will wait for you, my dear." He whispered. "Endlessly."

Chapter IV: Epilogue

Altair didn't remove his hands until well after Malik had released his last breath. He didn't want to see the face of his lover, pale and weak. He did not want to see the eternal sleep of death take him. But he would.

Altair softened his force on the pillow, letting his muscles relax. Once released, he still felt tense. The familiar sense of guilt washed over him and he sobbed as he realized his lover was just another victim he assassinated. Altair looked skywards and hoped he would see Malik above him, looking down. Hoped he could converse his guilt, his sins, his hate, and his hopes to his God. But he was only a mortal. Even with his gift, there was nothing there. Altair lifted the pillow from Malik's face and pressed his lips to very softly to Malik's dead ones. His body was still warm.

Altair moaned and rose to his feet. Malik would have to be buried tonight. He would have to find Kadar and take care of the child until he was easy enough to manage past his grief. Altair turned and gave a final private glance to his lover on the floor. He glared at him at first, recalling all the moments he'd seen a man similar to him in the market place, but then he shook his head. That wasn't Malik. His Malik was honourable and noble, sweet and kind. He was above that. Instead, his brown eyes softened and he took a step back to close the golden orbs of his lover. "I will never forget." he whispered to the sun of his life. "I will walk in darkness, until the day you find me."

He stood and made to leave, stopping when a flash of blue made him stop. Malik was standing beside the doorway, his image transparent and clean. He was dressed as he was in life, with robes of pure white and red. He was watching Altair with his golden-eyes and it sent a wave of warmth through Altair's body, one of great love and heat. Altair smiled and held his hand out, to which Malik held his against the distance. Altair stepped closer, hoping to close the gap, but Malik was gone and the room was silent.

He walked forwards, his eyes brimmed with tears. He left the room and called a novice to send word to the mentor, "Malik did not make it, his fever took him." Outside the door he found Malik's robes and equipment, upon which he left his own belt and took his King's. In prayer position, he made his way to find his brother Kadar, the only twin in which would share his grief.