betwixtbetween | (no subject)

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Dahi had said that he was better than Sef at climbing trees and that he could climb higher and faster than him anyway, so there. Sef had said he was lying, and anyway he was only seven and one half and not seven and three quarters like Sef so of course Dahi couldn't be better than him, that was stupid.

And then Hasan had said they should climb that big tree by the road and see who could climb the highest.

The three of them had gone along quite happily, Sef full of bravado and certain that he could make it to the top without fail and what was more, he was going to make it to the top faster than Dahi could. Hasan had picked up two sticks and whoever picked the longest went first- Sef's was only a stubby one so he had to sit pouting as Dahi got to go first. He made it up as far as the first big branch before he laughed and said that Sef couldn't go higher, and of course Sef knew that he could.

And he did.

But now he was stuck.

"Sef it's not funny anymore," Hasan wailed. "My mother will scold me if I'm late!"

"Go home then!" Sef called back, trying to sound like he wasn't scared as he clung to the branch like a cat.

"Come down, stupid!" Dahi shouted. "We're hungry, you've been up there for hours!"

It had of course only been twenty minutes, but when it came down to the serious matter of trees and being stuck in them, trivial matters like time tended to pale into insignificance.

"I bet I could stay up here all day if I wanted," Sef boasted, trying to make it sound like he really did want to and he wasn't scared half to death up the tree. "Watch me, I bet I can!"

Only Darim would probably pinch him and tell him he'd been reckless and silly and an Assassin shouldn't let something like pride get in the way of asking for help, and Mama would tell him he'd acted like an ass and would probably tell Master Rauf that he was still a baby after all and he couldn't possibly start training yet.

He didn't want to think what Uncle Malik would have to say. Probably that he was a reckless novice and his father would be ashamed.

Sef could feel his eyes getting hot and he sniffed; it wasn't worth wiping his eyes because then he'd have to take his hand away and he knew that if he did that he would fall and probably die and then it wouldn't matter what anybody thought and he'd never be an Assassin.

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Altaïr had every intention of passing on his knowledge and skills—as much as such things could be passed on—to his sons, but he equally had no intention of setting them apart by being the only one who instructed them. Even if he had the time to do so, Darim and Sef would benefit more from fully joining the brotherhood and participating in its methods of training.

Rauf was the teacher, and Altaïr had trusted him to do well by Darim and the other boys in his absence. As he approached the training ring it became clear that the man had lived up to his trust; the techniques that Darim was demonstrating were simple but executed with skill for a newcomer to the blade.

Their arrival in Masyaf had caused some stir, but most of the boys surrounding the ring had been so focused on the lesson that they hadn't noticed. That is, until the Grandmaster arrived beside it to watch, making no move to interrupt.

Darim, for his part, was much too focused on the task at hand. He had been working hard all afternoon, his stomach had that same hollow feeling that usually hailed his desire for supper, but right now he had to ignore his stomach to get this done right. Aswad was watching, and he had been useless at parrying ever since Master Rauf had shown him the steps. He was two years older than him, but Darim was determined not to let that hinder him.

Breathe. Focus. Move.

Master Rauf moved towards him and Darim stepped forward, raising his practice sword and moving to deflect the blow.

Block and step and move again.

"You see? That is how it is done," Master Rauf was saying as Darim sat and took a breath as he moved his practice sword back to his side.

He was so fixed on keeping himself calm and composed that he missed the smile on Master Rauf's face as he looked at the assembled audience and grinned at one of the adults.

"Do you have anything to add, Master?"

There was something bittersweet in seeing his eldest son like this—taller, stronger, more skilled. Life had gone on while Altaïr was away, as he knew it must, and wouldn't have wished otherwise. But there was still a yearning to have done the impossible and been in two places at one—the master and the father, both doing their jobs.

The part of him that felt this was outweighed by the part of him that felt a considerable amount of pride in Darim's development, though, and he smiled back at Rauf.

"No, Dai, I can see that their training is going well," he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard across the circle. "You have some promising pupils."

Darim started immediately at the sound of his father's voice, his head whipping around so fast that it was a wonder he didn't manage to get whiplash. Sef was being embarrassing- like always- and was hopping up and down by their father's side, waving and pointing at him and trying to get Darim's attention. He stood very tall and straight, squaring his shoulders and bowing his head very deeply and respectfully in Al-Mualim's direction, determined not to act like a child now that he was in preliminary training.

Master Rauf clapped his hand on Darim's shoulder and addressed his pupils.

"That will be all for today. Do not let your heads grow too big with the compliments and work hard to perfect the art of not tripping over your feet when you step. You are dismissed."

It was earlier than usual, but judging from the way that Master Rauf's eyes seemed to smile more than usual, Darim had a reason to suspect it might be down to the return of his father. He politely thanked his teacher and returned his sword to the rack, all the while trying not to let his hands shake with excitement or run to his father like a small child. He had been told to be the man of the family while his father was away and he wasn't about to revert to being a boy now that he was back.

"Darim, Darim! It's Baba! He's really home!" Sef squeaked as his brother joined them.

Darim stopped just short of them and bowed deeply and respectfully, just like a good and grown up Assassin should.

"Welcome home, Al-Mualim sir."

Self-control and mental preparation allowed Altaïr to merely maintain a pleasant smile as he waited for Darim to come to him. He wouldn't have minded if the boy had run and jumped and squealed just as much as his little brother—such behavior wouldn't mean he hadn't been there for Maria and Sef over the past months.

But Darim was growing up all too quickly, and Altaïr had an idea of how important it was for him to remain dignified. Let him show it.

He held his shoulders straight and his head high as Darim bowed, just as he would to any of his men speaking a formal audience. It was difficult, in this moment, to remember the red, squalling baby his son had once been, and easier to picture the man he would be sooner than his parents would like.

"Thank you, Darim," he said, and held out his arms. Sooner than his parents would like, but not yet. "And what about a welcome for your father?"

Darim had told himself on the way towards his father and brother that he wasn't going to do anything that might embarrass them, or show any signs of childishness now that he was in training and on the path towards becoming an Assassin. He was nine years old now, almost ten, and it would be shameful to behave like a little boy.

But then his father opened his arms to him, and suddenly it was all Darim could do not to cry but instead through his arms around his father's waist and hug him fiercely, pressing his face against the rough, dusty robes he wore and screwing his eyes tightly shut. There had been whispers that something had gone wrong in Constantinople, surely the Master should be back by now, why was it taking so long? Darim had played them off, had told Sef that it was nonsense when his little brother would lie awake in their room whispering questions. They never talked about them around Mama. Darim knew she missed Baba more than she would tell him and Sef because she would grow quiet sometimes for no reason, and then when he would go to wish her goodnight sometimes he would find her wearing father's undershirts. She would always tell him not to worry and hug him especially tight before sending him off to bed with a kiss on the forehead.

Some nights he and Sef would climb into bed with her because Sef was worried she was lonely.

But now that was all forgotten, and Baba was home. They didn't have to worry about never seeing him again now.

"We missed you, Baba."

Altaïr didn't dare laugh as his son barreled into him, but a wide grin would do nothing to shatter Darim's hard-won dignity. He hugged his son back tightly, privately marveling at how much higher the top of the boy's head was on his chest.

On the way to Constantinople and once they were there, it had been easy to keep himself from yearning for his family. He missed them, of course—deeply, and when he couldn't fall asleep easily at night, they were always in his thoughts. But the work they had traveled so far to do occupied much of his time, and he'd had to focus in order to establish the Assassins' presence in the city—and when that hadn't happened, to bring them home safely.

But on the way back, there had been little to distract him. He'd wondered what they were doing, how the boys were growing, what he'd missed. Now, at last, there was no more wondering.

"And I missed you, Darim," he said, stroking his hair lightly. And then he did laugh when Sef tried his hardest to encircle both his father and his big brother in his arms. "And you, Sef," he said, and hugged them both.

"You were gone so long, we-" Darim stopped himself short as Sef interrupted, but instead of berating his little brother for being an insufferable attention hog, he let the smaller boy wriggle into the embrace.

After all, Darim wasn't the only son of Altaïr who had missed his father.

"Someone said you'd got lost at sea!" Sef added, sounding indignant. "But you didn't, did you Baba? You never get lost."

"How could he be lost if he's home?" Darim replied for his father, sounded exasperated with his brother's ignorance. "Constantinople's far away over the sea, Sef. It's not like going to Acre."

"Did you fight any Templars in Constandynosepull, Baba?"

"How many times do I have to tell you it's not called 'Constandynosepull,' it's 'Constantinople!'"

"Be quiet Darim I'm talking to Baba!"

"Darim! Sef! What have I told you two about bickering out loud where everyone can-"

Whatever reprimand the boys might have been about to face was swiftly cut short as their mother rounded the corner and immediately caught sight of the cause of their high spirits. She stood looking astonished at the sight before breaking into a run towards her husband.

"Oh habeebi!"

All three of them looked up at the sound of the familiar voice, but it was sweeter to Altaïr's ears. He knew Maria's face as well as he knew anyone's, but what existed in his mind was nothing compared to the real thing.

Gently, he extricated himself from his sons' arms, turning to face his wife just as she reached them.

Maria had none of the reservations of her eldest son when it came to embracing her husband, and as soon as she knew she wasn't about to collide with any smaller bodies, she threw herself at Altaïr and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly and saying nothing, thoroughly overwhelmed by the fact that he was home and safe and back again.

Oh god, oh god he was safe.

"You're home," she murmured. "You're home at last."

Half the training yard was watching them now, and the other half was pretending it wasn't. Altaïr didn't care. He wrapped his arms around his wife and rocked her, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against her hair.

"Maryam." He said her name like he was savoring it. "I missed you, too."

Maria doesn't appear to give a damn about the audience or how much of a scene she's creating. She draws back a moment to take his cheeks between her palms before she starts to pepper his face with kisses, starting with his cheeks, his nose, his chin and then finally his-

"Bleugh, they're kissing!" Sef complained to his brother as he turned away in disgust.

Altaïr couldn't keep from smiling at his son's complaint, and ruining the (actually quite chaste) kiss with Maria. But that was fine; the welcome he wanted from her was not one to be accepted in front of their sons, much less the watching public.

"And you will have to suffer through it once more," he said, reaching out with one hand to ruffle Sef's hair again. "It is one of the down sides to my return."

Maria caught the hugely apologetic look that Darim was shooting her for his brother's conduct and laughed, resting one hand on her firstborn's shoulder while the other remained on her husband's cheek.

"I would not call it a downside at all," she chuckled, kissing her husband again on the cheek before she drew Darim against her side in a half hug. "Stop being a willful nuisance young man and come and hug the rest of us."

Altaïr barely waited for Darim to acquiesce before he drew his entire family into his arms, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling for along moment before releasing them.

"I see you've all made great strides in my absence," he said, fondness twinkling in his eyes. "Perhaps you don't need me around very much after all."

"No, we do! If you're not here then Darim gets too bossy!" Sef protested, sidling a little closer to his father to avoid any pinching that might follow from his pronouncement.

He nearly didn't avoid said pinching, but Altaïr deftly intercepted Darim's hand.

"In that case, I'd like to return to our quarters and change," he said. "If I'm to stay, I should clean up a little."

Maria shot both boys a stern look and positioned herself between Sef and Darim, putting her hands on their shoulders.

"As should you two if you want your supper. I don't want to see any dirt beneath your nails before we sit down. Sef what on earth have you been doing all afternoon? You look as though you've been dragged through a head backwards."