Letters to Malik

I write you with news that Masyaf has fallen. I have fled to Jerusalem while I await word from Tazim that he and his assassin’s have overthrown the corrupt leader Abbas and Masyaf is ours once more. I am safe here, brother. The abandoned bureau remains undisturbed. Kept supplied over the years by the novices. But however safe I am here within these walls from the templars, I must admit… I am not safe from the confines of my own mind. From the memories of you (the memories of us). Here old scars reopen as fresh wounds. Here I am laid bare. Old memories that once brought peace resurface as painful reminders of what will never be again.

(Inta habibi…)

Your soul, brother…. It lingers in this place. Here it is like you are alive once more, just out of reach. There is not a corner of this bureau that remains untouched by your presence. At nightfall, I smell the incense smoke as it dances in little swirls up the lattice during my watch. I can still hear your quill scratching quickly against parchment as you so skillfully map the routes in and out of the city. A noise that was once a nuisance, but quickly became a sound of comfort. I can still hear the echoes of your voice here in the still of the night. Word of disdain. Of hurt. Of concern. Confessions of guilt. Confessions of love… whispers of desire against my skin, late in the night as the city sleeps.

(Inta omri…)

Before I drift off, I can feel the warmth of your body as you carefully creep into the bedroll, ever so careful not to disturb my slumber. Sometimes I can still feel the drag of needle and thread through fresh wounds as you artfully mend my flesh. Each scar now a painting across my skin, each with their own story. I can feel those deft fingers moving down my body after. Still feel the ghost of your breath against my shoulder before your mouth captured mine in that first chaste kiss. So hesitant at first, then with great need. Like I was water in the desert. The rough stubble of your chin as it drags down my jaw and neck before your mouth worked down the planes of my body. I can still envision the hard umber depths of your eyes. See them soften more and more each time I returned. See them clouded with love and with lust. I can still see the hurt and resentment after that last meeting before you left Masyaf for the last time. Before the correspondence fell silent for good.

(Inta albi…)

You must know, Malik… There is not a day in my life that goes by in which I do not regret the choices we had to make that day. The choices that would lead to your demise and ultimately my own downfall. I longed for a simple life away from the duties of Grandmaster. Away from the Masyaf and the constant threat of the Templars. I longed for a life with you by my side and safe. You must know… I’d never have chosen this if it wasn’t the utmost necessity.

(Inta roohi…)

I will await Tazim’s correspondence until the end of the dry season but then, I will have to move on from the pain of this place again. From you. After nearly two decades of silence I believe it is time for me to lay these memories (and your soul) to rest. To close this bureau and leave Masyaf in Tazim’s capable hands. There is nothing left for me anymore. I’m but a broken soul, left to wander the desert and find a new meaning away from the assassin life.

Safety and Peace, Malik.

Your love always,

Where do I even begin?

It’s been years…

Years since I’ve last heard your voice. Since I’ve last seen your face. It has been a decade since I’ve last felt your embrace and smelled the sweet scent of your skin. Since your calloused and nimble fingers have caressed my battle worn skin and stitched my wounds.

A decade, yet it still feels like yesterday.

Yesterday since I first stepped foot in the bureau after that life changing day. Since I earned your forgiveness and you accepted my love after what felt like years working tirelessly to gain your trust again. Just yesterday since your lips last touched my own scarred ones. Since my name last left your lips.

I know you’re gone but I often wonder… if you weren’t, would you still think of me? Would you still feel the same as you did many years ago? I would like to think you would. I would like to think that your hardened expression would still soften when our eyes met. That your normally harsh tone would ease as it used to. Your hard exterior crumbling, just for me as it always used to.

You may be gone, but I will spend my days dreaming of you. Of our time spent together.

I will never forget you, brother.

The days here are growing longer now and with them the ever growing list of duties.  Does it never end?  My time here seems futile and but a waste.  

I miss home, Brother. I miss you.

I fear you are gone.  Your pigeons have been absent for months.  I have heard word that the Jerusalem Bureau has been left abandoned.  Maps left half finished where they lay.  The Bureau, or what remains of it, has since been looted by Templars.  Your work, however, safely intact behind the bookshelf.

I've sent a group to search the area and beyond to find you.

I will be here waiting for your return.