Chapter Text
Malik Al-Sayif found his Master in the gardens of Masyaf after having been summoned. It was a somewhat unusual place to meet, but then again, it was a touch warm so being out in the light breeze, opposed to within the stuffy walls of the fortress, was a relief. “You called for me?”
“Ah, Malik, yes,” Al Mualim turned to him. “The Crusader that we have been interrogating has finally yielded something of importance.” Malik straightened his stance. The Crusaders invading the Holy Land had, very surprisingly, gotten remarkably better at not only spotting Assassins but fighting them. They had lost nearing two dozen Assassins over the past eight months alone. Whatever had happened to make the Crusaders so much more effective had to be investigated. So, they had -through much spilt blood- managed to capture a Crusader some months ago and had been trying to get him to talk ever since. Malik hadn’t actually thought the man would ever say anything, but obviously, he had underestimated the skill of the Brotherhood’s interrogators. Or perhaps overestimated the Crusaders.
Al Mualim began to walk, and Malik matched his pace automatically. “He spoke of a traitor to our order. An informant that is close to Robert de Sable.” Malik was immediately outraged. A traitor! The very idea that one of their brothers could have told any of their secrets to Robert de Sable of all people was nearly laughable. But, there were few other explanations for how the Crusaders could have gotten so good at identifying an Assassin in a crowded street. Or gotten so very good at fighting them. They had to have some sort of inside information.
“Who is this traitor?” Malik asked.
“The Crusader did not know a name. Only that he is called La Colombe by de Sable,” Al Mualim said.
Malik had learned French after the Crusaders came to the Holy Land and didn’t need the name translated. Malik nearly scoffed at what the traitor was called. “Where is this ‘dove’?”
“Kept by Robert’s side, apparently,” Al Mualim said. “I need you to find a way to infiltrate the Crusaders and kill whoever the traitor is. I do not care what it takes, Malik. This betrayal must be dealt with.”
“And it shall be,” Malik said. “I will ready myself and leave at once.”
He heard the rattle of the keys in the lock. The tumblers falling into place seemed far too loud, and the hinges creaked midway through opening. He didn’t bother to move as he heard the footsteps get closer. There was little point in even trying with wood, metal, and leather so tightly wrapped around his limbs. A gloved hand grasped his chin firmly, yet not to the point that it hurt, and forced his head up. A single leather-wrapped digit brushed across his chapped lips in a way that was far too intimate. “Are you going to bite me again, Colombe?”
He shook his head because that was really the only answer he could give. “Good boy,” the Grandmaster purred, and the finger brushed across his lips again. The leather agitated his dehydrated lips even more, but he didn’t protest. If he did that, he’d likely be locked away for at least another day or two. “Now… you know what to say after a lesson, don’t you?”
He tried to swallow despite how dry his mouth was. “F-for… forgive me, Father, for… I have sinned,” he managed despite how hoarse his voice was. “I… I don’t…” His head would have dropped if not for the gloved hand keeping it upright. “I don’t know… how long it has been…”
“Three weeks, Colombe,” the Grandmaster supplied.
“It has been th-three weeks…” He tried desperately to swallow again, but that did little to help. He was so thirsty. “Three weeks… since… last confession.”
The Grandmaster’s other hand brushed gently over his skull even while his unshaven chin was still cradled. “Go on…”
He struggled to find the proper sin that the Grandmaster was no doubt looking for. There was always one in particular that The Grandmaster had in mind. But, there was no harm in confessing to more than what was wanted. In fact, The Grandmaster would likely be pleased about it as he liked having a long list of sins confessed to him. And he was so much nicer when he was pleased. “I… was ungrateful… for your kindness. I used violence… I… I cursed…” He scrambled mentally for every possible thing he could list.
He could sense that the Grandmaster leaned closer. He could feel his warmth near his skin and the gentle brush of breath against his cheek. “Did you lie?” The Grandmaster asked softly. The hand not cradling his jaw moved to finger the chain wrapped around his neck. The one that was carefully wrapped twice around his throat and measured so that he couldn’t remove it, but the slack could be pulled and used as a garrote. He froze entirely as he felt the difference in the chain as the Grandmaster took hold of the heavy crucifix that hung upon it. “Did you lie, Colombe?”
The correct answer was obvious. “... yes,” he answered. “I lied.”
“What did you lie about?” the Grandmaster asked.
He hesitated, and the chain tightened slightly around his throat. Not enough to cut off his air but enough to remind him it was there, not that he could ever truly forget. “I lied about my desires!” he said quickly. “I… did desire your touch,” he said softly. “I said I did not and bit you, but I did.”
“And what else?” The gloved finger ran along his cracked lips again. He tasted blood.
He swallowed again. “I… I love you,” he whispered.
“And that is?”
“... a sin,” he said. “I’ve… I’ve corrupted you with my own failings, tempted you to sin, and then lied about my desires for you. I’m sorry.”
The Grandmaster leaned closer still. He knew that their lips had to be almost touching, but the Grandmaster kept that sliver of distance. “Is that it?”
He tried desperately to think of anything else, but his mind had gone fuzzy as if replaced with wool. “... Yes. I am sorry for these and all my sins, and for the sins of my past life.”
The Grandmaster hummed. “For your penance… You will spend five days in the ring and then five in the chair.” That could have been worse. He’d had far longer acts of penance given to him in the past. It would be difficult, but then it wouldn’t be penance if it wasn’t. “Now. Pray.”
The words had been drilled into his brain through countless repetitions and punishments for getting it wrong. “Deus meus, ex animo doleo quod te offendi, et omnia peccata mea detestor propter iustas tuas poenas, sed maxime quia te offendunt, Deus meus, qui totus bonus es et omni meo amore dignus.” He did not know Latin before coming here, but The Grandmaster was very strict that he must pray in that language. He wasn’t even entirely certain he had the correct meaning or even pronunciation for all the words he recited, but then, he supposed it didn’t really matter unless The Grandmaster complained.
“Deus, Pater misericordiarum, qui per mortem et resurrectionem filii sui mundum sibi reconciliavit et Spiritum Sanctum effudit in remissionem peccatorum, per ministerium ecclesiæ indulgentiam tibi tribuat et pacem. Et ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” the Grandmaster said. He felt the brush of lips against his forehead. “Amen.”
“... Thanks be to God,” he whispered.
The Grandmaster stepped back, and his head dropped without support. He was still and silent as the locks that kept him kneeling on the floor were undone. His body hurt so badly from being forced to his knees for so long. He collapsed as soon as the customized stock-pillory-hybrid was opened, and he was no longer forced into the prayer position. The pain in his limbs got worse as blood flow returned fully, but he did his best not make any noise.
The Grandmaster gave him a moment but then began to tug him upright. He clumsily got up with the help of the older man and allowed himself to be led out of the cell he had been in. He shuffled along as The Grandmaster took him through the halls of the keep. Occasionally, he heard others in the corridors, but he paid them little attention as they passed. The blindfold was still wrapped around his head, but he knew these paths without needing to see them. He wasn’t surprised when he was led to The Grandmaster’s chambers.
There was a lukewarm bath waiting for him, and he blindly followed the order to bathe. The water in the tub helped some with his dehydration, but he was still desperately thirsty. He was allowed a singular cup of water before The Grandmaster took a blade to the facial hair that had grown during his lesson. He stayed perfectly still as the sharp edge scraped across his throat and left a lingering tingle behind. “I’m glad you learned your lesson, Colombe,” The Grandmaster said. “I hope we won’t have any more misunderstandings.”
“No, Grandmaster,” he said.
The Grandmaster leaned closer until he felt the older man’s breath against his ear. “Good boy.” He closed his eyes behind the fabric wrapped around his head as The Grandmaster’s free hand slid down his bare chest. He resisted the urge to squirm away as The Grandmaster’s hand moved even lower. It took great effort to not react as the still gloved fingers wrapped around his privates. He couldn’t protest. He would starve if he were locked away again after having just been let out. The rough leather wasn’t at all comfortable, but he didn’t say anything. None of this was about comfort, after all.