One | Altaïr Can't Swim (it's a trending tag on AO3)

[eaglesonofnone]

WHO: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
WHERE: South Village fountain
WHEN: Beginning October 28
OPEN TO: Anyone who wants to find a half-drowned and confused Assassin.
WARNINGS: Arabic cursing. (Both cursing in Arabic and an Arabic man cursing.)

---

Water.

It would permanently be his bane.

He had expected his afterlife to be anything but that, if he was to have one at all. After all he'd seen, he'd more suspected that after death came nothing. A lack of existence. An ending, and nothing more. If he ascribed to the Christian notions, he would surely be relegated to their hell for the lives he'd taken, and for a moment, it occurred to him that this was it. A form of eternal torment by the water filling his lungs, his hands finding no purchase. Was he to spend the rest of time dying over and over again in water?

But his body had panicked for him. Fighting against the water, struggling, flailing wildly and completely without skill. He could feel his lungs burning from what he'd inhaled before he'd begun to hold his breath, the ache of a cough wanting to break free but he knew that if he opened his mouth, only more water would rush in--

He coughed. His lungs filled further, and fear took hold of his heart. No. No, he could not spend eternity this way, dying again and again with what looked like sky past the water's surface. Again, he coughed. His lungs were getting heavier, his vision dimmer. No!

And then--

And then, even in the depths, he could breathe, except it... it wasn't breathing. Water was still passing into him, but his vision began to clear and his limbs felt less sluggish and his mind slowly climbed away from the base reactions of survival toward true and rational thought.

He was breathing water. How?

His mind sought reasons, but with his calm came buoyancy. He began to rise toward the surface, a hand reaching out toward the nearest wall, touching stone, able to use it to push upward, and when he broke free and took hold of the stone with his entire arms, he bent over it. He coughed once, twice, water pouring from his mouth and nose in a painful rush, but then he was breathing air. Clear, cool air.

Willpower pulled him over the edge, onto the ground, where he laid on his stomach and relished the simple act of breathing. He'd been short of breath for years, coughing with any exertion, but never had it felt so horrible as that. "Al'ama," he groaned, head turned sideways to rest on the ground before, with excruciating slowness, he pushed himself up to sit. "'Ana kabir fi alsini lihadha."

Comments

[connatural]

It hasn't been that long since Ashley herself surfaced in that water, dragging herself up from the depths unable to breathe and panicking over what she left behind.

It is also when she realized she had gained some kind of power when she found herself falling from the fountain rather than hauling herself out as someone seems to be doing now.

At least that's her assumption when an arm comes up over the edge of the fountain. Dropping the bag of vegetables she's been out gathering with hopes of harvesting local crops in her backyard, she rushes to the fountain as she sees someone in a puddle moving to sit up beside the fountain.

Not the people she has been watching for, her mother especially but that doesn't change that she is there to try and help much as she can, dropping to kneel beside him. Dressed in a ragtag collection of items from storage including yoga pants and a jacket made from a zebra striped snuggie.

"Of course, a language I barely know," she sighs, canting her head to try and see his eyes, hoping he's breathing. "Tell me you speak English?"

Maybe it's wishful thinking, but she has to try.

[eaglesonofnone]

Breathing, yes - deep, full breaths with occasional coughs, with what appears to be gills fading back into his skin on each side of his neck. He was wearing a shade of pinkish purple that didn't really suit him, his skin fading back to a more normal, natural shade instead of the paleness his brush with death had given him.

And when he heard a voice, he looked up, met her eyes with his own proving to be amber-yellow, and was immediately aware of three things: he was not in Masyaf, let alone his library; the young woman speaking to him was European, most likely British though her accent didn't match; and his vision was clearer than it had been in years. All three of these things were confusing, each in their own right, but the first thing to address, he decided, was the worry in the woman's voice.

"Yes," he half-croaked, having to clear his voice but then managing to say more clearly, "Yes, I do speak English. And I am... recovering from that ordeal." He motioned toward the water - a fountain, he belatedly saw - with a four-fingered hand. A fountain with surroundings so far from anything he was used to in his life that he looked about with a sort of wonder. Perhaps he would have to lend some credence to the idea of an afterlife after all. "I will be fine, given time. Shukran-- that is to say, thank you."

[connatural]

"Okay, good, that's a start." She takes a breath herself, exhaling slowly as if guiding. Not that he seems to need it. "I'm going to ask if you're hurt, but you can just nod. I mean, coming up out of those depths, it's nervewracking."

She's dealt with a lot of things, but waking up drowning just left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Take all the time you need," she says, shifting where she's kneeling, trying not to loom over him. Not that she truly does with her size, and dressed as she is. "If you need it, there's a medical clinic but I know a bit of first aid. Mostly field work."

But she suspects it will be useful over time.

"When you're up to it though there's a inn, and your bag there should have dry clothes in it." She knew that had gone a long way to helping her get her head straight. After she armed herself and bolted to try and find a friend.

[eaglesonofnone]

"This seems like advice you've given before," he answered, breath finally caught. He would need to get up before long, soaked as these oddly-coloured clothes were, shedding a near pool around him where he sat. "This isn't the first such... occasion, then. People appearing in this fountain."

It was an easier question to ask than any of the others swimming in his mind. Where this was, what was happening, where his robes had gone. He lifted a hand and found his head uncovered, something that made him frown, but he would survive. Malik had eschewed the cowl after losing his arm. Altaïr had only barely done so after his beard had gone fully white.

But this young woman was in clothing unlike any he'd seen. Her accent was nothing like the English who occupied the countryside, and especially not the French who had accompanied them.

He would have a flood of questions later.

[connatural]

"It's what someone tried saying to me when I popped up out of that water. If it helps, I didn't listen to him and won't be surprised if you don't either," she allows with a smile. "And I've seen and heard of a few. There's a lot of people here and most of them from what I can tell nearly drowned as well. Though..."

She pauses, maybe what she saw was a figment of her imagination.

"Not everyone is quite as adapt at swimming as others," she admits, shrugging. Somehow it seems rude to ask if he had those before. Especially if he hadn't, it might not be the way to point out to him that he's suddenly an abnormal. She hadn't handle that knowledge well.

'There's an Inn nearby. You can find food, a place to sleep, get to know the lay of the land and all. Especially all of the craziness that is this place."

[borneinblood]

Druitt has never been terribly interested in languages as a whole. Not the way Helen has, at the very least. But he knows just enough to recognize that Altaïr's speaking Arabic, even if he doesn't exactly understand quite what the other man is saying. (He can makes guesses, yes, but those are based more on his overall tone of voice as opposed to any actual understanding.)

"It's certainly not the most enjoyable of arrivals."

This is offered with the briefest of nods. True, he's not aware of Altaïr's problems with regards to water. But it doesn't take much to see that he hasn't exactly enjoyed his little dunk in the fountain either. And perhaps somewhat more so than most people who have arrived in a similar manner. A moment later, it occurs to him that he might as well offer a little more assistance.

"And I don't suppose you'd care for a hand?"

If Altaïr would prefer to get up on his own, Druitt is hardly about to complain. But the offer is there all the same, should he want to take Druitt up on it.

[eaglesonofnone]

A rough nod, a few drips of water escaping on a cough, and Altaïr lifted his hand - his right, with all of its fingers intact - in acceptance. "This old man thanks you," he managed, still trying to assemble pieces of this current puzzle. His appearance was... less than graceful, which was no surprise anymore. How often had Darim had to help him out of bed when the seasons changed? But now, on the ground, he would definitely need the aid. His knees didn't--

...His knees were bent nearly double. In pants a colour he had never before seen. But more, his knees didn't ache.

Altaïr's brows drew together in confusion as more pieces were added to this puzzle without any yet being connected.

[borneinblood]

Altaïr's mention of being an old man earns him a raised eyebrow from Druitt. Admittedly, Druitt is no stranger to the idea of people being sometimes significantly older than they might look, but it's not something he's used to hearing from anyone outside of a very specific subset of people (most of whom aren't currently present in the village). Still, he's not about to point out the fact that Altaïr doesn't strike him as very old, especially when even he notices the confusion that crosses Altaïr's face a moment later.

"There's hardly a need to."

While the comment is offered as much out of the echoes of politeness that still linger in him, there's a truth to it to. It's not any significant trouble, and he takes the offered hand without so much as a second thought. He does, admittedly, pull somewhat more gently than he might for anyone who hadn't just suggested that they might be older than they look, but other than that he wastes no time in helping Altaïr back to his feet.

[eaglesonofnone]

Standing was startlingly easy, and once he was on his feet, he was staring down at himself, testing things. He bent his knees, lifted his feet - tentatively at first, but then with greater confidence. He didn't lose his balance when standing on one or the other. When he rolled his shoulders, they didn't pop or crack. His arms and his hands looked...

In a word, young. And that was its own confusion. The man's raised eyebrow made sense now. Looking at himself, his own expression would have been similar if he were less confounded by it all. When he spoke, his voice was low and held a measure of suspicion. "I seem to have lost some years in the fountain."

[championofsnark]

Hawke spent a little time every single day sitting by the place she came out of. She knows there is no real point. She knows waiting doesn't make people come through, and also that it's selfish to even hope for it. But she's very honest with herself about her knack for selfish choices when adrift. Still, she sits by the water, using a knife to cut her own arrows since she plans on going scouting later and start a hunting ground. It's the least she can do after eating more food than she probably should, after a little too long on the roads without ready food.

Her head picks up when she hears the coughing, and stands entirely when she sees the man climb out. It's a questionable moment for her, willing to help someone out, but also having to remember that the last thing she wants is to be shanked by a stranger. Oh well. She sets the knife and arrow back into her makeshift belt and gives him a moment to recover on his own. Not that she's known for being silent for long.

"Ana ... kabir ... yourself?" Hawke doesn't know the language, and she's momentarily concerned that he'll struggle to understand the folks here. Except she's been told none of them are technically speaking the same tongue as her either. "Hello! Sorry. I have no idea how to make this moment any less awkward." She decides hovering over him is a bad idea, so she sits down again, cross legged. "Deep breaths, that's the last of your drowning experience for today."

[eaglesonofnone]

"Thank whatever gods may exist."

It's less a statement and more of a mutter as he pushes himself a little farther, up to his hands and knees. It helps with getting the last of the water from his lungs - but then he slowly sinks back down to one hip. He feels breathless. Dizzy. There are golden motes before his eyes, and he's uncertain as to what to do about them except hope he won't lose consciousness. And after a few moments, everything seems to stabilise. Even the gills that had formed below and behind his ears on his neck faded away to make it all the easier for him to breathe.

Still, he feels sore - and that is when he motions to her, a hand extended. "Please. Help an old man off the ground."

[championofsnark]

Hawke springs back up and takes his hand without question. She's both lithe and sturdy, strength in her arms from carrying a bow and callouses all over her hands. "You? Old?" She laughs. "I have a few friends who would grimace if they knew you considered yourself an old man." It's not that he looks young precisely, but she knows old folks. She can almost hear Varric's droll commentary on the matter. Somehow Hawke herself manages to look young, or vaguely around her age, but the scars and eyes tell a different story. Survival against all odds has a way of wearing on anyone.

"You'd think the people behind whatever this is would pick a nicer way of introducing us. Hello, welcome to this giant lush cage we've put you in, make friends, stay alive, watch out for the drowning and the wild weather and monsters." Hawke read up at the inn. Mostly she skimmed and got bored, but she does have an eye for the dangerous notes. "Oh! I'm an idiot. Also I'm Hawke. Hello."

[eaglesonofnone]

She was a fount of words, he was finding, one subject after another in rapid succession, and though he listened, he also thought - because a few things weren't quite coming together.

He had lived for many years. His hair and his beard were both white, he knew, and yet she declared he didn't look old. When he stood, drawn by hands that felt like a fighter's rather than the hands of a woman whose days were usually spent cooking or washing, he found that parts of him that he had grown used to hurting simply did not. And that was what possessed him to look at his own hands - five fingers and four, as expected, but he could no longer see the bones at his knuckles or have wrinkles across the backs. His fingers didn't look too long anymore, and his arms, where his sleeves were too short, had muscle instead of paper-thin skin.

His brows drew together, and though she introduced herself, he held up a hand once he was standing of his own power. "A moment, Shabbah." And then he took the single step over to the fountain, to look at his own reflection in the calming water, and what he saw had his eyes going wide. He lifted a hand to his cheek, finding his beard black, his hair black. In the water, he could see no lines around his eyes, his mouth, none across his forehead.

He extended his arms, looking at them, seeing the muscle there, the idle strength waiting to be used that he had taken for granted until fighting the Mongols-- "Ya Ibn il Sharmouta," he muttered, shaking his head. "The Apple has outdone itself."

But then, exhaling a deep breath, he turned to his new acquaintance and gave a nod of respect, hand at his chest. "I am Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. And until I found myself in this fountain, I was a man of ninety-two years, all of which showed."

[minus1twin]

Wanda had been heading between the inn and her home when the echoes of splashing water filled the shell of her hear. Arado barked and ran over towards the fountain with Wanda running at his heels. She saw the man pull himself up and over the edge of the fountain, coughing well water in the process.

"Here." She placed her palm onto his back and gently pushed the large dog away from his face. "Sitzen" Wanda spoke to the dog and he stepped back and sat, waiting for the next command. Clint had trained the dog which meant that all of the command words had been in German.

"Breathe. Steady. Are you okay?"

Wanda knew a few languages but most were countries around Sokovia and she didn't know what he was saying.

[eaglesonofnone]

Between the dog, the language, the accent - his first thought was of some of the men in Acre where he'd met Maria, and the moment... ached. But then she was asking and he was trying to soothe her concern with a soft, "I am recovering, Shabbah; do not worry over me."

But he wouldn't lie: it was nice to be worried over a little. Much the same way Darim had. And Tazim. Good boys, both of them.

But here, he was most sure he would need to fall into the part of the old man he was. The English were still not always friends, nor were those from the rest of Europe, no matter how he'd traveled. He had to be cautious first, even if some things couldn't be hidden. Not everyone would know what it meant for a man to be missing a finger on his left hand.

"Breathing has been.... harder of late than before, and the coughing is--" But he stopped himself as he spoke. Breathing was not so hard now, was it, now that the water was gone. His brows lowered slightly as the realisation came.

[minus1twin]

'Shabbah' Her brow furrowed at the name and Wanda logged it away for later.

The man was coughing but stringing together coherent sentences. He was probably fine but Wanda was going to stand sentry anyway. "I can't help but worry." Her lips twitched into a light smile. "It's a bad habit."

"You were in the well. It's how we're all brought here. It should get easier." Wanda removed her hand from his back and sat back, waiting for the stranger to rise on his own. Arado was being a good dog and standing back though he released a short little whine of protest at not being allowed to help.

"You're somewhere new. I don't know where it is but it's on an island."

[eaglesonofnone]

He didn't try to stand. Not yet. It was as if time had taught him not to, with the way he looked around, and then extended a hand toward the fountain. "I knew I would be somewhere else, but I did not think I would find myself in water. I have never bothered to learn to swim; I have never needed to. And so of course the afterlife finds me on an island."

There was a little softness, kindness in his eyes, even a touch of amusement, even if his expression only hinted at a smile. But there was thought there, too. His breathing was easier. What of the rest? With the hand at the fountain's side, he took hold and started to pull until he was on his feet. His arm felt... strong. And when he looked at it and saw youth instead of the age he'd gained, that softness faded in favour of further confusion.

[ataashihunter]

Bull had been passing by the fountain on his way back to his house with a load of firewood on his back when he had seen the commotion of a new arrival but there had been plenty of people there and he knows he can be intimidating to most people so he holds off until it looks like they got the new arrival taken care of. He drops the wood off at his cabin and then heads for the inn, it was around lunch time anyway and he might as well see if this new arrival was someone he knows.

He steps inside the inn and looks for the face he doesn't know and then heads for him. "Hello there."

((OOC: I figured it was best not to crowd him at the fountain so I assumed he got to the inn at some point. If that doesn't work, let me know and I'll write up something else. ))

[eaglesonofnone]

[OOC: That's fine with me!]

Once he'd been directed to the inn, that, at least, was simple enough for him to work through. After finding a bit of privacy, he had dried off, changed into the set of clothing in the pack he'd found nearby - the colour was still odd, but if it was dress in this shade or go naked, he'd dress, even if it seemed... not enough. He'd grown used to layers in his old age.

Of course, he had also grown used to old age. Being young again was more than a surprise, and one he was still adjusting to, looking down at his hands and seeing strength instead of frailty. He had heard an approach, but he had expected... Not what he saw. As Altaïr looked up, and then further up, one thing certainly became clear:

"If I had any remaining doubts that I have left the Levant, they have just been erased."

[ataashihunter]

"I have no idea what or where that is, but I take it that is not somewhere with Qunari." He gestures to himself as he moves to sit down.

"You were the one who came out of the fountain not that long ago?" He offers his hand. "I am The Iron Bull."

[eaglesonofnone]

A word and definition to remember: Qunari. Giants with horns and skin that resembles stone. The Apple had never shown him the like - which, to him, meant that there was no such people in the world from which he'd came. The structure of the word felt familiar, which was interesting, but sometimes, a coincidence was a coincidence.

"I am," he said, and though he did offer a gesture in return, it wasn't a handshake. It was the clasp of his arm, though his hand couldn't encircle this giant's the way it could a fellow human's. "I am Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. But to judge by the form of your name, perhaps I am better called Eagle, Son of No One."

[tosavecocoon]

It's a little bit after the excitement by the fountain that Vanille comes into the Inn with a puppy tucked under her arm. Said puppy struggles and wriggles, though it's clear he doesn't stand a chance of actually getting free of her grasp. Or that she's doing anything but keeping a friendly, energetic puppy from running free and bothering people.

"Oh, Raine," she sighs with good-natured humor. "You're all right. Stop squirming. I can't let you down here. You'll get all over again." Turning, she nearly bumps into a table, which gives the puppy an edge. Her hold loosens just enough that she suddenly looks like she's in danger of dropping him. "No! Stop, Raine! Come back here!"

Bonus point is that she looks like she's in danger of dropping him on the table she just bumped into.

[eaglesonofnone]

He surprises himself with how quickly he moves, standing, his chair scooting out behind him as one hand extends to steady the young woman, and the other moves to secure the wiggling pup. "Ahdhir-- the little one is about to escape you," he warned, amusement light in his voice, even as low as it was. "He has the energy of his age."

He really had regained his youth. More than he'd thought, if he could move so quickly, Altaïr thought, and he immediately wondered how much he'd need to work to regain his reflexes. Not much if he was already doing this.

[tosavecocoon]

"Sorry," Vanille apologizes with a wince as she gets a better handle on her puppy. "He's been trying to escape all morning. I can't let him down in here or he'll bother everyone." Well, bother might be putting it strongly. Raine is too sweet to be much of a bother. But she knows she'll lose him in here very quickly if she doesn't hold onto him. He's a little too young and too new to her commands to have much of a recall just yet. Hopefully, soon that will change.

"Thanks for your help!" she says brightly, once Raine is firmly tucked back under her arm. "I'm Vanille! And this is Raine."

[eaglesonofnone]

"I am Altaïr," he answered with a nod. It was coming clear to him just how different this place was. There were more women here than he was used to, to begin with, and their mode of dress was very different from any he'd seen. But it wasn't his place to judge. Their cultures were not his own. "It has been a very long time since I have seen people keep animals for purposes other than work, unless this little one is to be trained for herding."