There's the urge to look back over his shoulder at the fortress or maybe out further out along to either side of where they stand, both being possible options to appraise the grounds with new eyes with this revelation. There's importance behind it all, not least of all the mention of hiding in plain sight. A creed. Curious - the assassins he knows are led only by coin purses.
Since he's not looking at the buildings or at Masyaf, that leaves Altaïr in his line of sight. Once more he takes in the outfit, a careful combination of dress which he's not seen the other man wear before in the Horizon. There's meaning in clothing as much as everything else; it's difficult for Claude to not think of putting on the armor from his home and dodging questions about where it was from in Fodlan when it wasn't. Or the alterations he'd made to his clothes, daring someone to ask about them as well.
Not the same, though. Not really, as here Altaïr is inviting the questions and answering them. And unlike Claude, the other man's even volunteered important details first without being asked for them specifically.
"The blade really was something to behold." Because it feels like that bears repeating in that callback to the mountainside, to their training, to each time he's seen Altaïr with a weapon, and maybe providing some explanation back would help. "The assassins I know of from home are weapons for hire, but of a far less visible kind than mercenaries. Rather than taking on bandits or serving as protection, their targets are... people. Individuals. Specific ones." A pause, because there's the temptation to add he knows this from rather specific experience, but - "What you describe doesn't seem to be the same in terms of motivation."
Altaïr stands unmoving, aware of Claude's appraising gaze. He expected it, though it isn't why he'd chosen to present himself like this in the Horizon today. He is telling Claude a story of sorts, and the worn leathers, the knife belts strapped to where he can easily get at them, the robes that speak of individual rank yet ambiguate one's identity — these all tell a story as well.
Half-concealed beneath the beak of his hood, Altaïr's expression is often difficult to read, but his sentiments regarding the men Claude describes are clear in the way his expression hardens.
"If they would kill for payment, they are not Assassins and would die for claiming to be."
His smallest finger flicks in a quick, practiced motion and his hidden blade slides into the empty space next to it.
"I have taken many lives. Specific ones, marked for death because of what their actions meant for the Holy Land and the people. But no man of the brotherhood murders for profit." His tone is calm and firm, but there's a smoldering anger underneath. They may come from entirely different worlds, but the very idea of one who would take such action and still call himself an Assassin leaves him incensed. "Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. The first tenet of the Assassin's creed. Perhaps the most important."
So much of his ability to have survived for this long relies on the ability to read people. To read situations as well, and to combine both with all of the possibilities of where they might go and to be ready for each. Altaïr's agitation, subdued as it is for what is from what he can see at first, tells another story all of its own. That gets Claude to raise an eyebrow as the rising tension in the other doesn't go unnoticed either. It's soon clear why.
Honorable assassins beholden to that creed - a new concept to him from his background, but a clear misstep in comparing the two from different worlds by name alone. "Hm. I wish the assassins sent after me when I was growing up had adhered to your code."
After he speaks Claude finally breaks eye contact to look up at Masyaf around them in contemplation. None of this is anything he finds worth holding against Altaïr - not that he had expected to, he also finds. Not with the meanings clearly different even if death is at the end of both paths from the sound of it, and even less so since he himself has the blood of innocents on his own hands. Perhaps a good time to make that clear even if it's not something he enjoys talking about - or having been responsible for. But that's the cost of war.
"Both of us have taken many lives in what sounds like was in the name of something better for the land. Or at least that's what I tried to keep as my guiding force in making it through the war to aim for better things, though many fell in the name of their own principles who I would've preferred hadn't."
Petra. Sylvain. Too many other classmates. He looks back to Altaïr again and gestures to the man's outfit. "Tell me about what you're wearing, if you will."
For all that Claude's knowledge of so-called Assassins must come from some degree of personal experience, Altaïr doesn't expect it to be quite that personal and reacts with a muted start, traces of surprise evident on his face.
Yet this leaves him all the more certain that the men Claude describes would be no brothers of his; though he's no longer arrogant enough to assume he can easily discern any man's true nature, he does not believe Claude would have done anything worth placing him as a target among the nine Altaïr hunted. Not even during war, which leaves no one's hands clean. The difference as he sees it is that Assassins — and perhaps men like Claude — choose when and how to bloody them, rather than heedlessly plunge them into the muck.
Silence falls for a moment and he wonders what the other man makes of Masyaf. To his eyes, does it look like a home? A place where philosophy and peace can be cultivated? Or does the tactician in him observe first how defensible it is, making it a key target for anyone who would wish to take control of the region? Both aspects are real. Like those it shelters in his memory, Masyaf has a dual nature.
Claude's next question surprises him again, but he smiles this time and glances down at himself.
"It stands out less in the land I come from. Despite the knives, it's surprisingly easy to pass as a scholar." Then again, scholars could stand to arm themselves better with Crusades tearing the land apart. "But these are the robes of a master Assassin. If my brothers were here, you'd see a good deal more grays of novices and journeymen."
From the corner of his eye Claude notes that surprise on the other man's face, fleeting as it seems to be and as easily missed as it could be by anyone not watching for it. That was, after all, a proclamation he hadn't entirely planned on making; a bitter secret only told to so few isn't normally at the top of his list of information to share.
But it felt relevant because it is relevant - something which couldn't go unmentioned since Claude knows himself too well and that had it not been then, it likely never would have been said aloud. It's a surprisingly easy wall to let go of when it comes to the many he's built around himself with all the sturdiness of the fortress they stand in meant to provide refuge to those who call it home before he looks back to Altaïr.
Clothing is then an easier topic in some ways, though it's a no less important one to Claude for how it can explain someone's home. Despite the knives gets a slight grin from him since he wordlessly agrees it would seem odd for a scholar as, say, a mapmaker, but by the end of the explanation of the robes he nods again. "There's different colors or cloth involved to denote rankings then if I'm hearing that correctly? That sounds not unlike our soldiers denoting their skills with weapons and armor, with the latter breaking down into more specialized kinds. The latter of which I possess myself as well."
It's only fair, he thinks, in the interest of sharing that he do the same. With the help of the Horizon, in the blink of an eye he changes into his Barbarossa armor rather than continuing to stand there in a shirt and trousers found in any average shop around Cadens. "I wore this during Fodlan's war after I inherited my title. This is from home - where I grew up, and it's normally the armor of warriors who ride wyverns. Not exactly one of Fodlan's traditions, but hardly anyone ever questioned me on it."
Not that he'd exactly hidden its origins, either. Though it's said as casually as ever, there's a thread of truth in there for Altaïr to follow should he choose to.
Not so simple as uniforms denoting strict hierarchy. Any of his brothers would disdain the enforced order of that, men turned into pieces of a greater whole for war rather than those who fight for peace and freedom in mind and body, but then it isn't lost on him that the Assassins are in some ways built on contradictions of their own.
Altaïr blinks at the sudden transformation and looks upon Claude's new guise with great interest. He doesn't have the context that provides full understanding, but the armor men choose to wear into battle tells a story, and so do Claude's words — those he speaks now and ones he's spoken here and there in the past. It's enough to prompt a few hazy, unformed wonderings that may eventually solidify into actual questions.
"Most people see what they expect to see, or what they want to see," he says. "I take advantage of that in my work. I expect you may have as well." In as much as war can ever be work. "And the Assassins do so collectively, to bolster our reputation. We allow the people of the Holy Land and beyond to think us a sect of fanatics — splintered from one of the major faiths of the land, now zealots who obey the command of our master, who drugs us and tempts us with the rewards of paradise so that we do not know fear."
The derisive snort that follows says what Altaïr thinks of that.
As Altaïr studies him Claude holds obligingly still so as to not interrupt the process, much as the other had done for him, and immense curiosity about everything means he can't help but wonder what it is Altaïr's thinking. Of course, Claude still holds all the information close to his chest - there is only one person in Abraxas who knows where he grew up. Maybe other reveals will come in time.
He can't help a grin near instantaneously at the mention of people seeing what they want to see. Something he's thought often while weaving various levels of subterfuge together while leaving just enough plausibility in each one, and said grin shifts to something a bit more knowing at taking advantage of it throughout. Another thing in common.
"I've found that people speak derisively of things they don't understand," he says while idly stretching his hands as if to break in his gloves. It's a real enough feeling as everything else is in the Horizon though he wishes he could have the actual pair again in Cadens. "Whether that's because they choose not to or they've never been presented with the opportunity - the end result is the same. It's far easier to spread misinformation than take the time to challenge something which has always been said."
Also all too familiar, though Altaïr's experiences and the reasons for it happening for him do differ. Interesting also that it involves the crossing of borders if he's hearing that correctly, and he considers that with the context of everything else learned. "I can see how this'd be advantageous for assassins in particular, even if the misunderstandings must still be an irritation."
Or more than that since he'd picked up on the derision after saying the incorrect thought aloud - Claude can relate to that, too.
He nods along, understanding immediately what Claude describes and agreeing. More or less. It's more complicated than that, of course — but also not really, from a certain perspective. It is easier to destroy than to build.
"We could change how they see us, if we wanted to," he acknowledges. "We do not. The stories men tell of the Assassins are rumors and lies, but they increase fear of us. If they believe we have no fear for our own lives, then those we target will never feel safe. If we are one of many groups jostling for religious and practical control of the Holy Land, then we are a threat only in the way they expect."
He begins walking, with no particular urgency and with no destination in mind. Perhaps it's simply that speaking of the creed and the changes it would bring prevent his feet from staying still.
"There is a belief that most men seem to hold. That laws and rules arise from divinity or some fundamental truth to how the world should be ordered. That certain acts are permitted and others are not. The Assassins believe otherwise."
He summons up his native tongue, resists the urge to speak the common language of Abraxas that he's spoken instinctively since his summoning.
"La shai'a waqe'on mutlak bal kollon mumkin. 'Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.' Our guiding philosophy, one we would have all understand. If those who made war on one another understood our intention, they would pause their fighting and turn on us instead — a greater threat to their way of life. And so we let them believe we are something other than what we are, and live among them, doing our work. Hiding in plain sight."
It's easy to fall into step with Altaïr when he starts walking. It's a draw towards listening to the other man's words, beginning with the ability to change perceptions as that idea is one that brings a fleeting smile to his own face. If only because it was a centerpiece of his own plans for Fodlan, though it doesn't seem to be the same for Altaïr.
There's the first belief voiced which brings the reasons for not further into focus, and then there's more which follows. The instinct to raise an eyebrow is there but Claude resists it, instead staying quiet while he runs that all through his mind back and forth a few times.
"When you say that everything is permitted, is that to move against those acts allowed by others?" That seems like the best place to start even as curiosity (and not judgment) begs to ask more and more past that alone. There's a parallel, he thinks, to how the Church of Seiros had claimed something for Fodlan's history - only for the war to reveal that history had been rewritten to give the Church a place of power.
Everything may as well have been permitted to them, too. But. There is one more thought he finds too difficult to ignore while waiting for Altaïr's answer in wanting to get a better sense of what he's been told.
"In that war going on in your homeland - this philosophy also allows you to stay a version of neutral, between it and the rumors claiming you're something else entirely. You mentioned if those forces fighting knew of your intentions, they'd turn on you. Are you -" slight pause to furrow his brow while he tries to think of the right words to express the thought, then - "responsible for guiding them, or is it to reshape the land to your vision?"
Altaïr nearly smiles when Claude immediately questions the creed — what it means, how it guides them. He's both pleased and unsurprised. Answering the first question is a little more difficult, though, when he's only recently embarked on what he expects to be a lifetime exploration of the central tenet.
"It does inevitably mean moving against those those who would restrict choice and belief based on the strictures they see as inherent to the world, but that is not all of its meaning," he says. "To say it means only that would demand its adherents only react to those who seek a particular order to the world — therein minimizing endless possibility to whether or not that order should exist and reinforcing it as the point of conflict. Better they view the world as it is and place faith in the choices this leads them to make."
More than one country's laws. More than the decisions of its rulers. He understands now that this is what makes the Templars so dangerous — not that they seek a particular outcome to the Crusades, but that they would choose it for everyone.
Altaïr is quiet for a moment, giving Claude the chance to digest his words, before continuing to address his second question.
"If you want to know whether we have opinions on the outcome of the conflict — of course. But even if doing so didn't go against all we believe, we couldn't control it. The Crusades span countries and land masses. It's fueled by centuries of belief. The Crusader and Saracen armies are too large, and we are too few."
He doesn't doubt his ability to stand against any of them in combat and emerge the victor. But he knows that if both armies put all their efforts into destroying the Assassins, it would be their end.
"But we do guide matters, in a way. Last summer I spent months hunting and killing nine key figures on both sides. Men who would do worse than fight in battle. It was an effort to guide the Crusades toward an end, and a test from my master." He can't hide the trace of bitterness in those words. "I was taken from Masyaf before I could see what effect it had. Even then, if those who made war understood those men were marked for death for a larger reason than was obvious, they would unite against us. They understand what it means to fight for land and power, but fighting to open men's minds is too strange and dangerous."
Viewing the world as it is, and placing faith in choices made from doing so - that resonates with Claude and more so after moving against those who control the restriction of what's available. Too close to the Church of Seiros in ways he feels he has to compare even if Altaïr's world is vastly different.
That becomes quite clear in the sheer scale he's clued into when it comes to the Crusades. Not just one singular land mass as Claude considered Fodlan to be before it was collapsed from three nations into one but centuries, even more countries from the sound of it, and everyone believing their view is right. It's familiar even as it differs, and he hums a note of acknowledgement to show he's listening.
There's a moment where the furrow in his brow which has been there from thinking through everything Altaïr says deepens into a crease though he says nothing. It's not completely a frown even as it could tip that way since though Altaïr's stated - a few times - that his background as an assassin isn't the same as what Claude knows, this explanation certainly seems to brush up against it with the deaths of nine figures. But: Claude's no stranger to unfair judgments being cast from not enough information, and it's a good thing he says nothing before the last sentence Altaïr utters gets a lightly relieved exhale from him.
"Would you believe it if I told you then that I fought for the latter, that opening of minds, and let it seem like it was for land and power? Or I should say that it seemed like it was for land and power alone, as I certainly wanted both to be able to achieve my actual goals. Perhaps we would've been united in that."
It's simplifying much in the name of showing this much he understands of the other man's explanation and what guidance might be offered in the face of going against the prevailing views. There's more he could say on that - so much more - but there's something else to add first.
"So though you can't control the larger scheme of events, there's still ample chances for you to direct where things may yet go. That by felling those figures it just might yet allow the opportunity for change to happen."
And that is weighted with respect, considering the thought about the Church's hierarchy had occurred to him more than once.
It's not obvious from his expression, but Altaïr is paying as close attention to Claude's reactions as he is his own choice of words. He believes in himself and his creed, and he believes the man he's come to think of as a friend is capable of understanding both, but belief is not guarantee. Some people, no matter how hardened they might be in matters of war, would only ever see the Assassins' work as murder committed for the sake of power. It's a leap of faith to trust that Claude is not one of them.
Watching Claude's expression ease as he speaks tells him that trust was not misplaced.
"Would you believe it if I told you that I am not surprised? Much of what you've told and shown me about yourself supports that."
It's not just words that make it easy to picture Claude as, if not an Assassin, someone who would share the Assassins' values in his own world. He's demonstrated who he is in actions as well, and if too-recent experience has taught Altaïr that his assessment of people is not infallible, he does not think this one is wrong.
"We choose our actions to affect what we can, enable change for the better and prevent the worst — and to change people for the better, too; we don't only concern ourselves with nations." He goes quiet for a moment. "There are three tenets of our creed: that we do not harm innocents; that we hide in plain sight; that we never, ever compromise the brotherhood. I know well their value because I once broke all three."
"I think I'd be grateful I seem consistent then, really."
Paired with a slight grin in Altaïr's direction on the matter of his actions supporting it - it's partly a tease and mostly an inside joke of sorts with himself when it comes to conveying actions through his words. A bit of showmanship still present with him from Fodlan to make sure that others are misdirected by what he says rather than what he might be doing, and yet that's something he finds himself compelled to do less and less around Altaïr.
The weight of honesty threading through everything they're telling each other, all those thoughts, memories, ways of life normally hidden from view: they're something Claude's not taking for granted. He knows what it costs him to share something not regularly revealed to just anyone, and is working with the assumption Altaïr is the same. It reinforces respect he already feels that much more.
"It sounds like the breaking of those things isn't something you took lightly." In confirmation of that or possibly reassurance as the tenets come to surface again, and now Claude has more understanding for each. He's silent as well; to change people for the better is a thought - a pledge he holds dear.
"There's much I've done that I would have rather avoided to uphold what I believe in - what I believed and still believe was best. But, even with the regrets I have, I would still make all those same choices over again if presented with them. Sometimes there's no way around what to do but to go through with it, for what little comfort that might offer."
It had been at the time, though, at least on the surface. Perhaps part of him had understood the gravity of betraying his creed with such arrogance, but if so, it had been buried deeply. It had become clearer with every life he took in the aftermath; a humbling that Altaïr will carry within him for the rest of his life.
"I wish I could say the same." There's a faint wistfulness in his tone as he privately admires Claude's stalwartness. He understands and agrees with it, the necessity to do what must be done and not shy away out of fear or indecision, but it hasn't been so easily applied to his own life. "Given the opportunity, I might not make different choices, but only because how things turned out might have been worse. Not because they were the right ones."
If he'd clung to his stubbornness and not allowed his eyes to be opened and see the truth...if Al Mualim had chosen his second-best man as his pawn, and struck Altaïr down...the possibilities alone leave a sense of dread crawling down his spine.
"Scarcely more than a year ago, I was not the man I am now. I was someone you would have disliked. I was arrogant and proud, and believed my skills proved the righteousness of my actions. The master of the Assassins, Al Mualim — the old man of the mountain — stripped me of rank and honor and bade me prove myself through his test."
His eyes narrow, but his gaze isn't focused on anything before them; what he sees is far away.
"I did as he asked, and with each life I took, I learned again the true meaning and importance of our creed. It would have been better for him if he'd encouraged me to stay ignorant," he says. "I killed the nine Templars who used the war for their own purposes. And then I discovered they were not nine, but ten — and the last man standing was he who sent me to kill the others."
Arrogant and proud, Altaïr says, with skills to support what was done despite being disliked - Claude hasn't been homesick in a while, but when that statement makes him think of Lorenz and what the other man had admitted to him, it hits him full force. It's not an accurate comparison - Lorenz had been infinitely less tolerable than Altaïr for years, for starters - but it's something he can relate to, someone he can recall being around. Even if he's supposed to dislike this, there's a fleeting smile crossing his face before he wipes it away considering the actual topic. Now's no time to make it look like anything about this is amusing at Altaïr's expense or otherwise.
Especially not when the breaking of the creed is explained a bit more to him, or so Claude thinks, and he watches Altaïr look into the distance. That's an expression he recognizes beyond it being one he's worn several times over - whatever's playing before the other man's eyes is something he won't know the entirety of for himself. He's been doing his best to listen with a neutral expression, but the reveal of the last Templar causes him to wince.
"I can't begin to imagine the betrayal that came along with finding that out." Betrayal might be a harsh word, but to have someone who'd humbled you into such a test and then to have that reveal? It's absolutely what he would've called it had it been Teach who'd been the one misleading Fodlan on top of the mess already wrought through all the lies. "And I think what I said still applies. 'Best' is a relative term when it comes to ones that will change your fate or someone else's and what that might cost."
Claude's silent for a pause while he thinks about that - applies it again to Petra, Sylvain, Felix. Marianne and Hilda in their own ways as they could've easily left his side at any time, and even more so as things became worse and worse with those prices to pay for their victories. Those still don't quite compare to what Altair's lived with that discovery at the end of the path he was placed on. "The man you mentioned, Al Mualim... was he hiding amongst you and intending to stay that way?"
His words cut to the quick, stirring up feelings Altaïr doesn't want to admit to but can't deny. It's easy to look back at his choice that day in the garden as the only one he could have made. Al Mualim had revealed his teachings to be nothing more than shallow words and earned his death. The creed Altaïr had learned again to follow demanded nothing less.
Feelings of personal betrayal came afterward, as the body cooled and he gave orders for a pyre to be built. The old man had never named him a son and Altaïr had never called him father, but there was a particular sort of pain to it all the same — a broken family tie instead of a broken bone.
"No. Not once he had what he wanted." Altaïr shakes his head, and a more troubled look creeps into his expression. "Al Mualim and his Templars did not vie for power using only the means of mankind. They'd discovered a strange treasure, an artifact that was more than a metal bauble. Once the others who'd found it with him were dead, he chose his moment and used it."
Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still vividly see the strange light emitted by the Apple, unearthly and vivid. Why hadn't it worked on him?
"It was capable of warping all perception. Casting illusions as real as life, seizing control of minds on a wide scale — all of Masyaf was enthralled when I arrived there to confront him. It would have been catastrophic if he'd unleashed its power on the Holy Land." He shakes his head. "But it couldn't control me. I don't know why. I could see his phantoms, but my mind and my blade remained my own."
My blade sees for me, Al Mualim. And it cuts through the darkness.
An artifact gets Claude's attention in near the same moment he regrets asking his question when that expression crosses over Altaïr's face. It's yet another one he recognizes from seeing it in passing on others time and time again, some shape of something painful and possibly left to lie where history's placed it. But it's too late for that, and so much like everything else he listens carefully. By the end his brow furrows once again in thought.
"Catastrophic seems like it would be too light of a word for what havoc could be wreaked," he murmurs, still thinking this through before he turns to look at Altaïr thoughtfully. "There's yet another similarity between us though who we had to prevent from upending the world as we knew it was not someone I'd once trusted. Not even someone I thought could possibly be around, really, since they should have been defeated centuries ago."
That's getting to be beside the point, one tangent too many that'd move too far away from what Altaïr is telling him, so Claude shakes his head. "This kind of betrayal from someone once trusted, let alone being the only one able to see what's really happening... the choices one has to make then aren't easy ones. I'm sure there's still weight from it you carry.
"For what it's worth, and not that any of us are looking to be absolved from something we have on our pasts or that it makes it easier to have lived, I think there are many who would have done the same as you. From the others I've spoken to it seems many of us have faced similar challenges that tested us and then had to live with the aftermath of what came after."
It's not something Altaïr would have guessed that the two of them would have in common. In a way, he's envious of Claude; no doubt the pressure to win at all cost was just as intense, but if he'd never trusted Al Mualim, maybe it would have been easier. Maybe he wouldn't still think about it and wonder if it could have gone differently.
"I'll carry it with me for a long time, I think."
Maybe forever. He smiles faintly at the prospect of many of the Summoned having experienced something remotely similar, even at the core of it. That's something he finds harder to believe, but maybe it's true. Maybe it is.
"I didn't have much time to experience the aftermath," he says. "I had my brothers build a pyre and lit it to ensure his death was not just another phantom."
To burn a man's body is forbidden!
"I sent the man I trust most to spread word of our master's treachery." He spreads his fingers, palms up. "And then I came here. So that is the end of my story."
The end of one story, perhaps. As long as he draws breath there may be more. But it's the story he decided to tell and the story Claude came to hear, even if neither of them knew it an hour ago.
There's much he could not have predicted about today. Though he'd arrived with the understanding there were questions he wanted answers to, there were ones he wouldn't have predicted in the course of the conversation that's unfolded between them. More parallels even as there's just as many branches for tangents and what's yet to be shared in other talks; in the heaviness that's come out today, those can certainly wait.
As Altaïr holds his hands up Claude glances at them in what's meant to be idle and in passing, though he's reminded once more of the blade from the mountains, the knives upon entering, and the skill with which all were wielded. The other man's faint smile is returned with one of his own.
"So you came here at a time of uncertainty," he says, half-asking and half-confirming that. There was a talk they had once of outcomes and changes in their lives leading to that point, and though Claude remembers he'd spoken a bit more about what he'd left behind in coming here - now he understands where Altaïr was coming from in this, too. "And one of unrest in the aftermath of what had to be done. That's a heavy burden to bring with in not knowing what might happen next."
Something he doesn't have to explain to the man carrying it, he knows, so Claude stops and holds a hand out in offering of a handshake. "Thank you for telling me all of this, Altaïr. I know there's no small amount of trust which goes into doing so and I appreciate it, my friend."
A genuine sentiment for the weight of everything and though he can't hope to shoulder any of it for his friend, the other sentiment behind that and everything else is also quite real: that Altaïr isn't alone if he doesn't want to be.
He simply nods at Claude's assessment; the man knows he has the right of it, barely needing Altaïr's confirmation, but he offers it anyway. This isn't a time for half-truths; he's chosen clarity and he'll see that through.
And the description of what Altaïr left behind weighs on him, strikes him like a well-aimed arrow despite already having lived it and Claude only knowing of it secondhand. The lack of closure and the knowledge that he can't make him for that lack while he's in this world will stay with him as long as he's in the world. He can't simply shrug off the uncertainty and set it aside for a more convenient time.
But speaking of it, if it doesn't remove that weight, makes it a little lighter.
He takes Claude's offered hand and shakes it in return, just long enough and firm enough to show that it's not a token gesture.
"Thank you for listening," he says, and for the first time he pauses, considering his next words. He's rarely opened up about himself, and this next part is even more foreign territory. "Since the kidnappings, I've been thinking a great deal about my place in this world, so far removed from everything I've told you about. I didn't intend to gather allies or cultivate friendships in a place I don't belong." The corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile. "I'm starting to realize they exist whether I planned them or not. So I wished to be honest with someone I trust."
The return of the handshake gets a pleased look from him that's not quite a smile but it's close, and he's happy to also return it in kind with something that feels far more like a pact of sorts than one for a simple greeting or a farewell. Because it is, he supposes, in that they've both trusted the other enough to share what others likely don't know.
That pause after Altaïr gives his own gratitude is telling and he waits after letting his hand fall away to his side. It's not a long wait and the weight of what's being bestowed on him with those words isn't lost on Claude at all. This time when his smile returns it's yet again far more genuine than most would see.
"We have that in common as well. Where I came from... I was used to depending on myself and myself alone. That changed over time in the war, not only because it had to but because I found people I could count on and who understood me even when I didn't want to explain. One of the hardest parts of arriving here was finding myself without that and having to start over again."
A truth he's not admitted aloud to anyone else, what with all the context he'd have to explain behind it, but Altaïr will understand that as well, he thinks, even if how they've approached it has been both different and not. "Of everything unplanned and what the fates have dealt us, I count myself fortunate to have crossed paths with you. If neither of us belong nor do any of the others, then perhaps that just means by being called here we've found a place for all of us to be."
It doesn't surprise him now that they shared those feelings, though he wouldn't have guessed it during their first meeting. That just drives homes a lesson he'd thought he already learned — that there's more to be gained by extending trust to those who would trust him, in this or any world.
"As do I," he says. "This isn't where I would have chosen to be. But here we are, and here we have the chance to make something of the opportunities before us."
Altaïr ready to give them his full attention now, whatever they turn out to be, no longer looking over his shoulder as if he can see a path back to where he should be. He may find a new route back to Masyaf one day, and he may not; it helps now, more than is easy for him to admit, that he won't walk alone.
"I trust that you'll be discreet about what we've discussed today." His expression shifts into something of a wry smile. "There are others I may extend my trust to, but a bit at a time. And I'm not sure most would be willing to hear out the explanation of my vocation as you did."
That gets a nod from Claude as it's a sentiment he also has, completely down to this being nowhere they would have chosen. They each have things they wanted to accomplish, goals set to see through - and yet, nothing about that prevented them from arriving here.
But whatever humor was on his face in general good cheer fades away to be replaced with something far more serious to signal, hopefully, that despite his general disregard for most things surrounding propriety that this isn't something that falls into that. When it comes to that delicate balancing act of trust Claude understands it all too well.
"You have my word. What you've shared with me is yours and only yours to share, and to be shared when you want it to be." A pause where he considers the knowledge of Altaïr being an assassin - and how months ago he's not sure he would have been accepting himself for those reasons partially explained - and then he nods again. "I don't think there are many among us who haven't killed someone for either our own or other reasons, so if or when you do tell others: I hope they remember that instead of filling in their own conclusions."
One more clap of a hand to Altaïr's shoulder for reassurance or something not yet voiced, and with that he looks up at the sky before back to the other man. "I've taken up enough of your time today, I believe. But thank you, again, for speaking with me, and I promise for what I have left to tell you about myself that we'll speak of it another day, if you agree to that."
Something else Claude means to hold to as that's not a promise he offers many - but trust should go both ways. He's yet to fully fulfill his end of that, but in time that will also come.
Claude could look him in the eye and swear to keep his peace and then go tell anyone he thought might care. Altaïr has no way of knowing, but he'll do what he said: he'll trust Claude. It's an unfamiliar choice, but not one he regrets making.
He nods. "I can agree to that, and look forward to it."
All in its own time. He has no doubt that they'll speak of what remains to know about Claude's past, and what may be yet to come for their mutual future, and many other things. He's in no hurry. If anything, he feels steadier for having had this talk, and less alone as they look ahead to whatever trials come next.
"Safety and peace, my friend," he says. "And I will see you soon."
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abraxaslogs2023-04-10 05:26 pm
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Since he's not looking at the buildings or at Masyaf, that leaves Altaïr in his line of sight. Once more he takes in the outfit, a careful combination of dress which he's not seen the other man wear before in the Horizon. There's meaning in clothing as much as everything else; it's difficult for Claude to not think of putting on the armor from his home and dodging questions about where it was from in Fodlan when it wasn't. Or the alterations he'd made to his clothes, daring someone to ask about them as well.
Not the same, though. Not really, as here Altaïr is inviting the questions and answering them. And unlike Claude, the other man's even volunteered important details first without being asked for them specifically.
"The blade really was something to behold." Because it feels like that bears repeating in that callback to the mountainside, to their training, to each time he's seen Altaïr with a weapon, and maybe providing some explanation back would help. "The assassins I know of from home are weapons for hire, but of a far less visible kind than mercenaries. Rather than taking on bandits or serving as protection, their targets are... people. Individuals. Specific ones." A pause, because there's the temptation to add he knows this from rather specific experience, but - "What you describe doesn't seem to be the same in terms of motivation."
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Half-concealed beneath the beak of his hood, Altaïr's expression is often difficult to read, but his sentiments regarding the men Claude describes are clear in the way his expression hardens.
"If they would kill for payment, they are not Assassins and would die for claiming to be."
His smallest finger flicks in a quick, practiced motion and his hidden blade slides into the empty space next to it.
"I have taken many lives. Specific ones, marked for death because of what their actions meant for the Holy Land and the people. But no man of the brotherhood murders for profit." His tone is calm and firm, but there's a smoldering anger underneath. They may come from entirely different worlds, but the very idea of one who would take such action and still call himself an Assassin leaves him incensed. "Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. The first tenet of the Assassin's creed. Perhaps the most important."
He should know. He had broken them all.
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Honorable assassins beholden to that creed - a new concept to him from his background, but a clear misstep in comparing the two from different worlds by name alone. "Hm. I wish the assassins sent after me when I was growing up had adhered to your code."
After he speaks Claude finally breaks eye contact to look up at Masyaf around them in contemplation. None of this is anything he finds worth holding against Altaïr - not that he had expected to, he also finds. Not with the meanings clearly different even if death is at the end of both paths from the sound of it, and even less so since he himself has the blood of innocents on his own hands. Perhaps a good time to make that clear even if it's not something he enjoys talking about - or having been responsible for. But that's the cost of war.
"Both of us have taken many lives in what sounds like was in the name of something better for the land. Or at least that's what I tried to keep as my guiding force in making it through the war to aim for better things, though many fell in the name of their own principles who I would've preferred hadn't."
Petra. Sylvain. Too many other classmates. He looks back to Altaïr again and gestures to the man's outfit. "Tell me about what you're wearing, if you will."
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Yet this leaves him all the more certain that the men Claude describes would be no brothers of his; though he's no longer arrogant enough to assume he can easily discern any man's true nature, he does not believe Claude would have done anything worth placing him as a target among the nine Altaïr hunted. Not even during war, which leaves no one's hands clean. The difference as he sees it is that Assassins — and perhaps men like Claude — choose when and how to bloody them, rather than heedlessly plunge them into the muck.
Silence falls for a moment and he wonders what the other man makes of Masyaf. To his eyes, does it look like a home? A place where philosophy and peace can be cultivated? Or does the tactician in him observe first how defensible it is, making it a key target for anyone who would wish to take control of the region? Both aspects are real. Like those it shelters in his memory, Masyaf has a dual nature.
Claude's next question surprises him again, but he smiles this time and glances down at himself.
"It stands out less in the land I come from. Despite the knives, it's surprisingly easy to pass as a scholar." Then again, scholars could stand to arm themselves better with Crusades tearing the land apart. "But these are the robes of a master Assassin. If my brothers were here, you'd see a good deal more grays of novices and journeymen."
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But it felt relevant because it is relevant - something which couldn't go unmentioned since Claude knows himself too well and that had it not been then, it likely never would have been said aloud. It's a surprisingly easy wall to let go of when it comes to the many he's built around himself with all the sturdiness of the fortress they stand in meant to provide refuge to those who call it home before he looks back to Altaïr.
Clothing is then an easier topic in some ways, though it's a no less important one to Claude for how it can explain someone's home. Despite the knives gets a slight grin from him since he wordlessly agrees it would seem odd for a scholar as, say, a mapmaker, but by the end of the explanation of the robes he nods again. "There's different colors or cloth involved to denote rankings then if I'm hearing that correctly? That sounds not unlike our soldiers denoting their skills with weapons and armor, with the latter breaking down into more specialized kinds. The latter of which I possess myself as well."
It's only fair, he thinks, in the interest of sharing that he do the same. With the help of the Horizon, in the blink of an eye he changes into his Barbarossa armor rather than continuing to stand there in a shirt and trousers found in any average shop around Cadens. "I wore this during Fodlan's war after I inherited my title. This is from home - where I grew up, and it's normally the armor of warriors who ride wyverns. Not exactly one of Fodlan's traditions, but hardly anyone ever questioned me on it."
Not that he'd exactly hidden its origins, either. Though it's said as casually as ever, there's a thread of truth in there for Altaïr to follow should he choose to.
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Not so simple as uniforms denoting strict hierarchy. Any of his brothers would disdain the enforced order of that, men turned into pieces of a greater whole for war rather than those who fight for peace and freedom in mind and body, but then it isn't lost on him that the Assassins are in some ways built on contradictions of their own.
Altaïr blinks at the sudden transformation and looks upon Claude's new guise with great interest. He doesn't have the context that provides full understanding, but the armor men choose to wear into battle tells a story, and so do Claude's words — those he speaks now and ones he's spoken here and there in the past. It's enough to prompt a few hazy, unformed wonderings that may eventually solidify into actual questions.
"Most people see what they expect to see, or what they want to see," he says. "I take advantage of that in my work. I expect you may have as well." In as much as war can ever be work. "And the Assassins do so collectively, to bolster our reputation. We allow the people of the Holy Land and beyond to think us a sect of fanatics — splintered from one of the major faiths of the land, now zealots who obey the command of our master, who drugs us and tempts us with the rewards of paradise so that we do not know fear."
The derisive snort that follows says what Altaïr thinks of that.
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He can't help a grin near instantaneously at the mention of people seeing what they want to see. Something he's thought often while weaving various levels of subterfuge together while leaving just enough plausibility in each one, and said grin shifts to something a bit more knowing at taking advantage of it throughout. Another thing in common.
"I've found that people speak derisively of things they don't understand," he says while idly stretching his hands as if to break in his gloves. It's a real enough feeling as everything else is in the Horizon though he wishes he could have the actual pair again in Cadens. "Whether that's because they choose not to or they've never been presented with the opportunity - the end result is the same. It's far easier to spread misinformation than take the time to challenge something which has always been said."
Also all too familiar, though Altaïr's experiences and the reasons for it happening for him do differ. Interesting also that it involves the crossing of borders if he's hearing that correctly, and he considers that with the context of everything else learned. "I can see how this'd be advantageous for assassins in particular, even if the misunderstandings must still be an irritation."
Or more than that since he'd picked up on the derision after saying the incorrect thought aloud - Claude can relate to that, too.
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"We could change how they see us, if we wanted to," he acknowledges. "We do not. The stories men tell of the Assassins are rumors and lies, but they increase fear of us. If they believe we have no fear for our own lives, then those we target will never feel safe. If we are one of many groups jostling for religious and practical control of the Holy Land, then we are a threat only in the way they expect."
He begins walking, with no particular urgency and with no destination in mind. Perhaps it's simply that speaking of the creed and the changes it would bring prevent his feet from staying still.
"There is a belief that most men seem to hold. That laws and rules arise from divinity or some fundamental truth to how the world should be ordered. That certain acts are permitted and others are not. The Assassins believe otherwise."
He summons up his native tongue, resists the urge to speak the common language of Abraxas that he's spoken instinctively since his summoning.
"La shai'a waqe'on mutlak bal kollon mumkin. 'Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.' Our guiding philosophy, one we would have all understand. If those who made war on one another understood our intention, they would pause their fighting and turn on us instead — a greater threat to their way of life. And so we let them believe we are something other than what we are, and live among them, doing our work. Hiding in plain sight."
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There's the first belief voiced which brings the reasons for not further into focus, and then there's more which follows. The instinct to raise an eyebrow is there but Claude resists it, instead staying quiet while he runs that all through his mind back and forth a few times.
"When you say that everything is permitted, is that to move against those acts allowed by others?" That seems like the best place to start even as curiosity (and not judgment) begs to ask more and more past that alone. There's a parallel, he thinks, to how the Church of Seiros had claimed something for Fodlan's history - only for the war to reveal that history had been rewritten to give the Church a place of power.
Everything may as well have been permitted to them, too. But. There is one more thought he finds too difficult to ignore while waiting for Altaïr's answer in wanting to get a better sense of what he's been told.
"In that war going on in your homeland - this philosophy also allows you to stay a version of neutral, between it and the rumors claiming you're something else entirely. You mentioned if those forces fighting knew of your intentions, they'd turn on you. Are you -" slight pause to furrow his brow while he tries to think of the right words to express the thought, then - "responsible for guiding them, or is it to reshape the land to your vision?"
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"It does inevitably mean moving against those those who would restrict choice and belief based on the strictures they see as inherent to the world, but that is not all of its meaning," he says. "To say it means only that would demand its adherents only react to those who seek a particular order to the world — therein minimizing endless possibility to whether or not that order should exist and reinforcing it as the point of conflict. Better they view the world as it is and place faith in the choices this leads them to make."
More than one country's laws. More than the decisions of its rulers. He understands now that this is what makes the Templars so dangerous — not that they seek a particular outcome to the Crusades, but that they would choose it for everyone.
Altaïr is quiet for a moment, giving Claude the chance to digest his words, before continuing to address his second question.
"If you want to know whether we have opinions on the outcome of the conflict — of course. But even if doing so didn't go against all we believe, we couldn't control it. The Crusades span countries and land masses. It's fueled by centuries of belief. The Crusader and Saracen armies are too large, and we are too few."
He doesn't doubt his ability to stand against any of them in combat and emerge the victor. But he knows that if both armies put all their efforts into destroying the Assassins, it would be their end.
"But we do guide matters, in a way. Last summer I spent months hunting and killing nine key figures on both sides. Men who would do worse than fight in battle. It was an effort to guide the Crusades toward an end, and a test from my master." He can't hide the trace of bitterness in those words. "I was taken from Masyaf before I could see what effect it had. Even then, if those who made war understood those men were marked for death for a larger reason than was obvious, they would unite against us. They understand what it means to fight for land and power, but fighting to open men's minds is too strange and dangerous."
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That becomes quite clear in the sheer scale he's clued into when it comes to the Crusades. Not just one singular land mass as Claude considered Fodlan to be before it was collapsed from three nations into one but centuries, even more countries from the sound of it, and everyone believing their view is right. It's familiar even as it differs, and he hums a note of acknowledgement to show he's listening.
There's a moment where the furrow in his brow which has been there from thinking through everything Altaïr says deepens into a crease though he says nothing. It's not completely a frown even as it could tip that way since though Altaïr's stated - a few times - that his background as an assassin isn't the same as what Claude knows, this explanation certainly seems to brush up against it with the deaths of nine figures. But: Claude's no stranger to unfair judgments being cast from not enough information, and it's a good thing he says nothing before the last sentence Altaïr utters gets a lightly relieved exhale from him.
"Would you believe it if I told you then that I fought for the latter, that opening of minds, and let it seem like it was for land and power? Or I should say that it seemed like it was for land and power alone, as I certainly wanted both to be able to achieve my actual goals. Perhaps we would've been united in that."
It's simplifying much in the name of showing this much he understands of the other man's explanation and what guidance might be offered in the face of going against the prevailing views. There's more he could say on that - so much more - but there's something else to add first.
"So though you can't control the larger scheme of events, there's still ample chances for you to direct where things may yet go. That by felling those figures it just might yet allow the opportunity for change to happen."
And that is weighted with respect, considering the thought about the Church's hierarchy had occurred to him more than once.
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Watching Claude's expression ease as he speaks tells him that trust was not misplaced.
"Would you believe it if I told you that I am not surprised? Much of what you've told and shown me about yourself supports that."
It's not just words that make it easy to picture Claude as, if not an Assassin, someone who would share the Assassins' values in his own world. He's demonstrated who he is in actions as well, and if too-recent experience has taught Altaïr that his assessment of people is not infallible, he does not think this one is wrong.
"We choose our actions to affect what we can, enable change for the better and prevent the worst — and to change people for the better, too; we don't only concern ourselves with nations." He goes quiet for a moment. "There are three tenets of our creed: that we do not harm innocents; that we hide in plain sight; that we never, ever compromise the brotherhood. I know well their value because I once broke all three."
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Paired with a slight grin in Altaïr's direction on the matter of his actions supporting it - it's partly a tease and mostly an inside joke of sorts with himself when it comes to conveying actions through his words. A bit of showmanship still present with him from Fodlan to make sure that others are misdirected by what he says rather than what he might be doing, and yet that's something he finds himself compelled to do less and less around Altaïr.
The weight of honesty threading through everything they're telling each other, all those thoughts, memories, ways of life normally hidden from view: they're something Claude's not taking for granted. He knows what it costs him to share something not regularly revealed to just anyone, and is working with the assumption Altaïr is the same. It reinforces respect he already feels that much more.
"It sounds like the breaking of those things isn't something you took lightly." In confirmation of that or possibly reassurance as the tenets come to surface again, and now Claude has more understanding for each. He's silent as well; to change people for the better is a thought - a pledge he holds dear.
"There's much I've done that I would have rather avoided to uphold what I believe in - what I believed and still believe was best. But, even with the regrets I have, I would still make all those same choices over again if presented with them. Sometimes there's no way around what to do but to go through with it, for what little comfort that might offer."
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It had been at the time, though, at least on the surface. Perhaps part of him had understood the gravity of betraying his creed with such arrogance, but if so, it had been buried deeply. It had become clearer with every life he took in the aftermath; a humbling that Altaïr will carry within him for the rest of his life.
"I wish I could say the same." There's a faint wistfulness in his tone as he privately admires Claude's stalwartness. He understands and agrees with it, the necessity to do what must be done and not shy away out of fear or indecision, but it hasn't been so easily applied to his own life. "Given the opportunity, I might not make different choices, but only because how things turned out might have been worse. Not because they were the right ones."
If he'd clung to his stubbornness and not allowed his eyes to be opened and see the truth...if Al Mualim had chosen his second-best man as his pawn, and struck Altaïr down...the possibilities alone leave a sense of dread crawling down his spine.
"Scarcely more than a year ago, I was not the man I am now. I was someone you would have disliked. I was arrogant and proud, and believed my skills proved the righteousness of my actions. The master of the Assassins, Al Mualim — the old man of the mountain — stripped me of rank and honor and bade me prove myself through his test."
His eyes narrow, but his gaze isn't focused on anything before them; what he sees is far away.
"I did as he asked, and with each life I took, I learned again the true meaning and importance of our creed. It would have been better for him if he'd encouraged me to stay ignorant," he says. "I killed the nine Templars who used the war for their own purposes. And then I discovered they were not nine, but ten — and the last man standing was he who sent me to kill the others."
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Especially not when the breaking of the creed is explained a bit more to him, or so Claude thinks, and he watches Altaïr look into the distance. That's an expression he recognizes beyond it being one he's worn several times over - whatever's playing before the other man's eyes is something he won't know the entirety of for himself. He's been doing his best to listen with a neutral expression, but the reveal of the last Templar causes him to wince.
"I can't begin to imagine the betrayal that came along with finding that out." Betrayal might be a harsh word, but to have someone who'd humbled you into such a test and then to have that reveal? It's absolutely what he would've called it had it been Teach who'd been the one misleading Fodlan on top of the mess already wrought through all the lies. "And I think what I said still applies. 'Best' is a relative term when it comes to ones that will change your fate or someone else's and what that might cost."
Claude's silent for a pause while he thinks about that - applies it again to Petra, Sylvain, Felix. Marianne and Hilda in their own ways as they could've easily left his side at any time, and even more so as things became worse and worse with those prices to pay for their victories. Those still don't quite compare to what Altair's lived with that discovery at the end of the path he was placed on. "The man you mentioned, Al Mualim... was he hiding amongst you and intending to stay that way?"
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Feelings of personal betrayal came afterward, as the body cooled and he gave orders for a pyre to be built. The old man had never named him a son and Altaïr had never called him father, but there was a particular sort of pain to it all the same — a broken family tie instead of a broken bone.
"No. Not once he had what he wanted." Altaïr shakes his head, and a more troubled look creeps into his expression. "Al Mualim and his Templars did not vie for power using only the means of mankind. They'd discovered a strange treasure, an artifact that was more than a metal bauble. Once the others who'd found it with him were dead, he chose his moment and used it."
Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still vividly see the strange light emitted by the Apple, unearthly and vivid. Why hadn't it worked on him?
"It was capable of warping all perception. Casting illusions as real as life, seizing control of minds on a wide scale — all of Masyaf was enthralled when I arrived there to confront him. It would have been catastrophic if he'd unleashed its power on the Holy Land." He shakes his head. "But it couldn't control me. I don't know why. I could see his phantoms, but my mind and my blade remained my own."
My blade sees for me, Al Mualim. And it cuts through the darkness.
"I did what had to be done."
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"Catastrophic seems like it would be too light of a word for what havoc could be wreaked," he murmurs, still thinking this through before he turns to look at Altaïr thoughtfully. "There's yet another similarity between us though who we had to prevent from upending the world as we knew it was not someone I'd once trusted. Not even someone I thought could possibly be around, really, since they should have been defeated centuries ago."
That's getting to be beside the point, one tangent too many that'd move too far away from what Altaïr is telling him, so Claude shakes his head. "This kind of betrayal from someone once trusted, let alone being the only one able to see what's really happening... the choices one has to make then aren't easy ones. I'm sure there's still weight from it you carry.
"For what it's worth, and not that any of us are looking to be absolved from something we have on our pasts or that it makes it easier to have lived, I think there are many who would have done the same as you. From the others I've spoken to it seems many of us have faced similar challenges that tested us and then had to live with the aftermath of what came after."
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"I'll carry it with me for a long time, I think."
Maybe forever. He smiles faintly at the prospect of many of the Summoned having experienced something remotely similar, even at the core of it. That's something he finds harder to believe, but maybe it's true. Maybe it is.
"I didn't have much time to experience the aftermath," he says. "I had my brothers build a pyre and lit it to ensure his death was not just another phantom."
To burn a man's body is forbidden!
"I sent the man I trust most to spread word of our master's treachery." He spreads his fingers, palms up. "And then I came here. So that is the end of my story."
The end of one story, perhaps. As long as he draws breath there may be more. But it's the story he decided to tell and the story Claude came to hear, even if neither of them knew it an hour ago.
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As Altaïr holds his hands up Claude glances at them in what's meant to be idle and in passing, though he's reminded once more of the blade from the mountains, the knives upon entering, and the skill with which all were wielded. The other man's faint smile is returned with one of his own.
"So you came here at a time of uncertainty," he says, half-asking and half-confirming that. There was a talk they had once of outcomes and changes in their lives leading to that point, and though Claude remembers he'd spoken a bit more about what he'd left behind in coming here - now he understands where Altaïr was coming from in this, too. "And one of unrest in the aftermath of what had to be done. That's a heavy burden to bring with in not knowing what might happen next."
Something he doesn't have to explain to the man carrying it, he knows, so Claude stops and holds a hand out in offering of a handshake. "Thank you for telling me all of this, Altaïr. I know there's no small amount of trust which goes into doing so and I appreciate it, my friend."
A genuine sentiment for the weight of everything and though he can't hope to shoulder any of it for his friend, the other sentiment behind that and everything else is also quite real: that Altaïr isn't alone if he doesn't want to be.
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And the description of what Altaïr left behind weighs on him, strikes him like a well-aimed arrow despite already having lived it and Claude only knowing of it secondhand. The lack of closure and the knowledge that he can't make him for that lack while he's in this world will stay with him as long as he's in the world. He can't simply shrug off the uncertainty and set it aside for a more convenient time.
But speaking of it, if it doesn't remove that weight, makes it a little lighter.
He takes Claude's offered hand and shakes it in return, just long enough and firm enough to show that it's not a token gesture.
"Thank you for listening," he says, and for the first time he pauses, considering his next words. He's rarely opened up about himself, and this next part is even more foreign territory. "Since the kidnappings, I've been thinking a great deal about my place in this world, so far removed from everything I've told you about. I didn't intend to gather allies or cultivate friendships in a place I don't belong." The corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile. "I'm starting to realize they exist whether I planned them or not. So I wished to be honest with someone I trust."
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That pause after Altaïr gives his own gratitude is telling and he waits after letting his hand fall away to his side. It's not a long wait and the weight of what's being bestowed on him with those words isn't lost on Claude at all. This time when his smile returns it's yet again far more genuine than most would see.
"We have that in common as well. Where I came from... I was used to depending on myself and myself alone. That changed over time in the war, not only because it had to but because I found people I could count on and who understood me even when I didn't want to explain. One of the hardest parts of arriving here was finding myself without that and having to start over again."
A truth he's not admitted aloud to anyone else, what with all the context he'd have to explain behind it, but Altaïr will understand that as well, he thinks, even if how they've approached it has been both different and not. "Of everything unplanned and what the fates have dealt us, I count myself fortunate to have crossed paths with you. If neither of us belong nor do any of the others, then perhaps that just means by being called here we've found a place for all of us to be."
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"As do I," he says. "This isn't where I would have chosen to be. But here we are, and here we have the chance to make something of the opportunities before us."
Altaïr ready to give them his full attention now, whatever they turn out to be, no longer looking over his shoulder as if he can see a path back to where he should be. He may find a new route back to Masyaf one day, and he may not; it helps now, more than is easy for him to admit, that he won't walk alone.
"I trust that you'll be discreet about what we've discussed today." His expression shifts into something of a wry smile. "There are others I may extend my trust to, but a bit at a time. And I'm not sure most would be willing to hear out the explanation of my vocation as you did."
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But whatever humor was on his face in general good cheer fades away to be replaced with something far more serious to signal, hopefully, that despite his general disregard for most things surrounding propriety that this isn't something that falls into that. When it comes to that delicate balancing act of trust Claude understands it all too well.
"You have my word. What you've shared with me is yours and only yours to share, and to be shared when you want it to be." A pause where he considers the knowledge of Altaïr being an assassin - and how months ago he's not sure he would have been accepting himself for those reasons partially explained - and then he nods again. "I don't think there are many among us who haven't killed someone for either our own or other reasons, so if or when you do tell others: I hope they remember that instead of filling in their own conclusions."
One more clap of a hand to Altaïr's shoulder for reassurance or something not yet voiced, and with that he looks up at the sky before back to the other man. "I've taken up enough of your time today, I believe. But thank you, again, for speaking with me, and I promise for what I have left to tell you about myself that we'll speak of it another day, if you agree to that."
Something else Claude means to hold to as that's not a promise he offers many - but trust should go both ways. He's yet to fully fulfill his end of that, but in time that will also come.
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He nods. "I can agree to that, and look forward to it."
All in its own time. He has no doubt that they'll speak of what remains to know about Claude's past, and what may be yet to come for their mutual future, and many other things. He's in no hurry. If anything, he feels steadier for having had this talk, and less alone as they look ahead to whatever trials come next.
"Safety and peace, my friend," he says. "And I will see you soon."