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Stupid, foolish, arrogant novice... The thought chanted through Malik’s head like a mantra. It had only been just days since the fiery loss of his arm. Days since he felt true anguish at the loss of his brother, Kadar. The mission at Solomon’s Temple was meant to be easy, nothing that Altair and Malik couldn’t manage together; easier still with the wide-eyed Kadar. He clutched at the gravel under paw as his heart became gripped in a vice at the memory.

His brother had looked up to Altair, the epitome of what an Assassin of Masyaf was meant to be, Al Mualim’s favorite. Despite the other Assassin’s arrogance they had been fast and true friends something almost unheard of in the order. Then the fool had to damn it all on such an easy mission. Lips twisted into a snarl as Malik slipped, forelimb bent to regain his balance.

Not that a balance could be regained. His gait was awkward and clumsy with a slight lean as he relied on a limb no longer there. A phantom pain raced along the shoulder where it had been severed; chasing him like the phantom of his brother had done and would do for nights. It would be lonely and cruel traversing the desert in this condition but a burden he would gladly bare.

Malik had been granted an honor by Al Mualim for bringing the artifact to him. A mission he had succeeded where that novice had failed. Bitterness swept through him then as he drew nearer to the castle gate. An honor that had cost him too much

He did not know where Altair would choose to lay this evening but he bitterly hoped it was with tail tucked between legs. A hope he knew that was unlikely. If their friendship had taught Malik one thing it was that the fool was far too arrogant to see his own folly. It was most likely that he lazed while blaming himself and Kadar, causing Malik to scoff angrily.

You do not harm the innocent. Altair had forgotten the very creed they all served and with it the bonds he once held for Malik could consider him friend and brother no longer.

Malik paused just a little ways away from the moving haystack. Ears swiveled atop his head catching the sounds of the dry, shifting hay. He glanced back coolly, eyes flashing in the waning light of the day. Many things could have chosen to bunk down in the warmth of that hay to escape the oncoming chill of the night. Anything or anyone could seek that comfort, perhaps even a snake or a grouping of rats. Most likely, however, it would be a wayward Novice. Specifically one recently demoted to such a rank.

He did not need to entertain such thoughts any further as he knew what and who lay in that stack of hay. A curse, Malik decided, he had been cursed. Surely there could be no other way to explain the recent string of events. He felt his shoulders stiffen with the need for confrontation, teeth gritting as muscles became tense for the want of battle. He needed to make the other suffer in a way Al Mualim would not. Make the idiot novice feel the same pain and torment that he had brought upon him with that single rash move in Solomon’s Temple.

No, he could not take on the fool in his current state. Malik knew he needed time to restore both the physical and mental balance he had lost days prior. Only then, perhaps, he could truly teach the Altair to see beyond himself if only for a stint moment of pain when Malik would rip the other’s arm clean from its socket. With a shuddering breath he cleared his mind feeling his body begin to relax. He needed to pick his battles carefully; with a sharp tongue and wit if nothing else.

“Should all Novices not be back in the safety of the castle’s walls with their mentors or on their way to complete missions? What would the Master say about a stray chick, barely able to fly, strutting about the village and nesting in hay to sulk? Such a waste of light, idiot novice.” Malik all but growled. Not giving the other time to form a response he continued down the path, weaving like a drunkard in his angered haste.

If Altair had anything to say, Malik thought, he could chase him down to the horses.

A slow and satisfied grin spread itself across Malik’s maw. Not only had he been correct about Altair but it seemed he could be easily provoked. The effect it had on him was instantaneous. Now fully relaxed he no longer had that drunken weave though a bit of a wobble still remained. If the fool only thought himself a Novice by title he had a long and arduous road to travel. Perhaps, Malik smirked inwardly, it would help cure some of that misplaced arrogance.

The anger that had been built up from his short journey into the village seemed to melt and diminish. Hate no longer clouded his vision allowing the civilians to almost appear from thin air. He marveled at them in secret for he had never known it could cause such blindness and for the briefest moments he thanked Altair. It was not gone, however, and continued to boil just beneath the surface as he felt the crowd shift and part.

Malik scowled as Altair came into step beside him and all but snarled at the start of conversation. Did the fool not understand that it was neither the time nor the place for such things? It would be far too easy for eager ears to listen. Novice only by title indeed, he scoffed. Tilting his head toward his companion he murmured, voice laced with venomous disdain, “You are a Novice by title and an idiot for thinking such.”

Had he the freedom of the movement he would be pinching his nose between the brows in irritation. “I am to go to Jerusalem and take up the post there. I care nor worry of the Templars for I am not so disabled, Novice.” Malik all but snarled. “Why should you care for this,” he motioned to his missing limb, “when you are the cause. Worry for your own mission.”

Malik snorted in slight amusement. What did that idiot know of ‘emotional disabilities’? Did he believe Malik would behave like a heartbroken wench on the road, throwing himself to the feet of passersby to sob about the cruelties of the world? Surely not. Perhaps he had meant to comment on his mental state. While not having seen the villagers straight away was both a shock and surprise he felt confident that he would not be so blind to the Templars. Or did the fool expect him to rush headlong into combat seeking vengeance for his loss? If that were the case they would not be talking and Altair would find himself in the road with a slit throat.

“I do not have need for an escort, Novice.” Malik growled in mild irritation. “Nor will I be ‘immature’ and ‘hinder the Brotherhood’. Not anymore than you have already done.” He mocked bitterly. Glancing back to his companion he noted the quickened pace and hastened his own to keep up. They were not done with this, not be a long shot. Barely managing to weave through the crowd he scowled at Altair’s increasingly distanced back. For an instant he felt as if Altair’s words had wrung true, that he was already hindering the Brotherhood. That was soon swept away by his ever growing ire with the situation. The Novice’s arrogance would be the end of them all someday.

“Take a different route!” He hissed when he caught up. “Go somewhere else entirely! Your’s is not a face I would welcome in my travels!” Approaching a chestnut colored mare he reached out for her reigns with jerking movement. Stomping passed the white stallion he led her away from Altair before mounting with a difficulty he refused to show. “I do not wish to see you anymore, idiot Novice. Not until you’ve learned your place.”

Of all the arrogant, asinine, idiotic... The list continued to sound off in Malik's head as he stared down Altair's retreating form. That man was truly a fool through and through, that much was clear. May he give the other rafiqs hell and may they set him upon the rooftops each evening. It was the least he would deserve. Heaving a sigh Malik spurred his horse on in the direction of Jerusalem praying that he would not have to set his eyes upon Altair again until next year. "Safety and peace to you, idiot Novice."

Each day as the sun rose Malik would count his blessings that the previous had not been met with the presence of the other; though he knew it would only be a matter of time before Altair would arrive. Malik had settled into life at the bureau with an unheard of ease. While he did miss the thrill of the hunt and assassination life without death around every corner was welcomed. Not that his life wasn’t in peril every day from discovery. Then again not many would believe that the disgruntled, disabled healer could wield sword and dagger as a true master of the art.

When he first set foot in the bureau the newly appointed rafik sent out assassin and informant alike to spread rumors. Rumors that Al Maulim created and trusted himself to keep the Templars of the city off his trail for it had only been a few weeks since Solomon’s Temple. An incident that would always remain ingrained in Malik’s mind as it would the Templars familiar with Jerusalem.

The back room with the open roof served the Assassin’s in their goings and comings as the front room shielded it from the curious gazes of the civilians that wandered in for treatment. Fresh wounds only, as Malik often reminded; he would not allow treatment of the diseased in his Bureau. Those with it would only find themselves blocked by a barred door.

Day to day life had become monotonous for the rafik. He would rise in the mornings to train before making sure the lattice roof remained open for those who needed to drop in. By midafternoon he would open the front just long enough to erase any unease with his recent move. Evenings were spent with a brief trip to the markets for supplies and checking in on informants that did not return on time. Any wounded assassin’s would then leave if able for Malik’s bedside manner often left much to be desired. He cared not for their aches and moans distracting him from his work.

So it was with evident disdain that he slammed the heavy tome he had on hand on top of the counter that separated him from Altair. “Your presence here denies me of both,” he growled. “It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Altair.” He mocked slowly as if speaking to a child. “Not mine.”

Over the course of several seconds Malik found himself going through a wide range of emotions; astonishment to anger to bewilderment and finally a weary defeat. He had known Altair for nearly as long as he could remember, both growing and living in the village before becoming novices of the Brotherhood. They had not known each other before hand and the first meeting was memorable. Thinking back on the years of their once friendship Malik could not recall a precise moment where Altair’s gaze held that level of fury outside of one occasion. It had been when Altair’s father, Umar, had been beheaded in front of the Brotherhood by the men of Salah Al’din’s.

It was a time Malik could no longer recall, only the stories told to him by the elder Brothers who had witnessed the event from the walls of Masyaf. They said it had been Umar’s final wish that granted Altair the wings to become Master Assassin, the man asking a final favor of Al Maulam to take his son as his Novice. A day after the death of his father Malik had ‘bumped’ in Altair after seeing the other’s face twisted in an angry scowl. The friendship that had bloomed between the two was instantaneous, after the rather brutal fight of course. Back in the present Malik could feel his mouth start to quirk in a grin and he turned his back to Altair. Those days were gone now. Gone with Kadar and his ability to be a proper Assassin; something the Novice in his bureau had caused with his arrogance. If anyone had right to hold that fury in his eyes it was Malik but Altair had even taken that from him.

Breathing in deeply through his nose Malik pinched the bridge of it waiting a few moments before he began to busy himself with the jars just behind the counter. The shelves were worn, he noticed, and some had begun to rot with age. It was with an inner groan he decided they would need to be replaced as soon as possible lest he wanted the Bureau’s floor coated with healing salves. The sound of tinkling glass began to fill the air as he moved jars from one shelf to the next and while it was just ‘busy work’ Malik found himself being soothed by it. The only sign that Altair remained was the sound of the other’s paws caressing something or other behind him. Probably books, he thought absentmindedly.

When all the jars had been moved and some carefully stacked Malik turned back to face Altair’s back, brow raised at the sight of the book in the other’s hand. He bit back a scathing comment about how the idiot novice did not possess the ability to read that particular tome. He had grown tired as if the hostility in the room had drained him of his very energy. All he wanted was for the Novice to leave. Altair’s continued arrogance and ignorance of their situation could no longer be dealt with. Heaving a sigh Malik placed his paw atop the counter hoping to draw Altair away from his ‘reading’. “Fine. It won’t due to have you stomping around the city like a blind man.” He paused as if the next words were being forced from him. “I’ll tell you where to begin your search.”