Agony flashed across Altair's vision. He felt blood streaming out of the wound on his abdomen as a Templar knight drew his sword across it, eyes flashing with triumph as he realized that his strike had hit its mark. Altair gasped, sensing that the fight had gone on for too long, sheathed his sword and fled as fast as he could with his injury.

The fourteen or fifteen remaining knights gave chase. Altair was forced to push his pain aside and climb the first building possible. As he scaled, though, one of the knights threw a rock, a rather large one, which hit his head.

Altair grunted as he almost went flying back to the ground where the Templars were, which would have been a disaster. As he continued to flee, he noticed city guards mingling with the Templars, and took in the sound of the city's alarm bells chiming repeatedly.

When he finally made it to the Bureau, what he saw almost made him cry out in despair. Malik, the dai, had closed the opening to the bureau, to prevent stupid novices from luring the guards right inside.

But he held himself in. Banging on the doors, he knew, would be useless. No matter what, Malik would not open it to him until the city had calmed and the guards had given up their search. Altair sighed and firmly pressed his red sash to the wound on his abdomen. He still felt dizzy from the blow to his head.

It took a long while for the alarm bells to stop ringing. He had been identified as a major threat, and the search lasted over half an hour, and by the time he heard Malik's footsteps as the bells stopped chiming, he was extremely close to passing out.

Altair's brain did not register that he was standing on top of the door, and as Malik slid it open, he dropped onto the ground by the bureau, narrowly missing the fountain. Altair had wanted to react but he just couldn't.

'Altair?' Malik regarded him in undisguised astonishment. The dai still openly referred to him as "novice", but he knew well that Altair would not do this naturally. There had to be something wrong.

Altair was certainly not going to further reveal his weakness to Malik. Quickly, he stood, hoping that the blood from his wound wouldn't stain his robes.

'Are you okay?'

Altair heard the concern in Malik's voice. Was he toying with him, ready to start making scornful remarks? Surely he was simply looking out for him, as a brother.

'I'm fine,' Altair replied gruffly. It required an incredible amount of self-control not to clutch his wound to try and ease the pain.

'Then why…'

'Just tired.'

Malik narrowed his eyes at him. It was clear he did not believe him. He simply told Altair to get some rest before retreating back to behind his counter.

Altair sighed, and dropped off almost instantly when he sunk into the cushions.

Malik waited for twenty minutes to make sure that the Assassin was truly asleep before checking on him again. He knew that Altair was injured, he knew that he was trying to hide it. In many ways, Altair was like a cat. Refuse to be petted or caressed unless at exactly the right place and time, always tried his hardest, no matter what the pain, to reveal his injuries. Most of all, though, his stealth and reflexes were cat-like. It seemed that no matter the height of the jump, he would always land correctly.

Malik looked Altair over very carefully, so as not to wake him. When he stumbled upon his abdomen wound, he saw the Assassin wince in pain in his sleep as pressure was applied.

The dai quickly hurried back into the main room, behind the counter, where he hastily picked up supplies to patch up the wound with – which proved difficult with only one arm. Yet at this time, Malik could not bring himself to blame Altair for his clumsiness.

Eventually, he brought together everything he needed and knelt before the wounded Assassin. Altair's jaw was clenched slightly, though he still slept. For he would surely not let Malik treat him if he were awake.

Quickly, Malik applied some alcohol to the wound, and stopped abruptly when Altair began to squirm, groaning in pain, his teeth clenched together so tightly it looked as if they could shatter at any given moment.

Forced to ignore Altair's pain, Malik hastily bandaged the wound. It stopped the bleeding, and it didn't look too severe, either – but he could see that Altair had lost blood. Enough to effect him, yet too little to be fatal.

Malik studied the man who had been his best friend – and whom he'd hated. From novice rivalry to intense hatred, Malik had known him for longer than he could remember.

And even though Malik had displayed deep feelings of hate for him, he truly cared about Altair. Not enough to be called "love", or "crushing", but still enough for his harsh remarks and sharp tongue to badly sting him on the inside.

Even though the wound was not that serious, Malik always stayed by Altair's side, checking on the wound every two minutes, trying to get him to eat and drink.

It was the following afternoon that Altair woke. Drowsily, he rubbed his eyes and tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was in the bureau – that he registered. How had he gotten here?

Then, it all came rushing back to him. The wound, dropping into the bureau after Malik opened the door. But his pain had stilled to a dull ache, as if the Templar's sword had done nothing more than graze his lower stomach.

He was even more surprised to see Malik by his side, looking at him with pleading, desperate eyes. When he realized Altair was awake, it looked as if he had to restrain himself from leaping at the Assassin.

'You're awake.' Malik almost choked at how harsh he sounded, but Altair understood, heard the immense relief in his voice.

'Feel like telling me what happened?'

'Templars,' Altair snarled. He spat the word onto the ground as if it were poison – which, perhaps, it was.

Altair's condition rapidly improved to the point that he was almost ready to leave. But one day, as he was getting some things from a merchant stall, Malik heard something that made him confine Altair to the bureau for at least a week.

A guard sidled up to a young woman and held a poster before her nose. 'Excuse me, have you seen this man?' When the woman shook her head, the guard moved onto Malik, repeating his question and shoving the poster in front of his face.

The face on the poster was sketched well, probably by a talented artist. It was unmistakably Altair; his stubborn expression, the hood draped just low enough to hide his golden eyes.

Malik gasped. He stared at the poster again.

'Have you?' the guard pressed impatiently.

Malik shook his head and hurried off, not even bothering to stick around to buy the things he was supposed to. As fast as he could with one arm, he made his way to the Assassins' Bureau and burst inside.

Altair was barely awake. He snapped his eyes open when Malik entered rather harshly. 'Wha-what's going on?'

'They're looking for you.' Malik couldn't get the words out fast enough. 'The guards. You need to stay here.'

'Still?' Altair's tone was neutral, but his golden eagle's eyes betrayed his annoyance. 'I am not staying here.'

'Yes you are.' Malik's words showed a hint of the sharp-tongued dai that Altair knew.

'No, I'm not,' he insisted.

'Yes you are.'

Altair then raised his hands in mock defeat. 'Alright, then. I'll stay here.'

Malik was about to snap out a scornful comment with Altair added, 'If you can catch me.' Despite his still-healing wound, he shot up like an arrow and dashed out of the bureau, with climbing speed that Malik didn't think possible.

Malik knew he had no hope of catching Altair, swift as he was, with only one arm. He simply watched the Assassin disappearing and yelled furiously after him, 'I swear I will kill you by my own blade, Altair Ibn-La'Ahad!'

Altair smirked at the shout as he heard it radiating across the sky. As much as he detested the idea, he knew he'd have to return to the bureau to let his wound heal. If it got reopened, the entire process would have to repeat itself, and Altair's body hadn't quite recovered from the blood loss, however minimal. Yet he felt that Malik was being overprotective. Strange. He had always thought that Malik had less of a motherly instinct than a hungry cobra had for a defenceless wolf cub.

As he leapt across the roofs, Altair began to notice that archers were increasing in number. If he made a slip, and let one catch sight of him, they'd raise the alarm, Malik would deny him access to the bureau, and death would certainly follow. So Altair dived into one of the sky gardens that Assassins often used for hiding from guards to gather his thoughts.

It seemed that, however much Altair detested the idea, he'd have to return to Malik. He couldn't risk anything else; the guards were still looking for him and the ride to Masyaf was too long and risky.

So Altair headed back. He expected Malik to greet him with a scornful remark, and maybe even a slap, but it seemed that the dai was glad to see him.

'Altair…' he began. 'I'm sorry.'

Altair narrowed his eyes. 'You have nothing to be sorry for. I…'

Malik cut him off. 'No. I was refusing to let you out, and for an Assassin as skilled as yourself, it must have seemed like torture. You can go, if you like.'

'No, it's not safe,' Altair told him. 'I was being arrogant and stupid to think that I could get away while the guards were searching for me, and while my wound was still healing. I was no better than a novice.'

Malik chuckled, recalling that just the previous day he had referred to Altair with the low-ranking title. 'You have learned well.'

'Thanks to you. I'm...I'm sorry. For...for...Kadar.'

Malik's eyes watered slightly at the mention of his brother, but he shook his head to clear them away. 'I forgave you for that long ago, Altair. You have changed since then. You are no longer the man responsible for the loss of my arm and Kadar's life.'

'Thank you.' Altair was eternally grateful, it seemed his response was an understatement. For two years he'd been fretting that Malik did not truly mean that he forgave Altair, that deep inside he still loathed him. Now, he could be sure.

'Safety and peace, brother,' he continued.

'Your presence here will deliver us both.'