He snarled and raged, growling under his breath, snapping at whatever novice was unfortunate enough to get in his way. It had been barely three months since Al Mualim's Death, barely three months since Altair's appointment of Grandmaster of the Brotherhood.

"M-Master Malik—!"

"How many times have I told you novices not to call me that?"

"B-But—"

The one-armed, former Dai must have worn an incredibly fearsome look, because the novice looked about ready to flee from the scene. Malik did not back down, however. If he had someone to take his temper out on, then he would utilize every moment of the opportunity.

"Rest, prepare, cry in the corner. Do whatever it is you do before a mission, only make sure you do it quietly!"

Altair's silence grated on his nerves even moreso than the man's actual presence, and he freely said as much. Malik much preferred hearing someone speak their mind than to know they had something to say but wouldn't say it. That was why he was glaring down the novice currently quaking in his boots.

He wasn't that frightening, was he?

"R-Rauf w-wishes for you t-to d-demonstrate in t-the lessons t-tomorrow at n-noon... !"

"Tell him I will be there, then. Now off with you!"

Malik watched the novice practically sprint down the hall, unable to hide his amused, if bitter, smirk. If he hadn't already had a reputation of being one of the most irritable Dais in all of the Brotherhood, then he was sure he was already well on his way. He spun around and continued to stride through the halls of Masyaf castle.

He had a purpose, a destination.

He stopped by a closed door, currently guarded by two nodded in acknowledgement to the both of me before be put his hand on the door and opened it, stepping calmly into it, ignoring the subtle looks of sympathy he saw from the both of them.

"Altair, get the hell away from that thing!"

"Nng! It's... It's too late, brother... !"

"No!"

There, on the bed, was a lump of blankets. The only indication anyone was on the bed was the steady rise-and-fall, the faintest sounds of breathing that could be heard in the otherwise-silent room. Malik huffed, putting his hand on his hip.

"Are you going to sleep the day away again?" he demanded, loudly. The one-armed assassin marched up to the window, forcing the curtains hung there aside. The slight difficulty in the task didn't even register as he spun around, again facing the lump. It hadn't moved, but he kept on talking, coming closer to the bed as he forced the sheets back. "What? Are you really so ill? If you have the time to lounge around, surely you can get off your lazy ass long enough to assign the Assassins to missions!"

Beneath the sheets was Altair, skin pale, golden eyes dull and unseeing. Malik paid no mind to this, muttering choice words as he gently sat Altair up, making sure to stack pillows behind him so he could lean on them, a sharp contrast to his harsh words. After a moment of simply observing, he spoke again: "If it's not to your liking, you can fix them yourself. I'll be right back with some food. Don't even dare think of escaping!"

It was an intense sight that had him frozen for a good minute, unable to take in just what was happening as time seemed to slow down. Altair's body was glowing gold. Golden veins were sprawled over his body, and there were cracks — visible, golden cracks! — that were already eating away at his body. When Altair collapsed, Malik sprang forward to catch him, and he damn near panicked when he realized the only thing that had any hold on Altair was his stump.

"By Allah, Altair! What did you do?"

A very distinct thrum brought his attention to the golden ball of death currently grasped in Altair's right hand. Malik hadn't been able to tear it from the Grandmaster's grasp, nor could anyone else for that matter. They had been forced to leave it there, though Malik glared at it every step of the way.

"Time and time again, I tell you not to mess with that... that thing!" he huffed angrily before marching back to the door and opening it. He successfully startled the two Assassin guards, scowling between the two of them, but he had their attention. "One of you get food for the Grandmaster. The other, get a large basin of water and some washcloths. Decide amongst yourselves who gets what, only do so quickly!"

The two guards were off instantly, and Malik shut the door to look back at Altair. It was only in this moment that he allowed his eyes to be downcast, his shoulders dropping as he sighed a tired sigh. He wasn't sure how long he could keep doing this. It had only been two weeks, and already he was started to feel worn down. He wasn't fit to run the others didn't look up to Malik like they did Altair.

Altair was the one that had freed them from Al Mualim's treachery. Altair was the one that came up with the ideas, the plans.

Malik was, as much as he loathed to admit it, just a grumpy, crippled Dai. He was fit to be Altair's second-in-command, not the leader of the damned Brotherhood.

"Altair, god dammit, stop looking like that!"

He didn't remember crossing the room. All that he was aware of was his fist balling the front of Altair's shirt, holding him up close, practically snarling as he growled at the man. "Altair, you will wake up! You will snap out of whatever hellish trance you are in! You will destroy that godforsaken ball of metal like you should have in the first place, and you will lead the Brotherhood! I cannot do it, and you know I cannot! Or does your arrogant ass just enjoy watching me fail time and time again?"

He shoved Altair back, breathing harshly as he strode to the other side of the room and kicked at the desk. He repeated this for several more minutes, sometimes even punching it, until he simply threw his body against the wall and slid down to the ground. His breath came out in pants, dark eyes slowly turning to his comrade who was now on his side.

Altair hadn't moved or reacted once.

Malik was horrified with the way his throat was clamping shut, horrified by the tears pricking the corner of his eyes. All he could do was grit his teeth, outwardly seething as he waited and waited for someone to come by, someone to notice the glowing Grandmaster literally crumbling before his very eyes in his lap.

"Where the hell is everyone?" he suddenly yelled out in frustration, his voice higher than it should be, cracking even. When Altair chuckled, all he wanted to do was scream, scream at him for being such an idiot, scream at him for messing with that accursed ball.

"Malik, it's... okay... " The weakness in that voice, the barely-there hand touching his cheek. Malik shook his head fiercely. Had he still had his other arm, he would have grasped that hand. As it stood, his only arm was used to support Altair, keep him somewhat comfortable.

"It is not okay! You—! You insufferable—! How could you make such a novice mistake?" he spat, angrily, though there was hardly any venom. It wasn't a novice mistake. He doubted anyone could have done any of this any differently. It wasn't as if that blasted artifact had a set of instructions to it!

Altair only chuckled weakly again.

What was he supposed to do now?

"Altair," Malik spoke, sounding desperate, broken. "Enough is enough... "

The room remained silent.

A/N - Short oneshot is short. Did this for an artist on DA, felt like reporting here. Carry on.