Age 21:
His fingers clawed the sheets of his bed, his head swiveled back and forth, his eyes shut tight, sweat dampening his forehead. His breathing is rough and unsteady, coming out in short, jagged gasps. Malik sat on a chair next to his little brother, tending to his fever by wiping the sweat from his brow and slowly pouring water down his throat when he cried out for it.
Malik hadn't slept in three days. He was keeping a constant vigil over his brother, making sure that Kadar's life did not slip away over night. He sat next to him in that wooden chair, his body growing stiff from the waist down, but he did not care. He needed to stay put, to take care of his younger brother.
All of the medics were busy or absent, for somewhat of a large mission had gone wrong. Malik didn't really know the details of the mission, nor did he particularly care, but it had resulted with many assassins injured, and Al Mualim sending a couple of medics each to the Bureaus to teach the Rafiqs basic medical skills. As a result, Malik was left to deal with Kadar's illness on his own. Malik estimated that, in total, there were probably about fifteen medics in total, as most of the children born in Masyaf are trained to be assassins or Informants, which was problematic when the fortress was attacked. Malik decided that if he ever became Grand Master, he would have more children trained for medical purposes. He wondered if he should speak to Al Mualim about this, but he decided to tuck that thought away for later.
Looking at Kadar's face again, Malik reached down to dampen the cloth in the bucket next to the chair, and dabbing at his forehead gently. Kadar's mouth opened and a strange, guttural moan escaped his lips. Malik's heart clenched in worry.
"M-M-Mal-" Kadar muttered.
Malik grasped Kadar's hand between his own. "I'm here, brother. I'm here." he said in a hushed voice.
"Dying..." he whispered.
"No, you're not. You're going to be fine." Malik told him, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
"Blood... Everywhere." Kadar moaned, "Stabbed... Darkness... Alone..."
"It's just a nightmare." insisted Malik, worried.
"Abandoned..." Kadar continued.
"It's just a dream." Malik said desperately, "You're fine. You're going to be fine. It's okay, Kadar."
Kadar moaned something unintelligible. Malik grabbed the cup of water and helped Kadar sit up with one hand and slowly tilting the cup into his younger brother's open mouth. The cool liquid slowly poured into the Novice and down his esophagus. Malik gently laid Kadar back down onto his bed. The youngest Al-Sayf brother rolled over onto his side, still clearly ill, but his sleep much less labored. Malik sighed and sat back onto his chair.
The next thing Malik knew, sunlight was shining down on his closed eyelids. They immediately snapped open, his mind flying into a panic. How long was I asleep? What happened? Is Kadar okay?
Malik studied Kadar, sighing in relief when he saw the nearly steady rise and fall of his younger brother's chest, and felt the frantic pulse beneath the skin of Kadar's wrist.
Outside of their shared bedroom, someone pounded on the door, making Malik jump. He stood and walked over, still exhausted despite his short nap. After opening the door, the assassin looked blearily into the face of Rauf.
"Master Al Mualim sent me to fetch you for your next mission." he said, looking startled at Malik's ragged appearance.
"Tell him I can't do it." Malik said flatly, about to close the door again.
"But-" Rauf started.
"I can't do it." Malik repeated, "I have something more important to do."
"But the Master requested you specifically." said Rauf.
"Well, tell him that I can't. Tell him that he should give the mission to Altaïr. Allah knows that the Master can't wait to give his favorite a chance to show how much better he is than everyone else-"
"Altaïr is on a mission to Acre right now." Rauf interrupted.
"I don't care who he sends!" Malik hissed, "He can send Abbas, or you, or anyone else! I have something more important to do, and that's final!"
Malik slammed the door and shuffled back to the chair, sitting down heavily. He sighed loudly and buried his face into his hands, bringing them upwards and running his fingers through his hair. Kadar looked up at him blearily, cerulean eyes dull with illness, without his elder brother noticing.
Eventually, little to Malik's surprise, Rauf returned, with Al Mualim. The Master pushed his way into the Al-Sayfs' room. The old man of the mountain's gray eyes swept the room, lingering on Kadar, who was in bed, and Malik, who looked up at the Master blearily from his chair. Al Mualim watched them, stroking his white beard. For a while, no one said anything.
"I see." was all he said.
"Safety and peace, Master." Malik said dully, "I'm sorry for not coming when you summoned me."
Al Mualim remained silent. Malik stared at him, the dark smudges of purple clearly visible under his eyes, waiting. Rauf fidgeted nervously in the doorway, clearly looking awkward. Kadar coughed from the bed, his hands clawing his sheets again, muttering quietly in his sleep.
"I cannot do the mission." Malik continued, "I am needed here. I must care for Kadar, and all the medics are busy."
Al Mualim still said nothing. Malik broke the eye contact, looking down at his feet, and then his younger brother's sweat-soaked face.
"Punish me however you like," said Malik, still not looking at Al Mualim. "But just let me stay here until Kadar is well. I can't stand the thought of his death. I don't know what I would do." he added, his voice quieting, hoping to hide the fact that his voice broke.
"You may stay an care for your brother." said Al Mualim.
Malik's head jerked up in surprise, his eyes widening in surprise at the Master, "What?" he gaped.
"You will have to make this up later, but you may stay and tend to Kadar until he is well again." said Al Mualim decidedly.
Malik scrambled to his feet and bowed low towards the Master, thanking every god he could think of for the old man's pity. He babbled his gratitude to Al Mualim, who watched the young assassin what could almost have been amusement, if Malik didn't know any better.
"Come see me once your brother is well, and we can discuss how you will make up this time."
With that, Al Mualim swept from the room, his black robes billowing behind him. Rauf scurried out of the doorway as Al Mualim passed, the old man shutting the door behind him. Malik's eyes lingered on where the Master had been moments before, before turning back towards his brother and tending to him once more.
Kadar's blue eyes opened and he looked up at his brother tiredly. He noticed that his eyes were watering a little bit and Malik gave him a weak smile. Kadar grinned at his elder brother feebly before rolling over onto his side and falling asleep again. Malik sighed and reached out to ruffle his little brother's already messy black hair before sitting back in his chair with an exhausted sigh.