A/N: Hope this was worth the wait. I am trying to make the romance move a little slower, a challenge since my other fictions dive right in.
Malik shoots up from his bed into a perfect letter 'L.'
His dream, the hallucinogenic cocoon he was in shatters over his head. He can feel the pieces roll over his body like wet earth, pretentiously like he's risen from the grave. It's dark, cold and empty around him.
"It was a dream, just a dream," he tells himself, laughing at his foolishness as he does. The dream had felt so genuine, so perfectly crafted that he believed it to be real. He can't remember what threw him so terribly close to the brink, but it doesn't matter. The dream is over.
Sour sweat trickles down into his eyes, making them burn. The injured assassin moves to wipe it away, but his body must be asleep. Only 5 fingers have made the journey to his face and the other 5 are nowhere to be found. Then Malik remembers he doesn't have 10 fingers anymore. One arm is whole, flesh, a soldier; and the other … twisted, ghostly, and invalid. It won't be the last time he has this bitter realization and Malik tries hard not to break into tears, tries not to loathe the man responsible for his misery, but he can't, he won't.
Malik hears mumbling outside his door. There are 3 guards at least, judging by the shadows moving across the floor.
- Is this your clever plan Altair? What did you tell our brothers; that I am a beast, a raving lunatic who requires a cage and a warden?-
Malik pushes himself to his feet, his heart pounding in his throat. His mind is confident, but his body collapses to the stone tile beneath him. He groans as his knees and wrist take the weight of his fall. Stray grains of sand scurry back from the heavy huffs of air spouting from Malik's lips.
It's terrifying how deteriorated his body has become. He doesn't know if he has days or minutes left to live, but he vows to keep his heart beating until he finds his revenge.
Malik concentrates on the first three obstacles standing in his way: the guards outside. Luckily, he finds an iron bed pan lying beside him on the floor. Smirking at the damage he could do with it, the assassin picks it up and trudges over to the door. He almost gives himself away with a groan, underestimating the chains of pain latched onto him. Malik bites his lip and ignores it the best he can. He takes a few more deep breathes then holds the last one in. He opens the door, just enough for it to give an eerie hiss. The guard's reactions are immediate. They step back, their conversation of meeting together for a night of gambling replaced by talk of intruders and the undead.
One by one, they slowly flow inside the room. Malik waits for the right moment, attacking the hind man first.
The two remaining men spin around at the alarming sound of metal colliding with bone. Their comrade lays unraveled and unconscious on the ground, but there is no time to be concerned when a bed pan is being hurled at the next man in line. The second man's jaw breaks before he can draw his sword.
The last guard is Malik's hardest challenge. He is known as Qareeb and is a skilled and intelligent man. With Qareeb no longer stunned by surprise, he easily blocks the bed pan with an armored gauntlet before it connects with his temple.
"Al Sayf what sorcery has possessed you," Qareeb asks, bewildered. He doesn't use his full strength against Malik, knowing the man is ill.
Grimacing, Malik tries his best to match the strength of his opponent. Already his injured body is succumbing to the strain of battle, his defeat assured with each passing second. He has never fallen to Qareeb in the ring before and refuses do so now.
"I think it best for you to lie down," Malik snarls and with the last ounce of rage-powered energy, he breaks their standstill. He raises a boot and kicks the guard to the bed.
Malik knows he can't finish the fight and so he storms out of the room before Qareeb can retaliate. Once outside the room Malik notices he's housed in a familiar location on the second floor, the Master's quarters off to the right. The area is sparsely populated by the night shift guards and some nocturnal scholars, but does not contain the silhouette of the man he wishes to kill.
Malik doesn't have time to search. He can feel himself becoming faint, his vision rippling and his feet seem to be spinning him around in circles.
"ALTAIR," Malik screams at the top of his lungs, his voice spreading throughout the cavernous ceiling.
"COWARD! WHERE ARE YOU!"
Several of the scholars look at the shouting raven-haired man and start to wonder if he's gone mad. No one answers and the assassin turns to a scholar watching him in close fascination. Malik grabs the man's shoulder and it seems more like a lever of stability then a threatening gesture.
"WHERE IS HE?"
"You've gone mad!"
"You know who I am looking for! Altair! Where is he?"
"I haven't seen him."
By this time, Qareeb has recovered and emerges from the room in pursuit.
Malik knew he would be apprehended soon. He would be locked up again, perhaps questioned. His temper boiled over and he screamed, "You're all hiding him from me aren't you? Has he turned you against me? He's turned you against the creed?"
"Malik!"
Malik stills at the sound of his rival's voice calling out to him from the bottom of the stairwell. Al Sayr wonders for a moment if Altair is merely a man of his imagination, a phantom that only he can hear. Malik's body freezes at the thought. His mind turns blank and he doesn't have the courage to face the figure that lies just out of his sight.
"You're ill. This isn't like you," says the voice of Altair. The world seems to have gone quiet; the room melting down to a mess of dripping wet colors and the only clarity is the Altair's reverberating voice. Malik chooses not to respond, lest he look like a mad man.
Arms close around Malik from behind, a weight more real than he had expected.
"Leave him go," Altair breathes into Malik's ear, and Malik feels the warmth and texture of skin wrapping around his knuckles, easing his hand out of a clenched fist.
"Have you been avoiding me," Malik asks in a poor display of defiance.
The scholar watches as the two carry on in a private conversation, feeling as though he's nonexistent. The scholar wonders if he should run away, but just before he does his eyes flicker just a centimeter over from Malik's distracted eyes to settle on Altair's. Altair's eyes are a piercing yellow beneath his hood, the narrow slits of a waiting serpent. The scholar's clothes are released and tears away from their custody.
"You know the answer to that," Altair whispers sharply, between grinding teeth, "Come. You have a fever and should not be out of bed."
"Why should I listen to you?"
"I've made you something. If you go quietly to bed I'll show it to you."
A long silence follows. Malik is new to the idea of Altair using a gift as a means of negotiation and is stuck on how to proceed.
"Malik please, everyone is staring. I don't want them to think you've lost your mind. Faint, right now in my arms. I'll catch you."
How is it that after everything Altair has done to ruin his life, Malik still cannot deny him forever? Malik allows his legs to buckle under him, shutting his eyes, pretending his skeleton has been torn from his body. Altair catches him, as promised, and carries his friend back to the room.
"What was the meaning of that," Qareeb asks.
He's been watching them from upstairs, waiting just outside of Malik's room. Qareeb's arms are crossed, making it a point to block their entry.
"He's ill. Hope you never have to endure the same. Retrieve the men from the room, unless you would prefer them strewn about the floor."
Qareeb is a tricky man. He would just as quickly defend you as he would sacrifice should it benefit him. The man is always lingering in the shadows for the whisperings of others.
"The master will hear of this," Qareeb remarks on a hostel note.
"And so he should," Altair agrees, knowing his words will anger the man further. Qareeb doesn't feel in control if his adversary isn't squabbling.
After the bodies have been taken out, Altiar shuts the door behind him and puts Malik on the bed. Malik doesn't open his eyes, enjoying the relief that comes from keeping them closed. Altair smiles and wants to kiss him, if only to see his reaction.
"Don't open your eyes just yet."
"Oh does your surprise involve murdering me?"
Altair lights a torch and a candle. Malik's nose twitches at the scent of fire.
"If you think I am capable, then keep your eyes open."
Malik makes a distasteful noise to signal his decision to keep his eyes closed.
"I'll be but a moment," Altair says and Malik hears the open and shut of the door. When Altair returns, Malik can tell the assassin is carrying something. The proof is the way the door is jostled open and the rhythm of Altair's steps. The air smells differently, pleasant almost.
"You may open your eyes."
Malik almost doesn't want to. He cracks open one eye, then the other. Altair is holding a wooden plate out to him with fish, bread, and vegetables.
"What-what is this?"
"I know more than you think I do," Altair grins, very proud of himself. Fish was a rarity for them and Altair knew Malik enjoyed it more than most men did.
"Well are you going to eat it or are you waiting for me to feed you?"
Malik's eyes widen and his rebuttal dies in his throat. This had to be one of the few times Altair has ever done something considerate and each time Malik deadpans. How is it that a man can be so callous, so vein, and yet remember a friend's favorite food? Malik starts to rethink Altair's personality, wonders if Altair does truly hear every word he says. Al Sayf is overcome with an adoring heat in his chest.
"Why don't you take the first bite," Malik suggests.
"Honestly, if I wanted you dead I would pierce your throat and be done with it."
"Do as I say," Malik spits back.
Altair laughs, "As you wish."
Altair peels back the silvery skin of the fish and takes a bite of the white flesh hidden inside.
"See, delicious. You should thank me."
"I'll thank you by giving you the privilege of feeding me," Malik remarks, arching an eyebrow in contest.
"Oh, then allow me to cleanse my hands first. I wouldn't want to sully your meal oh great and powerful Dai," Altair says, placing the plate down on the bed and walking over to the wash basin. Altair means what he says, but that doesn't stop him from filling his words with sarcasm.
"It seems you're finally starting to realize my superior status," Malik smirked.
Frowning, Altair finishes his bathing and sits down on the stool. He picks out another piece of fish and places it before Malik's lips.
"Open your mouth, or do I have to work for that as well," Altair asks with mild irritation.
Malik opens his mouth, stating an amendment in mid-bite, "Depends, promise to answer my questions."
Altair shrugs, "Fair enough,"
Altair plucks another piece of fish off the bone, "Ask your question."
"What does the Master have planned for me?"
Altair can tell that this question carries a heavy weight in Malik's mind. Sadly, Altair does not have an answer that will relieve him.
"I do not know. He does not speak to me as he once did. He tells me what I need to know and nothing more. You may have to ask this of him yourself."
Malik opens his mouth compliantly to accept the food, satisfied with the answer Altair gave him.
"Why are you here, cooking me a meal and fussing over me like a foal?"
"I must."
When the burnette moves to slip in another piece of fish, Malik doesn't allow it to enter his mouth.
"Why?"
"I promised the doctor I would watch over you."
"Did you promise this in pity for me? Is this just an act to atone for yourself?"
"Yes."
There is silence. Malik's feelings of displeasure thicken the air around them, sending light shocks to Altair's skin.
"Malik, do you not remember?"
"Remember what," the injured assassin barks.
"Do you remember having the chance of killing me and choosing not to? Do you remember what you told me?"
"I … I did what?" Malik starts to sweat. His stomach does nervous flips. He remembers short clips of the story Altair is referencing, but he doesn't dare speak of them.
"It's likely not to happen again," Altair interrupts, "Don't let it worry you Dai."
"How long have I been asleep," Malik asks.
"Two days."
Altair takes a short pause, waiting for Malik to ask another question. Malik remains silent. Altair decides to ask a question of his own.
"Are you tired? If you'd like I could go get you something to read?"
"I wouldn't trust your judgment on literature or your judgment on anything else."
"I think you'll like what I have in mind," Altair smirks, and pulls out a small scroll from a pouch on his belt.
"Altair must I explain to you what a book is," Malik sighs.
"Take a closer look before you judge the worth of this parchment, my brother."
Altair unravels the paper on Malik's lap, Malik's hand rising to help keep the paper flat.
Al Sayf scans over the page. He finds himself having to squint in the dim light. His eyes start to focus on the mechanical shapes that almost resemble a maze.
"This is Acre… Jerusalem… Arsuf …"
Altair smiles. He knew Malik would recognize the map quickly.
"What do these marks mean," Malik's brows knit, pointing to the "X" on Masyaf.
"They are Robert's informants and his suppliers. This paper holds everything we need to know," Altair declares with a triumphant voice.
"How did –"
Altair is quick to cut Malik off, assuming his question, "It came into my possession."
Malik only glares that the coy statement.
"You give me the wrong answer, Altair. Perhaps, you should listen until I am finished speaking."
"Then ask again," Altair rebukes, not at all pleased with the way Malik was belittling his victory.
"How do you know this isn't a decoy to keep us from the truth? Something this crucial to Robert's plans wouldn't be lost so easily unless it was a trap for us."
"It may, it may not be. What else are we to do?"
"Have you not shown this to Al Mualim?"
Altair growls, "He told me I was a child to think that this called for his attention. He nearly tore it in two."
Malik could see how hard Altair's pride had been struck with Al Mualim's reaction. Altair became rash in these moments, consumed with impatience. Malik was sure Altair would storm off to attack each and every one of the pinpoints on the map this very night if it meant he could convince everyone that his theory was correct.
"Altair, I mean not to discourage you, but I believe the Master may be right."
Altair stands, the action as tight as a drawn bowstring. Altair turns away from Malik, takes a few heated paces forward, and then turns again. He repeats these actions as if he were a rat in a cage. His whole body is shaking and his spine is poised to strike out at anything that crossed his path.
"Altair –"
"I do not wish to hear any more," Altair barks.
"I also believe there may be some merit to what you say."
Altair stops and stands up straight. Malik takes that as his cue to continue.
"We could investigate on our own, secretly. It was true there was an informant in Masyaf, we shouldn't dismiss the possibility that there could be more in each city."
"Yes, Thank Allah you see it! You were always different than them Malik," Altair says, taking Malik's hand in both of his and squeezing it affectionately.
Malik blushes, almost certain Altair means it as a compliment. At the very least, the Dai is relieved to have his friend back to normal. Contrary to what anyone would believe, he prefers an egotistic Altair over a moping, enraged, deluded fool. Malik knows the chances of what Altair hopes for are slim, but will support him for the time being.
"Shall we discuss the plan then?"
Malik must respond delicately to that question.
"If you would hear my opinion Altair, I think we should await Al Mualim's orders."
Altair's mouth opens to protest, but Malik moves his hand gently block Altair's objection.
"Please Alatir, I heed you to listen so that you may see as I see. The city our Master assigns you to will provide us with our starting point. The mission will supply us with a cover to explain our business and gives us means to learn more about the templar's plans. If you're still unsatisfied with those reasons, then stay your hand awhile longer for the sake of preventing my execution."
"Execution? How could he declare your execution when you brought him what I could not? He very well could have executed me had you not returned with the artifact. If it comes to it, we can start a new order of assassins, Malik. I won't leave you a second time."
"Careful of how loud you speak brother. There are many who would disagree with you. Make no mistake that I am happy that you still carry a relic of our friendship, but to see our home in divided chaos, to have a civil war … I don't think that is worth my life."
"I'll prove it to you."
Altair leans forward for kiss. Malik, confused by the sudden invasion of his personal space, leans away. The brunette moves in closer and the back of Malik's head smacks into the stone wall pressed against the bed. With nowhere for his lips to retreat to, Malik's eyes widen. Altair smirks and pushes their faces together. Malik turns away at the last second, his only functioning hand desperately pushing against his friend's shoulder to restrain him.
Altair feels no remorse for his actions and has not thoughts of backing down. Not when his body felt driven to press forward, the need to feel Al Sayr's flesh against his own had burning at his wick for days.
"Altair!" Malik pants, ducking head down like a turtle inside his shell. Al Sayf's is shaking far more than necessary.
Altair pulls back, "So you don't remember … "
"What are you talking about," Malik shouts, nearly hysteric.
"What you told me, you don't remember it do you?"
"Whatever I said, it had nothing to do with this!"
"Malik, why are you so afraid of me?"
"Altair, I can't," Malik cries. Tears begin to form at the crooks of his eyes and Malik hates himself for it.
"Yes, you can."
"I won't!"
"Why?"
"You wouldn't understand!
"Tell me."
"Tell me why you want me Altair," Malik demands, looking Altair in the eyes.
Altair takes a moment to reflect on his answer. As he thinks, he gazes into bright hazel eyes. Altair can't seem to come up with a single reason. Rather, there are so many reasons; so many small mannerisms Malik has that make Altair want to be around him that it seems stupid to even try to list them all.
"It would take me day to tell you all the reasons why."
"You have 10 seconds."
"You're strong; you're smart, you believe in me, I like how you preen over your skin, I love the look on your face when I surprise you, I love how you overreact when –"
"I do not overreact! It's normal for a person to get angry if you insult the—"
Malik stops mid-rant when he hears Altair's deep chuckle.
"Can I kiss you now?"
"No," Malik's grimace has been rebuilt and fortified.
"What else must I do, then?"
"I know you Altair, you would soon forget me for another partner. I am simply what is most convenient for you at the moment. I'd rather keep my dignity."
"Then keep me entertained, that shouldn't be too hard for you."
"No."
"Just one kiss. I promise I will do no more than that. Let us see if your answer remains the same."
Malik doesn't say anything and instead gazes down to Altair's lips. Altair leans in slowly; giving Malik plenty of time to push him away, to turn his head aside, but Malik stays still, panting heavily.
Malik closes his eyes as if to brace himself and then Altair is catching his mouth with his own. The kiss is gentle, the brunette adding just enough pressure and motion so that both can feel the tingle of their lips fitting together. Altair opens his eyes and finds that the wrinkles are fading from his friend's face to welcome bliss. Altair, being the devious man he is, slips his tongue into Malik's pliant mouth. Malik quickly recoils, eyes opening, but Altair's explores deeper into the warmth, momentum and passion making both men see the universe in their eyes.
"Please Malik," Altair pants, kissing the man's neck. He gives the tendon he encounters a light bite and sucks on the skin around it. The brunette's hands travel down to lightly caress Malik's battered body.
"Then, rest with me for the night," Malik says.
"Only if I get to touch you until I fall asleep."
"As long as your touching doesn't keep me awake," Malik says, eyes half-lidded and closing.
Altair rolls to the side and props his head up on elbow. Malik follows the same idea and steadily lowers himself down to rest properly on the bed, hissing when his abdomen contracts.
Altair never did plan on treading past an exchange of kisses and caresses. Malik's body wouldn't withstand any more attention than that. The simple fact was that Altair enjoyed teasing Malik. His reactions are so colorful in nature, its fun to watch him squirm. Altair cuddles up close to the man's flank, wrapping and arm around Malik's chest. He gives a quick kiss to the dark-haired man's cheek.
"Do not worry; I shall bring safety and peace to your dreams."
"I expect no less, novice," Malik mutters, his voice thick with an emotion he doesn't dare name.
TBC...
Thank you for Reading!
Comments and Questions Welcome!
Chapter Completed: Tuesday October 18, 2011 at 1:08 am