A/N: Hello there! Long time no see, hm? Yes, I apologize about that. Writer's block loves me like I love ice cream. Which is a lot. It would be even better is ice cream loved writers block, but even a cool, tasty treat like ice cream couldn't like a bitch like writer's block.

My next book idea aside, this chapter is more of the same as the last chapters, to be honest. I would say it's filler, but that would be lying. So... enjoy!

Altaïr was busily perusing books in Al Mualim's library when his finely tuned sense picked up almost silent footsteps behind him. He turned around to see Malik standing before him.

"You were not pondering the secrets of the universe? Questioning the existence of God?" Malik asked slyly.

Altaïr blinked, not understanding.

"I did not even need to announce my presence. In fact, I was quite silent in my approach, yet you heard me. You do not usually acknowledge one until you are repeatedly pulled away from your own musings."

Altaïr was silent for a moment, then, to Malik's surprise, he smiled. Granted, it was more of the corners of his mouth turning slightly up, but it was worth noting.

"My mind is at east today, Malik, and I have you to thank for that."

"Me?" Malik asked, taken aback. He ignored the smile he inwardly felt, and pressed on. "For what reason?"

"A simple one." Altaïr explained, the almost-smile still in place. "Though nothing changed last night, talking about a problem is the first step in fixing it. I feel light, like I could walk across water and not sink."

Malik kept his face composed, but inside he was rejoicing. Altaïr, the stoic and stony assassin -the Master of the Assassins, no less- was grateful to him. Though they were supposedly friends now, and such formalities and pleasures in pleasing the one higher up the food chain than him were most likely considered ridiculous, Malik couldn't help but feel proud of himself, like a child who manages to make their parents smile.

"I am glad I could do that for you, Altaïr." Malik replied, seemingly aloof, but pride oozing inside him like he had internal bleeding.

Altaïr's almost-smile faltered for a moment, then it was back, though even smaller and harder to detect now.

Malik felt a pang in his stomach, but pressed on as if nothing was wrong.

"What are you working on?" He asked, trying to read the open book on Al Mualim's old desk upside down. It appeared to be a book of maps.

"I am attempting to find a route that can lead us to all our destinations, though that is proving difficult, as I have no idea how far we will need to go. In fact, I have idea where we need to go, either." Altaïr frowned down at the maps as he sat down, his supposed peace of mind draining before Malik's unsurprised eyes. As soon as Altaïr had informed him of his tranquility, Malik had been counting down the seconds until his peaceful mood gave way to his more natural, brooding self. Or in this case, frustrated self.

" Altaïr…" Malik said quietly, and then trailed off, thinking better of his question.

Altaïr looked up, curious.

"Continue," he encouraged.

Malik bit his tongue, cursing his mouth for speaking before his brain could finish processing. He stared determinedly at a deep red and gold tapestry on the wall, hoping Altaïr would go back to his maps and forget Malik had ever opened his mouth.

"Malik." Altaïr said softly, though to Malik is sounded as if his voice had a serrated edge. "What is wrong? Please, tell me."

Altaïr looked like the perfect person to listen to your problems. He made a great listener, as he never interrupted, and was always trying to come up with a solution. He was extremely intelligent and wise, and, though he didn't seem it, Malik knew that there was sympathy in him somewhere, possibly hiding until the right amount of variables came together, until Altaïr found someone with whom he could share sympathy and not feel weak, vulnerable.

Visions of Kadar being manacled by nothing in mid air, bloody sunsets, and screaming voices all shuffled in line in Malik's head, begging to be let loose, to fly from his tongue to Altaïr's all too eager ears, to be processed and looked at closely, until their meaning could be determined and sleeping dogs could hopefully lie peacefully.

Malik knew that Altaïr would listen in rapture, eager to compare experiences with the Apple, but Malik also knew that, no matter how tranquil he seemed to be, he was teetering precariously on the edge, and it would take but the slightest nudge to send him into oblivion.

So much was going on in their separate worlds. Yet at the same time, so much was going on in their world, the one the two of them now shared. Malik had a feeling that Altaïr's supposed peace of mind was an illusion. Lately, Altaïr had been carrying around a burden much bigger than he deserved, and much too much for one man to handle. Malik figured that only a small piece of it had actually been lifted, and that Altaïr was so lost in his own musings that he didn't know what it was like to be truly at peace anymore. Malik wasn't going to say anything, but he wasn't going to add to Altaïr's invisible, unknown burden either. Altaïr was strong, but he wasn't invincible.

So he kept his mouth shut.

"Nothing is wrong, Altaïr. I was just…" And Malik faltered, mad at himself for already breaking his word to not add to his master's worries.

But this question needed to be asked. No matter the consequences to himself, either.

Malik took a deep breath.

"I was wondering… if you needed a map, and you were unsure of our destination… Have you considered looking at the Apple again?"

Altaïr looked at Malik with an unreadable expression. It could have been disgust, or surprise, or maybe a bit of both.

"I do not think that would be a good idea, Malik. The Apple is not something to be tampered with. I do not know what would happen if I inhaled the sweet scent of the Piece of Eden again. I do not know if I could resist like I did last time. I do not know anything, really." As he said this, Malik saw the telltale signs of a full blown Altaïr think-a-thon. The Master of the Assassins started to shrink inside himself, his eyes clouding, seeing things a million miles away from this earth that no one else would ever see. He was sitting as still as a statue, hardly breathing. Once he lost his slight frown, and his face became a blank slate, Malik knew he was gone for a good while.

With a shake of his head, Malik left his master, knowing that it was his own fault that Altaïr was now in an almost catatonic state.

He knew he should not have asked that question.

Altaïr was not a million miles away, as Malik had assumed. He was very close to home, actually.

He was thinking about Malik.

More specifically, he was thinking about how Malik lied.

Altaïr was thinking about Malik's face when he had assured Altaïr that nothing was wrong. A trained liar trying to lie to a better trained liar was a disaster waiting to happen, and Altaïr definitely had the upper hand in the lying department. He knew that Malik was untruthful, but hadn't confronted him.

Why Malik would lie, and what he would lie about, Altaïr had no idea. All he knew was that it couldn't be good. Information is only held back when it is bad, unless used as a bargaining chip, and Altaïr highly doubted that Malik was somehow working against him, or that he wanted something from him. Besides, Altaïr was sure that he could give Malik whatever he desired, without Malik having to go to extremes for it. Altaïr would do it for Malik with no grumbling. He would do a favour with a smile on his face, even.

Truth be told, he would do anything for Malik, because he owed it to him. After taking away a limb and the only family Malik had left, Altaïr was surprised Malik was actually civil to him, and floored that Malik would return his friendship.

It meant more than Altaïr was comfortable with expressing out loud, though he was sure that some day his gratefulness would just flow out of him in a truly horrific way that would most likely send Malik running for the hills without sparing a glace behind him.

This made Altaïr wonder what Malik would hide from him, and the motivation behind said concealment. Only a handful of things were worse than killing a family member and taking a vital limb at the same time, no less. What could Malik be withholding that could be worse than that? No matter what he said, Altaïr was in no place to reprimand him or be angry with him. Short of boot kissing, the least Altaïr felt he was justified in doing was obeying Malik's every request, be it moving a mountain or fetching some meat from a local merchant. Altaïr wondered if Malik understood the power he had over his -in name only- Master. He also wondered if Malik understood how the concept of friendship rocked him like a smooth boulder down a steep hill.

The idea of being able to have someone to confide in, someone who you could trust, was something Altaïr had never known, and now that he was experiencing it, (even though it had only been a day) he was determined not to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

Though that idea that Malik was keeping something vital from him was now, he was sure, going to be a persistent prodding at the back of his mind. It would be with him all the time until he learned what it was Malik was so readily keeping locked up in his mind.

Suddenly, a thought unwelcome as the blade of a Templar entered Altaïr's mind.

If you used the Apple, you could figure out Malik's secrets. You would not need to worry anymore. Along with that, you could fix everything. Find the hidden Pieces of Eden, see their true power, what they were always meant to do.

Something was pressing on the back of Altaïr's neck, at the base of his brain stem.

Everything you wanted at your disposal. The world at your feet. The whole world. Land masses the likes of which you've never seen.

The pressure was building, making a hot spot on Altaïr's skin, burning him. It felt like a blunt object, but the harder it pressed, the more it seemed to change into a pointed object, now trying to break the flesh and draw blood.

What you dream about in your wildest fantasies. Everything you find in your worst nightmares will be gone, sent to hell, damned. No more Templars. No more evils. No more wrongs.

The object pierced his neck, ripping through layer after layer of skin, going deeper, deeper. Past veins and arteries, narrowly missing the brain stem, halfway through his neck, pushing, pushing. Through muscle, through fat, through tissue. Burrowing like a beetle into dirt, tearing, shredding. Blood spurting, dotting the map in front of him with red.

The pain had been too great at first for Altaïr to comprehend, but now the ripping of his skin was being felt layer by torn layer. Stars danced in front of his eyes, promises of the heavens twinkling about them. Hot streams of blood ran down the back of his neck, staining his pristine robes, mixing with the red of his sash, getting lost in the fray.

The blood ran in rivers, soaking him, mingling with a clammy sweat that had just broken out. His hands were shaking. Or maybe he was shaking all over. He didn't know.

The object was about three quarters of the way through his neck now, and the pain had only gotten worse. It was digging, struggling to get through those last muscles, that last layer of skin.

It pressed on though, revving its serrated edge, and continued to cut.

Needles were jabbing around his wound from every angle, stabbing the already sensitive skin, pricking him with as much force as such a small object could carry.

You could have everything, whispered the disembodied voice.

Altaïr gasped and jumped out of his seat, breathing heavily. His first instinct was to apply pressure to the wound, but when he pressed his fingers to the back of his neck, he felt nothing.

No hole, no object, no torn skin.

Altaïr felt his stomach drop through the floor, and he wouldn't have been surprised to hear a shout from the assassins on the floor below, shocked that a human stomach had just come barrelling down at them through the ceiling.

He had recognized the voice. It was one of the voices of the Apple. That was not good. How could the Apple have reached him? At the moment, it was sitting safely in Altaïr's chamber, hidden beneath sheets and other various things. He had thought it was only capable of attacking him if he had his eyes set upon it, if his mind was vulnerable.

Apparently, he had been wrong. But what could he do? The Apple was something he needed to keep with him, to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. And, no matter what he told Malik, and no matter what his instincts were telling him, he might have to venture into the depths of the Piece of Eden again, if he truly wanted to figure out how to defeat it once and for all.

But that was merely an idea festering at the back of his mind. It wasn't something he wanted to think about too much, because he knew how easily he would get sucked into a debate with himself about the ethics of the situation, the different possible courses of action, and even the adverse affects on himself and any other unfortunate soul. It would suck up valuable time, especially when debating an idea that was much more roundabout that he would have liked. No matter what conclusions he would come to, he would always come back to one, simple truth: He was afraid of the Apple. He was afraid of what it did to him, he was afraid of what it would do to anyone else who picked it up, he was afraid of the power that was housed inside it, and, most of all, he was afraid of what he would become if he ever succumbed to the succubus that was encased in that golden sphere.

He sometimes wondered if the Apple was fear incarnate.

So many theories ran through his mind, none of them stopping to give him a moment's rest. That morning had been his first break from thinking since the death of Al Mualim a week ago. Non stop was his mind, and it was starting to wear him down. He didn't know how to turn it off.

Maybe it wasn't the Apple that was making him crazy. Could someone think themselves into insanity?

Altaïr sighed and started to pace behind Al Mualim's desk. (He never thought of it as "his" desk. It just didn't seem appropriate.)

Was his mind safe? Dismissing his last thoughts as irrelevant, more because he didn't want to consider the possibility of going insane than the fact that he actually doubted that he was losing touch with reality, he was more weary than usual about what thoughts were passing through the extremely trodden pathway of his mind.

If the Apple could sense him, could get into his head without even being near him, Altaïr knew that something needed to be done fast. He feared the idea of constantly being around temptation in its purest, most malevolent form.

Though, if the Apple could find him from one floor away, could it find him from halfway across the country?

Altaïr felt his blood frost over at the thought. It was a distinct possibility- especially with all the powers the Apple had already showcased. Add that to the fact that the Piece of Eden probably wouldn't take kindly to him trying to dispose of it, and Altaïr was looking at an extremely difficult journey.

But hadn't he just claimed that he needed to keep the Apple, no matter the cost to himself, so he could protect whoever else accidentally or purposely tried to acquire the Apple and its powers for themselves?

The sudden, dizzying rush of anger that accompanied that thought quickly thawed Altaïr's chilled blood, and before long, it started to boil.

This Apple was not going to have a hold over him. The puppet strings that tied him to Al Mualim had taken years to finally sever, and he had no intentions of falling victim to another puppeteer- especially one he knew would lead his wooden body to a roaring fire to watch him burn. The fire might destroy the strings, but puppets were cheap, petty toys, and Altaïr knew that they numbered in the thousands. Masses of people with minds impressionable as clay, and mouths that were as loose as an assassin's identity walked the streets, oblivious to the more sinister workings of the world, taking place in mountaintop fortresses, underground lairs, and even holy dwellings such as churches and sacred gardens. It almost seemed as if nowhere was safe anymore.

Maybe naivety was something to be sought after, strived for.

Altaïr thought back to his discussion on the rooftop with Malik. He thought about how confidant, how wise and sage-like he had sounded. He thought about how Malik had looked at him in awe, his eyes wide, his mind thinking he was basking in the intelligence of his friend.

He thought about how it was all a lie.

A lie for a lie, then? He knew Malik was keeping something from him. It was better this way, anyways. Malik didn't need to be burdened even further. Altaïr knew that he still mourned the loss of Kadar, and still was getting used to life without an arm. Now that Malik was also accompanying him on his journey, Altaïr figured that telling Malik how unsure he really was about everything wasn't exactly the best strategy. He had already lead Malik down a rocky path- he didn't want to take another wrong turn and make his friend follow him down into the depths of a sinister valley where secrets turned into demons, and mist so thick you could get caught in it resided.

No, it was better that Malik didn't know. His shoulders were already sagging with the weight of the burden he carried. Maybe if the right time came, Altaïr would share his secret with his friend.

The Apple was uprooting Altaïr, making him incompetent, making him keep secrets.

Altaïr allowed himself a moment to wallow in self pity. What had he done to deserve this? He had changed from the selfish, arrogant, over-confidant man he once was. He had overcome obstacles, had learned his lesson. He wanted to make things better, to make life easier for the people of the Holy Land.

The Apple was like poison. Even after the main source was gone, its repercussions could be felt for a long time after, spreading like a tree's roots would grow.

The anger Altaïr had previously felt came rushing back into him like a dam breaking open. He wanted to break things. He wanted to tear pages out of books. He wanted to thrust his hidden blade into something living and quivering with fear as its blood ran over his hands and stained his robes.

But most of all, he wanted to destroy that damned Apple. That infernal Piece of Eden that had caused nothing but trouble. It had turned friend into foe, peace into war, and sane men into possible candidates for a mad house.

No right could come out of this. More and more quickly, Altaïr was feeling his decision being made for him. There really was no rationalizing left to be done. He had wanted to study the Apple, to learn about it, and learn to defeat it, once and for all. But he was out of time. Another episode like today's was something he didn't think he could handle. And if the Apple could reach him from its safe place upstairs, what kind of things could it do when it was at close range? He'd only had one taste of it. Now that it was in his head, in his deepest, most personal thoughts, it could really make him snap.

As Altaïr felt his panic level rising, he felt his heart beating faster and faster. Shapes were distorting in front of his face, and he was dizzy. His stomach was doing back flips, and he had to sit down on the floor to calm his racing heart and blurry eyes.

For a few moments, he just sat there, breathing deeply and slowly, trying to get back onto his more rational train of thought. But it was stuck at its last station. Only a full train of anger, shame, and fear pulled into the station, coughing black clouds of filth into the already dirty air. Altaïr had no choice but to take the last seat in the whole train- the driver's seat. He couldn't stand at the station forever, waiting for a train that would never come. Standing still was worse than moving backwards fast. At least his feet weren't cemented in one place, staring at the same thing, feeling the same feelings, and tasting the same tastes.

Altaïr drove the train all the way to the end of its route, which, incidentally, was also its beginning.

"It would appear we have come full circle…" Altaïr quietly informed the Apple as he reached to pluck it from its hiding place in a small, shallow indent in the wall of his room.

The Apple gave no response. It was warm.

Altaïr carried it to the window in his room, which was conveniently located at the top of the fortress, facing away from the city. All that was beneath him was an angry body of water, impatient to suck the life out of any living being that came near it.

The sky was gray today, and a slight breeze was blowing. It was humid as well, and Altaïr felt the rumble of the soon to come thunder deep in his chest. Storms didn't come often, but when they did, they were monstrous.

Altaïr held the Apple out of the small window. It looked strangely innocuous today. It merely looked like a nice decoration that glinted in the small amount of sunlight that escaped the clutches of the unsettled clouds. Carvings were etched into it that Altaïr had studied over and over, but never came up with any explanation for being there. From what he could tell, they were random. Maybe they were from an ancient language. Maybe they were other worldly?

Normally, Altaïr would never have even entertained the notion that the supernatural existed. However, this situation was not normal. In fact, it was not even merely bizarre. It was completely and utterly psychotic. People got put away for claiming that inanimate pieces of metal talked to them. Luckily, the only person that he had told had believed him, and had not called the nearest doctor to restrain him.

Strengthening his resolve, Altaïr braced himself for the onslaught the Apple was bound to throw at him like a tidal wave.

But nothing happened.

Altaïr took one hand off the Apple. All he had to do was loosen his grip with his right hand, and it would fall to its end on the sharp rocks and extremely angry, hungry water.

He took a deep breath. It had only been a week, but this Piece of Eden had gutted him more than his months of work for Al Mualim. Taking lives was something he was good at. Dealing with supernatural powers outside of his understanding was not. When the Apple had no blood to spill, no lands to conquer, no army at its command, it was almost pathetic for Altaïr to feel so relieved that he was finally getting rid of it. And yet he did, and did so with confidence. He would never have to deal with this Apple again. It would be gone, hopefully become a breeding ground for whatever happened to live in the lake. After many years, it would be gone altogether; the metal eroded and now part of the earth at the bottom of the lake.

Altaïr took lone last look at it. As he did so, however, a sudden searing heat penetrated his right hand. So quickly did the heat come that Altaïr didn't react until smoke was lifting off his burned palm, and he could smell seared flesh.

He gasped as his palm sizzled, and later, he would swear that he saw the Apple glowing for a brief second. He tried to stretch his fingers out, to let go of the Apple, but it had grafted itself to his hand. He couldn't shake it off, and if he didn't get it off soon, he would lose the nerve endings in his hand. The pain was widespread and even, and also equally as agonizing.

With a yell, Altaïr brought his left hand in a sweeping motion, and, with the bottom of his fist, knocked the Apple out of his left hand.

He brought his right hand inside immediately, and the skin was a sickening, raw red, and already blistering. Where the carvings had been on the Apple, Altaïr's skin was less red, therefore leaving its mark on his hand as clear as day. He would probably have those scars for the rest of his life.

With his attention solely focused on his burned hand, Altaïr had completely forgotten to watch the Apple meet its demise on the waiting rocks below.

A/N: Fun stuff, huh? I apologize for not getting them the hell out of Masyaf yet. Things just keep popping up, and they never get to leave. Kind of like how my family is like when we are getting ready to go on vacation. zing!

Bad jokes aside, I still have to say I have no idea what I want to do with this story. Though... an interesting thought came to me while writing the end of this chapter. And it involves a female OC.

WAIT! DON'T LEAVE! Please, sit back down. Listen to my reasoning. Well, actually, I can't give a whole lot of reasoning, because I don't want to give away what might happen. Things aren't set in stone, though. So maybe this idea will just float away to the very populated area of my brain reserved for ideas that almost were.

For any typos, I apologize. It's probably obvious, but I don't have a beta reader.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this rather mediocre installment in this story. Things will get rolling soon.. I hope.