AN: This will eventually be three chapters long, one for each of the techniques. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies and failed characterization. Please take it easy on my lack of writing skill, just getting back into the swing of it. Thank you and enjoy.

The night in Masyaf was still, quiet and peaceful. The day's heat still lingered in the darkness, clinging to stone and sand alike and brought even night owls to await its passing and enjoy the cool of their homes. Most had retired to have their dinner and then rest at this time, but assassins were tireless, disciplined and wasted little time on things such as rest. Malik and Altaïr were no exception to this rule.

Walking into the court yard after having returned from Jerusalem, thoughts and plans and strategies buzzed in Altaïr's mind as well as a few questions he planned to spend the night trying to riddle out of the apple. He was sufficiently distracted from these thoughts by a light penetrating the darkness, emanating between the closed doors of the castle and shining dimly through the windows. There was always one torch lit at night; however this was a bit lighter than was customary for this time yet the castle was just as silent as he would expect.

Initially Altaïr was wary; he had every reason to be. The apple was inside, his journal and a wealth of other things a Templar would have use of. Silent as a bird in flight he slipped inside the castle, fleeing the light of the unexplained torch in favor of the shadows that it cast. Peering up the steps of the hall he could see its source was from his and Malik's study. He knew then that it was likely his friend and his second, pouring over this or that in his usual penchant for becoming lost in paper and scrolls. However knowing better than to assume, Altaïr took to the walls to make certain.

He climbed the nearest pillar to the second floor and briefly perched upon the railing. Altaïr was relieved to find that it was indeed Malik who sat in the torchlight, hunched over his desk and asleep or near to it by the look of him. His right hand was buried in his hair as he leaned upon his elbow, the quill he must've been writing with abandoned in plain view on the desk. Normally Altaïr would have gone to his friend and helped him to his chambers, or carried the man if he truly was asleep. Only if no one else was watching, for the sake of Malik's pride and nothing else.

Not tonight.

Tonight a rare bout of youth suddenly took hold of the great and wise (and twenty four year old) Master of Masyaf. Still balancing on the railing rather than step onto the nearby floor he took to the next pillar and climbed. Sidling across the moldings in the high ceiling, Altaïr crept quietly closer to Malik, clinging to the side of the wall and making not a sound. Just as he found the right position Malik gave a long, exhausted sigh, warding off sleep in a final resolution to call it a night. He scratched at his scalp just before setting his hand back down upon the desk, looking at the empty hall with a dry and tired expression.

A grin was flickering across the features of his face to see Malik awake and that was when Altaïr made his move. Malik jolted and looked upwards just in time to see the Grandmaster leaping from his hand and foot holds along the ceiling, coming straight for him.

"Alt-!" His cry was stolen from him just as the air from his lungs had been as near two hundred pounds of assassin came careening into his body. He was knocked clean from his chair and to the floor, spread out upon it with Altaïr crouched over top of him, a strong hand on his shoulder holding him to the floor.

Malik blinked hazily, but even before he had full comprehension of what had happened he was scowling. He glared hotly up at Altaïr, attempting to rise and finding himself unable to due to the hand upon his shoulder and now another on his bicep.

He reached up and grabbed a fist full of the assassin's sleeve, all he could reach, absolutely seething as Altaïr leaned down closer to him, noses inches apart. "Safety and peace, brother." Altaïr greeted in a tone lighter than Malik had heard in quite some time. Malik's teeth ground hard in his anger and he hardly even heard that rare laugh of Altaïr's, soft and rough, like the distant rumble of a storm. The playful kiss that Altaïr pressed to his cheek and the scratch of his stubble not enough to calm him.

Malik was too angry to be charmed. "You novice! You fool! What were you thinking Altaïr?" His voice was heavy with exhaustion and venom, yet still Malik had all the energy in the world to deal with this child of a man. He kneed the master hard enough in the stomach to send him stumbling backwards, off of his friend and falling back onto his rear on the stone floor, still grinning. That damn smile.

Sitting up now Malik grabbed a fistful of cloth at the assassin's collar; pulling it tight across his throat and yanking that grinning face closer in hopes that it might wipe the smile from it. It didn't. "Your stupidity knows no limit, were you not my brother I would throw you from the window." And still with this threat, the man was still smiling. Malik shook him by the grip he had in his robes and he was still smiling, allowing his body to move with the roughness.

An hour ago if asked he would have had nothing to say about the Grandmaster but respect and loyalty with a love he never spoke of hidden behind his words. Right now, he hated him, hated his stupid novice antics and all his talent and his stupid face with that stupid smile.

"In the name of the Gods, what are you smiling at?" Malik demanded as he stopped shaking the man long enough for him to respond. Altaïr's grin widened. "Jumping from a high place onto a target such as that would be a very effective assassination method." Altaïr responded simply, and Malik could not contain himself.

He let go of the master assassin only to punch him square in the nose, hard enough to Altaïr's body flailing back onto the ground.

Malik stood and brushed himself off; collecting the papers he had been studying and putting them away before striding down the hall. He called back to Altaïr. "We will practice this technique in the morning before I allow you to teach such foolishness to the novices. You are sleeping alone tonight."

Altaïr remained where he had fallen for a moment, spread out upon the stone floor. Blood trickled from his nose and down his face, and he smiled. It would be an eventful night.