It had been two years after Kadar's death, after he lost his arm, and Malik was feeling more distraught than ever. Altair was now Grand Master of the Assassin's Order, Malik was his second in command, but still on some days he missed his quiet days in the Jerusalem bureau, where he heard the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer each morning. He spent his days in Masyaf now, overlooking the effects of the Order and overseeing training as Altair did, offering advice whether or not the Grand Master wanted it. Malik had progressed in rank so to say, but increasingly this meant nothing to him. Altair married Maria in the spring, just as the trees budded with blossoms, and the woman was with child. Never before had Malik ever seen him so happy. His heart pinched sometimes with loneliness.

He was making a trip to Jerusalem- he did not ask for Altair's permission, just stated his plans, and the Grand Master had not challenged it. He'd wanted to take the pilgrimage to Mecca this year, while he was still strong, but something in his mind drew him to Jerusalem instead.

He visited the market first, milling around aimlessly, losing himself in the cacophony of its chaos. The vendors yelling across the street, the large cloves of garlic and bushels of herbs hanging from improvised wooden beams. Then there was the smell of roasting almonds and honeyed pistachios stirring in a pot, the same as it'd always been. The nut vendor recognized Malik slowly, each glance shedding another layer off Malik as though he was an onion. Suddenly, recognition- "Malik, my friend! What brings you to Jerusalem? I was under the impression that you'd left."

Malik drew close and accepted a gift of candied pistachios from the vendor, who knew it to be his favourite snack. "Good to see you, Ahmed. I have returned as there are too many good memories here." He didn't say it like he meant it, though, and Ahmed was left to pick him up as always.

The bearded man laughed heartily. "When you first arrived here, you'd hated it."

He chuckled, a little unsettled that he'd grown so bitterly fond of the place that once appeared a prison to him. "Well then, what has changed?"

"Ah," the vendor dropped his stirring spoon into the pot and began counting on his chubby fingers. "I have three sons now and one daughter, praise to Allah. I married Sunbul last month, she is my second wife. God willing, I shall have another child soon."

Malik nodded, took it all in and refused to let his throat close off. But when he spoke, his voice was strained anyway. "And what of the rest of Jerusalem?" Richard the Lionheart came close to taking it some time ago, but he was not able to secure his victory and hence Jerusalem remained in Saracen hands.

"Well, not much has changed… Some Christians still come to visit as pilgrims and traders. Even knights may come as long as they are unarmed- such was the mercy of our Sultan, may he rest in Paradise…" After receiving the latest news and gossip, they parted ways reluctantly. Malik let his eyes wander again as he made his way through the winding streets to the Bureau, taking in the bright veils of the women and their dainty laughter, like bells. He felt arousal stirring in his groin, but always his thoughts wandered to Maria and Altair- the innocent joy they shared, and his arousal felt like a sin. He lowered his gaze and walked on. What were his chances, anyway? He did not know any of them, and figured they would not take well to a strange cripple approaching them out of nowhere.

He was just at the secret door of the Bureau when he noticed a figure flitting about on the rooftops above. A novice assassin, he thought immediately, seeing how the man's shadow awkwardly turned to and fro, like he remembered the Bureau was in the vicinity but had forgotten where exactly. Finally the silhouette dropped down, and Malik shook his head and sighed. He made to knock on the door until he heard a shrill shout inside.

He acted immediately, ramming into the wooden door with his shoulder. The door broke open on its hinges, and Malik already had his throwing knives out in his hand and ready to aim it at the intruder. The new Dai was ahead of him, having grabbed a sword and was currently trying to cut down the unknown man. A Christian, Malik decided from his form of dress- a dirtied, sand worn surcoat covering some kind of mail. Then he frowned, no, this was not a Christian. The man wore a turban and used a shortsword as well, the kind made of Damascened steel the Saracens favoured. He easily flicked the Dai's sword out of his hand and across the room in a manoeuvre that Malik had never seen. The Dai fumbled for another weapon while Malik descended on the attacker, who turned to face him.

His hand dropped, limp from shock. The throwing knife clattered to the ground.

"Kadar?!" No, this couldn't be right. This was a nightmare. There was no way in hell that the warrior standing in front of him now, who was a bit taller than him, sporting an elegant beard, was his younger brother. But Malik recognized the set of that jaw, the color of those almond eyes, the shape of that nose he'd kissed for thirteen years before Kadar declared it embarrassing.

"Malik," the man breathed, a look of horror crossing over his face. He sheathed his sword in a smooth, elegant motion that did not complement the expression on his face. "I hadn't meant to- not this way…" In the meantime, the new Dai was looking between the two of them, confused. Finally he decided to get out of their way and make some tea.

The older Al-Sayf had not even dared to dream of this moment. And as such, he had no idea what to do or say now. His one working arm hung dead at his side, his jaw was slack. He could only look up and down at the man before him, who was his brother. Kadar, whom he thought was dead. Tears welled up in his eyes and he let them fall. "I thought- I thought you had died."

Kadar shifted on his feet, guiltily. He gave Malik a look that was the same look he gave when he broke something in the house and was embarrassed to admit it. That was the wrong response.

Malik's arm surged to life and a fist formed. Kadar saw it coming but didn't move. The fist softened. "Is it really you?" He touched Kadar's cheek, fingered the thick beard that had grown there. Then fondness again turned to anger. "Where have you been all this time, you ass?!" Kadar scratched his head and wished he'd thought this through.

He knew neither of them wanted to think back to Solomon's Temple, but he decided it was best to start from the beginning, no matter how painful it would be. He motioned to the cushions in the Bureau court, away from the workroom where the Dai would be working. "I thought you were still Dai… I came to find you. Let me explain, please."

Of course, Malik didn't like the impersonal way Kadar was speaking to him, but he was still getting over the shock of finding his brother alive. He formed no words, just followed him to the court. Now he had more time to take in the man before him- he wore a linen surcoat that covered a thin layer of barely visible chain mail. His belt held a waterskin and several pouches, and from the shape of them Malik realized they held throwing knives. A scimitar, pitted and notched with use, hung at his waist unhidden along with the shortsword now sheathed. He wore a white linen turban on his head, very inconspicuous yet elegant; he was dressed like a Saracen soldier from the Sultan's army. A sinking feeling settled in Malik's stomach as he sat down to listen.

Kadar barred nothing from his brother. He told him about Robert de Sable, about the knights he'd met while he recovered, and how they treated him. Malik looked more and more uncomfortable as the story progressed. Kadar told him about Altair, how he'd killed Lawrence in cold blood, the battle between him and Robert, how he never recognized Kadar.

"What happened then?" He asked Malik suddenly, breaking from his story. "I never knew why Altair left so quickly."

"Nothing," Malik snapped. "It was nothing." The picture was becoming clearer. This Kadar was not the same Kadar that came with him to Solomon's Temple, and Malik closed himself off in disappointment. Could he trust him?

The other man noticed the change in demeanour, and lowered his eyes. "I could leave. I sense you are disappointed."

"I am disappointed."

"I'm sorry."

The tears came again, this time Malik was laughing along with it. "You always apologize too much, Kadar." The memories assaulted him.

"I'm s- ah." He blinked rapidly, "Yes… that is still my habit." Tentatively, he reached out and touched Malik's shoulder, slowly drawing the two of them together into a somewhat awkward embrace. "I'd heard you lost an arm. I wished it weren't true… I'm sorry." He knew what this would have meant for Malik, the over-achiever, the one who so desired to step out of Altair's shadow. The transition from assassin to Dai would have appeared to Malik as a demotion, a curse.

"And I thought you'd lost your life! Now I find out my brother is not dead, but he comes to me wearing the surcoat of a soldier!" Malik recoiled from the embrace, staring his brother hard in the eyes. "What is this, Kadar?"

The younger man bounced on his feet, distraught. "I- it's hard to explain." So Kadar continued his story, watching Malik's face grow more and more red. "I fought with the Christians at Arsuf, and we won. But Sir Alexander- you remember, yes?"

"Yes," Malik grumbled. The green-eyed Hospitaller knight that saved Kadar's life and later came to regret it.

"Sir Alexander died at Arsuf, and I was taken in by the Templars. They took care of me and brought me to Acre, where I became a squire of sorts to Sir Jacques."

His brother's face was blank. "I don't…"

"Jacques is the Templar Knight who took care of me while I recovered. He helped me escape. Do you remember?"

"Ah… yes… what is a squire?"

"I went back to him, and he decided to stay. He was very close to taking me with him to France, did you know? I did things for him. Cleaned his office, polished his weapons, tended to his horse, escorted him… I learned from him, too. I learned how to ride, how to fight on a horse…"

That explained how Kadar fought so well. Malik didn't know whether to be proud or to be devastated. And to think, Kadar could have gone to Europe, to the brutish land of the Christians. Thank God it didn't happen. "...You are a Templar now?"

"No, a spy."

"So you aren't a Templar."

"No. I was a squire to a Knight of the Temple, but one of two. I won't become a knight. I now work as a spy, and I regularly am assigned to obtain information from Saracen camps. It's easier for me as I am, well," he stroked his beard. "Saracen looking. I had to dress like this to enter Jerusalem… the Christians are no longer permitted here."

"And you are as frustrating as ever." Now Malik scratched his chin, having taken in all this information. A spy. That wasn't too bad. It was almost respectable, somewhat like what the assassins did anyway. But a spy for the Christians, using his Saracen appearance to aid in their infidel cause. That was traitorous. He couldn't understand why Kadar would rather work for the Christians- they had no redeeming quality in Malik's eyes, all barbarians and sodomites. Still, the man in front of him appeared wholesome, not a rapist, thief, or a bloodthirsty murderer like Christians were prone to become. "I remembered you in your novice's robes, the one with the gray arms. Hooded, and…" he gestured in a circle with his fingers. "Not so much beard." Then that hand came up and covered his eyes. "Allah, I left you. I left you there when you had been alive. Can you ever forgive me, Kadar?"

Said man reached up and gently pried the hand away. "Malik, you did all you could. I have never blamed you for anything, not ever."

"Then I am confused! Why didn't you come back to us?"

Kadar heaved a sigh and leaned back on the cushions, looking up towards the latticework ceiling of the Jerusalem Bureau. "I couldn't go, not with what I knew about Robert. I was in his debt, do you understand?"

"It was a thing of honour, then."

"Yes."

"I have taught you well," Malik admitted, "but I'd never thought it would be like this. At least you could have let me know you were still alive… I could have…" he couldn't have done anything. At that time he was still recovering himself from his injuries, and shortly after he was brought to Jerusalem. Even if he'd somehow known, he could not have sent anyone to retrieve him. Altair, the only man who could possibly infiltrate a Templar fort, was already occupied. Malik couldn't have done anything.

"I thought you were dead as well." The younger man's eyes flashed. "And I had no way to sneak out a letter. There were not even any pigeons- the only pigeon I saw while I was there, it was roasted and cooked for me." He didn't tell him how they'd given him chances to return. Malik wouldn't understand the ties he felt to those knights. He had to go back, and even now he had not regretted it.

Malik stared, and it was obvious he was still dead set on that one statement- "come back, Kadar. Come back with me to Masyaf. Altair is Grand Master now." He paused and waited for Kadar to react. There was no reaction. "…you know this?"

A blink. "I am a spy, Malik."

"Then you knew what Robert must have told Altair. You know about Al Mualim."

"Yes."

"Then why did you ask me before, if you knew?"

He did not even hesitate, "you did not trust me enough to explain."

The other man was flabbergasted. He was not used to speaking to Kadar in any other way but to instruct him. And suddenly Kadar was a man of his own, a stranger almost, and he had secrets held in a chest to which Malik had no key by right. Kadar had played him into a trap, and when had he learned to do this? "Come back to Masyaf," Malik said again, this time pleadingly. "Kadar, you will not be persecuted for breaking the rule of the Order. Altair will forgive you. I forgive you. You don't know how much…"

"I can't, Malik." With a resolute shake of the head, Kadar made to get up from the cushions, only to have Malik's hand shoot out and grab his wrist. Abruptly, Kadar flicked his wrist and Malik's hand popped off its hold. Kadar looked almost as horrified as his brother did. "I- that was instinctive, I didn't mean to…."

Malik hobbled up to his feet with as much grace as a one-armed man could manage. "Who taught you that?"

Kadar took two steps back. "The knights did."

He slid down again into the cushions, finding his feet could no longer hold him up. "So, you've made your choice. You are with the Christians now."

His brother nodded sadly. "I came to say goodbye. It… I would love nothing more than to join you at Masyaf," here Malik raised his eyes hopefully, "but I now know things that burden my soul. I can never again join the ranks of the assassins, my shame for having deserted it is too strong." This was genuine, and Malik felt it from the bitter set of Kadar's mouth. Some traitors of the Order killed themselves out of guilt- to leave the Order was to decline Paradise, so what was the point of a further life on earth? "I have done too much for the Christians now, and if I were to join you and Altair I would surely be a problem for the two of you. I have come too far to turn back- Malik, do you understand? I owe my life to-"

Malik burst out, "you owe your life to me! I raised you, Kadar, when our parents died. Do you remember?!" Spittle landed on Kadar's face. "You owe those barbarians nothing."

"Malik, I just…" he was whimpering now, desperate for Malik to understand. "I can't. I can't work for the Order anymore. I love you and am forever grateful to you, but…" how to explain this? How to put Robert de Sable's lesson into terms Malik could tolerate? Certainly the Order under Altair may be run very differently, but Kadar couldn't take orders from the man who killed Lawrence without mercy, from the man who cut down Robert de Sable. Kadar's return to the Assassin's Order would plunge all of their lives into chaos. "I have seen things from a different perspective. I was at a crossroads with you and I stumbled onto a different path. I chose to keep following that path. That was my decision, and I do not regret it."

Malik wanted to reassure him, tell him he was his brother and by Allah nothing would happen to him, but now he wasn't so certain. "Do you think you have a future with the Christians? They have lost the Crusade, you know."

"There are still ports, Templar strongholds in the cities which Salah ad-Din had not captured." Speaking with the surety of a seasoned General, Kadar smiled. "I have been offered a position as a spy for the Christian army. It is well paid."

Malik took several deep breaths through his nose. He had noticed how Kadar was careful to leave out any identifying clues. He felt a little lightheaded. "So, is your name even Kadar?"

He watched the younger man stroll across the bureau, picking up an incense burner and examining it like he owned it. Malik's fingers twitched. "No," Kadar said, "I am called something else now, but I cannot tell you."

The unspoken statement weighed heavy in the room. Kadar sneezed and put down the incense burner, which trailed a tail of frankincense smoke. The new Dai emerged with a tray of tea, apologizing for the slowness, and he sensed the poisonous atmosphere immediately. He took the tray with him, turned tail, and slunk back into the workroom without another word.

Malik choked, "then you are no longer my brother." He pulled himself to his feet with as much grace as he could muster, his expression impenetrable. An unnamed Christian spy was in the Bureau, armed and staring blatantly upon him. It was an absurd nightmare come true. "You are a Christian infidel-" Kadar cut in, reminding him he was still a Muslim, but it did not slow Malik's tirade. "-You work with the Christian infidels, the barbarians, and even worse- you spy for them. I know not your name or work or intent, and now I must demand you leave." Malik unsheathed his shortsword from his waist and pointed its edge at the man who used to be Kadar. Traitorous tears welled up in his eyes. He never wanted this, not in a million years. For Kadar's own safety, he had to leave.

Though he was trained to be more stoic, Kadar still just barely stopped his face from crumbling. He was too impulsive, always so. In missions sometimes this proved profitable, but what had he truly expected of Malik? Perhaps to him, it was better off that he was dead. "I'm sorry," he said one last time, trying to focus all of his infinite gratitude and longing into his finite eyes. "You will always be my brother."

The sound of flowing water filled the gap between them. Malik did not lower his blade. "I hope you are happy." He began in a poisonous tone, but then sharply his voice tapered to the soft hushed voice he used so many years ago to comfort Kadar when he couldn't sleep.

"I am," Kadar affirmed, desperate to grab on to any hook he had. He didn't want their last encounter to be on venomous terms.

"Happier than you were with me?"

"It's a different kind of happiness."

He sniffed. "Very well." The sword was sheathed. It had been an empty threat from the start. "You have grown. You are your own man now, and I only wish you the best."

"I as well- I will never forget you." Kadar struggled with his words, his fingers twitching at his sides. He wanted to embrace Malik, but he was afraid of what would happen if he did. He might cry. His heart was splitting from the joy of seeing his brother again and also the bitterness that was Malik's disappointment. "I should go."

"Yes."

Kadar brought his fist to his breast. "Safety and-" he was interrupted when Malik suddenly launched himself on him, his one arm wrapping around Kadar's broad back in a pitiful embrace. Both men knew that they could meet one day on opposite ends of each other's swords. But for now, they were joined as one. Of the same blood, the same birthplace, the same childhood. It was God's gift that they should meet again, and also His wisdom that they should part. Kadar set his forehead on Malik's shoulder and breathed in his scent, a strange stabbing sensation spreading through his chest. It was so strong he wondered if this was a trap, if Malik was trying to kill him. But then they pulled away and there was no blood. The pain in his chest carried on.

"Safety and peace, Kadar."

They kissed each other on the cheeks as relatives did when they visited one another. "Goodbye," said Kadar, stepping back and bowing a little out of respect. He waited for Malik to respond, but the other man just stood there, smiling softly. Kadar smiled back, nodding, and turned to scamper up the wall of the bureau like such a trained assassin. He climbed differently than Altair, who used his strong core to derive a relatively straight path of ascension. Instead, Kadar used his dexterity and strong limbs to hop from stone to stone on the rock face in a playful manner so befitting of his personality. Malik also realized this random movement allowed Kadar to evade rocks or weapons thrown at him as he climbed. He made a note to mention this to Altair later. In a moment, Kadar was out of the Bureau and gone- maybe forever, maybe not.

Malik slowly stopped smiling. His cheeks hurt. His lips cramped. The place on his shoulder where Kadar had put his head was stained with a small patch of clear liquid. That spot now burned and tingled, mourning the loss. The sky was getting darker, the light on the wall changed. The new Dai slowly stepped out of hiding, his eyes wide and questioning. Malik would tell him nothing, and if he talked he would regret it. Malik wouldn't even tell Altair- the balance they'd finally managed to establish was still so fragile. Under his breath, he gave a small laugh. "I said goodbye to you when I left you at Solomon's Temple. I refuse to be wrong a second time."

Thankfully, the new Dai of Jerusalem was not feeling suicidal today, and opted to forget that the whole situation ever happened. "So, Dai Malik," he wiped his hands on his robe. "Welcome, and what brings you to my bureau?"

Kadar had grown up, found his own path. Altair and Maria were expecting a child. And what did Malik have? Memories and regrets, some of which were now absolved but he was left with more questions than answers.

He strolled up to the bureau counter and leaned over it, speaking seriously. He couldn't tell this to Altair, he'd only laugh. But this new Dai, who was so desperate to impress him, might just lend him the help he needed. Seeing Kadar again reminded him of the time they were young, when opportunity and time stretched out so far ahead of them that they were drunk on it without knowing. "My friend," he said, "will you help me find a wife?"

"Ah, I must say I was not expecting… that." It was the duty of the Dai to ensure the needs of the assassins were met, and sometimes this included introducing them to certain people in the city. With the Grand Master's written consent, assassins could approach the Dai as a matchmaker of sorts. Back when Malik was Dai, it was rumoured that he would direct assassins looking for wives to cemeteries as a joke.

The new Dai cleared his throat, "do you have the Grand Master's written..." he trailed off as Malik's blank but threatening stare bore into his skull. That had been a stupid thing to say. He was more afraid of Malik than Altair himself, so never mind. He laughed uneasily, "I'm joking... hahaha..." quickly he went on, "I would be honoured to help you find a wife, Dai Malik."

"It's about time," Malik agreed, his humour restored. "Who knows how much longer I will live? That Altair will be the end of me!" He laughed, a twinkle in his eye. "God willing, I will become a father… maybe my child will be friends with Altair's child, how wonderful would that be?"

The other man smiled too, having never seen Malik in this light before. Something had changed; the ground itself had shifted in some unperceivable way. He closed his ledger. "Alright then, I know of a few good women who live in the area…"

End.

Alright, all, this is it! At the end I still wanted Kadar to go his own way, and I think this way it melds more closely with the original canon storyline. I hope I made it believable and tied up the loose ends. Poor Malik, his words foreshadow his future. I still get all sad when I think about what eventually happens to Malik. Thanks for reading (this was really not meant to be this long omg) and please leave some feedback in the box below! Thank you!

-Vyscaria