Title: Homestead
Summary: During a mission taken on of her own volition, Aveline visits a friend of Agate's in search of a missing Widow.
Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed III/Liberation, and all things related to the franchise, is property of Ubisoft.
Achilles decided long ago that the bustling energy of the city was not for him. The energy of his youth, while not depleted, no longer fed on the desire to interact or mingle with prosperous and curious identities of the city. The lofty mansion left in his care was all the energy and space he'd ever need after stepping down from the active duties of an assassin, entering the role of the mentor.
He'd seen many an assassin come and go. Some were made for the life, and others were hesitant to ever embrace it again after barely a lifetime of experience. Whatever the motivations, a kind of anger and loss was always the foundation of joining. It was no different with the young woman standing before him; she'd lost something dear to her, but it wasn't what made her join their ranks, something else motivated her.
"You're not from around these parts, I take it?" A standard question, however obvious the observation was. She turned away from the oak desk, her chin, round and strong, jutting out as she raised her head to meet his eyes. She wore attire very unlike that of the brotherhood, forsaking the white robes for the traditional grays and blacks of a smuggler or pirate. Personal touches sprinkled throughout her appearance gave her a unique look, a sure sign of defiance against the norm of the Order.
And unlike most brothers and sisters, she stood tall and proud, unbeaten by the abuse and neglect experienced by the whole of the community. The girl had privilege, the kind of privilege that was often all too associated with the involvement of whites. "Non. What gave me away?" She said, humor light in her tone. Achilles shrugged his shoulders; he stood a little taller as she looked him over with a critical eye, one hand cupping her elbow, the other under her chin. "Your accent, of course," He said after a moment, only half joking. "Orleans?"
"Oui, it is my home," She answered. "And this fine establishment, this is yours?" A kind of weary fondness swept over the master assassin for a moment, he nodded, hunching over at the tingle of pain in his lower back. Memories of better days flooded his mind for the tiniest second before he shoved them back into the darkest reaches of his mind. "Aye, it's my home. She's old and she's weary, but she's home." He crossed the distance between them at a pace that neither aggravated his bones nor inspired impatience in his mind. The young woman seemed aware of his physical condition and was kind enough to have not spoken out about it; most young assassins made the mistake of thinking that he had nothing to offer them because of his condition and age. To her credit, she seemed wiser than that. "The further north I travel, the rarer a man such as yourself with property of this size," She said. "It's sad, non?"
"Rare for you, scarcer for myself," Achilles groaned as he seated himself in the leather bound chair. "It's not unheard of, no, but they don't make it easy. But, it's be expected, the way things are."
Expectedly, a shadow of anger crossed her features as her gaze fixed itself on his wizened face. "It should not," She said. Achilles nodded in kind, in complete agreement. "You'll find no argument from me, young lady, but there's not much I can do," He sighed, by no means dismissing her anger.
"Their interests lie elsewhere, and unfortunately we - or rather, I- are not a part of the assets." He paused, watching her fingers rubbing against each other in clear frustration as she shifted the weight of her body from the left to the right. "What can I help with you?"
"Agate is my mentor. He said if I ever needed help here, you would be the person to go to," She said. Achilles nodded, unsure of where she was leading.
"I haven't spoken to Agate in an age," He said.
"All the same, there is a young woman known as the 'Widow of Zheng', she is an affiliate with another associate of mine, Élise Lafleur, a smugger in the Bayou of Louisiana. She was said to have come here somewhere in the North with certain …properties that I need," She said.
"And you think I know anything about a Widow of Zing?" Achilles remarked, eyebrow raised. "I left the order years ago."
"Yet, you've stayed in contact with Agate and for what purpose?" Aveline asked.
"He is a friend," It was all information he was going to provide her.
Aveline shifted on her feet, temperament shifting as quickly as the pulse racing underneath her flesh. "And as a friend I would suspect that information passes between you, however infrequently. Yes?"
"Not often, no," Achilles continued to be vague. Finally, Aveline let loose a sigh of frustration. "Monsieur, I look for no trouble, but you try my patience," Aveline huffed. "It's a simple question, have you seen this young woman, the widow?"
"No, I can't say I have," He replied.
She leaned forward, pressing her palms against the edge of the desk. "Can't or won't?"
Achilles bit the inside of his mouth in equal frustration he kept masked. This girl had the same short fused temperament as Connor, all bluster and little processing before he got a look at the bigger picture. "Miss, I don't have time for playing word games," Achilles said. "I don't know this Widow Lady you search for, never seen her and if Agate told you otherwise, I'm sorry."
"Agate told me nothing, not directly," Aveline pushed away from the desk, arms swinging in lax frustration while she rolled her neck. "Very well, have you at least heard of any rumors of strange women here?"
"Nope, perhaps you could ask some of the folk down in town, on the docks if your woman's a smugger?" Achilles paused when the familiar sounds of stomping feet sounded overhead. Aveline turned, her wrist positioning itself properly to spring her blade if need be. Achilles caught the glint of her weapon and raised a hand. "Calm yourself, there are no enemies here," He said. Aveline turned to face him with a mild look of mistrust but lowered her arm. Stepping away from the desk, Aveline placed a hand to her chest and bowed slightly. "Thank you for your help, Monsieur, I'll remember it," She told him.
Achilles frowned slightly. "Wasn't much in the way of help, young lady," He said.
"Aveline."
"Pardon?"
"My name is Aveline de Grandpre, and non, you weren't much help," She smiled. "But to see you face-to-face was an honor, master Davenport." With a slight tip of her hat, she turned on one heel and departed from the study. Achilles watched Aveline depart with curiosity. Agate, in all the years he knew him, never mentioned he took on a pupil and a female student at that!
Female assassins were by no means unheard of, but certain mindsets and ideals often barred them from the opportunity to serve the Order in the same capacity as their male counterparts. The same, however, could not be said of the Templars who seemed to understand the concept of "strength in numbers" far better than the dwindling Order who professed to be for individual freedom.
What a handful she must've been, he thought.
The heavy footsteps returned to the forefront of his mind as the neighing of the lady's departing horse sounded in the distance. Connor was on his way downstairs and part of Achilles wondered how much of the conversation, if any, the young man heard.
(FIN)
Author's Note: There's an unfortunate pattern I'm beginning to notice in my Aveline fics. She's always looking for someone or something and I never noticed until I reached the end of this shortie (had a good chuckle after that). That aside, to those curious and inquiring readers who private message me about this sort of thing, no I don't ride the the Aquila (Aveline/Connor) ship. There's nothing there for me to chew on, not even on a speculative or fanonistic level (just one awkward level full of bad dialog). Now, Gerald or, even Elise, on the other hand...? There's basis, knowledge and motive for a ship like that.