A/N- Basically I'm a hella huge fan of Assassin's Creed and especially Arno/Napoleon and Arno/Marquis de Sade but there is hardly any fanfics about it out, or fanart so I decided to write my own.
Every time. Every time something tragic happened to him he ended up at a place like this. A social club. He wanted to be anything but. All he wanted was the burning hot liquor to take over his mind and body, make him numb and invincible. Life is but a play or some bullshit like that. And the actor has but an hour in the spotlight before the lights dim and he is applauded off, forgotten and still. Was Arno's time up until now just his hour on stage? And now it was time to exit. That's probably how Elise felt up until her last seconds. No, she would have been optimistic about her exit, perhaps she would have regretted a few of her lines knowing she sputtered through them but her bow was energetic and full life. Ironic now that she is dead. And here Arno is mourning the end of such a performance with wine and spirits. He has consumed so much that he'd die if he took another swallow perhaps.
"You've had enough boy. I can't afford for you to sit here and die, it's bad for business!" The bartender scoffed, reaching for the bottle of wine that Arno was going for next. He didn't expect Arno to grasp his wrist, twisting it until he could see the bones pressing up against the veiny underside of his wrist. The bartender yelped out in pain, tears already springing from the corner of his eyes. "Hey lay off before I make you!", an extremist fuck grunted, smacking his hand on Arno's shoulder, gripping it tightly and throwing him back off the stool into the ground. God the room was spinning and he couldn't focus on one face, but they all seemed to be mocking him and threatening broken noses. "I'll kill- kill all if you! Give me back my drink- gah!" Arno felt a swift kick to his ribs causing him to cough up some blood and gasp for air. Damn it all, he cursed as soon as he felt himself thrown out into the cold cobbled alley, slumped against a hotel of some sort. The fancier kind. Like the ones he and Elise used to- Damn it he needed to find another social club. Could be even walk?
"Apologise sir, seems to be a drunkard." A guard pushed Arno to the side, apparently he had been in the doorway. He was pretty fucking sick of everyone pushing him around. He was an assassin! He grabbed onto the boot of the soldier and he growled, getting ready to kick Arno in the face when a hand laid on his shoulder, stopping the guard. Out from behind him appeared a shorter man, all dressed up in the finest military garb. Arno couldn't even appreciate it since he could hardly see anything.
"Arno?" The high ranking official uttered, not even believing this was the assassin he knew. What the hell? Was he even allowed to be drunk? Napoleon bent over, reaching out to Arno, only to have his hand smacked away. He could see his guards tense, hands ready to pull out their swords and end Arno's life. Napoleon cursed before grasping Arno by the robes, shit he was heavy.
"Let me go! Let. Me. Go! I need my drink!" Arno flailed around making Napoleon lose his grip. Everything went dark for Arno. Was this the spotlight dimming? Was his hour over? What a shitty performance.
A hundred things were buzzing around Napoleon's head. His number one question was Arno just passed out or was he dead? And if he was passed out, why was a grown assassin drinking to the brink of intoxication anyway. Quickly he got to his knees, pristine white military pants getting muddy. His hands circled around Arno's neck searching for a pulse. Thank goodness. It was faint but that was because he was drunk and unconscious. He was careful to not draw back his hood however, he was sure Arno wouldn't appreciate guards knowing his face.
That night Napoleon took Arno back to his personal quarters, not too far from the military base in Paris. He had a trusted nurse tend to his wounds, careful to strip him and wash his body. He had a few scrapes and nasty bruises but they looked older, definitely not from tonight. The worst injury was his ribs and stomach. They were heavily bruised and his ribs were cracked but not broken thankfully. There was no way to know if there was any internal bleeding yet since the bruises were in the way of seeing any splotches of blood coming to the surface. If he died then they would know. But Napoleon would rather not go that route. He dismissed the nurse, insisting that he could keep watch over Dorian. "Thank you miss. And will you tell the messenger to relay to Josephine that I will not be coming over tomorrow." He said, a bit of bitterness dripping from his lip. He was sure Josephine wouldn't even mind his absence. He closed the door and turned back to the sleeping assassin lying on his bed. Napoleon studied his body, mostly looking at the old scars. He had more than him. And some looked deep too.
"What are you up to Arno? Trying to get yourself killed no doubt." He sat on the bed besides the sleeping figure. "What if it hadn't been me who discovered you? You'd be on a mortician's bed instead of my own perhaps." He smirked, letting the back of his hand slide down Arno's cheekbone. It was rare that Napoleon let himself divulged in the assassin.
The next morning was anything but pleasant for Napoleon. He had received a letter from Josephine that reprimanded him for not coming home to his fiancee like he promised. Napoleon remembered the time when he was infatuated with her, willing to please her at every chance he had. Now it was less about romance and more about maintenance. French women were so...difficult. Speaking of difficult, he had to check on Arno. He wondered if the other was dead... pity if he did pass without Napoleon reprimanding him for stupidly drinking himself to death.
A/N- Heya guys! Sorry I cut this chapter short. I was planning to make it much longer. Please review and let me know if you want to see this continued. I was planning on smut hehe. Anyways please check out my tumblr for updates about me and my fandoms .com