Chapter Summary: Chat Noir fights Chat Blanc. Ladybug receives shocking information.


On the last day of Saturnalia, Chat Noir parted ways with Ladybug a few hours before his mysterious exhibition match. Someone (he suspected the haughty servant of the previous day) had made sure his weapons and armor were brought from Ludus Magnus to his room in the Emperor's palace. A neat bundle of leather and steel awaited him atop the table next to his door. He belted on his loincloth, then set about pulling on his other gear.

Plagg landed neatly on the table from wherever he'd been hiding just as Chat Noir tied on his recently-acquired mask.

"You still irritated, or what?" The black cat affected indifference, dipping his head to lick at an imaginary speck on his tail.

"Maybe a little," Chat Noir admitted candidly. "You let yourself get caught, and now I'm not sure whether to lie for you or just tell Marinette all about you."

Plagg gave the cat equivalent of a shrug. "How much does it matter to you? She's got secrets of her own, you know. I don't think she's in any hurry to betray yours."

"You have a point. More importantly, I got my mater to make that cheese for her, and then you ate it."

"I can't fight my nature; it's best just to give in. Especially when there's food involved."

Chat Noir sighed, annoyed. "You're a pest. Claws out, Plagg."

Before the small cat could say another word, his magic conjured him away. He managed a lingering hiss that echoed around the room, voicing his displeasure. Relieved, Chat Noir headed down to the palace gates where his ride awaited him. The winter evening chilled the cobblestones beneath his feet. He wished Ladybug were with him, but she had a special seat in one of the Emperor's boxes, so he knew where to look for her before the fight began.

He wasn't exactly pleased that his last night in the Emperor's lavish palace would be a "work" night. One more boisterous cena, or even one more quiet evening with Ladybug would have been better. He was curious about the mysterious Chat Blanc, however. Why would the Emperor pit him against the man? Who could Chat Blanc possibly be? Would he recognize him when he stepped out on the sand?

The ride to the Flavian Amphitheatre was short, despite streets crowded with happy, drunk pedestrians. Chat Noir took the servant's entrance, as usual. He could hear the assembled crowd laughing, getting warmed up for the real fight. He checked in with Nathalie, then sat down quietly to wait his turn.

He was deep in a daydream when one of Nathalie's lackeys poked him hard in the shoulder.

"You're on! Go! Go!" the man hissed.

Chat Noir stood and strode out confidently when he was announced. The crowd roared for him as he waved. He glanced over to one of the reserved boxes and saw Ladybug, arms up and fists pumping to cheer him on. His smile went from staged to sincere. The spectators quieted at a gesture from the announcer.

"Opposing our favorite hero tonight, we have a new challenger. A man with no home and no history. A man who claims to have the skill to best Chat Noir." The announcer paused dramatically as the crowd booed and hissed. "A man who goes only by the moniker... Chat Blanc!"

Chat Noir stared at the man who walked squarely out of the door and bore down on him, smiling haughtily despite the displeasure of the crowd. He was tall, about an inch taller than Chat Noir. Remarkably, he was also blonde. Astonishingly, he wore a white mask and two white baltei over either shoulder that mirrored Chat Noir's own. His polished silver greaves flashed in the torchlight of the arena. His bleached white leather ears were secured jauntily atop his thick hair.

The two men drew closer to each other, but stopped about ten feet apart. Chat Noir gave the man an appraising look.

"Nice costume," he complimented.

"Thanks," the other man said simply, and then they both drew their swords.

Chat Blanc attempted to put Chat Noir on the defensive immediately, swiping at him with both sabers, but Chat Noir quickly brought up one sword to block the motion. The crash of angry steel rang out loudly across the amphitheatre.

Chat Noir reversed his stance and aimed a thrust directly at Chat Blanc's heart. Perhaps if the man though Chat Noir meant to kill him, he would slip up and retreat. Chat Blanc proved to be made of sterner stuff, however. His own sword flicked the thrust to one side, his body barely moving and his feet planted in the sand.

Chat Noir took a moment to regroup. He'd never fought against another dimacherius. The pairing was highly unusual. And Chat Blanc clearly knew his stuff, even though he'd never fought in the amphitheatres of Rome before. Chat Noir would have to get creative to win this round.

Ladybug gripped the edge of her seat, spellbound by the match below. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but certainly not this! Chat Blanc was actually very good, she had to admit. She watched as the two men circled each other, dual blades drawn, testing for weaknesses and finding none.

Fleetingly, she wondered if Emperor Hawkmoth was enjoying the match he'd arranged. She glanced up at the Emperor's box. He was relaxed, a small smile playing across his lips as he observed the actions of the two gladiators below. Beside him, however, Felix was apparently less than impressed.

Ladybug stared indignantly for a moment at the top of the man's bowed blond head. She could almost hear a snore issuing from his mouth. He was so deeply asleep he was bent almost double in the chair. Why had he even bothered to come? He'd already said he didn't like gladiator bouts in the one conversation she'd ever had with him.

Had he been out at Emperor Hawkmoth's villa the whole week of Saturnalia? Felix seemed too sophisticated to waste his time in the country when the city's various celebrations beckoned. He hadn't been at the palace, however. Unless he had an alternate residence in the city, he must have gone with his father.

Ladybug turned back to the match with a sniff. The man wasn't entirely repugnant, but he was certainly rude and off-putting. She fixed her attention on her partner.

Down in the arena, Chat Noir was almost certain he was wearing Chat Blanc down. Almost. Except the man never quite let his guard down or lowered a sword. Or took a knee, or stepped back, or indicated in any way that he was growing tired. Chat Noir could feel the eyes of the spectators boring into his back. He was sweating, even in the chilly air. Years of experience had taught him that when a gladiator started to lose the crowd, it's all downhill from there.

Chat Noir executed a dizzying spin that turned his blades into a horizontal gale force. The gambit paid off. The clash of steel on steel told him he'd hit his mark before he stopped moving. One of Chat Blanc's swords flipped out of his hand and arced away out of sight. The man still defended staunchly with a single saber, but his lack of a shield left him wide open to attack.

Chat Noir lunged in with a roar, pressing his advantage. Somehow, things went wrong and he found his own left hand rattled with a hard knock, his sword slipping from nerveless fingers into the dust. Huh. He flexed his fingers and shook them out, trying to regain sensation. That was new.

He and Chat Blanc continued as equals again, sabers hefted in their right hands. The crowd murmured in renewed interest as the pair circled. Their bare feet sent up puffs of dust barely visible in the firelight.

"So what brings you to the Flavian Amphitheatre?" Chat Noir asked, keeping his tone light and bored.

Chat Blanc straightened briefly, then relaxed back into a fighting stance. "Well, I've seen you do this so many times. It looked pretty easy. I thought I'd give it a shot." The masked man's upper lip lifted in a light sneer.

"Ah," replied Chat Noir, unperturbed. "And how do you find it?"

He lunged as he asked, curtailing Chat Blanc's response as he grazed the other man's loin cloth at the hip, lightly tearing the fabric. He could tell he'd finally managed to surprise Chat Blanc. The other man swiped his blade down and away to knock Chat Noir's sword aside, but he lost his own grip as well and the two swords clattered to the ground in a heap.

Chat Noir flicked his gaze to the swords, but he knew neither of them would chance diving to retrieve one. The exposure was too risky. Instead, he bent his knees and leaned forward slightly at the waist, holding both arms out in a wrestler's stance.

"Shall we continue?" he asked politely.

A trumpet sounded on Chat Noir's left, suddenly ending the match. Chat Blanc immediately turned his head to the sound. Ah. That revealed him more than anything else he'd done that night, thought Chat Noir. An experienced gladiator knew to listen but never look away until he was sure the fight was over. An angry opponent could kill you in a split second, referees or no.

Chat Noir stood up straight and turned toward Emperor Hawkmoth's booth as the fanfare ended. The Ageless Emperor stood at the front of the box, smiling benevolently down at the crowds before him.

"Chat Noir and Chat Blanc, it has been a pleasure to observe your competition," Hawkmoth orated in smooth, cultured tones. "It has long been our delight to admire the skill and athleticism of the gladiator, and to encourage the fair play and sport of your profession. In this match, I pronounce the result a tie. You have both proven your excellence beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"In allowing an unknown to enter your domain this evening, I have alluded to the presence of an unknown in my own rarified sphere. A personage of great dignity and honor, whose recent transfer to Rome has remained a secret until this, the last day of Saturnalia.

"My fellow citizens, it brings me joy to inform you that I am to be married, in a union that will bring with it a new era of peace and prosperity for the Empire. I introduce to you tonight my future bride, Princess Bridgette of Dupania."

Hawkmoth gestured grandly and a demure woman in a white tunic stepped forward into a swell of enthusiastic cheers. She tilted her chin upward and a pale face, framed by dark tresses, caught the torchlight of Hawkmoth's booth. Chat Noir felt his blood freeze and his stomach drop into the ground. The woman next to Hawkmoth...was Marinette?

He glanced quickly over to Ladybug, who was still in her guest box. She stood rigid, and Chat Noir could see that she was shaking, her hands clenched tightly to her sides. He looked back at the woman next to Hawkmoth, his mind slightly boggled as he teased the puzzle out.

No, the woman wasn't Marinette, not truly. Her face was somehow softer, her limbs willowy under her tunic, not hard with muscle. Her hair convinced him. This woman's wispy dark hair flowed long past her shoulders, just like Marinette's, but she had no bangs cut across her forehead.

He turned back to Ladybug just in time to see her retreating from the stands. A final glance at Hawkmoth's booth, and he could see the moment of celebration had passed. The occupants were gathering their belongings as trumpeters blew fanfares. Chat Blanc had quit the arena as mysteriously as he had entered. Chat Noir did his level best not to break into a flat run to get out and get to Ladybug.

Marinette was a muttering, sobbing mess when Adrien found her in her room at Ludus Magnus. Tikki fluttered nearby, her glowing form translucent in the darkness of the room.

"Help her, Adrien," she pleaded.

He gaped at her. "I don't know what to-"

"Help her. Please."

Impelled by the goddess' words, he wrapped both arms around Marinette and held her tight as she cried, tears streaming from her closed eyes. She shuddered in his arms, fighting an internal battle about which he could gather only the barest clues. She seemed hardly aware he was there.

"Shhhh..." Adrien whispered, one hand reaching up to stroke her midnight hair. "Shhhhh, it'll be all right."

Marinette's shoulders felt brittle against his biceps, fragile like ocean-washed seashells. She hadn't moved a muscle since he had entered her room. Her whole being was taut as a bowstring.

"Tikki -" he muttered over Marinette's head.

"Let go, Marinette," the goddess whispered.

Her words tickled like a breath against both their ears.

A few more minutes of hot tears that splashed down on his chest, and then something shifted. On the end of a long sigh, Marinette melted into his resolute embrace. He felt her body relax entirely as her tears ceased. She wrapped her delicate hands around his back as she sniffed and settled her cheek against his shoulder. Adrien tucked her head under his chin, feeling tiny shivers ease as she calmed down.

"Adrien, I'm so sor-" she began, but he cut her off.

"No, don't be. You're hurt. I'm here." His mind reeled with questions, but he bit them back.

"I owe you an explanation," Marinette said, her voice rough from crying.

Adrien shifted slightly, pulling her in even closer. She sounded so lost. His heart broke for her. He wanted to fight, to slay dragons, to break bones for her, but she didn't need a champion. She needed a friend.

He eased them both down onto the edge of her bed, reluctantly releasing his hold on her. At the sight of her puffy red eyes and sorrowful little frown, he couldn't help but reach back over and take her hand in his. Marinette leaned into the dip between his shoulder and his chest, tucking herself against him. He tried to control the flutter in his stomach as she looked up at him, her face only inches away.

"Please don't leave," she said in a small voice.

"It's the furthest thing from my mind," Adrien murmured, flicking a stray strand of hair from her eyes.

He leaned over and swiped a folded scrap of cloth from Marinette's table. He handed it to her and she dabbed neatly at her eyes, sniffling again as she attempted to compose herself. Adrien couldn't hold himself in check any longer.

"Who is she?" The question burst from him, his quiet tone making it all the more sharp.

Marinette worried the ragged edge of her cloth for a long minute. She sighed, and Adrien was relieved to hear a slight sardonic edge return to her voice as she answered.

"Princess Bridgette is my sister."

Adrien sat back, digesting her words. They didn't make any sense. He started with the basics.

"You have a sister."

Marinette's quavering smile betrayed a bit of resurfacing humor. "Yeah. My twin, in fact."

"You mentioned your mother once, but not a sister."

"I know. I'm sorry. I've been putting my family behind me for so long..."

"Your sister is a princess. So that means you are a princess. You're royalty?"

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he remembered all his overly familiar interactions with the young woman he now stared at, shocked. He'd seen her every day for nearly a year, and never once guessed. Never. The puzzle pieces continued to drop in.

"You read, you write. Your manners with the senator and then Hawkmoth were perfect. How did I not put any of this together?"

Marinette's rueful chuckle answered him as she shook her head.

"Adrien, who would ever believe that a top-notch female gladiator could also be a princess? It's too fantastic - for any country other than Dupania. I know you only got a glimpse of Bridgette, but trust me, she could acquit herself in the arena just as well as I do. At least, she could when we were fifteen." Her smile crumpled as fresh tears welled up. "Six years... I thought - I thought I'd never see her again. Never."

Adrien took the cloth she clutched and pressed it to her tears as they spilled over.

"What happened six years ago?" he asked. "How did you end up a gladiator? A slave? Was Dupania attacked or something?"

Back in Gaul, he might have heard vague news of an event like that, but he had to admit that young, bored Adrien would never have cared about far-flung countries and territories to the east of the Empire.

Marinette laughed again and he caught the bitter edge of the sound. "No, but it felt like an attack. My father arranged a marriage for me. I'm the elder sister; first princess of Dupania. I was raised knowing that a political marriage was likely my future. What do you know about Dupania?"

Adrien shrugged. "Not much. I know the lands produce a lot of wheat. That's the main export, right?"

Marinette nodded. "The territory is very wealthy. It's also small. We're a tempting target for any country or empire in need of a bountiful food source. As a result, we're also a soldier state. From childhood, every citizen is taught several forms of combat - including the princesses. Some of our people go on to agriculture, some to military - and some of us are slated for diplomacy and policy, whatever form it might take.

"When the time came for me," she continued, a blush lighting up her cheeks, "I got a look at the old man they were matching me with to seal a treaty... and I ran away that night. I left Bridgette a note saying I was sorry, but I never said even a word to my parents. I let them down and I abandoned her."

Adrien's heart squeezed at the deep guilt her words evidenced. He wanted to tell her that he understood. That he had also chafed against being a pawn in someone else's machinations. Instead, he put one arm around her shoulders in a gentle hug, encouraging her to continue.

"I took Tikki's statue with me; it was a silly impulse, but it saved my life. I made it out into the desert. I hid for weeks, trying to figure out what to do next. But I got picked up by a nomadic group; there were too many of them, and I couldn't fight my way out.

"I was so afraid then, Adrien. I didn't know what the life of a slave was like, what they might make me do. I prayed and prayed... and Tikki answered. She made me strong. Strong enough to fight, to protect myself as they forced me to travel with them. We reached a small town on the eastern edge of the Empire and that's when my captors had a new idea. The town had a gladiator arena, where small-time fighters competed to make a name for themselves and win prize money.

"I had no trouble winning my matches, thanks to Tikki. A wealthy merchant on a business trip bought me from the nomads and took me to Carnuntum. That was my first ludus. By then, I'd come to the conclusion that revealing my identity would at best cause a ransom attempt and at worst get me killed. I started wearing the mask and drawing ladybug spots on my arms and legs to distinguish myself as a gladiator."

"Why a ladybug?" Adrien interrupted, curious.

Marinette's smile turned warm. "Ladybugs protect the crops in Dupania from pestilential insects. They're beautiful, I think."

"That they are," Adrien agreed softly, looking into her eyes.

For an unguarded moment, she stared back, dismay giving way to a bright flush of pink on her cheeks. Then her eyes shuttered and she straightened, Adrien's arm slipping off of her back. He sighed inwardly as she reclaimed her hand and smoothed her face into determined calm.

"At some point, you were brought to Rome," he prompted as she shifted slightly away from him, leaving only cooling air where she had been pressed against his side.

"The businessman gifted me to Emperor Hawkmoth to curry favor. That was only a year or so ago."

"And since then, you've taken Rome by storm. You didn't try to keep a lower profile?"

Marinette sighed in exasperation. "A woman's options are either/or. Either I'm the best and I get the best contract and the best treatment, or I'm at the mercy of any domineering lanista that comes along. Nathalie is cutthroat. I knew if I didn't perform, I could end up in all sorts of unsavory arrangements. It's better to save all my battles for the arena, if I can."

They lapsed into silence. Adrien stifled a yawn as the cold night finally sank into his battle-weary bones. Once again, he'd given no thought to his attire as he raced to his Lady's side. His bare feet were blocks of ice. A sudden shiver overtook him.

"Oh, Kitty, look at you." Marinette murmured sympathetically. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's no pro-oo-blem," he managed as another unstoppable yawn overtook him.

"No, you'll catch a cold if you stay like this." She rose, pulling her thick, wool blanket with her.

She settled it around his shoulders and knelt to untie his greaves. He had pulled off his swords earlier and thrown them down on her chair. He sighed as a few more shivers warmed him inside the blanket, sleepiness overtaking him.

"I have to get her out of there," Marinette muttered as she undid the last knot.

"What?"

"Not tonight. But soon. She doesn't want to marry Hawkmoth." Marinette glanced up into his face, her expression fierce.

"You can't know that, Marinette. She came to Rome willingly. And a lot changes in six years. She may not be the same as you remember."

"I have to at least talk to her. I need to make sure she's alright."

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "You'd be risking a lot... you know what? Let's talk about it tomorrow. I can't help you solve this tonight."

Marinette nodded agreement with a frustrated sigh. Adrien was glad to see the snap back in her eyes, even though he feared her determination was misplaced. He had no doubt that his sisters would remember him with affection and would gladly reunite, but he wasn't anxious to see any of his older brothers again. It wasn't easy to forgive the gulf in status that resulted from becoming a gladiator.

Adrien shook himself and looked up at Marinette, who was watching him expectantly. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"You're falling asleep sitting up, Adrien. I... why don't you bed down here for the night? I'm not ready to sleep yet anyway. You rest, and I'll sit in the chair, and... that way I won't be alone?"

Adrien caught the odd sense of fear that permeated her tone, the glint in her eyes. He didn't like it, and he wouldn't have said no in any case. He nodded and some of the tension left Marinette's body. He settled down into her bed and lifted the blanket over himself as Marinette considerately extinguished her candle. He had almost fallen asleep when a thought struck him.

She trusts me, he marveled, eyes open in the pitch black. Ladybug trusted him. The fascinating stranger that had captivated him from his first day in Ludus Magnus was known to him now. Whether by Fate or her own decision, Marinette had let him into her world, entrusted him with her hopes, depended on him to guard her secrets. Well, he wouldn't let her down. He slipped into sleep with his heart full.