Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
'Cause I'm broken when I'm open, and I don't feel like I am strong enough. 'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right when you're gone away! — Seether featuring Amy Lee
Cling!
Clang!
Whoosh!
Arno ducked the heavy axe as it went passing over his head. His heart hammered in his chest, eyes trained on his taller, stronger opponent. "Aw, are ya afraid to strike me Arnie?" Jean-Jacques taunted as he hefted his axe for another swing. Arno felt his brow twitched.
"You know I hate it when you call me that," Arno hissed, rolling out of the axe's strike. He sprung to his feet thrusting with his sword, but Jean-Jacques blocked it, with a deft downward backhand, the blade of the axe caught Arno's sword and yanked the blade free of his grip.
"Now whatcha gonna do, Arnie?" Jean-Jacques sneered. Arno stared at his opponent before rushing to the side of the room where the spears and pole arms were kept. He grabbed one, twirling it with a flourish. He planted the butt of the spear on the ground and kicked out with both feet. He missed but the desire effect of getting Jean-Jacques off balance was successful. Arno swung his spear, Jean-Jacques narrowly avoiding getting his gut cut open. Arno gasped for breath, going on the offensive now that he had the reach of the spear.
"I really hate spears," Jean-Jacques grumbled, as he raised his axe overhead and brought it down. Arno brought his spear to guard but Jean-Jacques' axe cut the shaft clean through. He smirked, and jabbed the butt of his axe into Arno's injured shoulder. Arno cried out, dropping the broken spear.
"That was a cheap shot," Arno growled, rubbing his shoulder. Jean-Jacques merely grinned. "Alright then, bare knuckles."
"Ha! Thought you'd never ask," Jean-Jacques dropped his axe and kicked it to the side as he cracked his knuckles, "though ya sure ya can take it, Arnie? Ya nobles always frown upon the finesse of fist-fighting."
Arno rolled his eyes. "Just because I grew up in the de la Serre household doesn't mean I didn't have my share of fist-fights Jean-Jacques," Arno swung, "I've fought plenty of brutes like you!" he said, and missed. Jean-Jacques delivered a quick jab to Arno's side, causing the other man to grunt and stagger back.
"Might need to reeducate you then," Jean-Jacques said, bringing his arms up to guard as Arno struck him. Arno feinted a strike at Jean-Jacques' head before dropping his strike to the man's unprotected belly. He heard the larger man gasp, the wind busting out of his lungs. Arno brought his knee up, heard the satisfying crunch of Jean-Jacques' nose.
"What was that about reeducation?" Arno asked, panting. He flexed his injured shoulder. It hurt, but he could carry on with this sparing match a bit longer. Jean-Jacques sniffed, a bloody grin on his face as he wiped away the blood oozing from his nose.
"Not bad for a pisspot," Jean-Jacques said. Arno rolled his eyes and failed to avoid his friend's crushing bear hug. Jean-Jacques laughed, a deep booming sound. Arno growled, struggling against the big man's crushing grip. Frustrated, Arno smashed his forehead against Jean-Jacques with enough force that they both saw stars. Jean-Jacques' grip slackened enough that Arno was able to wiggle one arm free and jab his elbow into Jean-Jacques's collarbone. The big man dropped Arno.
Arno boxed Jean-Jacques' ears and while he was reeling from that, Arno kicked him in the gut. He made a double fist and slammed it down on Jean-Jacques' back, sending him to the ground. He stood, panting over Jean-Jacques' prone form. Arno wiped sweat from his brow.
"Looks like I wiiii—" Arno yelped as Jean-Jacques grabbed him by the foot and flipped him on his back as he stood. Arno grunted as he thudded painfully against the ground.
"Game, set, match," Jean-Jacques said, pressing his foot on Arno's chest. He bent his knee and leaned over it, Arno could see the image of the Madonna inked into Jean-Jacques' forearm. "Not a bad showing Arnie."
"Jean-Jacques get off me," Arno growled, trying to get Jean-Jacques' foot off his chest.
"Fine, fine," the big man said, "no need to get huffy just cause ya lost." Jean-Jacques removed his foot and helped Arno up. He patted Arno on the back, making sure he could breathe.
"That was a cheap trick, Jean-Jacques." He walked over to wear his shirt was. He wiped his face on his shirt before tugging it over his head. It had been a week since he returned from Franciade, a week since Élise left him because he refused to give her the Apple.
A week since everything fell apart.
"Still a cheap trick," Arno grumbled, as he retrieved his sword. Jean-Jacques laughed, slapping Arno on the back with a meaty hand.
"Pay attention more," he said. "Then it won't be such a cheap trick."
Arno snorted, shaking his head dismissively. "If you say so, Jean-Jacques," Arno said, heading towards the door. "Though I must thank you for an excellent bout."
"It was my pleasure mon amie, hopefully we can spar again another time," Jean-Jacques chimed. Arno gave a nod before leaving the training room, and once he was around the corner rubbed at his neck.
"Unlikely, Jean-Jacques, I know I'm fit, but you still give me a beating," Arno grumbled.
"Monsieur Arno!" a voice shrilled. Arno stopped and sighed, muttering beneath his breath as he pinched his nose. Today just seemed to be one of those days.
"Yes, Noémie?" he asked as a short, plump woman, with plain mousy brown hair streaked judiciously with silver that she kept up in a sloppy bun beneath a bonnet that was once white but now grey. Her sharp grey eyes missed nothing, and everyone respected her, from Charlotte Gouze to Augustin Grisier. Even Sophie Trenet respected and feared little Noémie LaHache.
Jean-Jacques once told Arno, Noémie shouted down and humiliated Pierre Bellec in front of the entire café. It was the unspoken hierarchy of the café: Arno owned it, Gouze managed it, Godefroy kept the books and Noémie made sure the entire thing ran like clockwork.
"Have you been raiding the wine cellar? We are mysteriously missing a few bottles of Bordeaux," Noémie asked, eyeing Arno. Arno stared at the small head maid, trying not to look guilty. "Don't bother lying," Noémie said, "I know you have." She sighed, glancing at her feet then back at him. "Look, I realize you're having a rough patch with Mademoiselle de la Serre—"
Arno flinched, clenching his hands and looking away, a frown on his lips. "Please don't mention her in front of me, Noémie," Arno mumbled.
"Well, if you insist, sir, but you need to buck up. Bellec may have been an old crusty bastard, but he knew a thing or two, Arno, he wouldn't want to see his star pupil a mess like this," Noémie said. "And neither would Mentor Mirabeau."
"Bellec," Arno spat, "didn't give two shits about what I wanted." Though Arno had to admit Noémie was right; Bellec did know a thing or two. He had been right that Élise would eventually succumb to her Templar nature. She wanted to use the Apple to enslave all of humanity, to place the world beneath her yoke. She left him when he refused to give her the Apple; when he chose the Assassins over her. He took a deep breath. "Is there something you want, Noémie?" Arno asked.
"Yes, Jean-Jacques told me he got you good in your shoulder and the Council wants to speak with you."
"Lovely," Arno grumbled, "I suppose you want to look at my shoulder?"
"That I do," she said, and waved at him to lead her to his room. He did, silently fuming though his thoughts strayed to Élise. She had yet to seek him out for the week he had been back in Paris, and even though he kept glancing over his shoulder and at every woman with flame-colored hair, he wasn't really looking for her. He wouldn't back down about the Apple's fate and he knew she wouldn't either. It hurt that their ideologies had finally come between them.
I thought we were better than this… stronger than this. He thought sitting down in a chair, and pulled his shirt off to allow Noémie to look at his shoulder. "Did the Council say what they wanted me for?" Arno asked.
"You know them," Noémie said, poking at it, causing Arno to wince.
"I take that as a no," Arno grumbled.
"Stitches can come out in a few days I'll say," she leaned in close and sniffed, "no infection, which is good. How did this happen again?"
"A guard in Franciade shot me," Arno said, wincing again as Noémie poked it a few more times. Élise had agreed to be his wife that day, the smile she gave him when she said yes rivaled the sun for brilliance. Arno felt like his heart would burst from joy when she agreed, now the dream had turned to ash.
His sadness must've shown on his face for Noémie said, "Iris is a nice girl. She's sweet on ya, Arno."
"I'm not interested," Arno mumbled, as Noémie put the last bit of the ointment on his wound and wrapped the bandage around it.
"Well," Noémie said, once she was done. "Somethings are just not meant to be. Templar and Assassin," she gave Arno a sad smile, "may just be one of those things."
"Altaïr and Maria made it work," Arno pointed out.
"Maria ended up joining the Assassins," Noémie countered. "Don't keep the council waiting, Arno."
"I won't," Arno said, watching Noémie leave. He stood up, splashed some water on his face, shuddering at its icy temperature, before undoing his hair and running a comb through it. Not that it helped much, but it looked less harried than before. He pulled his hair back, tying it at his nape, and as usual his bangs on his right side, refused to stay in place as they fell into his eye. Annoyed, he tucked him behind his ear, even though they stubbornly refuse to stay. He dawned his Assassin robes before heading down to the Sanctuary.
When he reached the council chamber, Trenet, Beylier and Quemar were waiting for him. There was a young man on all fours, gasping for breath, a puddle of vomit between his hands and a dead body beside him. "An initiation ceremony? Without me? I'm hurt," Arno quipped.
"You're later Arno," Trenet said through clench teeth.
"I was sparring with Jean-Jacques, and nobody told me this was going to happen today," Arno said.
"We told you three days ago," Quemar sighed, "though you weren't missed much during the initiation ceremony."
Arno huffed and leaned up against the wall waiting for the new initiate to get his feet under him. The young man slowly stood up, knees shaky and he looked around, drool dribbling down his chin.
"Corin Babineaux is dead," Trenet declared, "you are now reborn as an Assassin. Live by the Creed and uphold our tenets."
Corin nodded and glance at Arno. Arno sighed and glanced up at Trenet. "You still haven't explained to me why I was summoned."
"In a minute, Arno," Trenet said, and then she looked to another assassin, garbed in a forest green robe, "Émile, you are in charge of training the new recruits, Corin here is your first ward. Don't fail."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Corin said, holding out his hand. Arno saw Émile roll his eyes, for Corin had yet to see him.
"Arno Dorian," Arno replied curtly, not even bothering to shake Corin's hand. The young man withdrew it, embarrassed. "And I'm not your master, he is, the one behind you," Arno said, pointing to Émile, who had walked up behind Corin.
"Boo," Émile said. Corin jumped a bit, a bit frightened. "Émile Vipond."
"Corin Babineaux," Corin said, shaking Émile's hand.
"You have a year to train him before you're required to present him before the council," Trenet said, looking down at Corin and Émile. "You two are dismissed."
Both bowed and Émile lead Corin away, talking to him softly. Arno watched them go, remembering his initiation ceremony, Bellec leading him away as he wondered if he made the right choice, if the Assassins would help him find the men responsible for killing Monsieur de la Serre.
"Well? Why have I been summoned?" Arno asked.
"It's been a week since your return from Franciade, and there has been no word from Grand Master de la Serre concerning the truce," Trenet said, "it almost seems like she's no longer interested in it. So, Arno, have you spoken with her?" Trenet asked.
Arno snorted, looking away for a moment then back up at Trenet. "No," Arno said, "I haven't. Like I said last time when we spoke privately, we had a disagreement over the Apple's fate and we went our separate ways. I'm not her keeper, and if Élise de la Serre doesn't want to be found she won't be."
The Mentor and her Masters mumbled amongst themselves before Trenet faced Arno again. "This is a matter of the upmost importance Arno. We have held off assigning contracts on Templars and Élise de la Serre out of respect for you and her request for peace between Templar and Assassin, but if she won't respond and agree to the truce she proposed then we will not uphold our end and the truce will crumble before it started." Trenet said.
"What do you me to do about it?" Arno asked.
"Find her," Beylier said, "and bring her before us so we can discuss it."
"Find her?" Arno asked, his breath hitching. He wanted to find her, tear apart Paris in his search for her, but last time they saw each other he held a sword to her chest to prevent her from getting the Apple and slipping into madness. "You want me to find Élise de la Serre?"
"Well, isn't she your fiancée?" Trenet asked. Arno remained silent, his heart aching as Trenet referred to Élise as his fiancée. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking about the future that now lay in dismal tatters at his feet. "The point is Arno," Trenet continued, pulling Arno away from his thoughts, "we don't care if you two had a lovers' spat," Trenet said, "she wanted the truce, I have sent her a letter requesting negotiations, yet all we've heard from her is silence! We grow impatient with it, and with us well aware of her actions in Franciade concerning the Apple we grow extremely leery of her. Bring her to us Arno, or we revoke the truce. You have two weeks."
Arno's eyes grew wide, "Two weeks? You're only giving me two weeks!" Arno protested. He had no idea if he'd be able to find Élise in two weeks. He had no idea if she was even in Paris or if she would even want to come with him to talk about a truce. A sour bitterness coiled in his gut as Trenet threatened to dissolve the truce before it even began. She had read him correctly that night, his change of heart had been impulsive and driven by his failed romance. He truly did believe in a truce. He ground his teeth in anger, clenching his fists, yet in the end he acquiesced, "Yes, Mentor," with a bow.
Trenet smiled, "Good. You're dismissed," she said and waved Arno away with a hand. Arno stared at them for a brief moment before he left.
Arno sat at the dining table, staring at his pocket watch, an open bottle of wine at his elbow and a half drunk glass by his hand. The watch ticked the time away merrily, as if daring to defy Arno's melancholy. He had a silent dinner. His mind was too filled with thoughts for him to sleep.
Memories floated in, lazy and unbidden. Élise and her smile, their ideological clash beneath Franciade. Trenet telling him, he's banished from the Brotherhood for disobeying orders. Élise bitter and angry with him for missing their shot at Germain, if you don't have the stomach for revenge then I don't need your help! Bellec dead at his feet, neck oozing blood as he gave a last shuddering sigh. François de la Serre stumbling about, hand pressed to his neck, blood gushing between his fingers. The butt of the guard's rifle colliding with his face, the wet crunch as his nose broke, two months in the Bastille, for a crime that eluded his understanding.
He snapped his watch closed, drained the rest of his glass of wine and filled it up again almost to the brim. He drank half of it two long swallows, the burn of the alcohol down his throat did little to take away his pain. He sniffed, rubbed at his nose and popped open his watch again. He remembered his father telling him they'd see the fireworks when the little hand went to the top. Instead his father lay dead, the watch tumbling from his hands, only to snap open as it hit the ground. He didn't get to see the fireworks that day.
Arno took another gulp of his wine, and gave a gravelly sigh. Bring her to us, Arno or we revoke the truce. You have two weeks. Those words rang like a dirge in his head. Élise had once asked him if he would still love her even if he had to kill her. He had told her yes.
That was seven years ago, when life and times were simpler, before he knew he was an Assassin and she a Templar, when such things were scoffed at as fairytales. When all that mattered was her smile. Arno sniffed, wiping away the tears with his thumb. She had blamed him; told him it was his fault her father was dead. She held the letter in her hands as she told him to go, unable to meet his gaze. He pleaded with her, begged her to listen but she refused and turned him away.
"That your first bottle or second?" Valérie asked, coming into the dining room. Arno looked up at her. Jean-Jacques' sister placed one hip onto the table, flour in her brown hair and on her hands.
"Here to rub in the fact your brother thoroughly trounced my ass this afternoon?" Arno grumbled, he picked up his glass and finished it off before pouring himself another. Valérie snatched the bottle out of his hand before he got it to the top and took a swing.
"Ugh," she made a face, "Monsieur Dorian! What pig-swill are you drinking!" she asked, glancing at him. "I thought you like Bordeaux?"
"I do," Arno said. "Your mother refused to tell me where she hid it," he grumbled. "Since I've been drinking about two bottles a night to help me sleep." He took a gulp from his glass. "Do you mind Valérie? I'm trying to get drunk here."
Valérie snorted and took another swig from the bottle. "You had enough, and you're lucky it's me that caught ya and not my mother." She flashed him a grin and slipped off the table. "C'mon," she said, patting Arno's shoulder, "I need your help in the kitchen."
"No you don't," Arno said, grabbing the bottle again and filling up his half-empty glass. "You can go get Iris or Andrée if you need help."
"Oh, but Monsieur Dorian, I want yours," Valérie purred, grabbed his glass of wine as he lifted it to his lips, sloshing some of it onto his shirt, before gulping down the entire thing like a sailor. "Ah! Okay," Valérie said.
"You ruined my shirt," Arno said, plucking at the white shirt he wore.
"Pity, it looked terrible before, I merely improved it." She flashed him a grin. "Come on," she said and nudged Arno again. "To the kitchen!"
"And if I refuse?" Arno asked, though he pushed his chair back and slipped his watch into his pocket.
"My father and brother are both Assassins, and they are both stubborn. I know how to deal with stubborn men," Valérie said. Arno chuckled as he stood up and followed Valérie to the kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves and she gave him a large mound of dough, sprinkled a good helping of flour on it and told him to knead it.
Arno sighed, but fell into a task with a weary determination. He forgot how long he stood there in the kitchen, singing along with Valérie as they needed the bread dough for the morning. The simplicity of the task was an odd balm for his shattered soul, his mind blanking out. Squeeze, squeeze, push together, flip over, squeeze, squeeze, push together, flip over, toss some more flour because it's too sticky; squeeze, squeeze, push together, flip over.
"They told me to find Élise," Arno said after a few minutes when Valérie ran out of songs to sing. "The Council."
"And?" Valérie asked, grunting with the effort of kneading the dough. He shoved his off to the side, and scooped up the last lump of dough. "I know that's not all what they told you to do?"
"They want me to bring her before them or…" Arno stopped, staring at the pale lumpy dough on the table. If he stared long enough he could see Élise's face in it. He shook his head. "If she refuses they'll revoke the truce."
Valérie spared him a look but didn't react beyond that. "Well, you always knew that maybe one day the truce would shatter, right?"
"I know, but… we worked so hard for this," Arno said, needing the dough as his frustration and anger swelled up inside him. It was easier to take it out on the lumpy dough. "I thought we could do it! Be different than those that tried and failed!"
"Well then your path is simple," Valérie said, wiping her brow with a forearm. "Find her and bring her before the Council." Arno punched the dough. "Knead it, Arno! I said knead it, not punch it," Valérie tsked.
"Sorry," Arno looked away, and sighed. "I'm sorry. We found… an artifact beneath Franciade, and well… she wanted to keep it and I felt it was too dangerous to do so. We got into a fight… I haven't seen her since."
"Mama and Papa would get into fights," Valérie said, she nudged him and pointed to the dough. Arno began to need it again. "Sometimes they got really bad, and you know what they did?"
"No," Arno said, eyes downcast.
"They would go and read the letters they sent to each other when Papa was away on missions," Valérie said. "Mama said that it reminded her of all the good times they had, of the love they shared for each other. They wouldn't speak or see each other for a day after the fight and when that day was over did they come back together and spoke like civilized people. They'd kiss and make-up."
"Did it work?" Arno asked.
"I think so, I mean, Mama still rolled her eyes at him and Papa still thundered at her from time to time, but no matter how vicious and nasty the fight got, even if Grisier went running off to get Bellec because it was getting so bad. They would go and read those letters, and come back feeling guilty about how they acted."
"Élise is stubborn, she would never listen," Arno said. "She will retain the thought that she is right and everyone else is wrong. She only managed to admit that she was wrong to my face once."
"Ha!" Valérie laughed, pushing her dough aside. "I'd like to see any woman that is more stubborn than my mother! The Alps would budge before my mother, by all that is holy Arno, that is the God-given truth about Noémie LaHache."
"I believe Élise de la Serre is that woman, rivers bend around to avoid her," Arno said, a smile gracing her lips. "Is that it?"
"Yep, that's it, now we have to let them rise, Iris and Andrée will chop them up into loaves tomorrow and bake them," Valérie said. She smiled up at Arno. "I hope you and Élise reconcile. I know you brought her to the café before but you never had time to introduce her to us and I would like to meet her."
"I hope you get that chance Valérie," Arno said.
"I mean, she must really be something to capture your heart so thoroughly that you can't even pick up on the fact that Iris tries to flirt with you," Valérie said.
"Iris flirts with me?" Arno asked, arching a brow. Valérie laughed, patting Arno's arm.
"See," Valérie smiled, "utterly smitten," she said. "Goodnight Arno."
"Uh… goodnight then," Arno said, inclining his head a little. He left Valérie there and headed up to his room. He washed the flour off his hands, and lit a candle by the little end table with the box containing Élise's letters. He flipped through them until he found an old one, before her father's death, it was dated 1787. Sighing he opened it.
My beloved Arno,
Oh how I miss you!
Everything is so incredibly dull here. Lesson after lesson, and my tutors have a stricter eye on me than previous ones so no chance for escapes. And the parties, nothing but pomp and circumstance, dreadfully boring. Dull as dirt really. Makes me miss you all the more, since your presents would liven up everything.
Remember that one time, I think it was the spring of '79, my father hosted a grand gala at some noble's estate. We had captured a sackful of frogs earlier that day and we let them loose amongst all those high-tone and fancy-to-do people? Remember how we laughed until our sides got stitches as the frogs hopped about and frightening all those nobles? And I managed to blame the entire thing on Olivier?
I wish you were here so we can capture some frogs again and let them loose during these dreadful parties.
I miss you. I miss your touch, your kisses, the very essence of you. The nights are not the same without you Arno. They feel colder, emptier and lonelier. Maybe when I return again to Versailles we can convince my father to let you court me properly or better yet give you my hand in marriage. I know we swore to each other we would get married, but we still need my father's approval. What do you think about that Arno? Us married? Me, Madame Élise Dorian. What a wonderful dream come true that would be, wouldn't it Arno?
I hope this letter finds you well and Olivier hasn't pushed too much of his tasks upon you. Until my return, take care.
Je t'aime
Élise
Arno sniffed, rubbing his nose as he stared at the letter in his hand. He remembered that party, and the frogs. He laughed until his sides hurt and Élise ended up with hiccups. She had a silver tongue for she managed to convince her father that Olivier had told them to catch the frogs and release them. They both escaped punishment. Somehow. Arno set the letter aside and pulled out another, smiling as he read it.
He read another, and then another, until he read all the letters they had exchanged over the years, remembering the good times and the bad. It was midnight and his heart felt about to burst, when he read the final letter she wrote during their hunt for Germain. She thought they'd settle down and become goat herders after Germain's death. "Unlikely," he muttered once he was finished reading it and tucking it back into the stack of its fellows. He pulled off his shirt and stripped to his undergarments before crawling into bed. He snuggled his pillow and fell asleep. Tomorrow he'd find Élise and bring her home.
This chapter was a bitch to start. My muse went on a strike, and the one that filled in sucked, and the one that replaced the first one actually got shit done. I would have had this chapter up earlier today but I went into town with my mom.
This is an Arno centric chapter. I'm pretty pleased with it, since I personally feel I struggle writing Arno (your thoughts?)
Jean-Jacques LaHache is the name of one of the Baguette Boyband members, the one dubbed Axeman. Émile Vipond is Greencoat and Icecream is Rémy Séverin. I gave Jean-Jacques a mother and a sister and an unnamed father (dad's dead so he's unimportant). His mother and sister are maids at the café.
Origianlly Corin was going to be Arno's apprentice but he has Léon to mind.
Anyway…
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Nemo et Nihil
PS: I'll work on the next chapter Thursday. Also, on chapters like these my goal is to make myself cry. I teared up on some points.
PPS: Edited some things.
PPPS: Edited MORE shit
