A loud bang startled and woke the old man. Rising painfully to his feet, he hobbled to the door, leaning heavily on his stick and feeling the ache in his one good leg. A flame of red danced across his vision, darting here and there amongst the clutter and crash of objects crashing to the floor and doors being slammed open.

"Élise my child, what is the matter? What's wrong? Was the mission successful?" Weatherall inquired. Elise crashed through the house, leaving hurried destruction in her wake, her hands were bloody, to his alarm, and her shirt front was stained red, startling match to the red in her hair.

"I have to go back… Arno… I have to look for him." Élise spoke hurriedly. She stomped to the door with determined strides, gathering up the pistol at her hip and the ammunition she refilled, she grasped the door knob, only to find her hand trapped in the steely grasp of her mentor.

"Élise… What is wrong? What happened?" He asked pointedly.

"We fought Germain. Arno was injured… I have to go back for him…" Élise replied absently.

"Élise, wait. What happened? Where is Germain?"

"Arno killed him. But Arno… Germain was using a weapon unlike any I had ever seen. A weapon like the ancient relics Father used to describe. Arno managed to kill him but it hit him…" Élise gasped. She reared against the arm gripping her wrist. Every second she tarried was a second away from Arno.

"Élise, stop. Explain everything." Weatherwall demanded determinedly. Élise swallowed a breath and began regaling him about the events at the Temple. How Arno had looked at her with pointed eyes, the battle, Arno's cry and Germain falling to the floor and his lifeless corpse. With every word she felt her chest convulse with anxiety and fear, and every breath felt like ash in her lungs. Her eyes stung, when she began telling him about Arno's….words to her.

"So you see I have to go! I have to go back and look for him!" Élise pulled at his grasp, lurching for the door

"Élise." Weatherall called. "You said he was injured. But when you returned, he was gone. You spoke of how he told you to send for help, but he was not there."

"Yes…" Élise replied.

"Do you think perhaps, he could have sent you away and…?" Weatherall trailed off as he watched Élise carefully. Her skin bristled at the probing on her, and her eyes grew dark and mouth crumpled into a scowl.

"No." Élise spat. "Arno wouldn't do that…." Élise shook her head, backing away from her mentor slowly as he finally released her. Arno wouldn't, he wouldn't send her away only to put her through this. She knew what he was implying – that Arno would not want her to see him like that, sensing his end, and crawled away to die. He simply wouldn't. He promised he wouldn't be going anywhere. He had said so. Arno never broke a promise…

"Élise." Weatherall said again.

"No. I have to go." Élise replied. With a sharp twist of her wrist, the door swung open and Élise was gone.

/

It burns… The air whisked past her hair, and whirled through her throat. It was burning, so rough and coarse. Élise ran, past surprised faces and startled cries. She barrelled through crowds and she might have shot someone along the way. It mattered not. She needed to get there. Her feet hurt and her head was spinning.

Arno… Arno… Arno…

Élise sped through throngs of people and at some point fell through a hole in the street, spraining her ankle. She barely slowed and with a single powerful stride was on her feet and speeding away.

Arno.

The spires of the Temple loomed over her and Élise fell down step after step and burst through the chamber. She turned, to see Germain, where she had left him, dead and bleeding. She looked down at his mismatched eyes. Coldly, she stepped over him. She should have killed him herself

But Arno…

He was the one that stepped between them – almost overprotective, possessive even. Élise stopped. Arno… He was always sensitive, empathetic… He was always observant, but most of all to her. Could he have known? - The extent of which Élise was willing to go, to sacrifice herself, and sacrifice Arno, for vengeance and justice? Or was it simply pure revenge? Was that what he feared? That she would do it?

Élise clenched her fists, as pain stabbed through her. No! Élise cried. A thousand tiny needles raked through her chest, trapping the air in her chest and stealing her breath away. It should have been her. It shouldn't be Arno. Arno was pure and innocent and idealistic. He needed to remain that way. He needn't bear the burden of all this. He shouldn't even have been an Assassin. He didn't need to be looking over his shoulder and worrying for her, killing himself…for her.

"Élise… Get down from there!" Arno shouted, laughing and smiling up at her. Élise reached for the apple hanging from the branch. It was summer. They were at the garden at the villa home. Élise's elbows and knees were already scrapped and bruised. Élise giggled and reached further. Just a little more…

A creak was all it took for Élise to lose her grip. She felt as gravity grabbed her roughly by all her weighed and wrenched her from the tree. Élise felt idly her body tugged from the rest of her, as she slipped from the tree with a screech, and Arno screaming her name and reaching for her.

Arno… Élise wept. Oh, Arno… Mon dieu… This is my fault… It's always been my fault…

Élise stepped lightly around the pillar. Though she had seen the empty space with her own eyes, felt it with her hands, somehow she still half expected to see Arno there, lying there, asleep maybe. And then only to wake, and smile at her, smirk more like and tease her for her tardiness. But… there was nothing there, only a smear of blood – Arno's blood, to jar her into reality. Arno suddenly felt like a dream, a light fancy flit of a lifetime gone by, it almost felt like the years spent with him and her father were just dreams, and death was the reality.

Tears sprang up in Élise's eyes and she turned, scanning the room, again. "Arno!" She cried. She dashed, running down the room, dashing through empty rooms and caverns and corridors. "Arno, where are you?!" She flew down the empty halls and ghostly hallways. It couldn't be… He couldn't just be gone! There had to be at least some trace…

A flash of colour caught her eye; a glint of blue was all she needed for Élise to rush to it. Throwing up rocks and collapsed rubble, tearing up her nails and fingers in the process, but she was too numb to notice the pain. Scrambling to her knees, she tore up the buried cloth, and unearthed something that broke her heart.

Arno's coat, dirty and ripped, lay crumpled in a heap. Blood stained the middle and the buttons were torn and missing. Élise lifted it gingerly, almost reverently, and she hugged it to her chest. More tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she struggled pointlessly against them. It was only when she breathed in the scent of Arno – sweet and familiar, and with it, memories of a kiss, a smile, and love…so much love - amidst the musty smell of rock and dirt, that she cried. The dam broke within her and a crashing of rage and despair exploded in her chest, and Élise screamed, letting loose a guttural cry of pain that echoed off the rocks and walls and rang through the night. She howled and shouted, until her tears ran dry and her throat was hoarse, until all the strength left her and despair chilled her to the bone.

The door clicked again, for the second time that night, and Élise stepped through, quietly this time. The old man was asleep on a chair angled to the door by a dying fire. Any other time, Élise would worry about the dying embers failing to keep her mentor warm. But it hardly mattered – nothing mattered anymore. The click of the door swinging shut stirred Weatherall, who sputtered and woke. But when he saw the bloody eyes, hands and coat in her hands – there was no need for words, nor could there be any word that could console her. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be silenced by Élise's hand that rose between them. It hung there for a moment, the room still and silent. And Élise stepped, one thread at a time, wordlessly passing him, one heavy foot in front of the other, up the steps and disappearing. Weatherall heard the sound of a door quietly closing, and then nothing but silence for the longest time. But he could not deny the pain, as he listened to the sobs through the night and till the day's light crept over him.

/

Élise hardly slept. Her strength sapped by lack of rest and from the crying she let loose the entire night. Her eyes felt sore and dry, and she was certain they were red like roses and, puffy to makes things worse. In a another life and in another time, though she acted like it hardly fazed her, she would worry about hiding these sort of things, as the girls in Versailles would whisper and gossip about how ugly it would look, or wonder what boy broke her heart. Even worse, if they knew Arno, would pounce on the opportunity to grab him for their own.

Arno…

That name grated against her again… Oh god…! Élise gasped, clutching her chest. She curled herself into an even tighter ball, as if trying to hold herself together. A soft knocking on her door interrupted her wallowing, and the door inching open slowly to reveal another sleepless face. Weatherall stepped into the room, only to quietly inform her that he had prepared a light meal for her, and then he was gone. It might have taken her hours or perhaps minutes, but Élise dragged herself up to a seated position. Not bothering to change out of the clothes she had worn that night, or clean up the blood on her hands and shirt, she walked down the stairs to sit at the small table that was one of the only furniture left in the house. Weatherall was silent and left her alone to her thoughts, save only to prod her to eat a bit more, drink something. Sit closer by the fire. The drawn look in his eyes spoke of his own silent vigil, waiting on Élise as she cried, and waiting for her to recover.

Élise barely tasted the food, nor did she even care what she placed in her mouth. Her strength which had left her slowly returned, and with it, the stirrings of a purpose. She unfolded the letter she had tucked in her pocket – it was crumpled and worn, from constant folding and reopening. She gazed at it sadly. She wanted to cry again but, her eyes had worn out. All she could do gasp for air that refused to fill her lungs. Silently, Weatherall pried the letter from her fingers, and read it. When he looked up, Élise had finished her meal, and was gazing emptily at the wall.

"Did he know about this?" Weatherall asked, gesturing to the paper as he placed it on the table between them. The letter fell open on the table, and Élise could see the words written on it, words that she had written the night before, words she had read over and over again, along with everything that had happened, like stabs of a knife each time. Over and over again.

"If you are reading this now, then I made my choice there in the Temple.

Know that I made it gladly, and do not take the burden of it unto yourself…

Be at peace, my love, and walk what path you will. All my love, Élise"

"I don't know…" Élise croaked her voice hoarse. Did it seem like she was going to her death? Would Arno have understood? She wanted to protect him, shield him from all of it. She had not anticipated his sudden vigour that night. Did he know, that she had only wanted to finish what they had begun, and that she was willing to pay the costs of it herself? Did he…die thinking that she was reckless? Impossible, he could not have known about the letter.

But Élise was faced then with an irrevocable truth – that Arno sensed her fearlessness, her lack of self-thought. She was right – in his fear to lose her, his one good thing, he would sacrifice himself, the way she would have had to when faced with Germain. Such twisted words…such thoughtless death. If only… If only she had spoken to him of her doubts, of his commitment to their mission. Would that have changed anything? Would one of them still be dead, the other pained. Élise choked back another sob when she realised…her sense of duty, no, her thirst for vengeance – Weatherall was right about her – it was what drove Arno to the grave. This was why he so thoughtlessly put himself between them, used any means to keep her away from Germain, if it meant they could both have their revenge, and Élise would live. That was all Arno wanted. And Élise had just cocked it up!

Élise stood up swiftly, the chair beneath her crashing to the floor. She turned and dashed for the stairs, and the door slammed shut. Élise refused to let it end there. Just as she refused to think that Arno was just dead. She had to find her answers, and she was not going to wait for them to come to her. If she had to, she would burn Paris to the ground to do it. If that made her just as bad as Germain, so be it. She would mop up the mess he had made on France. And make some of her own…