The Eagle and The Rat [Arno Victor Dorain]

II - Accord ou Pas D'accord

"Accept defeat, old man?" Maxime asked, holding him against the ground with her arm around his neck and her legs keeping him from struggling.

The fight had gone on for a good length of time, the favor of the win switching from one to another almost every second. The intensity rose, as each landed punches and kicks on each other, even if the two were holding back.

Bellec tried to laugh, but to no avail, seeing as he was being strangled. He lifted his hand and patted against her arm twice, effectively ending the drawn-out fight.

Maxime and Bellec hobbled to their feet, worn out from the long fight. They helped each other up, grabbing one another from their arms to stabilize themselves. The two separated from one another, picking up their weapons from each side of the ring, as another wave of cheers for the battle well-fought being over.

Maxime cleaned the dust off of Bellec's sword with her sleeve, running it between her bicep and flexors. Bellec spun his daughter's spear in his hand, as the two met in the center, exchanging weapons.

"I've proved my worth to the Creed," she said to Bellec, "right?"

Bellec nodded, the Council now on the same level as the rest of the Assassins. Mirabeau extended a velvet pillow with golden tassels, a gauntlet resting on top. Bellec took it from him, gently pulling the leather to loosen the buckles.

Maxime extended her arm, as Bellec slid the assassin's blade on, fastened the silver clips to fit her, and gently settled the ring on her pinky finger.

With the pull of her wrist, the silver blade snapped forward, the blade that was blessed to defeat any enemy in Maxime's path.

"Worth doesn't come from here," Bellec said, pointing to her new blade. He pointed to her heart. "It comes from in here."

Bellec grabbed her by the shoulder, tucking her underneath his arm, as he presented her to the rest of the Council.

Mirabeau extended a hand to her. "To the success of our Creed," he prompted. For the first time ever, this was no longer a hand that was helping a poor soldier underneath their rank; this was a hand inviting her to be their equal.

Maxime grasped his hand firmly, shaking it up and down with joy.

"To the life of our Brotherhood."

¤○♤○¤

"To Arno's children," Axel said, raising a pint in the air, a drop or two falling over the side, as he laughed at his friend, "or inability to have any from here on out."

Arno rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Very funny, Axel."

"It really was," Horace said, "I've never seen your nose scrunch up like that. I was half-sure you'd pass out from the pain."

Embarrassed wasn't quite the right word for what Arno was feeling. He was feeling a lot to be fair: humiliation, fear,... and yes, some pain, but that was completely beside the point.

"Say, when exactly did Bellec's daughter leave France?" Arno asked.

Horace and Axel gave each other a look, as the two thought about it. "Five years ago...?"

"... Four," Horace corrected, still very unsure of himself, "why do you ask?"

"Curiosity," Arno answered, lost a bit in thought as he counted back the years.

Axel quirked an eyebrow. "You know, curiosity killed the cat, mon amie," Axe said, giving him a devilish smirk.

"And satisfaction brought him back," Arno replied smartly. Four years ago was 1788, when the two originally met.