The city was still swimming with unrest. His city, his home, was broken. It was fitting, really, because he himself was broken as well. It had been a few months since that night, yet he remembers every second of it like a waking nightmare. Him trapped, her fighting, then a flash—

Arno begins to climb up the chateau, hoping some fresh air will give his mind some respite from his wayward thoughts. Climbing had always been freeing for him, just another way to run from his problems. If there was one thing he was good at, it was running.

Just not when it mattered.

Shaking his head, he gripped the final ledge leading to the roof of the chateau. He perched himself on the ledge overlooking Paris. He bowed his head underneath his hood and had a moment of silence for the city and her people. If he failed to protect the one person who mattered, how could he even hope protect them. Arno sighed and looked down at his hidden blade, the insignia of the assassins marking its origin, reminding him of another failure.

He still hadn't gone back to the assassins, not yet anyway. He had run into some novices who came with a message of reconciliation from the council. They had said that they would be wiling to give him a second chance, yet there were no condolences for the loss of his bien-aimé, nor any apologies for their failure to listen to my warnings. He had told them he would consider, but that was six weeks ago.

Arno looked again over the city, lost in thought. Suddenly, he sensed he was no longer alone. Despite being away from the assassin order for more than a year, the training never goes away, it just gets used for different purposes. Now, as he was perched on the edge of the building, he could feel a presence approaching him from behind. The person, a man, probably older than 50, by the sound and weight of how he walked, was nearly silent. Any ordinary person wouldn't have noticed anything wrong, but Arno could tell when someone was trying to walk unnoticed.

He could see two options: one was to wait until l'étranger got within range and use his hidden blade to stab him through the heart. The other option was to let l'étranger do what he came for, which was most likely a version of the first option where he himself was the one getting stabbed.

Or, he thought, maybe there is a third option.

And with that he took a deep breath and leapt off the building. As he jumped, he had heard l'étranger run quickly to the edge of the chateau where he had previously been. The assassin could hear the muttered curse as he fell and a small smile tugged at his lips. He landed with a thud in a large pile of hay lying on the road.

He rolled out from the hay and began to sprint down the road. He wove between the people, slid under carts, vaulted through houses quickly apologizing to the disturbed residents. As he turned a corner, he chanced a glance behind him to see if he was being followed. He concentrated and used his second sight to see if there were any enemies behind him, any flashes of red.

He raised his eyebrows as he found nothing, not even a trace of red anywhere in his vision. Blinking away his second sight, he continued at a jog and finally came to a stop in a small courtyard. He took in a deep breath and sighed. Part of him almost hoped l'étranger was following him; the chase had done well to take his mind off his self loathing. His curiosity about the absence of the man continued to nag at him, however.

Suddenly, it hit him like a brick wall. Or, in this case, like an older man tackling you to the ground from a rooftop. He groaned, both at his own stupidity and from the weight of the man who had tackled him. How could he have been such an idiot? The man had followed him from the rooftops. Now, he lay on the ground, l'étranger pinning him down.

Now that he had a moment to actually look at l'étranger, he wasn't surprised that he was correct in his assumption of the man's age, he looked to be in his early sixties. His hair, which was pulled back, had mostly turned grey save for several strands that had retained their jet black color. There was a long scar stretching from his forehead, across his right eye, and down to his cheek. His face was hardened and grim and his eyes were cold. Despite his hardened look, Arno could see the ghost of a smile as he had the young assassin pinned.

What caused Arno pause was seeing the man's clothes: dark, layered, very similar to that of the assassins. What caught his eye was the insignia embroidered on the outfit— a red cross.

A Templar.

After seeing this, Arno began to move in an attempt to push the old Templar off but suddenly the glint of metal shot out from his wrist, a hidden blade stopping just short of his jugular. He froze as the blade rested on his throat. His eyes were full of surprise, not just by the blade, but the fact that it was a hidden blade, one only used by the Assassins.

At least that's what he had thought.

They sat there for a moment at a stalemate, the Assassin at the mercy of the Templar. Arno tried not to fidget, becoming quite uncomfortable and stiff from the weight of the man. The Templar, on the other hand, remained as stoic as ever, blade still secured against his prey's throat.

Arno couldn't take the silence anymore and was about to speak when the Templar began speaking instead.

"Looks like the Assassin's will let anyone join their ranks nowadays," the man said in a low voice, full of contempt. Arno made a movement to object when the blade pressed into his throat, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to shut him up "Don't speak unless I give you permission."

Arno resigned to glaring at the Templar. Ignoring this, treating his glares like the actions of a child, the Templar relaxed ever so slightly. "Do you speak English?" He asks in French, but his accent is strong, and most definitely not French. Arno has half a mind not to answer, so he continues glaring. The Templar chuckled as he looked down at his prey, "Very well then, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," he began in English, "we're going to get up, walk out to the carriage, and have ourselves a little chat,"

Arno was already making plans for his great escape as the Templar slowly stood up. He gestured for the Assassin to follow and he did, pulling himself up, neither one taking their eyes off the other. Once they were up, the Templar nodded behind Arno who took a quick glance to see that there was, indeed, a carriage waiting outside the courtyard. With a flick of his wrist, the hidden blade slid back into place beneath the dark sleeves. The Templar moved his hand, showing Arno the way to the carriage.

Arno turned away from the Templar toward the carriage, but a sly grin broke onto his face, time to set his plan in motion. He would unsheathe his hidden blade and lash out at his foe, pushing him back onto the defensive. He would then use this distraction to slide under the carriage and then up to the rooftops. From there he could go anywhere in the city, and would lose the Templar in no time.

He had taken a few steps toward the carriage as a show to the Templar that he would go with him. Suddenly, he turned back to the templar and made his move to activate his hidden blade. The Templar didn't flinch or even look the slightest bit surprised, but Arno did. His hidden blade was still securely in place, not exposed and ready to be plunged into the templar's chest like he had planned. Arno tried to force the blade out when he heard the Templar chuckle again.

Arno looked up and saw that he was holding out a small piece of metal, which we could only assume was a piece of the mechanism for his hidden blade. Obviously the Templar had sabotaged the device while he had him pinned. Arno flashed the Templar an embarrassed grin as he turned and tried to salvage what he could of his failed escape plan. He took off towards the carriage and as he was about to slide underneath, his vision went black for a moment and he ungracefully plummeted to the ground. He looked up as his vision began to fade, drifting into unconsciousness.

The last thing he saw was the old Templar turning his pistol back around and putting it back into his holster as he waved the guards who had been waiting beside the carriage to take the downed assassin.

AN:

Here is a new story! Was going to be a one shot, but I thought it would be better to split it up into two parts. I will come out and say that I have not played either AC:Rogue or AC:Unity (So sorry if characters aren't quite themselves), but I watched playthroughs of both and I actually really liked the stories and wondered why they never mentioned Shay at all in Unity. Like, for a game completely centered on revenge, you'd think that would have been a good storyline, but, I guess not. So here is my little rendition of what Arno's meeting with Shay could have been like.

Obviously this happens after the main game but I haven't taken account of any DLC or anything, so one could say that this is AU after the game. If enough people like this, I may continue it past only two chapters, but I don't think it needs to be a long story anyway.