It had been fifteen years since the darkness had descended upon Albion, threatening its very existence, but the Hero Queen Amara would never let go of the memory. She had fought hard—nearly to the death—and sacrificed loved ones in the process of banishing The Crawler, but this did not grant her the feeling of safety or assurance. The darkness could re-surge if she allowed it, or let her guard down, and she knew it.
Though their meetings had become more and more scarce, she'd received a few vague warnings from the Seer, Theresa, that had always left an unsettling feeling. That, coupled with the town whispers and ancient texts she'd found hidden in her Sanctuary, led her to put into place cautionary and protective measures that she deemed necessary.
The anniversary of the Battle for Albion would be converted into an observed day of remembrance, starting with the year after the attack. For that entire day, and night, the people of Albion would light up every town with beautiful torches, candles, braziers, and lanterns, keeping everything illuminated until sun-up the following day. Queen Amara named this, "The Day of Light", and while the gesture of remembrance was a noble one, her reasons behind instituting the holiday came from a place of paranoia. Ever since she had overheard the librarian of Brightwall citing a passage wherein the darkness could locate gateways of re-entry if used in the same place and time, she would leave nothing to chance.
On this fifteenth annual Day of Light, Queen Amara found herself the most tired and run-down she'd ever been. She had spent the better part of the day teleporting around the towns to ensure that everyone had the illumination supplies they'd needed. She even made an unscheduled stop at her lodge, but that became short-lived when she realized that it was even lonelier there than at the castle.
She had a very hard time understanding how she'd gotten to this place in life. She used to love coming home from quests and adventures; it was the very best part. But since everyone she loved had left, it felt more like a cold, stony tomb. She'd never truly gotten over her mentor and father-figure, Walter's death. And just one year later, her brother Logan would set off to Aurora, becoming one of its leaders before falling in love and starting a family of his own with a desert beauty named Lila. Benjamin Finn had also left, partly to lead the Royal Albion Army in missions overseas and partly—and probably mostly—because after a two year relationship with the Queen, he had broken her heart and her trust before ultimately ending things. That was probably the deepest cut of them all, for her.
Queen Amara began untying the belt to her robes as a servant poured the final bucket of steaming water into her high-backed bathtub. With a curtsy, the servant exited the room, and Amara slowly submerged herself into the water. Every part of her was aching, but being enveloped in warmth provided some much needed comfort, like a long awaited embrace. Letting out a long sigh of relief, she cupped the water into her hands and began gently washing her face.
As the rippling on the surface of the water settled, she gazed down at her reflection. She had become almost unrecognizable, even to herself. While it had been true that she was now a grown woman, and even despite having a Hero's constitution, her reflection showed her a very tired, ragged woman. With a swift splash, she swept the upsetting image away and sunk further into her bath water.
Tipping her head back, she dipped her long, brown hair into the water. With a sea sponge in one hand and a bar of soap in the other, she began washing herself. The items in her hands were serving two purposes, the first and obvious one being to bathe, and the second was so that her hands needn't directly contact her body, which she had become ashamed of. Between the battle scars that marked her midsection and being nearly eighteen stone, she no longer felt desirable, youthful or beautiful. She felt damaged.
She sat up and wrung the excess moisture from her hair. Crossing her arms over the side of the tub, she rested her chin on them and gazed out the window. She couldn't see much from her low vantage point, but the glow of hundreds upon thousands of lights had lit the night sky. With a half smile, she wiped away a budding tear and stood up.
After having dried and dressed, Amara ventured downstairs for some hot tea and a snack. With her wet hair tossed up into a messy bun, and wearing nothing more than an old pair of Ben's pajama pants and a tank top, she made her way slowly through the dim hallway leading to the kitchens. The only thing she never had to worry about after-hours was being disturbed, or seen by anyone she cared about making an impression upon. She supposed that was one of very few upsides to inhabiting a castle devoid of all of her loved ones. All formal requests were received during the day in court and all visitors were always scheduled and properly announced in advance.
With a fresh pot of tea on the burner, she turned to the larder and began looking inside for something that looked appetizing. She grabbed some crackers and blackberry jam and turned to face the counter when suddenly, a dark figure in the corner of the room caught her eye. With a sharp gasp, she fumbled to catch the edible items she nearly just dropped, but her hands quickly steadied once she had recognized a familiar face.
"By the Light, Jasper!" Amara said in a hushed tone. "You nearly scared me into an early grave!"
"My sincerest apologies," he replied, taking a few steps closer and placing his candle on the kitchen island in front of them. "I'd just heard you in here and thought I might be of some help."
Amara's heart sunk a little. Jasper had not been well in the recent months, and his health had only declined despite all of the experts and resources she had called in to help. She had relieved him of his service to her when he'd started to noticeably struggle, but Jasper being the man that he was would never give up, despite his body giving out long before is iron will.
"I wouldn't mind some good company, actually," Amara confessed to the elderly man. "This place is painfully quiet nowadays."
Jasper gently pulled a stool out for Amara before seating himself next to her. "It needn't be, my Queen," he replied, opening the box of crackers and preparing a few for her.
Amara gently shook her head. "I wish I could believe that were true." She paused, looking around. "But this place feels like nothing more than an over sized crypt, and the corpses within are all of the painful and haunting memories from my past." She pointed to the entryway to the kitchen that led to the gardens. "That's where Elliot used to kiss me goodbye… before he decided to marry someone else while I was trying to save Albion." She gestured out the window. "And look, a statue of my brother who no longer has time for his old family because he has a better one now. Then there's Walter's statue. And my parent's crypt." Her voice began shaking with the sadness that swelled within. "And the grave where Ben laid my dead dog to rest. And while we're on the topic of Ben—"
The high pitched whistle of the pressurized tea kettle abruptly ended her train of thought. Jasper got up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Allow me," he said with a gentle squeeze.
Amara politely agreed, but she observed him closely, studying his movements for any signs of unsteadiness or discomfort, because she could not bear any harm coming to him under her watch.
"Now," he placed a steaming cup of tea down in front of her before taking his seat again. "Where were we?" Before she could respond, he chimed in to answer his own question. "Ah, yes! I do believe our Hero Queen needs a proper vacation."
Amara snorted with laughter. "Jasper, don't be silly. You know as well as I do that if I stop doing my job, even for a day—"
"Even Heroes need a day off, Your Majesty," he replied. "And if I recall correctly, you're not the only Hero around fit to handle such extraordinary tasks."
Amara inhaled sharply, but before she could respond, Jasper went on to say, "You may be the best and most beautiful Hero, but you know there is another…"
"Reaver," she scoffed. "Well, I am better than him to be sure, at least morally, but that man would win a beauty contest over anyone on any given day. He primps more than a Princess."
Jasper and Amara broke out into laughter together. A few seconds later, she was trying to catch her breath, and the old man was steadying himself against the counter top from nearly falling off his stool.
"Call upon him, my Queen. He may surprise you," Jasper insisted.
"With what?" she replied. "A castle full of booze and whores?"
"I should certainly hope not," he chuckled. "Besides, I'll still be here to see to it that things stay above board."
Amara shook her head and pressed her lips together, hesitantly agreeing. "All right, Jasper. I can't believe I am about to do this, but all right."
"Excellent," he replied, delighted. "I shall see to it that Reaver is summoned to court." He softly pat the top of Amara's hand. "This will be very good for you. You must trust in your old friend."
Amara smiled back at him. "Always."
Queen Amara stomped up to her bedchamber, having already begun to remove the gaudy, royal raiment that she dreaded wearing for all official appearances. Today, she'd held court, and as usual, it was nothing short of monotonous and tedious. She had grown tired of hearing vapid, narcissistic nobles bringing nonsensical items of issue before her. It took every ounce of her willpower to suppress the urge to roll her eyes and tell them to get some real problems. She'd much rather be of assistance to the sick or impoverished, or—Light forgive her for even thinking it, but—perhaps she longed for a quest where she could really get her hands bloody again.
With a huff, she shook her clunky garments down to the floor and stepped out into sweet freedom. She quickly unpinned the crown from her hair and deposited it on her dresser before throwing an old, over-sized shirt over her head. With a sigh of relief, she whispered to herself, "Ah, much better."
Despite the immediate comfort she had felt from changing clothes, she still felt annoyed and restless. Reaver had failed to show up, and she found his defiance both insulting and disrespectful. She could recall more than a handful of instances where she had come to his aid and even sided with him against her own people, so she had expected him to answer. Though, thinking farther back, she remembered how he failed to show up when called upon to fight on the night the Darkness fell upon Albion, and she grew more irritated. Rather than try to sleep with such racing thoughts, she decided to go into the cedar chest at the foot of her bed where she'd stashed a very old bottle of bourbon.
Crouching in front of the chest, she hoisted the lid open with one hand and reached inside with another. She sifted around for the vintage bottle, grabbing the soft roping that fastened its velvet wrap closed. She retrieved the contents of the bag, but quickly realized that it was neither glass nor liquid. It was her music box; a family relic that held great significance to many Heroes, going back to the times of the Old Kingdom. She was tasked by Sabine to retrieve it for him, but he later returned the heirloom to her after the Battle for Albion, saying that she was its rightful owner.
Amara sat back on the floor and placed the music box in front of her. With a few gentle twists, she wound the key, and the box slowly opened, filling the area with light and the familiar song of her awakening as a Hero. The box fell dark and silent after about a minute, and she twisted the key a few times around again just to savor the memory once more.
It seemed so long ago that her life changed forever. From the moment she first touched this relic until now, she had been placed on a path that was chosen for her. She had been thrust onto a throne she was not prepared to take, and along the way, she was pitted against her own best interests and loved ones in service of a greater good. Yet she did not harbor any resentment or regret; not anymore at least. She was truly grateful to have had such opportunities and triumphs in her time as Queen. But she still longed for more. Was this all that life had to offer, now that she had fulfilled her destiny and served her people?
She placed the music box back inside the velvet case and carefully put it back inside her cedar chest, forgetting all about the bottle of bourbon that sent her there in the first place. No longer seeking sleep, she walked over to her wardrobe and pulled out her old adventuring garb. Thank goodness for the lacing on her linen top, otherwise she did not think she would have been able to keep the now tight-fitting garment secured closed. Her under-bust corset just fit, where before it had a few inches of cinching room. Her black leather shorts would not button all the way closed, so she threaded a red sash through the belt loops to secure them discreetly. She was grateful that her striped stockings had plenty of stretch to fit comfortably, as did her weathered boots.
Standing in front of her full length mirror, she looked herself up and down, taking note of all of the bulging areas. She shook her head at her reflection. "How did I end up here?" She turned sideways, patting her midsection. "Ugh!"
Despite her discontent, she set out to the gardens to retrieve something of great importance to her. Something that would make her feel much, much better, she was sure. She made her way toward a secluded area in the back that was surrounded by hedges and tucked behind a large fountain. There, she had a well-protected chest which could only be opened by her. She took a quick look around. The area was well lit due to the annual festivities, but a low rolling fog had come in, likely from the nearby harbor. Not phased by the eerie weather, she unlocked and opened the chest, retrieving her gun holster and Dragonstomper .48 pistol.
Holding the gun in one hand, she ran the other over its intricate carvings and gold inlays. A wide smile crossed her lips as flashbacks from all of the victories she had achieved with the precious weapon came flooding back. Her heartbeat quickened. She attached the holster to her leg and holstered her weapon before quickly drawing and aiming it at a nearby lantern post. She stared down the sights with one eye shut, imagining a vicious Balverine at the other end.
"Well, now!" a voice rang out from behind her, startling her into almost firing her weapon.
In one swift motion, Amara snapped around and fixed her aim on the uninvited guest before quickly realizing that Reaver had just shown up very, very late to his appointment.
"If you're trying to entice me into your service, there really is nothing better than the promise of completion," he goaded, eyeing up the only Dragonstomper .48 that ever slipped through his skilled fingers. He strode straight up to her, and with one finger, he guided the barrel of her weapon downward. "Now, let's you and I have a little chat, shall we?"
A/N: It's been quite some time, dear readers. Truthfully, I don't even know who of you are still out there, but if you are, thank you for sticking around. Life has been crazy and painful and hard these past few years, and it hasn't been easy to write (in fact, I have tried and failed a few times to update my sequel story). I decided to start this new Fable fic after suffering a few losses, much as I did with The Cost of the Crown. This story, however, will be going in a totally different direction, and I hope those of you reading will be on board with me! If you guys want to see more, please leave a review and let me know!