Family Ties
by justshotmarvin

Author's Notes: It baffles me that no one else here has apparently picked love, or everyone's fixated on the idea of noble sacrafice. Which I think is bullshit. You don't take everything from a Hero, including an incredibly awesome dog, and then be like "but you can have a really sweet statue and some generic angst! :awesomeface dot jpeg:" Fuck that.

Written entirely while listening to the Foo Fighter's "Home." I recommend listening to it on youtube whilst reading this. Helps set the tone. Took a few liberties with events. Small ones, honestly, and just with a few flashbacks.

Summary: "I couldn't lose my Rose again." Garth and Sparrow discuss Love. (SparrowxGarth.)

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Part One:
Warm Welcome

The air was warm and passed through long, white hair like loving fingers. A sigh of peaceful contentment slipped past her lips as the boat beneath her swayed gently on the waves. Below deck, she could hear those musicians that had boarded with them playing a light, friendly tune and she let her fingers drum to the beat against the railing off the old galleon. In the distance, she could see tall trees and little motes of light hovering among the branches.

Samarkand. Land of katana, strange clothes, delicious food, and an old friend. A world completely different from Albion, one that only knew of her thanks to the words spoken by an old ally. In Samarkand, she could be a nobody again, another face in the crowd. In other words, exactly what she needed.

It wasn't that she held no love for Albion-- just the opposite. Some of the maids in Bowerstone Palace, once Castle Fairfax, affectionately called her "your majesty," poking fun at how often she was gone from the city. She had a deep love for the strange and twisted country she felt she had to protect, and it was that deep love that kept her awake at night.

She had been given a choice-- sacrifice, love, or wealth. To a true Hero of the people, the choice should have been obvious. After all, thousands of people had been dragged into the Spire, just as she had, only none of them had escaped. So many lives were lost and she had been given a chance to fix all of that, to right a horrible wrong.

Next to her, a familiar figure gave a heavy sigh in his sleep, snorting some before going quiet once again. The bright eyed hero found herself smiling in spite of herself and reached down to scratch at his muzzle, taking absent note of the grey hairs around his eyes. The old dog instinctively moved closer to his master's hand, tail thumping against the deck of the boat in his sleep.

"Good boy," she whispered, once more looking to the fast approaching coast.

As great a Hero as she was supposed to be, she couldn't make that final sacrifice. She had lost so much, so, so much, and she couldn't bear the loneliness anymore. Anyone else would have made the same decision, or so she told herself. It was the only thing that let her sleep at night.

That's not the only reason you're here...

She frowned a little and let her eyes fall shut, trying to ignore her conscience and pay attention to the band below decks. Such lovely music, really. So peaceful and gentle, it was almost enough to lull... her to... sleep...

"Mum!"

Green eyes snapped open in an instant when a tiny hand grabbed at the hem of her shirt, pulling insistently. She turned her gaze down to the small girl at her side, trying to get her mother's attention. Her dog creaked open one big, brown eye, and upon seeing it was his master's daughter, yawned some and struggled to his feet. It wasn't like he got a moment's peace around the little hellion as it is.

"Mum, wake up! We're about to reach shore!" She gave a small, excited bounce and seemed to brighten instantly when her mother smiled at her. A rough hand reached out and pat gently at chocolate hair, and she slowly pushed herself to her feet.

"C'mon, c'mon!" As soon as her mother was up and stretching, the girl rushed to the bow of the ship, scrambling on top of some crates to get a better look at the port. Sparrow smiled a little as she watched astounded blue eyes attempt to take in every little detail of this new land, and almost become dizzy in the process. A few people in smaller fishing boats noticed the curious girl, waving at her and calling greetings.

"Hullo!" she shouted back, leaning over the railing some, teetering dangerously. Almost instantly, Sparrow was on the other side of the boat, grasping hold of her only child's collar before she plummeted overboard.

"Be careful," she scolded sharply, and the girl just managed a tiny smile and a nod. The hero shook her head and set her child down once more, both looking down when they felt the boat rest against the dock. Instantly, her daughter sprang into action once more, rushing to the sides of the sailors as they lowered the gangplank. Sparrow and her canine companion exchanged shared looks of exasperation, before the old mutt trudged after the little girl.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Sparrow laughed, soon falling in step with her long-suffering companion. She thanked the sailors for not stepping on her child, and the men just laughed it off. A girl like her was a joy to have on board, they said. She chuckled some and strode down the gangplank, where the little girl waited, obviously trying her hardest not to sprint off into the crowds and explore all of Samarkand without her.

"Ah, there's the Hero herself!" a warm voice called to them, and Sparrow instantly grinned. As she moved on to the docks with her daughter, she spotted the owner of the voice moving toward them. He was a tall, slim figured man with dark skin and white dredlocks and a soft, blue glow coming from just beneath his skin. Next to her, her dog gave a friendly yip and bound over to him, running cheery little circles around his legs.

"And hello to you as well, Boyo," the man added, scratching at the mutt's ear. He chuckled some and reached out to grasp at Sparrow's hand, the younger woman grinning at him brightly. "I trust the trip here was without incident?"

"Unless you count breaking up a drunken scuffle between two other passengers an 'incident,' then yes. It was a wonderful trip," she laughed. Behind her, she could feel her daughter's fingers grasping at the hem of her coat and she looked over her shoulder. The young girl had taken refuge behind her parent's knees, peering up at Garth with a nervous apprehension. "When you'd get all timid?"

The wizened will user quirked his brows at the sight of this third party, trying to get a better look at her himself. She was a tiny little thing, barely reaching the clockwork pistol at her mother's hip, and blue eyes peered up at him from behind a mess of dark hair.

"Who is this, then?" he asked, stooping down some to get a better look at her. The girl eased out from behind her mother, the older woman's battle ragged hand falling atop her head.

"Garth, this is my daughter." The older man blinked some in surprise, lifting his head for a moment to look up at the woman.

The one Lucien...

"Rose, say hello."

Rose. Of course. Both he and Hammer knew very well of the sister the woman in front of him lost, and just how deeply Sparrow missed her. Even saying the name came with a tone of longing that she had never been able to hide.

"Hullo..."

Garth turned his attention to the young girl in front of him when she finally spoke and gave a polite nod of his head, earning him a small smile.

"Hello, Miss Rose. It's very nice to meet you. My name is Garth," he chuckled, extending a hand out to her like he had her mother. A small hand fell into his own and shook it carefully. With greetings taken care of, he pushed himself back to his feet to look her mother eye-to-eye once more.

"Come, it's getting late. You're more than welcome to spend the evening at my home."

"We wouldn't want to intrude, Garth." And she had more than enough gold to cover the cost of several inn rooms. Hell, if she wanted, she could buy the whole bloody inn.

"You're a friend. You wouldn't be intruding at all. Besides, that old place is far too empty these days. It will be nice to have a few extra voices to fill the silence."

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They had sat like this once before, in a very different home of the wildly powerful Will user, with drinks in their hands and Boyo curled up contently at his owner's side. That night, it had been raining and they were all ten years younger, picking the brain of the other person who had survived being locked away in that god awful Spire.

"You're married?"

"Well, yes. We married a month or so before I went to the Spire..."

"But you were so young," he remarked in surprise. "Still a baby, really."

His usual eyeglass was gone, the scrolls and vials he wore strapped to his vest now sitting on one of his workbenches. Her sword and clockwork rest on the floor next to Boyo, who had his chin resting on his master's knee. Her jacket and boots, both soaked from the rain, hung over one of the stair rails. The master Will user had mentioned that he was looking to sell his old tower, and little Sparrow had asked for the grand tour. Neither had anticipated the torrential storm that had left both of them trapped inside for the night.

"You act like you're such an old man. You can't be that much older than me," she laughed, lifting her beer bottle to her red lips. She had perched herself in the sill of one of the large windows in the study of the upper levels of the tower, while he sat across from her in his desk chair. The dark skinned man snorted at this as he finished off his own drink, and she managed a cheery little smile. "What? It's true! How old are you?"

An unpleasant little frown twitched at the older man's mouth and he rubbed at his forehead. "Fourty-two." A silence immediately struck them, interrupted only by Boyo's snoring and the rain, Sparrow's mouth forming a little "oh." Then she let an abashed sort of look cross her face and she looked back out at Brightwood.

"...twelve..." she muttered, quickly muffling herself with the amber lip of her bottle.

"Come again?"

"You're, ah... you're twelve years older than me."

And he groaned, getting to his feet to pour himself another drink while she giggled away.

Now a child slept in the room above their heads and they both relaxed contently on the old veranda of the Samarkadian's home. Apparently, the house had been in his family for years, but had fallen into disrepair during his long stay in Albion. One of the first things he had done when he had returned home was to set about fixing up his childhood home-- with the money she had given him for Brightwood Tower, if he remembered right. (He did.)

"This place is so beautiful," he heard her comment absently. He turned his bright eyes down to look at her, but she seemed rather distant from him, lost off in her own world. Green eyes were fixated upon the port town they'd come from, Nastaran, in the distance. The lights still glimmered even as the night sky grew darker with every passing moment. The large, bustling sea town shined brighter than any stars in the sky.

"So peaceful..." she added after a thought, running her thumb over the rim of her glass of bourbon.

"Peaceful?" he echoed dubiously, taking a sip of his drink. "You?" A warm, tired grin tugged at the corner of her mouth and she raised her blue eyes to look at him.

"It's been ten years, Garth," she pointed out, then lifted her glass for a refill. "And one can tolerate endless excitement for so long. It baffles me that Reaver hasn't shot himself yet."

"Well, as you folks from Albion put it, Reaver's a loon," he replied dryly, with a good deal of distaste. "There's no way he's entirely there, as much as he protests to the contrary." She snickered a little, instantly evoking the Sparrow he talked with on that cold, stormy night.

"Is he still here in Samarkand?" she asked. One couldn't ignore the note of sinister intent behind her voice. After all, she still hadn't had her chance to kick him in his smug, unageing face, and she had a lot of reasons to want to do just that. White hair, double crosses, and a dead business partner, Avo rest his soul, chief among them.

"Last I heard, he was headed off to Snowspire. Something about snow bunnies and women in parkas," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. He stole another appraising look at Albion's celebrated Hero, watching a few strands of white fall into her bright eyes.

What Reaver had done to her had infuriated him the first time she explained the new creases beneath her eyes and at the corner of her mouth. That neither him nor Hammer had a chance to strangle the pompous idiot for it was a source of endless frustration. It just didn't seem fair.

But then, fairness didn't seem to be a virtue that pursued their little Sparrow.

The only thing that kept him from personally hunting the man down and murdering him with his bare hands was that she had managed to reverse some of the damage. According to her letters, it had taken months worth of stored Will and, in doing so, she had blown out every window in Bowerstone Palace and woken every citizen within a five mile radius. She no longer resembled a woman far into her seventies, but instead seemed to be keeping pace with him.

He wondered what her husband thought of it. The last time she had wrote to him, she mentioned that her rapidly shifting appearance-- the light Will lines on her hands and arms, the white hair, the aged skin-- had frightened her husband.

Speaking of...

"Where is James? Did he not want to come with you?"

A silence, uncomfortable and thick, fell over the pair. It was almost enough to suffocate the Will user and he even opened his mouth to change the subject. Sparrow spoke anyway from behind the rim of her glass.

"James... left. About six months ago."

"I... I'm sorry." She shook her head some and sighed, giving a sad little smile.

"It was over a long, long time ago. I tell myself he stayed for Rose's sake, but..." The words died as they left her mouth. "It's why I let her travel with me. Rose, I mean. She misses him so desperately, and he didn't say anything to her when he left. I can't bear the idea that she's all alone in that castle. Staying busy, traveling all the time... It distracts both of us, I think." She pursed her lips in thought, running her thumb over the rim of her glass.

"Did he say why?" There was an uneasy apprehension in the old Will master's voice, as if he already knew the answer. Guilt was boiling beneath his skin like fire and he only chanced a look Sparrow's way when her eyes moved from his own.

"He found out, Garth. God help me, he found out about that night."

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Author's Note: This will finish up next chapter. I know it's mostly just people talking, but I had a plot bunny and it demanded I write it. I am not so bold as to disobey the plot bunny.

Tune in next week when we reach our thrilling and sexytime conclusion!