Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable franchise, Fable II, or the characters, locations, and other features pertaining to the Fable franchise. I acknowledge that these belong to Lionshead, and only the general storyline is my own work. However, it is strongly inspired by the events of Fable II, and I do use some quotes from the game.

Sparrow felt … comfortable. And warm. And entirely peaceful, content, and safe. That was all. However, she became fully alert instantly when she heard the voice, 'Wake up little Sparra'. I've got a wonderful day planned for us.'

Sparrow bolted upright, and discovered that she had been reclining in a soft, downy bed, in a beautiful room, decorated in blue, red, and gold. It was cluttered with bookcases, shelves, and toyboxes, overflowing with articles that Sparrow had lusted after as a child. There was no time for her to register surprise at this discovery, however, as her attention and astonishment were devoted to the figure in the doorway. It was Rose. It was as though she had been in stasis since that fateful day, over two decades ago… but had it been so long? Sparrow knew, without being informed, and without glancing in a mirror, that she was a child again. A child who was safe, happy, and loved. Rose's healthy, glowing demeanour suggested that Sparrow's own general appearance was more prepossessing than … before … due to a nourishing, love filled lifestyle.

Sparrow's mind attempted to reject what she was experiencing, and to protest that it was not rational, or indeed, possible. When she concentrated her entire reserve of energy, she could remember her death, the pain, and Lucian. She concluded that she was experiencing one of three circumstances: Lucian had once again failed to kill her, and her wounds had induced hallucinations; or maybe her life following Rose's death had been a vivid, disturbing dream; or perhaps Lucian had succeeded at last, and she was in the afterlife with Rose. As her last reserves of willpower drained into nothingess, and memory followed in its wake, Sparrow decided simply to accept, and all memories of her mortal life vanished.

Sparrow christened it 'The Perfect Day' in years to come, whenever she could be persuaded to speak of it. She and Rose played, laughed, and loved, as they explored a sublimely beautiful region which Rose attested was the family farm. Rose explained that their parents had gone to town and would be absent until twilight, but assured Sparrow that they would receive fine gifts upon their parents' return, and would be showered with love and gentle affection. It did not occur to Sparrow, during the course of that joyous day, that she felt nether thirst nor hunger, and did not once eat or drink. At the falling of twilight, Sparrow was not apprehensive that her parents had failed to return, for she was certain that no ill could befall them in a place of such perfect peace. Rather, she was surprised that, the instant Rose suggested, 'Let's go to bed,' she became deliciously drowsy. After a day where there had been no necessity to fuel her body in any manner, sleep seemed to be a waste of time. Nonetheless, she had never felt as content as she did drifting into slumber that night, safe and adored at last.

Music ruptured Sparrow's oblivion. Music she knew. Memories came gushing back, and doused her contented joy like a tidal wave engulfs a town. She understood that she was dead, but that she did not have to be. She had the privilege of choice: she could choose to be resurrected. This was a test, which would have no impact on her own afterlife. However, Albion's fate would be decided by Sparrow's choice: She could remain at peace, and allow Albion to perish at Lucian's hands, or suffer the hardships of life once again, and ensure the wellbeing of her country. Sparrow knew what a true Hero would do.

Sparrow squeezed Rose's hand one last time, ignoring her sister's pleas to disregard the music, and ran down the stairs and out the front door. Rose was beside herself with anguish, and begged Sparrow not to leave. When this had no impact on Sparrow's determination, she called on Sparrow's conscience. 'Don't leave me again, little Sparra'!' she sobbed. 'Ih've missed you unbearably, and I felt so sad when I saw you sufferin' out there. Stay with me, and be happy. Please!' Tears trickled over Sparrow's cheeks as she flew through the gate onto the open road, following the sound of the Music Box. She heard Rose's anguished scream as the lights of the farm faded into the inky night behind her; it was as if the scream Rose had uttered in the last seconds of her mortal life had returned as a ghost to haunt Sparrow once again.

'NO!'

Their parents died in the course of a bandit attack. Sparrow had always known, but she saw it now, as an imprint of things past. She knew them, immediately drawn to them from among the bodies of other victims. She realised that she looked particularly like her father, and had inherited his eyes: Rose resembled their mother, a pretty, petitie brunette. Sparrow sobbed over their broken bodies for some time-if time had any meaning in this dimension-mourning her own desolation as she had not done since Rose's untimely death. Presently, she dried her tears, and continued the course of her test.

When Sparrow found the Music Box, glowing as it was when she and Rose had voiced their fatalistic wish, she took it reverently in her hands, and experienced her entire life, outside her body, as a ghostly spectator. She recognised, for the first time, that she was a true hero, and that, although her humility was admirable, she had truly given her life blood for Albion. She was finally able to accept that, if she had failed in any endeavour, it could not possibly be her fault; not when she had tried so desperately, and given all she had to give. When her mortal self slumped lifelessly to the ground, Lucian's bullet lodged in its brain, Sparrow entered a world of true nothingess: there was nothing there, she was nothing in it, and yet she existed within this void. In this limbo from which few return to life, she heard Rose's voice. It was mature, ethereal, and immaculately pronounced, yet it was undoubtedly Rose. 'You have passed the test,' said Rose. 'Your rewards are the opportunity to confront your enemy, and the means to destroy him.'

What happened next in the Tattered Spire is now well known, although it was not openly declared at the time. The Hero of Bowerstone, predictably, chose the gift of Sacrifice, resurrecting the citizens who had suffered through Lucian's conspiracy. Rose's spiritual presence, and her encouragement as Sparrow grasped Theresa's hand to make her wish, was almost sufficiant to shatter Sparrow's intentions. However, Rose must have realised that Sparrow was a true hero. Eve her rendition of the pet name, 'Little Sparra' could not ultimately dissuade Sparrow from her choice.

At the close of her life's mission, Sparrow stood on the pier at Oakfield, staring at the surreal, foreboding Tattered Spire in the midst of the ocean. Desolation was her reality that hour; her beloved husky dog, Sirius, was dead, and her close friend, Hammer, had departed Albion. Sparrow had no family, no friends who understood her burdens, and found herself bereft of a purpose in life; Lucian was dead, and his demise had been her lifeforce. She had lost her sister, so it felt, a second time. Although she did not regret her decisions, and understood the dire outcome that would have occurred had she refused to sacrifice her own happiness, she considered suicide for the first, and last, time in her life.

Desperation almost had its way with her, but Sparrow could not bear to pull the trigger, once the pistol was pressed against her forehead. Would Rose not be disappointed to see her again so soon? Rose would want Sparrow to live the life on earth that had been seized from Rose before she knew what it was to live a true, purposeful life. Sparrow lowered her pistol, and wept on the pier, as the sun glided down into the sea, and the stars smoldered into light. She went to the Sandgoose and drank until the pain of reality receded, and unconsciousness claimed her like a benediction of peace. The next day, Sparrow pulled herself into shape, and set her feet towards Bower Lake, and the Gypsy Camp.

Sparrow buried Sirius on the Hero Hill. Sparrow found a tombstone on the path upwards, which read, 'Here lies your faithful friend. He died as he lived: by your side.' 'Theresa knew I'd come here, then,' Sparrow muttered. Theresa knew so many things, yet never averted tragedy if it did not serve her purpose. Sparrow erected the headstone once Sirius was at rest under the earth, on top of the relic that overlooked the natural beuty of the region, and looped his vivid blue collar over the top. 'I love you, Sirius,' she whispered, tears trickling down her face, 'I miss you. There'll never be another dog like you.' She gave way to grief once more, and her wake lasted through twilight, continued into the long, dark night, and did not cease until the sun was once more climbing the heavens. Having reached a catharsis, Sparrow turned towards the Gypsy Camp.

The gypsies prepared a lavish welcome, as had all the settlements Sparrow had visited. No hero had been as exalted and loved as her since the Hero of Oakvale had defeated Jack of Blades. Old friends and acquantances thumped her on the back and shouted praises. Children gazed at her, awestruck, and pleaded for autographs. Sparrow was glorified, almost to the extent of a goddess. There was music, dancing, merriment, and good food and ale. Sparrow believed, with joy this time, that her sacrifices for these vulnerable people, and Albion in general, had been worthwile.

After the festivities, Sparrow strolled to the Bower Lake Bridge with Bob, a gypsy man she had grown up with. They gazed at Bower Lake, sublime in the deep dusk, reflecting the world around it with pale moonlight. 'I always believed that you'd do it,' Bob said, 'But I wasn't sure you'd make it alive. I was … well, the last time you were here, I thought we may have said our final goodbyes. You're so pure, so angelic …' he trailed away, and brushed a strand of silken hair away from Sparrow's face.'You'd give your life away if it would help someone in pain.'

'I did,' Sparrow answered, a single tear trailing down her cheek. 'But that's not important now. What is important … Bob, you've waited so long, but if you're still willing … would you be my husband?'

My darling, I'd wait twenty years more to be your husband,' Bob chuckled.

They kissed on the bridge that night, surprisingly free from the usual 'followers' that trailed behind Sparrow like a procession. Needless to say, kissing led to somewhat more. Nothing they had not done on previous occasions, yet somehow, it was particularly meaningful that night. When Sparrow woke in her caravan at dawn, and watched Bob sleeping at her side, she felt anticipation, vigour, and expectation for her life to come.

Although misfortune and tribulation did not abandon Sparrow following her victory at the Tattered Spire, she found, against all expectations, that her life became more fulfilling than ever before once Lucian was deceased. She continued to serve the people, and to love all but the evil and corrupt unconditionally. However, she now felt secure, because she at last had a home to return to, and somebody there who cared about her: not about Sparrow the Chosen One, but just Sparrow, with all her human failings. She and Bob settled at Serenity Farm, a wedding present of sorts from the Oakvale Demon Door. This home was uncanilly similar to the vision Sparrow had experienced on 'The Perfect Day'. The house was entirely secure, and Sparrow had no qualms about leaving Bob undefended when she went away, as only those with express permission from either Bob or herself could enter this Deamon Door.

…...

Years slid away, acknowledged with joy, thankfulness, and the birth of two children; first a boy, then a girl. Melancholy once again began to plague Sparrow, as these children aged and blossomed. Theresa had summoned her to the Tattered Spire, weeks before she fell pregnant with Logan, her eldest child, and had informed her that she would be becoming Queen of a united Albion, and that it would fall to her to unite the indipendant cities into one political entity. Sparrow realised sorrowfully that this would almost certainly come to pass through war. More disturbingly, one of her children was destined to bear a superhuman burden after Sparrow's lifetime, and Theresa refused to inform her which child it would be. When these thoughts plagued Sparrow, she would turn her mind again to Rose, and 'The Perfect Day'. During one such attack, which occurred while the children attended lessons with their tutors, Sparrow lay on the grass, watching the ethereal clouds floating through the otherworldy sky of Serenity Farm. Her absorbtion was so great, that she did not hear Bob's gentle approach. He lay beside her, and stroked her hair. She nestled into him, and they held each other and watched the skies.

After a prolonged silence, Sparrow said softly, 'You know, I don't regret coming back any more. I haven't for a long time.'

'I know,' Bob whispered, gently kissing her lips. They had spoken about this topic at length, and Bob understood more than Sparrow had realised anybody who had not shared the experience could.

'But, you know,' Sparrow said sadly, looking into Bob's eyes, 'If Albion could have been saved without me … I wouldn't have come back, even with you waiting for me.'

'It's alright, love. I understand. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Most people would feel the same.' They held each other and cried, tears of love, joy, and sorrow intermingled.

…

Sparrow felt death's approach, as she lay in her bed in Bowerstone Castle. Bob had not shared this bed for some time, having passed away several years before: a Hero's lifespan is generally likely to surpass that of ordinary mortals. Logan and Marion had visited her earlier in the day. Marion had remained somewhat longer, reluctant to leave her ailing mother. Sparrow had not, during the long years since Theresa had made the final prophecy, been able to determine which child was a hero, as neither had shown any particular talents, or any will ability whatsoever. Although fearful for both of them, she knew that there was nothing more she could do. Although Sparrow realised that this death was not natural, it was nonetheless fated. She suspected poison to be the culprit. Like Theresa, Sparrow had developed the gift of foresight in later life,and knew that her enroaching death could not be averted. Regardless of how, why, or by whom she had been poisoned, it was a unique concoction, and there was no antidote. Mercifully, it had been designed to mimic natural death. Rather than distress everyone in a case where fate was indelible, she claimed illness, and swore the doctor to secrecy. Only Jasper, and her dear friend Sir Walter Beck, knew that she was not long for the world.

Sparrow felt the life leaving her limbs, her heart slowing, and her breath stilling, but knew that death would take its time; it would be gentle. She issued her final order to Jasper: 'Jasper, ask Sir Walter to visit me. Tell him … It's time'

Jasper's immaculate façade faltered as he registered the meaning of her words. 'Yes, Your Majesty.' Jasper hastily returned with Walter.

'My Queen,' Walter bowed and knelt at the bedside.

'Walter' Sparrow murmered, taking his hand, 'I'm dying. I want to ask for one final favour.'

'Of course, Sparrow, anything. What do you need?'

'Logan's a mature young man, and will be able to cope with my passing. But Marion is still a child. She needs you, once I'm gone. You've been a second father since Bob died, and I fear that she's going to suffer great pain when I'm gone.'

'I will, Sparrow. I'll be as good a guardian as ever breathed the air of Albion. I know she'll do me proud, like she always did you and Bob. I'll keep her training up, too, if she slacks off.'

'Thank you, Walter,' Sparrow whispered, 'You are a great man, and a true friend. Now, I must depart.'

'Are you afraid, my Queen?' Walter asked.

Sparrow laughed weakly. 'Why be afraid? I'm going to be with Rose, Bob, Sirius, my parents, everyone I love. And I'll see you there, too, one day, and the children.'

Only when Sparrow slipped into unconsciousness did Walter allow his tears to flow, knowing that they were for him, her children, and her subjects, rather than Sparrow herself. She was going home.

Sparrow never woke again. Walter and Jasper kept vigil as her heart stopped beating. In the midst of that dark, storm-tossed night, Walter gently probed her neck, checking for a pulse.

'Sir?' Jasper hesitantly questioned. He saw Walter draw back to kneel by the bed, and heard him huskily utter three simple words:

'She's gone home.'