Heroes can survive falls
that would shatter the bones of most people
Introduction
The Spire was destroyed. And on that day the hordes of supposedly dead men and women had washed up on the shore of Albion. All remembered being killed on the Spire and all had the vague recollection of a blind Seeress holding their hand as their life was returned to them. The mysterious event was traced back to the Hero known as Sparrow who spent his one wish at the Spire on that day two years before.
There was a statue issued, songs were sung, drinks had been raised. The people recognised the great sacrifice the Hero of Bowerstone had committed for the countless amount of people he had never met. All for the good of Albion he brought their dead loved ones back.
At great personal cost.
And there he was, two years later. At the Cock and the Lion, holding a generous amount of mead in his system, hanging onto a large mug of ale in his grip. The Mayor had drowned in his sorrows every year, that very day for two years since the Lucien's death.
Everyone knew why he was there, on that barstool. No one judged him on as he downed more ale down his throat. His red eyes surrounded by inflated skin, irritated by the tears his cheeks felt on that day.
His white hair stuck to his forehead as his shoulders slouched forwards; cradling the invisible wall he had constructed to prevent him from falling forwards and onto the Barman's floor. The people knew his story. How he sacrificed his youth to save a younger woman from the clutches of the dark society. How he once had a beautiful wife called Alex and a son that he loved more than anything. How his brave strong dog jumped in front of a bullet to save him, all for naught.
He had a new dog since then but nothing compared to the first.
The aging barman walked over to the Mayor and refilled his emptied mug, with a sense of camaraderie he reserved only for him. Lornan the Barman was known for being harsh and being ill tempered but he softened only for the Mayor.
The Mayor nodded as he drank some more. Their unspoken communication lasted only a few seconds but it was enough. The Mayor looked up at the man and answered his unspoken question.
His voice was harsh, it resembled the croak of toads more then actual human sounds. But he answered the silence with a number.
"Six." He answered. The barman's eyes saddened. "He would have been six."
He drank more from the mug in his hold as the Bowerstone Clocktower chimed twelve times.
"The time is – Very late!" the Towncrier announced. But the Mayor did not budge from his seat. Neither did any of the drinkers in the pub.
He heard a few murmurs as the age of his boy circulated amongst the people around him but all he could hear were the chimes of the clock. His mind began to wander. The chimes always reminded him of Lucien. The same clock chimed twelve when he had lost Rose on that horrid night as his journey to become a hero began.
Theresa had told him countless times that Heroes could survive falls that would shatter the bones of most people but he never truly understood how. His past was filled with his hatred for Lucien and it only amplified when his bullet went through his skull, ending his pompous speech. He could close his eyes and recall seeing Lucien's body falling down lower and lower into the heart of the Spire.
He was then filled with a satisfaction that was never rivalled since. But no matter how much ale he drank on that night, every year, he could never come to terms with his loss. His house still lay in shambles and in ruin, his wife and son's lives were still cut short and he failed his duty as a father, something that he vowed he'd never break.
So he drank. He drank until he couldn't think straight, every year for the entire day.
He knew he'd never find peace, knowing that the grief that had plagued Lucien would plague him just as strongly. He had lost Alex and Logan just as Lucien had lost Amelia and Lady Fairfax. The only difference was who pulled the trigger and who was left standing.
And the sole survivor of that plight was drinking away at the Cock and the Lion.
As the last chime stroke twelve the Mayor rose from his chair, with inhuman balance after so many drinks. He put his pay forward and the barman politely refused, pushing the money back into the Mayor's hands.
"Keep it mate. This night is always on me."
The Mayor nodded and slipped the gold back into his pockets. As he walked out of the pub he heard his dog get up from the floor with a sad bark. The large dog, named Tiny, walked over to his master and nudged his hand with his humid nose.
The Mayor only looked at the Tower screaming internal profanities that would never leave his mind or breach his lips. His gaze went past the Clocktower and into the distance where the Spire was raised high into the horizon.
He knew the Spire was extensively far but he felt like he could run into the ocean and swim to it in record time only to bash at its strong towering black walls in vain.
The cold of the muzzle from his dog brought him back to his state. He looked down at the dogs drooping eyes, the lowered ears, the still tail.
"Come on." He called, his hand petting the top of Tiny's head ever so slightly. His feet began the long trek back to his new home, Fairfax Castle.
Bowerstone was silent on that night, the people celebrating the sad day for the second time alongside him. No songs were sung, no uplifting comforts were said, they all grieved with the Mayor. It had been that way since the first year, it would likely never change either.
That day was a day of grief for all those that died to free Albion of its grieving tyrant. As he walked towards his castle all he could see were the faces of his fallen family. Rose, Alex, Charlie, his dog, Rose, Charlie, Alex, dog… he began realizing that he could no longer remember their voices. Their faces fading even… and there was nothing he could do.
He pushed the Castle doors open as he made his way inside, Tiny never leaving his side. His heavy steps were accompanied by the quickened steps of his dog as he walked ahead to great someone in the doorway.
"Hello there boy." Someone greeted, petting Tiny's head. There was a pause. "Welcome back Mayor." He greeted sadly.
The Mayor's eyes looked up briefly to see his close friend. His black hair twirling proudly at the ends of his moustache, his blundershot rifle strapped to his back, his mug hanging loosely from his ammunition belt.
"Walter." He said, his small smile going to his lips. No more words were said as he made his way further inside of the heart of the Castle.
He looked up once he entered the throne room, the back of his mind criticising the name of it. Throne room implied that Lucien was stronger than just a Lord, stronger than a Mayor. His eyes fell onto the large wooden ornate chair, where the moon cradled it into a seemingly divine moonlight. He knew that people would pour in once morning set, and he'd be on that chair, answering their quarries, seeing to their needs as he had for the past years.
Too tired to even begin to think about his new responsibilities, he turned his attention to the staircase that would bring him up, and into his bedroom.
His bedroom was untouched when he had moved in. Lucien wasn't at the Castle much, if not at all, since he began the Spire project. It made for a seamless transition into Castle life, knowing that whatever was left behind didn't come from Lucien. Save for his study, which Sparrow still hadn't set foot inside of.
The draperies were changed to a dark purple, as were the sheets but a part from minor aesthetic changes it wasn't touched.
He didn't remove any of his clothing as he fell like a timbered tree onto his sheets. Tiny had jumped besides him on the bed and curled into a ball into his side.
The alcohol in his system and Tiny's slow breathing lulled him to sleep. Where he dreamt of the people he had lost.
\\OoO/
The fire was creaking from within the fireplace. It was late and she knew it. But he had promised in his letter that his arrival was to be on that night so she wrapped herself in the blanket and knitted on the rocking chair, basking in the fire's heat.
She fought the urge to sleep a thousand times before that point and was rocking herself out of habit. She had done the same thing countless times before as she waited for her husband to return home.
She heard heavy steps on the cobblestone path and was instantly wide-awake. It had been two weeks since she saw him last and she couldn't wait to see him again.
She rearranged her dress in a giddy haste and placed her braid back into its decent look. She knew she didn't have to prepare her appearance but she did it anyways.
She felt her heart flutter when her husband walked through the doorway and into their home.
"Welcome back handsome." She smiled, crossing her legs under her dress.
He looked up and his eyes immediately locked on hers. His cheeks were a little red from the wind and his hair a little bit dishevelled. She had long since gotten used to his new appearance and so was not startled by the deep red irises and the white hair that adorned his figure. But she had noticed that certain of his wrinkles had disappeared and a certain aspect of his youth was returned.
He stared at her for a few moments before taking three long strides and picked her up from the chair.
She giggled out of surprise and moaned when his lips came crashing onto hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rejoiced when his strong arms held her close.
He was just as warm as she remembered.
He kissed her lips passionately for a while before his lips trailed to her cheeks and the corners of her mouth. She smiled at his burst of loving appraisal and played with the tips of his hair.
"It's good to be home Alex." He whispered on her cheek, his nose hiding in the long strands of her blonde hair.
"It's good of you to have come back, Sparrow."
He sighed, content to hear her voice once again. There was nothing stopping him from resuming their more intimate reunion rites but he felt like something was off. There was a difference to that night that wasn't there before. A difference that Alex was unaware to.
He looked around the house and found what he was looking for.
"Staying up a bit later now are we Charlie?" he smiled. Alex's attention shot to the young boy hiding in the bars of the staircase. The boy smiled and tugged his purple blanket, a poor imitation of his father's cape, around his neck.
"I told you father, it's not Charlie it's Logan." He smiled running down the staircase and jumping into Sparrow's legs.
Alex smiled. "Why do you insist on calling him Charlie Love?" She smiled into his chest, her head shaking from side to side in loving frustration. "You said that I could name him."
Sparrow let go of his wife as he reached down to scoop his son into his arms. Imitating a grunt with a large smile. "Because he's my little boy!" he smirked, Logan laughed as his father twirled him around in the air.
Alex smiled and took a couple steps back as Sparrow held onto Logan, beginning a conversation with his young son. Asking him questions about how many target he'd hit with his gun he'd gifted him, how many bullies he'd fought with, how many imaginary hobbes he had slain. She only smiled, as Sparrow seemed to reintegrate so easily into family life.
She was happy until she realised he'd have to leave again.
Sparrow put Logan down onto the hard wood floor, kissed his forehead and urged him to bed. Logan smiled and ran up the stairs to return to the bed he had abandoned.
Sparrow lost his smile when he turned to his wife's frown. He took a large step and cautiously gripped her waist. "Alex?" he asked.
She shook her head and put on a smile. It wasn't a forced smile but it wasn't entirely genuine either.
"It's nothing." She whispered. Her hands came up to his face and brought his head down to kiss his lips. "You're here now." She smiled.
Sparrow's smile diminished but remained. "I'm here now." He agreed.
But he wasn't there long. As the lights of his home dimmed and flickered shut. His memory continued to play around him but the structure slowly caved in. The screams of people were heard in his ears as his feet were routed to the ground. He looked down and saw the glyph that kept him there, standing. He looked up once more and instead of seeing his wife he looked down the barrel of Lucian's revolver.
"The last time I killed you, it tore my heart out. Of course you were only a child… but then … so was I."
He pulled he trigger and his vision went black, like it had two years prior.
Death is not your destiny today little Sparrow…