A/N: Hi everyone. This is possibly the hardest story I've ever written. The plot was just so... so fascinating to use, but then in flooded thousands of other ideas on how this story could go. For example, who is Logan's and the Princess' father? Should Reaver and Sparrow have had a romantic relationship prior to her death? I'm still unsure, but I really needed to post this. please review, or message me for your ideas relating to this story. Thankyou, and enjoy :)

I had a ton of other fic ideas that I was gonna interweave in here, but they merited their own seperate stories, so expect to see me around here more often :)

Thanks again, please review, and I claim no ownership over any characters of the Fable universe/context featured. All right go to Peter Molyneux and Lionhead Studio.

Also, please recommend me a title :) I like titles that are in different languages, but I don't really mind, as long as it's cool and all that. Thanx !

Unfateful Return

Prologue

The Hero of Brightwall was dead.

That was all that resounded throughout the now tense, empty, hollow room, as the ex-revolutionists and ex-conspiracists against King Logan sat around, each too absorbed with the information to say or do anything.

The Queen... their one and only hope of surviving the monstrosity of the Crawler...

was dead.

Page, leader of the Bowerstone Resistance was the first to speak, for out of them all, she was the only one who had enough strength to string together a coherent thought and pull herself back together.

"Well... what do we do now?" her voice sounding pathetically weak and unsure of itself for the first time in her life.

It was the first time in a long time she felt...

afraid.

Ben Finn shot her a bitter look, tears threatening to well up in his eyes. The last time he experienced such dread and anger was when Major Swift had been humiliatingly executed. But this... this had much more impact on him and the fate of the world surrounding him than the death of his beloved commrade. It made him angry.

"What do you think we do now?" he grounded out harshly, the roughness in his voice shocking even himself, "The Queen - our only bloody hope in this damned thing - is dead! Gone! We're better off joining her, now that we have no chance against this damn 'Crawler'!"

Walter, wallowing in quiet and immense sorrow and remorse, suddenly turned his sharp eyes to the blonde captain.

"Ben! That's enough!" The retired soldier commanded, the room falling into a deafening, stony hush.

Sir Walter could only try and supress the urge to burst into tears as reality's cruel grip sunk in. The Queen of Albion, Albion's last Hero, was dead. Never had he experienced such a strong sense of loss and despair as he tried to cling onto hope that maybe, just maybe, she was still alive, somehow... a flicker of life still inside her cold, dead form...

The Queen... his Queen, almost like the daughter he'd never had... he'd had such high hopes for her, he'd have done anything for his dear Queen, who was one of the most precious people to him, who reminded him so much of her mother, one of his closest friends...

she was dead.

It had all happened so suddenly. Whilst on their travels to Aurora, via boat, the seas had gotten too rough. The next thing they knew the vessel had capsized, and the Queen thrown overboard. When they'd finally retrieved her body, she was barely alive, just enough so that they could travel back to Bowerstone Castle to receive treatment. But when they got there...

"What do you mean you can't save her? She's the Queen of Albion, dammit, we need her to win this war!" Walter roared angrily at the cowering doctor.

"I'm so sorry, Sir Walter, but there's something wrong with her. It's almost as if it's... it's sorcery, of some sort." The doctor replied hastily, almost fearfully at the sight of the furious man. Walter merely let out an exasperated sigh as he the anxiety built up within him.

"Move aside! Let's see it then!" Pushing past the puny doctor, Walter strode towards the bedroom where the dying Queen lay, Ben Finn, Page and her loyal butler Jasper by her bedside.

As soon as the doors burst open, Ben looked up at the burly figure of the ex-soldier, before his marine blue eyes slowly cast their gaze to the floor.

"Walter..."

"She's fine isn't she?" Walter interjected hopefully, as he hurried over to her side. "Poor sod just swallowed a lot of seawater, that's all."

Page closed her eyes regretfully, emotions of grief and sorrow swirling within her usually proud form. "No Walter, she..."

"She'll be fine, I know it. The jammy girl's been through thick and thin. She's got to get through this, I'm sure." Walter continued, denial hanging over him like a cloud which none of the other two dared comment upon.

As Walter finally arrived by her side, his eyes widened with horror and terror. "No, it can't be..."

"I'm sorry Walter." Ben spoke, voice breaking as he squeezed his eyes shut, just so that he couldn't see his friend crumble into a shell of wretchedness and misery.

"The Darkness got to her before we could."

"Walter," Jasper spoke quietly, resting a hand on his larger companion's shoulder, "she's right. What are we going to do now?"

The death of the Queen had taken its toll on the elderly butler too; his already aged body looking even more weary and tired than ever. Even her dog, Lance, was suffering from the departure of his only companion, the collie despairingly whimpering and howling with grief.

"I suppose we'll have to alert Kalin first," Walter spoke up, suddenly rising. "No doubt it will be a while until the news reaches Aurora. We'd best pay her a visit, and formulate a new plan to combat the Crawler."

"Oh bloody-!" Ben growled, taking a stand too as he glared through angry, bitter eyes at everyone. "Does no one else get it? What's the point of all this? The Queen is dead. The prophecy said we needed a Hero - a full-blooded Hero to conquer the Darkness, not some washed-up army of misfits! We're all going to die out there, do you hear me? We've lost!"

All were silent at Ben's sudden outburst of words, but none could provide rebuttal for it.

The Queen of Albion, their one last hope of survival, was dead.

And with that, so was the rest of Albion.

.

.

.

Meanwhile, in the cold, lonely interior of the mysterious structure known as 'The Spire', a lone blind seeress moved within its bare halls, her blind eyes occupied with concern and worry.

The Queen of Albion - Albion's last Hero - was dead.

She did not see that coming.

It just didn't make any sense.

The Spire was constructed with Old Kingdom magic, and with that granted her immense power and strength when it came to her visions and their clarity and accuracy.

She'd had the same vision for two decades now, ever since the old Hero-Queen gave birth to her. She'd seen, just by gazing into the small babe's almond eyes, the triumphs and hardships the then young girl would encounter, the losses she'd experience, her rise to the throne as Albion's rightful Monarch, and most importantly, her defeat of the devious threat known as the Crawler. She'd seen all of that, and more, in explicit detail. Why, the young Heroine's life had been laid out right in front of Theresa.

So what happened? How could her visions have been proven wrong?

It all changed when the Queen decided to venture to Aurora to pay Kalin a simple visit.

The day Theresa's visions of the new Hero Queen's greatness dispersed entirely into ones much more sinister.

Now, only images of war-struck Albion, filled with nothing but empty darkness, agony and suffering swarmed the seeress' mind, scenes filled with nothing but the decrepit remains of what was once Albion and the black, inky darkness of the Crawler's army.

It was devasating.

As the visions gradually faded from her mind, Theresa's milk-white misty eyes narrowed, theories swirling in her mind, trying to think of any reason as to why the Princess' future failed her.

Yet, she could think of nothing. Why did Fate suddenly decide to cast a cruel hand and play a new card, when the Hero of Brightwall's life was finally going as planned? What had influenced the change in her visions?

Turning to bask in the cool sunlight coming in through a single open archway window, Theresa grew more and more determined: Albion would not concede defeat to the Crawler. No matter what, Albion could not risk defeat at the hands of the oncoming Darkness. She would not let all her planning and hard works end to this. This, she was certain of. But how she would accomplish it was an entirely different manner...

Albion needed a Hero to succeed the Throne and ultimately defeat the oncoming great threat. The last one had been the Queen. Of course, there was always Reaver, the infamous 'Hero of Skill'... but Theresa quickly disposed of the idea, silently cursing herself for even thinking of him. What they needed was a fully-fledged, descendant of the Archon bloodline Hero, and she shuddered to think of what Albion might become under Reaver's rule... it was quite possible they were just as equally doomed with him on the throne than without a Hero.

Inwardly, she scolded the old Hero-Queen for not giving birth to more children. If only Sparrow had produced another heir to the throne, another Hero capable of succeeding their older sister and thus posing an actual threat to the Crawler. But age was already taking its toll on the old Hero-Queen by the time she'd been inaguerated as Albion's first queen in a long, long time, and it was lucky enough that Sparrow managed to give birth to atleast one Hero before infertility took over (though Theresa never really knew who exactly the father was)...

Sparrow. Despite the fact that Theresa felt slightly irritated that her descendant hadn't taken the opportunities in her youth to have a family and increase the Hero bloodline, the blind seeress couldn't help but feel a sense of fondness wash over her at the memory of the old Hero-Queen. Truly, Sparrow was everything a Hero needed to be and more. She was selfless (something Theresa didn't really care about personally, but knew the people of Albion did), strong, willing to develop her powers and most of all, was deeply commited to the mission Theresa had given to her as a Hero.

Theresa closed her sightless eyes as the memory of the fierce yet silent woman washed over into her mind. A strong, proud, intimidating yet oddly-graceful form that still retained its soft femininity, Sparrow was a beautifully-powerful Hero, Will lines proudly glowing on her pale complexion, sparse scars latticing their way on her flesh. Yes, Sparrow truly was possibly the greatest Hero Albion had seen so far. If only...

Suddenly, an idea struck her. She'd learnt that Old Kingdom magic was very powerful, strong enough to even..

but surely... surely it wasn't possible. But it had not been unheard of before. Old Kingdom magic was capable of doing many, many things... just maybe, perhaps this wild idea might actually work and come into fruition...

it was madness, Theresa was sure, but what else did they have? Albion needed a Hero, and though the recently-deceased Queen could be used instead, the Darkness still held possession over her body... it was far too risky to bring her back, now that the Darkness might still hold influence over her body...

Yes, Albion needed a Hero. And Theresa was determined to get them one, no matter what the cost...

Albion needed a Hero.

Albion needed a Ruler.

It was time to bring the old Hero-Queen back to save Albion from peril once more.

It was time to bring Sparrow back.

"It seems death is not your fate afterall, Little Sparrow."

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