IMPORTANT: I've never done this before, but considering the most key choice within Fable is choosing your gender.. well. This story is a one-shot, but Chapter One is the Hero had you chosen to be female and Chapter Two is the Hero had you chosen to be male.
Please just pick which gender you'd prefer to read as and go to that chapter. There is no other difference between the chapters.
I know ff.n's policy on posting multiple stories with just the name changed of the characters.. I'm thinking/hoping that doesn't apply here, as it is only a single dual-chaptered story. I believe, however, that the choice of gender for the main character is sufficient reason to provide for both choices people may have made.
If ff.n disagrees then I will remove the second chapter and post a link to it in my Bio.
This story is set within and directly after the quest for the Golden Acorn. It is a friendship-fic, regardless of the gender of your Hero.
Well, I suppose you can see whatever you want...
I hope you enjoy!
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The Third
Hannah surged to her feet, the large jug of blessed water crashing to the ground. It didn't matter though. Nothing mattered. Her life narrowed down to a horrible focus, the monk's frightened face before her spelling out her father's peril.
Before the man even finished speaking, she was running. The vessel of light water made a deep clinking sound as her foot knocked it violently away in her mindless dash towards the exit.
The monk was shoved aside, hitting the wall with an 'oomph' of abruptly less breath. Daylight stung her eyes as she existed the short tunnel, the soft breeze of Oakfield carrying with it the sound of gunfire and fear.
The ground flew beneath her as she ran, faster than ever before in her life. She had eyes only for the path leading towards the temple and actually ran down a large, well-built man in her path before she noticed him.
Even in the midst of panic, she rolled to her feet and cast her eyes down to gasp a breathless apology-
-only to look down the barrel of a rifle instead.
Movement around her caught her attention, as a solid mass of bandits thrashed their way out of the undergrowth and surrounded her.
She screamed, brimming with uncomprehending rage that these.. these people would get in her way, in her way NOW when her Father needed her!
More rifles were aimed at her, their owners keeping a wary distance from the woman taller than all of them and twice as strong-looking.
One opened his mouth- "In the name of Lord Lu-" -only to have his head explode in a shower of gore.
Hannah stared. More gunshots were heard and she tensed instinctively.
But these shots were not the bandits... no, racing up the path behind them, snarling dog leading the way, was The Hero. The adventurer her father had appointed to guard his daughter through the caves. The silent, slender woman who Hannah had secretly speculated she could snap like a twig, but who nevertheless had demonstrated a battle prowess far and above her own meager skills.
It was her gun making those sounds of death, each shot finding a skull of those bandits in Hannah's way. Even as the woman sheathed the pistol and drew her sword for close combat, her dog lunged for the throat of the man still half-seated on the ground from his unexpected fall.
"Go!" The woman ordered, her voice slightly hoarse from disuse but no less commanding. "I have them!"
Before she'd even finished the sentence, a shimmering spin of her arm had two bandits on the floor, missing their arms and intestines, respectively.
Hannah didn't wait another second. Either trusting the taciturn Hero or just not caring, she turned and shouldered her way past the last man blocking the road.
And ran.
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Monks scattered nervously from her as she walked the short distance to the sleeping quarters. Maybe they were frightened of the roiling anger visible in every tense muscle, or maybe they were just trying to give her space to grieve.
She didn't care. She hated them all, regardless.
She hated that they had all fled from Lucien's men and survived, abandoning her father to his death. She hated that they moved so swiftly to bury him, their constant clashes with the Temple of Shadows rendering them well-used to the passing of monks.
She hated them for daring to ask her to pen the eulogy, as though they hadn't known her father, as though he was a nobody, not even like he was, you know, the abbot of the whole damned temple!
She hated Lucien. She hated his minions. She hated her Father, for dying. She hated herself, for carrying some bloody stupid jug through some bloody stupid cave instead of being there to protect him. She hated the town for toasting to the news that the acorn had been successfully blessed and had assured them another hundred years' light and health. She..
She stopped.
At the entrance to the underground bunker, a dog was raising itself up to greet her, his tail wagging a mile a minute, his tongue lolling as he panted happily.
Completely thrown at seeing the little mutt again, Hannah got down on her knees and accepted the slobbery welcome with a choked laugh. She rubbed vigorously at the dog's head and ruff, scratching the points where the dark – almost black – pelt bled to an almost-golden brown.
"What are you doing here then, boy?" She asked quietly. "Where's that master of yours?"
Abruptly, she realised she hadn't actually thanked the silent woman yet. Not only for drawing the attention of – and single-handedly dispatching – an entire mob of bandits so that Hannah could continue to the temple, but also for salvaging the mission that Hannah had abandoned without a second thought.
To hear the monks gossip, apparently the Hero had been but a step behind Hannah's frantic exit, pausing only to lift the jug before too much of its precious water could spill – with apparent ease, no less – and wedging it upright in a corner of the deeply-carved patterned floor.
Then - the gossip became tinged with a flicker of awe, fear and disbelief - apparently she had summoned a handful of spirits with but a gesture, leaving them to circle and stand guard over the jug as she left.
Many of the monks had not believed that part of the rumor, but Hannah had.
She'd seen them before, after all. With nothing but a flash of power and a curt gesture, the Hero had summoned them three times during their journey – each time sending them with a non-vocal command to stand around Hannah herself. A sort of 'secondary defence', should any of the Hollow Men swarming them get past the smaller woman's rapid cover fire, or lightning-quick blade.
A handful had got past her, if only for a few seconds, once or twice.
The summons had attacked those creatures with a bloodthirsty, single-minded focus until the Hero had a moment spare to end them for good.
More than a few hadn't needed the Hero to mop them up, falling to the ghostly cudgels of Hannah's dedicated – if creepy – protectors.
No, Hannah had nothing but fond memories of those creatures, Not to mention a healthy dash of respect for the woman who commanded them so effortlessly.
It was funny. When the attacks had started, Hannah had had no choice but to fully place her life – and her trust – into this strange woman's hands. Having experienced just how competent those hands were, how reliable, had forged a bond of genuine affection between them. At least, for Hannah it had.
Not many monks had understood her in her life. Even fewer had put up with her loud, overbearing presence with the patience and grace the Hero had demonstrated. Indeed, the more Hannah had rambled on, nervous but fighting not to show it, the more she'd grown convinced that the Hero was actually listening to her. Not just ignoring her or putting up with her.. but hearing her.
A twitch of her lips, a shoulder moved back or to the side.. a shift of weight.. it had been subtle, but Hannah was convinced the Hero had responded. Just not as.. vocally.
Seeing her dog here now brought with it a dual rush of relief and bitterness.
She was glad to know the other woman was around.. but couldn't fool herself into thinking the adventurer was there for anything other than whatever reward her father had promised her.
Sighing, familiar grief/anger tasting sour in her mouth, she stepped past the dog and into the shadowed corridor. A muted whine of disappointment followed her, before the dog collapsed back down with a huff, muzzle resting on his paws, both ears and one eye alert for any danger.
She found herself smiling, just a little.
The hallway was dark and – after the sunlight outside – mostly navigated by memory rather than sight. Anyone stepping in was temporarily blind until their eyes adjusted. Hannah's eyes adjusted father than any other monks, but even she needed a few seconds.
Which is why, she felt, she could be forgiven for stepping on whatever idiot had decided the floor right there was a good place to take a load off.
"What the..?! Bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" She snapped, scrambling to find her balance and put her feet down without crushing anything. She'd lived her life being a big girl, never fat but honestly blessed (over blessed, she often thought sarcastically) with the sheer musculature structure of, say, a prize bull.
The person stood, his or her clothing shifting with the movement.
For a brief moment, blue light shone in the darkness, a thin line revealed only for a moment.
"Oh. Its you." She said flatly, her eyes making out the other woman's features even as she spoke.
"What are you skulking around for then?" She asked, probably a bit more impolitely than was really called for.
The Hero didn't seem to mind. She just tilted her head slightly and raised one shoulder in the merest of shrugs.
"Come for your reward, have you?" Hannah had to almost force herself to ask, not really wanting to know the answer.
A simple shake of the head was her only answer.
"Really?" Hannah asked skeptically. "What, then? I can't imagine there'd be much to interest you. Not here."
The woman regarded her thoughtfully, slightly slitted but lightly glowing eyes giving nothing away.
"I.. am here..." She replied finally, showing her voice to Hannah for only the second time in the last three days. "Because I made your father a promise. I keep my promises."
Hannah blinked, honestly startled and a little embarrassed
"He asked you to protect me and the jug in the cavern." She muttered. "Job's done, I'd say. Not that I'm not grateful for.. for your help afterwards, though." It was harder to speak the last half, any reminder of her father's murder burning like acid in her stomach.. but the other woman deserved acknowledgment for her act of assistance.
"No." The Hero stated simply. "Your father asked me to take care of his daughter. If I left you now, I would be dishonoring that request." The woman paused, perhaps gathering her thoughts or perhaps needing a little break from the marathon of words she'd just produced.
"I... believe.. you need more care taken of you now, than you ever did in the caves. You are already strong.. but the loss of a loved one can destroy a person with far greater ease than any blade or gun."
Hannah swallowed tightly.
"I can't believe you can talk." She said, rather stupidly. She was.. blown away by this woman, this Hero's words.. and the honest intent to follow them through gleaming clearly in battle-hardened eyes.
Above all, though, was the curl of.. understanding.
In a temple of cowards and hypocrites, in a town of selfish, ignorant people..
Here was someone who understood. Who recognised her pain, her utter devastation, as something experienced by themselves also. Someone who wouldn't judge her, someone who could guide her on how to carry on when nothing seemed worth it.
Someone she could rely on to be strong, when at this moment she herself was so very weak.
"Thank you." She managed after another moment. The words were strangled, but genuine.
The Hero tilted her head slightly and nodded, a curl of her lips hinting at a fond or amused emotion behind solemn recognition.
"So.. what.." Hannah managed to ask, pulling herself together again – perhaps for a little longer, today. "You plan to follow me around?"
The Hero shrugged and glanced outside. She looked back and smiled, tilting a head towards Hannah then leaned back against the cool stone wall – looking for all the world as though nowhere else could there possibly be something more interesting, or important, for her to do than just... be there.
Hannah felt her eyes sting a little, but she was done with crying. Crying didn't make anything better.
She tried smiling instead. The movement felt a little stiff, but it was an improvement.
"You know, I think I like your silent talking better." She teased, turning to continue her trek to her room. "It's more entertaining – and engaging – to work out what the hell you're saying with only body language to go on."
There was a soft snort behind her, but no following footsteps.
Hannah had already known, however. The Hero would be there for her when she was needed. She wouldn't crowd the grieving woman and she wouldn't need to. She'd be around and she'd be more than enough.
One of the reasons Hannah liked interpreting the Hero's silent speech was because she felt she was uncommonly good at it.
For now, though, she would rest.
Tomorrow, her father's funeral would be held.
And Hannah would grieve for the last time, before she followed the Hero – her friend – to vengeance.
END