Oh, hello there. It seems I have gotten lost and found myself in the Fable fandom. I can only hope I find my way out again...

Anyway, joking aside, I have had this little plot kicking around in my head ever since I finished off Fable II for the first time...a handful of months ago. It's been a while. I recently got my friend into the game, and in doing so, it kicked this plot out from the back of my mind. So, after some late night daydreaming, I finally found a way to write this.

This takes place after Fable II, in the events of Queen Sparrow's reign, which will be mentioned somewhat, but isn't the main plot. I've tried to piece everything together nicely so it makes some sense, so hopefully it won't be too confusing. This chapter kind of covers the childhood of my OC, so there isn't much mention of Canon characters until the ending bit, but it is just set up.

Anyway, this author's note has gone on long enough and I am going to let you read now. Any feedback or reviews are completely welcome.

Something Familiar

Part 1

Every action she took had consequences, though she was so caught up in herself that she never really acted on them or gave them much thought. That is, until she found herself having to carry around a consequence that threatened to change her life forever.

It was odd how she carried around something for so long, yet never gave any thought to the fact that it would have to come out eventually. She had felt the child's kicks every now and then, though they had been rather still for the duration of the pregnancy. Maybe that is why it made her forget that she did have something growing inside her, yet at the same time she was forced to remember.

Children, marriage, a small home in a farming town...she had thought that it would never be written in the book of fate for her, yet here she was. Aside from marriage, everything happened. A drunken mistake and nine months of hating herself ended with her in a small, wooden, one story home in Oakfield, a woman holding onto her bare legs and telling her to breathe.

"How much longer?" Elizabeth asked, her breathing heavy, sweat covering her forehead as she lay on the bed, hunched back on her hands, legs open as the woman have her a soft smile.

"You are almost there, dear," she said with nod, wiping some of her blonde hair away from her face, "just a few more pushes."

"I can't keep..." Elizabeth started, letting out another breath, feeling like her arms were going to give out at any given moment.

"Yes, you can," the woman before her said, looking at her harshly, "you have to keep pushing the little one out, they can't do it on their own."

"I never wanted a child," Elizabeth muttered, mostly to herself, "much less so the child of that bloody bast-" she was cut off by herself, letting out an agonized yell as another contraction swept over her. She bunched herself up a little more, gritting her teeth as she pushed, her midwife still guiding her along, checking on her progress, offering supportive, yet sometimes harsh, words to keep her moving, and wiping the sweat off her face.

It was about an hour later before Elizabeth, with a cry that was reminiscent to a war cry, gave birth to a small, pink, squirming child. She lay herself down against the bed, listening to the short cry of the child as it took its first breath, her midwife cooing softly down at the newborn. Elizabeth turned her head away, even if curiosity was wanting her to look at the child.

"Ah, here...she is," the widwife said, wrapping the child in a blanket as she looked towards the tired mother, "would you like to-"

"No," Elizabeth said quickly, shutting her eyes as she let out a deep sigh, her eyes remaining firmly shut.

The widwife looked sadly at her, holding the squirming, yet quiet, child in her arms.

"Very well."

Elizabeth woke up an hour or so later, her body still weak, but she felt more awake. Slowly, she turned her head towards the small wooden crib that rested beside her bed. The baby, her daughter, was resting peacefully at her side. Carefully, both trying not to make much noise and to make sure she could make such a movement, Elizabeth sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

She peered into the crib, the small babe sleeping contentedly, wrapped up in a brown blanket. Slowly, Elizabeth reached her hand out and touched the baby's chest, feeling it rise and fall under her finger tips.

She...had a baby. A daughter.

As if the baby noticed the small smile crossing Elizabeth's face, she opened her eyes slightly, peering up at her through tired eyelids as if to ask her why she was waking her up. A soft chuckle escaped from Elizabeth, her smile growing even more. Only a mere few hours old, and the child was starting to show some of her personality.

Or, at least, what Elizabeth was perceiving as a personality.

Removing her hand from the crib, Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her daughter with a steadily growing sense of love building up inside her, threatening to overpower any other negative emotions she had towards the child. There was some anxiety there, too, but she was too proud and happy to let that in at the moment.

Picking up on the footfalls of her midwife, the woman entering the house quietly and smiling at the sight of her sitting near the crib.

"How is she?"

"Resting," Elizabeth said softly, glancing back down towards her, "as peacefully as a baby should."

"Have you thought of any names?"

Elizabeth paused, realizing that she hadn't gone through the conversation most expecting parents had about baby names, a small part of her wondering what he would have wanted to name her. She quickly shook that thought away, knowing all too well that the baby's father wanted nothing to do with the both of them.

She was Elizabeth's daughter, and she had to name her.

"Esther," she said softly after a few moments before nodding her head, "yes, she will be called Esther. After the woman who took care of my brother and I, a pure, happy, and kind person."

"That is wonderful, Elizabeth," her midwife said, smiling down at the child, Elizabeth doing the same. She looked at Esther, really looked, and her happy and content smile fell slightly.

"She looks so much like her father..." she started, her loving eyes darkening with sadness, a frown crossing her mouth once again, "the poor child."

The early years of Esther's life passed by quickly, the quiet infant growing into a small baby that just didn't seem content with the world she was in, crying so much that Elizabeth worried that she would wake the whole town some nights. After a while, Esther stopped her crying and started to explore some more, learning to walk.

She became an energetic toddler, running around the house with an energy that completely took Elizabeth off guard. Aside from the uncanny ability of knocking over anything she touched, Esther also had tendencies to run up to complete strangers if they wore colourful clothing.

One instance of this was when Elizabeth decided to take Esther down towards the docks, she had often seen a dog run down towards there, always commenting on it when she would see it run down towards the shore. As expected, when Esther saw the dog down at the docks, she took off from her mother's side at a rather fast speed.

"Esther!" Elizabeth called out, quickly reaching out to catch her daughter, but the little girl was quick and continued to run, nearly tripping over her own feet. Elizabeth managed to keep up with her for the most part, Esther stopping suddenly, her eyes on something, or someone, walking down towards the docks as well. The woman was wearing a red cloak, Esther just standing a few feet from her and gawking up at her like she was witnessing something amazing.

Elizabeth paused, watching as the woman paused just in front of Esther, the little girl giving her a smile as her small hand reached out and grabbed at the ends of her cloak.

"Esther!" Elizabeth snapped, quickly walking towards her, grabbing her and picking her up. "How many times must I tell you, people might not like it when you run up to them and grab them."

"Your child," the woman started, Elizabeth looking up to see her looking at the both of them with completely white eyes, a small smile on her face, "she is a born adventurer, take care that you do not quell such spirit."

Elizabeth's mouth opened slightly to reply, though she was still grasping at what the woman had just said, but the cloaked woman simply turned and walked down towards the docks, where the dog was looking out at the ocean with an odd fixation.

"Come along, love," Elizabeth said softly to Esther, who was still looking at the woman, "I believe we better leave the docks for another day."

Esther was about five when she started to make friends with the other children of the town, spending most of her days outside with them, returning home just before dark for dinner, where she would excitedly tell her mother about the game of 'Hero' she played that day.

Well...on most nights, actually.

"They never let me be the Hero I want to be," Esther said one night, looking down at her food with a mix of both sadness and annoyance.

"Oh?" Elizabeth asked, raising an eyebrow, "is that so?"

Esther pulled a face, "they always make me be the Hero of Skill."

"Why is that?" Elizabeth asked, her shoulders tensing slightly as Esther poked at her meal with a fork.

"Because I'm tall," she said softly, "I'm too thin to be the Hero of Strength and Henry always insists on using magic."

Elizabeth new that the children were right, Esther was a little taller than the other girls her age, not by much, but apparently it was enough for them to notice.

"Well," Elizabeth started, giving her a small smile, "what kind of Hero do you want to be?"

Esther's blue eyes lit up, that energy she always seemed to possess popping up once again, a smile crossing her face.

"All three!" she exclaimed, "I want to be able to use magic, be strong, and shoot any target I aim at! I want to be like Sparrow!"

Elizabeth smiled at her, though she looked a little sad. Esther wondered why, her smile fading slightly at her mother's expression. Slowly, Elizabeth leaned forward, lowering her voice.

"Do you want to know a secret, Esther?" she asked, the young girl nodding her head, "while all those things sound like they would make you a great hero, you don't have to wield Will, Strength, or Skill to be somebody's hero."

"You don't?" Esther asked, tilting her head.

Elizabeth shook her head, "not all of us are born with such abilities, but that doesn't mean you can't save somebody, someday."

The child nodded her head, "Does that mean that...I can be somebody's hero someday?"

Elizabeth chuckled softly, placing her hand behind Esther's head, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"You already are."

"Mother!" Esther tugged at Elizabeth's hand, the older woman glancing towards her ten-year-old daughter with a questioning gaze. She was pulled forward by Esther's insistent tugs, Elizabeth catching herself before she tripped over her own feet.

"Avo, Esther!" she exclaimed, "you'll pull my arm right off, the rate you are going. What has got you so excited?"

"There is a man here!" she said, a wide smile on her face, "he has this...box with him! He said that it takes instant paintings with only the press of a button! Can we get one done? Please?"

"I don't know, it sounds awfully far-fetched," Elizabeth said, Esther shaking her head quickly.

"It is true! I have seen it in action! Please? We don't have any paintings of us, and I want something to remember you by when you are dead."

"Dear sweet Avo, Esther," Elizabeth said with a laugh, "I don't know where you got such a grim thought from, but if you want to get this...painting done so badly, then we shall. Please, stop pulling on my arm, you are going to hurt me."

"I apologize," Esther said quickly, giving an apologetic look, though the smile on her face seemed to lessen the effect, "come on!"

"I wonder when you will start to calm down," Elizabeth muttered, following her daughter down towards the inn, "I can only keep up with so much..."

Esther gave her a small smile, slowing down in her mark. "It will, I am just excited."

"That you are," Elizabeth said with another chuckle, arriving at the centre of town, where Esther lead her towards the town's main attraction for the month. It wasn't long before Elizabeth and Esther found themselves standing before the box, the man behind it directing them to make a pose.

Esther turned slightly so that she was looking at the camera over her shoulder slightly, lifting her head, giving a somewhat smug smile to the camera, standing in her practiced 'Hero Pose'. Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes, setting to just chuckle and turned so that they were back to back, her arms crossed and soft smile on her face.

"Ah, a family of Heroes," the man behind the box said in a somewhat playful tone, smiling himself as he held up another device, "alright, hold that pose and..." Poof! Esther grinned, moving back into her normal stance as her mother walked towards the box to get a closer look.

"Now, it will take three months for this photograph to...developorise," the man explained as Esther walked up behind her mother, who was looking at him with interest, "then, I will deliver your photo as soon as it has finished."

"That sounds wonderful," Elizabeth said, now genuinely interested in this photograph, "thank you, uh..."

"Barnum," the man said with a nod, Elizabeth nodding in return, walking to catch up with her daughter once again, who was waiting for her.

Sadly, three months passed, and neither of them saw that photo, Barnum being shot before they could. Esther didn't think much of the photo, anyway.

Still, fate was starting to pull her strings.

After the many days and nights in Samarkand, one would have expected him to have tanned somewhat, but his skin was as pale as ever, one might even say he appeared a slightly more pale than before. Still, after the many days he spent in that mundane and hot country, Reaver hadn't changed one bit.

In both appearance and personality, it seemed, seeing as he strode through the dark and dirty streets of Bloodstone with the same swagger and arrogance that he always possessed. Despite how low the people viewed Bloodstone, he found it rather exhilarating to be back in the town that he had ran for so long. Back in between the run down buildings, seeing the scantly clad prostitutes, the smell of the ocean...

And, of course, his manor. As short as his stay was in Samarkand, he found himself happy to be back home. Of course, there was the hope that someone had actually bought his manor, so he could put a bullet in between their eyes.

It was a fitting 'Welcome Back' gesture, he felt.

Yet, when he opened the front doors to his manor, he found the place dark, also somewhat dusty, but nothing seemed out of place. The people had been smart in not living in his manor while he was gone.

"How disappointing," he muttered, opening the doors to the main room of the manor, seeing that the opening to his secret passage was still open as well.

Ah, well, he will have to switch targets, then.

Quickly turning on his heel, his eyes landing on the few crew members from the ship he had arrived on, who stood in the parlour, looking around with somewhat lost expressions on their faces.

"Now, I hope that none of you are wanting to test my patience," Reaver said, grin still in place as he waved his Dragonstomper .48 around, "do get to work. I wish for this place to be spotless by this evening, and I am rather inclined to punish those who slack..."

The men before him scattered at the mention, heading off for different parts of his manor, Reaver letting out a chuckle at the reaction. It felt good to be back in charge, not that he relinquished such a thing around Garth, but he found the Will user's annoyed, and sometimes hateful, glares at every comment and action he took were starting to gate on his nerves.

Well, we won't have to worry about him any longer, Reaver told himself with a somewhat eerie smile on his face as he thought about his last day in Samarkand.

"Reaver, sir?" a voice asked behind him, making the deviant turn around to look at him. "I was wondering what you wished for me to do about the...device in here. I am not too sure what it is..."

"Ah, yes," Reaver said, striding into the room and towards the...picture box that stood on three thin legs, too covered in the thin layer of dust. "This contraption...do see if you can find someone who knows how to work it. I believe it has been well past three months, I would like to see my picture."

"Well," the man said, quickly bending down near the device to pick something off the floor, "there are...these as well."

He extended what appeared to be a few small paintings towards him, Reaver taking them from him to look at. It appeared that they came from the device, or, more likely, the man that operated the box when he had been pulled from the room after being shot. Reaver flipped through some of the photos with mild interest, they were mostly of people smiling or posing. Aside from the quality, there wasn't anything too special about them.

As he flipped to the last picture, something about it gave him pause. He narrowed his eyes slightly, tossing the rest of the photos on the floor once again for one of his men to pick up as he walked into a more well lit room, the details of the photo revealing themselves to him.

The first person he noticed was the older woman, who seemed somewhat familiar to him as well. Though, he felt it was safe to assume that he had seen the woman in passing or she had warmed his bed one night. She was thin, a little to old to appeal to him, her smile soft and arms crossed.

Then, there was the child.

The young girl stood, reaching just below the older woman's shoulder, her body turned away from the camera, her eyes smug, hands on her thin hips, her hair slightly curly and was tied up in a bun on top of her head. Now, aside from the vague familiarity she shared with the woman to her left, making him assume that they were related somehow- her mother, perhaps? There was also something else familiar about the girl. The way she looked at the camera, her pose even, it was all familiar.

Having spent so much time admiring himself, and after having all those paintings and sculptures commissioned of himself, well, Reaver knew his own features very well.

Could it be? he thought, looking closer at the photo. No...Reaver made sure all his personal encounters were as safe as he could make them, seeing as he didn't want a prostitute or another woman showing up at his door, claiming to be carrying his child and demanding money, marriage, or something ridiculous like that.

It has happened before, though they usually ended in a lie and an early death for the woman who wasted his time. Not that he gave much of it, he usually just laughed and closed his door.

Yet, here it was, a child that had a rather strong resemblance to himself, staring back at him.

What was he possibly going to do about this? Hunt the child down? Have a father-daughter reunion?

Shoot her?

I simply do not have the time, Reaver thought, folding the photo, ready to toss it back in the pile with the others, yet...he wanted to dwell on this some more. Part of him wanted to study the photo more, pick out the smaller details, try and remember where he had seen the older woman.

He did not have time for such things...currently.

It was for his own curiosity.

Reaver did not care for children, possible blood relation or not.