Warnings: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.
Rated: M!
A/N: Ladies and gents, here's the continuation to the last fanfic Can be read without having read the other one, and I dare say this fanfic shall also be more deliciously narrated. There are more surprising events now, but I shan't give anything away. Slightly edited due to mistakes in sentences upon first inspection, but nothing in the plotline has changed. Enjoy…
Summary: The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? Fable III: Reaver/Prince.
When Shadows and Darkness Descend
Chapter One: The Lines Between Friend and Foe
"The Court of Albion is now in session," announced Walter, his voice resonating across the throne room. "All citizens of Albion shall abide by the decisions of the new King from this day forth."
Sat on the throne, Darius resisted the urge to snort. Despite how his citizens were standing behind barriers of ribbons and swarms of guards surrounded them, by the vengeful looks being thrown in Logan's direction, the King knew that anything exempting Reaver's death would cause discrepancy. It would likely even lead to riot or two.
The decision that he was about to make – here and now on the throne – would not only affect his future image as King, but also the attitude of his people towards him. After all, he had to wonder if they would truly support a King who could murder his own brother?
"Logan, former King of Albion, you stand accused today of crimes against the kingdom and its people. Those who have brought you to justice will now speak," said Walter.
"There isn't a man or woman alive in the kingdom who has not suffered for his glory, and we have plenty who've died for it," said Sabine, stepping forward to stand beside Darius. "I say we let him have some death of his own!"
"Look, I'm not one for lopping people's heads off," continued Ben Finn, his bruised hands mimicking the slicing of his neck, "but we saw Major Swift executed, like it was a bloody circus act! And Logan deserves nothing less as far as I'm concerned."
"But aren't we better than that? Isn't that why we fought?" Page stared directly at Ben. She seemed disappointed in him, and the soldier returned to his former position. "I've seen what Logan has done to this city. People starving to death, children forced to work…but killing him now won't solve anything."
Kalin stepped forward from her place beside Sabine. The battle had taken its toil; many of her ships had been burned and she seemed quieter now. Although her dogged, battered expression could also have been from seeing Logan again for the first time in years.
"It is not my place to decide the former King of Albion's fate," she voiced sincerely. "But his betrayal condemned many of my people to death. He promised us salvation and left us to face the darkness – alone," she finished icily.
"I had good reason to break that promise." Logan's eyes had settled on her. "And I had good reason for the crimes you claim I committed. The day I returned to Albion, I received a visit from a blind seer. Theresa, our mother's guide."
Darius leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together.
"Continue," he urged.
"She showed me the future of this kingdom: the darkness in Aurora is coming here, bringing death, destruction, the end of our way of life. The sacrifices that I had to make, I did them to protect Albion. If a few had to suffer, it was to build an Army. If a few had to die, it was to save a country."
Logan shook his head before returning his gaze onto Darius, "…I have spent years preparing for this attack. Let me stand by your side now and all my soldiers will be yours to command. Let us face the coming darkness together…brother."
"If this is true…" murmured Walter, "…if it really is coming here, we're all in grave danger."
"You have grown much since I last saw you, brother – no longer are you a child. But now you have the power of life and death," said Logan. "And so you must choose."
"Your brother's fate is in your hands, Your Majesty," concurred Walter, although not without sympathy in his tone. Even he knew the former King would not lie.
Darius groaned. He placed a hand to his forehead, blocking out the gazes of his citizens if for only a moment. He calculated the likelihood of Albion surviving the attack without Logan's aid; thought if he truly could send his brother to death, and knew that he easily could; and, as he looked back up, he imagined his citizens' reactions.
"It is a difficult decision, Your Majesty," he dimly heard Page say, "…but I ask you to think of Albion. Would we benefit from more death?"
Sabine snorted coldly to Darius' left. "Benefit? Aye, we'd finally gain our revenge against a tyrant, that would be beneficial to our morale."
"The Court shall respectfully rest," scorned Walter, in his old military voice. "This is His Majesty's decision."
"I have finished my verdict," announced Darius, making to stand, "…and I have decided that this is not the time for revenge." He stepped down towards Logan, whose surprise hitched the hole in Darius' heart. "Logan, if the darkness is truly coming here, we shall be in need of your assistance."
"Restrictions shall be placed on your livelihood, which will be addressed in private, and you shall never be permitted to assume the role as King of Albion again," added Darius formally. "In time, you may attain independence from the Crown, but know that while your actions may be forgiven, they cannot be forgotten."
A citizen booed behind the barriers. Darius ignored them; his gaze remained unwaveringly on Logan, who inclined his head in resignation.
"You shall have everything that is at my disposal…brother."
"The King has made his decision. Logan's life shall be spared," called Walter. "The Court is at an end."
People were grumbling as they exited the room. The sight of so many sneers cast in Logan's direction was daunting, but Darius had made his decision. He could only hope, as the last citizen trailed out of the throne room, that its consequences would not be so dire.
As the throne room's doors closed, an aggravating sigh was heard from behind. He turned to see Sabine's eyes glancing between Logan and himself.
"Just know that, while the dwellers and I will stand by your decision, I shan't be fighting any darkness beside 'im," motioned Sabine towards Logan.
Ben groaned as he walking down the steps to stand beside Darius.
"You do know, mate," Ben added, "…that choosing not to lop off Logan's head will come back to bite us in the –"
"Language, Ben!" barked Page. "The King has made his decision, and as much as I despise Logan –" she shot him a venomous look to boot "– it was the right choice not to kill him."
"Ah yes, I'm sure Darius would love to be remembered as a loving King who never so much as whacked a fly," muttered Ben stubbornly.
"I'll whack you in a minute if you keep up that arrogance," she threatened.
"Just admit it, Page," snickered Ben, "you only use violence to get close to me."
Darius groaned.
Logan huffed, and glanced down at his younger brother. "Well, I do not see how you could have ever taken this castle with all this quarrelling to listen to."
Ben had apparently forgotten his presence for a mere moment, but as his light eyes settled on Logan once more, it was obvious he was grinding his teeth.
"Listen, Logan, I hope you have someone watching your back –"
Time stopped, and as Darius observed past Ben, he spotted the familiar sight of a grey portal swirling into appearance in front of the throne.
He heard a disdainful sniff from beside him – only to see that Logan was still moving. He had a hand on his chin and was evidently breathing still.
"Theresa's powers don't affect you?" he questioned, frowning.
"It would appear not," replied Logan idly, stepping around Ben to face it. "But - this is her doing, then, is it? I've never seen such a thing happen –"
"It's a portal that transports you to a mystical Road," said Darius, making to move up the steps, "and no one I know has been able to see this portal, much less move once Theresa's spell stops time."
"As it should be," came the echoing of Theresa. She stepped through the portal, and Logan retreated back, scowling.
"Theresa," he hissed under his breath, "you haven't changed one bit, it would seem."
"Whereas you have a great deal, Logan, but I think it has been for the better," she replied idly, before seeking out Darius. "You have completed yet another step on the road. You were little more than a child when you left the castle, and now, you have become a leader, a true Hero, and a monarch. But your journey is not yet done…"
Darius' vision swirled, and he bent down to his knees as his mind clouded with images. He saw Logan's face – concerned and shouting at Theresa – before his vision blacked out and a map of Albion replaced it.
"Albion will soon be attacked, and the threat could not be greater," Theresa echoed.
Aurora was first clouded by darkness, and then it spread across the sea towards Albion, where another force – one more clouded in mists – was evidently growing in Wraithmarsh. The two forces clashed and spilled, leaving tides of destruction over the land. The map retreated from his mind before the land could be covered, and Darius stood up, hazy on his feet.
"Darkness and shadows are coming," said Theresa, "and only as Albion's ruler may you tip the tides against them. Only a benevolent ruler, a Hero, and not alone but with the forces of all three, can defeat such an attack. "
"Wait – my brother – a Hero?"
"You are a Hero, too, Logan," she remarked, and Darius' eyebrows shot up. "Did you never think as to why you should so great a strength as a child? Why you prevailed with a blade and not the modern firearm? Why, even now you've forfeited everything, it's your iron sword, the blade that was taken from you, which you miss above all else."
"You – how did you know all this!" he demanded.
Theresa remained silent. Loan would not hit her; he was not a cruel man, but Darius swore his brother looked close to leaving the throne room in a rage. If Darius hadn't been scowling, he would've certainly been laughing. Hearing Logan's despair from having had his father's sword taken from him, though, he was again filled with anger by Theresa's continued interference in their lives. Why had she never told him that his brother was a Hero of Strength!
"It was never about the darkness, or Logan," said Darius, striding forward. His brother caught his arm, and just for a moment their eyes met with an understanding between them over how they had both been manipulated. But Darius still turned his gaze back onto her, "Why did you wait so long to tell me? Why do you need me – specifically me – on the throne?"
"Simply, there is no other Hero as benevolent nor as capable in ruling," she versed, causing Darius to snort, as he was hardly benevolent. "But beware, young Heroes – this is only the beginning. You will need to build an Alliance, for the darkness and shadows shall arise to fight for power in a single year's time, against you and all else, and you must be ready."
Theresa stepped towards the portal, and without turning her head, she whispered, "…Unless you can form this alliance, all of the history that has yet to come will cease to be to this evil."
Theresa vanished into the portal, and it swirled closed behind her. The two brothers stepped down the stairs to return to their former places.
"– Because I still haven't forgiven you for Major Swift's execution," Ben finished, with a fist clenched at his side.
The King sighed as reality returned with the passing of time, and Logan stepped back to give Darius space. No doubt, his thoughts were still on Theresa's words.
"Actually, Ben," said Darius with a devious smile, one brought on from a burst of inspiration, "I think you're the best person suited to being in charge of the security for Logan."
"What – no! No!"
"Yes, you are." Darius narrowed his gaze, daring the young Captain to disobey his anointed King. "But we'd best discuss it in the war room. I don't want to be overheard by anyone."
"Aye, these walls are paper thin," agreed Walter, sweeping to stand by them. "And I've seen more than enough of the throne room for one morning."
"Fine, fine." Ben waved a careless hand, as if to seem nonchalant. "But my answer is still gonna be the same."
They vacated the throne room in favour of the war room, leaving the servants to spring past them and start cleaning. Fortunately, given that the war room had been constructed near the back of the castle, they wouldn't run into any servants or citizens.
/***\
The war room's occupants gradually diminished, with Page and Ben both motioning that they had best return to the base in Bowerstone before darkness settled in. Although Sabine would also return swiftly tomorrow by carriage, he desired to return to his Mountains and settle the dwellers. With Logan vacated from the throne, the dwellers would be celebrating.
As for Kalin, Darius requested for her to remain as an Ambassador for the present time. There was much to discuss over the battle's impact upon Aurora; and besides, her ships would need some repair at the docks before she and her people could safely return aboard them.
Finally, Logan retreated in want of a guest room for the night, his new room not having been yet prepared. Under much persuasion, Ben agreed to guard as well as choose others to watch over the former King, as that gained Captain Finn a room at the palace. Logan could thereby remain in the castle under surveillance, and even though this angered Sabine, the prospect that Logan would never have a moment alone again to himself appeased him.
"The line between friend and foe is growing dimmer," Walter murmured, as he downed yet another glass of red wine. "Dare I say, that was a risky move in keeping your brother's life, lad."
"He's a Hero, Walter," admitted Darius finally, with a quiet sigh, "…and we need his troops. Like I said earlier, both the darkness and shadows will come within a year. Theresa showed us…and we need to build an alliance, build bridges with people to face it."
Walter balked, snorting loudly.
"Aye, but I'll sure as hell be keeping a peg nose with me if you start allying us with Hobbes," he laughed, before shaking his head and sighing. "Anyway, tomorrow, you'll be meeting your new Royal Advisor, Hobson. He's…well, obsessed with wealth, but he did serve your brother well whilst under him and you'll need to raise a fortune to pay for the Army we'll need."
Darius scoffed. "Let's just hope he's loyal."
Walter rolled his eyes. They sat for another hour in the war room, tossing out ideas for troop organisation whilst laughing idly, but as the evening progressed and the realisation of what they were facing settled upon them, they excused themselves finally and each made for their own beds in the castle.
Darius trudged from the war room and entered his chambers up the stairs, turning to slam the doors shut. Prior to the morning and his moving in to the Castle, the servants had changed his sheets and quilts, as well having assisted in placing all his goods away in drawers and closets. It was all neatly sorted and placed, but still not one ounce of it felt homely.
For a start, the bedroom was all too close to the throne room for his tastes.
"Well, that was quite the little stir-up of the century, my King," Reaver remarked casually.
Startled, Darius turned around, his eyes locking onto the Industrious man in front of him. "Reaver - what are you doing here!"
"And may I humbly say, Your Majesty, how fitting you look. Why, I should even say that you are quite handsomely glowing in your new attire."
Reaver's eyes were lingering on his crown. Although a pretty thing of gold and diamonds, its weight seemed but another heavy burden, a reminder, that sat on Darius' mind of what he had gone through to become King.
Darius sent Reaver a weary scowl in return. "How long have you been here? And were you here already – watching my first act as King?"
"Ah, I have not been here long. I did not overhear the entire proceedings, as they would have been entirely too dull for my senses, but I did catch the ending," he alluded, chuckling lightly. "And what a sentimental ending it was, to save your beloved sibling from the masses. Truly, I've never been all that interested in family disputes, but you two, well –"
"Reaver, I'm tired…and I'm certainly not interested in what you're interested in right now," Darius belittled, catching the man's responding frown. "I sent for you only because of my son's dire health."
"You sent for me, my King?" said Reaver, his tone still quite amused. "Oh, well I must have missed the messenger...or simply shot him. I left Bloodstone not two days after your little departure and have been in Bowerstone for some time, attending to my darling factories."
"Yes, of course – your factories." Darius rolled his eyes; he shouldn't have expected the truth from Reaver; "But you're also back to evade the shadows, I take it?"
Reaver looked like he hadn't slept a wink since their last encounter aboard his ship, when Darius had returned from failing to fulfil his end of their bargain. It puzzled him why Reaver hadn't been violent with him, hadn't shot or thrown a wine glass for having failed to continue his petty deal with the Shadows.
"Oh, they have tried," Reaver replied, a small smile on his lips. "Like with so many, though, I botched up their plans to ensnare me. Those shadows…always so predictable, you know."
Darius sighed in annoyance. He couldn't deal with both Theresa and Reaver tonight. The two were sure to drive him mad; they might've hated one another, but they sure liked confusing him.
"Look, if you can't help my son, Reaver," he said, tired of playing games, "then the only thing that you shall be useful for in the near coming future is your beloved factories."
Reaver sniffed. His clutch upon his walking stick hardened and Darius cautiously moved his hand to his side, where the Black Dragon lay settled at his hip and beneath his green kingly robes.
"Then it seems we are at a cross-road, wouldn't you say, my King," Reaver snapped. He strode forwards; the stick clicked against the carpet with his every step. "What would you have that would interest me now? You have already rid me of that troublesome rogues in Bloodstone, and you cannot bride me with wealth. I have enough of my own."
"My son is afflicted by the shadows – by what happened when I ventured down into their Court to fulfil your sacrifice," he growled, knowing that his voice sounded desperate and seething with anger. "Assist me, Reaver, in ridding their influence from my son and I will give you whatever you want – anything!"
An eyebrow arched up in interest. "Why would the Shadows have an interest in your son?" Reaver asked.
"There are a number of reasons. He's the son of a Hero, a King; perhaps they wish to see me in pain for ending the sacrifices; perhaps they're simply malicious, I know not. All I know is that my son, Tristan, has not consumed anything in days and yet still lives. He breathes, but he is like in the sleeping death…and I – I need help."
Darius resisted the urge to sob and instead swept a hand across his forehead. He would not break down in front of Reaver.
"So be it. I shall aid you, my King," conceded Reaver, with a short bow and a smug smile; "…although, my condition is that you shall aid me against the shadows. It is by your own hands after all that I am suffering their wrath now, wouldn't you agree?"
"I…fine, Reaver," he answered briskly. "Just follow me. There is something that you should see first before you agree to this."
Darius walked over to the right side of the bedroom and lifted the curtain that blocked their sight from the adjourning room. Reaver followed with a raised brow, one that Darius, if but for a moment, was tempted to slap from his face.
As Reaver entered the small bedroom, bending beneath Darius' arm that held up the curtain and stepping too close in Darius' personal space, the King ignored him in favour of turning towards the crib. An unspoken stillness carried over the room. Only their breathing and the muffled chatter of servants outside disturbed the silence.
Reaver coughed into a gloved palm. "So – to whom is this little tyke?" he inquired. "Your darling offspring, I take it?"
"Yes, this is Tristan." Darius turned his head and cast Reaver a poisonous glare, almost daring the man to speak ill of his son, "…And if anyone dares to lay even a finger on him against my will, they will pay – understand, Reaver? I won't allow the shadows to have him, not anyone."
Reaver rolled his eyes. "Well, if you have it in your mind that those dammed shadows will simply bow to words, Darius, then you –"
"I won't submit to them, Reaver – not like you did with that deal," he seethed, moving away from his son's sleeping form to face Reaver without the crib between them. "Tristan may be afflicted by them, but I will do everything in my power to stop it."
"What is it that you exactly desire of me, my King?" asked Reaver, stepping forward with his narrowing blue eyes. "Surely, you will have all your little followers doing the manual work, the reading and whatnot, so have use have you for moi?"
"A reasonable question, since I do not trust you anyway," he replied. "For one, your skills as a Hero; your influence amongst the populace; that you likely now carry a vendetta against the shadows, am I correct?" Reaver smirked, neither conceding nor disagreeing. Darius continued on, "But the main reason I desire your help is your knowledge about the shadows. Other than myself, you're the only person I know of who's crossed them and lived. Frankly, you needn't tell me of your deal if it does bother you, but you know how they kill and how they think. If I want to rid their hold on my son, I'll need to know those things."
"You do realise that having crossed the shadows, you'll not endanger only your son, but also yourself and others close to you," remarked Reaver pointedly.
Darius snorted. "Of course I know that."
"And you promise to concede anything that I desire to me?"
"As long as it's in my power and reasonable, Reaver. For example, no wishing to be King, for all of Albion's wealth and land, or likewise. I'll grant you titles or positions, more free rein in your dealings abroad if you wish, anything so long as it is within reason."
Reaver's light blue eyes drifted across his body. Darius stepped back, his cheeks burning at the abrupt change from business to desire in their talks. But Reaver couldn't desire him that much, to make that sort of a deal?
"Would you, my King," said Reaver, with a lick of his upper lip, "would you even forfeit your precious Black Dragon pistol to me?"
Taken back by the desire for his gun, masterful though it was, Darius swiftly cast his mind from what he had perceived would be Reaver's intentions.
"Yes," he answered, although not without gritting his teeth as Reaver smirked; "…I would even forfeit the Black Dragon to you, provided that your assistance would be worth it."
Enclosing in his personal space again, and just as Darius seized a hold of his gun, thinking the man about to attack, Reaver stuck out his hand. Darius released his grip on his pistol.
Reaver smirked, having noticed his movements. "I believe it is custom to shake hands when concluding a deal, is it not?"
Darius seized Reaver's hand, feeling the strength and warmth beneath and placing it aside in his mind. He could still recall the events between Reaver and himself from weeks ago; how their bodies had pressed against one another in his ship's hold, separated only by clothing, and how Reaver's lips had left him dazed and wanting.
"We've a deal, Reaver," he answered, "…and make sure you don't betray me again."
"Oh," said Reaver, sounding falsely surprised, "Well then, do make sure that you hold up your end of your bargain this time as well. I do hate being disappointed, you know."
Reaver lifted and kissed the back of his hand so lightly, so effortlessly, that Darius felt only the wetness of his soft lips for a mere moment before his hand returned to his side.
"Reaver…" he whispered.
"Yes, my King?"
Not since his crowning had the word King seemed so seductive, so right. Darius felt a sense of rightness, even pride, when Reaver called him King; his smug tone mocked the very word, and yet underneath laid a tenderness. Darius stepped back toward the bed, repressing the urge to kiss the industrialist. There were still too many unanswered questions.
"I want an honest answer, Reaver." He was surprised by the firmness in his voice. "Why are you not angry with me? The shadows must be at your back, and yet here you stand before me – still alive. How, Reaver?"
Reaver sighed. He idly placed his cane against the wall and turned to face him.
"My return from Bloodstone was not due to a desire to check on my investments, but because the shadows' influence is spreading." His eyes closed; he seemed so afraid, so affected, that Darius resisted reaching out to him. "I can feel their hold on my heart tightening. I awoke not two nights ago to a mist circling my bed, and I was forced to kill more than thirty shadows till the dawn came. They vanished and I took ship for Bowerstone, but I know they yet haunt my ruinous Manor."
He released a callous chuckle. "I am quite enraged, Your Majesty, I assure you, but at myself more than you." Reaver shook his head, and pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose in frustration. "The Shadow Judges will not have me, I swear…"
"Reaver, you have sacrificed hundreds to continue living," Darius reminded, and yet with a frown. "Surely, you didn't think there wouldn't be consequences to your actions?"
"You will forgive me if I don't confess to you my deepest, darling feelings, Your Majesty," he mocked pleasantly, "or any past events that I'm quite sure have been misplaced from my mind due to my untimely busy lifestyle."
"Funny how selective your mind's become."
Reaver crossed the room towards him. Darius caught his gaze; Reaver's purple-bagged eyes remained on him, unrelenting.
"Alas, it appears that some details have slipped my mind," he murmured, a smirk adorning his face. "But, you know, I do seem to recall the journey aboard my ship. Indeed, your inspection of my hold was a most enticing time, was it not?"
Darius sighed and stepped back.
"Just go, Reaver. I'm in no mood to be enticed." He felt melancholy, and not in any mood for a distraction. "If you learn of how I might save my son, then provide that information. But no doubt, with my kingly role, I'll be seeing you and your industries again all too soon."
Reaver recovered his cane and stood formally upright. "And I shall look forward with all due desire to your visitation, King Darius," he finished.
He gracefully bowed and vacated from the room with a sweeping movement, passing Darius without casting a glance in his direction. Enraged, Darius broke several chairs and set his bed curtains on fire. A hopeless feeling of wretchedness overwhelmed him after he'd worn out his will, but as the servants watered down the flames, he couldn't bring himself to care.
He didn't return to his bed. In the end, with aching limbs and eyelids, Darius fell asleep in the armchair beside his son's crib.