Fable I fanfic. Sequel to Farmboy. Ramenloverxtreme's request. When a Hero takes a break from the world, he comes across the face he expected least. Fable c Lionhead Studios.

Whisper

Sabre straightened up, almost wearily, stretching out his back. Not again. He continued silently up the path he had been following. The woman's voice was high-pitched and loud, and he winced, shaking his head at the noise. The path to Oakvale should remain free from all sorts of disturbances.

"I told you, I haven't got any more! I, I've got nothing of value! I've got nothing you could want!"

A bandit toll? In Oakvale? Oh no, he didn't think so.

Matt heard one of the men jeer, "Oh, I wouldn't say that, darlin'."

The other laughed. He was nearing them now, close enough to see the one that had spoken had secured a tight grip on the woman's wrist, and she was struggling against him, trying to pull away.

"Come on, dearie. Let's go somewhere... private."

"No, please, let go of me!"

The woman was fighting, and, as... valiant as her attempts were, she held nothing to two battle-scarred bandits with only one thing on their minds. The one that Sabre had automatically classed as the leader backhanded her around the face so hard the crack echoed around the forest, followed by the woman's sharp cry. She managed to yank back from his one-handed grip and stumbled backwards until she bumped into something solid.

The woman spun on her heel and then gaped as her eyes followed Sabre's quite substantial frame. He tilted his head slightly to one side and looked at her, thoughtfully. Tears streaked her face and she had a nasty red mark across her cheek. Sabre put a hand on her shoulder, turning her back so she was facing them again, and then stepped forwards to her side.

The bandit leader looked him up and down, "Whatchoo want, maggot."

The Hero raised an eyebrow, genuinely slightly surprised. Then he glanced down at himself. True, he wasn't looking particularly imposing today. Having spent the night at Barrow Fields and knowing the path to Oakvale would only take him a few hours, he had abstained from his usual glittering armour and had instead adopted a simple cotton shirt over a plain pair of trousers. His brown hair was ruffled and had long needed a cut. He hadn't been expecting any trouble.

But a Hero attracted trouble. He should have learnt that by now.

The bandit seemed frustrated by his lack of fear, lack of any emotion at all, "You just listen to me, maggot. Back off. That's our lass there. She's nothing to you. You just pass her over and we'll forget this whole thing ever happened, and you can be on your way."

Sabre raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Amusement sparked inside of him. They thought him stupid. Worse than that, they thought him a coward. As if he could be scared of these two pieces of scum before him...

"You really think you're safer off with him, darlin'?" he continued, appealing to the woman now, taking a slow step forwards, "Guy like that'll just kill you on the spot. At least with us you'll get back to your little house unharmed. Well..." he smirked, "Within reason."

After going through Twinblade's camp and seeing the 'entertainment' there, Matt was left with no confusion as to what they meant. He felt anger pulse inside him at the thought. Even after Theresa's revelation, even after finding out the Bandit King had, in fact, been innocent of the destruction of his home, he still felt anger burn inside of him at the sight of the bandit skullcap, the bandit bandana, flashbacks of that day, seeing men rush past him as he hid, the day everything burned.

Matt closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them. That was all he needed to control himself, to rid himself of the images. But the anger, he noticed, musingly, stayed. Maybe he could use that. He knew he would have no qualms killing them both on the spot.

"I said back off." The leader repeated, but this time he could hear a touch of uncertainty in his voice. He was unsure. This new mark was looking like something new.

The Hero looked at the bandits for a second, and then back to the woman. Tears poured freely down her face, and she was too scared to speak. No emotion crossed his face, but his mind ticked fast. Then, slowly, deliberately, he took one smooth step in front of her.

The bandit immediately bristled, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing, boy."

But the other's eyes followed his solid, six-foot-two frame, "He's lookin' pretty familiar, boss. I'm thinking Hero."

He's thinking? Wow, maybe he had more intelligence than he'd given him credit for...

"Hero?" the leader grunted, shaking his head, "He's a worm."

A smile twitched at Matt's lips. He may not look his usual Hero self. But he still had his skills. The Master Longbow slung over his shoulder glittered, and where the famous Cutlass Bluetane had before taken place on his back holster, now was the Harbinger, another Legendary weapon that he had wrenched from its resting place almost immediately after leaving the Arena.

The Hero didn't touch his weapons. He stood perfectly still, watching the men in front of him with a raised eyebrow. The woman behind him had grabbed his arm, squeezing, hard. He glanced down, and gently but firmly removed the grip. He'd need the manoeuvrability pretty soon, he was thinking.

The bandits were readying themselves, he could tell. Matt drew the Harbinger, slowly, and held it loosely down by his side. He tapped the hilt against his belt, the soft click clearly audible in the silence, daring them. The leader drew his blade, and it was all over with oh so quickly.

The Hero of Oakvale wandered into the local tavern about an hour later. He had a bandit's balaclava tied around his upper forearm. His wounds were healed but there were still lines of blood streaking his skin that he hadn't managed to get off, and he shot an apologetic glance at the bartender as he took in his battered appearance.

"You alright, Matt?" Tom asked, concernedly.

Matt nodded, absentmindedly. He paused, glancing uneasily around the quite busy pub, ignoring stares, and then moving further inside. He sat down heavily at the bar, placed down a few gold coins and nodded at the barrel behind him. The bartender smiled, well used to his silence by now, and turned, pouring out a beer and then placing it on the table in front of him, "Enjoy."

He nodded and gave a glimmer of a smile, but then his face fell back into his emotionless blank, and he lifted his drink to his lips, taking a long swig. He hunched forwards in his chair, elbows on the bar, head lowered. He kept his eyes on his drink, trying to keep his presence as shadowed as possible, but he knew his anonymity wouldn't last long.

Around ten minutes later, he was proved correct. A group of about five women came in through the door, laughing and chatting, grabbing a table to the right of him, far too close. Sabre winced, his mind providing a rather vicious curse, and hunched lower. But they had noticed him.

"Oh my word." One of the women whispered, excitedly, "That's Sabre! Look, that's Sabre!"

The table immediately looked up, gazes locked on him. Sabre tensed, reflexively, getting a sudden hit of déjà vu from the last pub that had done this to him. He hadn't been allowed to leave for five hours, plagued constantly by the bar's inhabitants.

"His name is Matt." The bartender said, sharply, "And you'll just leave him be, alright, missy?"

The girl blushed, furiously, and immediately lowered her gaze back to her pint. Matt shot Tom a grateful glance, and he smiled, gently, and then returned to his duties.

But, despite the girl's now submissive stance, Sabre knew it wouldn't be long before another picked it up, and then another. He turned back to his drink, hastily, meaning to finish it as soon as he could and just get out of there.

"Still as famous as ever, then, eh?"

Sabre only just avoided knocking over his beer. He spun round. Whisper stood at the foot of the stairs, looking at him with an expression crossed between hesitation and relief. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, exposing her delicate features, held in place with a violet band, matching her light purple outfit. She'd never been one for heavy armour, always thinking that agility could have one over strength any day. Her trousers were cropped short, exposing her strong legs.

His gaze moved over her without realising he was doing so, and he quickly moved his eyes back up to her face. She was standing perfectly still, awkwardly, her eyes moving over him too. There was an uncomfortable silence. Then his fellow Hero nodded towards his face, "That's new. Token from an admirer?"

He frowned, and then reached up to his cheek. Then he nodded, slowly, feeling the three long scars just below his right eye. Balverine. Travelling through Witchwood, after he left the Arena. He had been sloppy. He was so ravelled up in his own thoughts that he was lucky it hadn't been a bite.

He shrugged, uneasily. His eyes moved onto hers, and gave her the question he so wanted to be able to say out loud.

She got it. "I knew you'd show up here eventually. Got myself a bed here and... waited."

Matt looked at her. She was the only one who had ever understood why he spent so long in Oakvale. Everyone else thought that it would surely bring him the most horrific of memories, taunting his waking and sleeping, they couldn't see how he could stand it. But Whisper knew that this place was his home. And he wouldn't give that up for anything.

Whisper was still standing, awkwardly, and he pulled out the stool next to him, nodding at it.

She shook her head, hesitantly, "Could we... maybe..." she angled her head at the door, and then moved her eyes pointedly to the group of girls behind him.

Matt looked at her. He had been aware of the women whispering on ever since Whisper made herself known. He didn't know whether they were talking about the Arena or speculating about Guild business or even just feeling pointless jealousy at him entertaining another woman, but the fact that they were making Whisper uncomfortable sent anger and frustration shooting through him. He nodded, firmly, and immediately got to his feet, downing the rest of his drink.

However, if this was supposed to send the girls a message, they seemed to take the wrong one. The sight of him leaving with this woman seemed to be more than one of them could bear, and she got to her feet and quickly made her way over to him, "Sabre! I have to ask - is it true you saved those traders from Twinblade's camp?"

"And he's sent assassins out after him because of it." another added, knowingly.

"I thought that was something to do with the bandits at Knothole Glade?"

"No, they weren't Twinblade's men, they were other bandits!"

"I heard he got a personal invitation into Bowerstone North from Lady Grey! I heard she's seeking to make him her suitor!"

A young blonde scoffed, "That woman doesn't have a chance!" she softened her voice, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Does she."

Matt pushed it off, immediately, trying to do so both as gently and firmly as possible. The women had surrounded him now, along with some men, and not even Tom's sharp orders could keep them at bay.

Whisper had hesitated, looking at the people gathered around him, and then shook her head, "I... I should be going. See you, Matt." She moved away as if to leave, but he grabbed her arm, swiftly.

She met his gaze. His eyes pleaded with her.

Don't go.

"Hey, Hero." One of the women purred, sliding her hand onto his shoulder, moving directly into his eye line, blocking out his fellow Hero, "You busy, later?"

"That's Whisper, isn't it? Oh, I saw your fight in the Arena, just astonishing. And you spared her. How brave, how noble."

He brushed the arm off him, quickly, stopping her. Maybe he would talk about the Arena and what he did. But not to her.

He let go of Whisper's arm to ward off another hand, and he felt as she slid out of the crowd.

Matt shook his head impatiently at the nonsensical praises and mindless repetitions of his claims to fame, craning his neck to see where she had gone. All he saw was what appeared to be the whole population of Oakvale, but he saw what he thought was a flash of violet slip out the door.

Sabre made a move forwards, but he couldn't get further than a few steps. He'd never been one good with enclosed spaces, and the noise was suffocating him. He pushed back two with a sweep of his arm, managing another few steps, his mind spinning, his only intention to get back to Whisper, because that look in her eye, that stance, almost weak, almost humble, that was something that he both recognised and abhorred. That was something he had seen only once.

In the Arena.

Desperation and frustration burst within him, struggling with hands on shoulders, a small part of him wanting to grab the Harbinger from the holster on his back and slice off any hand that dared to hold him back. He looked around him once last time, and then decided. He shook his head, raised a hand, calling his Will, and snapped his fingers.

Women froze, people stayed stock still, beer stopped halfway through being poured, a dark brown frozen fountain, the whole inn suddenly silent. Sabre brought up a shield, and the crowd surrounding him were all forced back a step. He shook his head, ducked under a few arms, and then strode quickly out of the door.

Whisper nearly killed him when he appeared out of nowhere beside her. Then her hand relaxed on her weapon, and she became that strange, hesitant blank again, "Hey. Guess you managed to give them the slip, then."

Sabre nodded, slowly.

"Slow time?"

Another nod.

"Good choice. Always was one of your best."

No nod this time. Just a stare. There was a pause, and then he motioned to the left with his head, and, silently, they both fell into step, walking up the grassy path towards the eastern beach. Sabre kept his gaze on the ground, avoiding her eyes just as assiduously as she was avoiding his.

Whisper sighed, softly. He glanced up at her, frowning slightly, his eyes flittering over her face. What's wrong?

She shook her head, slowly, "Still not talking, then."

No reaction. He just looked at her. He didn't know how to reply to that.

She gave a small laugh, "Well. I guess that's kind of obvious. I'm so used to have a one-sided conversation with you that I sometimes forget." Another small frown asked the question, but she shook her head, "Never mind. I just... All these years we've known each other... The only things I know about you are bits and pieces I pick up. From the Guildmaster, from travellers, from careless gossips. But never from you."

I'm sorry. Avo, I'm so... so sorry.

They had reached the beach. It was a cold day, the sun hidden behind vague clouds, the wind carrying a prominent chill. Sabre walked up to the old abandoned shack on the shore, and stepped back to let Whisper enter first. They sat down, Sabre overturning a crate near the door and Whisper perching herself on the rackety table.

She paused for a moment, as if thinking about what she was going to say. "You... talked to me in the Arena. Why."

He looked at her. Fear? Adrenaline? Guilt? So many reasons, Whisper. Maybe it was seeing you on your knees, begging me to spare your life, so weak, so vulnerable, so... wrong.

He shook his head, hesitantly. She wanted to talk to him. She had waited at Oakvale, actually waited for him, there had to be a reason. Why couldn't she just... say what she wanted.

Why can't you just say what you want. His mind said, pointedly.

He grimaced at the thought, and Whisper noticed. She shook her head, "I... Sorry. I know you don't like speaking. I know how... how that happened. But... I don't get... why. I just think... I just think... you're better than that."

Sabre looked at her. Maze or the Guildmaster must have told her about his past. He knew she had sort of guessed pretty early on. He could still remember her mercilessly questioning him about his past that first week, stopping after several unanswered minutes to look at him astutely with a raised eyebrow and say 'Not a talker, are you?'

And now they were back to it again. How to figure out why someone doesn't speak. If this had been at all the situation that one could laugh at it would almost be funny.

It seemed the irony was not wasted on Whisper, either, for she gave a small, grim smile, "Trying to get a mute to tell me why he's a mute... guess I've lost it a bit over the years, eh?"

He echoed the hesitant smile.

"Well. So. I... I better tell you why I'm here."

He settled forwards, alert, eyes fixed on hers, letting her know he was listening.

"I'm leaving Albion."

Sabre's eyes widened. Of all the things she could have said, this was what he had expected least. He just sat there, stunned, staring at her.

You're what?

She fidgeted with her sleeve, something that his eyes couldn't fathom but his brain knew was not important as what she was saying. She shook her head, "I'm going to go back to Samarkand, back home. I figure... there's only enough room for one Hero as competitive as we are in Albion. And that's you." She shook her head again, bitterly, eyes on the floor, "You're the better Hero. I think I've always known that, but after the Arena... things were more... clear. It was official. The best Hero won."

Sabre stared at her, frankly horrified. She was joking, wasn't she? She was having him on, wasn't she? This was... this was wrong.

He felt emotion flood his face and didn't try to stop it. He'd never been expressive, even before... But now...

Tell her. Just tell her. Open your mouth. Speak. You did it in the Arena, you've spoken to her before, just do it. Come on. Do it now.

Frustration built inside him, moving rapidly into anger, not at her, at himself, for not being able to just tell her, just speak, do the one thing that could make her stop, the one thing that could help her. He defeated Twinblade! One of the most feared Heroes of all time and he just walked straight into his little nest and defeated him! Little more than a boy, barely out of Apprenticeship! He sought out and killed the legendary white balverine! Buried a silver dagger straight into its heart, destroyed it!

But he couldn't say one tiny little word.

Whisper took one look at him and shook her head, "Please. Please, Matt, don't... don't do this. I have to go, I have to leave. It's not just you, I have to leave everyone behind, you, the Guild... even Thunder. Especially Thunder."

That's what this is about?! His mind screamed, Your damned Hero brother?! Screw him! You don't need him! Stay here! So we fought and I won - so what?! That means nothing, Whisper, it was just one little fight! Stay. STAY!

Whisper had got to her feet. "So... I just wanted to say goodbye... and... thanks. Thank you. I mean it."

Avo. She was going to leave. She was going to go.

Stop her! His brain ordered, urgently, Tell her! Tell her now, before it's too late! NOW!

Sabre stood. She looked at him, eyes filled with a Hero's caution, and then shook her head, sadly, "Goodbye, Matt."

She turned, slipping out the door and down the short flight of steps.

"Stay."

Whisper turned to him, her eyes widening.

Sabre moved closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, "Stay." He repeated, firmly, putting as much emotion into the word as physically possible, "Please."

Say yes. Please. Please, say yes. Say you'll stay. Please.

She hesitated, looking at him, and then shook her head, "I don't understand."

"You're all I've ever known." He paused to watch the recognition flitter through her eyes, and squeezed her shoulder, gently, "Stay."

She just looked at him. Then she shook her head again, "I can't. I'm sorry. I can't."

Sabre's violet eyes locked onto her brown ones. His heart fluttered in his chest, too fast, but not like the way it pumped during a fight. No. This was something new.

He wasn't going to convince her. He knew that now. Her damned pride! His damned pride. Her staying would be impossible.

Struck by a sudden bout of inspiration, he grabbed the bag off his back, rifling around inside of it, quickly. Then he found what he was looking for, and pulled it out, showing it to her.

Whisper's eyes moved down. Then back to his. "My brooch." She said, sounding almost surprised.

He nodded. Then he stepped forwards, holding it out.

She took a sharp step back, "You earned that in Orchard Farm. It's yours."

"No." he mirrored her movement, firmly, and then held out the orange badge again. This time she didn't move, and, carefully, he attached it back to the cloth on her shoulder.

Whisper's eyes followed his movements. Then she looked back at him. "Thank you."

He nodded. He hesitated. Then he shook his head and jerked forwards, grabbing her arms. He kissed her, pushing his lips against hers. Quick, sharp, sudden. He let her go just as quickly and backed away. His heart pounded, and she just stood there, stunned.

"Come back."

She frowned, still shocked, "What?"

"One day. Come back."

The Hero hesitated. Then she nodded, slowly, a small soft smile moving onto her face, "Okay. One day. I'll come back. See you. Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Look after the Guild for me."

"Yes."

"And yourself."

"I will."

"Goodbye... Sabre."

Whisper turned, walking up the beach. She glanced at him over her shoulder and gave him a small smile. Then she walked away.

Sabre stood alone on the sand. The wind moved through his hair, carrying the smell of sea salt, still with that slight chill. He looked at the spot where she had been, thoughtfully. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip, slowly, still tasting her. Then he gave a small, lopsided smile, and turned away.