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: Okay, so the Crawler is the bringer of darkness, a supposed unstoppable being, right? So why is it that we know next to nothing about this darkness? In any case, I'm sorry about the wait, but I hope this satisfies readers; I certainly had fun writing the nightmare. Also, the reason Reaver acted the way he did, dwelling over marriage and whatnot in the previous chapter, shall be soon revealed. Do 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 Four: Oakfield

He reloaded the Black Dragon pistol and fired repeatedly again. Descending in all around him, the Shadows were hollering and crying out with laughter. When two fell, others replaced them, their black auras as equally shourded as the last.

Tiring and dressed in a dirty plain shirt, pants, and boots, every inch of him felt scrapped and worn. One of the Shadows had managed to bury their sword into his left arm; the slice the sword had left burned, as if melted oil was continuously being poured into the wound whenever he moved. It was deep, and Darius struggled to hold the torch in his hand.

The Crawler's tunnel-black eyes dawned on him from above. It was watching, always watching.

Then the creature moved so swiftly that Darius couldn't keep sight of it for no more than a single moment. His attention was forced to return to the beckoning Shadows, but that hardly stopped him from voicing his irritation - which he had done.

"Coward," he cried feverishly. He fired off another set of bullets, striking the shadowy creatures in their chests and heads. They dissipated into wisps, but more fiends strode forwards. "Come on - show yourself!"

"Your world will turn to black, Hero," came the Crawler's sickeningly deep voice. "I am darkness itself – darkness incarnate!"

"You're just an ugly, foul monster, and one who talks too much!" Darius shouted.

The Crawler roared. From the Shadows, he pounced onto a nearby stone ledge in the cave.

"I am the monster in the deep blackness of eternity, I am the creature that men see when they perish, and all fear me in the pits of their hearts," he raved with anger. "Even you, Hero, shall fear me…"

"I fear nothing!"

"All beings fear death's dark void," grated the Crawler, "My minions shall bring the world to their deaths, and you - you shall be its starring knight."

Darius fired his gun. The Crawler dissipated into the dusty air, only to reappear before his eyes in a hurling cloud of black mist, causing his torch to whither.

"Neither Light nor Shadow may stop my dark reign over the lands," he whispered, his black eyes hauntingly stared into Darius'. "Cower, King of Albion, for darkness has already touched your soul – none of whom you know shall survive my coming wrath."

"I won't see Albion fall to you, monster," he growled.

"Then perish – delve into thine own darkness, Hero!"

Shadows approached in thick hordes, so dense their numbers that Darius couldn't see between them. The Crawler hollered out a cruel laugh before he blew out Darius' torch and jumped with his flightless body onto the ledge above him.

Darius fired again and again, reloading speedily but not enough. The Black Dragon pistol was knocked from his hands, and as he attempted to grab the sword from his back, a Shadow pushed his back and he fell to his knees. They crowded around him, laughing, swiping at his body with their swords and claws, and Darius bit his bottom lip in anger and tasted blood. As he looked up, the face of a Shadow - eyes black and glowing - .

"Give up, human!" it hissed. "Surrender to your own darkness."

"Never," he whispered. "I'll never give up."

"Then you'll die!"

Darius felt the tip of a sword touch against the hairs on his neck. He tensed and looked back, only to watch in terror as a shining, red-hilted sword, Reaver's sword (the one they had so violently rescued from his mansion), came spirling down towards his neck.

A monstrous, thundering noise awoke him from his nightmare. Darius blinked once, and realising that he was back in his room, leapt from his bed in a quiet panic. Sweat clung to his body; his brown fringe lay pasted against his skin; and, after a moment of panting wildly, he registered the sound of crying in the next room.

Racing towards Tristan's room, Darius released of breath of relief from his lungs when seeing that his son was wide-awake and demanding attention. Darius carried his ten-month old boy into his bedroom and sat upon his bed, rocking his son idly in his arms.

Thunder from outside the windows wracked the room. Darius leapt to his feet, lying Tristan against his chest as he pulled back the curtains to peer outside. Rain was hurtling down in waves upon the castle's gardens and Darius sighed. No doubt, he wouldn't be able to walk outside come the daylight, not if he desired the bottoms of his trousers to become soaked through. Although, it was likely that he wouldn't have a single moment to himself anyway, since his schedule would notably take up most of his day.

Fortunately, Tristan settled in naught but a half hour later, falling asleep once more after downing a good bit of milk from a small bottle. Darius hoped that the Crawler hadn't reached his son's dreams as well; if apparently only his own soul was touched by darkness, then hopefully the darkness would longer affect his son.

Perhaps the storm had awoken Tristan? Or had Darius talked in his sleep? Whatever the cause, Darius laid his sleeping son back down into his crib and returned to his own bed. But sleep evaded him that night, as the storm wracked on, and he tossed and turned in his bed. As the hour of the Dread Wolf, four o'clock, passed on, when Darius could hear only the thumping of his own heart amid the silence around him, he knew he wouldn't sleep that night.

Thus, rather than linger further to listen to his own heartbeats, he dragged himself from his room, dressed in a robe and a pair of fine boots, to the library and began to read. If he and his companions were to stand any chance in finding the lost temple of Light in Oakfield, then Darius knew that they would need all the information they could possibly gather.

He searched for many hours, scouring through letters about the darkness and epigraphs over the deaths caused by the Crawler, but on searching under the name of Albert the Light, after recalling an old tale by Walter in his youth about the holy man, he found a book called the Temple of Light.

It's inner first page read as thus:

In a time when most of Albion's citizens had been happy to live secular lives following the decline of the old gods Avo and Skorm, now discredited by science and common sense, a man by the name of Albert wandered the land in spiritual despair, seeking answers that did not seem to exist anymore.

He finally reached the town of Oakfield, an impoverished region where nothing grew but disease, and decided he'd seen enough of this world. He entered a cave, prepared to walk in darkness until he fell dead. Instead he reached a chamber deep in the cave and was suddenly bathed in a brilliant shaft of Light. The Light spoke to him, it filled him with a blissful serenity and it taught him the path.

Albert the Luminous left the cave holding the Golden Oak. As soon as he planted it, the clouds parted and the sun shone down upon Oakfield.

The land was filled with life, and its people saved. The Temple was erected shortly after, and both local farmers and people from afar flocked to join Albert's new gentle faith.

The tale then followed with the analytical thoughts of men who had attempted to fathom the meaning behind the tale. One monk believed Albert had resided in the town of Oakfield until his untimely death, becoming joined with the light upon his passing, and thus the tale signified the ultimate powers of the light. A literate farmer, who had supposedly been read stories from birth, believed that Albert had been but a Hero with a hobby for farming.

By the dawn, and after drinking a conspicuous amount of scotch, Darius found himself liking the more reasonable notion – that Albert the Luminous, a madman and a drunken, had discovered and planted a seed that was immune to disease and had been celebrated for this wondrous seed. But then, nothing was ever simple in Albion these days, was it?

/***\

A tired, hung-over King sat upon the throne, his chin lying in an open palm and his other hand lazily draped over a thigh. He wanted desperately to return to his room and rest, but there were much needed announcements to make to his people.

Originating from Mourningwood and dressed in the usual downplayed style of mud and rags, Mr String represented the people's will against the rising number of factories in Bowerstone and its surrounding areas. According to his reports and statements, the smog in Bowerstone was becoming unbearable.

Their arguments had lasted for over an hour; and Darius cared for Bowerstone, he admittedly cared a lot, but his mind couldn't remain interested. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how Reaver or the little Mr String seemed interested still.

"If you walked along our lanes, you'd know the smog that we face each day," he spat.

But Reaver merely snickered. "Oh, how you cretins must frolick with all your free time to walk about your dreary lanes. I daresay that if I choose to walk everywhere, I'd be late for all my meetings," he retorted, before turning to His Majesty. "This smog is hardly of dire importance, Your Highness."

Forgoing the desire to bring two fingers to the bridge of his nose in irritation, Darius tensed his arms in the throne. He coughed, and held up a hand.

"I have made a decision," he called over them, bringing the whispering voices of the crowd to silence. "The factories shall be built, and that is the end of the matter!"

"Ah, thank you, Your Majesty," said Reaver, with a respectful bow and a smile. "It is good to know that sensibility still rests in the thoughts over our nation's industrial growth."

"Your Royal One, the pollution –"

Darius's lips bristled. Of all the men to represent the matter on pollution, he had to have a man who couldn't compromise or respect the King's final word.

"The new law enforced this morning has settled this matter, Mr String," he grated. "As long as Reaver and other industrial owners keep to his law, which regulates that no man shall work for more than ten hours a day, the pollution rate should be reduced. The matter of the Bowerstone's smog shall be looked into more carefully, however, understand know that we cannot cease factory growth, not when we face an upcoming attack in but a year's time."

Mr. String grunted in acknowledgement, though by his narrowed brow he was still evidently displeased.

"I understand, sire," he murmured gruffly.

"The crown has made its decision," declared Walter loudly to the audience. "Until the King's return, any petitions from this day forth shall be pitched to the ears of the King's Court, to either myself as Military Advisor, Page as Advisor to the people, or to Hobson as the Royal Financial Advisor. Thank you for your presence, and court is now dismissed for the day."

As people began to retreat from the throne room in packs, Reaver stepped from his position as Disputer to stride up the steps towards Darius.

"I shall have the new factories built today, Your Majesty," he addressed quite formally, with a low bow. Darius knew that all his bowing was more for the departing crowds than for his own respect; yet still, it was endearing to see Reaver's googles upon his hat almost slipping off. "Your troops shall have the finest weaponry in all of Albion. No thing is too well-made for his Royal Highness, particularly during such dire times."

"Thank you, Master Reaver," Darius acknowledged, with a slight nod and a rising warmth at the cheeks, since conversations with Reaver over weaponry always seemed to remind him of their prior talks (and actions) in Reaver's ship's hold. "It is very good of you to keep in mind Albion's troubles. But may I have a private word in your ear?"

Reaver nodded, and tapped his cane with a smile. "Whatever His Majesty wishes," he said.

Darius stepped up from his throne, and Reaver followed him over to the back-right corner of the throne room, where their voices hopefully wouldn't be overheard. Behind the pillar, the King watched as the last of the crowd left through the doors, leaving only himself, his Court and a few stationed guards.

However, despite the informality now, Reaver stood with all grace and pretense as before.

"May I say, you do look awfully tired this morning, Your Highness. A late night rendezvous perhaps?" asked Reaver, with a deceptive smile.

"No, and I'm fine, Reaver," answered Darius, shrugging off Reaver's raising brow. Whether Reaver was seeking to know if the King had other lovers or had merely a bad night's sleep, Darius didn't know. He never did know with Reaver. "Let's just get down to business, Reaver – I'm in no mood for small talk."

"Very well, Your Majesty, what is your will?"

"Do you recall our deal two nights last?"

"Of course. We came to a most invigorating settlement, did we not?"

Darius urged himself not to scowl or grin at the memory of just how their deal had ended. Reaver certainly had a way of making one lose focus on the situation.

"I'm glad you remember," he whispered, noting how Reaver's grin widened slightly, "because I shan't have to remind you then of your promise to accompany me and my companions to the Temple of Light in Oakfield. As you heard with my announcement, I plan for us to set out tomorrow eve. We shall be taking your ship again, if that is agreeable?"

Reaver nodded; his grin remained despite the demand, surprisingly.

"It is," he answered.

"Good; then we can meet at Bowerstone's docks, only not under the illusion of darkness and false names this time," said Darius. He chuckled at the memory of when they boarded his ship, frightening the crew with Reaver's speech, but then sighed. "Make sure to meet us at around three and ready to make sail, Reaver."

"And if I had not a ship at the ready to take His Majesty? If I said that I had important business in the city tomorrow," scorned Reaver, yet with curious eyes, "…what would you have done, then?"

"I would leave without you, Reaver," Darius remarked coolly, his eyes locking with Reaver's despite knowing that Hobson, Walter and Ben were watching intently. He was only thankful that Page wasn't at the castle this morning; since Ben had informed her of his escapades with Reaver, no doubt their talks would impress her wrongly. Still, Darius idly wondered if any of the others - Ben especially, since he had seen them kiss in Reaver's quarters - would think them flirting, too, instead of talking on serious matters. "Your presence would be sorely missed, Reaver, since your expertise on the shadows amongst other things is great, but as I said, this journey to Oakfield takes priority."

The comment seemed to irritate Reaver less so than Darius had intended. He stepped back and bowed, returning up only to lean on his cane; his grin turned to a smirk, and Darius had to force himself mentally to neither slap nor kiss his smug expression away.

"Then I am pleased His Majesty relies upon my expertise, whatever his excuse may be," replied Reaver, winking. "I await tomorrow with sincere anticipation. Tatty-bye, for now."

"Yes, for now," Darius muttered stoically; and he watched Reaver turn and depart from the throne room, his cane clinking with his every step.

It was not until the doors slammed shut that Darius, noticing only now, relaxed his clenched hands. He breathed in, silently huffed, and turned to his companions to inform them that they would be travelling by Reaver's ship once more. He only hoped Ben's mockery would be kept to a minimum, considering Darius was now King, but he doubted it.

/***\

As Darius joined Ben and Logan in stepping out of the carriage and onto the docks, avoiding a barrage of wine barrels and crates, his lips parted in surprise. Barry Hatch, bruised and scarred, stood alive and well in a formal jacket and blue breeches, and not a few feet from the boarding walkway to Reaver's ship. Conversing with Reaver on the docks, Darius caught Hatch shooting him a cheerful wink.

Darius shook his head. He urged Ben and Logan to carry their belongings over to the ship, although each of them only had a small bag of clothing on them. Darius did not expect them to be gone for a long time, a few days at most hopefully.

However, in his arms, Darius carried his son. Although the trip would likely be arduous, he refused to leave his son behind to the will of his servants. The last time he had left Tristan behind, he had fallen under the Shadows' grasp and he couldn't allow that to happen again.

Reaver waved Hatch away with their approach.

"Young Hatch has recovered splendidly from his little hiccup, wouldn't you say? And in such a short span of time, too, how very obliging of him," remarked Reaver.

"Two months – he recovered in just two months?" asked Darius disbelievingly. "His innards were slashed, ripped apart by that woman posing as a balverine, and he recovered in just two months."

Reaver laughed. "Well…I wouldn't say he is back to his full character," he murmured, before moving closer to whisper lightly against Darius' ear; "If he does start pawing at your clothes or perhaps even seems to grow too hairy at the limbs, do let me know, Your Majesty."

Darius paused, and then scowled as he realised the meaning behind his words.

"We're travelling with a balverine," he hissed.

"There are things in Oakfield that may require more than any rudimentary gun," snipped Reaver, and stepped back to bow impressively low. Darius spotted, from the corner of his eyes, crewmen staring at them from the ship; and, both irked and amused him to no end by Reaver's continued pretense, he watched as the man raised himself to his original height once more. "Welcome aboard, My King."

As Reaver turned for the walkway, Darius followed and boarded the Narcissus for the second time in his life; and in his opinion, it was two times too much.

The crewmen gathered in their bumbling pack to listen. Darius wondered if Reaver performed these little speeches every time he came aboard, or if this was simply for their own benefit.

"Now, my beloved cretins, you may have noticed an extra crewmember, however small the being may be, onboard," he said, his eyes flickering over to the bundle in Darius' arms. "Now, His Majesty's son shall be travelling with us for the time being, and any man or woman who attempts to so much as tap the lad on the shoulder will…oh yes, be shot. Make no mistake, my lovely illiterate, pirating folk, even breathing near the dear boy will get you a prized bullet in the skull. But then, I'm quite sure that you all understand this cautionary warning, so now, chip chop. Back to work."

Reaver gestured for Darius and Ben to follow him from the deck onto the helm. Leaning lazily beside the wheel, they spotted Terrie and Hatch chatting.

She hadn't changed in the past few weeks. Her striped shirt bared a few tears, her shorts evidently had been originally fashioned for a male, and she still carried a confident air about her form. Nonetheless, leaning beside her, Barry Hatch continued to speak with absolutely awful pickup lines.

"Come now, how about we take a turn in the sack? A rumble in the hatch?" he snickered, wiggling his eyes sardonically.

She huffed. "Why, you repugnant, little –"

"Plot a course for Oakfield, Navigator Terrie," ordered Reaver, moving to lean over the wooden barrier nearby the couple. They turned, and by their stunned, nervous faces, they obviously hadn't heard them clambering up the stairs. "I intend to have us arrive by tomorrow night."

Terry nodded, and a smile quirked at the corner of her lips.

"Right you are, Captain Reaver."

Reaver grinned. "Oh, you're an absolute minx when you address me like that." He turned to Darius, and called with a nonchalant tone, "…And Hatch, you infested pit of dung, bring our dear companions' things up onto the ship, particularly that crib-contraction for His Majesty's son. Any idleness won't be tolerated on this voyage, you know."

"Ah, yes, Master Reaver. Right you are."

Reaver sighed. "It is Captain from whence I stepped aboard, you demented fool. Captain Reaver," he seethed.

"Ah, yes. Sorry, Captain."

Darius scowled, and turned to lean over the barrier with his son. Despite the loudness of the docks and the workmen aboard ships, Tristan hadn't so much as stirred. Darius hoped that it was because of his Seal that he continued to remain so content for the rest of the journey.

However, his thoughts were immediately overturned as Reaver began to direct orders, even asking his companions to settle in to their new quarters below deck whilst he could discuss a matter with the King of Albion. Although Logan had severely objected to Darius and his nephew being left alone without a guard, he couldn't further object when Darius had argued that he was the King and could order his brother downstairs. It was petty, but it worked; with gritted teeth and a sack over his back, Logan had departed; and Ben, not before shooting Darius a cool wink, had followed Logan.

Darius couldn't help but think that Ben wouldn't be so leniant with Reaver's presence if he knew that Reaver had a hand, if only a small one, in Major Swift's execution. But still, Darius knew Reaver wouldn't attempt anything out in the open; and whatever the matter with his factories was, being that the issue hadn't been brought up in Court it likely wasn't anything of real importance. Thus, as Reaver settled to lean over the barrier's edge beside him, Darius snorted.

"Sending off my brother and my personal guard now just to talk to me," quipped Darius, with an idle grin. "How very low of you, Reaver."

Reaver sniffed in a rather haughtily manner.

"Hardly. I simply wanted to inquire after your well being now that your son wears the Seal and not yourself. Call it an experiment…or idle curiosity, if you will."

"I'm fine, tired and hung-over, but fine," he lied. Darius supposed that the definition of 'fine' didn't include having nightmares of the Crawler every night since; it was distressing to know that the darkness could catch him in his sleep, but he wouldn't provide Reaver with any weaknesses. Instead, he turned the tables back and asked, "Are you wearing yours?"

Reaver paused.

"Yes," he murmured softly, as he placed a hand over his collarbone to indicate his Seal's presence, "…I always do."

They watched as Hatch dropped the crib and released a mouthful of curses, before a crewman ventured down the plank to assist him in carrying it onto the ship. Darius chuckled lightly, though stopped when he noticed that Reaver was staring with a narrowed brow at the men.

"How delightful. I'll have to teach that inane tongue of his again at some point to remain silent when around guests, and it is not an amusing task," Reaver grumbled, and Darius neither knew whether he was serious or not. "There is too much belly and not enough wits in that urchin."

"Why keep him around, then?"

Reaver snickered. "Why do you keep that young Finn about? Why, for amusement of course. Hatch, despite his irritating ways, is never one for making things uninteresting at a party. Once, he even sent the Lady of Millstone dashing to the exit. Oh, she returned, they always do, but the dear sight –"

"Our kinds of amusement likely mean different things, Reaver."

"Perhaps," he conceded with shrug. He turned away from the sea to face Darius, "Tell me, after your produced your little offspring, who was the first male that caught your delightful blue eyes. You could not have engaged into such an affair whilst under your family's noses, particularly your brother Logan's, and I hardly think that you would dare to be so open whilst in the company of that boorish Sir Walter after leaving the castle."

Darius scowled and eyed Reaver's expression, looking for some form of mockery.

"Walter is the bravest men I know…and he isn't dull," he snarled half-heartedly, instantly knowing after he spoke, by Reaver's widening grin, that he had merely been joking. "Besides, the old coot deservers some respect. He taught me all he knew with a sword."

"But not with a gun or your Will," rebuked Reaver, "…and you did not answer my question, my King."

"All right, it was a man called Brian Wrung," said Darius. "Happened at Brightwall Inn, and it's just the usual cliché story. I was pissed drunk and irritated by my second wife's betrayal; he was handsome and flirty; and one thing led to another. I ended up in his bed at his house and left in the morning before he awoke. None of my companions ever found out, and I've never seen or heard from him since."

"And what of Captain Finn, that able young soldier you keep so close to your burly chest?" he asked. "Have you done the dirty with him?"

"No – he's a friend! A bloody annoying one, yes, but still a friend," insisted Darius, with a narrowing gaze. "Why, have you suddenly become jealous now, Reaver?"

"Never. Yet it is such a pity to think that the young Captain goes without," he murmured, winking and a corner of his lips quirking. "Well, I shan't keep you. Know that down below are your bed quarters, along with your son's once Hatch brings the crib, and that my offer still remains. If ever should you feel the need to loosen the breeches, as these sea-urchins say, do find me in my quarters, Your Majesty."

Reaver gracefully retracted his arms from the wooden railing to walk down the stairs and order his men about.

Darius stood and followed suit, trudging his way down the stairs with Tristan buried in his arms. As he observed Reaver grinning at a young crewman, he pondered on his own feelings – was it he who felt jealously? He had always disliked Reaver talking so intimately with Page, and when he had spoken of Hatch, Captain Finn, and

How could he feel jealously when he knew nothing about Reaver? Truly, all he knew was that the man had an atrocious sexual appetite, a passion for industry and guns, particularly pistols, and a large ego that could span across the whole of Albion. But then, he also

Darius crossed through the doorway, stepping down onto the second deck. He shook his head, willing himself to silence such thoughts. He knew that this quest should take priority in his mind, and so he couldn't let his feelings – whatever they were – for Reaver sway him away from it.

"Insufferable git," Darius muttered darkly.

/***\

As Darius walked below deck that evening, after helping some crewmen in polishing the cannons, he spotted Reaver holding Tristan by his son's crib; and in his son's chubby fingers, he held a toy gun. Scowling, Darius shoved past the surrounding and chuckling crewmen to march towards Reaver.

"It would seem that your young son delights in the sea breeze," commented Reaver, smiling idly. "And in this darling toy gun I purchased not a day ago."

The crew laughed at the Pirate King's antics. A child shouldn't be aboard any ship; there were a great number of things that they could get their hands on, but the crew seemed content with the wee one and his childish gun.

"You planned to give him that gun, Reaver," bristled Darius, looking between them. He couldn't help but think the picture right in some way; Tristan had similar eyes to Reaver, and Darius' brown hair to boot. "He's only ten months old – take it back. He's too young!"

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport," quipped Reaver. "The boy is merely experiencing the little thrill of a gunshot. Why ever shouldn't he follow in his dear daddy's footsteps, after all?"

Fuming, and swallowing down a retort, for he neither knew whether Reaver had been complimenting or mocking his shooting skills anyway, Darius then decided to take the gun from his son's hands. Only, Tristan released a whimper.

Darius snatched the gun firmly, bringing it to his side. He watched his son break out into tears and begin to wail, with his little palms reaching out in vain for the gun. So, with a malignant grunt, Darius returned the gun to his son's fingers.

"Fine," he grated, with venomous eyes drawing from Tristan onto Reaver, "…he can keep the gun, but only if he's supervised by me at all times with it."

"As you wish," grinned Reaver, with a smug wink.

Perhaps in his own sadistic manner, with all his knowledge on guns and coupled with his long life, Reaver could be good with children. Perhaps he had even been a father at some point? The idea was not unreasonable and yet, as the very thought crossed his mind, Darius pressed two fingers onto the bridge of his nose and moved across to sit on a barrel.

Reaver moved to lean against a pole nearby Darius. By his intrigued gaze, he seemed almost amused by Tristan, as the boy fiddled with the device.

In an hour's time, Tristan had shot several members of the crew, even Reaver once in the chest, before attempting to suck on the barrel's end. Darius then took Tristan from Reaver's hands and held him to his chest, making sure to have the plastic toy gun concealed safely away in his pocket. Not some minutes later, the few members of the crew had all stalked off; under the King's watchful gaze, each of them had been edgy around his son, and Darius oddly missed their companionship when he was Gunslinger

"Well, isn't he is a little darling," remarked Reaver, huffing lightly as Tristan laughed.

Darius scoffed. "Indeed, he is, when he's asleep that is. He's just being nice now because you gave him a gun."

Despite the quipped smile at the corner of his lips at Darius' mockery, the expression quickly vanished to be replaced by a serious one.

Reaver sighed. "Darius, I must apologise for the other night," he murmured, stepping forward to whisper, "I was not in my right mind when I spoke so of a marriage between us. Such a pitiful word, you know – marriage. And I am quite sure that you regret our night - that it was perhaps...a mistake, even?"

Darius swallowed anxiously. "I wouldn't call that night a mistake," he replied, eyes narrowing in alarm and heart thumping wildly. "I personally don't regret it one bit."

"Even so, once our trip has ended and our little deal done with, I feel I must step away from the Court. I will still of course bring my business proposals to the Crown and remain a most ardent Disputer, but personal visits…well, I doubt the Court would be disappointed to see me less," he remarked, with an pleasant, small smile. "I wish you – and your darling little Prince – a good night," he whispered, and swept from the room with his boots making light, but no less quick, steps to make for the upper deck.

Darius' heart ached. His chest hurt so to the point that he wanted to call Reaver back, have him explain why he thought their night together had been a mistake. Would Reaver tell him, though – would he tell the truth? How did he even feel about Reaver?

Shaking his head, Darius moved over to his son's crib. The day had been long; he had assisted the crew in checking the cannons, impressing them with his knowledge, despite that he had learned much from when he was aboard before. He supposed idly that a mask and some make-up truly did make a difference in a disguise.

Placing his son in his crib with his brown teddy, Darius moved to settle into his hammock. Above him, Ben was snoring loudly and Darius grew evermore envious of his friend as the night progressed on. Yet it wasn't for two hours more, when his melancholy thoughts finally settled, that Darius fell asleep, and even then his dreams turned to infested nightmares of darkness and shadows.

/***\

"But why do I have to look after Tristan?" moaned Ben, once the sun had risen and they were moving onto the shore. Logan and Reaver were already off-ship, and only Ben seemed to have a problem with the plans; although Darius could hardly blame him, considering Ben had been charged by Walter as his personal guard for the journey. "Can't one of the crewmen, or your brother?"

"I don't trust Logan," he answered, his eyes flickering over to his brother's form on the shore, "and I need Reaver with me when we go into that cavern. Also, I don't trust his crew, not even Terrie over Tristan's health. I'm sorry, Ben – but there'll be plenty of fighting likely later, yeah?"

Darius also didn't want his son being around a balverine. No matter that Barry Hatch was coming with them, Darius still felt that having a balverine so close by wouldn't end well.

Ben snorted. "There better be."

Kissing his son goodbye and departing down the walkway with a hardened heart, Darius called for his companions to start making their way into town. If they noticed his solitary manner as they paced about searching for signs for the Temple, the three chose not to comment on it.

Darius had hardly spoken with Reaver since the man had confessed that their night together was but a mere mistake, and Logan and Barry were hardly brilliant conversationalists. Darius idly wished that he had brought Walter along, for at least then they could talk on military tactics and drinking.

Still, Darius was silently thankful that he brought Rylin along. He fancied that he trusted his dog more than any of the companions he was currently walking with.

After questioning the villagers, they hiked up to the temple. The temple lay partially in ruins. Many of the monks had apparently died from the rising number of deadly beetles and hobs in the area; and being pacifists, Darius was surprised that the few monks left had managed to survive at all.

They were greeted by a monk called Bassley, a man dressed in white and who spoke of the light as a living force. Truly, Darius wasn't the only one sceptical about the whole light thing; Logan snorted behind him when Bassley began to recite some poem or another, and Reaver had pulled out his gun.

"Do you know where we might find the cave where Albert once wandered into?" Darius finally interrupted, after becoming bored by the monk and mindful of his companions causing an incident. "This is a King's visit of a sort –"

"Oh, yes, of course. The cave is down the path where you just came up. It's situated in the woods, not far, and you can't –"

With mindless cries, a great number of hobbes came upon them from all directions.

"Sister Hannah – help!" cried the monk. "Sister Hannah!"

A great roar of fury came from down the hilly path. A woman dressed in rags, built well with muscles, and lightly tanned, came racing up, a heavy hammer wielded in her hands; and as Darius reloaded his gun, she crushed a hob's skull with her hammer without even grimacing.

Barry Hatch let off his rifle, shooting men in the limbs and missing at times. He wasn't exceptional, but he wasn't dead either. Darius oddly wished that Ben could have been with them; he was a much better shootsman with a rifle.

Still, Logan and Reaver seemed to be competing. Reaver's shots never missed their mark; and despite being out of practice for so long, Logan's movements were so sure yet powerful. They were calling out numbers to each other, and Darius silently grinned at he noted that his brother was but one kill behind, irritating Reaver immensely.

As the last living hobbes retreated over the edges of the cliff and down the paths, Darius caught one the back, out-firing Reaver by mere seconds with the Black Dragon. He sheathed the gun and turned to the monks and the woman standing by the temple's doorway.

The strong-headed woman swung her hammer onto her back, ignoring them in favour of turning to the monk.

"Is everyone all right, brother Bassley?" she questioned, as she kicked a hob's corpse over the edge of the hill. "No casualties this time?"

"No one was hurt, Sister, and thank you," he reassured, panting between his words. "Now, I feel I must rejoin the other monks in the Temple. I fear I am about to be sick…"

"Yes, you go rest," she murmured stoically. "I'll deal with these lot."

The monks left them for the temple, and Reaver chortled.

"Ah, the big-bodied woman returns from those warring monks in the north," he mocked, tapping his cane against the stone floor. "One would have thought that you'd never return to these prudish twits."

"Great, it's you again, Reaver," she remarked, her brow narrowing as she observed him. "And you've a cane now? What – getting old, are we finally? I thought you left for Samarkand for good?"

"Canes are the latest in fashion these days, but then, I hardly think you can talk of fashion in those rags, my dear," he replied icily. "My return to Albion was always at the front of my mind, although I do have such fond memories of the place. Garth was essentially a troublesome one, always following me about and insisting on my remaining friendly with the locals. You know, it was almost a pity that I had to kill him in the end."

"You killed Garth?" she snarled. "You absolute bastard, Reaver – you! –"

"Now, now, would I lie to you?"

The woman moved with echoing steps to punch Reaver in the face. Reaver wheeled back on unstable feet, and Rylin barked wildly as Darius placed himself quickly to shove between them.

"Let me pass, kid," she growled. "He killed Garth!"

"And I need him for the time being. You will step down!"

She stepped back, her hammer swinging to wield in her arms. "Who are you, kid? Why stick around with bad company – are you one of his lackeys or something?"

Darius scowled. "I am the King of Albion and you will treat me – and my companions – with respect," he snarled. "

"The King, aye? So you're old Sparrow's son?" she asked, her voice etched with scepticism. "All right, fine, so you're all grown up and King now. But why did you come back, Reaver?"

"You could say that I was called back."

Her lips bristled. "Yeah, by the shadows. But why stay?"

"Must one answer for all one's endeavours?" he rebuked, his eyes heatedly staring past Darius over to her. "I am a business man, my dear, and business men go wherever lovely entertainment can be made."

Her eyes flickered suspiciously between Darius and Reaver.

"Yeah," she said, "of course it's to do with business. Royal business, as always."

Darius scowled. He didn't trust her. She was clearly a Hero of Strength, having jumped without gaining a scratch and swung her hammer with such immense power, but not all Heroes were benevolent.

Not only that, but she seemed to know his own mother and Reaver and a cold sensation grew in Darius' chest. Although this woman had known Sparrow, the old Queen and his mother, Reaver's associations weren't to be trusted. Plus, she'd an ample bosom and strong muscles, and Reaver's tastes were unique. Darius didn't know what he found attractive, and he loathed that he felt even slightest bit jealous at the thought of her being one of Reaver's past flings.

"Who are you?" seethed Darius. "And why did you help us?"

"Help you? My king, I'm the protector of this place now that the darkness is coming. The name's Hannah," she greeted, with a quipped smile, "but you can call me Hammer."