Disclaimer: As always, I do not own anything that is the original property of Fable 3.

Author's Missive: Thank you very much to my reviewers. I was very pleased with the description of my story as a psychological thriller, and am even more pleased that everyone is enjoying it as much as I am. Nothing too major happens here, just tying up the ends of some things and moving other things ahead. New direction for the plot coming up. I'm getting some very insane ideas for this one, but it could be so much fun! *cackles* I mean, just the environmental conflict I can create with this next phase of the story. Anyhoo, here's the next chapter.

Chapter Fourteen

Pulling Rank

Several full days and nights had passed and barely a word was exchanged between Captain and Commander. The first hour had gone by with very few questions. Daniels told her, in crisp tones, that The Rose was hidden and watching Reaver's ship, and even now, Sedgewick would be cooking up a plan to break them out. Sparrow sincerely hoped he was wrong, and the rest of the hour went quietly, but it a was silence thicker than cold custard, and Sparrow could feel the weight of judgement pressing down on her. Daniels had not spared her a glance or a word, merely staring at the filthy floor as though he were bidden to memorize it. Sparrow did not look at him either, sitting alone on the floor of her cell, several locked doors away from his, and numbly pondering the complexity of her predicament.

Since her first ill-fated attempt at escape, she had been cast into despair, then riled into defiance for the sake of her Commander's foolish rescue attempt, and now cast down again, he with her, back into this stagnant captivity, all in a few scant days. And now she had Daniels as her constant witness to the repeated humiliation Reaver forced upon her. Multiple times a day he returned to his ship to use her, and it was beyond bearing that Daniels was there each time the Pirate took her from her cell, his eyes following her up the steps. And when the Pirate returned her, the knowing look in his eyes told her he was aware of exactly what had transpired. She didn't have the energy for denial and excuses. At first, she did not want to move, did not want Daniels to speak, did not want to hear the hurt in his tone or see the growing resentment in his eyes. His silence pressed down on her, but she did not break it. A small part felt as though she deserved this, that perhaps if she endured judgement and punishment for her disgraces, she could redeem herself.

But as time passed, the fourth day eventually slipping into the fifth, the hours only marked by brilliant gray sunlight slanting through the sides of the ship, that thought seemed ridiculous. She was a Hero, she had sacrificed everything in her youth for the "greater good", and even more of herself since then for the "people", and if she'd been disgraced by falling into Reaver's trap, then perhaps she was better off beholden to this ship, sailing the seas and having not a care for anything but her own interests.

The light became brighter, eventually slanting down to the floor and trailing over the grimy wood, until Sparrow was watching it play over her pale toes. She wiggled them in the warmth, and as her heart-beat slowed, the defiance subsided. She wasn't Reaver. She could never care only for herself. She took care of Bloodstone because it was her nature to lead, and they had eventually come to trust and rely on her. It was her home.

Sparrow leaned her head back against the iron cage, looking out through the small hole in the wood, watching the silvery sunlight play over the crystal clear ocean. She was breathless from the beauty of it, but her heart missed her home, her manor, her people, her daily patrol and the endless tasks. The frivolity of all this had been more fun than she'd had in years, but it didn't fill her soul. She felt so empty in his life. It consumed her, just as it had consumed Reaver, and eventually it would leave her as the same empty, self-absorbed shell.

The morning turned to high noon. She looked outside until the brightness hurt her eyes, and still she kept looking. Nothing disturbed her. The sound of the sea and ships reminded her of home, and her mind wandered aimlessly, avoiding Mister Daniels, avoiding Reaver, avoiding the bald fact that this was her fault and her fault alone. If she allowed herself to avoid it all entirely, she could pretend those waves sounded like the waves in Bloodstone harbor, and the ships were merchant ships, coming to trade in her town and bringing their exotic goods and wealth with them. She'd be patrolling the harbor while several of them unloaded, greeting the captain of each ship, offering them accommodations and admiring their wears. Maybe she'd buy something she fancied, and add it to her manor or gift it to the town.

A sharp rap made Sparrow's eyes snap open, and her head turned up to see one of Reaver's filthy crewmen bringing her a meal. He slipped it haphazardly through the bars. It wasn't much. A chunk of bread, a lump of cheese, and a flask of water, held in a square of cloth. They had eaten the same fare at each meal for days now, and Sparrow craved something else, but didn't stoop to ask. When he started to walk away, Sparrow saw with alarm that he had only brought her food.

"Wait a minute," she said. The pirate stopped and leered at her, his tangled, matted beard and weed-like eyebrows doing nothing to hide his scowl. "What about my Commander?" she said sharply.

The pirate shrugged. "My orders were only to bring you rations. 'Is nibs said nothing bout 'im."

Sparrow frowned. "This is a first. Surely when he said 'feed the prisoners' he meant both of us."

"'E said nothing of the sort," growled the pirate, "and if you don't like it take it up with the Cap'n."

And then he trundled up the stairs. Sparrow listened to his heavy footfalls disappear, then opened the cloth holding the bread and cheese. There was barely enough there for one, but determinedly she tore both chunks in two, and tied the cloth around Daniels' share, slipping it back through the bars.

"Daniels," she called when he did not look up or acknowledge her efforts. He looked at her, as indifferently as though he saw through her, but then he spoke.

"Yeh keep it," he said gruffly. Sparrow scowled.

"Are you still apart of my crew?" she said. "If so then you have your orders. You can't survive without food." And she tossed the bundle. It landed with a soft flump right outside his cell door.

Daniels hesitated, then reached out and took it.

They ate in silence. When Sparrow had consumed half the water she insisted he take that too, and then she leaned back against the bars and looked back into the bright outside, trying to ignore the growling in her stomach. She felt somehow hungrier than before she'd eaten, but she wouldn't let it get to her. She had endured hunger before. There wasn't always food to be found during the days of her adventures, and sometimes one had to make do. She would keep making do.

Much to her surprise, Reaver did not come to the brig to use Sparrow that day, or for the next several days, and sometimes, during weak, unguarded moments, she wondered where he was, and what he was doing. She never heard his voice carry down from the upper deck, not that she was listening, yet the portions of food she was given got smaller, as though he knew she was sharing them. She kept a resolute silence, flares of despair and defiance warring inside her, usually followed by long periods of despondence or renewed resolution, each phase rising and dying inside her as her thoughts chased each other around in the silence. How long did he intent to keep them here? How long would he abstain from using her? How long could she stand the stagnation and the silence? Her body was starting to scream for action, and yet, she would take none. She could force her way out of captivity again, she knew that, and Reaver knew that. Maybe he expected it of her. Maybe he just wanted to see how long she could hold out before she cracked. But it was not as though she could just run, and he knew it. Now she had Mister Daniels to be responsible for, no matter that he did not look at her or speak to her.

On the tenth day of their captivity she'd had enough. She was tired of the games, and she had had enough of feeling sorry for herself. Without preamble, as though she'd been planning it all along and merely waiting for the exact right moment, she stood from the floor and lifted her cell door from its hinges, not even bothering to be silent about it, and let herself out. She could feel Daniels watching her, and for the first time he spoke.

"Goin' te cut a deal with 'im?" he asked, his tone oddly mild.

Sparrow frowned at him as she replaced the door, then stood with her feet apart, staring at Daniels in consternation before she said, "I require some fresh air."

"If ye can break open the door, we can escape," Daniels pointed out abruptly, sounding almost angry. "And we've just been sittin' 'ere."

Sparrow shook her head. "We can't do something as predictable as that. He'll chase us down, and he'll kill you just to punish me, or even maim you, and then we could be in an even worse predicament than we are now."

"Then what are we goin' te do?" Daniels asked. "Just wait until 'e feel's like killin' us or lettin' us leave?"

Sparrow didn't know what to do right now, but admitting that to her already agitated Commander wasn't going to help the matter. "No, we're going to wait for the right opportunity," she said, not even knowing if that would ever come.

Daniels said nothing for a moment. Then he looked down at the floor again. Sparrow was sure he wasn't going to say anything else, but as her foot touched the first step, she heard him distinctly say, "Was 'e tellin' the truth?"

Sparrow hesitated, then turned around. He was looking at her again, almost as though daring her to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about.

"Yes," she said simply.

Even from here, she could see him stiffen. His eyes hardened, and the silence was pressing upon her once again, and Sparrow frowned at him. "Think what you like, Mister Daniels, I am a grown woman free to make my own choices... and mistakes."

"Then perhaps yeh should just give 'im what 'e wants," Daniels suddenly said, and Sparrow looked at him, confused by his tone. "'E's made 'is terms clear," he elaborated, not avoiding looking at her, but looking into her with his hard eyes. "Just give 'im what 'e want, if yeh're willin'."

Without a word, she fled up the stairs, sick with shame and anger, and mentally beating it down. Who was he to talk to her like that anyway? He wasn't there at the time, she told herself stubbornly. He has no idea what it was like.

Out on deck, the crew left behind to keep the ship secure stopped to watch her. It did not bother her. She couldn't bring herself to begin to worry about them, or Reaver, and so she walked down the gangplank as though she owned it and, when no one stopped her, she wandered down to the dock, where the first thing she found was a market and an inn. It was nothing like the inns back in Albion. This place almost appeared to be one with the surrounding market, and as she wandered, she found her feet taking what felt like a familiar, yet half-forgotten path, and before she knew what she was planning she found herself in front of a place that was obviously the bar. A harried barman stood behind it, his white turban a little askew, and customers crowded his counters, speaking in their strange tongue and handing over peculiar silver coins instead of the gold she was accustomed to. But it was still the same. Money and commerce were the same no matter where you were, and so when she pulled on a spare apron and began to clean glasses behind the bar, the dusky-skinned barman merely raised an eyebrow at her, taking in her strange appearance, then turned back to his customers, now speaking even faster.

Sparrow found herself assisting him in any way she could, and when he realized she knew how to work the tap as well as clean and assist, he moved her to the bar where the task of serving the customers was no more difficult than serving drinks in a pub back home. They pointed her to what they wanted, she fetched the drinks, and they paid her. She did this for hours, and it seemed for a while she could even forget her problems. This was just normal work, and when she took off her apron after several busy, wearing hours, the barman paid her in several silver coins, offering her a smile and, from what his tone implied, a thank you.

Sparrow, feeling lighter than she had in weeks, wandered in and around the market, using her money to buy decent food and clothes, and around dusk she wandered back toward the ship, barely noticing anyone around her. Therefore she received quite a shock when she heard a familiar voice from a man in a hooded robe who had just sidled up beside her in the crowd.

"Fancy seeing you here, stranger."

"Sedgewick!" she hissed in shock, and then immediately composed herself as though nothing had happened and continued to walk. He stayed close by her and they passed Reaver's ship, continuing deeper into the market until Sparrow found a secluded alleyway, where the man lowered his hood and she saw her Sheriff smiling down at her.

"Gresham Sedgewick, you sly old fox," Sparrow said, inordinately pleased to see him, "I should have guessed you'd be out here."

"I've been waiting for you to appear," he said proudly. "I figured Jack's plan mighta gone the way of the Shadow Temple, and so I've hid the ship farther away and have waited here for you."

Sparrow felt herself smiling even wider at his foresight, and said, "I am pleased to see you, Gresham, but you can't help us. The Pirate King will not let me go. He will chase us down, and I cannot put the crew in danger like that."

"Daniels is still alive then," Gresham said, his relief evident. "I had worried, when neither of you came back."

"He's alive," Sparrow said, "and we're both prisoners. Reaver hasn't stopped me from wandering about, but he'll come after me if I run again."

"But there must be something –" Gresham started, but Sparrow cut him off.

"Please, just take the men home," Sparrow said, forgetting about rank and orders in the moment. "I'll get us out of this. Maybe I'll just take Daniels' suggestion and give the Pirate what he wants."

Gresham scowled. "And what is that, exactly?"

"Forget it," Sparrow said, "I didn't mean it, it's nothing I will give."

Gresham looked as though he wanted to press it, but instead he inquired with a softer tone, "Are you sure you don't want us to keep close to you? You might need us when the time does come."

"I'm sure," Sparrow said firmly. "The men must miss their families, and it's not right putting the lot of you in senseless danger. I'm certain he won't kill us. I'm sure the opportunity will come when I can either bargain our release or Reaver will get bored of his little game and let us go."

Gresham did not look happy, but as he left and Sparrow walked back to the ship, she felt sure he would leave once and for all, and she tried not to let herself feel alone for it. She had to handle this alone, regardless of Daniels presence.

Back on the ship, she gave the food to Daniels, but his silence forced her back above deck, where she spent a silent hour watching the sun sink closer to the horizon.

It had been the most enjoyable day she had known in this strange land, and she'd even found herself smiling from time to time. And yet she hadn't glimpsed the Pirate in all those long hours. He was probably enjoying another party up at the palace, she thought scathingly, and wasn't likely sparing her a thought. The thought momentarily infuriated her, but she fought the feeling down. She hadn't a thought to spare for him either.

A few more days passed with Sparrow leaving the ship to wander the market around the harbor as she pleased, and returning each night to the small cell, though she was by no means forced to. She worked for the barman several more times, and had even found a few other odd jobs, until she had a considerable store of silver coins. She had acquired a new weapon the salesman had called a "scimitar", and even some more clothes that blended her easily with the populace. Only her pale coloring made her stand out, but most people she met were friendly, even though she could not understand their tongue. She had learned a few words, but the language was difficult and she was nowhere near conversant. After spending a few evenings in the pub as a customer, she had learned a new game involving moving brightly colored gems around twelve pits gouged into a wooden board. The old woman teaching her had called it "maah-kalah", and her group of friends had laughed and talked fast in their strange tongue when Sparrow won her first round.

"It sounds like the woman you just defeated was a reigning champion," said a drawling voice behind her, and Sparrow stiffened, then turned around, facing Reaver, eye-to-eye, as though she were staring down a dragon. Reaver was smiling at her in his typically arrogant way, and after he gave her a long look up and down, he added, "I should have known you would have preferred mingling with the little people. I offer you the best this culture has to offer, and you'd rather be in this dirty pub playing old maid's games."

Sparrow could help but smile at his exasperation, and gave him a little shrug. "I like these so-called 'little people'. They work hard and love their families, they help their friends and look out for each other."

Reaver's smile was devilish. "And you think any one of them wouldn't give all that up to be living up in the palace and never have to lift another finger for the rest of their lives?"

Sparrow shrugged again. "I highly doubt it matters."

"Oh, but it matters a great deal," Reaver said, taking a seat beside her as the old women started another game amongst themselves. "These values you praise and this life you idolize is completely reliant on the fact that they have no choice in their fate. A lot of people never move beyond the station they're born into, and while some take the supposed 'high road' and try to make the best of it, others take advantage of the situation, and those are often the ones who are able to move up in life, who reach for and take whatever they want."

"Is that how you think of what you did?" Sparrow asked loftily. "You took advantage of your 'situation'?"

"Of course I did," Reaver said, unabashedly. "It would be an insult to everyone involved to see it any other way."

"How do you figure that?" Sparrow sniped, now taking a swig of her drink in agitation.

Reaver grinned knowingly at her. "Any rational person takes every opportunity and works it to their best interests. It's human nature."

"So that's how you live with the memory of it?" Sparrow said, almost spitting the word at him like venom. "Rationalization?"

"I am not like you, Sparrow," Reaver replied pleasantly. "I do not carry my past around with me like a cross or a trophy. I left it where it died and I moved on to the future I had sacrificed everything for."

Sparrow took another drink and then let out a derisive laugh. "You're wrong about that, Reaver. You haven't moved on from anything. It comes in the night to haunt you, and you'll never be free of it."

For the first time, the smile slid from Reaver's face, and for a moment, his face seemed almost inhuman, and Sparrow flinched away without realizing what she'd done. When she looked back, however, Reaver was looking at her with hard eyes, but completely human. "You know not of what you speak."

Sparrow paused for a moment, weighing her next words, and then, "I heard you, Reaver. Don't try lying to me. I've heard what haunts your dreams from your own lips, and – if it can even be believed – I felt sorry for you. Just for a moment."

Sparrow looked down after she said this, now focusing so hard on the rim of her glass she couldn't see anything beyond it. Then she heard Reaver rise from his seat and walk away. Sparrow let out her breath in a rush, then, with only a moment of hesitation, drained her glass and went after him.

She found Reaver just outside, standing stock still on the dock a mere twenty feet away. She wondered what he could be thinking, but soon realized he was watching a ship sailing into the harbor. She went and stood beside him, watching him out of the corner of her eye, and felt her stomach fall a few notches at the emptiness in his expression, then steeled herself against these soft feelings. She had nothing to feel bad about, she told herself, and the Pirate King was undeserving of her pity.

"We are leaving Sadrhi," he said suddenly. Sparrow froze, her train of though crashing to an abrupt halt.

When she could speak, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"A land to the north of here. Beyond the village of Asaka Kagoyo is a jungle, and I have recently come to be in possession of a certain map that leads into the very heart of that jungle. Something about a lost city and dead culture, I didn't catch all the details," he said dismissively, "but there was an interesting tidbit about a treasure."

Sparrow almost rolled her eyes. "Treasure, eh?"

"A treasure fit for a King," Reaver said. Then, in his most persuasive tone, "We could split the treasure even, sixty-forty."

Sparrow raised her eyebrows at him. "You expect me to come with you treasure hunting?"

"Well, I've noticed you've been a bit restless these past several days –"

"How would you know that? You've been up at the palace," Sparrow pointed out.

"Oh, there is always word of mouth," Reaver said slyly. "But when I came in possession of this map, the first person I thought of was you. But if you're not interested..."

Sparrow snorted. "What is your game, Reaver? Are you planning to use me to get to the treasure and then take it all for yourself? Well, I suppose if that's the price of freedom I'm willing to make a bargain..."

"There is no game, dearest Sparrow, just the thrill of adventure and the promise of riches at the end of it. What more could you ask for?"

Sparrow frowned at him. "There's a lot more I could ask for, I should think."

"Well, while you're thinking about that, perhaps you should think about how long the voyage will take, and how you won't be able to keep your Commander supplied with food from outside the ship while we're on the open sea."

Sparrow stiffened, her frown deepening into a glare. "Fine, then," she said, her tone almost indifferent despite her obvious anger. "I'll go on this silly treasure hunt. Maybe if we're lucky, you'll get torn to pieces by the monster that's likely guarding it."

And without a word she turned to walk away.

"There's that acid wit I've been missing so much," Reaver called after her.