The Second Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn

by Lourdes23

Sometimes good men commit terrible wrongs. Sometimes even Heroes need to be saved. The question is will she let him save her, and the world, when he's the reason the Hero needs a savior of her own? The story of Ben Finn's return to Albion as told by Ben.

13. In Which the True Measure of a Hero Is

The Second Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn:

Chapter 13: In Which the True Measure of a Hero Is Weighed

At last it had become an unavoidable certainty – the time Theresa had foretold was transpiring before my eyes; if Wren did not die now she would become the new vessel of the Crawler, the new bane of Albion and mankind. The last of the pitch fog disappeared into her nostrils and with that the visible anatomy of her eyes vanished into black recesses, giving her a skeletal appearance; her features transforming into a nightmare similar to that of the thing that had once been her mother. The promise I had made within Walter's crypt played out cruelly within my mind; I had vowed that I would destroy her if it came to this. I had given her my word that I would protect Albion even from her if it became necessary.

It took no longer than a single breath for me to allow Briar's Blaster to slip from my fingers.

I was not capable of what Theresa had demanded of me; of keeping the promise I had sworn before Wren and Walter that day within his tomb; and if that branded me a coward then so be it. I could live with being a coward and a traitor, and had been branded that much and worse at various intervals throughout my life; but I would sooner allow the Crawler's minions to rip the life from my chest before I would raise a hand to destroy Wren.

Knowing all too well that my attempts would serve no purpose, I never-the-less wrapped my arms beneath Wren's breast, hefted her up to my side with the little strength I still held to, and began to drag her towards the ruin's exit, all the while listening as her feet scraped and thrashed at the stone flooring we crossed over. Through turns and around corners lit at times by no more than my own flickering Will markings I backtracked through the maze of pathways with the one person who mean more to me than life slowing stilling within my arms; the shadow creatures that had stalked us throughout our trip into the temple no longer present at our backs, for there would be no need to guard against their own master.

"Come on, pal," I panted more from terror for the one I spoke to than exertion, "that's the way. Look, see that light? It's midday out there. Come on now. We'll get you out into the sun and everything'll be fine. You hear me? Everything'll be fine."

Not more than ten paces from the portal which lead into the desert – only four paces into the brilliant rays of sunlight which had successfully infiltrated the ruins and had me blinking rapidly at their radiance – Wren's thrashing and the corresponding terrible choking ceased, replaced by an disquieting stillness and a terrible hissing breath, comparable to the noises the corpse of the old queen had emitted and sounding as ominous as death itself.

With that I knew that time had run out; Wren would find no salvation in the brilliance of full daylight, and so it was that I did the only thing that held any semblance of logic to my absurd and desperate sense of reason.

Without consideration for the ramifications of my actions, I dropped the pair of us our knees and clutched the back of Wren's neck, tipping her newly horrific face up to mine before sealing my mouth over hers; a trick I'd learned from seafarers during my years aboard various ships. If a man was to fall into the sea and find himself at death's door, a fellow could force air into the drown man's lungs again and revive him, if one did not mind the close contact it required. And thus my frantic use of reason dictated that if applied in the reverse it would pull the breath from Wren's lungs, along with whatever noxious vapors might pollute that breath.

It never once occurred to me during my anxious plotting that I would be taking the darkness into myself; that this almost certainly meant my death, and only if I was lucky. Looking back, if it had, I cannot say for certain it would have impacted my decision.

I inhaled the contents of her lungs as deeply as I could, feeling the burning smoke scald my windpipe, abrading my insides like metal shavings on candle wax. The effect was instantaneous. Gouts of blackness clouded the edges of my vision and howls of rage echoed within my mind while I paused only long enough to exhale through my nose before pulling at the essence deeply once more. Clawing fingers raked at my already abraded back as Wren fought to either hold to me or escape my embrace, her voice rising in a muffled scream whenever I was not overruling the use of her airways, yet I was now a Hero as well; capable of enduring her enfeebled assault while I focused instead on the war I currently fought within.

The world grew darker around me, as the blinding clouds at the edges of my sight snaked across my eyes, stealing the light from my vision and from my heart. In the depths of my mind whispers darker than the ones we'd heard in the corridors and rougher in tone called faintly for things I could not, nor wanted to understand. I gagged on another lungful of the burning agony, returned to Wren's mouth to drink of my death again, and listened as the whispers reciting my life's greatest failures and promising my eternal suffering became clearer and clearer.

To spare her from the darkness I would take it into myself, for if I could never again do right by her, I would at least do this. And as I spiraled further and further into the darkness that now signified more than simply the illumination of our surroundings one fact went with me: because the voice was here in my head it could not be in hers. Wren's shrieking had subsided, or at least I could no longer hear it beyond the noise reverberating within my mind. I clung to that fact as, with the last of my physical awareness, I ground my teeth to hers beneath our lips and took one final conscious pull from her lungs.

A scream more terrifying than any I'd ever heard in life echoed against the insides of my skull, shattering cognizant thought and deafening me to everything beyond the wail. The face I once beheld drawn in charcoal in the pages of an ancient Auroran text now filled my thoughts and blocked out my sight, its mouth open impossibly wide as it wailed; and if I screamed in response I could not hear. Terror racked my soul as the reality of my situation began to sink in, and yet one thought and one alone kept me anchored – Wren was not seeing this, nor would she ever again. I clung to this fact like a drowning man to a piece of flotsam, waiting for the wailing in my mind to fade to nothingness and take my soul with it; waiting for an end to my existence of some sort, hoping only that Wren would be braver than I and do what must be done if the need arose.

My last lucid thought before I was lost to that fervently welcomed nothingness was one I hoped that somehow, somewhere, my old friend would hear.

I did it, Wally. Our girl's safe now.

XXXX

When next my eyes opened I found myself perplexed at how I had come to find myself in this situation; my mind, hazy and rattled though it might have been, was still somehow able to discern the fact that for whatever reason I should not be where I was.

Equally disquieting was that I seemed to be no more than a spectator, my body moving of its own accord in motions that seemed both natural and quite familiar to me, yet were not consciously being performed, until at last I understood: I was within my memories, experiencing them in the first hand and with such clarity as I never had before. With that understanding came the remembrance of my last purposeful action prior to finding myself here, and I wondered briefly if this was what became of one when they passed into the hereafter.

Had Wren completed the fete I'd been unwilling to carry out myself? I ardently hoped that was the case; for if it was, and this was how I was to spend my eternity, I could think of worse memories to be locked within.

From beneath my chin a head of chestnut hair stirred, a feminine voice moaned languorously, and I found my hand moving to push the strands back from the face beneath, alabaster fingers lifting to cover my own.

A face more dear to me than life itself tilted up to gaze at me in obvious wonder, and I could not tell if the constricting pressure of my heart was the reenactment of the memory, or my natural inbound reaction to seeing that face gaze at me again in such a way.

I watched as my rough fingers brushed her hair from her temples, threading through the silken mass without a care for much anything beyond the woman within whose arms I currently found myself entangled. My breath escaped in a contented sigh and my lips brushed against her brow in what had then been an impulsive and thoughtless show of affection, and what now seemed an all too brief display of the great care I held for her.

She smiled at me and I try though I might have, I could not deny the truth – it was beauty incarnate; that smile. Though I'd never been one to fault a woman her physical shortcomings, there was no denying that Wren's mouth was a touch too large and her brow a bit too masculine for her face. Still, when she smiled it was like witnessing the painting of a masterpiece come to life. It brought everything into proportion – as though she had been crafted to be the most radiant creature alive when she smiled.

The expression she wore was one of pure delight; I'd only ever seen such blissful abandon in her a handful of times and reveled in it here; for here I alone gave this joy to her. She wriggled away from me, one naked shoulder tangling her in the silk sheets to prevent further escape, ringing peals of laughter set loose when my fingers flitted over her exposed middle beneath the covers. Long chestnut strands caught against my unshaven chin and I could not resist a low chuckle of my own as they brushed feather soft trails against my neck.

She writhed beneath my touch, twisting back to press her bare skin against mine and shield her stomach from the tickling torment of my fingers. Wild laughter subsided to contented chuckles and she lifted her eyes to meet my gaze once more as I wrapped my arms about her once more. Her fingers lifted to comb through the hairs upon my chest, our legs twining together possessively as I recalled how I had readily and eagerly I had succumbed to her touch once more, dismissing the notion of departing her bed at this point, as had previously been the natural conclusion to such encounters throughout my life.

It was a memory cherished more than any other, and regretted more than any other. For in this moment I could have told her of the emotion that threatened to burst my heart with its strength; the sentiment that was so evident in her eyes just then there was no doubt that I'd have received her confession in turn. Here she had not been a queen or an indomitable Hero. Here in my arms she had been delicate, vulnerable; the most beloved treasure the world held for me.

Here is where I should have told her that I loved her, should have set our differences in station aside and chosen to stay with her… and didn't. For beneath the rapture that currently suffused every part of my being lay a panic, a terrible self-doubt that would creep into my mind as the hours stretched on; a voice that would remind me she was beyond my reach, and I had no right to stay and ask her to settle for the likes of me, desperately though I may have wished it. It had been a fear that would eventually drive me from her bed in the middle of the night; thoughtless to the impact such actions would have upon her until days later when I was well out to sea and beyond hope of retracting the hurt I had inflicted upon her.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you, love, I wished to tell the adoring face that could not respond, for I had only regarded her with silent wonder when creating this memory two years prior. And though it would not undo the hurt she had experienced at my thoughtless retreat or the set right the loss that had been suffered as a result of our time together…

There were worse things to fear than the love of this woman; I knew this now.

I watched my fingers rise up to tap her nose gently. "Get some sleep." I heard my voice say softly, as I had instructed that night and the dazzling smile upon her face dimmed only slightly while she stretched up to press soft lips to mine before obeying. Silver eyes lidded as she shifted against me so that she might press her ear to my chest contentedly, and in very little time her breathing had slowed and softened peacefully. It had been here that the creeping doubt had at last taken hold, preventing me from joining Wren in her slumber as it wormed its way deeper into my thoughts before at last driving me into heartless action; and yet now the world around me faded away as though I too were drifting off to sleep. Had I the ability to hold to my senses no doubt this would have perplexed me, yet much as with dozing off in life my mind clouded contentedly and I was only minimally aware of the sound of my name as a voice called out to me, far, far beyond the darkness of my oblivion.

XXXX

It occurred to me in a strange, disjointed way of thought that my back was uncomfortably hot where I lay, stinging in more places than I wanted to contemplate as the light from some yet unseen source penetrated my eyelids, blinding me to all but the thin silhouette which hovered over me when I at last made the attempt to open my eyes and discern my surroundings.

"Typical man," a familiar voice choked in a manner that had my insides constricting immediately, though I did not quite understand why, "needing a nap after every little chore." Fine tremors traveled up my arm from the hands which grasped my fingers as Wren's form at last emerged from the shadow that fell between my eyes and the sun, and I was finally able to see her clearly and understand what it was that disturbed me, for her eyes sparkled with something more than Will or mischief. There were tears in those crystalline eyes, perched upon the tips of her lashes as though waiting for their cue to drop.

"I remember this," I croaked through the remains of what could only have been an acidic burn to my throat, "only last time you were the lay about and I the dashing rescuer."

"You still are the dashing rescuer," Wren breathed. "How did you do that, Ben?"

"What, pass out? Fairly simple really, just do something incredibly stupid-"

"You pulled the Crawler out into the light." She whispered. "I could feel it sinking into me like a stain, and then it was gone, and you were in my arms, retching the thing onto the ground like it was the ale you overindulged in the night before. It burned away like fog does with the sunrise. How did you know…"

It was becoming easier to think, and the appropriate retort was upon my tongue with only the most marginal of delays. "Well, every proper Hero needs a heroic deed to be remembered for, right? I suppose this was mine." But Wren wasn't laughing and as much as she was quizzical, while I could not bear to speak the specifics and make them real again. The thought of ending her life stung as fiercely in that moment as the night Theresa had told me it would be the only way. Instead I shrugged her question off, supplying only a part of the answer she sought. "It was the easiest decision I've ever made."

"And probably the first one that actually worked." A crisp and all too familiar voice added behind me as Page moved into my line of sight; yet where before she had been all steel and ice now she seemed softer, a bit more like the woman whom I had mourned before late one night not long ago.

"Well it was bound to happen eventually." I drawled, coughing slightly at the discomfort in my throat as Page leaned down to press a flask to my lips so that I could wash some of the burn away. "Where did you come from?" I managed once she allowed me to speak again.

"Be reasonable," Page chaffed, "did you really believe we'd just let you go off without a decent backing? You're lucky you came out when you did – we were just about ready to come in after you."

"We?"

"Aye," another voice intoned with a touch more annoyance from beyond Page's back, "we." With that single word I knew that Morris had brought with him the whole of the Swift Brigade, and felt not a touch of surprise at the revelation. "You know damned well it wasn't supposed to be me leading this pack; it was supposed to be you. So, when it was clear you weren't coming to lead us, we decided to come follow you."

With that I attempted a chuckle that resembled a cough more than mirth. "Serves me right for being so charismatic and inspiring, I suppose."

"Oh, yes, that must be it." Wren warbled a laugh of her own as she bent low to pull my head up slightly and offer me another drink from Page's water flask.

Dark locks slipped loose of their bindings behind Wren's head, hanging close to my cheek; and like a cat with a piece of twine I found myself compelled to reach up and toy with them, wrapping the long strands around my fingers without a care for the spectacle I must have been creating before our comrades with my informality as I brushed a thumb over the silken texture in my grip. When none of my former disquiet returned at the intimacy of my gesture it failed to raise any wonder within me.

There were worse things to fear than the love of this woman, after all.

"So… I'm not exactly what you would call someone with an instinct for social cues; you know that, don't you?" I asked of the woman above me, who quirked a brow at me in confusion, and so I elaborated. "Well here's a prime example. I love you, Wren. I've loved you since the rebellion; since you fired off that first volley at the mortar and then grinned like an idiot after. Only I was stupid back then, and maybe even scared. No… no not maybe – definitely. It's just that… it was all so overwhelming. Like I was drowning; and I was going to ruin everything. I mean, what chance did a soldier have of winning a queen?"

Wren sniffed at her unshed tears and barked another quavering laugh. "I don't know. Probably fairly good – take my mother for example."

"Yeah, but that was Walter and – let's be honest – I'm no Walter."

"No, you're not." Tight fists pressed my hand to her breast possessively. "You're Captain Benjamin Finn; the bravest, most devilishly handsome man I've ever known."

"Brave and handsome, eh? Is that all?"

"Would it make you happier if I told you that I'm madly in love with you?"

"It might." I tried to swallow and found my throat incapable of the act. "Are you?"

Another weak laugh trembled forth from her chest and Wren bent closer to me, brushing her hair from my forehead and resting a surprisingly cool touch to my cheek.

"Shut up, Ben." She murmured, before pressing her lips to mine at long last.

And it was then that I experienced something akin to the first time I had donned my gauntlet and recognized the power of Will within me; so utterly familiar and natural, yet never known to me before that moment. In Wren's lips I felt something I'd never before known in my life, something I'd not allowed myself to experience during our last encounter, yet was now able to define with a word that I'd previously found impossible to associate any point of my life with.

Here, in Wren's lips, and in her arms-

I was home.

XXXX

It was four days after our fateful battle against the return of the darkness, as Wren and I made our way to the ship that would take ourselves, our friends, and our precious cargo of deceased loved ones from Aurora to Industrial, that a flash on non-light I'd grown to acknowledge with an almost blasé regard erased the color from Albion and arrested all movement, save for woman at my side. Wren gazed at me, seemingly as puzzled by my animation as I was with hers; past experience taught us that such encounters were reserved for only one Hero at a time, and yet here we two stood, vibrant and mobile. At last I shrugged.

"She must have run out of secrets," I replied with feigned indifference, to which she smirked. Before a swirling portal the old gypsy woman emerged and, like a child fearing the confiscation of a prized toy, I laced my fingers through Wren's, drawing her nearer to me. Yet the sight of the old seer drew forth not a fear of Wren's confiscation, but an irritation which I found impossible to withhold.

"It seems as though I rewrote your prophecy," I drawled contemptuously, earning a look of surprise from the woman at my side. Clearly she had not expected me to take the fore of this assembly, nor with such blatant disregard for the deference I had previously paid to the seer in Wren's presence.

"You are a Hero of Albion, Captain Finn," Theresa replied without rancor, "I would expect no less of you."

"Then what was the point of it all?"

"Why tell you that killing Her Majesty was the only way to destroy the creature?" The fingers in my grasp jerked at the revelation I had not been able to speak myself, yet I held fast, unwilling to relinquish that which I had unwittingly waited years for as Theresa managed to maintain her firm grip on the equanimity she had mastered so thoroughly. "Because at that time, it was. I knew only the options I could see. I knew that you had to face her, and I could see her being taken. Yet the one thing I could not see was the extent you were willing to go to in order to secure her life. Some things cannot be predicted, after all."

Somehow the seer's admission failed to catch me by surprise. There were deeds I had long since assumed Theresa to be incapable of – even if only unconsciously. "You've never been willing to sacrifice yourself for another?" This above all seemed the most unlikely quality the old gypsy could possess.

"I am one who understands the need for sacrifice better than most."

"Right. Just as long as it's not you being sacrificed." This seemed to be too much for Wren, for she hissed my name incredulously, though instead of extracting her fingers from mine she pulled me to her even closer; a movement that brought about that strange fluttering feeling which always seemed to come from Wren performing this or that endearing act.

"There are many forms of self-sacrifice beyond simple death, Captain," the old woman replied, as unperturbed as if my comment had been of the weather.

"Is that how we're alive?" Wren asked quickly, her voice taking on a tremulous note that could have been fear as she tightened her hold upon my hand, "Ben was willing to die for me?"

The thick fabric of the old woman's cloak shifted as her head shook. "Not precisely. His sole intent was to take hold of the Crawler not for power, or for death, but to spare you the fate he had accepted. The tighter the creature's hold on Captain Finn became, the more confident he was in your well-being. In the end the Crawler's very presence within a host already too foreign to master proved to be its undoing, and left the creature with only two choices; to stay and perish in the light of hope that it was creating within The Captain, or to escape the host; though by then the creature proved too weak to possess a new body, even one as near and compatible as you, and was left to the devises of daylight unrepressed."

"So that's it? That's your answer, eh? 'Love conquers all'?" The purpose of my words had been that of a sarcastic retort but warm fingers pressed to my cheek until my head turned and I was staring into pewter eyes which glittered brightly. It was then that I noticed the slight advantage of height she'd held over me two years ago had vanished; if anything I now stood marginally over her. For a man who'd never held great physical stature, the realization was surprisingly welcomed.

"That's why you did it – just to save me? And here I thought you knew how to destroy it all along." The faith she had clearly misplaced with me brought about a brief battle with humility and my aggressive posture towards the old woman dissipated.

"Come on, pal." I shrugged. "You know me – when have I ever put together a decent plan?" It was the bold truth, unfortunate though it may have been; for I'd never once been able to concoct a feasible recourse to the fate Theresa had bestowed upon Wren and I. My only success had been to somehow avoid personal annihilation while blundering my way into safeguarding the woman I loved more than life itself. Indeed I was beginning to doubt the very purpose of my time spent in Wren's company, inflicting upon her emotional trials both old and new, when my beloved herself spoke the words that seem to place everything back in the right.

"All that time we searched for the weapon, when it didn't even exist yet. The time we spent together… that's what it took. We had to build the weapon ourselves."

For of course she had the right of it; at least mostly. The weapon had existed once before, I knew. Perhaps it had all along; we had only to reawaken it. Whatever the case might have been, the outcome proved to be the same.

So it was with a quiet, bemused chuckle that I reached up towards my cheek to lay my gauntleted hand atop Wren's. "Love conquers all." I murmured, and this time it was my voice that was gentled with awe.

XXXX

I can say with confidence that I'd never been one who dreamed of setting precedence or altering the course of a nation, yet in recent years I'd played a part in committing both actions on multiple occasions. So it almost seemed mundane to marry Wren and thereby place two Heroes on Albion's thrones; for of course I backed down – as one tends to do when facing off against Wren – and agreed to marry her. And surprisingly, terrified though I may have been at the prospect initially, over time the rise in stature has grown on me.

His Lordship Benjamin Finn, Hero of Albion.

As rightful heir to the throne Wren rules the kingdom, naturally, and while I suspected that I was not cut out to lead, not the way Wren could certainly, when she bestowed upon me full control of Albion's army I knew better than to refuse her a second time. She'd insisted, stating that if she couldn't have Major Swift as her General she wanted his most trusted officer instead. Wren had taken me back into her heart and given me a place at her side. The extraordinary act required no less than my full and honest attempt at being the sort of man worthy enough to share in her life.

My first official act in my newfound capacity was to have Major Swift posthumously elevated to the rank of General as well, thereby keeping Wren's promise to my mentor and friend, albeit belatedly.

All in all I soon became accustomed to my once again altered lifestyle, so different from the lives of a soldier and adventurer I had previously lead, and felt a new sort of joy in my life with Wren suffuse me, of which I thought there could be no equal. That is until our daughter was born early last year. We named her Lark, fully aware of how fittingly the duality of her name's definition could be applied to each of her parents; the songbird for Wren, and the anecdote in keeping with my general overabundance of jocularity.

It is difficult to say whose eyes Lark has inherited, for Wren and I now share that same shade of noonday sky, my wife's having faded further while mine paled to match. Unfortunately Lark's downy blonde locks already stick up in every direction. Wren is of the belief that it will behave more when it grows out; yet Quinten had grown his hair down to his shoulders at one point and it had never been tamed. I have yet to bring this to Wren's attention. Perhaps Lark will someday take a liking to hats. Not that it would matter to me if her hair were never to lay flat, or if she never earns Will markings of her own. Because when those beautiful blue eyes widen at the sight of me and those little dimples grace her cheeks as she smiles and reaches for me, I cannot imagine anything more perfect in this world.

And so with wife, daughter and titles in hand, I have left behind the man I was prior to my return to Albion and have become someone else entirely. Still, Wren delights in telling me I am yet the same rabble-rouser she fell madly in love with on the battlements of Mourningwood, and to this day she and I will still steal away to those heights to spend an afternoon at the mortar, trying valiantly to break old Swifty's record.

On the whole, this is a life I would have never before imagined for myself; a life that bears no resemblance to the adventurer a young boy from a settlement called Gunk had once dreamed he would become.

It is, by far, the most fortunate accident I've ever had the pleasure of floundering into.

XXXX

The End.

Ta-daaaa!

Lawdie that took forever! I mean seriously! How long have I been writing this one again? Well… longer than I've been posting it, that's for sure. Way longer. I scrapped it for months before coming back to it and writing it as a first-person. For-ever! Still, I'm glad that I stuck it out. It was more challenging at times to write this story than the others, and stretched my skills (what with having to write from the viewpoint of an old-fashioned semi-gentleman) so I'm happy with it.

This is for all those fans who always wanted to see the Princess end up with Ben (myself included!) I hope you liked it!