A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! My email's been acting a bit wonky, so I'm receiving review alerts quite late, and I hope I replied to everyone! I was a bit surprised that some people thought Gabriel and Gamori had a bit of a "thing" in the past. I won't say yes or no – believe what you want, for now.

I was a little nervous about posting this chapter, and for a while the website wouldn't let me upload my documents! But now it's finally posted. Let's see how you receive it…

Fall of a Legend

Cassiel sat outside of the bedroom, head buried in his hands. The moon was about to rise, and stars were beginning to poke their heads out over Abhorsen's House. Cassiel's father had gone to receive an urgent message, and the young man was sitting alone in the corridor. Well, perhaps not completely alone…

"Nervous, milord?"

The young man raised his head to glare at the albino dwarf. "Do you have any idea how stupid that question is?" he said quietly.

Mogget rolled his green eyes. "I just couldn't help but notice how like your father you are. Both incessant worriers. You should have seen him the night you were born!"

"Yes, thank you, Mogget," muttered Cassiel. He dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. "This is not helping."

"Abhorsen told me to keep you occupied while you waited," the dwarf pointed out craftily. "I am merely obeying his orders."

The young man gritted his teeth. "Then obey mine and leave me alone!"

"I am Lord Abhorsen's servant. His orders take precedence over yours."

Cassiel resisted the urge to place his hands around Mogget's neck, and resigned himself to his fate.

"Yes, you are very like your father," the dwarf continued. "Both foolish, of course. And disgustingly heroic. It makes the stomach churn."

The sound of a door opening interrupted Mogget's soliloquy, and Cassiel looked up as the midwife's apprentice emerged. She smiled and bobbed a curtsey. "You may go in, milord."

With a final glare at Mogget, the young man got to his feet. He hesitantly poked his head into the room, and the midwife smiled up at him. "Your wife is asleep, Master Cassiel," she told him, and held up a small bundle. "Say hello to your son."

Cassiel was surprised at what he saw: the baby was bright red. The young man's skin was white, and his father's had been white – was there something wrong with this kid? He looked like he was suffering from a severe case of sunburn. "Is he – er – quite all right?" he asked nervously.

The midwife beamed. "Oh, yes! He is perfectly healthy." Cassiel relaxed and took a closer look at his son. The little red face was scrunched up, as if the baby was overcome with frustration and rage at the world he had entered. He clenched his tiny red fists and gave a toothless snarl. Alarmed, Cassiel took an involuntary step back.

Abhorsen materialized at the young man's side and clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Cassiel," he grinned, and gazed at the baby rapturously. "He looks just like you did. Actually, you looked a sight uglier when you were born."

Cassiel smiled weakly at his father. He knew that the old man would spoil his son rotten. He would also have to make sure that his father didn't steal the boy away and take him into Death before he was old enough. If he was sure of anything, it was that Lord Abhorsen would make an unusual grandfather. The sort who would say to his grandson, "I have an idea – let's go play with Daddy's bells!" or "I know your father said you weren't allowed to go past the First Gate, but…" or even, "Want to see grandpa slay a Mordicant?"

"I just received an urgent message," Abhorsen continued, breaking through these terrifying thoughts. "There is an uprising of Dead near one of the villages along the river. I could go alone, if you want to spend more time here."

"No, I'll come with you," Cassiel answered promptly. "It will go quicker with the both of us." He buckled on his sword and grabbed his bells from a hook on the wall. "Tell my wife I'll be back soon," he said to the midwife over his shoulder, "And that we shall perform the baptism upon our return."

Father and son easily jumped the stepping-stones to the eastern shore. In a nearby cavern they retrieved their horses, guarded by Charter magic and tended to by sendings. They rode swiftly upriver, eyes tearing up from the strong wind.

Cassiel looked at the sight his father made, mounted on a tall black horse and resplendent in his blue and silver surcoat. It had taken Cassiel a long time to realize that his father was a legend; to him, the older man had always been just that – his father. And now he was a grandfather, a fact surprisingly difficult to believe. It was times like these when he could see why Abhorsen was one of the most famous and respected personages in the Kingdom.

They rode on in silence until Abhorsen raised his hand. Cassiel felt it at the same moment: Dead hands. They reigned in their horses and dismounted; the animals would only run mad if they took them any closer. Cassiel jogged after his father through the trees, striving to keep up with the older man's swift pace. "I know you want to get back to your son," Abhorsen was saying, speaking loudly to be heard over the wind, "so we'll make this quick. No fancy stuff, all right?"

Soon they heard the shuffling of feet in the loam. Abhorsen turned and barked a spell. White light flared from his fingers, knocking three Dead hands off their feet. Cassiel was already ringing Saraneth, the disoriented Dead submitting easily to his will. His father rang Kibeth, walking them effortlessly into Death. All of this had taken a matter of seconds.

Working together, they had soon dispatched over fifty Dead hands, and two Mordicants. "Now where is the necromancer?" Abhorsen wondered aloud, shaking blood from his sword.

"Perhaps he is still in Death calling up reinforcements," Cassiel suggested.

Abhorsen pointed his sword and cast a diamond of protection about the two of them. He looked at his son and nodded, and without the slightest hesitation they both plunged into Death.

Cassiel looked around at the familiar grey waters, momentarily disoriented by the sudden silence. The wind had been roaring in his ears a split second ago. He and his father stood still, but they could hear nothing. Together they cast a series of complicated spells, forging lifelines in case they lost their footing. The spells were difficult to maintain, as they continuously drained power from the casters, but Cassiel thought them well worth the effort. Death was still a realm relatively unexplored by the living, especially the furthest precincts, and these lifelines had saved father and son countless times.

"Split up," Abhorsen instructed. "Move carefully, and try to take the necromancer unawares. Whoever finds him first whistles for the other. Understood?" The young man nodded, feeling as though he were twelve again. Abhorsen gave him a swift smile, before they turned and set off in opposite directions.

Cassiel wandered fruitlessly across the vast stretch of water, every sense on the alert. He lost his patience long before his feet finally came to a stop. He looked out over the flat grey horizon, and was just about to turn back when he heard – something. The young man froze and listened with all of his might. The sound grew into a whistle, loud and pure. His father's signal!

He broke out into a splashing run, his feet automatically taking him along a safe path through the waters. The faint sounds of battle reached his ears, and he ran even faster with little heed for safety.

There – he could see his father now, fighting desperately with the necromancer at the edge of the First Gate. They were both exceptional swordsmen, and Cassiel drew his own blade as he ran. Charter spells were no good, as he could not risk hitting his father.

Abhorsen parried a vicious blow and extended his arm, executing his famous stop-thrust. The necromancer barely managed to step out of the way, but suddenly the older man froze.

Cassiel realized too late that the necromancer had quickly switched his sword from his right hand to his left – and had run Abhorsen through.

The young man watched his father fall back into the water, and an anguished scream broke from his lips. The necromancer turned around with a cruel smile adorning his pale features.

All thoughts of magical spells faded from Cassiel's mind. He ran up to the other man and raised his sword, his attack fuelled by rage and sorrow. The necromancer sidestepped the blow and countered with a slash, which Cassiel managed to block. The fight was quick and furious, cold water splashing as they battled at the edge of the waterfall. Although the necromancer greatly outmatched Cassiel in strength, the young man was quick and agile, and grief made him vicious.

Cassiel swung down, and locked hilts with the necromancer. He noticed a strange spiralling design on the other man's sword hilt, and recognized it as the symbol of the Freemen.

The necromancer grinned down at him widely. "Nice try, boy," he smirked, "But your father isn't around to aid you." He shoved Cassiel, who stumbled back and fell.

The young man was caught up in the water's icy current, and just barely managed to fight to his knees. In the struggle, he lost his sword. "Anet!" he yelled desperately, but the spell was deflected by the necromancer's weapon. There was something familiar about the design of the necromancer's blade. As it was levelled at his neck, Cassiel realized that it had once been a Charter Blade made by the Wallmaker herself, and was now twisted to serve Free Magic.

The necromancer sneered and raised his corrupted blade high. "Father and son, first and last of a bloodline, killed together," he mocked.

Cassiel, kneeling nearly waist-deep in the cold water, felt something hard brush up against his hand. Without thinking he grabbed it, recognizing it as the hilt of his father's sword. He swung the blade up and out of the water in a flashing arc, even as he pushed himself to his feet.

The necromancer's head fell into the grey water with a splash, and his body crumpled soon after. In seconds he had vanished from sight.

Cassiel absent-mindedly sheathed the sword – it was a bad fit – then cast himself back onto his knees, searching frantically for his father. It hadn't been long since he had fallen, and the body couldn't have gone far. After a few minutes, or years, he finally found his father's body submerged in the icy river. The ragged remains of the lifeline had kept it from being pulled through the First Gate. Even as he held the older man the lifeline disintegrated into grey smoke. Cassiel knew that he needed to get back to Life quickly. Walking these waters were creatures who would be only too glad to exterminate Lord Abhorsen. Hefting his father's limp form over his shoulder, he trudged back up the river, heading for the light and Life.

Cassiel opened his eyes and moved swiftly to catch his father as the older man crumpled to the ground. The diamond of protection was gone, and freezing wind buffeted their bodies, but the young man did not pay any attention to that. He lowered his father tenderly onto the frost-rimed grass, cradling the man's head in his lap. Abhorsen shivered as he gazed up at his son. Blood was dribbling from his mouth and nose, a stark contrast to the paper-white of his face.

"Cassiel," he gasped, and his voice gurgled slightly – there was blood in his lungs.

"I'm here," the younger man said, smoothing Abhorsen's hair back from his face. He locked his eyes with his father's, not daring to look at the ugly wound in the older man's chest.

"I… I have to leave you, now…"

"No!" Cassiel protested, shaking his dark head vehemently. "I saved you."

But his father's cheek was growing cold beneath his fingers. Abhorsen smiled with unusual tenderness. "I was dead already," he answered gently, "But I am glad you won us these last few moments before I go."

Cassiel's vision was blurred with hot tears which he did not bother to wipe away. They dropped onto his father's hair, disappearing among the strands of grey and black.

Abhorsen sighed, and blood flecked his chin. "There is… so much left to do," he murmured. "Can you carry on my work, Cassiel? Will you keep the Dead from walking in Life?"

"Yes," replied his son, struggling to keep his voice composed.

The older man fumbled as he pulled a silver ring from his finger, and pressed it into the young man's hand. "Take this," Abhorsen instructed. Cassiel was familiar with this tool for binding Mogget's Free Magic form. He slipped it obediently onto his finger before seizing his father's hand, grasping it hard. Abhorsen licked his lips. "And the book–?"

"I will finish it," the young man promised.

His father smiled faintly, and nodded. "Take my bells," he said hoarsely. "You already have my sword." Abhorsen's dark eyes sharpened as they focussed on his son. "Teach your little boy. Continue the bloodline." He paused for another wheezing breath. "I am proud of you, Cassiel."

The young man forced a smile. "Well, I learned from the best, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." Abhorsen grinned, and coughed weakly. "Tell your mother that I love her, and that I will be waiting."

Cassiel nodded, no longer trusting himself to speak. It was taking every bit of his composure to keep from breaking down. His expression remained calm, but tears ran freely down his face. He managed a shaky smile as he squeezed his father's cold hand, receiving a faint answering squeeze.

With a final rattling sigh, Abhorsen closed his eyes for the last time.

Cassiel bowed his head over his father's body and wept uncontrollably. When heavy sobs finally ceased to wrack his body, and when he had cried out all of his tears, the young man gulped and straightened his shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, he removed his swordbelt, and reached out with trembling hands to unbuckle that of his father. He fixed it about his own waist, resheathing Abhorsen's magnificent sword at his hip. Next, Cassiel carefully put his own bells to the side and settled his father's bell-bandolier in its place.

That done, Cassiel arranged his father's body so that the man lay with his arms crossed over his chest, and eyes closed. He moved almost mechanically, his senses numbed to the surroundings as he prepared to carry out the traditional funeral rites to prevent his father's body from being enslaved by a necromancer. The young man reached into the Charter, and with great care drew out marks for fire, cleansing, peace, and sleep. They twinkled over Abhorsen's chest, seeming to mock him with their cheerful brightness.

He flicked his wrist, and the marks burst into flame. Cassiel's blue surcoat whipped around him as he watched his father's body go up in a glorious blaze of fire.

…a man in blue, standing alone before a burning body…

He drew a shaky breath, and closed his eyes, bowing his head against the wind. The heat of the flames caressed his face, and for a moment he could almost imagine his father's touch. "Farewell… Go safely," he whispered, reciting the traditional words. "Do not come back."

Picking up his old bell-bandolier, Cassiel turned and trudged through the trees, heading for home and his new-born son.

A/N: I'm so, so sorry, really I am, but it had to be done! If you want to flame me, I won't blame you; I loved Gabriel Abhorsen too.

Here's an interesting question: What would have happened if Alocas had not been sent back to the Freemen? If you recall, Penemue Saw a man in blue burning a body, and a man in red burning a body. If you really want a hint, check what information Alocas sent Berillan in his first message.