Teacher and Student

Summary: History would not remember him, but perhaps this child might. (takes place between Fable 1 and 2. minor spoilers for Fable2, inspired by the events in Tales of Albion part 2)


History would not remember him.

History had already begun to forget him, and it had been nay fifty years since his greatest battle, his final battle.

History did not remember Landon, son of Scarlet.

History did not even remember Sabre, even though he had paid good money to be known far and wide as that particular title.

No, all history remembered was the infamous Jack-Slayer, and even that name was beginning to fall out of fashion.

He suspected it was partially his own fault. Once, he had been a grand hero, perhaps the greatest of them all. Legends of his miraculous battles were told everywhere, from the Forgotten Wastes all up to Bowerstone North. Children everywhere dreamed of becoming like the legendary Sabre, the hero of the Arena and the Defeater of the evil Jack of Blades.

Eventually, the tales of his exploits because skewed.

Had he killed his sister? Or had he thrown the sword into the abyss? Had he killed his childhood friend in the Arena, or had he let her go? One woman in Oakvale swore up and down that the Jack-Slayer had been the noblest man she ever met (he had, after all, saved her Teddy Bear as a child). Another man in the same town swore he was nothing more than a bully and a thug (the hero had, after all, beaten him up when he was a small lad, taking the side of a bully instead). It seemed as though no one could really recall the details of any of his adventures.

Perhaps that was for the best. Sabre hadn't exactly been around much in the past fifty years. After he dealt with Jack of Blades for the final time, he vanished. Just...disappeared. His own wife, the Lady Grey of Bowerstone, a year after his disappearance, declared him legally dead and put herself back up on the market for remarriage.

Just because the hero was no longer around, though, did not mean he was dead.

(Though he might as well have been, given the life he led.)

Old man Landon lived in a hut at the top of the hill near Snowspire Village. He was an extremely unimportant old man, a hermit who came down to the village every few months to restock his food supply, but otherwise made no contact with any of the villagers. That was just as well, as no one really cared what the old hermit did. Once, supposedly, he had been a great hero, but he had since renounced that way of life. Which was a good thing, because had he not, the villagers would have slaughtered him a long time ago. Not only that, but the man was nearing a hundred years old. Most of the villagers assumed he would die of old age soon enough.

Then one day, she showed up.

Just a quiet knock on his door, an unfamiliar sound to the old hero's ears. He had opened the door without really thinking about it, and to his surprise, met the pretty blue eyes of an unsuspecting child.

"Are you the old Hero who lives on the hill that they talk about?"

He should have just shut the door then, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Why? Come to try and kill me like the rest of them?"

Oh, and they had tried to kill him. Despite his age and seemingly harmless demeanor, there were still those out there who wouldn't be satisfied until everyone who had once been a hero was good and dead. That had led a few increasingly stupid people out to his little hut with the intent to kill him. They had all ended up dead within the hour.

The girl shook her head. "Oh no. I don't want to kill you. I doubt I could even if I tried."

Smart girl. He liked her already.

"Then what do you want?" He asked gruffly, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Why have you come to this God-forsaken place?"

The girl shyly brushed a trail of snow off of her jacket. "My father was a hero, before people decided they didn't need heroes anymore."

"I'm not your father, child." He had made damn sure of it, too. There was no way he was going to allow his bloodline to continue, though his darling wife, the Lady Grey, had hoped he would.

The girl laughed. "I know you aren't. My father died in a raid ten years ago. My mother helped kill him herself."

"Stop lolling-gagging and tell me what you want, or leave."

With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure they were truly alone, the girl held up a small flame in her hands. "I need to know how to hide this."

Will-power. He hadn't seen anyone else use it in ages.

No wonder the girl had sought him out.

"I don't know who you are," the girl whispered desperately. "Nor do I care. But I need to learn how to control this. If I don't, they will hunt me down and kill like they did my father."

The old man scoffed. "You don't need me to teach you. There are others, better teachers than me—"

"There is no one else." The girl said slowly. "You are the last hero. You, and I suppose myself. If you die, and I remain untrained, there will be no more heroes."

An age without heroes. It was hard for Landon to imagine a world without them.

"People are foolish." The old man whispered into the darkness, bitterness soaking up his memories. "They believe that since Jack of Blades has perished, so has all the evil in the world. But there will always be a great darkness in the world. If, in a thousand years there are no more heroes, and a great evil strikes again, who then will the people call on to save them?"

The daughter of a hero eyes him curiously. "So you will train me then?"

"Yes," he mumbled slowly, against his better judgment. "Though you must promise me that, after I pass, you will find others like yourself and train them. Keep them hidden so that they are not hunted down like you and me. Lead your descendants so that they too shall follow the same path you have taken."

The girl bowed gracefully. "I will, Master!"

For the first time in ages, the old man smiled. "Call me Sabre. Now, let's begin your training…"


Four Hundred Years Later…

Theresa watched the crowed streets not with her sightless eyes but rather with the force of her mind. For years, she and her family had been trained to seek out potential heroes, to offer them a chance to become like them. Her search recently, however, had been in vain, for there were fewer and fewer born each year with the gift of Will.

And then, she felt it.

"Cheer up then, little Sparrow." A tall young woman rubbed the head of a small child, who Theresa guessed must have been her sibling. "One day, you and I will live up there in Bowerstone Castle...then no bird would dare to poop on your head."

The child said nothing, but rather stuck its tongue out in a playful manner.

In that moment, Theresa knew her destiny—perhaps the destiny of the entire world—laid within that child. It was her destiny, like the destiny of her ancestors, to find and train this seemingly worthless child and make it the greatest hero since the Jack-Slayer of old.

"There is a man who sells a magical box that grants the wish of whoever opens it," she whispered to the children. "Perhaps if you were to find five gold pieces, it could grant your wish…"


END

The things I know about the story of Fable 2:

-Your first title is Sparrow.

-A bird poops on your head.

-You have a sister named Rose

-A blind seer named Theresa suggests you find five gold pieces to buy a magic box.

-Later on, Theresa trains your character to become a hero.

This was written solely for fun, and because I wanted to connect the hero of the first Fable (in this story, Landon), the hero of the Tales of Albion story (the one whose daughter seeks out training), and the hero of Fable 2. Again, this is pure speculation, but it's what I'd like to see happen.

jak