a wish revealed
Fable II & III
He awoke with a gasp, grabbing his pistol and sitting up. Sitting up, he quickly realized, was a horrific idea. Sparrow collapsed back, free hand flying to rub at the sore spot on his forehead that had hit whatever it was above him. It felt like stone, but it was impossible to tell what with it being pitch black and all.
"Bloody hell." The hit was doing nothing to help his already aching head. He was also having a hell of a time remembering what he'd been doing up until now, his mind a curious swirl of color and noise and nothing.
Sparrow patted himself down, taking note that he was in his fanciest attire, making him entertain the notion that he'd gotten trashed at another gala and wandered off somewhere peculiar to pass out. It wouldn't have been the first time. In his hands journey about the space around him he found his sword lying beside him. He wasn't completely sure, but he vaguely recalled it falling off of his chest after he awoke. He drug a palm up and across the stone surrounding him, panic beginning to take hold of his insides.
The pieces of this particular puzzle were beginning to fall into place, and he was not liking the picture they were portraying. "I swear to Avo, if this is a tomb….Cross my heart hope to bloody die if I get out of here I'll never ever get drunk again."
A far away, distorted chuckle, an aggravating scraping, and sudden blissful, burning blinding light. Sparrow squinted, breathing deep the sudden excess of oxygen. Slowly the world came into focus, a figure outlined by what he realized was torchlight leaning against the lip of what was most definitely a tomb.
"A bit late for that I'm afraid. The dying bit, not the awful swearing off alcohol bit." Reaver smirked down at him, head cocked and eyes glittering in the soft, flickering light.
Sparrow sat up slowly, taking in the vast space of what he realized to be the recently made tomb on the castle grounds. He looked down at himself, his clothes impossibly pristine, the space around him littered with flowers and trinkets. The pirate only startled slightly as he grabbed the thin wrist nearest him. "I can't have-I'm not-"
"Dead? No, it would seem not." Reaver was giving him a thoughtful look. "Do you happen to recall what you were doing before you awoke here?"
Sparrow shook his head, instantly regretting it when it started to throb.
"Hm. Nothing at all? The woods? The fire? The charming band of men we'd been pursuing for the better part of a week? No? Then I suppose you don't remember the bullet that lodged itself-"He poked Sparrow in the forehead with the forefinger of his free hand. "Just there?"
The gypsy felt suddenly light headed. Reaver frowned, then slapped him lightly across the face, just hard enough to smart. "Now now, you don't want to rejoin the unconscious dead so soon, do you?"
"Ug, no. But you keep hitten' me I might." At least now his headache made sense. Sort of. "Shouldn't I be dead? Or…" He gave Reaver a critical look, taking in the pirate's oddly fancy garb. "Are we both dead? Trapped forever in a tomb together for all bleedin' eternity?"
Reaver laughed. "Hardly. I'm very much alive, thank you. And you are as well. If you must know, I was previously attending your funeral. Quite the depressing affair, I assure you. Even the weather somehow got in on it, raining all over us while we stood there and watched them cart you down here-and don't get me started on Hammer. That bloody woman, crying on me. Me! She doesn't even like me, yet she saw fit to slobber all over my good jacket-"
Sparrow watched the pirate become more animate with each word, recounting bits and pieces of a funeral he couldn't remember. He hadn't noticed until now the slight disarray of the pirates attire (the rain and the various people who 'dared touch him'), nor had he realized how pale Reaver had been until his diatribe begun to restore color to his face.
"How did you know I wasn't dead-well, that I wouldn't stay dead?"
Reaver grimaced, though he tried to hide it. "Well, I wasn't completely sure-and when you didn't come to on the way back to Bowerstone, well." He held up a finger for silence when he saw Sparrow open his mouth to comment. "Do you recall that lovely day trip we took to the Spire with our favorite blind seer? Yes? How about the wish a certain gypsy in this room made?"
Sparrow snorted. "Ya mean the one I don't remember making? The one none of us can recall what, exactly, was wished for?"
Reaver's grin was smug. "I wouldn't say all of us…"
He gaped. "You knew? All along, you knew what I wished for, and didn't think to tell me?"
"Of course not! Why would I ever let on to your charming companions that I was paying the least bit of attention? They'd have gotten the impression I cared-"
"Clearly you did, if you do remember. Can't remember somethin if you don't listen to it'n the first place."
Reaver waved him off. "Yes well, the point being, I knew what you said before the tower went all blindy on us. It'd have been foolish to be ignorant of such things, but clearly our fellow 'Heros' didn't agree-"
"So, what was it?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Tell me anyway."
The pirate sighed. "You were blathering on about how disagreeable dying was, how Lucien was an awful shot-and then you said-"
"I'm sick of bloody dying for this stupid place; I wish I didn't have to die for Lucien, You, or anything else." Sparrow chimed in with the pirate, eyes widening as he finally remembered his post-death diatribe. Though he was more surprised that Reaver had been listening at all, let alone that he remembered it still.
"And then everything went white, and after you and that woman reappeared. So I assumed you had inadvertently wished for immortality. Not that you seemed to need it, judging by the things you were yelling-"
"Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me sooner?"
Reaver shrugged. "And ruin the fun?"
"Right, well, fun had. Now would you mind helping me out of this bollocks thing? My head feels like a Hobbe sat on it."
With the pirate's help, he managed to climb out of the rather deep sarcophagus, making sure to grab his things before Reaver shoved the lid back in place. "So how are we going to get out of here?"
"The same way we came in? Well, maybe not the way you came in-"
"Everyone thinks I'm dead. S'not like I can just walk out of here like nothing happened."
"The great thing about actually having died, I'm sure you'll find, is how easy it is to continue to fake your death. After all, sooner or later someone would have noticed your knack for looking youthful and not letting a thing like purported old age kill you. I should know. Now, as I recall you and Garth made some…interesting alterations to this tomb, did you not?"
Sparrow set the engraving situated on the ground between the two sarcophagi aflame in response. "Oh you know, a few."