Fable III comes out soon! Can't wait! Just wanted to put this idea out, and didn't want to wait till Fable II was forgotten (but I shall never forget!) Anyway, please R&R!

The stupid man just would not shut up. Even now he was still prattling on about how he was purifying the world, and how he was making it better for future generations, and other such drivel.

Then it happened. Sparrow reached into his belt, drew his pistol, and fired. The shot sound unnaturally loud, and Lucien clutched his chest, gasped, and fell. Sparrow stared blankly for a moment, amazed. There went the man who had tormented and attacked him for the past twenty five years, dead just like all the others he had shot. No final dramatics, no poignant last words. Just bang, gasp, fall.

Theresa appeared then, as was her wont. Always showing up as the fighting ended, never when her magic could be put to use actually implementing her plans. But no, this wasn't fair. Theresa had be good to him, protected him. He was the closest thing to a mother he had now.

She was speaking now, talking to the others about where they would want to go. As she turned to him, she asked a very simply question: "What is it you want?"

That question was what beat him. He had gone through so much, fought things most people considered myth, and he was beaten by a straightforward, honest question coming from a blind old gypsy.

He stared up at the patient woman, and gave his answer. "I don't know." The others stared at him (atleast, Theresa turned her head towards him while the others stared.)

"What do you mean you don't bloody know?" Reaver yelled from his pedestal. "She just offered you anything you want; money, power, women, I think even men could be arranged, if that's your fancy. So what's not to know?"

"Lucien's dead." Sparrow stated calmly. Seeing Reaver was about to start up again, Sparrow continued: "Ever since I was ten, I've been hunting this man down, so I could kill him. It was my drive, my purpose. And now I've done it. I'm here, and he's at the bottom of this pit." Looking up at the rest of the assembled heroes, their champion asked a question none of them could answer: "So what do I do know? I look to be sixty years of age, when I'm only thirty five. I have scars crisscrossing my flesh, and the blood of countless people, no matter how vile, on my hands. I've commanded legions of the undead to strip the flesh of my enemies, twisted and warped the minds of robbers and bandits until they knew who was friend and who was foe, called down the lightning of the heavens themselves to scorch those who wished me harm. I've seen, fought, and killed trolls, balverines, hobbes, ghosts, bandits, hollow men, and soldiers. I've heard my worst fears recited by the Banshees. I've controlled the very weather and livelihood of an island. I've caused the creation and downfall of groups of people whose actions may save or condemn this world. I lived ten years as a spy, pretending to be a spire guard, torturing those slaves who disobeyed, all the while despising myself. I watched my sister be shot by a man I thought to be my way out of starvation and fear."

All stood silent as Sparrow finished his speech. None made a move as he looked desperately from person to person, looking for someone with an answer. "Can I go back to doing anything peaceful? Am I just going to keep fighting until one day, I'm not the quickest, or the strongest, or the cleverest. Until one day, I'm simply not lucky enough to survive one of the many assassination attempts this lifestyle has placed on me?"

Theresa walked forward quietly, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, little Sparrow. I have Seen, and all is not grim.