a/n: well this is it, the final chapter of The Sergeant. My brain morphed this into something that had plot, and more seriousness then I originally was planning. And so, I end it here, a prelude to a fic this simple little thing gave me the inspiration for(which is currently still being written.) I've had fun writing this light hearted little story of a hero, a pirate, and the balverine that forced them together, and to everyone who read, reviewed, and enjoyed, it's been a pleasure. For those interested, the next more serious part of this will simply be titled 'The White Balverine', and will follow Reaver, Sparrow, and Smiles on their quest for the crown.

Chapter 5: The End, the Begining
Reaver learns that fate isn't quite as done with him, or Sparrow, as he would have liked.

Reaver stretched, arching his back until his spine cracked. They'd been cleaning for hours, much to his disdain, leaving his limbs leaden and his mind filled with fantasies of feather-down pillows. The sounds of Sparrow knocking things back into place wafted in through the open door of the den, where he was currently finishing up. With a sigh, he went back to shoving books back onto the shelf in front of him.

Pulling a book off the considerable pile at his feet, the pirate did a double take, something quite obviously not a dusty old tome(really, where did Sparrow find all those musty things?) catching his eye. Tossing the book in hand onto the bookcase, he snatched the object from its messy little hiding place. It looked vaguely familiar, the nearly electric cold permeating the thing reminding him of his own little object de art.

"Well what have we here?"

Barely had the words left his mouth when the world went white.

"Welcome, Prince of Thieves."

Reaver blinked, a frown marring his features as recognition of the voice invaded his once pleasant thoughts. "Oh wonderful, if it isn't Sparrow's blind little seeress. Concocted another lovely plan to meddle with my life have you?"

The blinding white light fell away, revealing the cloaked woman. She was wearing the same little smirk she had been the night he first met her. "I simply do as fate demands, Reaver."

"Of course you do." He absently pretended to inspect his nails, far too tired to play mind games with the old hag.

"I'm surprised; usually you would have demanded to know why I brought you here, and what you could get out of it." There was an odd hint of humor lacing her usual misty voice.

"Hm?" He glanced at her. "Oh that. Well, I assumed you'd tell me eventually. You do so love to hear yourself spout nonsense."

"Tactile as ever I see. " Theresa chuckled softly. "You want Sparrow out of your house, correct?"

"Obviously."

"I have a solution. The Hero is destined to become King of Albion, but he cannot do it alone. Aid him in this endeavor, and your mansion will be returned to you."

With a snort, he turned his attention back to the eerie woman. "My my, is that all? Well, let me just snap my fingers and make it happen, shall I?"

"I am quite serious. The road to uniting Albion will be long and hard, but it must be done. If it is not, then all you know will come to an end, and your sacrifices will have been for not. Of all the Heroes, you are the one with the most to lose."

He narrowed his eyes, annoyed that once more she was dangling the shadow court above his head. As if it wasn't annoying enough the first time. "Alright then, say I do go along yet again with your meddlesome plotting. How, pray-tell, does one even go about such a thing? I highly doubt standing on a crate and declaring oneself King will get you anywhere."

"The answer lies in Snowspire."

"Of course it does. And I assume that the Sandgoose will be the one to give us said answer?"

Theresa just smiled that strange little smile at him. "Good luck, Reaver."

Before he could properly berate her further, his vision was flooded with white light, and Theresa and the Spire where gone.

He gave the Spire figurine in his hand a nasty glare before shoving it in a corner of the shelf he was once again standing before. He was hardly in the mood to deal with the woman and her need to orchestrate fate, especially when it involved him. "Snowspire indeed…"

"Talking to yourself again Reaver?"

Tensing up, the pirate pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Yes, I do believe I was. Perhaps I'm beginning to go crazy, all this manual labor and no sleep."

Sparrow dropped gracelessly into the squishy cushions of the room's only couch, meeting Reaver's gaze boredly as the pirate turned to face him. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you had your men tear the house apart. You seem to bring these things upon yourself."

Face falling blank despite his rising ire, Reaver stalked slowly toward the hero, sending books and bits of debris skittering as he kicked them from his path with the restrained movements of a nobleman. "I bring these things upon myself do I?" Standing directly before the unmoved Hero, Reaver leant down until they were face to face, hands on the couch back to both hold himself at the awkward angle, and pin Sparrow. "Did it never occur to you that you brought this upon yourself?"

A thin, pale brow slowly arched, despite the unmoving expression of its owner. "Not really, no. Why should I have?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe by commandeering my home for starters? And let's not forget who refused to leave upon the return of the manor's master."

"Still sounds like you. I told you, I bought it so this place is mine. What I don't get, is why you don't go find another place to establish a reign of terror? I figured this place would have begun to bore you by now. And it's not like returning for your beauty treatments would be much of a hassle."

The couch creaked as Reaver's grip tightened. Even if Sparrow was even marginally right, the point was moot. This was his home, damn it, and he would only give it up on his terms. Of which this most decidedly was not.

Mentally reigning in his ever-surfacing anger, Reaver relaxed his grip, putting on his best pouty face. "But how could it bore me? The groveling of the people, the constant need to watch one's back! Not to mention being an idle location for…various transactions."

"I can only imagine."

"Besides, what could one such as you possibly see in this place? I thought you'd forgone your more…entertaining lifestyle for one that better befits the people?"

He watched as the eyes before him darkened, that and a small frown the only sign his words had an effect on the supposedly ever-cheerful, unflappable Hero of Bowerstone.

When Sparrow finally spoke, his voice was low and restrained, only audible due to the proximity they shared. "What I was, who I am has no place in this conversation concerning your petty grievances."

Reaver leaned forward until their foreheads were nearly touching, his own voice dropping to match Sparrows. "And yet such things concerning me do? My dear boy, you truly are the king of double standards."

The frown deepened into a scowl, transforming the labeled hero beneath him into the man he remembered. The one he'd watched beat a banshee at its own game, the one who'd fought viciously for both their lives, who'd earned his place by the pirate's side in battle.

Here was the true Hero of Bowerstone, the one the people refused to acknowledge. The thief, the killer, the beautifully flawed human.

"Hardly. I bring up only what you personally saw fit to subject me to."

"And yet you are hardly worse for wear, from something so integral that binds us, two men wearing masks…"

Sparrow's eyes slid away from his own, boring into his sleeve instead. Reaver shifted until he could ease his knees onto the cushion on either side of the hero. There was no response, violent or otherwise at the intimate position he'd finagled them into.

"Now, why don't we find a more appealing way to settle this little conflict of ours?" He'd dropped his voice into a purr, moving to speak directly against the other man's ear. At the same time his hand left its perch as discreetly as possible, sliding down to drift near their thighs. He watched the muscles in Sparrow's neck strain as he clenched his jaw, a self satisfied smirk sliding onto his lips.

"Reaver…"

"Hm?"

Without warning a hand latched around his wrist just as his fingers brushed their prize. Reaver winced, although if it was from being caught in the act, or from the force being exerted by the slender fingers even he wasn't sure.

Sparrow's gaze returned to him as he pulled back, the fire there laced with humor and something else he couldn't fathom that was just the slightest bit terrifying. "Did you honestly think that would work?"

He glanced down as his hand was pulled away from the gun strapped to the hero's thigh, eyebrow raising as he quickly worked to cover his tracks. "Not particularly, but I was rather hoping it would. Having been unable to properly greet my fans, thanks to you I might add, I thought perhaps you would be willing to give me the pleasure of your company." Flashing a seductive smile, he pushed a stray lock of hair away from the hero's face.

The crimson eyes narrowed, giving Reaver just enough warning to not be overly startled when Sparrow's free hand shot out, wound itself tightly in the front of his shirt, and roughly yanked him forward. The hero seemed not to notice that Reaver had been pulled fully into his lap, leg brushing against the pistol now completely and utterly out of his reach.

"Quite playing games Reaver, you should have realized by now I know you well enough to realize when you're trying to be a manipulative bastard. And I really don't appreciate you thinking you can seduce me then kill me with my own pistol. Do it again and you'll be needing a peg leg."

Before he could protest or make some snide comment about the position they were in, Sparrow shoved him away with surprising force. He landed rather painfully on his backside, shock rooting him there as the hero stood and stepped easily around him. Needless to say, he had become quite unaccustomed to such treatment.

The soft footsteps stopped near the door, the sound of rustling fur signaling the arrival of the Sergeant. He picked himself up carefully from the floor as the hero spoke gently to the beast, ignoring the eyes of the balverine as they danced between the two humans.

Theresa's idiotic plot pushed its way into his head, forcing him to consider his options. He could keep going as he was, hoping Sparrow would slip up, or he could do as the old coot demanded and somehow magically make the man king.

Or he could take him to sea and push him overboard.

"Come on Smiles, why don't we go get breakfast, hm?"

Reaver opened his mouth, fully intent on having the last word, only to close it when he realized he had no idea what to say. Not when his plan consisted solely on leaving the hero at sea, with no real idea of how to get him there.

Sparrow shooed Smiles ahead of him, leaving without so much as a backward glance in the pirate's direction. Reaver listened as the two made their way through the front parlor, only relaxing at the sound of the door opening and then closing behind them. Running a hand through his already disheveled hair, he cast a glance about the room, eyes landing finally on the innocuous little statue tucked away in the bookshelf.

Xxxxxx

It was late in the afternoon when Sparrow and his pet returned, the sound of their movements disturbing the silence that had settled over the manor in the last few hours. Reaver didn't bother moving, knowing Sparrow would find him eventually. He took another sip of wine, eyes following the sounds echoing through the walls.

It didn't take long before the door to the kitchen swung open, Sparrow standing still in the doorway as the two locked eyes. He gave the hero a half smile over the rim of his glass, motioning for him to join him at the small table by the window.

Sparrow was obviously wary, but conceded none the less, taking the chair across from the pirate. "Reaver."

"Sparrow."

He watched the sharp gaze skim over the table, taking in the wine bottle, glasses, maps, and various other odds and ends he'd dumped onto its surface.

"What are you doing?"

"It depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not you and I can have a civil conversation."

Sparrow snorted, eyeing Reaver as if he was about to grow horns or something else quite ridiculous. "I suppose we can pretend we're gentlemen, or whatever else you have in that head of yours, for now."

"Good." He removed one of the maps from the pile before him, placing it in front of the hero and tapping lightly at a place he'd circled in red. "Do you know what this is?"

The gypsy cocked his head, gaze now roving over the aging parchment. He shook his head slowly, tracing a finger over fading ink lines. "I've never seen a map like this before. Is it Albion?"

"Indeed. Albion has been remapped at least four times in the past three hundred years, if not more. Before that, well, who knows?"

Sparrow glanced up at him. "Then it's fair to assume who ever makes these never went out much. It doesn't seem possible the landscape changes that much in such a short time span."

He chuckled. "You'd be surprised…It's not always a matter of change so much as it is purposely loosing something."

The hero pulled the map closer, grabbing a newer one from the pile and placing the two side by side. He knew they were more or less identical as far as shaping of the land of Albion went, but the few discrepancies were indeed notable.

Sparrow traced the area on the newer map that showed nothing where Reaver's circle was on the older one. A blank space of ocean where an entire land mass had been omitted. And with it the city in the circle. He ran a finger over the symbols marking the place. "What does it say?"

"Snowspire."

"Never heard of it."

"Really? My my, your gypsy mentor never told you about it? No stories of epic battles before bedtime? Pity. I wonder what else she never bothered telling you about…"

Frowning down at the map, Sparrow's eyes traced the ancient lines no longer in use, mind clearly elsewhere. Reaver waited, sipping absently at his wine and studying the creature before him.

"This place, why did you circle it?"

"So I could find it again, obviously. To be truthful, I never believed the place really existed myself, until I managed to find that map that is. Picked it up off some old pirate and never thought much about it, just…added it to my collection of useless junk." He chuckled fondly as he thought of the insane amount of useless baubles and trinkets he'd picked up over the years.

"I've seen birds that do that. Find random odds and ends to take back and hide in their nests. I always associated them with gypsies, but you look more like one than any of them ever did."

"I'm sorry?"

Sparrow gave him a bemused smile. "Their coloring, the birds. Elegant in black and white, whereas gypsies, at least the ones I knew, preferred patchy, outlandish colors. I tried to befriend one, once. Ended much like us now, always at odds, always wary of the others' plotting, and always having shit stolen." Crimson eyes glanced pointedly at the shirt Reaver was currently wearing. One he'd stolen from Sparrow's things while the hero had been gone.

"So I'm a bird now, am I?"

"Better then a rat."

"Mm, yes well, as I was saying before we got off on that delightful little tandem of yours, I also circled that particular lost city for another reason."

"Which is?"

Reaver's lips quirked up into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Grabbing the wine bottle, he lifted it up and away from the object it had been shielding, setting it down on the other side of the table. Sparrow's eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at.

The miniature Spire drew both pair of eyes, presence palpable in the way it seemed to steal all the warmth and oxygen from the air around them.

"It's where our answers are."

Again, it's been a pleasure ladies and gents,

deadpan_riot