To Whom It May Concern: The following fic is about the final hour of King Logan as seen through the eyes of his succeeding younger brother. It does contain spoilers.

Now Choose

"For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings."
-William Shakespeare

-x-

It's cold. I'm cold. Colder than I've ever been in my life. Like the darkness taints its prey, the cold is tainting me...tainted, broken little toys.

"All stand to attention for the King of Albion." The great, old soldier's bold tone of gravel and sultry echoed through the throne room to be followed by a chorus of exalting cheers from my loyal subject. From my place in the grand door way, I begin my confident strut down the narrow line between the groups of people. But confidence is what I am severely lacking at the moment.

As I pass the people, I make a strenuous effort to hold my head high and keep my vision clear and set forward upon the throne in which I am to sit upon for the first time in my life. Or at least, the first serious time. Yes, I've travelled a longs ways from pretending to rule Albion. A far cry from wearing Father's crown and playing King. Now...now it's my reality.

In my attempts to hold my gaze forward, my dark eyes catch those of the aged soldier. His are as dim and foreboding as my own, and I think to myself about how scary it is to see my greatest ally, the man I put so much faith in, just as scared as I am. It makes me reflect back to the time we were in that Auroran cave. It was the first time I could not rely on his strength to keep me going... Well, I did not give up that time. And I won't give up now. But then again, this is something far more scary than the darkness, the children and...the Crawler.

Ahead, surrounding the quickly approaching throne are my four generals. First, a radiant and mysterious woman who I met not too long ago, but who I feel I have known for quite sometime. She wears the gown of an Auroran, has the blue curling marks upon her head of an Auroran, and bears the strong sense of quiet knowledge only a true leader could posses. I hope my wisdom goes as far as hers in the coming years.

Beside her is, well, one hell of a woman. She's a buxom body with dark-skin, caramel eyes and a body with swagger that could kill a man in a single step. And although I'd never say it aloud, nor do I have any hope of ever finding out, I am fairly certain Reaver was correct in saying she was lightening under the bedsheets. But she's more than a pretty face and comely figure. She's bright and strong with a passion for justice like no one I have ever seen. I hope I can be as just as her in my time as King.

And on the other side of my throne stands a certain Captain whose company I've come to enjoy, even if he is the most annoying person I've ever met. He might not be the brightest flame in the fire, or know quite when to stop talking. He might be a bit forward at times, and the part of his brain that tells him when to not say something might be missing, and really the only thing going for him just might be his looks and fighting skills. Ah, but his heart is strong and in the right place. I hope mine will be in the same as I rule.

Beside him, last but certainly not least, is a man who often makes me wonder how on earth God managed to fit so much fire in such a tiny man. I might have questioned the ability, and even the loyalty, of the little Dweller early on in my quest. But he surpassed my expectations by practically hit me in the face with them, or rather, almost blowing me up with them. He's a bit more belligerent than what's good for him, but at least he's got Boulder…and a spirit twice his size. I hope I can measure up to his size as I rule Albion.

Before I know it, I am sitting on the throne without any memory of how I finished walking down the aisle. The old soldier speaks up again in all his gravel-toned glory and as my eyes pick up on what is being brought before me, the weight of my crown seems to increase ever so slightly. I lean forward in my throne, hanging my head in a bitter combination of sorrow and shame.

"Logan, former king of Albion, you stand accused today of crimes against the kingdom and its people."

With every word that is uttered I feel myself sink down further in my seat, the crown all the while getting heavier and heavier as I sit on the throne. I realize just how much I wish neither of which were mine at the moment, something I did not think would ever happen. At least not for a long while. Sighing inaudibly, I rest my elbows on my knees and lace my fingers togethers, eyes taking to the floor gladly.

"Those who brought you to justice will now speak." My soldiering friend continues, and I feel sick to my stomach as my generals surround me, no doubt prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure the man before me did not leave the room unless it was to be put to death.

The little Dweller man is the first to approach. My eyes look to him as if in vein hope to find some look of forgiveness. I find none. He raises a hand to the crowd as he talk as if to encourage their protest to sparing the former tyrant. "There's not a soul alive in the Kingdom who hasn't suffered for his glory." He bellows in an angry tone that sets my eyes back to my boots. "And plenty who've died for it." I shut my eyes tight in a wince, but quickly look back up as I feel his eyes on me again. "I says, let him have some death of his own."

"Look, I'm not one for lopping people's heads off." No time is given for me to respond with a rebuttal before the next is at my other side with his own reasons, once again throwing in an odd bit of unwarranted humor by gesturing under his neck as if holding a knife to decapitate himself. I look to him for any sign of clemency in his eyes, having been given false hope by his previous statement. I do not succeed in finding anything in his snarl but red hot anger that matches perfectly that stain of blood splattered boldly upon the white material of his unwashed shirt. "But we saw Major Swift executed, like it was a bloody circus act. He deserves nothing less as far as I'm concerned." The young man-at-arms glared at the previous sovereign.

The fiery, rebel-leading woman speaks into my ear after him. I do look up into her own light-brown eyes, but I am not stupid enough to search for hope twice with fail to look for it again when there is no chance of finding it. And oddly enough…I do find it in her. "But aren't we better than that? Isn't that why we fought to be here now?" She holds her arms out by her sides. My brow creases as I wonder what she's getting at. "I've seen what Logan has done to this city. People starving to death, children forced to work... but killing him now won't solve anything." She has made a valid point, and I see a bit of sunlight, a warm ray in this bitter inner cold.

I look to the Auroran woman, this time my search for forgiveness is back. I do not see it, but neither do I find the curse of mercilessness in the first two arguments does not haunt her gaze. I think there must be a small bit of absolution in her. "It is not my place to decide his fate. But his betrayal condemned many of my people to death. He promised us salvation and then left us to face the darkness alone." Damn, I think to myself. So much for forgiveness with such a reasonable reason to have Albion's former ruler executed.

"I had good reason to break that promise."

A lone voice speaks up from those of my generals and that of the crowd, momentarily silencing both groups. I need not look to see who it is, for I know his voice by heart. I used to treasure it, hold it dear, and look forward to hearing it every time I saw him. It is Logan, who, to my surprise, has remained silently quiet with his hands chained behind him through all of this.

"And I had good reason for the crimes you claim I committed. The day I returned to Albion, I received a visit from a blind seer. Theresa, our father's guide." Theresa. I try not to let the recognition of that name play out upon my face. It is as if the entire throne room is on the edge of its seat, with everyone leaning forward in anxiousness. "She showed me the future of this Kingdom: The darkness. In Aurora. Is coming. Here. Bringing death, destruction, the end of our way of life. The sacrifices I had to make, I did them to protect Albion." I feel my heart sink when I hear this, for I know what he means. He did them to protect me. "If a few had to suffer, it was to build and army. If a few had to die, it was to save a country..."

I can feel the moods and gauge the reactions of my generals. They appear unimpressed, even insulted by this excuse... And what's worse, I cannot decide my own standings. In tormented thought, I avert my gaze downward in a sorry attempt to rid myself of the world.

"I have spent years preparing for this attack. Let me stand by your side now and all my soldiers will be at your command." It sounds inviting enough...to me. But...it isn't about me anymore. It's about a country.

"If this is true... if it's really coming... We're all in grave danger." I can feel the old soldier look to me, forcing me to make my decision. And it is not an easy one to make, by any means.

With a brow knotted in half-hearted anger and fake determination, a heavy sigh hints my exhausted, troubled, indecisive soul... I dare to lift my head eyes.

I dare to look at him. Look into his presaging face and auguring eyes, physical features so strikingly similar looking to my own, and in that moment I can't help but see our Father. A slightly more sinister version, but our father nonetheless. And that is not all I see. In that face and in those eyes, I see not the expression of a defeated tyrant brought to justice. I see something I've never seen in my older brother: a young man. A practical boy after being scolded harshly and unnecessarily, who was simply trying to protect what he held most dear. His Albion, his kingdom, his people...his little brother. For the first time in... I can't even recall how long it's been… I am seeing my brother.

My brother. The former king of Albion. A man I once looked up to. For a long time. A man who assumed the throne at 20 years old while simultaneously, basically, raising me after the death of my parents. When I was hardly ready for them to leave, he had been there. When I was but an adolescent and misunderstood boy without a friend in the world or parents to tell me otherwise, he was there. He had always been there. And I wish I could say he would always be there. But in truth...I just don't know.

"You have the power over life and death, brother. Now choose." I hear Logan's voice, and think about the irony of what he's just said. For a moment my head whirls back to before all of this uprising and rebelling and the revolution, to the day it started. I am standing in the throne room, Elise, God rest her soul, standing on one side of the throne and my brother while the demonstration leaders huddled together on the other side. Logan's words still echo in my head. I am giving you the power of life and death. Now choose. I am still watching my beloved Elise being dragged away from me, knowing I would never see her again… I am still whirling back around to face Logan and yelling the threat that I would never forgive him for this, and I can still hear his simple, seemingly careless retort. Good, then you will never forget it.

I hated him for it. And that would have been the reason for what I chose today. But instead, I looked back on my perilous, tedious adventure. I remembered the Dwellers nearly starving to death in the cold, I remembered the beggars in Brightwall, and the children laboring away in Bowerstone Industrial. Everything... I hated him for that. Not because of what he did to Elise. Not because of what he did to me… For, again, it isn't about me anymore. It's about Albion. But because of what he did to Albion, whether his intentions were good or not. He would have to die, no matter the less-than-faint voice in the back of my head telling me to spare his life. Besides...the people of Albion would surely not approve of my decision were I to let the man who ruined many of their lives walk away free with his own.

"You can't escape punishment for what you've done Logan. I sentence you to death."

On the outside, I remained the strong and confident young king the people want me to be. But on the inside, I am being ripped apart by my own heart as my brother's expression that it as well. I watch as his eyes slowly shut in sorrow. For a moment, I do the same. And while they erupt in joyful cheers of spite for the once-tyrant man, I fight the urge to simply run to his side and embrace him and have him embrace me, like he did when I was a boy, like he did whenever he would return from a long voyage, like he did when Father died, and when Mother died shortly after. But as I must remind myself time and time again...it isn't about me any more. It's about a country.

"The king has made his decision." The question is, will he regret it?

-x-

It's colder than the year that record-breaking snow storm threatened to send all of Albion back to the Ice Age. Colder than the time I fell through ice that had formed in the fountain in the castle gardens. Colder than the day Father died, colder than the day Mother died. Colder than the day I chose for the rebel leaders to live instead of Elise... No. None of those incidents can compare with this one.

Today is cold's hybrid. It's like...it is inside me. I can feel it in my chest. Each time my heart beats, it is as if cold air, not blood, is being sent throughout my body. It is visible in my eyes. I can feel the frigidness sweep over me. It is like a wave starting at the core of my being and working its way outward until my fingertips are numb, making my shoulders shudder obviously. The hairs at the back of my neck stand at attention to the harsh temperature. The conditions outside my bedroom window does not give me much relief either. The heavens are grayer than usual, grayer than the smog-covered skies further in the city of Bowerstone. The overcast, storm-bruised clouds are dark and menacing as they shadow over the castle...my castle. Not his anymore. It's mine now, and I wish I could say it was not.

I stand before the rippled glass of a window in the War Room, so near my breath smokes the pane. Below me is the courtyard, lying in an ominous fog that seems to have appeared quite suddenly. I can see the stairs that lead from the main doors down to the yard. And I can see him. He is quiet, his passive expression not changing from the way it usually is. He descends the stairs slowly, a single guard at his side to make sure he does nothing he shouldn't. My brother's face is one of duty and determination, almost as if he knows this must be done and is glad to do it. That's not to say he isn't sad. I can see it in his eyes...sad that he does not get to live to see the day I defeat or fall to the darkness...sad he will not be there to help me.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see a line of soldiers approaching in march, guns locked and loaded, no doubt ready to let go the moment the orders were given. I hold my hands tight behind my back, probably to keep from punching through the window.

When I look at Logan again, I am surprised to find that he is looking straight at me. I do nothing but return the stare which is emotionless but at the same time I can read his thoughts clearly as I am sure he can read mine just the same.

You've finally become the man I've always wanted you to be.

"Attention!" Our telepathic bond is broken with some disappointment as the guard yells.

As Logan's hands are untied and he is stood before the steps he will die on, my mind tells me to close my eyes for what comes next. But my heart has a different take the situation. It would rather see me suffer, tortured by repeated images of my brother's untimely death than anything else. I deserve that. But Logan... he does not deserve this.

"Ready. Take aim." A domino effect is created as the men steady their weapons one by one.

I watch in silent terror as the commander's sword is raised in the air. I press my hands to the glass. Logan sends me one last glance before turning to face the guards, eyes closed, shoulders heaving in a heavy sigh. That was the last breath he took.

Forgive me, brother.

"Fire!"

At once the bullets sound. Several crows scattered the air with startled calls, warnings of danger.

Logan falls. A great man falls. A great man who simply did not know what to do falls trying to protect his country, to protect me. He falls with a silent tear from my eye as I look upon the lifeless body of a man I once strived to be.

"At ease."

I see a thin cloud of smoke from the many bullets through his heart snaking upwards out of his chest, faint and ghostly as if his own spirit was withdrawing from his young body. Twenty-eight is too young…

-x-

It's cold. I'm cold. Colder than I've ever been in my life. Like the darkness taints its prey, the cold is tainting me.

...tainted, broken little toys.

So I just finished watching a walkthrough of Fable III on Youtube. I've never owned a single game, but they all look very good. In Fable III, I sort of fell in love with Logan. He's the perfect combination of villain and tragic hero, my two favorite things! Anyways, the person who made the walkthrough sentenced Logan to death. I found the little cutscene of his execution sad and very depressing (yes, that means I shed a few tears). But regardless, it gave me the idea to right this fic. It's nothing big, just something a threw together in about half an hour. Well, hope you enjoy it!

I may add on if enough people comment positively on it, perhaps write a chapter through Logan's eyes as I do intend to explore this character in-depth later on.