Who sees the fall of a Sparrow?

Heroes do not die easily. But they can die. When their Will gives out, when their body can no longer recover, when they have aged to the point that they desire death...only then do they leave this world for good.

The Sparrow queen had aged. Thirty years had passed since the end of her adventures and her coronation as Queen of Albion. She would have been advanced in years as it was, but her sacrifice on Reaver's behalf and the death of her first family had taken whatever extra years she may have had.

Not much longer now, she thought. Another breath was dragged through her once-powerful frame, and she tried to sit up in bed only to fall back amongst the pillows.

"Jasper..." She murmured.

Hands raised her up, adjusted the pillows, laid her against them again. "I am here, madam," the young butler murmured.

But was he young, really? By her standards, perhaps. He could only have been in his fourth decade. Yet he certainly had a few years over the soldier on her right.

She focused her attention on the butler, grasping his hand. "I am leaving my children without a mother," she said. "Please, I ask you to attend to their needs. Care for them as I would, Jasper."

He kept his face solemn as he said to her, "Of course, madam. Anything you ask." But as their hands parted and he turned away, the façade dropped and laid bare his grief.

The queen's bedside table held innumerable bottles and jars to ease the pain of her final days. From his seat beside her, Walter Beck glared at the philters with suspicion and distrust. How much longer might his queen have if not for every doctor in the kingdom shoving some potion down her throat? After drinking so many as an adventuring Hero, the queen was now immune to their positive effects and was left only with a witch's brew of chemicals in her body.

Her voice stirred him from his reverie. "Majesty?"

"I asked if Reaver had arrived, Walter."

"Yes, Majesty. Only moments ago."

"Then send the bastard in. And, Walter? I've asked you before to call me Sparrow." She gave him a rare smile. It had been months since he had seen it last.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The man that swaggered through the door a moment later positively reeked of depravity. But when he caught sight of the woman lying on the bed, something in him stilled and dropped away. Fear flickered in his eyes, though he did not see the glares of Walter and Jasper.

"Hello, Reaver." The queen's voice, soft and weak, seemed to snap him out of his mood. He was all smirk and smolder again, taking Walter's seat at the bedside.

"My old comrade-in-arms!" He crowed. "You don't appear to have aged gracefully, do you? Such a shame. I remember when you had a most ravishing figure."

Walter moved to strangle the filthy rat, but before he took a step Reaver had whipped a pistol out of nowhere and pointed it at his forehead.

"Afraid not, my lad. It simply wouldn't do to assault a guest in the palace."

"Reaver."

For a moment Sparrow's voice took on the diamond edge that had terrified hobbes and nobles alike. Her eyes, still a deep blue, narrowed. The pistol vanished.

"Walter, Jasper, could you give us a moment?" She asked, quiet again. They left, reluctantly.

As soon as the door had shut, Reaver chuckled. "Still quite the formidable warrior, aren't we? How did you let age get the better of you?"

"The potions of Knothole Island are very effective," she replied. "They allowed me to look youthful for a time. Why did you think I still looked like a young woman that night?"

"I will admit, I had wondered." Reaver leaned forward, his chin on his fist, elbow on knee. "You were ravishing."

"I was drunk."

"Yet the outcome was still in your favor, wasn't it?" One of his eyebrows raised, his voice turning bitter. "You needed an heir, and sure enough...how is he, by the way?"

The queen smiled. "Ah, Reaver. How good of you to arrive at my point so early. I did call you here for a specific purpose." She took his hand and gripped it like a vice. "Let me make this perfectly clear," Sparrow said. "You will leave my children alone. Especially Logan. I don't want your influence anywhere near them. Do you understand?"

And then she called him a name. It was centuries old and had long lain buried in the shadows of a dead village, but she had found it. When it passed her lips, Reaver paled and the fear was now plain on his face.

"Yes." He whispered. "They will have no interference from me."

"Good." She let him go. Only when his hand was on the doorknob did she ask, "Do you even know my daughter's name?"

His voice was more solemn than she had ever heard it, and she did not see his face when he replied, "Ah, yes. Lark. How very droll. And who did you use to be her sire?"

"You will never know. Now leave."

Reaver left the castle and went immediately to Bloodstone. He needed wine, prostitutes, and death. Seeing the age take her as it had not taken him, feeling the extent of her power, even now...and that name. His weaker side stirred again, and he needed to kill it. Now.

#

It was a little more than a week later at sunset when the queen told Jasper to fetch her children. It was time.

As soon as he had gone and Walter and Sparrow were alone in the room, she said, "I need a promise."

He looked at her. She fought for every breath. "Yes."

"Don't you want...to know the terms?"

"Only if you insist, Your Majesty."

"I do. Logan...is a young man. Grown. But Lark...she is only four. Too young to be without...a parent. Walter. Look after her. Train her. And when she is...old enough, take her...to the mausoleum. She will be a...a Hero."

He couldn't. Balls, he was only a soldier! He couldn't do this.

"Majesty-"

"Walter. Please."

The last wish of a dying woman. Of his queen. Walter knelt beside her. "All right. I will do it. I swear to teach her, and watch over her. And when she is old enough, I will set her on the path of a Hero. This I swear to you, Sparrow."

It was then that Logan burst in, leading his baby sister by the hand. "Mother," he whispered, coming to kneel on the opposite side of the bed. "Oh, Mother..."

"Hush, now." She stroked his dark hair. "We knew this was coming. You must be strong."

His face was buried in the bedspread and his frame still shook, but the crown prince was silent.

"Logan."

He looked up and his eyes, red-rimmed, met her own.

"You must be Albion's King. Protect the people. Protect the land. And watch over your little sister. Let none of them come to harm."

"Yes, Mother."

She smiled for him. "Now, where is my Lark?"

The child peeped over the edge of the bed, and Logan lifted her up so that she lay next to her mother. She snuggled in, small arms embracing what she could of her mother's thin frame.

"Lark, darling. Listen to me." Sparrow cupped the child's face in her hands. "You must be good for me. Help other people, and be kind to them. And be brave, my darling. You are a light in dark places."

The little princess nodded, and her mother kissed her one last time.

Heroes do not die easily. But they can die. As the sun set that day in Albion, Sparrow faced death for the third time...and let herself go.