By Your Side, Always
Morning light filtered through the canopy of leaves that cover the tree branches. A figure sits at the roots of an old beech tree. The figure had hollow black pits for eyes that looked out at the forest in front of them.
A child was crouched on the moss covered ground in front of the sitting figure. His beautiful emerald green eyes looked at the little rabbit in front of him with a saddened curiosity. The Rabbit sniffed the little boy’s hand as the child watched the Rabbit intently. Then the boy turned around and practically scrambled to run back to the figure sitting under the beech tree. The rabbit turned and hopped away, but as it got farther and farther away it began to turn into mist. The rabbit soul then disappeared on the wind; off to its own form of afterlife. The little child collapsed into the figure's lap and the black clothed figure wrapped him in an instinctive hug.
Five minutes: that was the longest amount of time that Estîç had allowed for them to separate. The moment that Estîç couldn’t see him he was thrown into a full blown panic attack. He had seen his son shed more tears in the last three weeks, since the run in with the elven patrol, then he had in the entire two years that he has spent on middle earth. Death had grown more and more worried about his son. He thought his anxiety was bad when he couldn’t get his son into an elven settlement. Well this was a hundred times worse.
Because It had been three weeks since the incident and Estîç hadn’t smiled once.
Death could accept the clinginess, it was kind of cute but by no means healthy nor convenient. He could live with it, what he couldn’t live with, though, was his son’s sadness. He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing that glorious smile again, or hearing the sound of his child’s musical laughter in the wind.
Death had tried everything: from cuddling with the animals to extravagant gifts. Nothing had worked, nor changed. His child was still as sad as ever. He was always on the verge of tears and always highly aggravated at even the slightest notion of returning to his body and leaving his father.
His body was another worry that clung to Death's mind. After the first few days where his Little One refused to go back into his body he had placed it under a preservative spell. His body wouldn’t long for water nor grow hungry, but the few days without food could already be seen in the hollows of his son’s cheeks. He worried about the stomach pains that his son would have to endure when he went back into his body, if he went back into his body.
Worries grew in his heart like blooming flowers. Death had never experienced anything like this. He had no idea what to do or how to fix this. He had never needed to worry before he had obtained a son, he had no experience in managing anxiety. He was visibly aging and he didn’t even have a permanent form to age.
He did not regret it, he would never regret having a son, but the worry was starting to get to him. Just yesterday he had found himself wondering how hard it was to make the flower field a place where nothing could go. He was sure that he could make barriers that nobody could get through, but he feared his child fading from lack of attachment long before he reached maturity.
The feeling of his son nuzzling his nose into his chest brought death out of his thoughts. His son’s wavy strands of midnight hair tickled his chin. He reached up a hand to lay it on the soft inky curls. The feeling of his son’s soft hair beneath his fingertips was indescribable. It was a reminder that his son was here: in his arms where no harm could ever befall him. He hummed, his son’s ears twitched as the vibrations of his chest caused his head to shake. Small hands, still chubby with baby fat, reached out to quietly grab his own. The tiny hands fidgeted with his fingers.
He let out a tiny breath, before he began to speak, “I wish to tell you a story, little one.” His child looked up at him, wide innocent green eyes hollow. The child was quiet, as he had been for the past few weeks.
“Long ago there was a being,” Death began, “this being was tasked with watching over and collecting all life in the universe. This being grew wary, for this task was hard and few kindnesses were ever given by the living as they were collected,” death paused for a moment, eyes growing distant and sad.
Estîç looked up at his Adar with wide green eyes, a silent question hanging from closed lips. Death breathed in before he continued, “ this being had siblings who also had tasks to complete, yet their tasks were enjoyable for them. This being’s task was not enjoyable for them, for they had been made to feel. They needed to feel in order to know how to show mercy; how to be a kind collector. And so the being grew distant from its siblings as it envied and longed for a better task. For eternities the being suffered, surrounded by siblings, yet forever alone. Then one day this being came to collect a child. The child smiled at the being and asked the entity to read a book to the child, and so the being did. The child’s innocent smile and beautiful laughter convinced the being not to collect the child. The next day the being returned to collect the child and again the child’s kindness convinced the being to turn away. Many times this pattern continued,” Death stopped for a moment. His once distant eyes glowed with fondness. Estîç looked up at his father, eyes curious and soft.
And then for the first time since his mental breakdown Estîç spoke, “what happened?”
Death blinked down at his child. Where once dull eyes were there now were sparkling emeralds, still hollow from a cruel past but now a distant spark of curiosity was in them. Death smiled, the first true smile since his son went quiet, a warm soft smile that spoke of relief and love so great that it overwhelmed his heart. The smile was gentle as if Death was afraid that a smile any stronger would shatter the spark in his child’s eyes.
“The being grew to love the child who greeted it with kindness,” Death says in a warm voice, eyes fondly focused upon the child in his lap, “so when the child was finally collected the being greeted him with kindness, as the child had always done for it. But the child didn’t want to be contained,” Death smiled as he thought upon his child’s need for freedom. “So he came to the being and he spoke about his wishes for adventure, but the being grew scared of losing the child it loved so much,” Death smiled as he reached a pale hand into his child’s satchel. A few seconds later he was pulling out a cloak. The cloak was a deep forest green near black, it was light and airy with an almost cloud-like feel. Death slid the cloak over his son’s shoulders. As he did so he continued his story, “So the being created items for the child.”
Death fastened the cloak with a clasp that was a deep purple stone with a haunting yet comforting symbol on it: the symbol of the deathly hallows.
“So that the child would always be safe, and always remember that the being was with him no matter where he traveled.”
Estîç was silent for a moment, his emerald eyes frantically searching his father’s face for any hint of deception, before he asked in a quiet shaky whisper, “are you with me wherever I go?”
Death smiled at his child, warm and gentle yet brittle around the edges, as sadness was expertly masked. He mourned the innocence of his child that was so brutally ripped from him. Mourned that his child would ever doubt that his father would ever not be with him. He pressed his forehead against his son’s, felt the soft puff of breath as his son exhaled and promised, “Always.”
By the morning light of the next day his son was back in the land of the living. His son was damaged, and that was ok, so long as he laughed and played. So long as he lived.
——
The tavern was full to capacity, the hardy noise of glasses clinking and laughter filled the air. The warm light of the tavern glowed from the windows and lit the streets around it.
Somewhere in the darkened alleyways a corpse emerges from the shadows.
The silence is cut by the sickening sound of bones cracking back into place, and tendons reforming themselves. The corpse's skin bubbles and blisters as decaying skin morphs into a face that doesn’t belong to the corpse. Once cloudy eyes are now filled with dark ink as they open once more. The corpse rises from the darkness of the alley, once brown hair now falling to mid back in inky tendrils. The shadows came up to the figure to wrap around him like a cloak. Before the shadows began twisting and curling into fabric.
The once corpse stepped out of the alleyway, and onto a main street. The moment he was out of the alley he was flicking up his cloak's hood. He walked across the street and to the tavern that was still lively despite the creeping night.
The hooded figure paused for a moment before pressing a pale knuckle to the tavern door in two soft knocks. The tavern Keep poked his head out of the door, eyes full of suspicion for the stranger who came so late. The moment that the barkeep's eyes fell on the figure cloaked in a black robe his eyes glazed over.
The bar keeper's eyes become hollow, his soul no longer held within its cage of flesh and bone. He walked like a puppet, all jagged movements and absent minded work. The barkeep is deathly silent as he makes his way back behind the counter, eyes glazed over by confusion.
Laughter and noise quickly died down as he walked by. The cold hand of death rested over everyone’s head as they watched this figure cloaked in black move through the tavern. The icy claws of death claw at the patrons as he passes. The shadows licked up the walls and clawed at the windows.
The figure approached another cloaked figure in the back of the tavern. The figure was sitting with his back against the wall and his hand clenched tightly against the sword strapped to his belt.
The standing hooded figure opened his mouth, the entire tavern fell silent as if they were all waiting for the being to speak, and in the lilting tone of Sinderian he spoke, “ heed there, Ranger of the West, I have a task for you.”
The black cloaked figure shifted on his feet before his hand disappeared into the folds of his cloak. The shadows of his cloak appeared to writhe and wither, faces of souls trapped inside the fabric twisted, in the flickering light of the tavern. The figure pulls out a drawstring pouch from the depths of his shadowy cloak. With a bony hand and a silent flick of his wrist he throws the pouch onto the table in front of the ranger. The drawstring comes undone upon impact with the table, sending sparkling gold coins cascading onto the table with quiet clinks. The light of the flames drew red light across the golden surface, looking like blood smeared across the many coins. Many brave patrons of the tavern sucked in a sharp breath. The amount of money on the table was enormous, but none would have been brave enough to take the coins.
The Ranger of the West tilted his head to the side, eyes cutting and cold. The fear of this being who bended the shadows and the minds of men to his will was carefully concealed beneath an empty mask. His voice was curt as he asked back in Sindarin, “and what exactly is this task that you are willing to pay a fortune to complete?”
The hooded figure twitched as its eyes searched around the tavern in a paranoid manner. A twitch of the hooded figure's hand caused the patrons of the tavern to go glassy eyed. They became empty husks, unable to remember what was happening nor what was spoken around them. The figure tilted his head, black pools of eyes studying the Ranger in front of him with an intensity that would send shivers down anyone’s spine.
Shadows creeped up the seats and wrapped around the Rangers neck, flashes of decaying corpses, human skulls and white simbelmynë flowers swaying in the wind, flashes in his mind's eye.
Then the figure blinked and the few moments of scrutiny were over.
“A child, lost and alone at the north east edge of Fangorn forest.”
The Ranger could hear a soft gentle laughter in his ears. The feeling of childish hands clutched in his own callused ones was distant yet grounding.
The ranger's eyes widened and he lent forward in his seat.
“A little boy who was hurt and scorned by those who were supposed to be protectors. Terrified of trusting, too scared to try. I asked that you gain his trust, and when you have it you will take the child to Imladris.”
For a moment the Ranger could see blood covered stone floors, purple handprints upon snow-like skin, and a jagged scar across a thin neck.
There was a quietness that permeated the space between the two figures, the ranger’s eyes were sharp with suspicion but the hooded figure weathered the gaze with grace and patience. The fear that ate away at the ranger was overshadowed by the need to protect his family from all harm that could befall them. Then finally the ranger spoke in hissed Sinderian, “And what business does this child have with the elves?”
The hooded figure smiled, fully of mischief, but holding no malicious intent. “Lord Elrond will know that when he looks upon the child,” the figure says with that mischievous smile playing at his mouth. The figure knew how the child would react if the Ranger knew of his heritage, so he protected the child’s secrets from the Ranger.
The ranger’s hand flexed against the sword in his scabbard. The ranger's posture grew stiff at the mention of the lord of Rivendell.The want to grasp a sword in the defense of the people was strong, but the Ranger beat it down with a determination of iron and a level headedness of an elf.
The hooded figure’s smile slipped off his face and a serious look overturned his expression. “I fear for the safety of the child, you have sworn a duty of protection, will you not obey the duty you have sworn?” The figure paused as if he were picking his words carefully before in a quieter voice he said, “I would not have come to you with this request if it was not my last resort. Long have I tried to get the stubborn child to safety and long have I failed in showing him that there are good people in Middle Earth.”
A flash of something cut through the ranger's mind. The smell of dandelions and soft morning dew. The chubby face of a child stained red from drying tear stains and a softly woven crown of simbelmynë fragile upon a head of inky curls.
There is quiet for a moment before the ranger asks, in a hesitant voice, “why me? Surely you can see this child to Imladris? I am needed here, where I can protect the west.”
For a moment all the ranger can feel is pressure. It pushes down upon him until there is no longer a will. All he knows is that he has upset something much more powerful than anything he had ever met. The fear is all consuming and dangerous, it is the cold hands of death and the biting taste of defeat. The Ranger wishes to scream but nothing can make it past his closed mouth.
Then the pressure lifts and the Ranger finds himself able to breathe once more.
The hooded figure twitched, eyes uncomfortably flickering around the tavern as if they were watching souls trapped inside the walls. “Yes, I can take the child to Imladris but I can’t make him stay. For a child who trusts nothing can be trusted little in staying in place. I could leave him locked up in the dungeons of Imladris, watched night and day by the best elven warriors, and he would still find a way out. You must first teach him to trust and then you must show him peace. You must do it, for I can’t.” The hooded figure pleaded. There was something desperate in his eyes that made the ranger bend, something that looked too much like the parents who couldn’t find their children after an orc attack.
“What does the child look like?” Asked the Ranger. The hooded figure practically beamed at the confirmation of him taking the task. The figure answered the Ranger in a voice dripping with fondness, “he has hair like that of the night: inky and black. His eyes are the green of freshly sprouted life and his skin is the pale smoothness of a child. He travels with his animal companion.”
The ranger sees a flash of a child with curly black hair and wide emerald eyes sitting on a tree branch. A tiny nose wrinkling in delight as soft drops of rain fell. Chubby rosie cheeks puffing out in a childish pout as a giant dog licks his cheeks.
“Animal companion,” the Ranger questioned in an incredulous tone. The hooded being grinned, mischievous and proud, as he said, “Yes: a wolf, snake, horse and owl.”
“A wolf? How in the Valar’s name did this child make friends with a wolf,” the Ranger asked the hooded stranger across from him. The hooded figure chuckled, deep and rich, at the exasperation in the Rangers voice before he absently added on, “and a snake, owl, and horse.”
The Ranger blinked blankly at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, before he took a breath and rubbed his temples. “…you have got to be kidding me,” he said in an exasperated manner.
The figure laughed, the shadows reached for the figure that sat across from the Ranger. Tiny wisps of shadows curled and twinned around him in an absent sort of manner. The flames in the tavern flickered and frettened to extinguish. Patrons huddled closer to the flicking light and away from the darkness of the night that creeped in through the cracks in the walls and the shadowed corners of the room. The figure’s laughter continued as until in unison all the flames in the tavern extinguished all at once. In the few minutes of darkness a single sentence was quietly pressed to the Ranger who sat in the darkened corner: “Be quick Estal, last hope of the Dúnedain, for I shall destroy everything you hold dear if the child I care for is harmed.”
A flash of burning kingdom and decaying corpses, mothers holding newborns corpses in cold dead hands, fires that fed from blood and ashes, storms that raged for years and winters that lasted longer. The smell of blood and decay reached his nose and the screaming wails of those left behind rang in his ears.
And then everything came crashing down in a single instant, for the sounds, and images stopped assaulting his mind. The silence rang out for a moment before the patrons began to move. They went back to their nights, as if the being of indescribable power had not been there, and from their eyes he realized that they didn’t remember.
And for a moment he believed that it was all a dream, until the golden light of the candles sparkling off the coins caught his eye.
A scroll lay in the middle of the table, wrapped tightly with a ribbon that was as black as night, under it were hundreds of gold coins, each glittering in the moonlight. His breath caught in his throat before he frantically scrambled for the scroll. The black ribbon was quickly removed and the scroll unraveled easily under his gentle hands. A full map of middle earth lay in front of him, every detail meticulously documented in intricate drawings and sketches. On the north east edge of Fangorn forest a emerald green dot was placed.
Aragorn breathed in before frantically paying for his meal and drinking, and going to bed. If the map was still there by morning then he’d set off to find the kid.
By next morning the map was still on his nightstand and he left the tavern at dawn.
——-
“Adar, can you teach me magic?”
The soft wind brought his child’s question to Death's pointy ears. Death looked up at his precious son for a moment, eyes assessing, before he asked, “What brought this request on, gwinig?” A smile stretched across Death's lips as he watched his son’s nose cutely rinkle at the Sinderian endearment of ‘little one.’ His son pouted for a moment as he realized that his father wouldn’t stop calling him that no matter what he did. “I had a dream that a giant man came and brought me to a magical shopping alley. He said that I was a wizard so I want to learn magic,” his son proclaimed with all the excited innocence of a child being told that they had magic.
Death’s smile was fond and indulgent as he looked upon his child. He knelt down to reach into his son's satchel, before beckoning his son over. A stick of elder wood lay in Death's hands. Once his son is standing in front of him he is handing the stick to his child with a pleased smile. The moment that the stick is in his son’s hands it is doubling in size and turning into a staff. An emerald the size of a baseball is forming from the top of the staff and simbelmynë, Athelas and elder flowers start to twist up the staff in lovely circles of white.
His son looks at the staff with amazement that amuses him. His laughter does nothing to his son's mood, in fact it makes his son smile wider. He points toward the staff as he says, “this is a staff, it is the tool that the wizards of middle earth use to do magic. Yours is made of elder wood with thestral hair as the core.” Death watched in amusement as his son nodded vigorously in understanding. “The flowers are a representation of my domain, which is where you will draw your power from when you are in middle earth. The Athelas is this one, here,” Death pointed out the small white flower on the ring of white, “they are a good healing herb, and can save one from the worst poisons. The emerald represents eternal love, it is a reminder that no matter how dark the situation is I will always love you.”
Death smiled at his child’s watery eyes and layed a gentle hand against his son’s cheek. His thumb came up to wipe away the tears that pooled underneath his child’s eyes.
“Let’s begin, the first spell I should teach you is lumus, it is a spell that summons light, so that you know that even in the darkness you can always call upon a light to guide your way. All you have to do is wish for light and it will come.”