Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 9 |
| Not a Typical Night's Work |
For Harrowcat for her birthday. With beta by RiverOtter. |
Death waited patiently for the two individuals to begin to rise from their relaxed bodies. He stepped forward with his scythe raised to carefully cut the silver cord that bound the broader one to his already cooling corpse. Pardon me, but who are you? the broad one asked. Oh, you mustn’t mind me--am only doing my job. Have a nice death. So saying, he turned toward the other, noting with surprise this shining soul’s rather insubstantial body had already fallen to shining sparks. He looked up as he watched this one draw the golden spirit of the first upward. You could not wait? The silver spirit of this one beamed back down at him. Oh, but must I? I’ve waited rather a long time as it is. Now, come, Sam--there’s a good deal of dancing I wish to do, you know. Impatiently he surged further upward, the night growing increasingly brighter as the spirits of the stars leaned down to greet these two among them. As he sped upward, the golden spirit peered back at him. You mustn’t take offense, he called back. Been ready for this a good long time, he has, if’n you take my meanin’. Not willin’ to have t’ wait for Time nor no one else, I’m thinkin’. Oh, and nice horse! he added politely. Death watched after the two of them as he moved to the white horse’s side. Well, Binky, he confided, not all fear me. These two appear to have been fully ready without my interference at all. Another form appeared at his side, tall and fair, the brooch of the Sun in Eclipse at his throat. So, Pratchett has sent you over? he asked. Not that I think you were truly needed. Death shrugged his bony shoulders under his black cloak. You don’t appear particularly surprised. Námo shrugged and glanced upwards. Oh, Iorhael and I have had slightly more than a mere nodding acquaintance, he admitted, smiling as Eärendil leaned forward to offer his hands to the two departing spirits. Not that he’s going to want to waste time visiting my halls, either. He is one of those determined ones who, once he knows what is to come, simply goes there, although I must rejoice that right now he is pausing to dance. Ah, look--the figure he’s cutting with Tilion is delightful! Death laid his bony arm over Binky’s neck, happy to pause in his work to watch the glorious dancing overhead. It was a distinct pleasure to watch the two of them enjoying themselves amongst those who’d accepted responsibility for the stars of night, he had to admit. Binky nuzzled closer to him, obviously pleased by the embrace. A good night’s work--one that made him glad to be an anthropomorphic construct. He rather regretted he must soon return to the Discworld. |