FIC: "And A Little Child Shall Lead Them" - 1/1, R, OB/KU, HS, Lotrips
Title: And A Little Child Shall Lead Them
Series: Endgame
Author: Jo (jo@fadedink.com)
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Karl Urban, Harry Sinclair
Rating: R
Summary: A life hangs in the balance.
Warnings: heavy religious themes
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Archive: Faded Ink, all others please ask first.
Author's Notes: This story is part of a larger, multi-fandom story that's still in the process of being written. For now, all you need to know is that Orlando is Death, Karl is Famine, and Harry is the Archangel Michael. Much thanks to cupiscent and technosage for the beta work. This is for azewewish -- not the fandom or pairing I had originally intended to write, but it's what she wanted. Sort of. Happy birthday, cricket.
The girl child muttered in her sleep, twisting on the bed as she kicked at her covers. Her hair was matted, long strands lank around her head and shoulders, and her hands clutched at something that wasn't there. She muttered again, whimpering and shivering as her fever spiked once more.
And all Harry could do was stand silent, in the dark corner of the room, and watch her with eyes that felt as old and tired as time itself.
Each shift of the child, each quiet whimper, brought a soft rustling, like birds shifting in their sleep, in response. Harry never moved. He just stood there, silent in the corner and watched.
He continued to watch through the night, minutes slipping by as the darkness crept towards dawn and a new day. There was no change, though Harry whispered prayers of hope and reprieve. In the last hour of true dark, the room cooled, the child's breathing eased, and blackness as thick as lost hope formed near the bed. The air shimmered, coalesced, and then he stood there.
The slender form was clad all in black with silver trim, dark hair resting on his shoulders, hanging in front of his face, and Death looked down on the bed with flat, black eyes. The raven on his shoulder moved, glossy feathers gleaming in the low light. One hand came up, and long fingers slid along those feathers in a soothing motion.
Harry stepped forward.
Before he could speak, a low rumble filled the air, and Harry stopped in mid-step. The wolf, completely still until that moment, slid between them, silky black fur raised along his back, teeth bared in a silent snarl, golden eyes glowing in the darkness. Through it all, Death's eyes never left the bed.
"Leave this place, vile creature," Harry said, voice low and rich, silencing the wolf that held its ground, eyes locked with Harry's.
"Vile?" Finally, the black eyes shifted, and Orlando leveled his gaze on the other being. He seemed to notice the wolf for the first time, and a faint, cold smile curled his lips. "Karl."
As Harry watched, eyes growing dark, the air seemed to condense and time to slow. The wolf crouched down, body twisting, writhing, for a brief second as two forms attempted to occupy the same space, and then Famine stood at Death's side. "Not the one I would have expected you to bring," Harry said.
"He goes where he wishes," Orlando said, with a shrug. His hand continued to move, stroking the raven as it shifted along his shoulder. "And Jensen has already done his job."
"So you admit this," Harry said, one hand gesturing towards the bed, "was deliberate?"
"Deliberate?" Black eyes followed Harry's pointing finger. "Hardly. The child is merely collateral damage."
"Collateral...how easily His words roll off your tongue," Harry snarled.
"His?" Orlando laughed, and the sound sent a chill through the room. He shared a glance with Karl, who just smiled. "I believe your god's subjects are the ones to thank for that quaint turn of phrase."
"Brought about by Satan's growing influence."
Orlando shrugged again. "At least the Lightbringer gives them a choice."
"Why argue with him?" Karl asked, shaking dark hair from his face as black lines writhed beneath the skin of his neck and bare chest. They moved with a life of their own, crawling over the curve of muscle, forming glyphs not seen in the mortal world. "You came for --"
A lifted hand silenced him, and Orlando continued to watch Harry. "I know," Orlando said. "There's time."
"Leave." Harry's command thundered in the silent room.
"Not without her." Emotionless eyes stared at Harry, focused on his every move.
"No."
Orlando didn't move, but a dark, thick line of black appeared high on his forehead, slithering down across one eye, narrowing until it ended in a point at his jaw. Other lines of black crept beneath his skin where it was visible, and the gaunt outlines of bones were clear on his hands where they hung at his sides. "No?" he repeated, soft and quiet as a grave, but his voice rang, hollow, with his next words. "You dare tell me no?"
Even Karl took a step back as the air crackled with dark energy.
"You will not have her," Harry said, and stepped forward. With a quiet sound, like a sigh, and a soft flare of light, white wings spread from his shoulders. Even though not fully extended, the tips touched the walls. Harry's figure was limned in a warm, golden glow.
"Just try to stop me." Orlando whirled towards the bed, one hand reaching towards the child sleeping there. Karl merely watched and smiled, eyes reflecting the glow still surrounding Harry.
That glow flared as a fiery sword appeared in Harry's hand, then slashed through the air between Orlando and the bed. Its arc was marked by an afterimage almost too bright to look at, and the small space between them sizzled. "You will not have her."
Halfway to its goal, Orlando's hand froze. Only his eyes moved, shifting to take in the flames licking along the blade so close to his arm. Those eyes lifted to meet Harry's gaze.
And slowly Orlando straightened to face the archangel.
As Harry watched, face stern, Orlando seemed to grow. He loomed until his presence filled the room. The temperature plunged. Within seconds, it was so cold that their breath would have been visible were they mortal and if they had breathed. Harry did not flinch, not even as Karl stalked forward, flesh melting from his bones as he circled Harry, peering at him with hollow eyes.
"Your parlor tricks are nothing to me," Harry said, gaze never leaving Orlando.
"Parlor tricks?" Karl bared his teeth, stretched out hands that were little more than skeletal claws. He stopped when Orlando laughed.
The sound was chilling, hollow. It rattled around the room, and the pin feathers in Harry's wings shivered in response. "Silly little angel," Orlando murmured. The raven on his shoulder danced and cawed in agitation, black wings flapping around Orlando's head. His hand rose, and Harry could see a thin gold chain dangling from his fingers.
At the end of that chain swung a flat golden disc.
Harry didn't need to see it to know the child's name was there. The disc was Death's Charm, proof that the Fates had drawn this child's life to a close. Harry couldn't argue, nor could he fight the inevitable. He closed his eyes and the sword vanished, the last, faint hope he'd held vanishing with it.
"Did you really think you could stop me?" Orlando asked, as Harry's wings folded to rest against his back once more.
Sad eyes fell on the restless child, and Harry felt ancient in his grief. "She is innocent," Harry said, then looked back to Orlando.
"More innocent blood has been shed in the name of your god than by any other means," Orlando snapped, eyes blazing as his fist clenched tight around the chain. "Look to the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the slaughter of the Saracens, the forcing of Her religion on the Saxons, the Huguenots...shall I go on, Michael? I can, you know. They all kept me very busy."
"That was --"
"Your god is drenched in innocent blood," Orlando hissed. "Do not speak to me of innocents."
Karl stepped away from Harry and curled bony fingers around Orlando's arms. A quick tug pulled him back towards Karl, but the air of menace didn't abate. Orlando continued to glare at Harry through a tangle of hair, the air cold enough that the child shivered continuously.
"She is a child," Harry said, attempting one last time to dissuade Death from his course.
"You, of all Her minions, should know that I don't discriminate." Black eyes flashed again, and Karl bent to whisper something in Orlando's ear. Though too low for Harry to hear, the words seemed to work, because Orlando relaxed, took another step back until he was resting against a now broad frame, and the black triangle faded from his features. "Young, old, healthy, sick, weak, strong...I come for them all eventually."
"I know," Harry said, after a long pause. He stepped back and bowed his head as his wings furled tight around his body. "I had hoped, though..."
"You always do, old friend," Orlando said, and smiled. It was a small, gentle smile, like that of the elderly who pass peacefully in their sleep. He lifted his hand, patted Karl's, then stroked the raven on his shoulder again as the bird settled.
"Is there nothing...?"
Orlando shook his head. "You know better," he said and knelt beside the bed. He reached out to brush strands of hair from her forehead, his touch light and soothing. "Each is given an allotted time. You wouldn't be here otherwise."
Harry nodded, meeting the dark gaze as Death looked over his shoulder.
The little girl woke with a jerk. Fever hazed blue eyes stared around, fastened on Orlando. "Who are you?" she asked, and her voice trembled in the creeping dawn.
"You know," Orlando said. His voice was gentle, as was his touch on her hair again, and Harry closed his eyes once more, his entire being hurting with the respite from pain and suffering that Death was offering. "It's time to go."
"But my mommy --"
"She has to stay here for now." Orlando stood, held out a hand. "You'll be able to watch her, though."
Biting her lip, the child looked at his hand, then back up at his face. "Will it hurt?"
"No," Orlando promised, as he smiled down at her. "Never again."
Her hand shook only a little as she reached out to slide small fingers over his palm. For a second, Orlando stood there, unmoving. Then he curled his fingers around hers. His free hand draped the thin chain lightly around her neck, and the golden disc gleamed against her faded and worn gown.
Without looking at Harry, Orlando reached out once more. Murmuring a quiet prayer, Harry came forward to accept his charge, his warm fingers clasping the little girl's as Orlando took their hands and joined them.
"Are you an angel?"
"Yes," Harry said, lifting her easily in his arms. The edges of her spirit shimmered with gold and silver as her body relaxed against her pillows. "And I've come to take you home."
"Mommy will be sad."
"She will," Harry agreed, as they started to fade from sight. "But you'll see her again."
When the room was still and dark again, cold grey dawn creeping in on silent feet, Karl looked at Orlando. "Never a dull moment with him around, is there?"
"No, there isn't," Orlando admitted, and chuckled. He looked down at the still form of the little girl and stood there for a moment, studying the peaceful lines of her face.
Without speaking, Karl brushed his fingers against the back of Orlando's hand before vanishing. Orlando didn't look up, but reached out to smooth the sheets over the small body, nestling a teddy bear against her side.
"Dona eis requiem sempiternam," he whispered, and then faded from sight.
Dona eis requiem sempiternam - Grant them rest eternal.
Series: Endgame
Author: Jo (jo@fadedink.com)
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Karl Urban, Harry Sinclair
Rating: R
Summary: A life hangs in the balance.
Warnings: heavy religious themes
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Archive: Faded Ink, all others please ask first.
Author's Notes: This story is part of a larger, multi-fandom story that's still in the process of being written. For now, all you need to know is that Orlando is Death, Karl is Famine, and Harry is the Archangel Michael. Much thanks to cupiscent and technosage for the beta work. This is for azewewish -- not the fandom or pairing I had originally intended to write, but it's what she wanted. Sort of. Happy birthday, cricket.
The girl child muttered in her sleep, twisting on the bed as she kicked at her covers. Her hair was matted, long strands lank around her head and shoulders, and her hands clutched at something that wasn't there. She muttered again, whimpering and shivering as her fever spiked once more.
And all Harry could do was stand silent, in the dark corner of the room, and watch her with eyes that felt as old and tired as time itself.
Each shift of the child, each quiet whimper, brought a soft rustling, like birds shifting in their sleep, in response. Harry never moved. He just stood there, silent in the corner and watched.
He continued to watch through the night, minutes slipping by as the darkness crept towards dawn and a new day. There was no change, though Harry whispered prayers of hope and reprieve. In the last hour of true dark, the room cooled, the child's breathing eased, and blackness as thick as lost hope formed near the bed. The air shimmered, coalesced, and then he stood there.
The slender form was clad all in black with silver trim, dark hair resting on his shoulders, hanging in front of his face, and Death looked down on the bed with flat, black eyes. The raven on his shoulder moved, glossy feathers gleaming in the low light. One hand came up, and long fingers slid along those feathers in a soothing motion.
Harry stepped forward.
Before he could speak, a low rumble filled the air, and Harry stopped in mid-step. The wolf, completely still until that moment, slid between them, silky black fur raised along his back, teeth bared in a silent snarl, golden eyes glowing in the darkness. Through it all, Death's eyes never left the bed.
"Leave this place, vile creature," Harry said, voice low and rich, silencing the wolf that held its ground, eyes locked with Harry's.
"Vile?" Finally, the black eyes shifted, and Orlando leveled his gaze on the other being. He seemed to notice the wolf for the first time, and a faint, cold smile curled his lips. "Karl."
As Harry watched, eyes growing dark, the air seemed to condense and time to slow. The wolf crouched down, body twisting, writhing, for a brief second as two forms attempted to occupy the same space, and then Famine stood at Death's side. "Not the one I would have expected you to bring," Harry said.
"He goes where he wishes," Orlando said, with a shrug. His hand continued to move, stroking the raven as it shifted along his shoulder. "And Jensen has already done his job."
"So you admit this," Harry said, one hand gesturing towards the bed, "was deliberate?"
"Deliberate?" Black eyes followed Harry's pointing finger. "Hardly. The child is merely collateral damage."
"Collateral...how easily His words roll off your tongue," Harry snarled.
"His?" Orlando laughed, and the sound sent a chill through the room. He shared a glance with Karl, who just smiled. "I believe your god's subjects are the ones to thank for that quaint turn of phrase."
"Brought about by Satan's growing influence."
Orlando shrugged again. "At least the Lightbringer gives them a choice."
"Why argue with him?" Karl asked, shaking dark hair from his face as black lines writhed beneath the skin of his neck and bare chest. They moved with a life of their own, crawling over the curve of muscle, forming glyphs not seen in the mortal world. "You came for --"
A lifted hand silenced him, and Orlando continued to watch Harry. "I know," Orlando said. "There's time."
"Leave." Harry's command thundered in the silent room.
"Not without her." Emotionless eyes stared at Harry, focused on his every move.
"No."
Orlando didn't move, but a dark, thick line of black appeared high on his forehead, slithering down across one eye, narrowing until it ended in a point at his jaw. Other lines of black crept beneath his skin where it was visible, and the gaunt outlines of bones were clear on his hands where they hung at his sides. "No?" he repeated, soft and quiet as a grave, but his voice rang, hollow, with his next words. "You dare tell me no?"
Even Karl took a step back as the air crackled with dark energy.
"You will not have her," Harry said, and stepped forward. With a quiet sound, like a sigh, and a soft flare of light, white wings spread from his shoulders. Even though not fully extended, the tips touched the walls. Harry's figure was limned in a warm, golden glow.
"Just try to stop me." Orlando whirled towards the bed, one hand reaching towards the child sleeping there. Karl merely watched and smiled, eyes reflecting the glow still surrounding Harry.
That glow flared as a fiery sword appeared in Harry's hand, then slashed through the air between Orlando and the bed. Its arc was marked by an afterimage almost too bright to look at, and the small space between them sizzled. "You will not have her."
Halfway to its goal, Orlando's hand froze. Only his eyes moved, shifting to take in the flames licking along the blade so close to his arm. Those eyes lifted to meet Harry's gaze.
And slowly Orlando straightened to face the archangel.
As Harry watched, face stern, Orlando seemed to grow. He loomed until his presence filled the room. The temperature plunged. Within seconds, it was so cold that their breath would have been visible were they mortal and if they had breathed. Harry did not flinch, not even as Karl stalked forward, flesh melting from his bones as he circled Harry, peering at him with hollow eyes.
"Your parlor tricks are nothing to me," Harry said, gaze never leaving Orlando.
"Parlor tricks?" Karl bared his teeth, stretched out hands that were little more than skeletal claws. He stopped when Orlando laughed.
The sound was chilling, hollow. It rattled around the room, and the pin feathers in Harry's wings shivered in response. "Silly little angel," Orlando murmured. The raven on his shoulder danced and cawed in agitation, black wings flapping around Orlando's head. His hand rose, and Harry could see a thin gold chain dangling from his fingers.
At the end of that chain swung a flat golden disc.
Harry didn't need to see it to know the child's name was there. The disc was Death's Charm, proof that the Fates had drawn this child's life to a close. Harry couldn't argue, nor could he fight the inevitable. He closed his eyes and the sword vanished, the last, faint hope he'd held vanishing with it.
"Did you really think you could stop me?" Orlando asked, as Harry's wings folded to rest against his back once more.
Sad eyes fell on the restless child, and Harry felt ancient in his grief. "She is innocent," Harry said, then looked back to Orlando.
"More innocent blood has been shed in the name of your god than by any other means," Orlando snapped, eyes blazing as his fist clenched tight around the chain. "Look to the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the slaughter of the Saracens, the forcing of Her religion on the Saxons, the Huguenots...shall I go on, Michael? I can, you know. They all kept me very busy."
"That was --"
"Your god is drenched in innocent blood," Orlando hissed. "Do not speak to me of innocents."
Karl stepped away from Harry and curled bony fingers around Orlando's arms. A quick tug pulled him back towards Karl, but the air of menace didn't abate. Orlando continued to glare at Harry through a tangle of hair, the air cold enough that the child shivered continuously.
"She is a child," Harry said, attempting one last time to dissuade Death from his course.
"You, of all Her minions, should know that I don't discriminate." Black eyes flashed again, and Karl bent to whisper something in Orlando's ear. Though too low for Harry to hear, the words seemed to work, because Orlando relaxed, took another step back until he was resting against a now broad frame, and the black triangle faded from his features. "Young, old, healthy, sick, weak, strong...I come for them all eventually."
"I know," Harry said, after a long pause. He stepped back and bowed his head as his wings furled tight around his body. "I had hoped, though..."
"You always do, old friend," Orlando said, and smiled. It was a small, gentle smile, like that of the elderly who pass peacefully in their sleep. He lifted his hand, patted Karl's, then stroked the raven on his shoulder again as the bird settled.
"Is there nothing...?"
Orlando shook his head. "You know better," he said and knelt beside the bed. He reached out to brush strands of hair from her forehead, his touch light and soothing. "Each is given an allotted time. You wouldn't be here otherwise."
Harry nodded, meeting the dark gaze as Death looked over his shoulder.
The little girl woke with a jerk. Fever hazed blue eyes stared around, fastened on Orlando. "Who are you?" she asked, and her voice trembled in the creeping dawn.
"You know," Orlando said. His voice was gentle, as was his touch on her hair again, and Harry closed his eyes once more, his entire being hurting with the respite from pain and suffering that Death was offering. "It's time to go."
"But my mommy --"
"She has to stay here for now." Orlando stood, held out a hand. "You'll be able to watch her, though."
Biting her lip, the child looked at his hand, then back up at his face. "Will it hurt?"
"No," Orlando promised, as he smiled down at her. "Never again."
Her hand shook only a little as she reached out to slide small fingers over his palm. For a second, Orlando stood there, unmoving. Then he curled his fingers around hers. His free hand draped the thin chain lightly around her neck, and the golden disc gleamed against her faded and worn gown.
Without looking at Harry, Orlando reached out once more. Murmuring a quiet prayer, Harry came forward to accept his charge, his warm fingers clasping the little girl's as Orlando took their hands and joined them.
"Are you an angel?"
"Yes," Harry said, lifting her easily in his arms. The edges of her spirit shimmered with gold and silver as her body relaxed against her pillows. "And I've come to take you home."
"Mommy will be sad."
"She will," Harry agreed, as they started to fade from sight. "But you'll see her again."
When the room was still and dark again, cold grey dawn creeping in on silent feet, Karl looked at Orlando. "Never a dull moment with him around, is there?"
"No, there isn't," Orlando admitted, and chuckled. He looked down at the still form of the little girl and stood there for a moment, studying the peaceful lines of her face.
Without speaking, Karl brushed his fingers against the back of Orlando's hand before vanishing. Orlando didn't look up, but reached out to smooth the sheets over the small body, nestling a teddy bear against her side.
"Dona eis requiem sempiternam," he whispered, and then faded from sight.
Dona eis requiem sempiternam - Grant them rest eternal.