A/N: This is a short story based off of the book "Keturah and Lord Death" by Martine Leavitt. If you've never read it, go do it; it's a wonderful, short read. But this story is centered around their daughter, who makes a visit to Alagaesia.
I am the daughter of Death, a proud and noble Lady who knows her duty. Lyris walked along the rocky shore where the black waves lapped against her bare feet, her dark-winged raven fluttering its wings where he sat upon her shoulder. Lightning flashed on the horizon, lighting up the sea at the edge of the world. She raised her head to stare beyond the water, where she knew her destiny awaited her. The wind ripped at her hair, making the light brown waves snap at her eyes and block her vision. She pushed her hair away in agitation. I must not be afraid. The raven let out a caw.
"Daughter," the cold voice came from behind her, though she knew it was not from unkindness; that was just his way. She turned after plastering a smile upon her pretty face.
"Father," she greeted, coming to stand just in front of him. He smiled down at her, his own version of kindness in his stark, grey eyes. Lord Death was a stern man, but he had softened over the years since Lyris was born. Her mother, Keturah, had changed him in ways he never knew were possible. And when Lord Death had created life, it gave him new purpose. Keturah and Lyris gave his endless life new meaning.
"Are you ready, Lyris?" She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. All her life, she'd known this day would come eventually, but she'd never imagined it would come so soon. She was still just a girl, after all; no more than one hundred years old. Shaking a bit from her anticipation, she nodded quickly, sending her curls bouncing up and down and unsettling the bird.
"Yes, Father, I think so," she replied. Her black cloak suddenly felt heavy upon her shoulders, and the clasp at her neck seemed to tighten with her fear. The bird let out another agitated caw. "Hush, Armaros," she chided the bird. The raven must have sensed her nervousness, and Lord Death could also tell she was trembling.
"There is nothing to fear, child," he said, putting a hand upon the shoulder that was not occupied by the raven. "You have been training for this your entire life. The task is simple enough: ferry the souls of the departed to their eternal resting places. You must be the judge of who goes where. That is all up to you, Lyris. I trust you will judge wisely and fairly. There is much of your mother in you…" His thoughts trailed off as he smiled at his daughter. "Now come. There is work to be done." Lyris took a deep breath and followed behind her father, taking care not to step on the hem of his long, red cloak. Not a day had gone by where she had seen him without the cloak, but today would be different.
They stopped just short of the waves, near a small boat. Lord Death turned to his daughter and fiddled with the silver clasp at his neck. It was in the shape of a raven with outstretched talons and spread wings; it's mouth open as if it would cry out at any moment. The anticipation bubbled within her as the girl watched him unclasp the cloak and slide it off his shoulders. She did the same with her own cloak and let it fall to the ground. There would be no need for it any longer. As Lord Death handed over the cloak, a similar bird to the one perched on Lyris' shoulder flew forth from the enchanted clasp, cawing wildly as it flapped its wings. The raven landed upon Lord Death's shoulder, and he stroked the black bird's wings softly.
"It is good to see you, old friend," he told the bird, which rustled his wings in response. Lyris looked to her own raven, and he pushed off her shoulder, flying towards the clasp and letting the magic of the celestial object envelop him. "Armaros will be your guide as you travel through the worlds, Lyris. He will never lead you astray," Lord Death said. Lyris took the red cloak and clasped it about her own shoulders, letting the power of the garment wash over her. It felt as though her whole body was buzzing, and the air seemed to shimmer around her.
She looked to her father and held out her arms. "How do I look?" she asked sheepishly.
Lord Death smiled. "You are now Lady Death," he replied, "and I am simply Ademus once more. It is time." She nodded quickly and allowed her father to help her into the boat. As she sat on the wooden bench, he pushed her off from the shore. Lyris clung to the sides of the boat as it rocked against the black waves, and kept her eyes on the beach. Her father stood there and watched her disappear from the Land of Eternal Life, knowing it would be quite some time before he saw her again. Soon, the little boat disappeared beyond his line of sight, and his daughter was gone.
100 years later
Lady Death tread softly along the forest path, her bare feet hardly touching the ground. It was a bright, sunny day in Angleland—the place where her mother was from—but grief loomed on the horizon. The small village of Tide-by-Rood would soon meet Lady Death for the first time in nearly twenty years. In the century since her mother had left, Lady Death noticed that it was still the same happy, simple village that it had been. The plague scare from over a hundred years ago had passed them by, and the town had not had any same such excitement since.
The last time Lady Death had been here, it had been to take away their king. He was an old man, and had lived a long, fruitful life. The villagers were sad to see him pass, but his son had become a fine ruler in his stead. Whenever Lady Death visited Tide-by-Rood, she liked to spend some time amongst the townspeople and marvel at their peaceful lifestyle. Too often, she was busy taking souls from bloody battlefields of horrible wars. It was a nice change to ferry the soul of one who has lived their life to the fullest. Today, she would be meeting a woman of eighty years who had spent the better portion of her life caring for the orphans of Tide-by-Rood.
The village came into her sight through the trees of the forest—the very forest where her parents had met—and she quickened her pace. The bells in the church were clanging to announce the evening service. Women and children flocked to the building that stood at the center of town; the men hadn't returned from the fields yet. Lady Death weaved her way through the charming village, heading to a house that stood off a side street. There were people gathered outside, but none of them noticed Lady Death as she walked past them. Inside, it was dark and chilly. The family was gathered upstairs, in the old woman's room. Lady Death hurried up the stairs and stepped around the group of weeping women. They were the old woman's daughters; Lady Death knew that they all had many more years to live with each other. But the one she had come for was lying in the bed, her hand held by a young man whom Lady Death knew was her grandson. Her mouth was agape and her eyes stared up at the ceiling. The family members were all whispering condolences to each other, but Lady Death paid them no mind.
She came around to the other side of the bed and kneeled down to put her hand upon the old woman's brow. The woman gasped at the sudden contact, and her glassy eyes went wide. "Do not be afraid," Lady Death whispered in her kind voice. "You have lived a full life, and you never spoke a false or unkind word against another soul. You will live the rest of your days in the Land of Eternal Life, with your family, who await you even now. Come with me." The old woman took in one final breath, and then slowly expelled it, her eyes fluttering closed. Her spirit lifted up out of her body, and she took Lady Death by the hand. Lady Death kissed her upon her wrinkled brow and the woman's spirit disappeared to the Land of Eternal Life. The family wept bitterly, so Lady Death left them to their grief.
As Lady Death walked through the town in the dusk, she looked up to the sky. It was afire with the colors of sunset; purples, pinks, and reds were painted across the dark blue in a beautiful display of nature. She let a small smile play at her lips and then continued on her way. She would have liked to stay longer, but the silver clasp about her neck began to pulse with a faint, white light. Armaros was trying to contact her.
What is it, Armaros? she asked.
The spirit of her guide replied, Lady Death, there is a matter that requires our immediate attention. It concerns a queen. Lyris hated dealing with the deaths of royals. Besides the death of the king from Angleland, they were generally tedious affairs that were drug out as long as possible. The healers and advisors took whatever means necessary to save them, although it was a hopeless endeavor. Lady Death was a stern mistress, and she would always come eventually.
Where are we going then? she sighed. Perhaps it would be somewhere new, she thought. There were far too many worlds for Lyris to handle every passing herself, so most of the time she let her ravens handle it. But sometimes, there would be an important matter or a large battle she would need to attend to, and new worlds would be introduced to her. This time, she was not so fortunate.
It is Alagaesia, my lady, Armaros replied stoically. Lyris fought back the urge to roll her eyes; that would not have been very ladylike or fitting for her station.
I despise that place. There is far too much death there, and the people act so childishly about it. You would think they would know by now that it isn't something they can ever hope to avoid. And yet I am always dealing with some magician trying to devise a new way to live forever. You remember that Galbatorix fellow? Lady Death huffed in irritation.
Yes, my lady, I do. But remember, he did not escape your grasp in the end, Armaros said. She could just make out that he was teasing her. You should know that your father contacted me, and requested that we deal with this matter personally.
Very well, to Alagaesia we go.
The moon shone down brightly as Lady Death arrived in Alagaesia. It was a clear, summer night, and a warm breeze tousled her light brown hair. But above all, there was a stink of death about the land. Lyris remembered the stories her father had told her of the terrible wars that had been waged here a few hundred years ago. There were dragons in this land, and those monsters had attacked each other without any regard for the lives they destroyed. Not long ago, another war had been waged in this land, and Lady Death had been here to ferry the souls away. It made her sick to see such a blatant flippancy for the sanctity of life, but there was nothing she could do except for her duty.
She walked through the tall grass of the plains, sweeping her fingers against the fronds of green foliage. A large city loomed up ahead, and she knew that was her destination; Armaros' guidance had told her as much. The queen of this land was dying, and she needed to take her away. But in a little while. For now, she was content to take her time. The queen was not going anywhere.
Eventually though, she knew she could not wait any longer. It would anger her father if he knew she had been wasting time. So she spirited into the city and walked into the palace, slipping past the guards unseen. There were only a few people she'd ever met in all the worlds she'd been to that could see her, and she knew that one of them lived here. She just hoped he was not nearby. He could cause her problems if the matter was as urgent as Armaros had made it seem. The palace was sprawling and covered a large area of land, but Lady Death did not need a map to traverse the city of Illirea. She was guided by the pull of dying life, a force that was impossible to ignore.
High up in the largest tower of the citadel, Lady Death could feel the waning life force that was calling her, and she knew she was in the right place by the guards posted outside of the door. None of them felt her presence as she walked easily past them into the room. Within the room was a large, gilt-framed bed surrounded by several people. There were men and women alike, but Lady Death paid them no mind. The only person she was concerned with was the dark-skinned woman lying upon the bed.
Nasuada was much older than the last time Lyris had seen her; she was well into her seventies by now, if the white hair upon her head and wrinkled skin of her face and hands was any indication. When Lyris had last been in Alagaesia, the dark-skinned woman had been little more than a girl, only just barely into womanhood and with a rebellion to lead. Lady Death had been by Nasuada's side when her father died, and now her time had come. By her side was a young man with dark hair and grey eyes, but Lady Death knew that he was not all he seemed to be, nor were the other young people gathered in the room. They all had the stink of magic about them, all except for the old woman lying in the bed. The dark-haired man had a tight grip on her frail hand, but she didn't seem responsive to him. Lady Death knew that the hour was drawing near. All she would need to do is wait.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, Eragon," one of the older men said to a tall youth with pointed ears. Lyris knew he was another magician that was far older than he seemed. A blue sword sheath hung at his hip, and he placed a hand upon its hilt nervously. The woman beside him had pointed ears as well, and long flowing black hair. The young man named Eragon nodded his head somberly, still looking at Nasuada where she lay quietly.
"It was the least I could do," he replied. Lady Death crossed the room on silent, bare feet, taking up a spot in a shadowy corner. There was a tall, slender girl with dark waves of hair, that locked her piercing, violet eyes onto Lyris. She stared at the girl pointedly; apparently, there was yet another person in this realm who could see Lady Death. And Lyris knew that this was one of those strange souls that she would never claim; a goddess, like herself. The girl continued to stare at Lady Death, but if she was concerned that no one else in the room seemed to notice her presence, she did not show it on her face.
"Elva," Nasuada suddenly croaked, reaching out the arm that was not being held by the dark-haired man. The girl with the violet eyes shifted her gaze quickly and hurried to the queen's bedside, grasping her hand and drawing it into her chest. Lady Death watched on with interest.
"I'm here, my lady," the girl whispered.
"Tell me truly, Elva. Has my time come?" The girl chewed on her lip nervously, and silently looked back at the shadow where Lady Death patiently stood. No one seemed to notice her furtive glance, but her silence was confirmation enough. The old woman exhaled heavily, her chest caving in at an alarming angle. Lady Death did not know what afflicted her, nor did it really matter, but it was clear that whatever the disease was, it had taken its toll on the once proud, noble Queen Nasuada.
The witch, Elva, stood and retreated from the bedside, keeping her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her. Lady Death could see a shining, silver tear roll down the sorceress' cheek. The dark-haired man suddenly looked up at the witch, fire blazing in his eyes, and it was then that Lady Death knew him. She had hoped to avoid this problem while she was in Alagaesia, but instead she'd stumbled right into it. Murtagh Morzansson was the other soul from this world that could see her. He locked his eyes where she stood pressed into the corner, but she was not afraid. There was nothing a mere mortal could do to harm the goddess of death.
Murtagh looked to Elva and she nodded slightly, wiping away another tear. They knew that Death lurked nearby. Then his gaze shifted to Eragon and the elf-woman. "Thank you for coming, brother," he said quietly, "but I think we have a little while yet. I would like some time alone with her." Eragon nodded somberly and headed for the door, followed by Elva, Arya, and the older man. At the opposite side of the room, there was a girl Lady Death had failed to notice before. She wore a dress of cloth-of-gold, and her skin was the color of honey. She had curly, light brown hair, and hazel eyes that were brimmed with tears. There was an air of magic around her, and Lyris instantly knew who she was.
"You too, Vala," Murtagh said, never taking his eyes off the queen.
"Please, let me stay Father, I—"
"Hush, child," he said, not unkindly. "I would be alone with your mother now. Take Franae and find Adric; tell him there is not much time left. The last time he was seen, he was in Du Weldenvarden. Start your search there."
"Yes, Father," she said obediently, bowing her head and hurrying out of the room. The door clicked behind her, and a heavy silence settled over the room. Lady Death strode purposefully forward the bed, her bare feet making no noise against the carpeted floor. Murtagh's gaze remained on Nasuada, but a snarl began to spread across his face.
"Stay away from her, demon," he growled.
"You should show more respect to the gods," Lady Death said stoically, unperturbed by his insolence.
"I don't believe in the gods," he scoffed.
"Then I am a figment of your mind? I would think you of all people would know better than that, Murtagh Morzansson." Lady Death stared down at him pointedly, one eyebrow cocked high above the other. She stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down at the frail old woman that had replaced the once strong leader of the Varden. Time ravaged all, although for some it passed much slower. Only when the two worlds collided—those that died slowly, and those that only had a short time in the world—did it create problems for Lady Death, as it would now. Lyris looked at Murtagh coldly, and she knew from the fire in his eyes that he would not give up his beloved without a fight.
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