With a heartfelt thanks to Blue Yeti. As reward, have one of my comma bitches.
God's Waiting Room (AU)
To the well organised mind death is but the next great adventure
- JK Rowling - Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone.
Artemis always assumed that death would be sort of… spectacular, obvious, at least. It wasn't; there was actually certain subtleness to it, an elegance. Indeed, in times to come Artemis would compare the sensations of it to fine wines and brilliant works of art…
Usually, intelligent people find it slightly disconcerting if they, for no apparent reason, switch from one location to a strange, new one, especially, if this change is sudden and without warning. For some reason, though, heaven did not seem so disconcerting.
In fact, amidst the tranquil stillness of Butler and Artemis's new setting, an occasional gentle gust seemed as out of place as a tornado in an earthly metropolis. Perhaps it was because of this peacefulness, that it took Butler and Artemis such a long time to snap out of the expressionless, daze like, state in which they had arrived. - And thus, to notice that they were no longer in an upmarket Knightsbridge restaurant.
Maybe they were there for an hour, maybe a day, maybe an age. Maybe an eternity had passed; for all they knew the world they were a part of may no longer exist. – They didn't care; there appeared to be no need to consider incidentals like chronology.
When, at last, Artemis did regain some kind of conscious thought, the pureness of their surroundings hit him instantly. He instinctively knew that he was at the entrance to God's domain; it was effectively his waiting room. The realisation that he was dead was simple and it wasn't dramatic; it was like the information wasn't new. There was no sickly sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was as if he had already digested and accepted the information without ever knowing it.
Other than for the company of each other that they had shared for so long, Butler and Artemis were completely alone; the ridge that they were resting on stretched out, poignantly solitary, and encapsuled by the cleanest grey imaginable. Artemis gazed around the Godly dome, musing that it was almost surreal in its predictability.
So this is it, he pondered lightly, as he digested the very fitting atmosphere around him.
After a while, Artemis turned to look at Butler, who was standing peacefully, still by his side, breathing in the freshness of the air. He was a picture of conflicting emotions, the ultimate oxymoron: Artemis had never seen Butler look so grim and sombre, but neither had he ever seen him radiating with such assured contentedness. He looked abnormally relaxed and at ease.
Artemis, himself, was attempting to analyse the situation. However, his collection of earthly experiences told him that analysing this particular phase of his existence was going to be a little more difficult than usual. This was beyond human comprehension; he would just have to wait. Something he did not particularly enjoy. And this wait was a bit more significant than usual. In fact, this wait would determine who or what he would become for an infinite amount of time. This wait, could very well determine whether he would go to metaphorical heaven or hell. If they existed, that is. Artemis found himself in an uncharacteristic cold sweat.
"Butler…" He began.
The mellowing mountain of muscle turned around. He seemed mildly surprised that Artemis had broken the silence and his eyes were unnervingly wide. Artemis suspected that Butler had been meditating. He wanted his protection now, more than ever before. However, as he waited to travel into his cloud covered future he accepted that whatever demon was lying beyond his obscured view was probably far beyond Butler's powers to shield him from. After all, it was unlikely that 'protecting your charge from God' was a featured class at Madam Ko's academy. Artemis sought this protection, nonetheless.
"Are you scared Butler?" He asked feebly. A feeling of stupidity overwhelmed Artemis even as he began to ask the question. His cheeks puffed out and he felt like the rest of his body shrunk as he diverted his gaze all too conspicuously, and very sheepishly, to the dusty surface around his feet.
Butler's face at last came to life, or at least it squirmed at the edges of it. The corners of his lips ascended just a millimetre or two. And his eyebrows and lids lowered just a touch, to remove the perplexed look of a moment before and to complete an expression of sardonic, yet kind and gentle, amusement. He looked strangely wise, ready for death, almost. Perhaps it was fitting that, at the end, it washewho appeared emotionally superior to his companion for once.
"That, Artemis, depends on what you mean. - If you are asking me if I am afraid of death, then the answer is no. If I were, would I have been able to take Arno Blunt's bullet for you? - Death is just the unknown. But I am afraid of being alone"
Artemis found this answer strangely profound.
"Do you fear a God?" Artemis inquired bluntly with a very obvious, very deliberate sceptical inclination on the word 'God.'
"I have always respected whatever created me. But I don't fear what it can do to me; I fear what it can take away from me." Butler explained. Artemis considered that this was maybe the first time Domovoi had ever opened up in this way – certainly to him, anyway.
Artemis decided to push on, partly to distract himself from his own anxieties and partly out of curiosity. "What do you think will happen now?"
Butler let out a deep laugh that seemed to reverberate with seniority.
"Oh, Artemis. You are too logical; so simplistic Even beyond your last breath."
At this, Artemis almost choked on his saliva. He was being patronised, in an almost cliché Father-to-son-kind-of-way. He didn't like this conversation at all; it was eerie - death was eerie. Butler was reversing aspects of a lifelong association in just a few short minutes.
Butler was acting very oddly, but, worse than that, Artemis felt that he was dealing with he situation himself in an odd way. He had to restore some composure; this, after all, this could be the last time he spoke to Butler.
"So where are the golden gates and St Peter?" He retorted, stuttering pathetically, after a short pause.
It was an unusually weak attempt at humorous irony. Artemis was ashamed of the quip. But, to his surprise, Butler smiled, albeit in a very condescending way.
"Don't you see them, Artemis? Don't you see? Open your eyes, my friend!"
Artemis found himself staring at Butler for a few moments, at a loss for words. Butler's grin widened still further, as if he could read Artemis's expression perfectly.
"Somewhere, between life and death, lies our humbling, Artemis. Now, I must leave you. Goodbye Artemis, it's been a pleasure." He said softly, with little hint of emotion, offering his hand as he spoke.
Artemis, who was now in a confused autopilot kind of mode, stretched his own out limply. Butler squeezed it tightly. Artemis used his spare hand to wipe the tears that were now streaming from his eyes, like the pouring rain from saturated cloud battering his cheeks, numb despite the warm, godly, breeze surrounding him. He could now, comfortably, gaze into Butler's dark eyes staring fondly back at him.
Butler released his arm, walked primly over to the edge of the ridge and unceremoniously stepped into the grey solution that surrounded it. The waters were still, so still in fact, that until now Artemis had not realised that they were in a liquid state. As the figure of Butler entered the lake, the motionless surface of the lake barely rippled, it was as if someone had moulded a hole in the greyish water perfectly to Butler's body shape and build.
"Butler." Artemis called out urgently. "What do I do now?"
"You will know." Butler replied, after a moment, without turning around, or making any hint that he was going stop his trudge into the whitey clouds ahead. "You area genius, after all."
Butler added a thousand drips to Artemis's uncertainty with every step as he waded swiftly away from the earthy platform that he had been standing on; staying upright until eventually he was fully immersed. As far as Artemis could tell, Butler carried on walking after he had left his sight; his natural buoyancy appeared to take no effect on him.
His features disappeared from Artemis's sight for the last time. Artemis couldn't help but suspect that the person he had just been conversing with wasn't actually the Butler he had known; he had his memories, certainly. He definitely perished, and with Artemis, as well. – He had dived in front of the first of Arno Blunt's bullets; Artemis, himself, had taken the second. But he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that something just hadn't been right. Butler had seemed too… heavenly.
Artemis slumped down on the dirt. He felt helpless, truly alone. Stunning intellect, or not he was now at the mercy of God, whatever that may be. He had never considered the idea of religion within the context of his own life; the concept was far too vague, too imprecise. And it was interpreted in too many ways, how could he base his life on a faith, which, statistically, has a low chance of being the right choice? It would have been like guess work. And Artemis Fowl didn't like to guess.
Artemis began to contemplate the events of his life. He thought it very stereotypical, even as he did it. But, for some reason, he saw it as fitting to prepare for the next life by reminiscing about all he had seen and done in the previous one, however short it may have been. To his surprise, he did encounter a few good deeds in his memory. - His service to the people, for example. But these deeds were few, and far between. Sadness struck Artemis bluntly.
Have I wasted my life? He thought.
However, before he retreated into total despair, a thought occurred to him as if someone had implanted it there in his brain, almost like a voice in his head.
Would Holly think you've wasted your life, would Root?
Artemis sighed and then he grinned. Insanely.
He waited there, alone, for a long time, smiling; daydreaming, proudly, about having known the great Holly Short and Julius Root; laughing inwardly at the antics of the master Mulch Diggums and the centaur Foaly; thinking, fondly, of Juliet and Butler. Until, eventually, he saw a speck in the distance, floating gently towards him drawing nearer with every second. It was a small rowing boat; and its ores appeared to be moving, as if someone was doing the actual rowing, yet the corroding vessel was empty.
As it approached Artemis's isolated position, Artemis instinctively stood up and made for the part of the miniature island that the craft seemed intent on stopping at. When it came to a halt Artemis climbed in, again without any thought process. Immediately the ores began to turn again, chauffeuring him across the lake, into the mist, into the unknown.
Artemis suddenly felt a kind of cold separation in his bones, an emptiness, as if he was missing something, but he didn't know what. This was followed by a warm inner bliss like he was in his simplistic form, void of the impurities of humanity.
It was truly wonderful.
He glanced back over at the jetty he had just departed and realised what had just happened to him; Artemis Fowl or, at least, the human form, the body of Artemis Fowl was now completing a similar act to the one that Butler's had performed. Climbing into the murky pool. But, unlike Butler, he lacked any decisiveness. It was like someone was controlling him by a remote control from afar. Artemis realised that his consciousness had separated from his body He tested his theory by trying to lift an arm, but, as he suspected, nothing happened. He was devoid of motor functions, because he had nothing to control. He had no body. Artemis didn't really mind; he'd never much liked his body anyway. It was so limiting; it held him back. He was better off without it.
The young genius breathed out a nervous sigh. He knew where he was going. He was going to fulfil the age human cliché, to 'meet his maker.' There his fate would be decided. - To paradise, or to Satin's fiery abyss, or to something else in-between.
Artemis couldn't help but smile briefly.
"Let God be warned…" he whispered with the tiniest hint of smugness, "Artemis Fowl is on his way."
As he spoke, he felt an almighty power around him, dissolved in the sweetness of the fog; it was laughing. Someone was smiling back…
I am ready to meet my maker. Whether my maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.
-Winston Churchill
End