The Undertaker and Asherah
Asherah didn't remember their birth. She didn't remember how she came into being; whether she was born or if she formed from dust while he came bloody into this world. But she did remember growing older, stronger, wiser by his side. She did remember settling, large and furred with steady paws and large jaws. She remembered round ears and a dark muzzle; she remembered how the two of them could run side by side. She remembered thriving, she remembered lamenting, she remembered…dying. And she remembered coming back. She remembered coming back small and weak and fragile; the sudden, terrifying lack of heavy muscle and sharp fangs. She remembered him cradling her in his hands as he whispered apologies over and over; she remembered him begging her for forgiveness, and how her tiny form had fluttered in his palms as she had told him, without reservation, that there was nothing to forgive.
"But," he had said, "what I've done to you…."
"Shhh," she had hummed, and her voice was still the same: soft and deep despite her new form, "It's all right. I'm here. I love you, all is well."
His voice had faltered when he forced himself to say he loved her, too. She forgave him that as well.
...
When person died, their daemon turned to dust. It was a truth that everyone knew. And yet, Asherah breathed; moved; spoke; even though she remembered the feeling of falling into thousands of pieces and…disappearing. Now, tucked away as she was under heavy swaths of fabric against a warm chest with a beating heart, she could almost bring herself to forget that they had not always been this way. Almost, but not quite; a feeling of fragility and loss hovered always at the fringes, and, though it had been slow to come, a feeling of wonder swelled at every new experience she had. It dwelled in every sight, sound and exchange of words she witnessed.
This feeling had started as a whisper, the first time she looked into his eyes after…after. They were a bright, shimmering yellow-green, where before they had been a more mundane shade of forest. It was shocking and disarming to see that it wasn't only her that had changed, but perhaps also a relief. The times that followed after were dreary and dismal and enthralling in turns. Their job was a penance, but it was also a look behind the certain. It was almost a privilege to see the supernatural, to deal in souls.
Still, even that became mundane to them as time went by. And he had always been passionate; unwilling to settle for reenacting the same story over and over. Although, even the new path that they'd chosen had its moments of misery; that was all too clear.
A gentle, long fingered hand drew her out of her musings and from her nest of clothing, and she was lifted up to sit eyelevel with the long silver bangs of her other half. His gaze was piercing behind the silver strands, and his entire body seemed to be swaying with some sort of excitement.
"It seems that one of the little Phantomhives survived," he told her, running a finger down her back, and Asherah felt her heart leap in her chest.
"Truly?" she whispered, unable to keep the awe from her voice or stop her wings from fluttering lightly.
"Yes," he sighed, "and if you'd ever come out of my sash, you would have heard it for yourself. He's taken up the mantle of Earl already; the underworld's flown into a tizzy."
"Oh," she said, and her powdery wings drooped to brush softly against his palm, "he became the Watchdog?" His lips pulled tight into a frown at her question, and that was answer enough.
"We'll go and pay him a visit, won't we?" she asked, "Formally introduce ourselves, so he doesn't have to start from scratch, at least?"
"Of course."
...
The Undertaker's carriage, long and dark and drawn by two black horses, came to a slow rattling stop in front of the Phantomhive Manor House. For a moment, he and Asherah were struck speechless, staring up at the grand, imposing building; the last time they had been here, tending to the funeral arrangements, it had been nothing but a leaning, blackened ruin.
"How…?" Asherah whispered, her pale, nearly translucent green wings spread wide across his shoulder, "how did it get restored so quickly? It's impossible." The Undertaker's hands clenched on the horses' reigns, and his eyes narrowed up at the wide entry staircase and great bay windows.
"It is impossible," he agreed, sliding down from the driver's seat and walking to the stairs, "When they told me that the Earl was living here, I didn't believe it. No human being could have done this."
Asherah peered up at his face as she settled into his high collar.
"Whatever it is," she said, "don't act rashly. And do try not to frighten the boy out of his wits."
The Undertake chuckled as he leant forward to knock on the heavy doors.
"Me? Frightening?" he said, "Where'd you get an idea like that?" If she could have, Asherah would have rolled her eyes, but as it was, she just settled more comfortably against his neck and waited as the door was pulled open.
The Undertaker's entire body went tense, and she felt his pulse begin to race at his jugular. She peeked out of his collar, confused—and immediately shrunk back, flattening herself against his collarbone behind cloth and a curtain of hair.
It was a demon. A demon stood in the doorway, pulling it wide, and Asherah felt cold. The only way that one could be here….
"Hello," the Undertaker called, and for all that he was tense as a bow string his posture hadn't changed at all, "I'm here to see Earl Phantomhive, if he's in."
"Yes, of course," the demon said slowly, and tilted the head of its man-shaped disguise as it ushered them in, "Wait here, please, and I'll see if my master will receive any visitors. May I have your name, or a card?"
"Hmmm," the Undertaker said, "I don't have a card, I'm afraid. I'm the Undertaker; I worked with Vincent Phantomhive. The Earl might remember me, we've met."
"Very well," said the demon, and turned away to stride smoothly up the stairs.
"Oh," whispered Asherah, "the child…."
"Yes," replied the former shinigami, "this looks... quite grim."
It looked worse when they saw the behavior of Ciel Phantomhive's daemon. It looked worse when they saw the interplay between the Earl and his "butler." It looked worse as the boy delved into the underworld without reservation. And it looked so much worse after the Undertaker went looking for answers, and found a desecrated cathedral…and along with it, a body.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Asherah asked, as the Undertaker worked late into the night, taking apart corpses and piecing them back together. For a long time, he was silent. Then a long, slow grin spread steadily across his face.
A/N:*grins*
For some reason I was absolutely enchanted by the idea of the Undertaker, the strongest character in Kuroshitsuji, having a small, delicate daemon. (Asherah would never need to fight, even if the Undertaker did, anyways. He's powerful enough to make up for his fragile-damaged-soul.)
Anyways, I'd love to hear what you think! Do you agree with my choice of daemons? Or do you think they're way off? Who, or what would you like to see next (because at this point, I've used up most of my initial ideas)? Do you think the existence of daemons would change the plot at all? Please, let me know~!
DAEMONS:
rCiel: Kamalani; unsettled
oCiel: Noelani; raven
Lizzie: Eramun; unsettled
Frances: Asra; panther
Edward: Eimear; serval
Alexis: Amista; wolfdog
Arthur Randall: Acacia; German shepherd
Lau: python
Azzurro Vanel: wall lizard
Madam Red: Siamese cat
Undertaker: Asherah; luna moth