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Aug. 12th, 2006 04:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wordslingingTitle: The Lady
Fandom: Dark Tower/Sandman
Characters: Cuthbert Allgood, Roland Deschain, Death
Rating: PG
Summary: Another Endless cameo fic. Sort of. Inspired by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
milliways_bar, but set entirely in the DT universe.
“That’s when I saw ‘er.”
Cuthbert blinked, then looked up at the old soldier. His friends were looking up as well, but, unsurprisingly, it was Bert who voiced the question.
“Saw who?”
There was a rusty chuckle. “Who d’ye think, lad? What’ve I been tellin’ ye about?” The old man took another swig of ale, then fixed the young ‘prentice with his good eye. “Th’ Lady. Death ‘erself.”
The boys exchanged uncertain glances. Being the children of gunslingers, they were no strangers to the idea of a female personification of death—the Lady Morphia, Vannay called her. But it was one thing to hear Vannay speak of her, and another to hear tell of seeing her from this man—one of many down-and-out veterans in Low Town who, in exchange for a few coins, would tell the boys stories of their campaigning days until the ale bought with those coins ran out.
Seeing their looks, the old man chuckled again. “Don’ believe me, eh? Can’t say’s I blame ye. Me eyes en’t good fer much nowadays, an’ th’ drink’s took hold of me wits—don’ ever take t’ drinkin’, lads, filthy habit.” He punctuated this statement with another long pull on his tankard. “But me eyes ‘n wits both used ter be sharper, an’ I know what I seen that day. ‘Twas the Lady, set me watch ‘n warrant on’t.”
This time, the silence among his listeners was broken not by Cuthbert, but by Roland, who was now looking at the old man with more curiosity than he usually showed for Vannay’s lessons.
“What does she look like, then?”
“She—well, ter be honest, lad, I c’n never quite remember the perticulars. But I remember she ‘ad hair blacker ‘n anythin’ I ever saw, an’ ‘er skin were as white as ‘er hair were black. An’ her eyes...there were this funny little squiggle under one of ‘em, an’—“ He pauses, then looks around at them, letting his good eye wander over each boy’s face before he went on. “I s’pose if ye lads en’t laughed at me already, ye won’ laugh at me fer this—‘er eyes were the color of everythin’.”
The old man paused again, as if suspicious that the boys were going to laugh at him after all.
None of them did. None of them made so much as a sound.
Satisfied, the veteran went on. “An’ she were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Tha’s the part I remember best, even though I can’ remember fer sure what ‘er face looked like.”
The silence that fell after that was almost reverent. At least, until Cuthbert broke it.
“What happened? Did she say anything? Did you see her take any dead people? What’d it look like?”
He might well have gone on, piling on more questions than the drunk old man could ever hope to answer, had he not been elbowed and glared into silence by his companions.
The old man chuckled again, shaking his head. “Sonny, I’ve known some talkative folks in me day, but I’d wager ye could outjaw ‘em all. Nay, ‘tweren’t like that. She never said a word—jest stood there on th’ edge of th’ field, watchin’ th’ battle like ye’d watch a game of Points. An’ I guess she knew I’d seen ‘er, ‘cause she looked right at me ‘n smiled, an’ I thought fer sure I’d copped it an’ jest hadn’ realized yet. But she jest shook ‘er head, an’ I knew it weren’t me time yet. Though, I’ll tell ye, lads—if it ‘ad been, I’dve gone with ‘er gladly. I ‘ad a wife ‘n two young babbies back then, but when I saw ‘er smile, I’dve gone with ‘er an’ never looked back.”
The old man wasn’t looking at any of them anymore. He stared straight ahead, and his one good eye had a distant, dreaming look, as if he were seeing her again in his mind’s eye, fair and fell and smiling at him.
*****
It was two days later that Bert told his father about the old soldier’s tale, and asked if he’d ever heard of anyone seeing the Lady Morphia like that. Robert Allgood surprised his son by knowing exactly which old soldier he meant.
“I don’t want you bothering that old man, son. He’s not right in the head—hasn’t been since he lost his family.”
Cuthbert’s eyebrows went up as he remembered the wife and children the old man had mentioned. “Lost them?”
His father nodded gravely. “His sons—twins, they were—both died of fever when they were barely two years old. His wife drowned herself not half a year later.”
“Oh.” Bert fell silent for a moment, an uncharacteristically solemn look on his face. Then, “When he told us about seeing Death, and how he would’ve gone with her if it’d been his time...it almost sounded like he regretted that it hadn’t been.”
He looked up at his father, who reached out one hand to tousle his son’s unruly mop of curls. The gentelness of the gesture threw the bleakness of his words into sharp contrast.
“Maybe he did.”
*****
It was the year after that that the cook, Hax, hung for treason. Roland and Cuthbert, who’d uncovered his treachery, watched and scattered bread for the birds afterwards. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen a corpse, or known of a death, but it was the first time they’d ever watched a man die.
As they stood in front of the gallows, neither of them spoke of the old soldier’s tale of seeing Death, but Bert wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that it was on Roland’s mind. Gods knew it was on his.
Had she been here? Was she nearby, still, a beautiful woman with white skin and eyes the color of everything? Hax had died swearing he regretted nothing—would he say the same to the Lady, when he saw her? Had she smiled at him?
And if Cuthbert ever saw her, at his death or before it—would she smile at him?
Fandom: Dark Tower/Sandman
Characters: Cuthbert Allgood, Roland Deschain, Death
Rating: PG
Summary: Another Endless cameo fic. Sort of. Inspired by
milliways_bar, but set entirely in the DT universe.“That’s when I saw ‘er.”
Cuthbert blinked, then looked up at the old soldier. His friends were looking up as well, but, unsurprisingly, it was Bert who voiced the question.
“Saw who?”
There was a rusty chuckle. “Who d’ye think, lad? What’ve I been tellin’ ye about?” The old man took another swig of ale, then fixed the young ‘prentice with his good eye. “Th’ Lady. Death ‘erself.”
The boys exchanged uncertain glances. Being the children of gunslingers, they were no strangers to the idea of a female personification of death—the Lady Morphia, Vannay called her. But it was one thing to hear Vannay speak of her, and another to hear tell of seeing her from this man—one of many down-and-out veterans in Low Town who, in exchange for a few coins, would tell the boys stories of their campaigning days until the ale bought with those coins ran out.
Seeing their looks, the old man chuckled again. “Don’ believe me, eh? Can’t say’s I blame ye. Me eyes en’t good fer much nowadays, an’ th’ drink’s took hold of me wits—don’ ever take t’ drinkin’, lads, filthy habit.” He punctuated this statement with another long pull on his tankard. “But me eyes ‘n wits both used ter be sharper, an’ I know what I seen that day. ‘Twas the Lady, set me watch ‘n warrant on’t.”
This time, the silence among his listeners was broken not by Cuthbert, but by Roland, who was now looking at the old man with more curiosity than he usually showed for Vannay’s lessons.
“What does she look like, then?”
“She—well, ter be honest, lad, I c’n never quite remember the perticulars. But I remember she ‘ad hair blacker ‘n anythin’ I ever saw, an’ ‘er skin were as white as ‘er hair were black. An’ her eyes...there were this funny little squiggle under one of ‘em, an’—“ He pauses, then looks around at them, letting his good eye wander over each boy’s face before he went on. “I s’pose if ye lads en’t laughed at me already, ye won’ laugh at me fer this—‘er eyes were the color of everythin’.”
The old man paused again, as if suspicious that the boys were going to laugh at him after all.
None of them did. None of them made so much as a sound.
Satisfied, the veteran went on. “An’ she were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Tha’s the part I remember best, even though I can’ remember fer sure what ‘er face looked like.”
The silence that fell after that was almost reverent. At least, until Cuthbert broke it.
“What happened? Did she say anything? Did you see her take any dead people? What’d it look like?”
He might well have gone on, piling on more questions than the drunk old man could ever hope to answer, had he not been elbowed and glared into silence by his companions.
The old man chuckled again, shaking his head. “Sonny, I’ve known some talkative folks in me day, but I’d wager ye could outjaw ‘em all. Nay, ‘tweren’t like that. She never said a word—jest stood there on th’ edge of th’ field, watchin’ th’ battle like ye’d watch a game of Points. An’ I guess she knew I’d seen ‘er, ‘cause she looked right at me ‘n smiled, an’ I thought fer sure I’d copped it an’ jest hadn’ realized yet. But she jest shook ‘er head, an’ I knew it weren’t me time yet. Though, I’ll tell ye, lads—if it ‘ad been, I’dve gone with ‘er gladly. I ‘ad a wife ‘n two young babbies back then, but when I saw ‘er smile, I’dve gone with ‘er an’ never looked back.”
The old man wasn’t looking at any of them anymore. He stared straight ahead, and his one good eye had a distant, dreaming look, as if he were seeing her again in his mind’s eye, fair and fell and smiling at him.
*****
It was two days later that Bert told his father about the old soldier’s tale, and asked if he’d ever heard of anyone seeing the Lady Morphia like that. Robert Allgood surprised his son by knowing exactly which old soldier he meant.
“I don’t want you bothering that old man, son. He’s not right in the head—hasn’t been since he lost his family.”
Cuthbert’s eyebrows went up as he remembered the wife and children the old man had mentioned. “Lost them?”
His father nodded gravely. “His sons—twins, they were—both died of fever when they were barely two years old. His wife drowned herself not half a year later.”
“Oh.” Bert fell silent for a moment, an uncharacteristically solemn look on his face. Then, “When he told us about seeing Death, and how he would’ve gone with her if it’d been his time...it almost sounded like he regretted that it hadn’t been.”
He looked up at his father, who reached out one hand to tousle his son’s unruly mop of curls. The gentelness of the gesture threw the bleakness of his words into sharp contrast.
“Maybe he did.”
*****
It was the year after that that the cook, Hax, hung for treason. Roland and Cuthbert, who’d uncovered his treachery, watched and scattered bread for the birds afterwards. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen a corpse, or known of a death, but it was the first time they’d ever watched a man die.
As they stood in front of the gallows, neither of them spoke of the old soldier’s tale of seeing Death, but Bert wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that it was on Roland’s mind. Gods knew it was on his.
Had she been here? Was she nearby, still, a beautiful woman with white skin and eyes the color of everything? Hax had died swearing he regretted nothing—would he say the same to the Lady, when he saw her? Had she smiled at him?
And if Cuthbert ever saw her, at his death or before it—would she smile at him?
