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The old Earl sits on the beach, his chair is right up next to the water. The waves lap gently against his wrinkled toes, buried in the sand. He sits there most of the day, brought out in the early morning by his step-daughter Mavis. His soul wood arm clutching on to her arm as she leads him gently to his spot. He watches the sun rise, the light dancing across the surface of the ocean. His eyes closed, the memories washing over him, of a far away beach not unlike this one. Sand dollars and surfing and a family, finding peace.
He's brought lunch midday and his grandchildren join him, splashing in the cool tide, laughing and playing. He keeps an eye on them happily, the two boys and three girls, (dwarves and their large families) a calm smile falling across his face. He knows in the late summer that there will be more children. His son’s children, his nieces and nephews, a few great grandchildren. Some are his family by blood, others related through friendship. His found family, those 100 plus years spent together, creating bonds that transcend dna.
He'll sit contentedly, watching them all playing, talking, laughing, living. They'll have dinner and a bonfire on the beach, after which they'll filter out slowly. The young ones being led to their beds, protesting and crying. Soft baby lips kissing him on the cheek, through tantrum tears, whispering, “Good night grandpa.” in their small voices. He smiles for each and wishes them good, sweet dreams. The adults will take awhile longer, eventually leaving him alone.
Sometimes Taako, older and more refined now, but still his very good friend, will sit next to him. His slender elven hand gently rests on top of the dwarf’s. They don't say much. They don't have to. Centuries of knowing another person as intimately as they do? It creates easy silences.
Most nights he insists on staying out till the stars are luminous and there’s no discerning between sea and sky, both filled with galaxies, Mavis or one of the children bring him a blanket, tucking it around his now dainty waist. He’s grown so small. A little, old, dwarf, his features drowned in wrinkles, his one remaining eye nearly blind. He’ll sometimes hum a old tune he remembers from his long ago youth, or talk mindlessly, though he’s all alone. The earl, the beach and on clear nights, the cold round moon. He sits there till his head falls to his chest, beginning to softly snore, and someone comes to pick him up gently and bring him to bed.
His family will hear his voice, carrying across the beach sometimes. His once gruff, sensual, voice reduced to a soft growl. He talks as though in conversation with another person, pausing between sentences and then reacting as if he’s gotten a response. None of them eavesdrop close enough to hear who the old earl is pretending to talk to, or what they talk about.
Lup speculates still after everyone else has gotten tired of the game of guessing.
“Magnus! Oh, Lucretia! Wait, you don’t think it’s Kenny Chesney do you?” she’ll cry out. “Or maybe Pan?”
Taako sighs and Barry pats her shoulder fondly.
“You’ve guessed Pan the last few times. Why don’t you just go ask him?
But she never does. They’ve all accepted it’s just a quirk of his very old age, a little bit kooky, but harmless. Just as he had been regarded when he was a younger dwarf.
He does think of Magnus and Lucretia often and wonders at how long he’s lived on after his human friends. Lifespans are funny things between races. He misses the boisterous fighter and the strong woman he saw as a daughter, very much. He also often talks to Pan but always in his prayers or when he needs guidance.
The nights on the beach belong to one person only. Someone he hasn’t seen in a very long time.
The man always looks like how he’d seen him last. Expensive suit pants rolled up, sitting on the jacket like he didn’t care if it got dirty. His usually perfectly slicked back hair messy. He leans back to roll up his white sleeves, the water washing over his bare feet, Their conversation varies from night to night, but John always starts it the same way,
“Hi Merle. Got a minute?”
The first time he shows up the old dwarf nearly drowns in his own tears, the emotion of seeing his old friend again overwhelming him. He has to be consoled by Mavis and rushed to bed before he can say anything of merit.
The second time, he’s prepared.
“You’re not real, are you?”
The man who became the hunger smiles.
“This is your world Merle.” He gestures to the beach bathed in moonlight. “I’m as real as you want me to be.”
“I’ve missed you…..so much.”
“I know. Let’s chat huh? Like we used to.”
They talk about anything and everything. John asks about Merle’s family, his life after the war. Merle asks about John’s life before, the man he was, not what he became. They talk freely, no bargaining, no games, not like enemies calculating every word. It’s a blessing to Merle, to know this man as a friend.
“Your family, it’s beautiful Merle. I can see what you were fighting for all that time. You should be proud.”
Merle smiles, “Never knew you to be so sentimental John, death has tamed you.” He sighs, “Thank you. I wish they could meet you. The real you.”
“I wish that too Merle.”
John never touches him on these visits. It’s all part of the illusion. They talk, Merle slowly falls asleep, and John fades.
“I suppose you can’t really tell me what it’s like over there.” Merle says softly one night.
John shakes his head, "You know the answer to that Merle. I'm your imagination, so I'll say what you believe. I can answer if it would make you feel better, but...are you even sure that I am on the other side?" John looks at him sadly. "I wasn't really human in the end. I'd become something else, something lesser. I don't know if..." He sighs, "I don't know if things like me actually go anywhere, or if we just cease to exist."
Merle's quiet a moment, soft tears pooling in the corner of his eye. When he speaks, his voice is choked, "I-I wanted to save you John. I'm so sorry."
John as usual doesn't touch him, doesn't try to console him. He smiles sadly. "It's alright Merle. You did your best and I appreciate that. More than you know." He fades away before the Earl falls asleep this time.
For three nights after that he doesn’t sit on the beach. There’s no conversation, at least not with old ghosts. Merle sits with his family, listening to them chatter” the happy laughs of his grandchildren, the soft voice of Mavis reading them a book. He feels happy but it’s tinged with a sadness he tries not to show. He loves all of them, but his heart aches, and Merle can’t help but feel ancient. He’s worn down and all out of adventures. Many of his friends have gone on without him and he envies them slightly. He doesn’t necessarily want to die but he does curse his long lifespan. It’s tiring to live this long, to have been part of so many stories, to lose so many. All he wants now is to lay down in the arms of a man long gone, and rest.
“Dad, it’s a little chilly tonight. Are you sure?” Mavis holds the blanket up apprehensively looking out at the choppy waves.
Merle takes her hand in his. “It’s alright honey. There’s someone I need to see.”
Mavis places the blanket on his lap, wrapping it around him snugly.
“Ok.” She’s silent a moment, gazing out at the setting sun. Biting her lip she says softly,
“Dad, who do you talk to every night? We’ve always wondered.”
Merle tips his head up to smile at her, a short knobbly finger beckoning her to kneel down next to him. She does and he answers taking her hand in his wrinkly, shaking one.
“Mavis, sweetie. I talk to a man I once knew a long time ago. I know he’s not really here but I like to pretend. I wonder what could have been…” his voice wavers a little, his eye going to the horizon. “He is-he was someone very special to me. He was someone I loved…” he’s mumbling more than speaking now, a small slip of his mind, tell tale sign of his advanced age. Then he’s aware again, his gaze slipping back over to Mavis. “I’m sorry if I worried you at all baby. I’m fine. Just like to talk to ghosts!” he laughs. It’s wheezy and frail, but happy. Merle pats Mavis’ hand.
She looks worried a moment then smiles fondly. “I’m sorry you only get to see him in your mind. I’m sure he wishes he could be here with you.” She stands, squeezing his hand. “I’m going to head back to the house. You let me know if you need anything.”
He kisses the back of her hand. “I love you Mavis.”
“I love you too dad.” And then he’s alone again.
But not for long.
“She’s beautiful.” John is there. Sitting in his same spot near the shore, right next to Merle’s chair.There’s something different this time. John looks older, but less ragged. The light of the setting sun shines in his eyes. He feels warm and comforting. John shifts his body, a lanky hand reaching up to rest on Merle’s arm. It’s warm. Merle sucks in his breath.
“You’re here.”
“It’s nice to see you two together.”
“Is it really you?” There’s hope in Merle’s voice, hope and desperate longing. For the first time, Merle sees John cry. Soft, gentle, tears flow down his cheeks. He’s never looked more completely human than right now.
“Merle...it’s so good to see you. I missed you so much.” Both hands are touching Merle now, clutching onto him, holding his hand tight like he hasn’t seen him in 100 some years. He hasn’t. Merle can’t explain how he knows, why it’s happening, but this is the real John. Returned and whole.
Merle doesn’t wait another second. His hands break from John’s hold, scrabbling to his face, pulling him desperately closer and closer. He feels the wet tears, the folds of his wrinkles, the realness of him.
Then they’re kissing.
Merle doesn’t care if it’s awkward or too much. It’s been far too long and they’re both far too old for either of them to be coy any longer. Merle breaks first, reluctantly but wanting to take in every inch of John. His withered fingers moving over every feature, settling to cup his cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb.
“I thought you were dead. I thought you were swallowed, consumed by the hunger. How How can you be here? How is this possible?” He's practically panting. This is the most he's spoken and the fastest he's spoken in years.
He's met with a pained silence, then a soft sigh. “Merle...oh, Merle.” John's voice is sad. He gazes into Merle's face, his eyes lowered slightly. “I did die. I moved on. I was finally at peace, but not completely. I was missing something.” He places his hand on Merle's cheek, mirroring the other. His words are kind, but pointed, “And now you're here. I feel whole again. We can be together. We can move on.” He gestures to somewhere in the distance, beyond the horizon. “It's time Merle. That's why I'm here. You just say the word and we can go.” John's words are soft and slightly apologetic.
Merle looks away from him for the first time, realizing the night clouds above them haven't moved an inch in the last few moments. The sound of the sea has stopped as the waves are frozen in place. The sun is caught halfway between sea and sky, the light; dark orange and deep, just like in parley, all those times, so, so long ago. A lifetime ago.
There's a silent, pregnant pause between them, then Merle asks, “Is it different? Dying when you know you won't come back?” He's looking out at the horizon, not at anything in particular.
John thinks for a second. “I've often wondered that myself. All those centuries of consuming worlds as the hunger. I sometimes wondered what it felt like, for them.” He sighs, “I don't know if it’ll be different for you Merle. My death was a little...unconventional. But after the chaos and the darkness, I really only felt, relief.” He raises his shoulders in a half shrug. “I didn't have to fight anymore. There wasn't a tornado of anger and dissatisfaction inside me. No call to return, no hunger, just me. Who I was in the beginning.” He closes his eyes, smiling softly, like he's seeing something wonderful. “I knew I could finally rest.”
He opens them slowly, his face close to Merle's. “You might feel differently. I'm not sure of what you'll experience but…” He lowers his hands, clasping Merle's in his. The old dwarf’s fingers are cold. John holds them tight. “...whatever happens, I'll be here with you.”
Merle has listened intently to everything, his own eye closed, but ears open. He can hear the waves still, the ones back in the present, the night birds cawing to one another, the soft rustle of the tall beach grass. He almost thinks, if he concentrates, he can hear Mavis’ soft voice, reading to her children. Mookie in the kitchen doing the dinner dishes, his husband singing softly to their son, patting his tender baby back gently. The sounds of a family, of a legacy that he, Merle Highchurch, built.
He could stay, he thinks, see what it becomes, what his life has created. That's a conceited thought though, belonging to men far sadder and lonelier than him. He opens his eye, John's face coming back into focus. He'd given his family everything he possibly could. Of course they would miss him, but they didn't need him any longer. He was old, his body falling apart with each new creak and crack of his bones. He'd lived his life, had far too many adventures for one simple beach dwarf to ever had imagined. It was his grandchildren’s turn now. To go out, be brave, and fuck shit up. Merle knew it was time to move on.
As he turns his head to nod at John, taking his offered hand and pushing himself slowly up from the chair, the waves move again. They lap over his feet, but he can't feel them. The sun slowly starts sinking into the horizon. The clouds roll into each other, the tide moves out to sea. Everything's caught up now, moving along with him as he takes tentative steps forward, leaning on John's arm. Merle's sight wavers, the colors of the beach, of their beach, fade together.
In the distance, he thinks he sees two figures; a tall slender woman and a much taller, much beefier man. They're waving to him, urging him on.
“Maggie...Lucretia…” his voice is soft and he stumbles, John catching his weight. Merle wants so badly to see them again, to hold them each in his arms, but something pulls him back.
“John?”
“Yes Merle?”
“Can we stay here? Just a moment? To watch the sunset?”
John nods, “Of course. There's no hurry. Let's just watch it, together.”
He holds Merle tight in his long slender arms, wrapping them around the small dwarf. Merle tucks himself into the taller man, feeling his heart beat steadily. He finds it odd that he's not scared of death. He's not sure if it's from having faced it so many times before, or from having good friends who were literal grim reapers. Or maybe it was simply, not facing it alone. All he can feel in this very moment is peace.
John and Merle stand there, reunited after too many long years, watching a sunset not unlike the last one they both laid eyes on. The tide pulls away further and further, and the sun is just a sliver of light on the horizon, before it winks out. The night settles on the beach, on the unmoving figure in its old rickety chair, a smile on its seemingly sleeping face.
And John and Merle are gone.