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Life & Death

Summary:

The true origin of the Horseman of Death and she who loved him more than life itself.

Notes:

Hi everyone,

I hope you enjoy this story.

Also just in case any of you are interested, I imagine Emilia Clarke as my OC but it’s entirely up to you who you want her to be.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sleepy Hollow nor its characters.

Chapter Text

Azrael’.

He didn’t know how long he had been trapped in this darkness, without any reference to the passage of time he had no way of counting the years gone by.  

One year, a hundred, a thousand.  

Not that it mattered to him, the apocalypse would still come and he would finally have what he has always longed for, what Moloch had assured him when he took the mantle of Death.  

The wife he had been promised whilst he was still a mortal and furthermore revenge against the man who had stolen her from him.

He could feel his anger, his hatred rise for the one who had betrayed him, the one who had confessed he had been wooing Katrina behind his back and had dared to ask for his blessing of their union in return.  

He had taken Washington’s prized soldier, Ichabod Crane’s life on the battlefield, sliced him through the chest with his mighty axe.

But in an unexpectedly turn of events, with the life slowly draining from him, Ichabod had summoned the last of his strength and had taken his head.  

Even with his immortality his body had fallen from his injury, allowing the sisterhood of the radiant heart to entombed him underneath the lake, a feeble attempt to prevent the apocalypse.

The fools.

 The only thing they had accomplished was delaying it.  

And yet, deep down he knew Ichabod Crane had survived. He could sense his enemy was out there. He could hear Ichabod’s heart beat, feel the blood rushing through his veins, Ichabod’s death had been stolen from him by those insufferable witches.

He clenched his fists, imagining feeling Ichabod’s hot blood spray over him as he returned the favour and took off his head with his great axe. His whole body shook with rage and resentment, he wanted to hear Ichabod’s screams of pain and anguish, feel his bones crack beneath his boots as he squeezed the life from him. He had imagined his enemy’s death a thousand different ways, each one more painful than the last.

Azrael’.  

That voice.

She was calling to him again.

She often would when he felt this way, sometimes she would even sing to him.

 As if to comfort and soothe him from his woes, the aggression and tension would leave his body and he would feel at peace…well, as much as a horseman of the apocalypse could.

Sometimes he would dream of her, like he was observing her through another’s eyes.

Her chocolate curls caressing her face, her deep blue eyes that were so unlike his own. Where his were filled with coldness and death, hers were warm and full of life.  

And her smile, he couldn’t help but feel as if it was meant only for him, every time he caught her eyes as he watched her dance through the flowers of a beautiful garden, the sunlight glowing on her flawless skin.   Her laughter would echo through his ears and he remembered thinking he would do anything for her just for the chance to hear her laugh.  

Watching her body move against his own as he brought her to the brink of ecstasy. Hearing her moan his name like a prayer sent a shiver down his spine.  He took pleasure in the knowledge that only he would ever know her like this. He was mesmerised by how her cheeks blushed and her eyes closed when she reached her release.

These strange visions felt more like memories than dreams.  

He wished with everything he had that he could feel her physical touch but he was nothing more than a spectator in another’s body.

Perhaps he had finally gone mad, being bound and chained in this box, perhaps even a horseman of the apocalypse was not immune to insanity. That he was now reduced to imagining a woman who was not his Katrina, who was both unfamiliar and yet so familiar at the same time.

He had once tried to ask her why she calls him Azrael, calling out to the darkness but she had not answered him nor had she responded to any of his other queries. She never once spoke to him directly, he didn’t know if she just couldn’t hear him or if she was purposefully ignoring him. Either way, he found it infuriating and when he was irritated, she would just continue to sing with a voice so heavenly, he would bet that it would even pacify the Devil himself.

And for two and a half centuries, this was all there was for him.

 His rage, his hatred and her.

But today was different from all the others.  

Here they were, standing in the garden and for the first time she reached up to cup his cheek in her hand.  

And to his shock, he could feel her.

Closing his eyes, he relished the heat radiating from her, the feel of her soft skin against his own. She filled him with an emotion he couldn’t define, it radiated like fire through his veins and all he knew was he wanted more of it.  

No, he wanted more of her.

He placed his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his strong chest, hearing her small gasp made his blood grow hot, the closer she was the more complete he felt.

If someone had mentioned Katrina’s name to him right there and then, he would have had no idea of whom they were speaking of.  

He leaned his head down, he needed to kiss her, to taste her. To finally know what her lips felt like against his own. But instead he felt the warm pads of her fingers upon his lips, her eyes brimming with tears, looking directly into his own with both sadness…

and love?

‘It’s time to wake up, Azrael’.

Her presence disappeared so sharply it jerked his body awake, feeling as though his very soul had been ripped from his body. Leaving him once again feeling empty and hollow.  

But she was quickly replaced by another, one full of darkness and destruction…

Moloch.  

‘Rise my Horseman’. Commanded the demonic voice.

The lid of his coffin began to splinter and crack. Cold water rushing in, a mortal man would have been killed in a instant but he, he was the horseman of Death.  

He summoned all his strength, his power returning to him like electricity pulsing through his veins, he smashed his way through the wood and chains, freeing his body from its confinement.  

He made his way through the murky waters towards the shore, his heavy footsteps disturbing the sediment of the riverbed until finally he broke through the surface.  

Thunder and lightning raged throughout the night sky signalling to the world that the pale rider had risen and Hell would soon follow.  

But first he needed to be whole.

He needed to find his head, so he could call fourth the other three horsemen and bring about the beginning of the end.

And should he happen to bump into a certain patriotic soldier along the way then maybe it wouldn’t be just his own head he collects.

 


Several months later…

He had her.  

He finally had Katrina in his home and was making preparations for her to be bound to him for all eternal. To finally be his bride and bring about his revenge against Ichabod.  

He had been waiting over two centuries for his prize.

And now that he had it, he couldn’t help but find himself feeling unfulfilled and unsatisfied. Katrina, the woman he had loved and treasured above all others in life now seemed to be losing her hold over his heart but as to why he could not say.

He couldn’t help but bring up the memory of the woman who had comforted him in his tomb for all those years. He hadn’t heard her voice since the day he had awaken from his slumber. He found, much to his surprise, that he missed her gentle voice more and more with each day that passed.  

He shook his head, silently scolding himself.

No, he was being ridiculous to be thinking of her, pining for a woman that for all he knew had just been a figment of his imagination. Something his mind created to occupy him in his years of solitude.

Whereas Katrina was a living, breathing woman. Flesh and blood. Someone he could reach out and touch. The very reason he had made the deal with Moloch. It should be her who inhabits his mind now.  

Softly opening the door to her room, he found her sleeping peacefully, the candlelight softly reflecting her red hair which was cascaded on the pillow. He still found her beautiful, there was absolutely no question about that but now something was missing.  

‘Abraham’.  

He let out a frustrated sigh as he was pulled out of his thoughts. He didn’t particularly like or dislike the horseman of War, even after he unleashed the weeping lady but he did have an aversion to Henry’s obsession to bring about pain and suffering towards Katrina.  

Even with his feelings for her waning, he did not like to see her unhappy.  

‘What is it Henry?’ Abraham asked as he closed the door and turning to face the mirror where the horseman of War could be seen standing in his own home, Fredericks Manor.

‘There is someone in the woods, near the flowering meadow. Moloch has ordered you to hunt them down and kill them’.

‘Then they are as good as dead’.  

He reached for his axe, not needing anymore instruction before walking into the stable where his horse, Daredevil, was waiting for him.  

He rode his steed hard, through the winding trees as the lightning followed behind them. The fog was rising from the ground, covering him with a ghostly glow.

He briefly wondered who this person was, it was a rarity for him to get a direct command from Moloch to kill a specific person but it mattered not.  

He was the horseman of Death and no one could escape him.  

Reaching the meadow, he jumped down from the saddle, unsheathing his axe.  

This was the only place in the woods that had any life in it, flowers of all different colours painted the ground and birds were happily singing in the late evening air, getting ready to roost for the night. The moon was shining bright through the break in the trees emitting a white glow across the meadow as the crickets chirped loudly.  

How fitting that this place so full of life was now about to experience death.

He could see a hooded figure, sitting amongst the flowers. By what little he could see of their appearance and their petite frame, he would guess that this was a woman.

Why would Moloch want him to kill a woman, was she a powerful witch?  Some kind of threat to his masters plan?

It did not matter, he was a soldier, it was not for him to question as to why but to simply carry out his masters wishes.

As he continued forward, the figure began to stir, noticing his presence and moved to turn and face him.  

His blade burnt bright with the fire of hell just a few more steps and he would be done with his chore and could go back home to Katrina.

He found himself mildly intrigued that this woman had not tried to flee from him nor even flinched when she had seen him. There was no fear, no panic or terror as there had been from all his other victims.  

Who was she not to fear death?

He brought his blade over his shoulder and just as he was ready to strike her neck, she removed her hood.  

What he saw made him freeze instantly.  

Those brown curls, those blue eyes and that smile.

‘Hello Azrael’.

It was her.