The ship lightly rocks on the water in the port. Within her chambers, Una sleepily makes her way to her bunk, curling up there. It's been a long day for her, and so she pulls the blankets over herself and lies back. Staring up at the ceiling, she considers many things. Images of the moment of her supposed death flash through her tired brain and mingle with other images of a certain bard she met by the Boyne river. This is what is on her mind as her emerald eyes finally flutter closed, pulling her deeper and deeper into the realm of sleep and dreams.

     The Realms of Sleep and Dreams. Of it, he is not Master and Lord... but a master of its ways. A servant of the Archangel whose domain it is. The Herald of Aspirations. Of dreams made physical. Actualized. He is what you chase when you wish upon something. A star. The moon. The statues of your gods. It is Galadriel who hears you. Galadriel who answers you. Galadriel who whispers in your ears until the sun wakes you. And as your body is held by the ship, and the ship is held by the sea, it is your soul and your mind who wanders. There is a new world, sailor, at your feet.
     This place that is No Place In Particular and All Places at once is what you wish it to be, what you need it to be, what you hope it to be. No more, no less. Both sun and moon are visible in this sky. Both Night and Day. Sun-touched mountains. Moon-touched hills. And sitting cross-legged, floating above the "surface" of this world, is a dusky-skinned figure. His 'skin' is midnight blue. His eyes are silver. His garments are the constellations of the universe. There, sailor, held in the fabric that covers him, the guiding stars of all your travels. His wings are black as a ravens but far larger. His eyes are silver stars. And in his hands, being juggled, three orbs of metal. Past. Present. Future. As each land in his fingers, they come with soft chimes. And he sings. His voice is deep and mellow, smooth. Soothing.

     In this dreamscape, Una stands, looking about. Does she see the sun and moon at once? Does she see the blue-skinned marvel before her? Does she see the winged one, juggling? Perhaps...perhaps her mind is still trying to grasp, sleepily, at whether she is dreaming or whether she is awake...and has not yet focused upon everything surrounding her. She continues to stand, her balled hands reaching up to rub at her eyes as she yawns.

     "Days, that in spite of darkness, by the light of a clear mind, are day ...all night..." comes the deep voice, and soft. The midnight complexioned figure sings, even as he juggles the three orbs. Waiting. "Nights, sweet as they, made short by lovers' play, yet long by th' absence of the day..." Day and Night, a song to both -- as both are in appearance here. Perhaps its meaning is this: Those who never truly die never know a day without a moon, a night without a sun. You are beyond Time that keeps mortal lives ticking by means of sunsets and dawns. The modulation of his voice stops suddenly -- song ended -- as one of the three orbs drops with a chiming ring. Black brows lift. As if shocked. But then he sees you, and the smile is brilliant. Ribald. As if a bawdy joke shall follow. Or a bawdy thought. "My lady!" Does that seem.... familiar to you? The cross-legged angel unfolds his legs and stands, landing upon the.... surface, his great wings folding behind his back. The orbs are loosed, and hang thereafter from a belt at his waist. There is something primevally Male about that, suddenly. "I was beginning to think I should not see you this night..." Spoken, as if you were indeed expected.

     Una glances up now. Her hands fall slowly from her eyes as emerald focuses upon the one speaking to her. She blinks at the darkly-skinned one, watching him quietly for a long moment. Will she speak or just stare? You can almost imagine the commentary within her brain as she considers this, "Yes, I am definitely dreaming...either that, or I've gone mad...either way, I will just have to deal with this..." Typical of her logic, it seems. The smile is caught, though not understood completely...it is merely seen as a welcome...even if there was hidden meaning behind it. Her own smile echoes it, but more quietly and innocently...yes, even this one can still have innocence...especially in the dream world.
     "I fear ye have me at a disadvantage, sir...ye seem to know of me...yet we've never met..." she comments briefly, glancing quickly about to be certain there isn't another lady to whom the dark one might be speaking.

     Even as he stands before you, tall as he is -- like the knights in some old story.... Oh... perhaps they are not old for you yet. And do you not remember? But before the question can claim his expression, the beautiful... man?... smiles with added warmth. For something in your words amuses him. You have me to a disadvantage. Did he not say the same to you by a river's edge? He holds his hand extended to you, armored and gloved as he and it is. And in it appears a violet flower. "Its name is Violet. It is from across the sea," he murmurs. "One day, if you journey to a land called Africa... you should pick one there for me..." A request. The black curly hair -- it is not unlike that of the riverside bard. Perhaps this dream, this image... is just a projection of him here. In this land fantastical.
     "Who could not know of you, the Woman With One for a Name," Galadriel continues. He leans in toward you, grinning and whispering. "And yes... this is a dream... but for you, no less real than any other Time that you shall see." He turns and his long wings trail against the wavering grass. Wavering as by a constant wind. But if you were to look closely, the grass is growing-fading-growing in quick succession. And violet flowers spring where his steps land. "Una... come sit a while with me?" Galadriel turns his head, looking to you past a shoulder. His armor is made of mirrors, it seems. It reflects the dreams of all those on earth. Constantly. "I should like to have tea with an immortal at least once..." The ribald grin returns. Were he a man, he would be one of those Charmers, would he not?

     With the assurance that this is a dream, Una's mind relaxes and just lets her go with all of this, accepting that she is speaking to a tall man dressed in mirrors with wings in a place where the moon and sun exist together, at the same time. Still not knowing your name, she looks at the violet as she moves to walk with you...and watches in wonder as more violets spring up where you step. Her emerald gaze wanders over your wings trailing behind you, even as you ask her to sit with you. "Of course...I will sit with ye, sir," she replies politely, her gaze never leaving your form, however.
     Though you shall not find a violet when you wake, your fingers will be stained as if by wine when you wake. Did you grasp a glass before you slept? Did a pool of wine linger after spilling? But it will be something he will let you keep. For this is something you should remember.

     Galadriel moves a pace or two or twelve ahead. His long wings unfurling, stretching. Like a raven, wearied from sitting on a stone. But they fold easily behind him with a soft rustle. Like the whispers from ten-thousand mouths. "Herald," they seem to say. Herald, as in messenger? Or Harold, as in an English name? Surely, it can't be Harold. He veers about suddenly, grinning and taking an immediate seat. He pats the earth beside him and it erupts with violets. A seat for you, quite comfortable. Thick, the flowers are clumped together like the stuffing of a pillow. "I was sitting here, upon this very spot," he begins, his voice lifting. There is a coiling smoothness about it. Like the serpentine dance of smoke. "...when I heard a woman crying." Silver eyes turn to you, and a metallic cup and saucer appear in his hand. Black-violet brows lift at that. "And so I thought... perhaps if she had some clover tea in Heaven, she would not feel so alone in the world..."

     She stops suddenly as you veer and seat yourself so suddenly...preventing herself from walking right into you. Una stands there a moment, listening to the whispered name...then mentally shakes herself as she realizes you are patting the ground beside you, where violets lie. Seating herself there, Una hears your words and looks at you rather suddenly. "How did you...? Oh...right, this is a dream. You know what my fears and worries are...right," she comments, her rational brain trying to make sense of all of this. "Well, Gaheris said I'm not alone...but how does he know? He's just a bard. I should be dead, but I'm not. So....this will scare people off...and it already has...and so, I am alone." Once more, her logic manage to wriggle into the dream, so deep is her belief in this.

     "Hold out your hand and close your eyes," the angel softly says. And as you do you just might find the feel of something metal there. But smooth as glass and not like steel at all. Cross-legged again, the dark angel sits, lifting his cup for a sip. "And so you are alone, but for an angel and a poet. Hmm... an odd beginning indeed." Curving and curling the smile at the rim of the cup. Oh, if you open your eyes again to see it. "Let us not think on what a poet says. The riddle could take ~hours~ you understand. But for Your Sake, Lady of the Unending Hours, let us speak. I am... rather horribly curious." Famous last words. Always. His wings are held aloft, and as moonlight and sunlight both catch them, they are more midnight blue and violet than black. Deep as the universal sky and overarching night. Arching above you, a canopy of feathers.
     "You cannot die... how extraordinary. I wonder... if that means, you think, that you shall not live?" He tips back his head. Silver eyes, molten in their aspect, fastening on you. "Should you not live therefore, merely because you cannot die? And if you were to Not Live and Not Die... what would you do then, Una... If you cannot do the one," and by that meaning, Dying, "...you shall have to learn to do the other." By that, meaning... Living...

     Una's eyes flutter back opened as she feels the touch of metal within her hands. She looks down into her hands to see what object has been placed there as she murmurs softly, "I never said I would not live.... I merely have said I cannot die, it seems....and that it frightens others away. Gaheris and yeself, my dream figment, are the only two...no, and my father...who have not run away, screaming 'daughter of the devil'. So, I suppose I am not truly alone...I...I am just not used to rejection." Indeed. She is more boisterous and used to getting along with most people...the fact that most run or shy away from her has been a horrible blow upon her.

     He does not linger on rejection, but moves ahead. First with a sip of clover tea. If you sip of the liquid, it shall taste of honey, and flowers. Lightly of grass, perhaps. The glass sparkles in his grasp as he tips it for a sip again. Metallic and beyond metallic. It is like the mirrors he wears for armor, and something solidly liquid. As if it would ripple at the touch of his mouth. But it holds its shape. As shall it do for you. A brow cocks up.
     "And if I asked you to make a wish for something, what would it be? To be as those others in your crew and thus be accepted by them? Tell me." He grins smooth and slow and lowers the cup from his mouth. "Or would it be as so often is whispered: oh, let them love me, Lord of Sleep and Dreams." A brow is lifted yet in wondrous questioning. His aspect, beautiful, is placid and undisturbed at all by emotion. The large dark wings flutter a moment, feathers whispering: Wishing.

     "What would I wish for? That people would accept me as they once did...before any of this happened. They think I've changed...but, I do not believe I have. I'm still the same Una they once knew...except that I didn't die. So, they accuse me of being in league with the devil...and my father has lost good sailors upon his ship. Indeed, he finds it difficult to find replacements as news spreads. Pretty soon, he'll have only myself as his crew," Una replies, then raises the cup to her lips for a sip of the tea. Her gaze does not meet your own. Instead, it finds the liquid within the cup after she takes a sip...staring into it.

     "Even if this meant," he says, lifting a hand. A finger to the air. The air that is not Air pools around his touch. "... that you could not be You? Even if this meant sacrificing Who and What you Are?" Black curls ringlet over his shoulders, and his silver eyes waver. Liquid silver. Like the shine of stars. Galadriel tips over his cup, pouring the remaining liquid on this soil that is not soil. From it spring flowers of gold, and then the cup and saucer disappear. In his hands again he takes his three orbs. Holding them in the grasp of agile fingers. He holds up his hand. You can see the reflections there, now, if you look. Rotating, the globes are shifted in his fingers' grasp. Softly chiming. Rhythmic. "If they cannot love you as you are, why should you wish their love? For those who love but partly do not love at all..." The Herald pauses there, wondering upon his own question. It might seem. And waiting on your answer...

     Una's emerald gaze flashes back at you, from the liquid within her cup, to your face...to meet the silver of your own gaze as she replies quickly, "I was happy before, though... I had friends who loved me for who and what I was... Then this happened, and they got scared. People frighten easily by that which they know not of, isn't that right?" Sighing, she looks away and slumps where she sits. Centuries from now, she might laugh at her own narrow view of her knew knowledge of being immortal...but this isn't the future. This is now. "I don't know why this happened...but I didn't ask for it. I will have to make the most of it, but, this is difficult when people believe me to be a devil," she adds ruefully, laughing shortly.

     That brings a smile, curving. Then pursing. "I know the devil, lady. To be sure, I do. He is not half so thoughtful, and a good deal less fair. Though even for him, this was not always so. Things are never as we expect them to be. And more." Galadriel gives his wings a stretch and then they wrap him round. Folding with a soft, voice sound: Herald. Still, the three orbs rotate in nimble fingers. Images of you. Of time. Of passing.
     "Those you have lost, do you think they are the only ones in all the world? Do you think Love is so finite? You have learned ... this you know... that life is more than the space of one lifetime. From death you opened your eyes to something...new... unexpected. Why put the rest of your Time in a cage, Lady? As you cannot die," the ribald grin returns, "...you will have to learn to live. Sure, none of your fellows should envy you. They have but to learn to walk, and see and maybe swim. If they learn to live...to truly live in their short space of time, we call them prophets." Galadriel chuckles, "..or bards." He leans in toward you, closing the space. Silver eyes shining above silver orbs. Reflecting light and color. "So small a thing is acceptance, lady. And your life is larger than the approval given by men who shall not live half so long..."

     When she looks back at you, her eyes are full of tears, but they do not break, do not slip down her cheek. "It's not just that... I should have died then...but I didn't. I...I will never see Heaven... Even now, I see this in this dream... ye are an angel, yes, but ye are my dream. Ye exist within my brain, so even ye are not my glimpse of Heaven. I envy all those men who shall not live half so long as me....because of a glimpse of Heaven they shall all have, but I shall never. Envy may be a sin...and perhaps that is why God punishes me so. Although I am grateful to have not been torn from this life so young, I also cringe at the thought that I shall never meet my maker." Ah, and that is the point to all of this...or at least part of it.

     And soft his eyes go, and the riddles fall away. Cups and saucers and flowers all disregarded for a reach. Feathers to skim a dreaming cheek. In anticipation of tears that do not fall. "Child of Heaven," Galadriel whispers, "...we are kin, made of different metal but by the same Hands. This I tell you, and it is no riddle or jest. You shall see Heaven, and I will be there waiting." He pauses. "Hold out your hand, and close your eyes. I have a gift for you..." The sun begins to fill the sky above, and all this world is lit. Illuminated. Soon, it will be Day Complete. Soon, the dream will end.

     Even as you speak, even as she feels the brief skim of feathers upon her cheek, Una closes her eyes and holds out her hand toward you, trusting you.

     There is a soft touch upon the center of your palm. Warm, as a kiss. And a coolness too, as of a soothing wind. And in the touch something of Hope's own residue. Lingering. "This will remain with you. Look upon it, and know I look upon you..." His words are a hush, and then after, there is nothing more. Upon your upheld palm, a black feather. Small. Like a raven's. Like an angel's. It gleams here. And he can be felt in it.

     And when you wake, clinging to your cloak from your trip to Boyne's meadow, a black feather as long as your forefinger. Like a raven's. Like an angel's. Catching the light coming through your cabin's doorway.

Posted by rowan at May 12, 2003 09:24 PM